Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (26 page)

The evening seemed interminable. Over hot tea
and cookies, Cicero gave me a lesson on Gelpha politics, which
seemed to be about who could gain what by betraying whom. He spoke
of my parents and grandparents, but the telling was . . . clinical,
a recitation of names and places. I wanted to know whether they
wanted me, loved me; if my mother rocked me to sleep in her arms at
night. But I couldn’t ask.

Finally, he said goodnight and retired to
his room. I sat on the bed for an hour. Despair unexpectedly made
me sag. I learned so much, but not Royal’s whereabouts.

I listened at Cicero’s door before following
the corridor.

Along the passage, through the door, the
gate, I moved quickly down the tunnel, whispering to the men and
women behind bars. They stood with their backs to me, shadows
draping them. “Hello. It’s me again. Have you seen a tall man with
copper-gold hair? His name is Royal. Ryel Morté Tescién.”

Spiders walked up my spine. My gut told me
these people were illegally imprisoned, but I couldn’t risk freeing
them.

I wanted to shout at them,
I mean you no
harm,
I am not a Seer!
I left them reluctantly. If only
they would talk to me.

The tunnel split again. How far did these
tunnels go inside the mountain? Ample space to hide many secrets.
The more I could unfold, the more I took to the High House.
One
thing, give me one solid piece of evidence.

Tension made my breath rasp. Had Cicero
hidden Royal in the depths of the mountain?

Arriving at more wood doors, I pressed my
ear to the first and heard nothing, but my nose detected a familiar
odor.

The stink of decaying blood.

Images flashed through my mind: Royal’s body
splayed on a hard rock floor. My hand trembled as I worked on the
lock. I dropped the pick twice. I pushed open the door and entered
a short passage, and saw another gate of metal bars.

The room beyond was twelve by twelve at a
guess. The fetor assaulted my nasal passages. A small round hole in
one gore-stained wall let in a pittance of light. Old blood on the
floor too, so much and so thick it formed ridges around a grate. A
man hung in chains from the ceiling by his wrists, his feet inches
off the floor. Long gray hair laced with jet hung in tangled,
sweaty hanks. He wore a . . . well, I suppose it was underwear; it
looked like a pouch on two pieces of string.

“Kill me and get it over with. I can’t hang
about here all day,” he croaked, followed by a light laugh.

“Chris?”

“Tiff, is it you, my Sweet?”

“How did you get here?” I asked his
crotch.

It twitched. My gaze shot up to find his
eyes on me.

“The lengths to which I go, to bring that
beautiful blush to your skin.” His attempt at a smile became a
wince.

I squatted to work on the lock.

“I feared for you and I’ve never seen a
Seer, so I boldly marched in and demanded to see you. The man was
charming.”

“I bet,” I grunted as I fought the lock’s
mechanism.

“I believe he was quite taken with me.”

“So taken with you, he locked you away nice
and safe.”

A heavy sigh. “His men caught me with my
pants down.”

“Really.”

“Yes, really. I was doing the necessary
behind a rock when they came on me.”

I had to press my lips together
real
tight. “Where was Gia?”

“Hiding.”

Naturally. Don’t tell me she couldn’t whip
out and put the whammy on Cicero’s men like she did the hostel
manager.

The tumblers cooperated. I came upright and
pushed the door open. The room was empty but for Chris and a
convenient chair. Tucking my lock picks in a back pocket, I made a
face as I entered the room. I’ve walked in blood before. Believe
me, it is not a pleasant experience and hell to get out the soles
of your boots.

“You hesitate while I dangle?”

My gaze swept to where it should not. Dangle
was not the word I’d choose.

Blood crumbled under my soles. Crime scene
footies would have been nice. I lifted the chair by the back, took
it to where Chris hung and positioned it on his right side. When I
climbed on the chair and stretched to reach his wrist, we were a
hairsbreadth away.

His scent washed over me, citrus and ginger
with a hint of sweat and male musk.

Tongue protruding, up on my toes, I attacked
the manacle. When it clicked open he dropped with a yelp to hang
from one wrist, but he swung the other arm around my neck and
managed to plant one foot on the chair.

His musculature, beneath silken skin, felt
hard as granite. Silver-gray eyes gone languid gazed into mine;
glassy hematite pupils pierced me. He licked his lips, long tongue
slowly sweeping top and bottom.

I rolled my eyes. “You never give up, do
you.”

“I’ve never met such resistance. You are an
enigma, Sweetling.”

“Nope. A gal who knows a conman when she
meets one. You wouldn’t be interested in me were I interested in
you.”

I climbed off the chair and looked up at the
manacle as I chew my thumbnail. This would take some
maneuvering.

Chris had to hop up and down to keep his
feet on the chair as I nudged it to his other side. I climbed on
the chair and again we were closer than friendly acquaintances
should be. Unlocking the manacles as his body pressed against me
put obstacles in my proximity, tempting me to put my knee in
his
proximity.

But we made it to the floor and I helped him
stagger from the room, clutching him around the chest as he clasped
my shoulders.

We rested against the wall. “You can let go
now,” I suggested.

“I don’t know how to show my appreciation,
but give me time, I’ll think of a way.”

“I was looking for Royal.” An idea snapped
into place. “You came up!”

“Not quite.” He looked sidelong at me. “But
I’m sure with a modicum of encouragement. . . .”

“Asshole. I meant, Cicero said unexpected
business came up. You were it.”

His teeth flashed white. “How inconvenient
of me.”

“What happened to your clothes?”

“The intent is to demoralize. Take a man’s
clothes, he feels less of a man. Perhaps it has that effect on
those who already lack confidence in their masculinity but I, on
the other hand - ”

Ducking from beneath his arm, I
accidentally
elbowed him in the ribs, nipping that
conversation in the bud before it evolved into an oration of his
manliness. “Let’s go. I’m not through yet, but I’ll show you the
way outside. And we gotta be quiet when we get near my uncles
apartment. If he sees us he’ll - ”

“Your uncle?”

“Cicero.”

“That explains a lot!” he exclaimed as he
walked through the outer door.

I tapped the sides of my boots on the wall.
Ugly black flakes fluttered from my soles to the floor. “Does,
doesn’t it.” I scowled. “Pity nobody told me earlier.”

But he was no longer with me. I turned, and
saw him a few paces down the tunnel. “Hey, you’re going the wrong
way.”

He wiped his brow with the back of his
wrist. “Cicero held me in a cell down here when they brought me in.
When his men moved me to this delightful haven, we passed a door.
You and I should take a look.”

Anxious to keep moving, I jigged up and down
on the balls of my feet. “There are a lot of doors here. Come
on
, Plowman!”

“Cicero came out with a tray as I was
dragged past. He was smiling. For a moment, when the door was open,
I felt. . . .” He jerked his head. “This way.”

He walked away. I noticed his stint hanging
from the ceiling had not impaired his fluid grace, and from the
rear he appeared to be stark naked apart from a string around his
waist. Men should not have buttocks that tight. Or calves.

I splayed my hand on the door’s surface. “Why
lead?”

Chris stood back. “We can’t sense one
another with lead between us. Petitioners do come to Cicero. He
wouldn’t want it known he has Gelpha under lock and key. I think he
has an important guest in here, one he tends to personally.”

“Royal.” There went my heart again, pounding
too fast.

“Only one way to find out.”

The key must be large; the mechanism was
big, and my lock picks were designed for smaller, modern locks.
Sweat sheened my upper lip as the mechanism clicked.

Chris pushed the door open and we found
ourselves in a lead-lined room, with another lead door ahead. Doors
behind doors were all the rage here. I went to work on the lock.
Chris stood behind me.

I climbed to my feet. I barely heard Chris
say, “A kiss for luck?”

Not on your life, bud
. I shoved the
door open, so eager I could hardly breathe.

Disappointment made me step back into
Chris.

A small round window in the lead wall
provided ventilation, and candles on a battered desk and bureau
gave off light which flickered in the draft caused by the door
opening. Blankets heaped a single bed with metal head- and
footboard. Small, the room held the bed, desk and bureau with space
to walk between them. A cloth draped what looked like an
old-fashioned commode in the corner. A tall demon wearing a tan
ankle-length robe and dark-brown sleeveless over robe sat at the
desk as he wrote on a sheet of cream paper, long deep-chestnut hair
curtaining his face.

“Twice in one day?” the man said, voice
laden with ennui. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Sire!” Chris said, and fell to his
knees.

Huh?
I never imagined the day when
anything
made Chris Plowman do
that
.

The man brought his head up and pushed his
hair from his face with one hand. He frowned at Chris. “Who are
you?”

Chris kept his head bowed. “Your humble
servant, Sire.”

He put his pen on the desk. “Indeed, yet you
come here with
her
?”

The rancor in his voice had such weight, the
blood left my face.

He rose and paced two menacing steps toward
me. Bronze eyes shadowed by heavy brows regarded me coldly. “Get
out. Take your man and go.”

Chris’ voice rose. “My Lord, you do us an
injustice. We are here to liberate you.”

“
You
hold your tongue. Do you think
me so naïve I would trust a Seer?”

No wonder he hated me at first sight.

“A. . . .” Chris’ gaze shot to my face. “You
can’t be a Seer. Seers are not half-bloods.”

“It’s a long story and we don’t have time.
I’ll explain later.”

Another pace and the man intruded in my
personal space. “You are either very brave or very foolish. I know
you have no true power.”

He knew that about Seers? I brought my hand
from my pocket. “No, but I have this.”

“A little gun.”

“This little gun is a double action
Derringer. It carries two thirty-eights and I only need one to take
you down.”

His face twisted in a silent snarl, but he
stayed put.

Chris had not got past the guy’s earlier
statement. “Seers don’t have power? That’s ridiculous. We’ve relied
on their power for centuries.”

“Yeah, and that’s the problem.” Carefully
watching the tall, threatening figure, I toed Chris’ hip. “Gonna
tell me who this is?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then why are you groveling?”

A trace of the man I knew blossomed in his
eyes. “I don’t grovel, my Sweet. I pay homage.” He tipped his head
up to regard the towering demon. “You are too young to be
Lawrence’s grandsire.”

The demon drew himself up. I was wired to
the max, so maybe imagination made me think an air of authority
wrapped him like a cloak. “I am Gryphon.”

“Holy shit,” I said to the High Lord of
Bel-Athaer.

Chris flowed to his feet. “My Lord, you’re
making a mistake. If Tiff says she’s no Seer, she is not.”

“
Pah!
You think to deceive me?”

I blew out a frustrated breath. “Enough!
I’ve lived my entire life on Earth. I discovered I’m Cicero’s niece
yesterday. He tricked me into coming here. I am
not
a Seer
and never will be. I’m looking for my partner, Royal . . . I mean
Ryel Morté Tescién. Your son Lawrence is in danger. Now will you
listen or do I walk out and lock the door behind me?”

I saw him trying to process, but all he came
up with was, “House Morté Tescién is my enemy.”

“Royal left there to work for the High House
a long time ago. He’s loyal to Lawrence,” I said.

“My Lord, you must listen!” Chris tried.

Gryphon sneered, his dark eyes glittering.
“You disgust me, consorting with - ”

Chris lost it. “Of all the pig headed. . .
.” His voice dropped to a slow drawl. “How long have you moldered
away in here? Obviously your brain has atrophied, old boy. We’re
trying to save your arse. And your son’s. Your son is in danger. Do
you know you have a son? Do you care?”

Gryphon’s shoulders dropped. “Yes, I know my
son is in danger.”

We’d been here too long. “Chris, we’re
going.”

“We can’t leave him here.”

“We can’t force him to come with us
either.”

I lowered the gun and eased it in my hip
pocket. Then I raised my hands to shoulder height. “We’ll leave the
door open. If you want to stay, that’s your choice. Come on,
Plowman.”

I backed out. Chris’ eyes flicked from me to
his High Lord. Then he shrugged and came after me.

Gryphon watched us. I could see he had
second thoughts from the way his eyes darkened, reflecting an inner
turmoil. I didn’t blame him for not trusting us.

He followed us out.

Chris and I pushed the door closed. I knelt
to relock it with my picks. Gryphon watched, stance alert,
doubtless poised to run. A large, powerful demon stood behind me,
and that made me edgy. I doubted Chris could subdue him if he
attacked us.