Demons

by Heather Frost

  His hands were deep in his pockets, and he walked fluidly toward us. He came to stand behind the Demon Lord, and finally he looked up. His face was hard, and he was probably in his early thirties. Younger than the Demon Lord, not that he looked it. He'd had a hard life—the evidence was there in the grim set of his mouth, the harsh way he held himself.

  But it was the eyes that made me stare. The eyes that made me gape. The eyes that made my stomach clench.

  Because I knew those eyes. I'd stared into them so many times…

  I had to jerk my eyes away so I could look to Patrick, to try and understand how this was possible. But I found no answers there. Patrick was as bewildered as I was—more so, even.

  The Demon Lord spoke happily, instinctively knowing when the new arrival was standing directly behind him, ready to be introduced. “Meet my most loyal servant: Far Darrig.”

  Patrick gazed at Far Darrig's darkened face, unable to utter more than a single word—a simple name. “Sean.”

  Far Darrig didn't say anything. He didn't react to his brother's voice. At first.

  And then his lips parted, and his deep voice filled the quiet room. “Patrick.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Patrick's face twist in pain, and I knew that he knew the voice. It was really him. It was Sean.

  Patrick's younger brother didn't say anything else. He just continued to stare at him, deadly serious.

  It was strange for me, seeing the two brothers. I'd seen the sketch of Sean, but I could hardly believe this man was the same person. There was no laughter here. No love of life. Only suffering. And hate. I didn't need to see his aura to know this Demon felt so much hate. If it weren't for the eyes, I wouldn't have known he was related to my Guardian.

  Patrick stared at his younger brother—who in physical appearance looked over a decade older than he was—but he couldn't do or say anything. He was in shock. His hands were gripping the arms of his chair, his fingers were trembling. I wanted to hold his hand, but I couldn't move. All I could do was watch his face as he struggled to realize that his brother was a Demon. His little brother was Far Darrig.

  I heard the Demon Lord's low chuckle, and my eyes slowly moved to narrow on his handsome face. He was watching Patrick's face—watching his aura as new waves of pain, depression, and heart-ache threatened to drive him to his knees.

  That smug face—that happy face—I couldn't stand seeing it. I probably did one of the stupidest things in my whole life. I lunged for the Demon Lord, my fingers curled into claws as I went for his sickly, delighted face. I didn't care what I did—I just needed to erase that smile, wreck this moment before it killed Patrick faster than the virus burning inside him.

  My chair pushed back when I jumped, hopefully driving into one of the Dmitriev brothers. I felt Patrick's eyes shift to follow my unexpected maneuver, but there was no way he'd be able to stop me. I sensed more than saw everyone in the room tense—except maybe for Far Darrig, who seemed as immovable as a statue—but I was focused on my target. On those green eyes as they swiveled to me and realized what I was about to do. They widened in momentary fear.

  I threw the center of my weight forward. There would be no pulling back. I was almost falling toward him now. The only thought running through my mind: what a shame that I'd bitten my nails so much this past week.

  I got close—close enough that he jerked back, spilling champagne all over himself. And then Mei Li's small form wavered with movement.

  Her leg leaped up in the blink of an eye, and her foot slammed into my side, knocking me off course and causing me to sprawl out onto the unforgiving granite floor. The air was forced out of my lungs on the harsh impact, and my ribs throbbed where I'd been ninja-kicked. Before anyone else could move—she was that fast—Mei Li had jumped lithely to my side, and a second kick placed right in my gut sent me skidding further across the floor. The momentum of that powerful and perfectly trained kick could have sent me across the entire room, except that one of those obnoxious pillars got in the way.

  My shoulder crushed against the resilient column, and my head cracked painfully against the floor. I was too breathless to cry out, and I was seeing black spots. And they weren't Seer related.

  “Mei Li!” the Demon Lord reprimanded loudly, calling her back before she could kick me out of the state. Probably three more would have done the job.

  Through the black dots, I could see Patrick being shoved back into his chair by Takao. I could also see Mei Li straightening out of her defensive crouch. Her long braid was still swinging, but the rest of her body had total control. She was so still, it was amazing that she'd moved at all.

  The Demon Lord sighed loudly. “Takao, let him up. He can do no harm.”

  The Asian Seer stepped back immediately, but his heavily scarred face kept a firm eye on my Guardian. Patrick pushed up from the hard chair, his arms quivering, his expression breaking with animosity. He quickly crossed the floor to my side, shooting Mei Li an especially angry look before he reached me. He knelt laboriously beside me, one hand moving right to my arm, which I'd already managed to wrap around my throbbing ribs. He tenderly checked the area, his other hand slipping under my head, which I was struggling to lift off the floor.

  “Ow,” I croaked.

  “Hold still,” he muttered, not quite meeting my eyes. He shook his head at me. “What were you thinking?”

  It was sort of a rhetorical question, but I found myself answering anyway. “I don't think I was thinking,” I mumbled, pinching my eyes closed tightly.

  His examining fingers pressed against a particularly painful spot, and I cringed sharply.

  The Demon Lord's amiable voice filled the room, overriding the classical music that still played cheerfully in the background. “I'm very sorry, Kate. But Mei Li takes her job seriously. All my bodyguards do. I'm afraid your actions were a bit unwise. How are you feeling?”

  I opened my eyes and blinked up at Patrick's stunned, bleak face. He was swallowing hard and repeatedly. He was staring at the pillar, and I knew without studying his aura that he felt as if his world was falling apart. “Hey,” I whispered. His head moved slowly, neck bending mechanically to look down at me. My eyebrows drew tightly together, and my voice hitched with worry. “Are you okay?”

  I sort of expected him to lie. Instead, he mutely shook his head. I thought I saw tears gathering in his eyes, but then he dropped his gaze and tried to help pull me to my feet. I was a little unsteady, but I could see clearly again. Patrick kept an arm wrapped around me, and we leaned against each other for support.

  The Demon Lord was standing. Champagne had sloshed over his shirt and pants, and the glass was no longer in his hands. He took the first steps toward us, with Mei Li and Takao close behind. Far Darrig kept his position behind the chair; he couldn't stop looking at Patrick.

  The Dmitriev brothers were circling around behind us—as if we would dare to run. Where would we go? Patrick still needed the cure.

  It was time to stop beating around the bush. I forced my voice to sound commanding, and my words stopped the Demons’ forward advance.

  “What is it you want me to do? Why am I unique? Selena said that Patrick would get the antidote if I proved myself. What do you want me to do?”

  The Demon Lord's smile was back, but it was less appealing to me now. “So many questions, and all so integrated. First of all, you're quite right. Patrick needs the antivirus. And he'll get it after you complete your first mission for me.”

  “Mission? Patrick doesn't have time for me to complete a mission. He needs the antidote now!”

  “Kate,” Patrick murmured beside me, warning me to watch my tone.

  The Demon Lord chuckled. “Funny that you should bring up time.”

  I felt myself go whiter, and a bit of my bravery disappeared. Though he could still see how unsettled I was through my aura, I managed to keep my voice firm. “You want me to change something in the past?”

  The Demon Lord squinted one eye and rocked his
head back and forth, debating the accuracy of my description. “Not exactly. More like, make sure things go according to plan.” He glanced over his shoulder at Far Darrig, who reacted to the silent command by stepping around the deserted chair and walking forward to join our tense circle.

  I knew Patrick was watching his brother closely, still trying to prove to himself that this silent Demon was indeed Sean.

  The Demon Lord's voice turned decidedly businesslike, and I focused back on him. “When Far Darrig realized that he'd seen you in the past, he called me immediately. Since you were just a vague drawing to Patrick, we both knew that your eventual journey to the past would have nothing to do with your Guardian. So who else could your trip be for? Far Darrig? But you never approached him—he couldn't even remember where he'd seen you at first. But obviously your visit would have to concern one of them—the Demon or the Guardian. But which one? Eventually we figured the little puzzle out.”

  He shrugged, as if it was a simple answer to an even simpler riddle. “You were there for both of them. But not directly… You're the one who convinces their father—Pastor O'Donnell, the silent patriot—to join the United Irishman. You're the one that will make him force his sons into the battle, where Patrick will die a hero, and Sean will go on to become my greatest servant.”

  “What?” I choked. The idea was ridiculous. Patrick was gripping my arm tightly, trying to make sense of the words.

  It was me. I was the one responsible for Patrick's death. For his brother becoming a Demon. For a mother and a father losing first one child and eventually the other.

  It was a lot to take in.

  The Demon Lord continued to speak as if he liked punctuating the mounting tension with his polished voice. “Now you see why I needed you—and only you. You are unique, Kate, because without you, I never get Far Darrig. I need you to journey back through Far Darrig's memory to that moment when you unwittingly built my greatest weapon.”

  “And if I don't?” I suddenly ground out. “Patrick would never get sick—never be here. You couldn't kill him.”

  “No, I couldn't.” The Demon Lord took a step toward me and his bodyguards mimicked his steps on either side. His voice became a strange mix of apathy and persuasion, and I couldn't take my eyes off his luminous green ones. “And I wouldn't have Far Darrig, it's true. But you would have never met Patrick.” He sighed languidly. “If I were you, I wouldn't fight this, Kate.”

  “Why not?” I asked, my voice shaking with a timidity I didn't want to feel. Patrick squeezed my arm comfortingly.

  The Demon Lord nodded to Patrick. “Because you already made this choice before, obviously. You went back. Or you will. Because he drew your picture. You were there, in the past. If you don't go back, you change history, which can have an assortment of terrible repercussions. And you don't want that, do you?”

  I didn't answer because I knew he was right.

  Whether I liked the idea or not, I was going back in time.

  Patrick would get the antivirus as soon as I returned from the past. Once that part of the deal was settled, the Demon Lord gave me all the instructions I needed. He taught me the basics of how to travel and how to return to the present when I was done. It was a crash course, but it would have to do. Patrick's nose was bleeding again, and I knew there wasn't any time to waste.

  I tried to act brave, for Patrick's sake, but I think everyone in the room could sense my apprehension as I sat facing Far Darrig. We were sitting in comfy chairs across from each other, and I was trying to relax like the Demon Lord had instructed me. But that was hard because I was just so close to Far Darrig. Our knees were almost brushing, and I could have easily stretched out my hand and touched him.

  I didn't, though. I was concentrating on his aura, trying to figure out which color was the right one. Which emotion would lead me to the right memory, the right time…

  His aura was as chaotic as the Demon Lord's. Only Sean's was more resigned—more defeated. But that wasn't quite the right word, because it was almost like he was content with his own misery. His dark emotions confused me, but I tried to find the one that he was attempting to draw out for me. I knew he didn't like exposing his emotions like this—it was obvious. But it had to be done, and he wasn't about to complain.

  Patrick was standing beside me, his hand on my shoulder. He hadn't said a word since I'd agreed to go back, and I wondered what he was thinking. Was he hating me for making this choice? For making his brother a Demon, for ensuring his own death? It would be completely understandable if he was upset with me. But I honestly felt like I didn't have a choice. The sketch he'd made of me proved that I'd done this once before. So there must be a reason…

  Just like the Demon Lord had promised, I knew the memory Sean was trying to summon the moment I caught sight of it. It was a blue tendril of color that was lazily growing wider around his body. I squinted, watched it grow and grow, until I felt dizzy looking into it. And still the color seemed to get wider, hypnotic, much like Grandma's memory had been…

  Far Darrig really spoke for the first time, his voice oddly distant. “I see you on the hill. Walk toward me. Ask for Pastor O'Donnell…”

  I wanted to look up at his face, but I couldn't take my eyes off the soothing blue color that was now dominating my vision. I took a deep breath, and I tried to ignore the growing dizziness…

  I felt a tug on my stomach—was distantly aware of Patrick's fingers digging into my arm—and then I was blinded by a flash of light.

  I was standing on the top of a grassy knoll. I was still wearing my white top and faded jeans, but I was surrounded by green, and the blue sky was streaked with white clouds. A breeze fingered the loose hairs that had pulled free of my ponytail, and I could hear the distant sound of a dog barking.

  I heard something else—a sound I'd only ever heard in the movies.

  Someone was chopping wood.

  I turned around in a full circle, taking in the panoramic view.

  This was most certainly not the desert.

  I know, a stupid first thought. But all this green was just so alien to me. Large trees dotted the landscape, and I could see slightly crooked fences surrounding what had to be pastures. Everything was so open. I could see some distant buildings, further down a dirt road. Farms? Cottages? A low stone wall ran along one side of this knoll, and my eyes followed it until I saw a modest-looking structure I recognized from Patrick's sketches—it was his home.

  Behind the gray and brown house, across an empty pasture rested a small one-room church. It was white and stark and hard to ignore when everything else was covered in green.

  I started walking down the hill, following the stone fence. I wasn't sure if I was heading for the house or the church yet—I just knew I wanted to get closer to both.

  I realized belatedly that I was moving toward the sound of chopping wood, and sure enough, at the base of the hill, I could see a young man swinging an ax, his baggy white sleeves fluttering in the wind with each mighty stroke. Seeing his brown pants and suspenders, I was suddenly conscious of my modern apparel.

  Before I could worry about it too much, the young man was looking up at me, leaning on the handle of his ax, the position leisurely. He squinted through the several yards between us, but he was already smiling brightly. His aura matched him perfectly—completely different from the aura I'd just traveled through.

  He spoke pleasantly, but his words were incomprehensible—his language absolutely foreign to me. He finished his quick greeting, his expression kind and helpful.

  I think it was my blank stare more than my lack of immediate response that gave me away.

  Understanding dawned in his eyes, and he hurried to repeat himself in lilting English. “Hello. May I help you?”

  It was Sean. A much younger version of him, but there was no doubt that this was Far Darrig.

  I could barely believe it. The sunny grin, the handsome face, the clear blue eyes. And in that one second I hesitated. How could I turn him into Fa
r Darrig? This boy—fifteen, maybe sixteen—how could I be the one to set his horrible future into motion?

  He was still looking at me, waiting for an answer. His eyes had dashed across my body, but if he found my clothes odd he didn't draw attention to the fact. I guess it made sense. He'd been brought up by a religious father, so his manners were probably immaculate—especially if he was anything like his older brother.

  I was speaking before I could make myself regret the decision. “Yes. I'm looking for Pastor O'Donnell.”

  Sean nodded, his light brown hair shifting with the motion. “Sure. He'll be in the church about now, running through some wordy sermons most likely.”

  “Thank you,” I said automatically.

  He bowed his head respectfully. “My honor to help you.” His pleasant voice bordered on flirtatious, and his smile really was quite dazzling. He looked a lot like Patrick. His face was younger, a little more rounded, and open.

  I thanked him again and continued walking past him, toward the church. Once he was behind me and I heard the resumed sound of blade slamming against wood, I threw a last look at him over my shoulder. He was absorbed in his work, possibly used to strange people asking for his father. He would forget me, until Patrick sketched the picture tomorrow, and then Sean would struggle to remember where he'd seen my face. It would restart the whole cycle.

  But did I want that on my conscience?

  I left the question unanswered and instead moved along the stone fence, heading toward the church.

  Kate Bennett

  May 9, 1797

  Wexford County, Ireland

  Rolling hills covered this entire valley. It was one of the most beautiful places I'd ever seen, and I couldn't imagine growing up here. My artistic side was going wild. My fingers itched to capture everything, even though such a feat would be impossible. Surrounded by such beauty and peace, my body slowly relaxed, in spite of everything. It was so much easier to breathe here, compared to the room I'd so recently left. As unreal as my presence here was, there was something so tangible about this place. So real. I felt more alive here than in the present. But maybe that's because I had some measure of control here. I didn't have Demons breathing down my neck. I didn't have to watch Patrick's pain and confusion. I didn't have to worry about being killed any second.