Demon Master (Demonsense series Book 2) (71 page)

"I want her dead," Franchesca said from where she was kneeling next to Thorvaldson.

"Of that, I'm perfectly well aware," Marton said, and Franchesca must have heard the repressed rage in his tone, because she said nothing in reply.

Marton stood in front of Bree, looking down at her. "Another Demon Master," he said musingly. "And a strong one, if I don't miss my guess. Daniel's demon tried to obey you, there at the end."

"I'm not a Demon Master," Bree replied dully. She was looking straight ahead, refusing to meet Marton's eye.
 

"What do you call one who orders a demon, then?"

Bree wet her lips nervously. "I can call them, but I can't send them away. I've only been able to do that at all for a couple of months. I don't think that makes me a Demon Master."

"Let me have a look, then," Marton replied. He glanced at Leander and said, shortly, "Hold her still." Leander moved behind Bree, and knelt, grasping her upper arms firmly. He felt her tense under his hold, but she didn't resist. Marton got down carefully on his knees in front of Bree, then put a hand against the back of her neck, clearly preparing to read her. Leander was mystified as to why Marton was taking the time and energy to do such a thing, especially when it was clear by his movements that he was sorely wounded.
 

Marton closed his eyes, and after a few very long minutes, during which Leander tried and failed to fathom what he was up to, his eyelids fluttered and he opened his eyes again. He put a hand under Bree's chin, forcing her head up so she would look at him. "You are a puzzle. I see why Thorvaldson was intrigued. You're not a Demon Master, it's true. At least, you don't read as one. It appears your Demonsense is high power, and your Exorcist talent nearly as strong. And you’re very high power as a Reader."

He got carefully to his feet. "Then there's this other talent. It's a bit like Demon Master talent, but honestly, I haven't felt anything truly like it before." He shook his head a little. "You’re unique. It would be a shame to kill you."

Leander felt a tension he wasn't aware of start to unwind at Marton's words, but it was pulled tight, nearly to breaking point, at what he said next.
 

"But I'm not sure that's reason enough to save you, either. All right, Franchesca, you can have her," Marton said, getting slowly back to his feet.
 

Quickly, Franchesca was up and at his side, an arm under his elbow, but Marton shook her off, and Franchesca left off trying to baby Marton and turned to face Bree. Her face lit with the intent, satisfied expression of cat with its paw on a baby bird.
 

Leander had his mouth open to say something, not sure at all what it would be, when Bree spoke the word, "Shield." Blue light sprung up all around her, and it had a charge to it strong enough to make Leander let go of her arms instinctively.

Franchesca frowned, lips compressed, and raised a hand to cast in return.

"Wait!" Leander shouted, surprising himself. "Marton, just stop her a minute, please!"
 

Marton had already turned away, and his expression on turning back around was so cold that Leander's words nearly froze in his mouth. Marton raised a hand, said, "Franchesca, a moment."
 

Franchesca lowered her hand. It was enough time for Bree to get to her feet and face Franchesca from behind her shield. The dazed expression had left her face, and she looked scared but determined. Leander knew that look. It was the look she'd worn when she waded into the riot at Pioneer Square. She was intent on fighting, not that it would do her any good. Marton had banished her demon for the rest of the night.
 

Franchesca was looking murder at Leander, but he ignored her. It was Marton he had to convince.

"This had better be important," Marton ground out.
 

"A favor," Leander blurted out, trying to make it sound like he wasn't as surprised by what he was saying as Marton was likely to be. "I've never asked you for a favor before, Marton, you know I haven't."

"I know you don't like to be any more beholden to me than you already are," Marton replied, and his voice held just the merest hint of humor, the tiniest indication that he was seeing Leander, really seeing him, not just blowing him off. That he was thinking of their history together.

"Then you know how unlikely it is I'll ask for another. Let her go," Leander said, doing his best to sound matter of fact when his heart was going like a jackhammer. It was a risk, and a huge one.
 

"Absolutely not!" Franchesca exclaimed. "She's mine! And besides, she's seen too much."

"She hasn't seen or heard anything that she didn't already know," Leander countered. He felt sweat trickle down the side of his face, leaving a cool track in the chill night air. "You're not losing anything by letting her go. You've read her, she's no threat. She's got no ability to come after us even if she wanted to."
 

"Do you care for her, then, little brother?" Marton asked, brows raised.
 

There was nothing in his voice, nothing Leander could read in his tells that would give him a clue as to the correct answer to make in this case. So, for once, Leander opted to tell the simple truth. "I do."
 

"That isn't wise," Marton replied, eyes narrowed.

"I know it's not," Leander admitted. More truth. "It didn't stop me from doing what you told me to do, you saw that. I haven't disobeyed your orders in any way. I'm just asking for this one favor. Let her go, and make Franchesca swear a blood oath that she won't go after Bree."

"Fuck if I will!" Franchesca swore. Her fists were clenched at her sides, and there was a mad light in her eyes. The air around her started to waver as she began to raise power.
 

Marton took three swift strides to her and struck her, hard, on the cheek. She spun, hair flying, and went down on her hip to the ground. She looked up at Marton, wild-eyed, clawing her hair off her face. Marton stood over her, one hand, palm out, over her. "You do not defy me, ever again, do you hear me?" Marton whispered.

For a minute, Leander was sure Franchesca was going to go after Marton. It was a crazy-assed, demon burned thing to do, so she was more than capable of it, but apparently there was some remnant of intelligence left in the bitch, because she slumped and let go of the power she'd gathered.
 

Marton straightened and said, "You got Thorvaldson. You got what you wanted most. He's in your charge. It's clear you'll have to keep him drugged until we come to some accommodation with him." He turned again to face Leander. "I'll consider it."
"What about Franchesca?" Bree asked, her voice slightly muted by her shield.
 
Leander was dismayed at the challenge evident in her tone.
 

Fortunately, Marton seemed too tired to react. "I will do as Leander asks. She will swear a blood oath, on pain of death, not to go after you." He gave Franchesca a diamond sharp look. Franchesca's eyes narrowed in fury, but she said obediently, "I swear a blood oath not to go after her."

Marton nodded, then stepped closer to Bree. "I think perhaps we need to have a little talk before I decide whether or not to let you go. Leander, help Franchesca get Thorvaldson to the car."
 

Bree met Leander's eyes then. He suddenly wished, with all his heart, that he knew what she was thinking. He read gratitude, yes, and grief in her tells. What he couldn't read, what he couldn't know, is whether she still cared for him, even a little. Whether his attempt to save her life would make up for his betrayal of her too easily given trust.
 

And he would have to leave without ever finding out. "Goodbye, Bree," he said quietly, meeting her beautiful, soft eyes one last time. He turned to help with Thorvaldson, getting him in a fireman's carry over his shoulders while Franchesca gave him looks that would fry someone who cared, and followed Franchesca out of the clearing, back towards his car.
 

Bree called out, from behind him, "Franchesca! You know this isn't what Daniel would want! He's not demon burned, he's something worse. His psyche is divided. If you ever loved him, who he really is, get him to a psychic healer!"

Leander's stomach clenched as he checked Marton's reaction. Marton looked grim and exhausted, and he didn't, thank god, respond to Bree's foolishly inflammatory parting shot. Franchesca was stony faced as well, though Leander caught the subtle tightening around her eyes that told him she was reacting in some way to the comment.

He kept walking, straining under the weight of Thorvaldson who, as slight as he might look, was one hell of a burden unconscious. It burned him that Bree's final words were for Thorvaldson. He thought for a moment that he regretted saving her, but honesty made one last appearance, and he knew he didn’t regret it, not at all.
 

Bree
forced her attention away from watching Franchesca, Leander and Daniel out of sight into the trees, and back to Varga, who was gazing at her with no expression at all. Maybe he was doing what he could to avoid being read, which meant whatever he had to say to her, whatever he was considering regarding her fate, involved things he didn't want her to know.
 

"So Bree. May I call you Bree?" Marton asked.

"I can't stop you," Bree replied. She started to push to her feet, and Varga said sharply, "Stay where you are." Almost, it felt like a binding. She settled back onto her knees. Was he only low power in binding then, or was he simply tired? He should be after the duel. Bree's thoughts on how to take advantage of that were interrupted by his next words.

"I'd prefer not to kill you. Contrary to what you may imagine, I don't enjoy killing people." He lightly fisted one hand, eyes narrowed, and Bree felt a brief pressure in her chest, not quite pain, but the threat was clear. He could crush her heart with an effort of will. "But I suggest you not try me with a foolish attempt at casting. I can read you have some casting ability, but you're not high power, at least not yet, and I've got the feeling you're not experienced at battle casting."

"It's hard for me to imagine that someone who's willing to set off bombs and kill hundreds of innocent people takes no pleasure in killing." The words shot right past her brain and out of her mouth.

He tugged at his bow tie until it came undone. "What makes you think I've been setting bombs?"
 

Bree's Reader sense was quiet in spite of the threat he posed, which was a bad sign. Whatever damage had been done to her heart had drained her energy level severely. "I know some Keepers around here," she said shortly.

Varga rolled his shoulders like he was working out a kink. "If the local Keepers think I'm behind the bombings, then I suppose that explains why Daniel came after me." He watched her with a narrowness of focus that put her in mind of a falcon crossed with a crocodile. He was reading her. She knew there was probably some angle she should be working here, but she couldn't think what it should be, so she kept silent. He waited a moment, then asked, "Is that why he came after me?"

When she didn't reply, he squeezed his fist, just a little, and she gasped out, "Yes."
 

His fist relaxed, and so did the pressure in her chest. Varga regarded her in silence for a moment, then said, "I have more questions for you, and I'm afraid much more pressure on your heart could cause permanent damage, if there isn't already some. If you answer my questions, and if you can give me some sort of assurance that you won't come after me or go running to the Keepers the minute I leave, I may be able to do as Leander asked and let you live."

Well, she certainly didn't have the power to come after him with Gelsenim out of reach. And as for running to the Keepers, what good would that do? If they’d taken Daniel before he went divided, she would have sought their help to get him back, but as things were, they wouldn't want him back, they'd want to put him down. "All right," she answered. "I can promise not to come after you or go to the Keepers immediately."

"You won't go to the Keepers for forty eight hours," Marton corrected, voice hard. His neutral facade was slipping.

"Fine, I won't go for forty eight hours."

Marton watched her closely, then seemed to decide she was telling the truth. He nodded, then asked, "What did you mean when you told Franchesca that Daniel's psyche is divided and he needs a psychic healer?"

"That hiding spell you're so keen to get causes some kind of break in a person's personality," she replied. She didn't know absolutely that was the cause of Daniel's break, but she was sure enough to sell it. She wanted Varga reluctant to use it, because in the short term at least, it would still be an advantage for the Keltoi to have it. "Hiding away the forbidden talents creates some kind of imbalance, and exposure to demonic energy and intense emotion causes a break where a person becomes something worse than demon burned. Not just unstable, but completely dark powered. You saw what Daniel was like, there at the end. I can tell you that's not what he's normally like, not at all."

Varga's mouth quirked. "I'm not so certain Daniel's all that lily white. He's a vicious fighter, and he was perfectly willing to kill me. But that's not important right now. Is Daniel the only one who's been using the hiding spell? Has he given it to anyone else?"

"No," Bree answered reluctantly.

"So your theory that the hiding spell leads to instability is based on one case. Not exactly the scientific method, is it?" He rubbed a hand over his mouth as he thought, then said, "Had Daniel become unstable before tonight?"

Damn the man, but he asked good questions. "He's been on the edge a few times before, but he only went all the way over one other time, and I was able to bring him back." The moment the words left her lips, she knew what a mistake they were. She just kept making these horrible mistakes.
 

Varga's vulpine smile only confirmed it. "So you're able to fix it, this division."