Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (33 page)

“I’m glad you did that. I like dogs,” Gareth
said.

Dragging me with him, he moved back. I
struggled and he put pressure on my neck till my trachea hurt. I
went limp.

Gareth sat on a kitchen chair with me on the
edge wedged between his knees, arm still around my neck.

“What’s going on, Gareth,” I asked with
difficulty. This wasn’t a social visit. People who mean you well
don’t half-strangle you.

Jack and Mel were doing what they always do
when extremely upset: they careened about the room. They were
speaking, but so fast I couldn’t understand them.

“I want to talk to Ryel.”

“The phone’s over there.”

“No, that won’t do. He will sense me soon. I
want him to see I have you, and know I will kill you if he does not
do as I say.”

Mel screeched, “No, no, no, no, no!”

They were helpless. They had to watch
whatever Gareth did to me and could not prevent it. If he killed
me, I’d join them, here in my kitchen for endless years.

“Let me guess. Lawrence didn’t let you go,
you escaped.”

“I was a warrior before I joined the
Council.” His arm flexed. “Don’t worry, I harmed no one.”

Gareth was a traitor. I swallowed against
the restriction on my adam’s apple. “What do you want Royal
for?”

“Ryel will be my ambassador in exchange for
your life. I humbly request a full pardon and to be allowed to live
out my days quietly on my estate.”

I struggled; it did nothing but restrict my
breathing. “Never happen, Gareth.” The High House would never
pardon Gareth.

Gareth’s arm loosened from my neck. His
palms fitted to the sides of my head. “I can snap your neck in an
instant. Ryel will go to the High Lord rather than see you
dead.”

“It won’t work! Don’t you see that?”

“The request is a pretext for an audience
with the young High Lord,” he said calmly. “Ryel will kill the
boy.” His arm went around my neck again. “Bel-Athaer will dissolve
in chaos. The Seers will save the day.”

My mouth went dry. “They’re under arrest, or
will be soon.”

“But not for long.”

“Gryphon will take over.”

“He made it known he does not want the Seat.
He hid for years, shunning his people. He did not want to serve
them. They will not accept him.” Gareth sniffed. “What is that
smell?”

The skillet. The oil was still heating up. I
slid my eyes sideways and saw the air above the skillet shimmering.
My pulse sped - a distraction, one Gareth could not ignore.

“I don’t smell anything.”

I had to keep his full attention on me till
the time was right. “Gareth, you were loyal to the High House. What
changed?”

He snorted. “My loyalty has always been to
Cicero. My family has served the Seer’s interests for generations.
Cicero and I were friends during our youth in the High House.”

“But Seers are - ”

“Silence, Miss Banks.”

I listened to Mac’s sullen, throaty growl
and the tick of the wall clock. I ached at the thought of Royal
having to choose between me and Lawrence. If one of us had to die,
whatever Royal decided would destroy him.

It wouldn’t come to that if I escaped
Gareth. The oil would ignite any moment now.

I had to get Mac out the way. I stared at
first Jack, then Mel, looking each in the eyes. I dipped my gaze to
Mac, then back to my roommates; went through the process again, and
again, brow creased in concentration, trying to give them a message
I could not speak aloud.

Finally. “What?” Jack asked.

“She wants us to do something,” from
Mel.

I put a pained expression on my face, dipped
my eyes at Mac, up to them.

“She wants us to distract the dog!” Mel
exclaimed.

“You want him out the way?” Jack asked.

I hoped relief showed in my eyes. With my
jaw on Gareth’s arm, I didn’t dare twitch a muscle to speak or
nod.

Jack zoomed up to us and edged in front of
Mac. “Hey, fur ball!” He scooted behind Mac, around again, this
time flapping his arms like a retarded chicken.

Mac sat up. He turned a circle, trying to
follow Jack with his eyes as my dead roomy zipped around.

Mel joined in. She bent over Mac. “Come on,
you nasty little animal.”

Mac’s lips curled back. He snarled and came
up on all four feet.

“Pussy!” Mel shrieked. “Miserable, mangy
excuse for a dog!”

Mac lunged, but Jack and Mel shot across the
kitchen to the west windows. Stubby little legs pumping, Mac
whirled and went after them.

Stay there, Mac. Good boy. Stay there.

Jack and Mel kept him occupied, yelling,
jumping around him. Snapping and snarling, he spun in circles.

“What is wrong with your dog?” Gareth
asked.

“Maybe he smells a rat.”

The oil burst into flames with a
whump!

I felt Gareth tense as his head turned.
“What have you done?”

“I was making breakfast when you burst
in.”

He stood, taking me up with him, then shoved
me away. “Put it out!”

I stumbled, held my throat with one hand.
There would be bruises later. If I had a later.

The best way to put out a grease fire is
with a lid. Lacking that, baking soda can be used, although more
than I had on hand is needed. I pointed at the top cabinet. “We
need baking soda. A heap of it. It’s in there.”

He reacted how anyone would when faced with
a fire. It became the first order of business. He reached up to the
cabinet.

Fast as a demon can be, any chance of
outwitting him was slim. But I had one opportunity and I took
it.

Two paces, and I was at the stove when
Gareth took the box of baking soda off the top shelf. I grasped the
skillet handle with both hands, tipped, and swung. The burning oil
fountained between us. I averted my face, but reflexively looked
back when my hand stung and saw a strip of skin peel back, turn
brown and fly away.

The oil splashed on Gareth’s hair, face,
neck and shoulders. He dropped the baking soda as instinct made him
lift his hands, but he couldn’t touch himself as the oil ate his
skin and clothes like acid. The pain must have been terrible.

I swung the skillet backhand and he was too
consumed by pain and shock to avoid the blow. The heavy iron
cracked the side of his head. Eyes rolling up, hands reaching for
me, he went down.

I stood over him, skillet poised, but he
didn’t move. Lying on his side, he was out cold. He looked
dreadful, with ugly third degree burns on his face and neck. A
little blood had leaked through his blue-gray hair.

Panting, I eased down to sit cross-legged
behind his head. If he came to, I’d bonk him again.

I inspected the angry welts on the backs of
my hands and wrists, the small hole in my sleeve where the oil
burned through. I’d feel the pain when the adrenaline rush wore
off. I needed treatment, but not at the risk of another person
seeing Gareth if I called the paramedics, or leaving him here when
I drove to the emergency room. I didn’t have anything strong enough
to bind a demon.

Mac’s bark sounded hoarse. He still lunged
at Jack and Mel but with less energy. They ignored him, which I
imagine took the fun out of it for him.

“Mac, hush now,” I said wearily. A neighbor
might come over to investigate if he kept barking.

He fell silent but for harsh panting. After
a minute, he trotted to his water bowl and drank, then lay down
under the kitchen table. A second later he got up and trundled to
me. He paused at Gareth’s hip, sniffed, curled his lip and lifted
his hind leg.

“Don’t you dare!” But only because I’d have
to clean it up.

Mac gave me an ugly look, but in an
about-face lay down with his chin on my thigh. He sighed and closed
his eyes.

Jack slumped on one side of me, Mel on the
other.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted,”
Jack said.

“Your poor hands!” Mel exclaimed.

Now was one of the zillion times I wished I
could touch them, put my arms around their shoulders and squeeze.
“Thanks, guys. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Because you wouldn’t risk frying the rat in
hot oil,” from Jack.

Mac lifted his head, gave a halfhearted
growl under his breath and let it sink on his paws again.

“Yeah, that, and it kept Gareth distracted
long enough for the oil to ignite.” I grinned at Jack. “You were
great.”

“And what - ”

“And you, Mel,” I said quickly. “I couldn’t
find better roommates if I advertised.”

A whirlwind punched open the front door and
tore through the house, creating a vacuum which whisked papers and
small objects off the tabletop and counters.

“You took your time,” I told Royal before he
swept me off my feet.

I clung to him, arms clenching his neck,
legs around his waist, his face buried in my shoulder.

He eased me to the ground, but kept his arms
around me as we looked down at Gareth.

“I would not have believed it,” he
murmured.

I hugged him tighter. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

Regret saddened his voice. Gareth trained
him. He was a youth when he left his home to serve the High House
and met Gareth, the House’s most dedicated servant. All that time .
. . a lie. I felt a little sad myself. I liked Gareth and trusted
him more than any other demon. Shows I’m not the greatest student
of human nature. I mean Gelpha nature.

“What are you going to do with him?” I
asked. Royal would not call the cops.

“I’ll take him to a place he cannot escape.
What happens to him is the High Lord’s decision.”

Poor Lawrence. His first judicial action as
High Lord, decide the sentence of a man he’d called friend.

EPILOGUE

Snowflakes circled and drifted in the light
cast by streetlamps. Snow melted on Royal’s hair and slicked his
face as he stood on my stoop wearing a heart-stopping smile.

Both eyebrows shot up as he regarded me, in
my robe, hair loose down my back.

His eyes flipped to the ceiling where the
mistletoe had hung. “You took it down?”

“Moved it.”

“To where?”

“You’ll see.”

He sniffed. “I don’t smell dinner.”

“It’s prepped and ready to go.” I ran my
tongue over my lower lip suggestively and spoke slowly. “You won’t
believe how fast it heats up.”

His eyebrows made arcs above twinkling
copper eyes. “I sense we are not talking about roast turkey and
potatoes.” He reached out, ran his finger down my cheek then behind
my ear, hooked a tress of hair and twirled it around his fingers.
“I should not have teased you when we first met. I created a
monster.”

“This isn’t a tease.” With both hands, I
grasped his collar and pulled him in till our mouths were a
fraction apart. “I promise, it’s something you can really make a
meal out of.”

His big hands gripped my waist and crushed
me to him. I wonder how his heavy brown leather coat restrained
what reared up between us. Speaking of monsters. . . .
Whew
.

I resisted the urge to fan my face with my
hand and instead released his collar. “Just one sec,” I inched back
from him. “Wait right here.”

I backed up, went in the living room and
closed the door on his perplexed face.

The lamps were off, but I’d managed to light
the wood-burning stove. The flames danced behind the glass and cast
warm orange light over the walls. The Christmas tree twinkled in
the corner. I don’t own a bearskin rug, so I spread my duvet in
front of the stove and threw down the toss pillows off the sofa. A
bottle of Chardonnay sat in the ice bucket, two long-stemmed
wineglasses on the hardwood floor. I unbelted my robe and let it
drop. Shame I didn’t have some slinky, elbow-length gloves to cover
the dressings on my hands.

I picked up the sprig of artificial
mistletoe with its golden bell. Holding it over my head, I opened
the door.

Royal beamed a wide, delighted smile.

It was, after all, Christmas, and I hadn’t
given him a present.

I gave the mistletoe a little shake so the
bell tinkled and tried for a Mae West accent. “Hey, big boy, you
wanna come in here and jingle my bell?”

Friend and mentor, necessary harasser, LK. I
couldn’t manage without you. My developmental editor Sharon. My
trusty beta readers Don, Karen, Maureen, Meagan and Shirli. Kenneth
Paul Jones – he whipped out the awesome verse for Demon Demon
Burning Bright in a matter of minutes and on the spur of the
moment. The fabulous Indie Chicks for their friendship and support.
And of course Whisperings readers who let me know they want
more.

Books by Linda Welch

Whisperings Novels:

Along Came a Demon

The Demon Hunters

Dead Demon Walking

Demon Demon Burning Bright

Anthology:

Indie Chicks. 25Woman, 25 Personal
Stories.

Coming in 2012:

A Whisperings Mystery: Demon on a Distant
Shore

Meet the Author

Linda Welch was born in Hampshire, England.
She lived in Idaho, California and New Mexico before settling in
Utah. She now lives in a mountain valley, more or less halfway up
the mountainside, with her husband and Scottish terrier. She is not
tall and silver-haired and does not see dead people. What she does
see are moose, deer, fox, raccoon, skunk, wild turkey, a huge bird
population and a ridiculous amount of snow. When not writing and
depending on the season, she is usually walking her Scottie,
filling the bird feeders, futilely attacking the weeds in her
garden or shoveling out after a snowstorm. Dead Demon Burning
Bright is the fourth book of her Whisperings series. You can visit
Linda at http://lindadwelch.com

Linda is working on the next Whisperings:
Demon on a Distant Shore.