Elron was frozen in his chair, and his eyes didn't seem to be focused on the here and now.
I cleared my throat. "You didn't sound hopeful when you mentioned that the demon could be moved to a different host."
"I read Sylvia's diary. The demon didn't pick her accidentally; there was a reason it had to be her, because under normal circumstances demons don't take elves as a host. This is the first time I've heard of a demon choosing an elf, and Sylvia seems to have more autonomy than a typical host. The fact that she was able to carry and discard the book while the demon was occupying her suggests an unconventional relationship between them."
"I don't follow," I said. As much as I wanted to watch Varro, I kept my eyes on Elron. He was still looking into the distance, and I couldn't be sure that he was aware of the conversation.
Varro sipped his tea. "In most cases, the demon takes a host, often a human or shifter, and doesn't leave it until the body is worn out and near death. During that time, the host's spirit is pushed aside. They lose any ability to control their body, actions, or perceive what is happening. When the demon leaves them, they have no memory of what occurred.
"Sylvia seems to be different for several reasons, aside from her race. The demon is switching between bodies, sometimes residing in her and sometimes residing in a male form. That alone isn't overly interesting, but she has been able to observe what Gremory does when he's controlling her body, which is most unusual. Beyond that, she has been able to push him aside, regain control, and it appears that he is unaware. This is a unique ability in a host, one that she could use to aid us. Even if she is unable to help us, the longevity of her form and the lengths to which he went to obtain it make it unlikely that he will be willing to switch forms. To kill Gremory you must kill Sylvia."
"I do not think I can harm her," Elron whispered, still pale and trembling.
I sat there feeling especially useless. On one hand, I wanted to comfort Elron, but at the same time I thought he would prefer to be left alone. Things were complicated enough without the woman he'd dated comforting him when she intended to kill his wife.
Elron was trembling. I scooted away from the table, stepped into the living room to grab a blanket, and hurried to wrap it around Elron. The trembling eased, he leaned into my arms, and I held him against my side.
"Shh, I'm here. I've got you." He started crying, and I kept holding him.
Varro looked on with pitying eyes. "I am sorry."
"Does he have to be there?" I didn't know what would be better—staying behind while your friends killed your wife or watching your wife die, knowing it was the lesser of evils.
Shaking his head, he answered. "No, but will he be able to stay away?"
I bit my lip. Elron wouldn't believe she was dead unless he watched her die, not after what had happened before.
"Why can't they be happy? Haven't both of them suffered enough? They deserve better than this—this life of misfortune." I didn't know if I was asking a question or demanding an answer, but the earth, moon, and sun were silent.
After a long moment, Varro spoke. "It doesn't work that way. You get the chances you get, and happiness can be stolen from you at any moment. Neither of them deserved this, but it's their life to live and their pain to bear."
"Sylvia didn't deserve to spend two hundred years as a demon's host only to die. Elron… just look at him." The man in question was still crying, silent tears escaping from puffy eyes.
Varro didn't look at Elron, instead remaining focused on me. "What about you? What would you do to prevent this pain?"
"I can't stop this pain. Nothing I do from here will make either of them better."
"What of other people? Gremory's next victims?"
"You heard me yesterday. I'll do what I have to do to keep people safe." Saying it out loud didn't make me feel any better; there was still an emptiness inside me because the man in my arms wasn't going to be healed with a death. Killing Gremory and Sylvia might end her captivity, but it wasn't a happy resolution.
All the fairy tales I'd read growing up had left out this part. Those heroes had saved the day, gotten the girl or guy, and found a better life. I wasn't going to be that hero because I had to kill a good woman, hurt a good man, and find the strength to move on with my life. There wouldn't be a parade for me, trumpets wouldn't sound, bells wouldn't ring, but I might get to dig a grave.
I looked up from my reflections to find Varro studying me. He knew what I was thinking and what I would do; it's why he said I felt like a Hunter. I might not be the same person when this was over, but Sylvia wasn't worth more than the ten people dead in Ellijay, Simon, the citizens of Forsyth who'd been killed by trolls, or the teens who would spend the rest of their lives in prison because a demon had talked them into breaking the law.
"I can do this." I swallowed. "I can kill Sylvia."
Varro nodded.
"Can you help me move him?" It would be easier for Varro to support or carry Elron.
"Where would you like him?"
"Let's put him in my bedroom." With the two of us continuing our conversation, he wouldn't get much rest on the sofa. Going back to his place wasn't an option. Given his retreat from the world upon finding out that Sylvia was alive, I didn't want to give him the chance to hide again. Elron needed to stay in the moment and see this through.
Varro helped Elron into my room where I settled him in bed. After spelling the windows so they wouldn't open, I returned to the main room to find Varro looking around the kitchen, an empty mug in his hand.
"What do you need?" I asked. Between the way he'd shown up and had admitted to secluding himself, I doubted he'd seen a modern kitchen.
"How does one make tea in this place?" Frustration laced his voice.
"Why don't I show you?" I walked him through the steps, explaining how different kitchen gadgets worked along the way. We returned to the table with fresh tea. The brew took the edge off my nerves. It was going to take me a few minutes to adjust, but nothing I'd heard was that different from what I'd anticipated.
"How are we going to get Gremory to come to us?" I asked. It was the one piece that hadn't made sense to me.
"If he doesn't attack you personally, you will use the connection between him and your next assailant to draw Gremory to us," Varro explained.
"I don't think Gremory will assault me. He'll send someone." So far, Gremory had gone out of his way to keep himself clear of any trouble. He didn't seem to be the type to put himself in harm's way.
"Ah, that will work in our favor. We can set the scene to give ourselves the best advantage when he does arrive." Varro smiled.
"How does the demon's bane work?" After all the effort that had gone into finding this flower, it would be nice to know what it did.
"When properly prepared, the bane can be turned into a liquid or powder. Once introduced to the host's system by ingesting it, touching it, or having it injected, it acts quickly and paralyzes the demon. It is still aware, but bound to the host and unable escape. Once bound to the host, it can be killed with the proper application of spells. I will teach you, and the elf, if he is well, how to find, cultivate, and prepare the plant."
There was urgency to Varro's words. The lines around his eyes were deeper, the shadows under them darker, his posture a little less exact.
"Why are you telling me so much so quickly? You're giving me more than the information I asked for." It seemed wrong for a man who'd spent lifetimes hiding to suddenly spill his secrets.
He stilled, not watching me but lost in his own thoughts. With a sigh, Varro returned to the present. "The spell the witch used was exact. 'In the purist form of the darkest spell, we give our lives for you, to hold our knowledge dear, to stand in our stead, to face what we cannot, until the day a successor comes to you. Pass on our knowledge fast and true, for those shall be the last days gifted to you.'"
"You're dying."
Varro nodded. "I should be with you through confronting this demon, but that will
be my end."
If he even made it that long. The boundaries on the spell were specific, ensuring he would make it to this moment, but not giving him a way to live on. Varro hadn't mentioned how many Hunters had died to fuel this spell, but it could've been as many forty. Considering that they'd gone about their lives for a century before returning to the meeting, those who were left had to be of the longer-lived races, many of whom would typically live for a hundreds or thousands of years. They had given their lives to him, but even with the price they paid, there had been a limit to what magic could provide.
"No one lives forever," I mumbled.
"Not even demons. What you see from this demon is nothing compared to what has happened in the past. Time has gotten to him, weakening him. The remaining demons, however many or few, may be shadows of their former selves as well."
"None of us can count on that," I said. My future was changing before my eyes. If I was the only one holding this knowledge, I had a duty to see it preserved and rid the world of as many demons as I could. That didn't fit with my idea of small-town life where I battled spelled teapots and garden shrubs.
"No, you must learn quickly because my time is limited and where there is one demon, there is often another. Many Hunters have been killed by a demon looking for revenge. As solitary as they are, they do target those who target them."
A chill settled over my skin. He'd mentioned that earlier, but it had gotten lost in the story. Every word he said made this feel bigger and heavier.
"It is more than that." Elron's voice was hoarse, and he leaned heavily on the doorframe.
"Elron, you should be in bed."
"No, there is more than he has said. My Call brought me to you and made me find him. Chance did not bring us together, not with a Calling involved."
"No, it wasn't chance." Varro sighed.
"Michelle, show him your clan scar."
I didn't argue with him. Callings were purpose driven. The earth had given Elron the Calling for a reason, and it had pulled all of us here, to this moment, for a reason too.
The neck of my cotton shirt was soft and loose from years of wear. I slipped it over the top of my shoulder, pulled my hair to the side, and turned to show the symbol to Varro. He walked over and traced the shape with his fingertip. Sorrow and bewilderment crossed his face.
When he stepped back, I tugged my shirt back in place and helped Elron to the table before sitting down again. Varro stood behind his chair, head down, hands resting on the back.
Elron had picked up his now-cold tea and was sipping it as if nothing was going on, but his face was still damp and his eyelashes were clumped together.
"Can someone explain things to the very confused witch?"
Elron raised an eyebrow at Varro. "I have naught but suspicions. It is his story."
"The witch who spelled me so long ago, she had that same mark," Varro said.
I sighed. "Yes, the mark of the Ieldra. I'm one of the lucky ones who was born with a stamp on them that declares them capable of amazing and fantastic things. I guess this qualifies."
"No," Varro snapped. "It was exactly the same."
"What?" I said.
"Your clan scars are identical. Before she died, she told me her children didn't get the similar scars. It puzzled her because the scars were a mark of family, and hers wasn't passed down." Varro sat in the chair, leaning heavily on the table. "Elron is correct, the three of us were meant to be here. What your scar means past that, I can't say."
"Destiny or not, I'm here and willing to do what needs to be done." I'd never been a big believer in fate, but that didn't matter right now. What did matter was making the most of the time we had with Varro. "Would you be willing to write down your story?"
"I was given ability to speak the language. It'll take time for me to learn how to write in this language."
Smiling, I said, "What if I had a way around that? Would you be willing to have your knowledge on paper? I'm afraid that we may forget something without a written account. You've been waiting a long time to pass on your knowledge, and I wouldn't want it to go to waste."
"I suppose I would be willing."
"Perfect." I rushed to my workroom and found a pen and an empty diary. Setting them in front of Varro, I quickly spelled them. "All you have to do is touch the pen and start talking, just like you're telling a story. It will write down what you say until you touch it again. Try it."
He gently tapped the pen with his finger and started speaking. When the pen began dancing across the page, he smiled at me, touched the pen again, and said, "Thank you."
"Thank you for trusting us," I said.
Varro began telling his story again, in more detail than he had before, quickly finding a rhythm.
Elron pulled me to the side. "We need to talk."
"Are you sure?" We'd been doing a lot of talking lately. My voice could use a rest.
"Yes."
Chapter 15: Elron
"Wait a moment."
Michelle nodded, and I hurried into my apartment, quickly returning with a small box. She eyed it but did not inquire as I led her outside. Ty greeted us at the door, and we spent several minutes with him before he lay down in the clearing. We settled on a bench nearby, and I set the box next to my feet.
Words did not come easily due to the slew of emotions vying for my attention. There was anger with the situation. I was unable to find an outcome that would benefit everyone. There was not a single person that should die, but at least one would not make it through the night. Along with the anger was a sensation of helplessness. The people around me deserved better than a man who had been unable to help himself and was equally powerless to help his friends.
And there was a healthy dose of grief. After hearing Varro state what I had been unwilling to acknowledge, it felt like it was happening a second time. Sylvia was in trouble again, and I was as unable to help now as I had been before. I grieved until there was nothing left, finding numbness that allowed me to function and cushioned the reality of the situation.
My heart clenched as I gazed upon the woman next to me. I wanted her in my life for years to come because what I felt with her was unlike anything I had experienced. It was a feeling I did not want to lose, but I could not betray Sylvia. If these short moments were all we had, I wanted to remember every detail.
"I am sorry," I said.
"For what?" Michelle tipped her head.
"Everything, I suppose." The list was too lengthy to recount.
"That's a lot to be sorry for. It's not easy to be directly responsible for that many things." She rubbed her ivy-covered forearm.
"If the Call had not pulled me here, you would be going about your life, the demon would not be after you, and you would not have the added trouble of dealing with a mess like me."
She studied me. "You're wrong. Parts of this case found me before we became friends. Around the time we met, I was dealing with creatures one of Gremory's followers had created. If that hadn't gotten him on my trail, finding the trolls would've. You can't be blamed for either of those; the police would've called me anyway. And you're not a mess; friends help each other. You saved me from Adder, and I'm here to help you anyway I can."
"What about…"
"The dates?" she supplied. "That's not going to happen right now. Perhaps in the future, but for now you have more than enough things to deal with."
There was a serenity to her that I did not understand; it was as if she knew what was coming. I had to ask. "How can you be so calm?"
"I know there is a chance for the future. That's all it is right now, a chance. Until things are settled, that's all it'll be. We don't know what the next few days will bring, and that's a hurdle we need to pass before either of us can move on with our lives."
She said it as gently as she could, but there was a cold dose of reality in those words. Sylvia's previous demise had sent me into a depression that lasted two human lifespans. That was hardly a reassuring precedent.
&nb
sp; Michelle spoke softly. "Elron, is this the best time for this conversation? We're friends and we can deal with the rest when things are settled. I know you're hurting, and I'll do everything I can to make this easier on you." She leaned against me. "You don't have to be there when…"
When Sylvia was killed. Whether or not my attendance was necessary had yet to be decided, but I needed to be there and see it with my own eyes. I had to watch her death. "I think it would be better if I'm there, but we should discuss it with Varro before any decisions are made." I had been misled once and would not let that happen again.
"All right." Michelle didn't sound convinced, but she let it go.
I picked up the wooden box and redirected the conversation before my nerves could get the better of me. "I had this made for you."
"What is it?"
My fingers trembled as I lifted the top off. Inside, resting on a thick wool cloth, was a wooden bracelet with swirls and twists carved into the wood and a matching wand.
"A new wand? That's perfect." She smiled. "The bracelet is beautiful."
"It is not just a bracelet. I know you are curious about my sword, and after seeing the ways you carry the wand, I thought you would appreciate an alternative."
"But what does the bracelet have to do with your sword?"
I rolled up my sleeve and showed her the metal wrist cuff on my arm, but she still looked puzzled. Standing up, I took a step away from the bench before turning to face her. Fingers curled, I twisted my hand and my sword settled into my grasp. Twisting my hand in the opposite direction, the sword vanished.
"Now you," I said.
Michelle fitted the bracelet on her wrist, set the box next to her, and twisted her hand. The wand appeared in her hand, tumbled out of her fingers, and bounced along the ground. I picked up the wand and set it in her hand.
"Feel it, know its size and how it rests in your hand. Now, want the wand to return to the box and rotate your wrist the other direction."
Her hand twisted and the wand reappeared in the box. She immediately curled her fingers and tried to return it to her hand. This time she fumbled but kept a grip on it.
A Witch's Trial (Witch's Path Series: Book 3) Page 17