Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (23 page)

“Tiff?”

My stomach lurched; his voice held the same
questioning lilt as Royal’s when he spoke my name.

The room had another door in the left side
wall; it stood open and Cicero waited in the room beyond. He moved
aside to allow me through.

It would be a cozy room in winter, when
subzero temperatures frosted landscapes on the windowpane and a
blazing fire reflected off the dark-gold paneled walls. A pair of
brown slippers nosed from under one of the two fat mulberry-colored
armchairs either side of the fireplace. A small sofa with a
tile-topped coffee-table in front sat beneath the glazed window and
a high, narrow table stood kitty-corner across the room. A laptop
rested on a footstool. A television perched on a chest of
drawers.

A door in the side wall stood slightly ajar.
Cicero had a suite of connecting rooms.

He sank into one of the chairs beside the
fireplace. “Please, be comfortable. I have so much to tell
you.”

I sat facing him, holding the Ruger on my
knees. Damn, we were
so
alike. In appearance, anyway.

A tap at the door brought me to my feet, gun
held with both hands.

Cicero made a
down
motion with one
hand and smiled reassuringly. “It is my assistant, Thomas.” He
lifted his voice. “Enter.”

A boy wearing a thigh-length green robe
bustled into the room. Perhaps fifteen, his silver-white hair hung
loose to his waist. He had my pale skin and pale-blue eyes, but a
round, sweet face. He carried a silver tray with a pot and two
dainty cups, a bowl and tiny jug. I gawped, unable to stop my jaw
dropping.

“No,” Cicero said. “Thomas is not of our
immediate family.”

“But he. . . .”

Cicero’s soft tone was meant to calm me. “I
know. Patience, my dear.”

I swallowed, and sat again. Patience is not
one of my virtues.

Thomas put the tray on a small table beside
Cicero’s chair, bowed, and busied himself closing heavy drapes over
the window.

“Milk, sugar?”

I blinked. “What is it?”

“Tea. Black tea. I think you will enjoy
it.”

“Milk, two sugars.”

“Supper is almost ready, Sire,” Thomas
said.

“Very good, Thomas. I’m sure Tiff is hungry,
as I am.” He nodded at the boy. “That’s all for today. I will clean
up. Give your mother my regards.”

Thomas bowed, gave me a shy smile and
scooted from the room.

“There, we are alone now. Drink your tea,
dear one.”

I took the cup he offered and sipped. He’d
added too much milk but the right amount of sugar.

He plunged right in. “My sister, your
mother, was Cassia Bon Moragh, your father Galenus Son Brun. Cassia
and I worked together as Seers to the Bon Moragh. Galenus was my
strong right-hand.”

I licked dry, chapped lips. “Was?”

“Your parents died when you were a year
old.”

I felt as if a fist closed on my heart. I
never knew them, they should mean nothing to me, yet. . . . my
mother
, Cassia, my
father
, Galenus. Despite the
nagging of my ingrained suspicion, warning me not to believe
everything Cicero told me, my blood sang, my bones thrummed.
Family
. My eyes blurred as I watched the man who called
himself my uncle.

With a pang, I saw myself tucked in one of
the deeply upholstered armchairs either side of the fireplace,
reading, my toes in the thick-pile carpet, a mug of hot chocolate
on the little table next the chair.

I bit my lower lip. Now was not the time to
get mushy.

“Bon Moragh?”

“The High House. Son Brun is a close
ally.”

“Why did you call me Bon Moragh if my
father’s name was Son Brun?”

“We don’t follow the traditions of Earth.
Here, the child takes the name of the more influential House.”

Enthralled, I put my cup on the table and
leaned in. “Were you and my mother always Bon Moragh?”

“Yes, but not of the Court. We came from an
altogether lowly family. That changed when our gift manifested.
Galenus met Cassia at the High House and followed us when we made
our home here.” He smiled as if at a memory. “They were good, those
early years.

“They took you to see your grandparents.
They discovered they were pursued. They were near a Way, a portal
to the other sphere, so took you through and left you where they
hoped you would be safe. They meant to retrieve you, but. . .
.”

“I thought. . . .” I swallowed. Goddammit, I
was too emotional. “I thought they came from Canada.”

“Why?”

“I was found in a dog basket, the blanket
was made in Canada.”

“I know nothing of that.”

I went to the church years ago. I saw the
big bins outside for donations left after hours. I tried to imagine
a tall, white-haired woman pulling out a basket, a blanket, to
disguise her child and perhaps for a little protection from the
elements. But it is all but impossible to imagine a person you have
never seen.

“I was born here, in Bel-Athaer.” I rallied.
“Who killed my parents?”

“Seers from a rival House; rather, their
acolytes.”

“Why? You guys work together, don’t
you?”

His brow creased. “Interesting. How did you
reach that conclusion?”

“I was told when Lawrence was born, every
Seer had a vision of the birth. It made me think . . . I don’t know
. . . you have some kind of network.”

“If there is a network, it is of spies. I
learned of Lawrence’s impending birth and notified the High House,
but as I said . . . spies. Before long, every Seer in the land
knew.” His mouth quirked. “I don’t know how the tale of
simultaneous visions spread.”

“You have them, though.”

“We will speak of that later. First things
first.” He smiled. “Hec . . . Tiff, all will be revealed in due
course.

“Now, where was I? Ah. The Gelpha are an
archaic people. Yes, we enjoy the trappings of the modern world.”
Cicero’s sweeping hand encompassed the room, the television and
laptop. “But we are still a feudal system and obsessed with power.
All Houses fall under the dominium of the High House, the High Lord
or Lady, but they are rivals beneath the veneer of civility. The
restraints came off when the High Lady died. If our young High Lord
cannot put the Houses beneath his heel. . . .” He shook his head;
his mouth tightened. “Poor lad, I fear for him. His role is
burdensome for one so young, and perilous. Anything could
happen.”

I disliked his hard, cold tone when he spoke
of Lawrence. A familiar knot settled in my stomach.

A tinny
ding
mingled with the alarm
bells chiming in my head.

“Ah, dinner is ready.” Cicero stood and put
his cup on the small table. “Come. Thomas will be most upset if we
let the food burn.”

I followed him through the next door to a
small kitchen, old and a bit worn as if used more than the other
rooms, with a small stove and refrigerator, sink but no dishwasher.
A pale wood china hutch held a few cups and dishes. A table with
two matching chairs occupied the middle of the room.

Cicero took oven gloves off a hook by the
stove and bent to open the oven door. I rested my Ruger on my knees
as he brought a steaming dish to the table in his mittened
hands.

“I don’t understand. You said your talent
manifested - does it come to everyone in our family? How did we end
up in Bel-Athaer working for Gelpha in the first place? And Thomas,
you said he’s not in our
immediate
family. Are we
related?”

His mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Our
likeness - yours, mine, Thomas’ - confuses you. It
is
a
family trait, but we are a far-flung family. We number in the
thousands and all are related, albeit distantly.” He put the dish
in the middle of the table and sat in the facing chair. “And no,
not all have our ability.”

Seated opposite me, he opened and closed his
mouth as if unsure of what to say. He pulled on his earlobe,
looking thoughtful. “Tiff, to explain your heritage, we go far back
in time to when the Dark Cousins came to Bel-Athaer. It is a long
story and - ”

“I know about the Mothers, if that’s what
you mean.”

His eyes flared. “
How
do you know
this?”

I didn’t want to get Gorge in hot water. “I
can’t tell you.”

Piqued, his pale brow furrowed, but smoothed
when he smiled. “I will earn your trust. You will tell me one
day.”

Not likely.
“What about us? How did
we get to be here?” I prompted.

His gaze turned up to the low ceiling. He
pursed his lips, sucked them in, met my eyes. “Niece, do you hate
the Gelpha?”

Hate the Gelpha? What was this leading to?
Did I want to know?

“I see you have considered it.”

I had, many times. I didn’t trust demons,
but I didn’t hate them. All nationalities have their good and their
bad and I don’t judge all by the few I meet. Hate is a powerful
emotion, ultimately personal. I’ve hated only one person, and had
good reason to, in my opinion. I suppose if every member of a
single nation committed unspeakable acts with enjoyment, if they
were unremittingly evil, I would hate them.

“I don’t hate them, not as a whole, but I
don’t trust Gelpha far enough to throw them. And some are rotten to
the core.” Royal’s brother Kien and his clan hunted down and killed
little boys in their search for Lawrence. “Sure, a lot of humans
are no different, but Gelpha shouldn’t be in my world, not with the
power they have over humans if they choose.”

He nodded. “And Dark Cousins?”

“I. . . .” I eyed him narrowly. “They
intimidate me. I know they can pretty much do what they want and I
can’t stop them. That scares me. And when I think what they did,
took humans and bred them as if they were livestock, I. . .” I
looked past him, “. . . I despise them.”

My gaze settled on him. “Why do you
ask?”

He shrugged his shoulders slightly.
“Curiosity.”

“Are you going to tell me about us?”

Another shrug. “You and I, my dear, are the
result of an experiment. The Mothers found those who saw
apparitions, the spirits of those who died in violence. It
interested them. We were another breeding program, but we were
allowed to breed pure. We did not lie with Mothers or their
progeny, their Gelpha offspring, only with our own kind. On
average, one in a hundred can see the dead, but a rare few have the
mettle to serve as Seer.”

A heaviness settled in my stomach. “When did
. . . how long?”

“We have been here for centuries, my
dear.”

The room was warm, yet a chill slid over me.
I tried to wrap my brain around it. So I was right, human beings
did live here and had done for a very long time.

“This comes as a shock to you.”

I slowly shook my head side to side. “It
should. Maybe it will later, when I have time to think.” I always
felt different, but so do a lot of kids and teens. I felt like an
oddity when I began to see dead people. To learn I came from
another society in a different dimension was icing on the cake.
“Right now, though, I’m too busy trying to stop my brain going into
overload.”

“If you would like to take a minute.”

I blinked him back into focus. “No. I’m
fine.”

Not exactly fine, but Cicero’s latest
revelation changed nothing, not my past, nor my future. I wasn’t a
kid anymore. I’d finally grown into my skin. I knew my place in the
world and it was not
this
world.

“What does seeing dead people have to do
with being a Seer?”

“Everything, my dear, everything.”

“Like, give me a clue?”

His lashes dipped. “You will know soon
enough, when your training begins.”

Training?
I made big eyes. “I can’t
wait. And what kind of training might that be?”

“To emotionally and psychologically prepare
you for your role.” His eyes lit up. “But you are already halfway
there. You will breeze through.”

“Why - ?”

He cut me off. “Patience, dear one.
Patience.”

I huffed through my nose. So much for
answering all my questions.

“Can you tell me
why
we see dead
people?”

“We don’t know, we can only hypothesize.” He
laid his arms flat on the table. “Perhaps it is genetic. We pass
the condition to our children, they to their children.”

“But I was all grown up the first time it
happened to me.”

“As we all are. I wonder if it is a defense
mechanism so we are not overwhelmed during our childhood.”

“Makes sense. But I hadn’t been a kid for a
long time.”

“I also wonder if, when the time is right,
we meet a deceased person who somehow resonates with us.”

I pushed the conundrum aside for now. I had
other questions.

“Did we live here, with you?”

“Yes.” His gaze softened again. “You were a
sweet child. You rolled around on the carpet which now lies beneath
your feet.”

I didn’t remember this place. But when I
stood in the valley and didn’t want to go on . . . did my
subconscious warn me? Did baby Tiff see something which frightened
her long years ago? And for all Cicero’s tender gaze and nostalgic
tone, he didn’t bust a gut to bring his beloved niece home.

“How long have you known about me?”

“I found you when you were three. I
considered making myself known when your talent rose, but you
seemed happy in the human sphere.”

Happy!
I wanted to shriek.

So my place in his family meant nothing
until recently, though he knew I saw dead people. Now, he wanted
me. Because I had the
mettle
to be a Seer? “What changed
your mind?”

“A Seer requires more than raw talent. When
you slew Phaid then vanquished the ancient Dark Cousin, then I
knew! You are a Seer to the bone.”

I defended myself. How did that make me Seer
material? I didn’t want to be a Seer in Bel-Athaer. I wanted this
business over so I could go home. But I knew instinctively I could
not tell my uncle that. Not yet.