Kindling The Moon

by Jenn Bennett

  I heard what he was saying, but I couldn’t accept it. We argued for several minutes, going around in circles, until I acquiesced and shut up. He gave me the description of the demon and what little information he had on the seal; it wasn’t much to go on.

  “This is happening so fast.” I felt like I was being sucked into a whirlpool with no chance of escape.

  He grasped my hands together in my lap. “If there’s anyone to blame in this, you can point the finger at me. Your parents insisted on keeping you out of this mess, but I should have fought them. Even now, I’m sure they wouldn’t approve of my asking you to do this for them.”

  “Well, since no one can contact them right now, I guess they don’t get a vote.”

  “Darling, you’re a better magician than either one of them—even better than me, and that’s the truth. Maybe that’s due to your special conception, but even without it, I know in my heart that you’re strong. If anyone can help them, it’s you.”

  I stared at the fireplace, hearing his words, but inwardly making plans.

  “Do you have a place in mind that you can begin your search?” the caliph asked. For the first time since I’d arrived, I noticed a little worry in his face and wondered if he really believed that I could do this.

  “Yes,” I answered with as much certainty as I could muster.

  In the middle of the chaos swirling around in my head, one local resource stood above everyone else who might help me, someone that no member of the E∴E∴ or any other magical order would ever consider asking, because of centuries-old prejudices and mistrust: a retired priest. One who wasn’t a savage … or even human, for that matter.

  4

  Father Carrow lived down the street from me. I met him a year or so ago when he was walking his dog past my house. Unfortunately, at the time I was in the middle of binding some imps for my elderly Earthbound neighbor. But instead of freaking out and calling the cops on us or damning me to hell, Father Carrow was quite interested in what I was doing. And I was quite interested in him, because he was the first Earthbound priest I’d ever met. We struck up a fast, if not odd, friendship.

  It had been ten years since he’d retired from the priest-hood. Back in his heyday, he spent a good bit of time studying demons, from both religious and ancestral angles. He definitely had a few personal ideas about the subject that weren’t exactly church-sanctioned. But he never had a problem distinguishing what his faith labeled “devils” from demons, and he was comfortable with his spirituality and his place in the world. And maybe that’s why I trusted him. He didn’t know my real identity, of course—no one did—but he knew I was different, and he was okay with that, because he was different too.

  I called Father Carrow after my meeting with the caliph and told him that I urgently needed to get my hands on some rare books that would have descriptions and names of primordial Æthyric demons. Just as I’d hoped, he knew someone who might help: a former demonologist who lived nearby in Amanda’s beach town, and who was able to meet with us that afternoon.

  After a quick lunch, I picked up Father Carrow and we headed out to La Sirena for our meeting. “So, what’s this guy’s name again?” I asked after we’d merged onto the highway leading to the coast.

  “Lon Butler. A trustworthy fellow, but he’s not chatty. He was a little reluctant to meet you, so I had to tell him that you practiced the dark arts.”

  I groaned and shot him a dirty look. “I’m not a black magician and you know it. I don’t worship the devil or sacrifice animals, nor do I molest children … which is more than you can say about some of your colleagues.”

  He muttered something under his breath that sounded more like a curse than a prayer. “You said this was important. I had to hook him somehow or he wouldn’t have come. He prefers to keep to himself.”

  Great. Probably some antisocial religious hermit.

  Father Carrow’s fingers straightened the band on the black fedora that he was holding in his lap. He always wore a hat, which I often told him was a shame; it covered up a nice head of thick, gray hair that matched his eyes. But no hat could cover up his halo, thankfully, which was a delicate pale cornflower blue.

  “So,” I said, “this Lon Butler studied demonology like you did, but he didn’t become a priest. Why?”

  “He was kicked out of the seminary a year into his program. A scandal. And it didn’t involve molestation, before you’re tempted to go there again. He’s a famous photographer now. I’m surprised you haven’t heard of him.”

  I sped up when a car tried to pass us on the two-lane highway, but they got around anyway. “Photographer? Nope, can’t say that I have, but I want to hear more about this salacious scandal. What did he do?”

  “The records are sealed.”

  “Really?” This piqued my interest. “Maybe it involved a woman. Oh, maybe even a nun—ooh! Wouldn’t that be scandalous?”

  “Indeed, but no. I’m afraid you’ll have to ask him yourself. It’s not my place to gossip about another man’s troubles. Or a woman’s.” He glanced at my halo to hammer home his point. Well taken. How could I ask him to spill someone else’s secrets but keep mine?

  He paused for a moment, then cleared his throat. “However, what I can tell you is a bit of information that’s public knowledge. Several old books went missing from the seminary after his dismissal. They were on loan from the Vatican— very rare. The church had no proof that he was to blame, and he denied that he had anything to do with them going missing. Still does.”

  “Do you think he’s lying?”

  “Not sure, he’s … hard to read. A good poker face.”

  “Were they goetias, the books that went missing?” Goetias were my primary focus for researching what I needed to summon my demon witness. They’re archaic demonic encyclopedias that usually feature crude drawings of Æthyric demons, along with a list of their abilities, summoning names, classification seals, and any problems that previous summoners had uncovered when dealing with them.

  “Bingo. That’s why he may be your guy. One of the goetias should have never been sent out on loan. No other known copy exists. It could fetch hundreds of thousands of dollars—possibly more—from the right buyer. The content inside the book is listed as being extremely unusual, so I’m guessing it may contain listings of Æthyric demons not found in other books.”

  I must admit, I got a little excited about this bit of information; I had a thing for rare occult books, and with the pressing matter of my parents’ lives on the line, that made it even more enticing.

  Father Carrow didn’t offer much more about the scandalous Lon Butler, and after the thirty-minute drive, I was starting to lose the caffeine buzz I’d pumped myself up with at lunch. I needed sleep or a strong cup of coffee. But when we finally made it to the small beach town, I got a second wind.

  La Sirena is a strange place. Only a few thousand people live there, half of whom are bohemian artists; the other half has money, and lots of it. The heart of the small town includes several square blocks of buildings with Hansel and Gretel fairy-tale exteriors, known collectively as the Village. None of the buildings have addresses, just names. There also are no streetlights, and neon signs are prohibited. The sidewalks are irregular due to the abundance of beautiful Monterey cypress trees lining the cobblestone streets, whose gnarled roots have pushed the pavement up.

  If you’re in the market for art, the Village contains a wealth of shops and galleries that sell paintings and ceramics from local artists. Between these, a plethora of restaurants and cafés dot the winding streets, along with quaint old-fashioned candy stores. And once you’ve had your fill of shopping and seafood, the rocky beach is only a few blocks away.

  Father Carrow and I arrived at a small coffee shop in the Village several minutes before our designated meeting time, so we ordered inside—quad espresso for me, tea for him—and staked out a shady table in the back of a tree-filled courtyard at the side of the shop.

  When Lon Butler rounded the c
orner and raised his hand to us, I was taken aback; he was not what I expected. I stood up from the table when Father Carrow made the introductions.

  “Lon, this is Arcadia Bell. Cady, meet Lon Butler.”

  Tall and lean, the man looked to be in his forties. Wavy, light brown hair fell to the tops of his shoulders and was neatly tucked behind his ears. A slender mustache trailed around his mouth and down his chin, matching the patch of hair below the center of his bottom lip. He reminded me of a pirate. A very attractive one.

  He was also an Earthbound.

  “Mr. Butler,” I said as he offered his hand to shake. I took it, and tried not to squint too hard at his halo. Usually Earth-bound halos are green or blue, but his was unusual—green near his head, changing to gold toward the outer edge, with small, shimmery bits suspended inside like glitter in a souvenir snow globe.

  “Just Lon is fine,” he replied in a low monotone.

  I stopped staring at his halo, only to find his own eyes fixed above my head. When Earthbounds first meet me and see my small silver halo, they’re usually wary or nervous. He wasn’t. Matching my gaze, bold and direct, he discretely lifted one eyebrow.

  “I think you’ll both find,” Father Carrow said with a kind smile, “that the three of us have some concerns that intersect. Isn’t it wonderful when we can learn something new?”

  Wonderful? I wasn’t sure about that. But it was certainly compelling. I wondered if Lon was the reason that Father Carrow had never pressed me too hard about the origins of my silver halo. Next to his, mine seemed almost pedestrian.

  After Lon let go of my hand, I realized we’d been shaking far too long. My palms were hot and sweaty; I wiped them on my jeans as I sat down. Instead of taking the more convenient chair across the table, Lon sat in the empty seat next to me. A little too close. I didn’t like that.

  “I’m afraid Cady isn’t a photography aficionado,” Father Carrow said as he pulled his chair closer to the table. “She owns a bar back in Morella. It’s got an interesting reputation.”

  Lon’s eyes darted to mine, but he didn’t say anything. Tambuku Tiki Lounge wasn’t the only demon-friendly bar in Morella. Okay, maybe it was the only one with binding magick being used, but still, I doubted he’d heard of it way out here, and I definitely would have remembered seeing him in my bar.

  I wrapped my hands around my coffee cup. “I didn’t think you’d be …” What? Another Earthbound, like Father Carrow? The first person I’d ever met with a halo weirder than mine? So good-looking? “So young,” I finished.

  “You either.” His eyes trailed away as he pulled a silver cigarette case out of his denim jacket pocket.

  Unsure whether that was a barb or not, I tried to keep my face blank to mimic his. He held out the open cigarette case in offering—valrivia. Its pungent, earthy scent was inviting. I hesitated, then gave in and took a skinny cigarette. He offered the case to Father Carrow with an inquiring chin nod.

  “No, no,” Father Carrow said with a shake of his head.

  “I’ve told you before, it doesn’t get you stoned. It’s just calming. I don’t think God would count it as a sin,” I teased.

  “You’re probably right, but I just don’t understand the attraction.” He waved the case away. “I have trouble staying awake as it is at my age—I don’t need anything to make me calmer.”

  I leaned forward while Lon flicked a sleek, engraved metal lighter for me. His hands were tan and muscular. From that and the golden strands of hair at his crown, I assumed he spent a lot of time outside. Maybe for his job. I scrutinized him while he exchanged a few pleasantries with Father Carrow. He had a reserved, proud look about him. Long, hollow cheeks sat between deep-set eyes and an angular jaw. Good bones.

  “So,” Father Carrow said, getting to the point, “as I explained on the phone, Arcadia is looking for information on a rare Æthyric demon. Tell him what it looks like, dear.”

  I repeated what the Caliph had told me. “It’s an albino demon—white skin and hair, light pink eyes. Four arms, each with long talons. Twice the height of an average human. Long tongue that rolls up like a party favor and hangs outside its mouth, and a large set of spiraling horns.”

  I took another drag from my cigarette.

  “Do you know the class of demon?” His small eyes were narrowed. Distrustful. “I’ve run across drawings and descriptions of many albinos. It’s a congenial pigmentation disorder that could occur in any class. Just like humans.”

  His flippant attitude irritated me. Famous photographer, I thought. Arrogant bastard. Even though he was dressed casually in an ink-stained T-shirt and a denim jacket with a tear in the pocket, he was also wearing a wide silver watch on his left wrist that looked expensive. Snotty, too, I added to my mental list of his probable sins.

  “I don’t know the class of demon,” I replied with forced patience, “but I do have a little information about the seal.” I perched my cigarette on the edge of the wrought-iron table and dug around in my purse until I found a pen and an old envelope that I tore up for paper. After sketching a few characters and letters, I slid the paper over to him and put the cap back on my pen. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with summoning seals, but I know them pretty well, and this symbol here”—I pointed—“narrows it down to about fifty or so classes of demon.”

  He studied it for a few seconds, then gave it back to me.

  “You can keep it,” I said.

  “No need. I’ve already memorized it.”

  Show-off. “Then the only other thing I know is that the demon uses his talons to gut his victims from breastbone to pelvis—rips the torsos open in one, clean swipe.”

  He gave me a blank look. No emotion whatsoever.

  “Can you help her?” Father Carrow asked as he cradled his paper cup filled with hot tea.

  “Don’t know.”

  “She’s a good gal, Lon. I wouldn’t get you involved in this if I didn’t trust her.”

  Lon tilted his head to the side and slowly rolled his cigarette between thumb and index finger. “Why do you need to locate this demon?”

  Because my parents’ lives depend on it, and maybe mine too. I couldn’t say that, though. I ran through several excuses in my head and answered, “I just do. It’s important.”

  “You planning some sort of revenge against someone?”

  “Just the opposite.”

  “What does that mean?”

  For God’s sake.

  “The demon … has some information that I need.”

  Lon stared at me for several moments until I became uncomfortable and had to struggle not to look away. Then he pushed back his chair and got up. “I’ll think about it.”

  “Think about it?” I repeated in disbelief. “I’m asking for your help, Mr. Butler. I’ll pay you, if that’s what you want.”

  “It’s Lon, like I already told you, and I don’t want your money.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I just need to think about it.”

  “Why do you need to think about it?” I asked, thoroughly exasperated by his blasé manner.

  “You sound like a parrot, repeating everything I say, Miss Bell.” A strange, rather unkind smile attempted to hoist the corners of his mouth, but didn’t quite succeed.

  Attractive or not, he was pissing me off. I definitely felt insulted at that point, and probably looked it as well.

  “It’s Arcadia, not Miss Bell,” I mocked. “And if you want me to beg, you can fucking forget it. I can find someone else to help me.” Aware that Father Carrow was displeased by my nasty outburst, I grabbed my purse off the back of my chair and ground out my cigarette on the side of a nearby metal trash can before tossing it inside.

  “Can you, now?” Lon’s smile was getting bigger. I was furious, but he had a point. My back was against the wall, and I couldn’t afford to let my pride get in the way.

  I blew out a frustrated breath and attempted to calm down. “No, not really,” I admitted. “Will y
ou help me?” I tried to say please, but I just couldn’t.

  It took him several seconds to answer. “I’ll consider it. Whom should I contact?” His eyes flicked between the two of us.

  “Cady,” Father Carrow said gently, “why don’t you give him your number, dear?”

  I grumbled and dug the pen back out of my purse, then scribbled my cell number on the back of the torn envelope paper that I’d tried to give him earlier. We locked gazes as I stiffly offered it to him again; he took it without looking at it—just stuck the paper under the flap of the torn breast pocket of his jacket, valrivia cigarette dangling between his lips.

  “I’ll be in touch either way. After the weekend,” he said, then turned to leave.

  “Wait! I need the information sooner than that.”

  He stopped and stood in place, but didn’t turn around.

  “Please,” I finally said, caving in and gritting my teeth.

  With a brief nod, he slowly walked away, rounded the corner of the building, and was out of sight without a proper answer.

  5

  Lon’s nonexistent sense of urgency ate away at me for the remainder of the day. I spent the early evening scouring my own private library for the albino demon. I called my guardian to ask if it could find any information in the Æthyr about the classification (a bust). I even strengthened the protective wards over the doors and the windows on the first floor of my house. After I ate dinner, my neighbor— Mrs. Marsh, an elderly Earthbound with an ongoing imp infestation—asked me to get rid of an imp, which I chased around her kitchen for several minutes, only to have it escape at the last moment.

  But none of that could curb the rising resentment I was feeling toward Lon. And my sour mood nosedived when three quick raps at my side door told me that my pesky neighbor had returned. I cursed under my breath and briefly entertained the ideal of physically harming her on the way to answer her knock; in my defense, it just hadn’t been a good day.

  Mrs. Marsh’s frail frame stood in my doorway. “I’m so sorry, but it’s back. The same one—I can tell because its left ear is torn.” Dressed in a pale blue quilted housecoat that zipped up the front, Mrs. Marsh gave me a pleading look behind thick glasses.