by Jill Archer
“Where do demons come from, anyway?” I said. I gave the dish in my hand a final wipe and carefully placed it in the cupboard. “I heard they were spawned from the ground, with no parents, but someone has to raise them.”
Beside me, Joy was completely still. I realized I’d just blurted out my question, with no context or explanation of the thoughts that had led me to it.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that, earlier, you said you see things. Well, I’ve never heard of anyone knowing where or when a demon child would be born. But then I’d never heard of anyone being hveit until I met you… I thought maybe, if you could see… Anyway, we have an assignment, Ari and I… It’s been difficult,” I finished lamely.
Joy grunted. I couldn’t tell if she thought I was grossly understating the situation or if she thought I shouldn’t waste words stating the obvious. How much had Ari told her about St. Luck’s?
How much had she seen on her own?
“The woman involved wants a child,” I said. “I was just wondering whether giving her one would help.”
“‘The woman’? Aren’t you talking about a demon?” Joy looked at me curiously.
“Yes, but not the one that attacked me. That was my client.” I laughed self-consciously. Most Host would believe the attack my fault since I’d failed to control the situation.
“Is this… woman capable of raising a child?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, hesitantly, “but possibly a demon child. Who raises demon children anyway? Or are they spawned as adults?” Of course, if that were the case, I needn’t spend even two more seconds considering what was already a fairly preposterous solution.
Joy stared out the window, silent. She waited for so long to answer I thought the conversation might be over—that she didn’t have any answers for me or that she felt the subject matter too uncomfortable to continue discussing. She peered out of the darkening window as if looking back through time. What memory was she recalling? Her pushing Matt in the swing? Her helping Ari down the slide? Finally, she spoke.
“Ari’s told me a bit about your background. It’s curious that Karanos never sent you and your brother to an occult school. He must have had his reasons. I took a different approach raising Ari. I’m Hyrke and so are Steve and Matt. But I didn’t want Ari to grow up ignorant of Host ways.” She turned off the water and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms in front of her.
“No, demon children aren’t spawned as adults. And many are raised by others. But regardless of whether a child is demon, Host, or Hyrke, shouldn’t the parent who is raising them be capable? Demons respond to a strong hand, to rules, boundaries, and discipline, do they not? The parent of any child should be able to teach their child how to follow the rules.”
“Yes, I know. Praeceptum primum, praeceptum solum. Even I know that.”
“If this demon isn’t capable of following rules, the last thing she should be doing is raising a child.”
“She hasn’t broken any rules. It’s my client who wants to renege on his promise. He’s the one who wants a divorce. I feel sorry for her.”
“Because her husband wants to leave her?”
“No, because… because she can’t have a child.” I looked away quickly.
Joy put her hand on mine. It was still warm from the water.
“Are we talking about the demon or you, Noon?” I fixed my expression and stared back at her, snatching my hand away. I didn’t want her to see.
“You can always adopt,” Joy said quietly.
“You had a son, birthed a child. Is it really the same?”
The words slipped out before I could even think about them. Only after I heard them did I realize how horrible they sounded. Joy stared at me with those big pink preternatural eyes. Magic or no, she could be pretty intimidating.
“I have two sons, Noon.”
I swallowed over the hard lump in my throat and nodded.
“You know, I cherish every day of my life spent with them.” She reached into the soapy water and let the plug out of the drain. The water gurgled and swirled in the sink. “I wasn’t sure what to think of you at first.”
“I know. You would have been happier with Bryony.”
“No,” she said simply. “It’s only that it’s not every day you meet the woman your son is willing to die for.”
The words to downplay our feelings were on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to assure her that things had not gone that far. But then I wondered. Had she seen something? I froze, speechless for a moment. She couldn’t have meant her words literally.
“That’s just an expression, right?” People said things like that when they really just meant a person had strong feelings for someone. “I mean, he wouldn’t… he can’t…” I gripped the counter, absolutely unwilling to contemplate a reality where those words were actually true. “Ari doesn’t…” I made a choking sound, no longer able to speak. I wished now I’d never even brought up Lamia and children, or me and my stupid unobtainable desires. I wished I’d never opened the door to serious discussion with this woman. She scared me.
“You don’t mean it,” I whispered.
“There are worse fates than dying for someone you love.”
“No! That’ll never happen. Things would never get that bad. He has to know I wouldn’t want that, couldn’t… How could I go on living after something like that?”
She smiled, but it was a sad smile. She reached out and touched a lock of my hair. She twirled it for a moment and then tucked it behind my ear. Her next words were solemn.
“As I said, there are worse fates than dying for someone you love.”
* * *
Ari came into the bathroom later that night after I finished brushing my teeth. I had on a pair of pink silk shorts and a white camisole.
“Can your mom see the future?” I asked.
“What? No,” he said so matter-of-factly it instantly calmed me. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“She said she could see things. I just wondered what she meant.”
Ari paused, choosing his next words carefully. “She’s good at reading people and how they’ll react in certain situations, but she’s a Hyrke, Noon. She doesn’t have magic like us. Her ability to see the future isn’t much more than Hyrke intuition.” The tone of his voice indicated there was nothing further to discuss, or just that he had other things on his mind. He shut the door behind him and quietly turned the lock. He crept over to me.
“What are you doing?”
“What I’ve wanted to do all day.”
He picked me up and sat me on the bathroom sink. I teetered on the edge and put my arms around his waist for support. He cupped my lower jaw, his long fingers touching at the base of my neck. When he had me just where he wanted me, he brushed my lips with his.
“Ari,” I breathed, my lips parting. My signature flared as if I were a kiln that had just been lit. He pressed his lips to mine again, his mouth softly insistent. He smelled of sweat, wood, and work.
“We built you something,” he murmured into my hair, pressing me close. I tensed. “Nouiomo, you’ve got to get over your fear.”
“I’m not afraid of fire,” I scoffed, leaning back. I almost tumbled into the sink though and Ari reached out to grab me.
“Yourself,” he said, holding tight to my arms. “You’re afraid of yourself. You have trouble controlling Nergal because your magic has two speeds, timid and berserk. In order to control a demon, you’ll need to throw magic that is consistently strong and well shaped, not magic that is thrown in sputtering bursts or big, unshaped blasts. You need to stop adding emotion to it. That’s what’s making it so capricious and ineffective. You’re going to have to lose your self-consciousness and your fear of waning magic if you want to manipulate it and use it to control a demon. You’re going to have to learn to use waning magic like it’s a toothbrush or a hairbrush. It’s a tool, Noon. Nothing else.”
Many of the
things Ari said were true. I was afraid of myself, especially my magic and what it could do. And maybe my magic did have only two speeds: cautious and crazed. And it was true that I added emotion to my magic to make it stronger. But was that always wrong? Rochester and Ari seemed to think so. But maybe that was because waning magic users instinctively threw magic using destructive emotions like fear, anger, and hate and those emotions made magic capricious and unstable. I couldn’t help wondering what might happen if I intentionally threw magic using other emotions. More positive, life-affirming ones.
Was I brave enough to test my theory at tomorrow night’s bonfire?
The next day was the sort of day I’d dreamed about during school, after I’d read 180 pages of Oathbreaking cases, drafted a dozen case briefs, memorized the elements of sixteen evil deeds, reviewed eight sacrifice offers, and wrote (yet another) futile letter of advice to Nergal, all on less than five hours of sleep with barely more than coffee and a chocolate bar to keep me going. We slept in, woke to a breakfast of whole wheat pancakes with bacon and pan-seared potatoes and then lounged around on the couch playing mancala and looking through old photo albums.
One picture, in particular, fascinated me. A young Joy stood in front of the Lethe with an infant in her arms. Bright sunlight glinted off her hair and she squinted, one hand raised over her brow to block the sun. She grinned and gazed adoringly up at the camera obscura. I knew Steve had taken the picture. At her feet was a small reed basket.
“What’s with the basket?”
“Joy found me at the riverfront one morning, floating around in that basket.” He took the picture from me, staring at it more closely. But the only emotion in his voice was amazement. “If she hadn’t come along, I would have drowned.” He put the picture back in the album and turned to me. At first, I was unable to speak. It was unthinkable that a mother would have floated her newborn out into the Lethe to drown.
“Why?”
Ari shrugged. “Who knows? At first, my parents thought it was someone from Bradbury who couldn’t afford a child. Even then Joy was known for taking things in, shining them up, and making them useful again. But then, when it became clear I was no ordinary Hyrke child, they looked to Etincelle. There are a few Host families in New Babylon, but not many, and the current flows in the opposite direction. It was pretty clear that basket had come from your side of the river.”
“Then who are your real parents?”
Ari laughed. “Steve and Joy Carmine.”
“But… don’t you want to know?”
“No. As far as I’m concerned, I was born in that basket.”
Ari tucked the picture back into the album and turned the page, chuckling over some other recalled memory. His signature was flat and steady as a board. I marvelled that he could be so cavalier about the circumstances surrounding his birth. I remembered the conversation we’d had in my dorm room on the first day of school, when Ari had confronted me about my birth and my angry, resentful feelings over it. What had he said?
Why do you waste one second on what might have been? What is, is. That’s the only thing that matters.
He hadn’t just been saying it; he’d been living it.
Dusk came quicker than I would have liked. I knew Ari was expecting me to participate in the bonfire lighting, but the whole idea of willingly burning something in front of an audience, no matter how celebratory the occasion might be, made me heart-poundingly nervous. I hemmed and hawed about getting ready. I took an unbelievable amount of time to shower and get dressed. Ari knew I was stalling but he didn’t say anything. I think he knew I had to work through my fears on my own.
The day had been humid and hot. Some of the heat lingered so I chose to wear the only dress I had, a white cotton sheath that just skimmed the tops of my knees. I left my hair long and loose and, thinking of the uneven cobblestone walk down to the riverfront, slipped on a pair of low sandals.
When I emerged from my room everyone was at the door. Instantly I felt horrible about making everyone wait. The trepidation I was feeling must have shown on my face.
“Are you okay?” Matt asked, looking concerned. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Steve glared at his youngest son.
My anxiety only increased as we made our way down to the riverfront. As we walked, more and more people joined us. Soon, we were caught up in the crowd the way a leaf gets swept away on the surface of swiftly flowing water. The crowd streamed down to the docks with us riding the crest of the wave. This was all new to me. I’d never participated in any of Etincelle’s bonfires.
“Then who lights them on the Onyx estate?” Matt had asked.
“We don’t have them,” I’d told him.
“Your Hyrkes have to go elsewhere? They can’t celebrate at home?” He’d seemed aghast, put out on behalf of his southern shore brethren. I hadn’t understood why until now. These Hyrkes had no signatures, but it was impossible not to feel their excitement.
Children were propped up on shoulders, shouting to one another, dogs barked and chased their owners, young men yelled and jostled each other, each one trying to muscle their way closer for a better look. We came to a stop not far from the river’s edge. The crowd was so thick; I could only see the very top of the bonfire frame. In front of us were two large wooden boxes. Ari climbed up on one.
There were easily a thousand people down by the docks, all facing Ari. He spoke to them as if he were addressing Copeland in Sin and Sanction, strong and confident, respectful but somewhat informal. He spoke in a clear oratory tone that carried well above the crowd, despite the rumblings of the mass and the blowing wind coming in off the Lethe.
“Pax vobiscum,” Ari said to the crowd. Peace be with you all.
Almost as one, they responded back.
“Pax tecum, Aristos!” Peace be with you. A few of the young men whooped and cheered after that and then it got quiet again.
“We’ve come here to celebrate Beltane—the Bradbury way,” Ari shouted. This time the crowd broke out in a contained riot. Their community pride was evident. When they calmed down again, Ari continued. “Tonight, we honor Estes, Patron Demon of the Lethe, protector of Bradbury’s life-blood.”
I looked down at my bandaged hand. So Estes was more than a potential client to Ari. He had acted like Host didn’t need to make offerings and show thanks. But I rather thought the opposite. I hadn’t offered enough. Ari had said, as far as he was concerned, he’d been born on the Lethe. Estes had been his first protector, his first provider. Because of the demon’s beneficence, Ari was alive now for me.
Ari turned around and reached out his hand to me. I took it and stepped up on the block. For one moment, it was as if the crowd was frozen in time. I knew I would remember this moment forever. Like the moment I’d written my name on The List, or the moment I’d let go of the lilies Peter had given me, some moments have the power to redefine a person, to redirect a life. I knew this moment was such a moment.
“I’ve brought a guest here tonight,” Ari said, still holding my hand, but addressing the crowd. “Another Maegester-in-Training, from Etincelle. Nouiomo Onyx.”
I tried to smile, but it likely looked like a grimace. I gripped Ari’s hand hard enough to crack the bones. He didn’t flinch. I remembered all the times my magic had gone awry. The times I’d tried to light something on fire and something else next to it had gone up instead. There were a thousand people here. Did Ari really have any idea what he was doing when he asked me to join him in lighting this bonfire? I wanted to do right by Estes. I owed the demon that much and more. But what if I failed?
A woman stepped forward from the crowd. She was young and pretty, but shabbily dressed. She waddled a little, her large, round belly making her gait uneven. She walked up to the boxes solemnly and stopped a few yards in front of us. It was Grace. She bowed her head and then, to my surprise, she addressed me.
“Nouiomo,” she said, her voice higher than Ari’s but just as clear. “Welcome.” Some che
ered after that but most were subdued. Their faces were expectant, however, not wary. They didn’t know me as they knew Ari.
“Yesterday,” Grace said, “you gave our hearth demon your blood. Today, we wanted to offer something to yours.” The crowd parted to reveal a second, smaller bonfire frame some distance away from Estes’ massive tower. “We built this bonfire frame to honor Flora. Will you light it?”
I nodded. Speaking was out of the question. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. My stomach flipped and my hands shook. We Onyxes had no hearth demon, at least not that I knew of. But I wasn’t about to insult these good people, or Flora, by saying that now. Ari let go of my hand and stepped back from me. All attention turned solely to me. It was the strangest sensation. All my life I’d avoided lighting fires in front of people. Now, the whole of a neighborhood looked to me to start one.
“Remember what I said,” Ari said quietly, “strong and controlled.”
“Sunt facta verbis difficiliora,” I croaked. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one who might accidentally set the crowd on fire.
He smiled. “You can do this.”
I focused my attention on the small frame and felt my magic surge. For a single instant, I was full of heat and light. Could a waning magic user throw magic mixed with anything but fear, fury, or hate? I had only a moment, but I tried to remember a time when I’d successfully thrown magic mixed with a warmer, softer emotion. I couldn’t. The closest memories to what I had in mind were the times I’d used infatuation, arousal, or recklessness to provoke Ari. Instinct and past experience told me those emotions weren’t going to make my magic less capricious. So instead I drew inspiration from the beaming faces of the people in the crowd. I knew I wouldn’t be able to feel their emotions with my magic because they were Hyrkes, but I opened up my signature as if I could.