Demon Shade (The Demons of Oxford Book 2)

by Kara Silver

  She felt presences behind her, caught glimpses of them in the glass she clutched hard in her weakening hand. The edge cut her where she gripped it too tightly, but she didn’t care. She struggled to make her voice work. “And you. All of you.” A flash of black and white—Pierrot. Black and white and yellow—Columbine. A kaleidoscope of motley—Harlequin. Plainer, ruder costumes—the zani. Richer, rustling fabrics—the families. “What are you?”

  “What we are. What we’ve always been. Since the beginning.”

  She finally turned, not knowing who’d replied. Not caring. To her eyes, the troupe looked as they had, but the mage glass would show her the wizened skin and stooped postures of ancient demons, antique actors, the original commedia dell’arte players from sixteenth-century Italy.

  “You.” She singled out Tristan, and he stepped from the line as if to take a bow on stage. “You had no right!” she screamed. “To fool me and lie to me and…”

  “Fool…lie…who are you really angry with?” Tristan asked, his hands on his hips.

  That he was right didn’t make it easier. “You’ll do for a start!” Kennedy yelled, drawing back her fist to punch him with all her might. And after her training, it was considerable. Tristan went down. She shook out her fist. It stung.

  “Kennedy,” he gasped. “Think about things. We—”

  She didn’t. Didn’t even stay for the end of the sentence. Instead she ran, as if the legion of devils were at her heels.

  25

  “Well, you said it was something I’d have to see for myself, if I could. And I did.” Kennedy’s laugh was hollow. She smoothed out the yoga mat she’d found in her kitchen, pushing it into position as close to Aeth’s side as she could. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not about to start haranguing you for your Amazing Monsieur Le Cryptique act.”

  Oh. That hadn’t been the best choice of insult—or image. She wanted no reminder of mystical acts or uncanny sideshow attractions. Not after the evening she’d had, what she’d been through. She flapped her sleeping bag out flat, on top of the mat. It wouldn’t be comfortable and although she was wearing most of her wardrobe and her coat, she’d be very cold. But still. Package deals have to stick together, right?

  “You tried to tell me. To warn me. And it’s not as though I didn’t know anyway. They told me, for fuck’s sake.” And they had. The first time she’d gone to the place between the rivers, the place that in its own way was a sort of utopia, a no place. A place suspended in time, perhaps. She tried to recall what it looked like ordinarily, without a fairground on it and empty of people and…demons, but she couldn’t. Well, they’d all be gone soon enough and then she’d be able to see. Unless she was supposed to do something about that sect of demons, like she had the band last term. Her heart sank. “If so, tomorrow, please?” She was beyond exhausted as it was.

  “I’m sorry again. For everything,” she whispered, wondering if Aeth could see her face in the dark of the night. She climbed into the quilted bag. Sorry for liking you. Sorry for you liking me. Sorry that that…messes things up. “I wish I didn’t,” she continued. Like you. “But I’m not sorry I met you.” She shivered and shoved herself nearer. Of course, that wouldn’t make her any warmer. The opposite. “I’ll be gone before you’re unstoned. Repersoned,” she promised the herm version of Aeth she was preparing to sleep next to, high up on the museum roof.

  She’d been glad to find him there, when she’d checked it out, after arriving back as Heylel. Arriving? Pelting through, more like, having sprinted the entire way, not knowing who might be following her. Instead of being a refuge, her room had creeped her out. Creeped me out more. Unable to stand the solitude, the questions and images flapping at her, she’d made the best preparations she could to spend the night with the person she wanted to be with.

  “Sounds salacious, doesn’t it?” she observed, through a teeth-clattering shudder. “But it bloody isn’t. But this cold—it’s real.” Not like the faux warmth of her kinfolk. False fire, that was a thing, wasn’t it? She’d read about it, last term. Ignius fatuus. She could recall the Latin name but not what it was. Maybe what she’d been involved in was exactly what it was. “I’ll look it up, when I’m studying,” she promised the gods of academe, should they exist. “Tomorrow. No, later today. When I tackle that mountain of holiday work.”

  She stuck her gloved hand out of the sleeping bag and laid it against the herm, making that a cushion so her head could rest against it. As she fell asleep, it came to her. False fire was another name for a delusion. A false hope. Huh. She was grateful she didn’t dream. Maybe that was one good thing about the cold. It numbed the brain, making dreaming impossible? Whatever.

  She was getting warmer, especially her hand.

  “Kennedy?”

  She opened her eyes a crack. Light hit them, so it was day. Morning. And her hand was warm because Aeth, squatting next to her, was holding it and looking a little startled.

  “What are you doing here so early?” she asked stupidly.

  “What? Well, I’m kind of usually here.”

  “Oh. Yes.” He helped her sit. Wow, her back hurt. She rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms until her spine settled into place with a series of cracks that had them both wincing.

  “I was coming to find you,” Aeth said, squinting in the light. A very rare December spot of sunlight, not warm and golden but thin and white, promising snow. It shone on him, lightening his hair and eyes. “In your room, I mean.”

  “Instead, I came to yours.”

  An odd silence stymied any further words. Kennedy busied herself digging for the flask of coffee in her bag. “Like I’m camping,” she said, indicating the sleeping bag she sat up in. “Aren’t you cold?” She blushed, hoping that didn’t sound like she was inviting him to warm himself up next to her. She offered him a sip of coffee, but he shook his head. She’d taken hot chocolate up here, before, she recalled. “I should just set up a tent or a picnic station,” she mused. “Might be easier.”

  She stood, working out the cricks and kinks from her legs. “Do you know? About the fair people? My kin? That they’re demons, I mean.”

  The look he gave her was just short of an eye roll.

  “Oh, I know. I mean, I knew. Just…seeing is believing, right? Like you said.”

  “Like I said.”

  “Yeah.” She looked in the direction of the fair. “Are they, I mean, do I have to, like, vanquish them? Like the shadow mage? Only, I wanted a day off.”

  “Of course you did. You’re only human.”

  “Huh?” Something about him struck her. He was still sitting, and patted the roof next to him. Curious, she sat. “Why were you coming to look for me?” she asked.

  “To give you this.” He handed her a small box, like a jewellery box.

  “May I open it?” She laughed. “That’s what they say in a film or book, isn’t it? And, of course, the answer must be yes, or why would they have been given it in the first place? Makes no sense.”

  “None,” Aeth agreed, opening the box and showing her the contents.

  “A necklace?” She drew it free. It was a thin chain, with what looked to be a small piece of stone hanging from it, like a pendant. “What’s it for?”

  “For?” He looked incredulous. “It’s a present, obviously. For you. Happy birthday, Kennedy Smith.”

  She’d forgotten. Forgotten her own birthday. Jesus, God. Really? She kept her head bent, just in case any shine in her eyes betrayed her. “Thank you,” she muttered. “It’s really… It’s a bit of rock, right?”

  “Yes. So you’ll have me with you wherever you go.”

  “What? Not literally? Not, like a finger or…”

  “No, idiot.” He held up his hands and splayed his fingers. He hooked his hair behind his ears to show her they were both in place, then took her gloved finger so she could touch his nose. “All present and correct.”

  “All presents are correct,” Kennedy murmured. “I didn’t get you anything. Beca
use I bet you can’t remember when your birthday is, can you?”

  “I never exactly had one.”

  “Well, you can share mine. That way, we can’t forget each other’s.” Only my own. She put the necklace on. It felt chilly, and that pleased her more than warmth would have. “I got this. Dunno if you’d like it though.” She drew the section of mirror, carefully covered in cloth, from her bag. “Can you guess what it is?”

  He held his hand over it, as if feeling it without touching it, then looked at her, eyebrows raised. Was that respect she saw? Can’t be.

  “You’re always surprising me,” he remarked. “I have to remind myself your power is, well, untapped? Untried?”

  “Eh, it gets the job done.” She looked from the item in her hand to him. “Does it work on, well, demons only?”

  “And supernatural beings in general.” He raised his chin. “Go on. Do it. Use it.”

  She reached for the cloth but stopped. “Nah. No need.”

  “Why?”

  “I know you. I…trust you.”

  The “thank you” that Aeth whispered, after a long pause, was a better gift than any she could have hoped for. He stroked the wrapped glass. “This should be in a case or holder. Something. Let’s go and find one? Or make one?”

  “Here?” Kennedy pointed down, below her, at the museum. “What, help ourselves? Rifle through the displays—must be something there suitable for housing demon glass, that’s for sure. Think they’d mind us helping ourselves?”

  “I don’t think the original possessors or creators would,” Aeth replied. “Our need is as great as theirs was, at the time, and it’s greater than theirs now.”

  True—if such thing as a frame for a truth glass existed in any of the displays below them, whoever had made it or used it was no longer around to do so. She discovered what Aeth meant by making something when they entered via their usual roof hatch thing: there was a workshop or conservation area, with tools and materials. No one was around today. Well, still early.

  “This should stop it shattering.” Aeth slotted the glass into the polymer he’d cut to size. It was large enough to have a front section that covered it, hiding any betraying gleam of shine, and she supposed she’d be able to flick it open, or squeeze the glass free of the tough plastic frame if she needed to.

  “Thank you,” Kennedy said. “Well, big day today, apparently.” She still could hardly credit that she’d lost track of the calendar like that. “What do you fancy? And yep, I’ll pay. I bet you don’t have money or plastic. So, brunch in a fancy restaurant in town? Or a spot of lunch in a pub along the riverbank, perhaps?” She laughed. “I don’t even know if you eat. Isn’t that ridiculous? Well, if not, we can do something else instead.”

  Warmer now, she unwound her scarf and pulled off her gloves. Aeth stilled.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  She’d almost forgotten, but now that he said it, the damn thing throbbed. Or, more likely, cold kept pain at bay, and now she was warming up, it came back? “Oh, nothing.” She wasn’t about to broadcast how stupid she’d been.

  “That’s not nothing.”

  “It looks worse than it is. I hit it.”

  “Hit…” He left a gap for her to fill.

  “Someone,” she muttered. “Well, some thing. But—”

  The ringing of her phone cut her off. A shiver trickled down her neck and she didn’t want to take the call.

  “You’d better.” Aeth’s voice was quiet and small, hanging heavy

  “I know.” She pulled out her phone and saw her uncle’s name on the display. Well, yeah, she had to tidy things up. “Giacobbe? Hi.” Or, maybe he’s calling to wish me happy birthday. Happy human birthday.

  He wasted no time. “Kennedy, is Tristano with you?”

  “Tristan?” She scowled. “No. He’s hardly likely to be. Why?”

  “He didn’t come home last night, and we can’t find him anywhere. Kennedy, we all have a bad feeling about it.”

  And now, raising scared eyes to Aeth who stood statue-still, stone-still by her side, she did too.

  26

  “I take it you heard that.” Kennedy put her phone away.

  Aeth nodded, a tiny movement she almost missed.

  “I…can explain,” she said.

  “Can you?”

  His soft, quiet tone made her suspicious. “What do you mean?”

  “You tell me.” Aeth finally moved, busying himself putting the tools and material away. When he finished, he stood at a distance from her.

  “Well, you get mad if I talk about Tristan, much less if I spend time with him. So me telling you I got into a fight with him…” Any way she related the events, told Aeth she’d punched Tristan to the ground, would make her look stupid. She had been stupid. “What?” she asked.

  “I think…” Aeth jerked his chin at her hand. “I understand how you hurt yourself.”

  Kennedy examined her split knuckles. “You should have seen the other guy?” she tried, regretting it as soon as it landed. Yep, wish I could, seeing as how he’s missing. “Aeth, I don’t follow. Why are you being like this?”

  “I…have trouble understanding human emotion. Motivation. Reactions.”

  “So…?”

  “So, if you were involved in something, if something happened, I might not understand it fully.”

  “Involved…” His meaning, the reason for his wariness, dropped on her like a ton weight in a cartoon. Only she felt no indication to laugh. “You’re saying you think I— Oh, my God. Okay. Something happened in that I hit him. And that was all. You know, I can’t actually believe we’re having this conversation? That you think so little of me? That you’d believe me capable of…well, whatever it is you’re thinking?”

  “Here.” Aeth still didn’t look at her, but indicated the kitchen. Inside, he ran the faucet and held her hand under the flow of water. While she shook it dry, he took down the first-aid box and got out the antiseptic. She refused to flinch when he sprayed it on her.

  “Would you like to use the mage glass on me?” Her offer tumbled from her lips, surprising her. “I’ve got nothing to hide. Aeth. Look at me and see. Look at me!”

  Finally, he did, gazing into her eyes. She noticed again the rings of colour in his, the greys now dark, gunmetal and even a charcoal. “Well? Or should we upgrade to a lie detector test?”

  He shook his head. “Forgive me.”

  “Wow.” She had to sit, collapsing onto a stool.

  “It’s just… I see so much darkness gathering, connected to your heart. I assumed it was already here.”

  “I…really should have saved that ‘wow’, shouldn’t I?” Kennedy hated the look on his face. He usually looked solemn, stern, but his concern and sadness aged him. I need a drink, she was appalled to find herself thinking. “Hey. How about if we institute a ‘no spoilers’ policy? I don’t tell you anything about The Bachelor, and you don’t tell me when a big dark, nasty battle is looming? That sound fair, Rocky?”

  “Don’t call me that!” He scowled. “I can’t promise. My role is preparing you.”

  “Fine.” Kennedy held up her hands. “Just, not today, please? I’d say day off, but I guess we’re going a’hunting. Tristan,” she clarified. “I know you don’t like him, but let’s just go and help find him.”

  They left via the main door, that Kennedy was very surprised to find unlocked. “Whoever’s on night duty’s slacking,” she observed. “Wait. If they had the night patrol guy, wouldn’t someone be coming to relief him, like he took over from me at midnight? Huh. This place really economizes on things over the holidays. Well, I bet they all do.”

  “You mean no one dusts the old masters in the Christ Church picture gallery over the breaks?” Aeth said.

  “And what if they close the Bridge of Sighs at Hertford College, to save money?” Kennedy capped.

  “Or don’t wind up the clock above St John’s garden gateway?”

  “And put all the Magdalen Co
llege deer into stables for the Christmas break?”

  Aeth shuddered. “Don’t mention that place.”

  “What, Magdalen College? Why?”

  “Have you seen the Cloister Quadrangle? All those statues standing on the buttresses? Oh, we’re not allowed to call them statues, or stonework. Oh, no, they have to be called ‘hieroglyphics’. Or ‘gargels’. Pur-lease.”

  Kennedy laughed. She couldn’t help it.

  “And as if them having their own name—entirely wrong, of course—isn’t enough, their job is ‘to keep an eye on the comings and goings’. You can imagine what that means.”

  “As in, snitching?”

  “Oh, yes. They’re always spying, competing to grass people up. And trying to extend their remit into other colleges.”

  She was guffawing now, out in the street through the back gate near the museum. If anyone saw her, walking along seemingly by herself, laughing like a loon, they’d have called the men in white coats. She’d needed that release, she admitted, but felt awful for laughing when Tristan was missing and his family—and she—had an uncomfortable feeling about it.

  She took stock of where they were. “Where are we going? To Parks, or along the river? The family must have looked for Tristan on the fairground. Is your idea to have a look around the park? It’s a bit big to search. Plus with this weather, he’d hardly be sunbathing, would he? And it’s not as if there’s a café or pub there he’d be in.”

  “No. Let’s take a more scientific approach.”

  “A helicopter? No; a drone!”

  “Umm…I think I should have said a less modern scientific approach,” Aeth mused.

  “Less modern science…as in, the history or science? As in, another museum? Can’t I get one day off from those places, for my birthday?” Kennedy bitched. Although she was curious to see the Museum of the History of Science. “We should have gone through Heylel and out of the main gate,” she groused, as they had to walk around the perimeter of the college and along its side.

  “Come on. We’ll run.”

  “Urrggh. Had enough exercise for one lifetime,” Kennedy groaned, but sped after him She was curious to know how science could help locate Tristan. She thought it over but was none the wiser when they approached the set steps between the railings of the Broad Street museum. She stopped and looked at the stone heads whose columns broke up the smooth sweep of the museum’s wall at no-doubt precise intervals. “Friends of yours?”