Demon Moon

by Meljean Brook

  And Savi watched helplessly as Hugh’s anger shifted, turned back on himself. Now he likely blamed himself for not warning her.

  As if she’d have listened. It was stupid.

  She opened her mouth to tell him so, but Lilith caught her eye and gave a quick shake of her head. The tightness around Savi’s lungs eased. Lilith had known Hugh for eight hundred years; she’d work him out of his guilt.

  Why did Colin have to push it that far? Dammit. But if Savi couldn’t ease Hugh’s mind about the past, then she could at least in the present.

  She took a deep breath before looking at Colin again. He stared disinterestedly back at her. “I’m going to walk over there and show you this,” she said, gesturing with the papers. “Are you going to hurt me?”

  A sharp smile curved his mouth, then froze as he flicked a glance over at Hugh and Lilith. A muscle in his jaw flexed.

  He couldn’t lie. He could posture and threaten silently, but the moment he spoke a lie, Hugh would know it. As it was, his hesitation had already given him away.

  “Bloody hell,” he relented, and his voice was thick with exhaustion. He sagged a little more against the glass. “Even if I weren’t so tired I’d fall down if I tried to chase you, I couldn’t hurt you.”

  Selah turned her head. Though Savi didn’t glance that way herself, she assumed the Guardian was looking to Hugh or Michael to confirm Colin’s statement. A moment later, Selah stepped from in front of the vampire and the tension in the room all but disappeared.

  Colin’s gaze remained on Savi as she approached him. His eyes narrowed slightly with amusement. “You’ve become as manipulative as the rest of us.”

  “It’s not manipulation, but an increasing sense of self-preservation,” Savi said. “You can triumph; I learned it from you.”

  “Be certain I shall triumph wholeheartedly and in the most fashionable way…when I’m up to it. Until then, please allow that I’m an old man who can barely stand.”

  “Then brace yourself, dadu.” From the top of the sheaf, she pulled out the photo she’d downloaded from the DMV database. “Look familiar? The original is in color; this is just black and white because of the printer. It’s a perfect likeness.”

  Colin blinked. “That’s not me,” he said with certainty.

  “Of course not. I found your old photo—it was a picture of a painting?” She waited for his nod before continuing, “I had to zoom in pretty close to tell. Whoever forged the ID for you did an excellent job. But this one is a real photo, and a real license; it was taken two weeks ago in a Los Angeles DMV. A replacement for stolen ID, or so this person claimed.”

  His brows drew together, but there was no surprise in his tone when he asked, “A demon?”

  Savi nodded. Only demons and Guardians could shape-shift, but there was little danger of a Guardian trying to impersonate him.

  “Fuck,” Lilith said. Savi glanced over at her; Lilith was still on the other side of the room, though now she sat on the sofa arm. Hugh sat on the cushion next to her; Michael and Selah remained standing. “What’s the damage?”

  Swallowing, Savi turned back to Colin. “So far, seventeen million siphoned from your established accounts into newly opened bank accounts. Credit cards to a P.O. Box, and the physical address given is always Norbridge Medical. The Navigators? Fifteen of them through Norbridge.”

  The corners of Colin’s mouth turned down, and the cords of his neck stood out as if he’d had to quickly suppress a violent reaction. “He’s using the vampires to watch me? And my acquaintances?”

  Behind her she heard Lilith and Hugh talking with Michael, their voices tight with quiet alarm, but she ignored them.

  “Apparently,” Savi said. “What do you want me to do about the money? I can freeze the accounts, transfer it back.”

  “Fuck the—” Colin closed his eyes, pressed his mouth shut. “It’s nothing. Pin money. And he’ll know we’re aware of his activity if you stop the accounts. Where is he now?”

  “Here. Transactions began showing up in San Francisco last week. Some of them must be yours, but not all of them. I need you to tell me which ones are legitimate, and I might be able to get a better fix on his location and activities. I’ve got a list here; the ones I’m certain are bogus I’ve separated here.” She showed him a section flagged with a sticky. “The legitimate ones are clipped together here—and these are the ones I have questions about.”

  He stared down at the papers for what seemed an endless moment, then looked back up at her. Fatigue and apology had drawn his skin tight. “I can’t do it now, sweet.”

  “I know. It’ll wait until after you wake up.” She hesitated, then added, “Colin, he must’ve seen you, been around you at some point within the past month or two. Maybe in your house. He couldn’t have created such a perfect replica based on description, and there are no photos anywhere to give him reference. Even his hairstyle is like yours is now.”

  Hugh said, “Perhaps your self-portraits?”

  Colin gave a small shake of his head. “Those that survived have been crated since the fire. I’ve only had them taken from storage in the past week.”

  “And he’s always painted his hair in an early-nineteenth-century style,” Lilith added. “He loves that image of himself—probably because it’s the last one he saw.”

  Colin threw Lilith an amused glance before closing his eyes again. “Bloody hell. I should have realized. Those blasted vampires that followed us, and the female in the alley—” He cut himself off, shook his head again. “Careless,” he muttered and his chin dipped forward to his chest.

  Savi automatically laid her hand against his cheek to steady him. Faint stubble rasped against her skin as he turned his head, pressed his lips into her palm.

  Her throat ached at the vulnerability exposed by the simple caress—his and hers.

  Inertia. Momentum. Perhaps it was already too late.

  “Colin,” she said quietly. “Go home. Come over to Hugh’s tonight, and we’ll go through these then.”

  She felt his smile against her hand. “This is much more pleasant than what awaits me in my daysleep, Savitri. I’ll take a minute more, even if I humiliate myself by toppling over.”

  She bit her lip. Vampires had lucid dreams during their daysleep, but she’d only heard them described as pleasant. The dreams drew from the last strong emotion during waking—which, for vampires, was usually the drinking of blood. Or sex.

  But she couldn’t stop herself. “Chaos?”

  He raised his head, and her throat closed at the bleakness there. “Yes.”

  Perhaps she could give him something else. She slid her hand around the back of his neck and tugged. “Kiss me good night,” she said, and allowed a smile to curve her lips. “I’m saving your fortune.”

  Disbelief replaced the despair. He glanced over her shoulder, then back to search her features, as if to determine if she was serious. “Savi—”

  She wouldn’t let herself think of what they’d see. “How far can you sense me, if my shields are completely down, and I’m projecting? A couple of miles? Will you feel it while you sleep?”

  His eyes widened, and he raised his hands to her face. His fingers trembled as he smoothed his thumbs along her eyebrows, then lowered his hands to cup her jaw. “I think so. Yes. God, if there is any mercy in the world for the cursed, then it will be yes.”

  She had to rise up on her toes to meet his lips; he dropped one arm to her waist and lifted her against him. Exhausted, but strong enough to hold her.

  Her shields fell away, and he sighed into her mouth, a soft, grateful exhalation. Though she could feel the need in him, he kissed her lightly, with a quick sweep of his tongue between her lips that would be imperceptible to their audience.

  Not wanting to embarrass her with a more sexual display? Or an unwillingness to have more than this without privacy between them? He hadn’t taken such care at Polidori’s—was it the difference in his regard for those who shared the room, or a differe
nce in his regard for her?

  It didn’t matter; it was care, and it slipped into her and wrapped itself around her heart.

  He broke the kiss gently. Then, watching her with an expression of surprise, as if she’d done something beyond his understanding, he set her feet on the floor.

  But she couldn’t stop falling.

  “Michael,” Lilith said, and her voice was strained, as if she was trying not to burst into laughter, “I think it’s best that you take him now.”

  “We’ll send along Sir Pup in a few minutes, Colin,” Hugh added. “He can watch for the demon as you sleep.”

  Never tearing his astonished gaze from Savi’s, Colin nodded his agreement.

  He disappeared a moment later. Savi stared at her reflection in the dark glass, then saw Hugh in the background, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders were shaking. Lilith wasn’t holding hers in anymore. Even Sir Pup was grinning.

  Her cheeks burned, but she forced herself to turn and look at them.

  Lilith flashed her teeth in a wicked grin. “I never thought I’d see the day when Colin didn’t protest Sir Pup coming to his house.”

  “Or kissing a woman as if his life depended on it.” Hugh finally lifted his head, and wiped at his eyes. He sobered quickly. “But then, maybe it does.”

  “Maybe it does.” Lilith’s gaze narrowed. “Are you going to tell us what happened in Caelum?”

  “No,” Savi said. But she wouldn’t have a chance against both of them if they pressed for answers. She turned to Selah, whose face was impassive but for the amusement sparkling from her blue eyes. “Please take pity on a poor human, and teleport me the hell out of here.” When the Guardian hesitated and looked to Hugh, she added, “You’d be thwarting Lilith. Didn’t she beat you up and chain you to Colin’s bed last year? Consider this a form of payback.”

  Selah vanished, then instantly reappeared by Savi’s side. She held out her hand, an impish smile widening her cupid’s-bow mouth. Savi took it gratefully. “Home, please.”

  “You manipulative little slut!” Lilith gasped in mock outrage. They teleported away to the sound of Hugh’s laughter.

  Not manipulation. Self-preservation.

  CHAPTER 13

  Disaster has struck my poor friend. I do not know if I am to blame; I only know that he is dead.

  —Colin to Ramsdell, 1821

  Once the world righted itself again, Colin regretted he hadn’t been more specific in his destination. When he’d projected an image of his bed to give Michael an anchor, he’d assumed Michael would take him to Polidori’s.

  But he was in his newly refinished Haight-Ashbury home—in his bedroom—and the Doyen’s attention had been arrested by the paintings hanging against every available inch of wall space at one end of the suite.

  The enormous third-floor room with its vaulted ceilings was almost empty of furniture—only a wide, tufted chaise longue was centered in the gallery. His bed dominated the other end, its heavy, chocolate-brown velvet curtains tied back in welcome. The turrets flanking the northern end of the house served as his dressing room and shower; each circular room was open to the main suite, and subtly decorated.

  The paintings served as the focal point of the room, but Colin had never intended the focus to be anyone’s but his.

  Not that it mattered. Everything he’d had to hide had been laid bare with a simple question: Are you going to hurt me?

  God, no. Never again.

  Savi’s psychic scent surrounded him—oh so light and elusive, but it prevented the darker, rotting odor from intruding. Reality over memory. She gave him this, when she should have punished him for revealing anything of Caelum to Castleford and Lilith.

  What was wrong with her, that she forgave so easily?

  Colin pulled off his jacket and pushed off his shoes, then sank down onto the chaise lounge. He couldn’t remain upright. Didn’t want to make the effort to get to the bed. Probably couldn’t stay awake until Michael finished his perusal.

  “It’s an incredible likeness.” The Doyen’s quiet observation came through Colin’s haze of sleep, and he looked up. Michael stood before a portrait of Emily and Ramsdell, his bronze hands clasped behind his back as if he were a visitor in a museum. His profile could have been a statue’s, but a smile softened his lips. “It is unfortunate he could not remain in Caelum; he would have made a fine Guardian.”

  Colin roused himself enough to respond, “Perhaps, but he and my sister wouldn’t call his decision unfortunate.”

  “Yes.” Michael regarded Colin briefly. “Her countenance is remarkably like yours.”

  Colin studied Emily’s face, her expression enraptured as she stared down at Ramsdell, and swallowed past the ache in his throat. “Yes.”

  Savi had looked at him like that. Once.

  The Doyen took a turn through the turret room and continued until he faced the piece that served as the nexus of the gallery. “To be truthful,” Michael said after a moment, “I did not realize you were strong enough to open the doors. Any other nosferatu-born vampire could not have. You were both fortunate in the outcome; Caelum does not always show itself kindly to those unprepared to see it.”

  The broad line of his back obscured the bottom middle of the painting from Colin’s view, but he did not need to see it to know what the Doyen’s body hid from him.

  Savi, standing on the lip of the fountain. The sun shining through her wet clothes, limning her form in golden light. Her gaze bright and warm, inviting.

  She’d been utterly enthralled, and the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

  He closed his eyes.

  “You must take more care that this demon does not discover your link to Chaos,” Michael said from a great distance. “But do not fear that I will ask you to return to that realm, unless it is absolutely necessary.”

  With his last bit of sense, Colin grasped at Savi’s psychic scent, pulled it in tight, and thrust the Doyen’s words away.

  He’d die before he’d go back.

  This time, Colin was the one who pulled her forward. A fountain sat centered in the courtyard: a marble obelisk ringed by a waist-high wall of stone. Water sheeted from around the top of the pillar in a perfect, unbroken arc, falling silently to the pool below.

  “My brother-in-law told me of the sea surrounding Caelum, but he did not mention this. Listen,” he said, drawing to a halt a few yards from it.

  Savitri held her breath, her lips slightly parted. “I can’t hear it.”

  “Nor can I. Ramsdell said he’d dive into the sea and wouldn’t create a splash. That it remained smooth as glass. I’d assumed he was boasting of his excellent form.”

  Again that giddy panic rose within him, but he pushed it down. But for the noises they made and the faint sounds of Auntie sleeping in Michael’s temple, Caelum could have been a tomb. Nothing lived or grew there—only Guardians, and they’d left to fight an impossible battle against Lucifer and the nosferatu.

  And no Guardians would live to return, unless they sent the nosferatu to Chaos, where the screams and the dragons and the wyrmwolves…

  No.

  Savitri let go his hand, walked toward the fountain.

  No. He fought it back.

  The screams faded.

  She laid her palms flat atop the wall, leaned forward to look down into the pool. Lifting herself, she straddled the wide edge, her legs dangling on either side. Her skirt slid up to her knees. “It’s just like a mirror,” she said. “Come see.”

  A short laugh escaped him. “No. I will forgo that particular pleasure.” He did not want to see himself absent in a reflection of Caelum, of all places. Nor, heaven forbid, have it act as a real mirror.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” She turned back to him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  He lifted his shoulder in a careless shrug, and tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers. His rough fingernails snagged the finely knit wool.

  Her head tilted, and she subjected him
to a scrutiny as thorough as she’d given all of the impossible forms they’d run across. Interest so intense it pinned him in place, burned through him.

  Unable to bear the heat of it, he dropped his gaze to her throat. The bloodlust nipped at his tongue. His mouth was parched, his thirst sudden and powerful.

  “You look as though you belong here,” she said quietly.

  He stepped toward her and didn’t try to hide his fangs when he smiled. “Are you telling me that I’m beautiful?”

  Her lashes fanned against her cheeks as she looked down at her hands. After a moment, she raised her gaze to his again. “There is that, but you are also incredibly white. You could have been formed from the same marble.” She ran the tips of her fingers along the edge of the wall.

  Arrested by the contrast of her skin against stone, Colin paused. His gaze followed the long, smooth sweep of her hand.

  Savitri was the only bit of color, the only bit of life in the beautiful, sterile tableau.

  He could be beautiful without appearing lifeless and pale. He preferred color; in the past century, he simply hadn’t wanted the pain that came along with gaining it.

  But here…he lifted his face to the sun, gauged its strength. His hands slipped from his pockets, rose to his collar. The shirt buttons irritated his raw fingertips.

  She turned her head and reached down to dip her hand into the pool.

  No, Savitri. Look at me.

  Her fingers glistened when she lifted them again, and the water she poured from her cupped palm fell soundlessly. She shook her head in disbelief, then wiped her wet hand on her skirt.

  “I pass the test, and remain Savi,” she murmured, then blushed slightly when he lifted a brow. How extraordinary. Savitri had a fanciful streak hiding beneath the curiosity and logic.

  She quickly added, “There’s something written at the base of the obelisk, but it’s too small for me to read from here. Can you read it?”

  To his surprise, he could only discern the tiniest etching, not make out individual letters. “No. My eyesight is phenomenal, but that must have been written by your Elves. Or faeries.”