Dark Light of Day (45 page)

“You’re Ari’s
little
brother?” I said in disbelief, laughing. They looked at each other in surprise and then laughed too. I couldn’t help wondering what they’d expected. Had they ever even met another member of the Host?

“Steve Carmine,” Ari’s father said, thumping his chest. He stuck his hand out awkwardly and I took it, my small hand completely disappearing in his large beefy paw. He pulled me into a fierce hug then, and though the gesture was rougher, I could tell it was more comfortable for him. He released me, but held on to my shoulders and gently shook me.

“You gave us quite a scare,” he said. “I’m glad you’ve recovered.” Although this man had no magic, his manner was compelling. In this neighborhood, where demons only existed as deities, he would be a force to be reckoned with.

Glancing around Joy’s kitchen, after meeting so many of Ari’s other neighbors, gave me a different perspective on how the Carmines lived. I’d been comparing them to Etincelle families and had thought them poor. I now realized the Carmines were rich by Bradbury standards. Steve Carmine obviously occupied a position of prominence here. I wondered how much of that position was due to the fact that he’d raised the only Host child these people had ever seen, the fact that he was married to a woman who was
hveit
, or just his imposing personality. Likely a combination of all three.

“So Estes gets a boon tonight?” Steve said, pointing at my
bandaged hand. “Onyx blood, huh?” He grinned. “The Lethe’s current should stay swift and strong for weeks.”

Joy turned around from her rolling and looked at my hand, her expression undecipherable. “There’s some ointment in the bathroom,” she said.

“It’s okay, really,” I said, but Ari left to get it anyway.

By the time he returned, Steve had put out two more huge frothy mugs of beer. Mine was so heavy I needed two hands to lift it. Ari cleaned and disinfected my cut without another word. The fact that he did this at the kitchen table told me the Carmines were far from squeamish. My guess was a lot of injuries had been sewn up at this table. Joy assured me she needed no help preparing dinner. When I’d heard she was making Lethe prawns with shallots, I’d voiced a mild protest, saying we could have just ordered takeout. Matt laughed and explained that there were no restaurants in Bradbury.

“Besides, my mom’s prawns are the best,” he said. “Even better than at Erasmus. My dad took a skiff out earlier and checked all our traps.”

Erasmus was a Gaillard gastropub.

“So how’s it going there?” I asked Matt. “You’re home for the break, right? Are they still doing the Friday night pub crawls down Reed Street? The quad parties outside of Fallon?”

Matt nodded enthusiastically to my questions and then gave me a full rundown on campus goings-on. When that was through, he unloaded several freshman tales of woe. Mixed-up class schedules, mumbling professors, fights with the bursar. I’d had them all. I commiserated, offered advice, or just laughed out loud. Matt’s stories made me nostalgic. I wouldn’t have said I was blissfully happy lying about who and what I was, but hanging out as a Hyrke undergrad had been some of the most carefree years of my life. It was great to swap stories with Matt about the who, what, where, and when of Gaillard campus life.

Almost at the same time, Matt and I noticed that no one else was participating in the conversation. We stopped, dismayed at our mutual rudeness. But no one seemed to mind.
Steve was looking at me with a frank expression of wonder on his face. Perhaps he hadn’t really believed I’d gone to Gaillard. He gazed at me like I was a tiger who’d just jumped through three hoops and was now balancing on a barrel. Joy gazed contentedly at all of us. Despite her chilly pink eyes and preternatural look, she looked like any other mom would under the circumstances—happy to have her whole family home and together.

I glanced over at Ari. He’d chosen to sit opposite me while he’d doctored my hand and he hadn’t moved. He leaned forward on the table, one hand gripping his beer mug, the other resting comfortably beside it. His dark hair, windblown and riotous from our walk along the riverfront, brushed the hooded collar of his shirt. His expression was soft and his signature was like his heartbeat, steady and strong. My desire to touch him just then was so strong, my hand twitched. I forgot what I was saying and my voice trailed off. It was ridiculous really, how he could make me feel. I hadn’t given him this power over me, it had just happened, organically. But I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

A
fter dinner, Ari, Steve, and Matt wandered down to the bonfire site. I stayed behind to help Joy clean up. We stood at the sink, with her washing dishes and me drying. Although we worked in silence, it wasn’t uncomfortable. After a while, my thoughts drifted back to the pregnant couple I’d met earlier. Why had Luck made it so that some could conceive so easily and others never?

The window above Joy’s sink looked out onto a small backyard, which had been paved over long ago. The cement was cracked and, scattered haphazardly around the area, were the rusty frames of various backyard items no longer in use: an old charcoal grill, a bent snow shovel, and toward the back, a swing set. How many years had it been since Joy had pushed her children on those swings? I snuck a glance at her. There was no denying that she looked
different
. Had I not seen her in this warm, nurturing environment, I might have misjudged
her. With her pale white skin and bright pink eyes, she looked like a creature of the night. Yet I knew she had raised her sons with goodness and light. Perhaps I’d misjudged Lamia. Maybe the answer to my problem, and Nergal’s, was as simple as giving Lamia what she wanted—a child.

“Where do demons come from, anyway?” I said. I gave the dish in my hand a final wipe and carefully placed it in the cupboard. “I heard they were spawned from the ground, with no parents, but someone has to raise them.”

Beside me, Joy was completely still. I realized I’d just blurted out my question, with no context or explanation of the thoughts that had led me to it.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s just that, earlier, you said you see things. Well, I’ve never heard of anyone knowing where or when a demon child would be born. But then I’d never heard of anyone being
hveit
until I met you… I thought maybe, if you could see… Anyway, we have an assignment, Ari and I… It’s been difficult,” I finished lamely.

Joy grunted. I couldn’t tell if she thought I was grossly understating the situation or if she thought I shouldn’t waste words stating the obvious. How much had Ari told her about St. Luck’s?

How much had she seen on her own?

“The woman involved wants a child,” I said. “I was just wondering whether giving her one would help.”

“‘The woman’? Aren’t you talking about a demon?” Joy looked at me curiously.

“Yes, but not the one that attacked me. That was my client.” I laughed self-consciously. Most Host would believe the attack my fault since I’d failed to control the situation.

“Is this… woman capable of raising a child?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, hesitantly, “but possibly a demon child. Who raises demon children anyway? Or are they spawned as adults?” Of course, if that were the case, I needn’t spend even two more seconds considering what was already a fairly preposterous solution.

Joy stared out the window, silent. She waited for so long
to answer I thought the conversation might be over—that she didn’t have any answers for me or that she felt the subject matter too uncomfortable to continue discussing. She peered out of the darkening window as if looking back through time. What memory was she recalling? Her pushing Matt in the swing? Her helping Ari down the slide? Finally, she spoke.

“Ari’s told me a bit about your background. It’s curious that Karanos never sent you and your brother to an occult school. He must have had his reasons. I took a different approach raising Ari. I’m Hyrke and so are Steve and Matt. But I didn’t want Ari to grow up ignorant of Host ways.” She turned off the water and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms in front of her.

“No, demon children aren’t spawned as adults. And many are raised by others. But regardless of whether a child is demon, Host, or Hyrke, shouldn’t the parent who is raising them be capable? Demons respond to a strong hand, to rules, boundaries, and discipline, do they not? The parent of
any
child should be able to teach their child how to follow the rules.”

“Yes, I know.
Praeceptum primum, praeceptum solum.
Even I know that.”

“If this demon isn’t capable of following rules, the last thing she should be doing is raising a child.”

“She hasn’t broken any rules. It’s
my
client who wants to renege on his promise. He’s the one who wants a divorce. I feel sorry for her.”

“Because her husband wants to leave her?”

“No, because… because she can’t have a child.” I looked away quickly.

Joy put her hand on mine. It was still warm from the water.

“Are we talking about the demon or you, Noon?” I fixed my expression and stared back at her, snatching my hand away. I didn’t want her to
see
.

“You can always adopt,” Joy said quietly.

“You had a son, birthed a child. Is it really the same?”

The words slipped out before I could even think about
them. Only after I heard them did I realize how horrible they sounded. Joy stared at me with those big pink preternatural eyes. Magic or no, she could be pretty intimidating.

“I have two sons, Noon.”

I swallowed over the hard lump in my throat and nodded.

“You know, I cherish every day of my life spent with them.” She reached into the soapy water and let the plug out of the drain. The water gurgled and swirled in the sink. “I wasn’t sure what to think of you at first.”

“I know. You would have been happier with Bryony.”

“No,” she said simply. “It’s only that it’s not every day you meet the woman your son is willing to die for.”

The words to downplay our feelings were on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to assure her that things had not gone that far. But then I wondered. Had she
seen
something? I froze, speechless for a moment. She couldn’t have meant her words literally.

“That’s just an expression, right?” People said things like that when they really just meant a person had strong feelings for someone. “I mean, he wouldn’t… he can’t…” I gripped the counter, absolutely unwilling to contemplate a reality where those words were actually true. “Ari doesn’t…” I made a choking sound, no longer able to speak. I wished now I’d never even brought up Lamia and children, or me and my stupid unobtainable desires. I wished I’d never opened the door to serious discussion with this woman. She scared me.

“You don’t mean it,” I whispered.

“There are worse fates than dying for someone you love.”

“No! That’ll never happen. Things would never get that bad. He has to know I wouldn’t want that, couldn’t… How could I go on living after something like that?”

She smiled, but it was a sad smile. She reached out and touched a lock of my hair. She twirled it for a moment and then tucked it behind my ear. Her next words were solemn.

“As I said, there are worse fates than dying for someone you love.”

*   *   *

A
ri came into the bathroom later that night after I finished brushing my teeth. I had on a pair of pink silk shorts and a white camisole.

“Can your mom see the future?” I asked.

“What? No,” he said so matter-of-factly it instantly calmed me. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“She said she could see things. I just wondered what she meant.”

Ari paused, choosing his next words carefully. “She’s good at reading people and how they’ll react in certain situations, but she’s a Hyrke, Noon. She doesn’t have magic like us. Her ability to see the future isn’t much more than Hyrke intuition.” The tone of his voice indicated there was nothing further to discuss, or just that he had other things on his mind. He shut the door behind him and quietly turned the lock. He crept over to me.

“What are you doing?”

“What I’ve wanted to do all day.”

He picked me up and sat me on the bathroom sink. I teetered on the edge and put my arms around his waist for support. He cupped my lower jaw, his long fingers touching at the base of my neck. When he had me just where he wanted me, he brushed my lips with his.

“Ari,” I breathed, my lips parting. My signature flared as if I were a kiln that had just been lit. He pressed his lips to mine again, his mouth softly insistent. He smelled of sweat, wood, and work.

“We built you something,” he murmured into my hair, pressing me close. I tensed. “Nouiomo, you’ve got to get over your fear.”

“I’m not afraid of fire,” I scoffed, leaning back. I almost tumbled into the sink though and Ari reached out to grab me.

“Yourself,” he said, holding tight to my arms. “You’re afraid of yourself. You have trouble controlling Nergal because your magic has two speeds, timid and berserk. In order to control a demon, you’ll need to throw magic that is consistently strong and well shaped, not magic that is thrown in sputtering bursts or big, unshaped blasts. You need to stop
adding emotion to it. That’s what’s making it so capricious and ineffective. You’re going to have to lose your self-consciousness and your fear of waning magic if you want to manipulate it and use it to control a demon. You’re going to have to learn to use waning magic like it’s a toothbrush or a hairbrush. It’s a tool, Noon. Nothing else.”

Many of the things Ari said were true. I was afraid of myself, especially my magic and what it could do. And maybe my magic did have only two speeds: cautious and crazed. And it was true that I added emotion to my magic to make it stronger. But was that always wrong? Rochester and Ari seemed to think so. But maybe that was because waning magic users instinctively threw magic using destructive emotions like fear, anger, and hate and
those
emotions made magic capricious and unstable. I couldn’t help wondering what might happen if I intentionally threw magic using other emotions. More positive, life-affirming ones.