The Demon Lover (25 page)

Although I hadn’t seen Liam Doyle since the night of the first snow, he had emailed me.
I’ve got an idea about Nicky Ballard
, he had written and then gone on to explain a plan he had for keeping Nicky on the straight and narrow. I was supposed to implement the first part of the plan on the last day of the semester. Most of the students had already left for their homes, but Nicky, since she lived in town, had volunteered for the last conference slot. Since there was a faculty holiday party that started at sunset, I came to our meeting dressed up.

“Wow!” Nicky cried when I took my coat off. “You look great!”

“Thanks, Nicky.” I was wearing a silver dress that I’d bought last Christmas at Barney’s and the diamond studs my aunt had given me for my twenty-first birthday. “I do plan to change my shoes.” I held up a pair of silver heels over the sheepskin boots I had on.

“It’s a good thing you’re wearing the boots,” Nicky said. “It’s supposed to go down into the teens tonight.”

I shammed a shiver. “Brrr, do you ever get used to the cold here?”

Nicky laughed. “Truthfully? No. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to live somewhere warm.”

“You should try it sometime. Take your junior year abroad in Spain, or do a semester archaeology dig in Mexico, or do your postgraduate work at UT Austin. They have a great writing program.”

Nicky’s eyes shone at each suggestion I made, but the lights quickly went out. “I couldn’t,” she said. “My grandmother needs me and I’m pretty sure my scholarship only covers tuition here.”

“Hm … I’ll ask Dean Book about that. In the meantime, I wanted to talk to you about an idea for an independent study class—actually, it was Professor Doyle’s idea.”

“Really? You’ve talked to Professor Doyle about me?”

“Yes, he’s very impressed with the poems you’ve been writing.”

“He’s been awfully nice about them … 
He’s
awfully nice. Don’t you think so?”

“Um, yes, he is very nice, but that isn’t the reason he likes your poems. Your poetry is very good—”

“And so handsome! Don’t you think he’s handsome?” Nicky asked, a dreamy expression on her face.

“I suppose so,” I answered as tersely as I could. “But Professor Doyle’s looks are not what I want to talk to you about. He—we—had an idea for an independent class that would combine the poetry you’re writing with research into the themes of your poetry. For instance, you use the motif of the captive maiden, a motif that appears in fairy tales such as Rapunzel and Sleeping Beauty, and in Gothic fiction …”

“Oh, like the way Emily St. Aubert is trapped in the castle of Udolpho,” Nicky volunteered. “Or Bertha Rochester is locked up in the attic of Thornfield Hall.”

“Exactly,” I replied, although I hadn’t been thinking of Bertha Rochester, who dies at the end of
Jane Eyre
. The idea was to have Nicky identify with the captive maidens of myth and literature who escape in the end. Liam thought that if Nicky could plot an escape for her fictional alter ego, she might not fall victim to the fate of all the Ballard women before her. Of course, Liam didn’t know about the curse, but when I’d run the idea by Soheila she had thought it couldn’t hurt. At least it was something to do. I’d read through the spell lexicon looking for ways to avert a curse but they all required knowing who had cast it. Anton Volkov had been away at a conference for the last few days so I hadn’t been able to find out the names of the two witches who might have cursed the Ballards. For now, this was the best I could do. “So do you like the idea?”

“Yes. Would I be working with both of you together, or one at a time?”

“Oh, we hadn’t discussed that. I suppose we could each meet individually with you or we could all three meet together. Which would you prefer?”

“I’d like to meet all together,” Nicky replied immediately. “I really like Professor Doyle, but whenever I’m alone with him I get so nervous I can hardly speak. It will be better if you’re there.”

I smiled indulgently at Nicky, as if it had been years since I’d experienced such nerves. “Good, it’s settled then. I’ll talk to Professor Doyle about a time that will work for all of us when I see him at the party this evening.” I looked at my watch. “Which I’d better be getting to.”

“Oh yes, you don’t want to be late for the holiday party. It’s a tradition at Fairwick. Of course, students don’t get to go to it. We’re all supposed to be off the campus by sunset today. They lock the gates an hour after dusk.”

“Do they?” I’d never seen the southeast gate closed, let alone locked. “Well then, you’d best be going. I wouldn’t want you to get locked into the campus the whole break.” Nicky and I both laughed at the idea, but it occurred to me that it would be just the kind of thing that would happen in the Gothic novels we’d been reading.

TWENTY-FOUR

W
hen I got to Briggs Hall I stopped in the coatroom in the lobby to shuck off my long down coat and swap my boots for party shoes. While I was trying to tighten the buckle on my right shoe I heard whispering coming from the back of the coatroom. I froze, poised awkwardly on one leg, and listened.

“You would tell me if there was something really wrong, wouldn’t you?” a woman’s plaintive voice pleaded. I hated to be eavesdropping on what sounded like a lover’s quarrel, but I was afraid that if I moved I would give away my presence. So I listened, waiting for a response, but none came.

“After all, you’ve known her longer than I have and I know how much you care for her.”

Hm … not a lovers’ quarrel then.
Perhaps a ménage à trois?
I had to admit I was curious now. I stealthily pushed aside a layer of heavy winter coats … and uncovered Diana Hart standing alone beside Liz Book’s fur coat.

“Diana?” I asked, too startled to worry about keeping my presence secret. “Are you okay?”

Diana looked up guiltily, her eyes bloodshot and bleary. “I’m fi-ine,” she warbled, her chin quivering. “It’s Lizzie I’m worried about. She’s fading away and I can’t figure out why. I thought I’d ask Ursuline, but she won’t tell me.”

I glanced at the fur coat, which I had seen move to protect its owner when Phoenix had flown at her. The coat hung on a padded hanger now, its sheen faded.

“And look!” Diana stroked her hand down the lapel of the coat and then held it up to me. Long brown hairs clung to her palm. “She’s shedding in the middle of the winter. She must be sick, too.”

“Could that be why Liz is ill? If her familiar is sick, could it make her sick?”

Diana furrowed her freckled brow and pressed her face against the dull fur. “I don’t know. A witch and her familiar are interconnected. Usually the familiar grows weak because the witch is sick, but I suppose it could happen the other way around. But then what is making Ursuline sick?”

I touched the fur coat gingerly. I remembered when I had held the coat the night of the ice storm it had bristled with static electricity, but now it lay limp and inert under my hand. Something
was
wrong with it.

“Gosh, I have no idea. Are there vets for familiars? I don’t suppose you could take it to the Goodnoughs?”

“Oh my, no! Abby and Russell have a Humane Society sticker on their car—I’m sure they would disapprove of fur coats! I’d have to coax Ursuline into taking bear-shape.” We both looked at the coat dubiously. Diana may have been trying to figure out how to turn the coat back into a bear, but I was remembering how large and fierce the creature on the porch had been, and planning my retreat.

“Well, you let me know how that goes,” I said, backing out of the coatroom. “I guess I’ll go into the party now.”

“You do that, dear,” Diana said absently. “I’ll be along in a moment. I’m just going to spend a few more minutes with Ursuline.”

I left Diana murmuring to the coat and walked toward the Main Parlor, brushing brown hairs off my silver dress. My head was down looking for stray hairs, so it wasn’t until I was in the doorway that I looked up and saw how the room had been transformed. I’d admired the stately hall the last time I’d been in it, but the heavy drapes had been drawn over the windows then. Today the drapes had been pushed back, revealing a wall of glass facing the western mountains. The sun hovered just inches above the highest, turning the sky a brilliant fiery red and the mountains a deep violet. Swaths of russet light poured in through the glass, deepening the colors of the Persian rug and turning the oak beams and panels a rich honey gold. It was the painted triptych, though, that was most affected by the light; it seemed to bring the figures to life. The gilt on the horses’ bridles and saddles gleamed like real gold, the grass and leaves sparkled as if freshly dewed, and the faces of the men and women glowed as though blood flowed through their veins—all but the Fairy Queen, whose face, untouched by the sunlight, remained pale and icy. I was so busy looking at the painting that I hardly noticed the human inhabitants of the party until Soheila Lilly appeared at my side with a glass of champagne for me.

“It’s beautiful in this light, no? The drapes are drawn open on this day only—or else the light would fade the paint.”

“That’s a shame. It looks as if it was made to be in this light. I’d love to see the painting inside.”

“You’ll have a chance. The painting will be opened soon.” Soheila glanced out the window where the sun was just slipping behind the peak of the western mountains. “We always wait until a few minutes after sunset to give the night people a chance to join in … Ah, here they are now. They must have come in their limo to avoid the sun.”

Soheila motioned with her champagne flute toward the doorway. Standing on the threshold were the three Russian studies professors—tall, blond Anton Volkov, back from his conference apparently, petite Rea Demisovski, and short, bald Ivan Klitch.

“Are they really …”

“Sh … They don’t like the modern terminology. They prefer to be known as night people, or nocturnals.”

“But do they—” I lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper “—drink blood?”

Anton Volkov’s head shot up and snapped in my direction, his cold blue eyes fixed on mine. He was all the way across the room, but I could swear that he’d heard me. He took a step forward, but Rea Demisovski put a restraining hand on his arm and pointed at the floor in front of them where a thin ribbon of red light stretched from the windows to the bottom of the triptych. He took a step back, never taking his eyes off me.

“Damn,” I said, turning to Soheila to ask if she thought he had heard me, but Soheila had left my side. She was standing a few feet away with Elizabeth Book, their heads together, whispering. The dean looked upset at something, worry weighing down her face. When she looked up at me I was alarmed at how much she had aged in the few days since I had seen her last. Her eyes, fastened on me, were bloodshot and one eyelid drooped slightly. For all that, her look was keen when she approached me and I was afraid that she was going to scold me for offending the resident vampires—for surely that’s what they were. Glancing back at the doorway where they hovered behind the bar of red sunlight I could practically feel Anton Volkov’s bloodlust. He was staring at me as though he’d like to eat me.

“Callie, dear …” It was the dean’s voice, only so much weaker than her usual tone that I had to look down to check that it was really her … and that was another thing. I could have sworn that when I met Dean Book she was my height, but now she was a good two inches shorter than me. Even allowing that I was wearing higher heels, that was still a lot of height to lose to osteoporosis in a few months. “Callie, dear,” she repeated in a quavering voice. “I have a favor to ask you.”

“I’m sorry if I insulted the Russian studies department, Dean Book. But honestly, how could you have sent me to his office knowing what he is?”

Dean Book looked confused. “Do you mean Professor Volkov? Why, he’s a perfect gentleman.”

“I think he turned into a bat and chased me!” I hissed.

Dean Book smiled and shook her head. “You must be mistaken, dear. Anton would never …”

Soheila interrupted. “We haven’t much time, Liz. The door has to be opened before the last sunlight is gone.”

“Of course, that’s what I’m trying to arrange,” the dean replied petulantly. And then, turning to me and straightening herself up to practically her former height, she asked, “We’d like you to do the honors this year, Callie. It seems fitting since you have shown a talent for opening the
real
door. This one is merely a symbol, but still … symbols are important.”

“You want me to open the triptych?”

“Yes, please. Or rather the right side. Fiona always opens the left side. I usually open the right side, but I … well, I just don’t feel quite up to it today.”

It was alarming to hear Elizabeth Book admit to such weakness. “Of course,” I said. “It would be an honor.”

I put down my champagne glass on a nearby table and walked over to the right side of the triptych. Fiona Eldritch, in a stunning green silk dress, already stood on the left side, one hand resting on the gilt handle at the center of the door. She was standing just below the figure of the Fairy Queen, a placement that could not have been accidental. I smiled at her, resisting the urge to curtsey, and placed my hand on the right side handle. I felt a bit like Vanna White on
Wheel of Fortune
gesturing toward a prize.

“You look very nice in that color,” Fiona said. “It suits you better than green.”

Little dull to wear the same color all the time, I thought to myself—or at least I
thought
it was to myself. When I saw Fiona’s lips thin with displeasure I realized that my thoughts weren’t my own in this company. Now I’d pissed off a vampire
and
the Fairy Queen. I wondered what other supernatural creature I could get on the wrong side of before the end of the night. I glanced around the room. All the guests had formed a semicircle around the triptych—except for the “night people,” who still hovered in the doorway. They had all put down their champagne glasses and were holding unlit candles instead—the kind used at candlelight vigils, with paper cones attached to keep wax from dripping on their hands. I looked at the expectant faces—intercepting smiles from Casper van der Aart and his boyfriend, Oliver—looking for one face in particular. I hadn’t seen Liam since I’d arrived. And yet he’d told me I would see him here. I was just about to give up when I spotted him in the doorway, edging past the Russian studies professors. Anton Volkov raised an eyebrow at him as he passed and Rea Demisovski licked her lips.

Yikes! I’d have to warn Liam somehow to stay away from them.

Liam, seemingly unfazed by the attention of the nocturnals, took his place in the semicircle, accepting a candle from Oliver. He caught my eye and winked. I blushed and looked away … and caught Fiona Eldritch staring at Liam. While the brunette vampire had looked at Liam as if he’d make an appealing snack, the Fairy Queen was staring at him as if he was the last drop of water in the desert.

“Who
is
that?” Fiona asked without taking her eyes off Liam.

“That’s the new writer-in-residence, Liam Doyle. Funny you haven’t met him. He’s been here two weeks.”

Fiona began to say something but was interrupted by Liz Book calling the room to order.

“Friends and colleagues,” the dean began, her voice as thin as the last ray of sunlight that quivered across the floor. “We mourn today the dying of the sun and remember those who have passed beyond the light.” She paused and gazed around the room. “For who among us has not lost someone to the darkness?” I looked around at the circle of faces and stopped when I reached Liam. Was he thinking of his childhood sweetheart, Jeannie, right now? He was standing with his back to the window, the last red rays of the sun limning his face, throwing his eyes into shadow so I couldn’t see his expression. “But just as the sun returns, and the days grow longer, so the memories of our absent loved ones remain and we affirm our faith in love by finding new objects of our affection.” Liz looked around the circle until her gaze settled on Diana and she smiled.

“So today we celebrate not the dying of the sun, but its return. We open our hearts to new love just as we open this door.” Liz turned to us and I saw Fiona begin to pull the handle on her side. She could have given me a cue, I thought, tugging on my handle. The triptych panel was heavier than I had imagined and the hinges creaked. I had a terrible image of the panel breaking in my hands. That would be just my luck; I could piss off a whole bunch of supernaturals in one fell swoop.

Then I recalled reading the spell for opening in the spellbook. Perhaps it would help the door to open more smoothly.

“Ianuam sprengja!”
I said under my breath.

The panel was suddenly light in my hands. It swung open of its own volition, so swiftly that I was flattened between the panel and the wall. I heard a gasp from the room which I thought might be for my safety, but when I extricated myself I saw that no one was looking at me. They were looking at the painting … When I turned to the place on the wall where the painting had been, I found myself looking through a window at another world. Deep green meadows starred with tiny flowers rolled down to a crystal blue lake surrounded by mountains that faded from indigo to violet to the palest rose and lavender. I stepped forward and instead of dissipating, the illusion deepened. I was at the edge of a dark wood, branches arching far over my head, looking out through the trees to the green meadows and the lake beyond. The scene blurred and I realized my eyes were full of tears. A faint buzzing filled my ears, like a million voices whispering or a swarm of flying insects beating their wings together. They grew as they came closer, swelling to almost human size—and
almost
human features. A host of diaphanous glowing figures swarmed around me, their sharp noses sniffing at me, their pointed ears twitching. The buzzing grew louder—the same buzzing I’d heard when I’d fallen asleep in the library … then I recognized them. They were the horde I’d traveled with in my dreams.
My companions
.

Our doorkeeper!
Their high-pitched voices echoed as they stirred excitedly around me. Those who had wings flexed them now and swooped in the air above my head, their wings brushing my face.