The Hidden Demon

by Monica La Porta

  “Can he do it?”

  Valerius nodded. “He said he can give us eternal life, but we’ll have to leave these bodies behind.”

  “Will you find me?”

  “Always.”

  Peter gasped. The reading had been clearer than any other he had ever done. Ophelia was staring at him, standing halfway across the room as if she had thought of coming to his rescue, then paused midway. He brought a hand to his face and realized he had been crying.

  “What did you see?” Ophelia took two steps toward him, but again, hesitation was written all over her movements.

  “She was savagely beaten and violated by her clan—”

  Ophelia shook her head, her eyes big and liquid while she hugged herself. “It can’t be. Quintilius would’ve never allowed it.”

  “The dead never lie.”

  “No, you don’t understand. Quintilius was already head of the clan when she was alive and he would’ve never let anyone hurt a girl. I know.” Ophelia looked distressed.

  “I’m sorry, but I only channel what the deceased saw and experienced before dying. For the whole length of the reading, I am the dead.” Peter felt the urge to console her, but thought better of it just before his naked hand would have stroked her hair. He saw the moment she realized he would touch her and her eyes became wide, her whole body freezing, waiting for him to finish the action. And he also saw when her face shattered and her body seemed to shrink. The weight of the reading and a sense of misery the likes of which he had never experienced before possessed him, and he staggered toward the chairs they had left by the corner.

  Ophelia didn’t move this time.

  “They had someone helping them—” He tried to put together the words he needed to explain what he had seen through the girl’s eyes.

  “Help with what? Escaping?”

  “No, they had nowhere to go. They wanted to escape life.”

  “So, someone helped them die?”

  “It seems so. I can’t do another reading now.”

  “Don’t worry. I think it’s enough for today.” She walked to the rack where she had hung her satchel and plunged both hands in it, looking for something. Finally, her right hand reemerged with her cell phone. “I’ll inform Barnes.”

  A few minutes later, they were walking through the Promenade again, heading toward Castel Sant’ Angelo. Barnes had summoned them to his office to give a detailed account of what Peter had found.

  “Peter, Ophelia. Please take a seat. Have something to drink or eat. The Elders and Quintilius have been called as well. As you can imagine, this case is becoming an interspecies issue that must be solved as soon as possible.” Barnes had looked tired when he opened his office door for them to enter.

  Peter wasn’t surprised the heads of both the Immortal Council and the Shifters Coalition had been called to preside. His work was invaluable, but he was still a demon. No one in the paranormal world would listen to him. His words must be digested by the appointed officials, then divulged to the masses with whatever message they deemed useful to promote their agenda. Nobody would ever care for the young werewolf and the vampire who had loved her.

  Peter excused himself and went to the restrooms, where he sent Arariel a text explaining what he had found. He didn’t dare call the archangel. In Castel Sant’ Angelo, even the walls had ears. Arariel texted him back a moment later to acknowledge he had received Peter’s message.

  Chapter Four

  Ophelia stood still the whole session, wishing it would end already.

  She had wanted to talk to Peter before Quintilius and the Elders arrived, and she had followed him, hoping to intercept him outside of the restrooms. When he had taken longer than a few minutes to get out, she had almost entered the lavatory, but Quintilius—the very reason she wanted to talk to Peter—had prevented her from doing so by strolling down the corridor as she was lowering the handle. The werewolf shook his head, then his eyebrows shot up as Peter appeared from behind that door. Uncharacteristically, Ophelia blushed as if her father had caught her doing something inappropriate, but such was her relationship with Quintilius. She wanted to say, “It’s not what you think,” but Quintilius’s puzzled expression prevented her from talking for fear of making everything worse. Head low, she followed him and Peter back to Barnes’s. Just before entering the office, Quintilius let Peter pass then raised one hand for Ophelia to stop.

  “You know how much I love you.”

  It wasn’t a question and Ophelia felt her heart swell two sizes. “Love you too.” They entered and divided. He went straight for one of the chairs Barnes had added for the occasion, while she gravitated toward Peter who stood by the window.

  The three immortal Elders arrived a few minutes later. She knew of them. Caius, Martenna, and Laerte were among the oldest people alive. Outside of the Immortal Council, nobody knew for sure how old they were, but rumors had it they had been alive for more than ten millennia. And as typical with Elders, the three did look old, as a century-old human would have looked.

  Ophelia had rarely any reason to deal with the Elders, and the few times that had occurred she had always hoped for a swift resolution of the affair. Elders had a way about them that was unnerving, as if there was nothing left in this world to surprise them.

  While Peter was grilled by the three men—Quintilius remaining silent for long stretches of time—she wondered if beings that age would remember what a broken heart felt like. The immortals asked Peter to go through the reading, recounting every last detail. If they were aware of the demon’s suffering, they didn’t show any sympathy. Instead, Laerte asked Peter more than once to repeat a certain passage. Ophelia realized then that Peter’s power went deeper than she had understood and that he had been careful with what he told her and he skimmed over many of the details. When the immortal had Peter repeat the whole ordeal the poor girl had gone through at the hand of her pack, Ophelia had to excuse herself and ran to the bathroom.

  Sliding to the cold marble floor, she couldn’t repress the sobs escaping her mouth as she wiped the river of tears from her face. Image after image of all the pain and the humiliation that poor girl had experienced passed before her closed eyes and mixed with her memories.

  The collar felt tight on her throat. She had been trying to loosen it, but the rusty metal chafed her skin and several blisters had formed. The merchant had finally left her alone. Too tired and weak to cry or shout, Ophelia whimpered.

  She was ashamed of herself, of how easily he had made her act against common sense. Her own stupidity to blame, she had sent Septher away and let the foreigner in her chamber. No one around to come to her help when he drugged and bound her. She awoke miles away from the palace. On a trireme. In the middle of the blue Mediterranean Sea.

  The knock on the door came several minutes later and diverted her thoughts back to the present.

  “Lia?” Quintilius was the only one who called her that, but he hadn’t used it in so long she had forgotten how much she liked it.

  “Give me a moment.” She stood and reached the sink to splash some cold water over her face, now blotched and swollen under her eyes. She patted her skin with a towel and only managed to make the red spots ruddier.

  A second knock. “Come out, my pet. Please.”

  Ophelia always felt like a kid around Quintilius, and she always obeyed him, even when he was pleading with her like he had just done. She opened the door before he had to call her a third time.

  “Oh, my sweet Lia.” At seeing her, he opened his arms and she leaned into his embrace.

  “You were always so nice to me. You never allowed anyone to touch me. Why did you let those animals do that to her?” She couldn’t help but start sobbing again.

  Quintilius patted her back and softly shushed her. “Her name was Lucilla. Peter just told me.”

  “Lucilla…” Repeating the girl’s name made Ophelia feel even closer to her, as if she had just called out for a friend.

  “When I was informed the rem
ains belonged to a werewolf, I immediately thought of her. But, after so long, I couldn’t be sure. I had looked for her everywhere in Rome. No rock was left unturned.” Quintilius sighed against her and hugged her tighter. “She’s the reason why I’ve been ruling the pack with a steel glove ever since. I couldn’t save her and I’ve always wondered what had happened to her. Two thousand years later, I finally find Lucilla, and yet my conscience isn’t at peace.”

  “But you didn’t give the order to—” She had to ask.

  “Of course not, my pet. Lucilla’s family shunned her, and a band of savages, who had disobeyed my orders on more than one occasion, thought no one would hold them accountable for their actions.” Quintilius’s voice broke at the end. “They were wrong. When I was informed of what they had done, I made them pay with their lives, but not before taking my time with them.”

  “She walked through Rome bleeding and wounded and not a single soul stopped to help her.” She couldn’t help but draw comparison between herself and Lucilla. “How was that possible?” She was shaken by a long shiver. “The things that they did to her—”

  “I wish I could’ve done something for Lucilla, if she only had come to me, but she was gone when I started the search.” Quintilius raised her chin with his finger and cleaned her tears away. “I couldn’t save her, but I saved you, Lia.” He bent and left a peck on her forehead.

  Ophelia caught the retreating shadow a moment before it disappeared behind the corner and saw the heel of Peter’s reinforced boots. He had come to check on her.

  “Is there anything I should know?” Quintilius leaned away to look at her.

  She put more distance between them and shook her head. “Nothing. Why would you ask?” Her wolf nudged at her thoughts, asking to be let out around Quintilius’s.

  To her relief, he gave her a raised eyebrow but also a smirk. “If you say so. But remember, I’ve been around for a very long time and I’m never wrong.”

  She rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “Good for you I’d never be rude to my betters because you are full of it.”

  He shook his head, but his eyes shone with love. “Any other member of the clan would’ve been whipped by now.”

  “I am no other member of the clan.”

  “You are still my princess.” He ruffled her hair as he had done so many times before.

  She closed her eyes to fully enjoy the moment. “I’ll find out what happened to Lucilla.”

  They walked back to Barnes’s office, and Ophelia was relieved to see the immortals had already left and the atmosphere in the room was much lighter.

  Barnes, who had been pacing when she entered, sat heavily back on his chair. “I apologize, Peter, for their treatment of you. They would’ve done the same with one of their own.”

  “I know it’s nothing personal.” Peter stood behind his chair, both hands on its headrest, his left leg nervously moving against the other.

  Ophelia felt bad for him, forced to relive that horror twice. She turned toward Barnes. “May we leave as well?”

  He waved at both her and Peter. “Yes, go ahead and take the rest of the day off. We’ll keep in touch.” Then he tilted his head toward Quintilius. “A word with you, if you please?”

  Quintilius hugged Ophelia and kissed both her cheeks. “We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  She hugged him back and basked in his scent. Quintilius always wore the same cologne. Tobacco leaves and patchouli meant family to her.

  “Time to go?” Peter called her from the door.

  By the time she reached him, Quintilius and Barnes were already deep in conversation.

  “I’m starving. May I offer you lunch?” Peter’s pace was hurried and she had to make an effort to match his stride.

  Instead of taking the elevator, he took the stairs.

  She ran after him, thankful for the physical activity. “I could use some food, but I don’t want to drive. Let’s eat in one of the restaurants on the other side of the bridge.” One bike ride with him was enough for the day.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Despite his words, Peter’s demeanor had looked less than thrilled, but when she asked if he wanted to go somewhere else, he shook his head and marched forward.

  They reached the ground level and exited Castel Sant’ Angelo by the human gate. She directed him to a small place, a family-owned tavern called Mamma Luisa where she and Alexander had used to break their fast after a night of partying. Since her immortal friend had found love, that too was gone. Her carefree, fun, unrepentant Alexander would become a dad soon. She almost couldn’t believe how her life, that had stayed the same for so long, could change so drastically in a matter of days. Alexander, Samuel, and even Marcus, in his own elusive way, had been by her side for as long as she could remember. Now, they had found different purposes in life, and she felt left behind. She was happy for them, all of them, including Samuel, whose own happiness was breaking her apart, but she wanted to belong to something—someone once again.

  When they were in sight of the restaurant, Peter pointed his chin at a century-old Mediterranean pine tree on her right. “Paparazzi doing a poor job in hiding.”

  Ophelia sighed out loud. “Ignore him.” She headed toward Mamma Luisa’s entry and opened the door with more strength than necessary.

  Mamma Luisa’s son, Piero, a bald, middle-aged man with the warmest smile, greeted her with a laugh. “Ophelia Neferet! What a pleasure to see you again, darling.”

  “Hi, Piero. How are you?” She hadn’t eaten at the tavern in almost six months. More or less the time Alexander and Ravenna had been together. Maybe she should start new habits. Or frequent with new people.

  “What can I serve you and your friend?” Piero gave Peter a once over that would have embarrassed anyone else, but not the demon who promptly introduced himself and asked for the special of the day.

  “The usual for me. Thanks.” Ophelia had to wave her hand before Piero twice before the man would peel his eyes from Peter, who didn’t seem the least perturbed by Piero’s attentions.

  “This place smells awesome.” Peter looked around at the small restaurant.

  Only one table was taken, and before Piero went to check on the patrons, he directed Ophelia and Peter to a cozy corner with the full view of the Tiber River and Castel Sant’ Angelo behind.

  “There you are.” Peter walked to the right wall where framed shots of celebrities were hung on the cream stucco.

  “That is Alexander. I’m on that wall only because I was the Greek’s accessory the day the pic was taken.” She looked closely at the frame and almost didn’t recognize herself. Her hair was sleek and straight and cascaded over her shoulders.

  Peter leaned closer too, but respected that awkward distance he kept maintaining between the two of them. “I like you better this way.”

  She was surprised by his comment. “Which way?”

  He raised his gloved hand and traced the contour of her hair without touching it. “Like this. Wild.”

  She felt his breath on her right ear and shivers ran through her back.

  “Perfect.”

  His last word left her breathless. Piero came back with the bread basket and a complimentary bottle of wine and they sat at their table.

  “You got the royal treatment.” Ophelia played with the bottle of Montalcino Piero had uncorked for them.

  “I have my fans.” Peter’s lazy smirk was back.

  After the morning he had just had, seeing him back to his usual self was a treat. The whole room seemed to light up because of his smile.

  “As I seem to have mine. Only they look more like stalkers and less like fans.” She had hoped the paparazzi was alone, but he must have been scouting for a scoop and thought better to call the cavalry.

  “Well, one thing must be said about that journalist—she doesn’t relent, does she?”

  “Told you.”

  Lena Chiosi, whose too-pretty face and too-sugary voice had become all too familiar to Ophelia, was standing befor
e the restaurant with a posse of journalists behind her.

  “Let’s eat first.” Peter broke a piece of bread and held it before her mouth.

  “Are you sure you want to give them fodder for gossip?” Ophelia raised an eyebrow.

  He slightly cocked his head. “Smile, you’re on camera.” Then he pushed the small piece of bread toward her lips and waited for her to open them.

  “If you don’t mind having your face on every gossip magazine—”

  His eyes shone with a warm light-brown shade. “Not so long ago, you reminded me I have a soiled reputation already. What can they do to my image I haven’t already achieved by myself?”

  She rolled her eyes heavenward. “Paranormals are a bunch of idiots.”

  “Not all of them.” Ever so slowly, he leaned forward, his gloved fingers almost, but not quite, grazing her bottom lip as he pressed the small morsel to it.

  Even though he hadn’t touched her, she felt the effect of his phantom brush nonetheless. Hoping he couldn’t see how her body reacted, she smiled and accepted his offering by closing her mouth around the tiniest bit. Flashes flickered behind the glass window as she ate the bread, making a scene of enjoying it.

  When a moan escaped her throat, Peter laughed.

  Relaxing against the back of his chair, his arms now folded on his chest, he gave her a slow look, then sighed. “You do everything as if you know it is the last time you’ll do it.”

  “It could be.” The memory of how her life had changed in the blink of an eye kept her constant company. She had been an Egyptian princess one day and a slave the next. Mortal one night, a werewolf a few hours later. Nothing was guaranteed where she was concerned. Nothing stayed the same, even when it lasted two thousand years. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to me tomorrow. Yesterday, I didn’t know I would be here today eating lunch with you. Tomorrow—” She stopped before embarrassing herself by saying, “Tomorrow I could find out the love of my life is in love with someone else.”