When he had reached his place, once again, as it had happened already that same day, he regretted the decision. Nothing was left of his cottage. The wall that had valiantly kept the roof up had collapsed and now lay on the ground, nothing more than a heap of black charcoal. He had walked through his house and wondered at how small it all looked. The place he had called his was no more than a rectangle of flying ashes.
He had walked to the beach and opened the thin sleeping bag—the only one the store carried. The sandy shore was wet and cold and so he had relocated to higher ground, but it was rocky. After an hour or so of looking for a better spot, he had nested the sleeping bag between the knotty roots of an ancient pine tree. He couldn’t close his eyes for the continuous chirping and thrilling of the bugs living in the underwood, and the freezing cold, and the humidity that seeped through his bones and chilled him even more that the low temperature. But even on the softest of beds, he wouldn’t have slept anyway. His mind, but mostly his heart, was somewhere else entirely.
Ophelia’s words had hurt him deeper than the shifters’ curare-poisoned blades. She resented him because her wolf had chosen him. And such level of anger only meant one thing. She was already in love with someone else. Peter didn’t care to know who the recipient of her affections was because he would be liable to do something stupid. He would go and confront him or her.
He had to forget the werewolf and keep on living as if nothing had ever happened to him. But that wasn’t possible, was it? He had been attacked more times in the last three days than ever in all his long life—a demon was usually left alone and never received such levels of attention, paranormals were smarter than that. And he was currently homeless. All in all, he didn’t have much to look forward to at the moment.
Before him, a seagull rode the thermals in large spirals over his head, reminding him of yet another reason he had to be unhappy. Peter rose from his perch on the sandy ridge, let the threadbare cotton blanket fall on his naked feet, and let out a shout. He then breathed in and out, removed his clothes and plunged into the icy waters of the sea. The physical discomfort bordering on pain helped him regain some perspective on his current situation. He still had his job, if nothing else because he wouldn’t let go of it.
It was early in the morning when he entered the morgue at the Tiberina Island Hospital. Guglielmo was surprised to see him alone, but when Peter showed him the tray with the croissants and two espresso cups, he accepted the breakfast, and let him in the examination chamber without further questions.
Peter hurried to the table still placed in the middle of the room and uncovered the skeletons from the white shroud that someone, probably Guglielmo, had covered them with. The task ahead of him scared Peter. He had rarely pushed his readings beyond the limited window of the few hours before the death. Usually, his subjects’ last memories were comprehensive enough to give Peter a clear idea of the events leading to their demise. The common belief that one saw his entire life before his eyes when dying was based on the truth.
This time, Peter had to reach further back and that scared him. He would be living that couple’s last day on earth and it would drain him. But he had to know why Claudius didn’t want him digging in a tragic double suicide that happened so long ago.
He dragged one of the chairs in the corners to the table, then leaned closer to the remains, stretching his legs out in front of him. He knew that there wouldn’t be a comfortable position, but he had to relax. Once the reading started, he had no clue how long it would last and he might stay bent at the same angle for hours on end. Not feeling strong enough to relive Lucilla’s horror a second time, he extended his hand toward Valerius’s skull. At first, the boy’s memories were all about Lucilla and how it felt having her in his arms. At the end, he was at peace with the idea of dying, even eager to let go of his life because it meant a future for the two of them. But as Peter prodded and went back several hours, Valerius’s mood was different. Uncertainty reigned his thoughts. Before meeting Lucilla to put in action their plan, he went to see someone else.
“You must promise me we’ll be fine.” Valerio was agitated.
“I’ll do everything in my power to help you now and later.” A booming voice entered Valerius’s thoughts, but he wasn’t looking at the person who had spoken, his eyes were on the ground. “I’ll make you sleep. You won’t feel anything.”
“And we’ll be free to start anew in another life.” Valerius tilted his chin up. “Is that right, angel?”
The flutter of two majestic silver and white wings ruffled Valerius’s hair.
His interlocutor came into sight.
“Yes,” Peter said.
****
Ophelia turned off the burner. The tomato sauce she had left simmering for the last half hour was ready. “Choose the pasta you want.” She pointed at the blue packages on the kitchen counter. Preferring to have all the ingredients she might need handy, she never bothered to shelf her products in the pantry. It drove both Alexander and Samuel crazy, and anytime they visited, they rearranged her house according to their standard of livability. They hadn’t in a while though.
Malina eyed them, then pushed one toward Ophelia. “Linguine.”
“Excellent choice.” She checked if the water in the pot was boiling, then threw in the whole contents of the package, salted, and stirred the linguine with a wooden ladle. “Five minutes.” She always subtracted two minutes from the al dente suggested time of cooking. When it came to eating, there was nothing worse than soft pasta in her opinion.
Ophelia took two glasses from the cupboard and set them on the colorful tablecloth with the abstract pattern Malina had given her a few years before. “So, what have you been up to?” They had talked non-stop about her problems, but she wasn’t that oblivious to the fact that she had seen Malina withdrawn lately. Although her friend always sounded nauseatingly joyous, Ophelia knew something was different about Malina. It was in those pauses she took when she thought Ophelia wasn’t paying attention.
Malina shrugged. “Nothing really.”
“I don’t believe you.” She stirred the pasta once again, then turned to face Malina. “Spill it.”
“No, truly. I have nothing new to tell you.” Malina sat at the table, and relaxed against the back of the chair.
“What about that blond warlock?” Ophelia grabbed the two pot holders matching the tablecloth and proceeded to drain the pasta, squeezing past the table and the sink, without bumping into Malina. She had a good-sized dining room with a table that sat twelve, but rarely used it. She liked her small but cozy kitchen.
“What warlock?”
Ophelia scoffed. “Yeah, right, what warlock? The one I saw you with the other night?” The vapor coming up from the pasta curled her hair.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Aren’t you full of—” The doorbell rang and interrupted her.
“Are you expecting someone?”
“Nope.” Ophelia took the colander, dumped the pasta into the sauce pot, then motioned for Malina to come over. “Mind the fort.” She hurried through the hallway and called, “Who is it?”
“Peter.” His voice came muffled by the door, but it still reverberated inside her with a leg-weakening effect.
She unlocked the door with shaking hands. “Hi—”
His face was pale and haggard and he was leaning heavily against the doorframe.
“What happened to you?”
Peter opened his mouth as if to answer, but fell forward before he could say anything. She found herself supporting his body, but he was too heavy and dragged her to the floor with him. Before she realized she was touching him, she was pinned under him and unable to move. A subtle electricity hummed through her, but nothing as incapacitating as she had experienced outside his cottage.
“Malina!”
Running steps echoed in the hallway. “What—?”
Ophelia could barely breathe with the whole of Peter pressing over her chest. “
Help me out.” She immediately regretted her request though. “But try not to touch his bare skin.” She heard Malina grunt and a moment later, Peter was moved to the side, enough for her to slide away from him. She cushioned his head from hitting the floor and sat by him, then looked up at Malina. “Thanks.” An unbecoming feeling made her stomach clench as she searched her friend’s face for any hint she had experienced Peter’s power.
Besides panting from the exertion, Malina seemed otherwise unruffled. “What in the name of the Great Cat is happening here?”
Ophelia shook her head as she took a long breath. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“My goodness but he’s humungous.” Malina’s eyes roamed over Peter’s back, lingering over his shapely jeans. She tilted her head and smiled. “And that butt is scrumptious, isn’t it?”
Ophelia felt her wolf rising to challenge the shifter’s panther for ownership of the unconscious man. Stop it now. Still, beneath her wolf’s jealous reaction, there was a feeling of uneasiness that was entirely Ophelia’s. “Are you done verbally harassing him?”
Malina raised one eyebrow, her lips curved up in a knowing grin as she stepped closer to Peter.
Automatically, Ophelia’s hand shot forward to claim possession of Peter’s leg. It took her mind a moment to process that too was her doing, not her wolf’s.
“Thought so.” Malina bent to pat Ophelia’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about me.”
Ophelia couldn’t help but getting slightly closer to the demon. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Never mind. Do you want help getting him all the way inside or not?” Malina pointed her chin at the entry door kept open by Peter’s body.
Ophelia’s first reaction was to tell Malina she could take care of it by herself. “Sure.” Ophelia stood and with Malina they pulled and pushed Peter until he was in the hallway. When it was clear they would never be able to take him anywhere near a couch, she picked up a soft pillow from her bed and put it under his head.
She crossed her legs at the ankles and lowered herself to the floor by him. “I have to ask.”
Malina leaned against the wall. “What?”
“Did you feel anything when you touched him?” Ophelia hated that she had sounded emotional.
Malina shook her head and smiled. “Nope.”
Relief filled her and she knew the feeling was irrational. “Isn’t it a cruel joke that it seems I can only touch him when he is unconscious?”
Malina leaned against the wall, her arms folded low on her front. “I don’t think there’s anything fair in love.”
“This is not love.” Ophelia felt the sour tinge of her words on her tongue. She kept saying it, but at every repetition, the statement lessened in strength.
“Are you sure?”
Ophelia felt Malina’s eyes on her and she realized she was caressing Peter’s hair out of his face. She stilled her hand. “I would do the same for any friend.”
“Okay.” Malina’s expression said otherwise.
Peter moaned and had Malina not been present, Ophelia would have bent lower and brushed his mouth with hers. His eyes fluttered open, slowly focusing on hers.
“Ophelia?” His voice was a mere whisper.
She smiled down at him. “You’re safe.” She slowly removed her hand from his face and put some distance between them. Her back to the wall, she angled toward him. “What happened?”
He tried to push himself up, and when both Ophelia and Malina moved to help him, he shook his head. “I’m just dehydrated. If you could give me some water, that would be great.”
Ophelia looked up at Malina and the shifter nodded and left for the kitchen. She waited for her friend to be out of earshot, but still lowered her voice when she asked, “What is it?”
He pushed himself against the opposite wall. “I was there.”
“Where?”
He closed his eyes, then looked back at her as if he were trying to focus. “I was the one Valerius and Lucilla talked to.”
“What?”
Malina came back holding a tray with two glasses and a bottle of water. She also had her purse and jacket dangling from her arm. “I’m late for my next appointment.” She gave Ophelia a reassuring smile, and mouthed, “Call you later.” She nodded at Peter. “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of nurse Ophelia. Ciao.” She brought two fingers to her forehead, then left.
Ophelia sighed in relief. “What were you talking about?”
Peter raised a full glass to his lips and drank from it, a few sips at a time. “I went back to the morgue for a last reading.”
“Why?”
“I needed to go back further in their pasts.” He finished drinking the water, then refilled the glass. “My reading power is limited.”
She reached for her glass.
“It’s not that I access the dead’s entire life in one session. Usually, there is no need for a second reading because the memories contained in the last few hours of someone’s life are enough to discover if a death is natural or not. In most cases, it’s the only question that needs to be answered.”
Ophelia stared at him, caressing the rim of her glass.
“But once I read the dead, I care for them. For Barnes, the moment I give him cause of death, the case is closed. But I keep feeling the dead’s emotions, their fears, their joys. I don’t leave them. As I release their souls by telling their stories, I become part of them. I carry all of them with me. I relive their final minutes for days. I, who can’t remember who I was, am hundreds of different people at once.” He gave her a small smile, his eyes the lightest shade of blue. “It’s maddening.”
She placed her glass to the floor and hugged herself, least she would reach for him. “But what’s so different about Valerius and Lucilla that you went back and drained yourself?”
“I felt an even stronger connection than usual with them. Their memories were so vivid. And their deaths so senseless. Then the vampires’ and shifters’ attacks happened and I had to know. I had to dig. And—”
Her wolf fed from Peter’s anxiety and channeled the feeling back to her, making her hair stand out and her breathing become shallow. “And?” She felt lightheaded.
“I was there with them.” He stared at her.
“I don’t understand.”
“In reading Valerius, I went back to the day before they died. It was a big push. I had never done anything like that before, but it worked. Valerius was talking to someone, and when he looked at this person, I saw my face mirrored back.” He shook his head then a strangled laugh escaped his mouth. “No wonder the whole experience seemed so real this time. Their memories were also mine. I was the person they called for help. I was the angel of life who imparted death.”
****
Peter was overridden by a bout of nausea. He finally knew something about his past and it made sense with what he had become. “I murdered two teenagers.”
“You don’t know that.” Ophelia pushed herself away from the wall and stood close, too close to him.
He saw how her whole body was projected toward his, to comfort and nurture him. What would it feel for once to be touched without lust? He leaned away from her, and the hurt in her eyes translated into pain in his heart. “I don’t deserve you.”
“You don’t get to decide that. Remember?” She smiled at him, but her eyes were wet, her arms crossed before her in a hug he could never deliver without marring the action with a cheap aftertaste.
“My hands are stained with blood. Of all the things I imagined myself capable of, killing kids wasn’t on the list.” He needed to escape that hallway, but he had barely managed to arrive to Ophelia’s before his body had shut down.
“There might be an explanation.” Tears were freely falling from her eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I was an angel of life.”
She waited for him to explain his statement.
“I helped newborn souls to enter the mortal realm.”
; “I know what an angel of life does—” She shivered. “But how do you know you were one?”
“Because now I am the speaker for the dead.” The truth had always been out there for him to discover had he only put the dots together earlier.
“I’m not sure I follow you.”
“It’s so clear now.” In his abject misery, he felt like laughing. “All my powers were perverted. I birthed souls to life, now I deliver them to Tartarus and eternal death.” His mind kept going back to the moment he had seen himself in Valerius’s memory. The shock had been so great he lost the connection and didn’t see what had happened next.
“How did they die?”
“You mean how did I murder them?”
“No—”
He raised one hand to stop her. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see that.”
“Whatever you did, it preserved the boy’s body. But why would the vampires be interested in stopping you from retrieving that memory? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I must go back and finish what I started.” The idea was terrifying, but he couldn’t see any other solution.
She shot up. “No. You can’t.”
“I can’t go on living knowing what I know now and forget it ever happened.”
“I’m not saying that. You should rest first, then we can go together.” She looked down at him, then tilted her head to the side toward the rest of her house. “Are you hungry?”
“I must go back now.” He pushed his feet to the floor to stand, but his knees were too weak to support his weight. With a loud groan, he let out a breath, and shut his eyes.
“You’re in no condition to go anywhere. After you eat something, you can sunbathe on my terrace until you’re strong enough to walk away from here on your own. Deal?”
He raised his chin to look at her. Ophelia’s frame was lit by the brilliant light coming from the window behind her. Her hair looked like a halo. “As you order, princess.” He saw her eyes darkening for a moment as if a cloud had passed over her. “I meant no disrespect.”
The Hidden Demon Page 13