Demons

by Heather Frost

  This one is dedicated to you, Dad.

  You've taught me so much—

  the least of which is the answer to everything: 42.

  © 2012 Heather Frost

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4621-1034-6

  Published by Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc.

  2373 W. 700 S., Springville, UT 84663

  Distributed by Cedar Fort, Inc., www.cedarfort.com

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

  Frost, Heather (Heather Marlene), 1989-, author.

  Demons/Heather Frost.

  pages cm. -- (The Seers Trilogy; book 2)

  Summary: Things become dangerous for Kate as she is hunted by the Demon Lord.

  ISBN 978-1-4621-1034-6 (alk. paper)

  1. Clairvoyants--Fiction. 2. Immortality--Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3606.r646D46 2012

  813’.6--dc23

  2012024499

  Cover design by Erica Dixon

  Cover design © 2012 by Lyle Mortimer

  Edited and typeset by Melissa J. Caldwell

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Printed on acid-free paper

  contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Patrick O'Donnell

  May 10, 1797

  Wexford County, Ireland

  My lower back was beginning to ache. I'd been hunched over far too long, but I wasn't about to move just yet. I was finally getting it right. The shading wasn't too dark around her eyes, and the gentle planes of her small face were sloped almost to perfection.

  This in itself would have been reason enough for me not to move. I was a painter—sketching had never come easily to me. When I worked with paints, it required no thought. The canvas called to me, guiding my strokes. The art of drawing was an entirely different experience, however. I would agonize over every line, second-guess every mark I tried to make. Sometimes I enjoyed the challenge, while at other times I had to force myself through every second. Today was surely a mixture of both.

  There was another reason I refused to acknowledge the muscles screaming in my body, the reason for my taking up the sketch at all, even though I would have rather spent the day working on the painting of my mother's garden—a painting I'd started a few days ago. I'd recently finished a painting of my father's cherished church, where he was the local pastor, and my mother loved it so much that she insisted I immortalize her flowers.

  That is how I would have spent the day, had I not remembered the dream.

  It was simple, as dreams go. Just a face. At first, I believed it to be pretty, though upon further staring I realized the deeper beauty. Small, delicate, and perhaps more rounded than most people would consider attractive. But there was something so warm, so real about that face. She had a small smile playing about her lips, and her hair was long—a combination of blonde and brown. It looked so soft, and I remember wanting to reach out and touch the subtly waving locks, though I couldn't. In my dream, I stood frozen. I simply watched her, and although she didn't seem to notice me, I had a feeling that she knew she was being watched. Her eyes were green at first glance, yet a deeper look revealed thin flecks of gold.

  It felt like I stared at her all night. Her image was burned into my mind, and I was sure that it would be forever. Still, I was working feverishly to finish this unjust portrayal of her unique beauty. And though it did not capture her completely, my drawing was one of the best sketches I'd ever managed to create.

  “My brother, the genius!” a boisterous voice called suddenly, breaking into my thoughts.

  I glanced up quickly, my pencil pausing instinctively against the paper. I smiled as I watched my younger brother approach. He had just celebrated his sixteenth birthday two days ago. I would be eighteen soon, but I knew he would still take pleasure in the fact that he was “gaining” on me.

  Sean strolled across the yard, stepping through the long green grass with full, leisurely strides. He looked a great deal like me, though many claimed he had inherited more of my mother's attractive looks. He was certainly the stronger personality between us. Where I was often seen as shy and studious, Sean was always smiling and thoroughly involved. He was the first to begin a dance, and the last to leave any social event. Many praised his quick wit, and he was acutely aware of this admiration.

  Though I had plenty of reasons to be jealous, I was not. He was my brother, and I loved him. As he loved me.

  “Your dedication amazes me,” Sean continued, his hands deep in his pockets. It was the characteristic pose the men of our family took, except he always made it seem natural rather than nervous. “I've never finished a thing in my life,” he said with an oddly satisfied grin, jumping easily over the small stream that trickled through our back pasture.

  Our modest home of gray stone and brown wood dominated my view, a dirt lane and rolling hills the only other things in sight. It was a backdrop I loved, and one that I often called upon to help fuel my creativity. The old stump that I sat on was at the back edge of our land, though it wasn't close enough to the rudimentary fence for me to recline against. Nevertheless, sitting here afforded me the most inspirational view, so I suffered through the slight discomfort.

  I watched Sean close the remainder of the distance between us, and I finally spoke. “You've never regretted that before.”

  “Ah, but I don't regret it now. I merely state fact.” He stooped before me, and I quickly lifted my pencil as he snatched my unfinished drawing away. He brought it closer to his face, so he could inspect it critically.

  While he did, I stretched my knotted back muscles and flexed my stiff fingers. I didn't stand, though. I didn't rush him to speak—I knew he would give his opinion with minimal urging, once he was finished appraising the piece.

  I expected a jibe of some kind, but instead his voice was mildly surprised. “This is good, Patrick.” He paused, then added playfully, “What is it supposed to be?”

  I frowned at him, and he laughed as he caught sight of my face. “Merely teasing you, big brother. Really, it's quite good. Who is she?”

  He returned the thin book that held my drawings, and as I took it back I quickly ran my eyes analytically over the sketch. “I don't know. I saw her face in a dream.”

  “She's pretty.”

  “Yes,” I whispered, gazing into her eyes. “She is.”

 
; He cocked his head, coming around me to look at the sketch over my shoulder. “You know, she's almost familiar.”

  I glanced over at him, interested. “Are you sure?”

  His brow furrowed in thought, eyes drawn to her face. “Yes. Still, I can't imagine where I might have seen her. Surely not your dreams, though.”

  We shared a quick laugh at the absurdity of that thought, and then Sean slapped a hand against my shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts before I could become submerged again.

  He knew me well.

  “Mother wishes you to come inside.” His blue eyes—an exact repetition of mine—grew knowing. “Sarah McKenna came to call on her, and we're to entertain her until mother can finish listening to Father's preparatory sermon.”

  I hesitated, my eyes darting back to the page in front of me. “I'm nearly done.”

  Sean sighed loudly. “Patrick, you are the epitome of hopeless. You are aware that Mother arranged this for your benefit, surely?”

  My brow furrowed in confusion. “But Sarah called on mother.”

  “Diabolical, isn't she?”

  “Who? Mother or Sarah?”

  Sean shrugged. “Both?”

  I chuckled with him, scooping up my work under one arm so we could walk together back to the house.

  Sarah McKenna waited in the small parlor. She was wearing a nice dress of pleasant blue, and her red curly hair caught my artistic eye as it always did. The color was just so bright, so vivid. It was piled carefully on her head, in a way only a woman could accomplish. She was sitting near the window, thumbing through one of Father's philosophy books. She looked up as we entered, and a smile spread across her face.

  She was my same age, our birthdays mere weeks apart. We had played together as children, and she had teased me through adolescence. And now as we approached adulthood, she always seemed to find an excuse to visit my parents. Her eyes were a beautiful blue, and her face was pale and lightly freckled. Her face was very feminine, and somehow managed to be smoothly angular.

  She was perhaps the most beautiful woman in the province; she knew this, sometimes to her detriment. Still, though her quick tongue could often get her into trouble, her dazzling eyes always seemed to repair any damage.

  She laid the book aside and stood. “The O'Donnell brothers. What a pleasure.”

  “The pleasure is strictly ours,” Sean rejoined at once, offering a quick bow.

  I added my own nod and a not so graceful, “Good day, Miss McKenna.”

  She smiled at me and then noticed the brown leather book under my arm. “Your drawings. Have I interrupted the master at work?”

  “You flatter me,” I said honestly, following her glance to my book.

  “May I see your newest masterpiece?”

  “If you wish.”

  She smiled. “I do.”

  I shifted the book to her hands, and she opened it to the last drawing in the sketchbook—almost in the exact middle. I watched her face as she studied my drawing, and I felt my stomach tighten when she frowned.

  Sean stood next to me, silently watching this exchange. I was grateful that he didn't leave, because I knew that I'd soon run out of things to say to her; his wit would come into play beautifully, as it always did.

  Finally, Sarah looked up at me, her eyes impressed. “You've improved. The last sketch of yours I saw was…”

  “Horrible beyond comprehension?” Sean supplied, his tone exceedingly helpful.

  I sent a warning glance toward him, but Sarah was laughing lightly.

  “It wasn't like your paintings,” she admitted. “However, this… You have captured emotion. Except it is almost a nameless one. Who is she? And what is she thinking that creates that smile and so captures your attention?” She shook her head lightly. “Whatever it is, I would certainly like to learn it.”

  I nearly blushed but somehow managed to keep calm. “I don't know who she is. And what she is thinking…” I shrugged slowly. “Perhaps I'll never know.”

  Sarah smiled at me. “Why, Patrick, you speak so mysteriously.”

  “I don't mean to.”

  Sean grunted. “Of course he does. Miss McKenna, he is just so superior, isn't he?”

  “Yes, he is.” Watching the way her eyes drifted back toward me—so intently, so easily—I suddenly realized a startling truth. Sarah McKenna was genuinely taken with me.

  Perhaps even more startling, I realized in that moment that I might genuinely be taken with her.

  Fear Dearg

  Present Day—Midnight

  New Mexico, United States

  I waited. There had been so much waiting the past few weeks. But it was nearly over now.

  I stood in a small city park, just beside the pool of yellow light cast by the lone street lamp. It was a quiet night—no cars could be seen, and even the sounds from the highway were distant, as if muffled by the dark. Humans were asleep in their homes, unsuspecting of the evil that lurked in their midst. Unaware of me.

  All at once I heard a car approaching down the otherwise quiet street. I straightened, angling my long body toward the sound. In seconds a pair of headlights flashed across me as the car came out of a side street and pulled toward the park, coming to rest against the curb. The lights switched off, but the car continued to run. I heard the power locks disengage, and I stepped up to the passenger door in front of me. I pulled it open before ducking smoothly inside.

  There was no illumination in the car, yet from the glowing light outside I could see the scarred face of the driver. A man I'd seen many times but never really spoken to. Takao Kiyota was his name.

  He was reaching into his jacket, pulling out a thin spray bottle. It appeared to be innocent perfume, though I knew differently.

  He handed it over sleekly, skipping a greeting and moving on to the warning. “There isn't much. Only one guaranteed potent dose. You cannot fail.”

  I took the bottle and stuffed it into my own pocket without bothering to study it. “I never do.”

  Kiyota's head dipped once, allowing that, before he continued. “The Demon Lord assures me your target will be susceptible. Romero reported as much when his Seer saw him at the club last week.”

  “I'm sorry I missed O'Donnell. I was in the area.”

  The Demon Lord's personal Seer smiled, but it was completely chilling. It was a smile I knew well, for it was identical to mine. “Yes, that was a pity, wasn't it?”

  I glanced out the windshield, my words firm. “I will be doing this differently than originally discussed.”

  “How differently?”

  “I'm unwilling to approach O'Donnell so directly. This situation requires a bit more finesse.”

  “Are you sure that's wise?”

  My nonanswer was answer enough.

  The Demon Lord's Seer spoke deeply. “Very well. But you must not forget the stakes. There is more than the Demon Lord's fury to risk.”

  “I'm perfectly aware of the risks. That's the reason I'm here. I would not entrust this Seer to anyone else. Kate Bennett is mine.”

  The Seer seemed to consider his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice was low. “You're sure she's the one?”

  “I'm positive.”

  His lips compressed into a thin line. “If you're right, she's worth more than the Demon Lord first imagined.”

  Again, I didn't bother to comment. Instead, I got right to the point. “I could use your talents, if you can spare a couple of days.”

  Kiyota's answer was immediate. “My orders were to see that you have everything you need.”

  I smiled darkly, fingering the bottle in my pocket. “Excellent.”

  Kate Bennett

  New Mexico, United States

  I knocked loudly on the bathroom door, surely bruising my knuckles. “Josie!” I yelled. “You've been in there for forty-five minutes!”

  My other sister, Jenna, stood behind me, and she grunted when her twin didn't answer. “She's going to take all the hot water.”

  “
Forget hot water,” I muttered, glaring at the closed door. “We're not even going to get to brush our teeth before Christmas.”

  Jenna pushed past me and began banging on the door with both hands. “Josie, get out right now!”

  The running water continued, however, and I knew we were being punished for something.

  This was a perfect example of Josie behavior, and I shouldn't have been surprised. Both of my little sisters were devious when they wanted to be, but only Josie would do something this ridiculous. I was guessing this treatment came because she hadn't eaten the last cookie.

  Eleven-year-old girls could be so annoying.

  I turned away from the door, giving up. I walked back to my room and heard Jenna start yelling again before I closed my door, effectively muffling the pounding and screaming. I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled my makeup bag closer to my knee. Luckily I stored all my cosmetics in my room, where the twins wouldn't try using them, so at least I could freshen up before school started.