Dark Demon Rising: Whisperings Paranormal Mystery book seven (17 page)

“Does
the rain feel as nasty as it looks?” I asked Maggie.

“Yeah.”
She wiped her wet face with one sleeve. “Like being pelted with gravel.”

A
man in a black business suit under a gray overcoat hurried toward us. He glanced
at us and his vertical iris shimmered an unearthly green.

I
studied the people who crowded the street and sidewalks and knew I did not gaze
upon your everyday Clarion citizens.

Stunned,
my eyes picked out human beings but they were in the minority. I saw feathers
and fur, hooves and claws, pointed ears, elongated limbs. Some looked like
animals wearing clothes and walking upright. A towering hairy biped waded
through the crowd. With a buzz and bell-like tinkle, something small and
blazing color zipped past my face too fast to get a fix on. A slim woman studied
produce on a stall; pale, semi-translucent wings flared from her back then as quickly
folded out of sight.

“Guys?”
Maggie hissed.

“I
cannot believe my eyes,” Royal said in a hushed a voice.

Maggie
whispered, “You said your parents talked about
‘people’
who fled to a sanctuary
long ago.”

“This
is not real,” Chris murmured. “I’m in my penthouse in Rome, or my manor house
in England, or my palazzo in Venice . . . wherever I am, I’m tucked up in bed
sound asleep. But I can’t decide if this is a dream or a nightmare.”

As
for me, I couldn’t speak.

“Walk
with confidence, as if you know your destination,” Royal murmured. “Do not
stop, do not pause, eyes ahead and do not gape.”

“Where
are
we going?” Chris asked.

“No
idea.” Royal thrust his hands straight at his sides and walked down the steps to
the street. “And I hesitate to ask any of these about Shan. Perhaps a merchant,
or is there an office of public records?”

Royal
led, with Maggie sandwiched between him and Chris. I once saw Royal stride
through Clarion wearing this expression and other pedestrians got out of his
way, as far from him as possible. He didn’t daunt these folk. They drifted
aside at the last second or turned a shoulder to avoid being rammed, and
continued.

The
rain stopped as abruptly as it started.

The
hurrying people fascinated me, not only because my brain struggled to analyze
what it saw. I’d quickly become used to auras to the degree I barely noticed
them, but black tinged many of these aurae and I knew they should be avoided.

I
felt as if I watched a fantasy movie. I couldn’t get a sense of this place. “Maggie,
tell me what you feel.”

“What
do you mean?”

“How
does the air feel? What do you smell?”

“Oh.”
She frowned in concentration. “It’s warm and humid. The air is heavy, as if a
thunderstorm is brewing. It feels kind of threatening, actually.” She inhaled. “Strong
smell of . . . sweat. Do they use deodorant? And, lemme see, onions. Yeah,
fried onions, and peppers? And coffee. I think there’s a bakery nearby, I smell
pastries. And,” she pinched her nose, “garbage.”

A
thin voice behind us said,
“Hungry,”
and Maggie sidestepped to avoid one
of three tiny creatures squatting against the wall. Enormous elephantine ears
of thin translucent membrane, noses long and sharply pointed, they held out arms
thin as sticks. “Hungry. Give?”

I
couldn’t give, Maggie made apologetic noises and Royal didn’t linger. He
dragged Maggie onward by her arm.

A
pearl-grey sedan pulled to the curb beside us not far from The Station and the
driver’s door opened. A thin gangling figure in an ankle-long hooded coat
unwound itself from the driver’s seat, slithered out and opened the passenger
door.

Curious,
I tried to see under the hood but the driver kept his . . . her? . . . its? . .
. head bowed. Silent, he stood there holding the door.

Royal
and Chris stepped away as if joined at the hip. Chris pushed Maggie behind him.
Royal’s hand went inside his jacket for his gun.

The
driver’s voice made the word a sigh. “Shan.”

Royal
didn’t pull his pistol but he and Chris hesitated. Could we trust anyone in
this bizarre place?

“Shan
says come,” the driver said.

“I
think we’ll have to risk it,” Chris said in a low voice.

Royal
gave a sharp nod. Chris got in first, Maggie and I next, followed by Royal. The
driver shut the door and slipped in the front seat. And away we went.

Chris’
hair straggled in sopping tendrils. Maggie lowered her hood to reveal teal hair
plastered in a cap. Water drizzled over Royal’s face. All three dripped on the
seats until small puddles surrounded them.

Rain
battered Gettaholt again. It pummeled the car’s roof and the windshield wipers came
on full speed. Maggie, crushed between Royal and Chris, still hadn’t found her
voice after being accosted by tiny creatures belonging in the imagination, not
on a sidewalk in a busy city. Royal looked out one side of the car, Chris out
the other. Maggie leaned forward and tried to see past Royal.

Nobody
said a word, either because they didn’t want to speak with the driver listening
or were speechless, given what we saw outside. The rain blurred everything but
I glimpsed strange architecture and odder people. All the time, I wanted to
pinch myself so I’d wake up.

We
swerved down a street with other vehicles and fewer people who sensibly kept to
the sidewalks. The rain stopped falling as if someone turned off a faucet. I
looked past the driver’s narrow shoulders at the road winding ahead and looming
buildings. The street was darker than those we’d left and the irregularly
placed streetlights fought a hazy red gloom cast by the red sky. We passed slits
between walls too narrow to be called alleys; I don’t think two people could
have walked abreast.

Our
driver was a maniac. Speed limits didn’t exist or were not posted, nor stoplights
or stop signs. However, other vehicles drove at a reasonable speed and with due
caution, but not our guy. He shot through intersections with no regard for other
autos and pedestrians and didn’t decelerate when anyone attempted to cross the
road; I held my breath on their behalf as they leaped or scurried out of the
way. We came behind a panel truck and he veered to pass, barely avoiding a
collision with a small pickup coming from the other direction. I forgot I
couldn’t be hurt and released Maggie’s aura to reach for something of substance.
I ended up halfway through the driver’s seat.

The
car whipped left along a side street and decelerated. Large domiciles stretched
to the curb and the street dead-ended not far ahead.

The
car stopped outside one of the houses, the driver slid out, opened the rear door
and everyone piled out. Chris smoothed his jacket and tugged the ends of his
cuffs. “I think we’ve arrived.”

Royal’s
gaze tracked up an imposing house in the Romanesque style built of rough-faced
stone with arches, parapets, a round tower and cone-shaped roofs. Carved panels
decorated the face around the door and below the windows on the third floor. My
sight couldn’t penetrate the dark depths of the porch to the left of the front
door.

Eyes
on the house, Royal announced, “Maggie, you will wait for us.”

She
got in front of him and looked in his face. “What? What about Tiff? You wanted
me to come so you can communicate.”

“Were
she here in the flesh, I would not allow her inside.”

“
Would
not allow!”
I scoffed. “I’d like to see him stop me.”

“Do
you want to hear what she said to that?” Maggie asked.

“I
can imagine.” He still hadn’t looked at her. He didn’t look at Chris, either. “Chris,
she cannot remain in this place alone. You must stay with her.”

Chris
frowned. “You sneaky devil. You had this in mind from the beginning, didn’t
you, old man.”

Royal
didn’t respond. He never intended to let Maggie near Dagka Shan and
successfully foiled Chris as well. I was glad he cared about Maggie’s safety.

“I’m
going with him,” I said.

Maggie
frowned.

“I’ll
hang on tight,” I reassured her. Happily, she didn’t comment on my decision. If
Royal knew, he’d say I couldn’t go and I’d say I was, and he’d be mad he
couldn’t stop me.

Royal
drew his Glock and handed it to Chris. “Keep this for me.”

Chris
took the heavy pistol. “Why?”

“I
do not want him to take it away from me.”

This
was too much. “You can’t go to Shan unarmed?” I quavered, and Maggie spoke for
me.

“
Think
,
Tiff. Everything Shan did was to bring me here. To kill me? He was in Clarion.
If he wanted me dead, he could have easier found and killed me than terrorize
Magnusen into shooting you. I am safe because he wants something from me.”

Royal
lifted the heavy, ornate door knocker and rammed it on the wood.

“How
long should we wait before I come to your rescue?” from Chris.

“You
do nothing,” Royal said. “If I am not out within the hour, take Maggie home.”

“And
leave you? I’ll do nothing of the sort.”

Before
they got into a macho match, the door opened. The woman who stood there wore a
long, filmy, pale-yellow robe down to her ankles, the sleeves covered her hands
and a hood enveloped her head. Wisps of white hair escaped the hood, framing a
long pale face with a short pointed nose and wide mouth, catlike eyes, the
yellow pupils big and round, the vertical irises a greenish color. Deep indents
beneath pronounced cheekbones and colorless lips made her look skeletal.

She
backed into the house and made flourishing motions with both hands. Her voice
was surprisingly deep. “Come.”

I
quickly stretched to twine my fingers in Royal’s aura, and released Maggie’s. “See
you later, Maggie. Stay with Chris and make sure he stays with you.”

Royal
strode inside the house. The door shut behind us.

The
woman flowed more than walked. Terrified I’d lose my grip, I concentrated on holding
Royal’s aura and saw little of the house. A grand staircase. High ceilings. Threadbare
carpeting. Doors open to empty rooms.

We
stopped in a square chamber about forty feet on each side. “Wait,” the woman said.
She backed through the door and shut it.

Clinging
to Royal, I took in our surroundings. Gray plaster coated the walls and
ceiling, the floor smooth gray, as if painted. A big fireplace with a wide
mantelpiece faced us; partly burned logs filled the basket and ash had drifted on
the floor. Metal bars covered small windows in the wall to our right. The red
light seeping through did little to disperse the shadows, and lamps glowing
pale yellow on the other three walls made small oases of light. As well as the
door behind us, shadows filled an arched opening left of the fireplace. Two long
waist high tables each made of four roughly cut stone legs with thick slate
slabs for tops sat at this end of the room.

I
noticed a design on the floor in front of the fireplace, a big, black unbroken
circle with a frieze of lines, stars and circles following the inside
circumference.

A
shadow near the fireplace stirred. With the swish of fabric on stone, a man stepped
into the pallid light. He walked toward us, following the wall on the left as
if avoiding the circle. Although a young man no more than thirty, his short
hair and neatly clipped beard matched the dead gray of a man in his latter
years. His nose hooked above thin lips and small round spectacles framed pale
eyes. The corners of his mouth turned down, as if with contempt.

The
slight swish came from his long over-tunic trailing on the floor. Dark blue
with long sleeves, it draped a round-necked gown covered with so much
glittering embroidery it hid the material beneath.

He
stopped a good fifteen feet from us and inclined his head. “My name is Arthemy.
Welcome to my home.”

Instead
of gently suffusing at the edges, the unrelieved black of Arthemy’s aura writhed
like reaching fingers. I cringed closer to Royal.

“Where
is Dagka Shan?” Royal asked.

“I
am here,” Shan said as, suddenly, he was.

If
I’d had skin, I would have jumped right out of it. Royal flinched then held
himself still.

I
automatically fumbled inside my coat until I found my holster. My hands shook,
but I managed to draw the Ruger. Then I remembered trying to fire it in
Clarion. It was an extension of my new body, not a real gun.

I
dearly wanted to put a bullet through Shan’s head.

Gore
coated Shan’s face and crusted his long hair when last I saw him. Now, wearing
a midnight-blue jacket and trousers, a cream and powder-blue striped shirt and
black suede loafers, he looked sophisticated, the epitome of style. Shining blue-black
hair fell in sleek, glossy tendrils. Long-lashed black eyes, broad cheekbones
and brown skin made me place him as South American but I knew his heritage was
different. The Dark Cousins fashioned their forms to mimic the peoples of Earth.

As
all the Otherworldy, he was beautiful, but acknowledging beauty does not mean
it beguiles me. On the contrary, I found Shan repulsive. My pulse hammered and the
back of my throat burned as if coated with bile.

Members
of a band of Cousins who came to Bel-Athaer, the original
Mothers,
Shan,
Gia and their brethren created the Gelpha race by abducting and breeding with
human beings. It’s said Gia is old, though not
how
old, and compared to
Dagka Shan is a fledgling. Both Gelpha and Cousins called him an Ancient. Yet Shan
seemed a young man, for Dark Cousins don’t physically age as do Gelpha and
humans. No imperfections marred his dark complexion, pliant skin molded
pleasingly to his bones.

Shan
did not have an aura.

He
regarded us dispassionately yet a glint in his eyes belied his bland expression
and soft, level tone. “Ryel, welcome to Gettaholt.”

Royal
said nothing. The muscles and sinews in his neck stood out from his skin.

Shan
smoothed his chin with long dexterous fingers. “What, no ‘so nice to see you
again,’ or ‘how have you been?’ Have you forgotten your manners, Ryel?”

“What
do you want from me?”

“What
do you think of Downside?” Shan held his arms as if in a wide embrace. “Is it
not astonishing? Living here is an education, I have learned so much.” He dipped
his head. “‘He said the dead had souls, but when I asked him how could that be—I
thought the dead were souls. . . .’”

I
knew the quotation, from Robert Frost’s
Two Witches
.

“Death,
Ryel, is not final, for we are more than the fleshy bag which contains us. The
body dies, yet we are eternal. The soul is everything we are, our actual
selves. Did you know a foreign object inserted in a specific area of the brain
will oust the soul, yet it remains connected by a thread, and while body and
soul are tethered, the soul feeds essence to the living brain?”

Despite
my loathing, his voice fascinated me. I heard it once before, when he pinned me
to the floor in the old factory beneath the High House. Then, he hissed a few
words. Now, his voice rolled over me, deep, smooth, powerful.

“You
have met Arthemy. He is a blood mage and soul shaper. It was he who told me how
to oust a soul from a still living body.” He lifted his head and turned to the
mage. “It worked, else Ryel would not be here. Well done, Arthemy.”

“Thank
you, my Lord.” Arthemy smiled, revealing black teeth.

“In
this place a stiletto or other suitably sharp object does the trick, but the
weapon I found in the human world was as accurate and used from a distance.”

“Avery
Magnusen,” Royal said.

Shan
nodded. “Arthemy can restore your woman to her body, Ryel.”

The
bullet in my head
forced
me out of my body, it didn’t happen as a natural
consequence of being shot. All so Shan could use me as leverage for whatever he
wanted from Royal. He surely wanted something.

“I
think of her, hair like snow, those glacial eyes. Such hate, such loathing as
she lay pinned beneath me. I recall every angle of her body pressed to mine.”

Royal’s
hands fisted, he took a step.

Shan
laughed. “Don’t be a fool, Ryel. Do not end this before it has begun.” To show
how little he feared Royal, he turned his back on us.

He
said musingly, “Blood and magic. A sacrifice. What are you prepared to do, to
bring her back?”

Royal
did not hesitate. “Anything.”

Shan
chuckled unpleasantly. “Don’t worry, Ryel. You need not lay your head on an
altar. I will supply the blood, Arthemy the magic.”

This
is getting too freaking scary
. Blood mage, soul
shaper, sacrifice,
magic!
I didn’t believe in magic.

“Then
what is the price? There must be a price,” Royal said.

Shan
spun on one heel. “I will open a Gate so you can enter Bel-Athaer. You will
bring the High Lord to me.”