Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (32 page)

I watched him drive down the road and out of
sight, shimmering gray and ebony hair a streaming banner.

Why did I think this was not the last I’d
see of Christopher Plowman?

I paid Janie and waited in the outer office
while she retrieved Mac. He limped on his front right foot when she
brought him in on a leash.

I went down on my knees. “What
happened?”

Janie leaned her elbow on the counter and
scratched behind her ear. “Don’t worry, nothing more than a bruised
shoulder. I took him to Doctor Steve. The X-ray’s going on your
bill.”

With his ears back, Mac held his foot off
the ground pathetically.
Look, mommy. Look at my poor widdle
foot.
“Okay, but what happened?”

“Mac being Mac. You know he has a Napoleon
complex. He decided to tackle a Great Dane. The poor thing didn’t
know what hit her. Darcy’s such a sweet girl, she didn’t know how
to cope with thirty pounds of Mac attached to her back leg. I got
him off, but he got away from me and had another go. So she sat on
him.”

“She. . . .” I convulsed with laughter.

“He suffered a blow to his dignity more than
anything else. The shoulder is nothing to worry about and he was
walking fine till you arrived.”

Typical. Still, my boy wanted me to know he
had a terrible time at the kennel and deserved a treat. I always
carry liver treats when Mac rides with me.

“How did he get in with a Great Dane?”

“I was taking him back to his kennel, Anne
was bringing Darcy out for exercise.”

“Okay. It happens.”

I gathered Mac up. After thanking Janie, I
took him to the car. He didn’t appear to have any problem with his
foot when a tiny treat rolled off the seat and he jumped to the
floor to get it, nor when he leaped back on the seat for the next
course.

“You big fake,” I reached back to rub under
his chin.

Driving down Pineview Canyon, I thought of
the big black pickup, how it tried to run me off the road. I’d ask
Royal if word I am not a Seer and would not work for the High House
could be spread through Bel-Athaer. Maybe then I could forget about
assassins.

Deciding to not give my neighbors something
to gossip about, I parked my damaged Xterra in the garage,

Funnily enough, Mac’s injury reappeared when
I wanted him to jump out the car, so I carried my wounded boy into
the hall.

Jack and Mel would be waiting. “And now the
fun begins,” I said in an undertone as I lowered Mac to the floor
and unlatched his leash. He limped in the kitchen, and then all
evidence of a doggy-crippling injury disappeared again. It
mysteriously healed when he got near the pantry door.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be,” I said to
him.

Jack swooped on me. “Get the phone!”

I slipped the backpack off and put it on the
table. “It’s not ringing.”

“He means the messages.” Mel heaved a sigh
to make a sumo wrestler proud. “Please check the dang thing before
he drives me out of my mind.”

“Which wouldn’t take much,” from Jack.

I went to the phone on the counter. Five
messages. I hit the button.

“Don’t bother with those, skip to the last,”
Jack breathed in my ear.

I tipped my head at him. “You sound kinda .
. . moonstruck.”

Mel put one hand on her cocked hip and did
the little head-shake thing she does when she is exasperated.
“Guess why.”

Jack all dreamy. Phone message. I hit skip
four times till I got to the last message and the voice I
expected.

“Hello, honey. I’m heading for Saint George.
Everything’s packed and ready to go. I’m driving down with the
movers. Thought I’d stop in Clarion on the way there, it’ll be next
Wednesday. How about it? Tell Tiff to call me.” The voice became
hushed. “I can’t wait.”

Silence.

“Wait for it,” Jack said.

I waited. I knew Dale hadn’t finished.

Laughter from the answering machine. “I can
see your face, Tiff! Anyway, hope Wednesday is convenient. Let me
know ASAP. Thanks.”

Ha ha. Interesting, how Dale went from
skeptic to believer in a
huge
way. Fine for Dale and Jack,
not for the sucker who had to
communicate
with Jack and
relay his words to his ex-lover. I hoped Dale never spoke of our
sessions to anyone. He swore he wouldn’t, but slipping up and
unintentionally breaking a promise happens all too often.

“Good thing he
can’t
see her face,”
Mel said.

“Don’t you love his sense of humor?” Jack
enthused. “Tiff, stop scowling, you’ll get permanent ridges on your
forehead.”

“So he’s finally moving to Saint George,” I
said.

“In the same state,” Mel said in a flat
voice. “Doubtless he’ll be here most weekends.”

Dale recently bought a little Cessna so
flying from Saint George to Clarion was a hop, skip and jump.

Jack slapped one splayed hand over his
mouth. “
Most
weekends!” he exclaimed through his
fingers.

Not if I had anything to say about it, and I
did. I reached for my backpack.

Jack dropped his hands. “Wait! Aren’t you
going to return his call?”

“I’ll get around to it. It’s only
Friday.”

A hard object hit my shin: Mac’s skull,
which he uses like a battering ram. I pushed him away with my foot
and went to the pantry. One full bowl later, Mac was a happy
camper.

I went for my backpack again, then changed
my mind. I should call Dale, if for no other reason than to shut
Jack up. I could see him getting wound up for a tirade from the way
he fixed me with his unchanging expression and tapped his foot
rapid-fire.

Dale picked up straight away. I said he
could drop by next week, but call me first to make sure I was
home.

I went for my backpack yet again, visions of
long, hot showers and fresh clothes in my head. Maybe a nap?

No such luck.

“Hold it there, sister,” Mel said, suddenly
in my face. “You’re not going anywhere till you tell us what you’ve
been up to.”

Resigned to my fate, I sat on a kitchen
chair, hugged my backpack, and told them.

When I finished, Mel said, “Do I sense a
little poignancy?”

My mouth twisted. “I guess so. For a few
minutes there, I hoped Cicero was the family I never had. Didn’t
last long. A nice dream, but I should know better by now.”

“Don’t beat yourself up for hoping,” Mel
said. “You’re only human.”

I stared with my mouth open, then started
laughing. I laughed until it verged on hysteria. I slapped my hand
over my mouth so I would not laugh myself silly.
Good grief,
girl, you’re a demon!
A different kind of Gelpha. The reason
for my pale skin and hair, my ability to interact with the dead.
And my height, when I always thought God wanted another basketball
player.

Mel and Jack hovered, postures radiating
anxiety. I squelched my laughter.

“
Any morsel of humankind we retained bled
from our veins long ago.”

Baloney. Royal has more true humanity in his
little finger than many
humans
I know. Gelpha are just
another kind of people. The good old U.S. of A is not called a
melting pot for nothing; everyone came from elsewhere, even Native
Americans migrated here from Asia at the end of the Ice Age. A
little strange blood hardly amounts to anything among all our
interwoven bloodlines. I’m American. I haven’t changed. I’m still
the same Tiff Banks I’ve always been. The difference is I know
where I came from.

Were my forebears the Mother’s repressed
slaves, or rebellious children? Gia wanted me to believe the
Mothers cared for their children, yet they only now stepped in
although the Seers operated for centuries. They didn’t worry that
Seers killed a person here and there if it benefited the Gelpha as
a whole, but drew the line at their trying to take over as rulers.
History can be rewritten
, Gia said. Maybe the Mother’s
version of love did not encompass freedom. Anyhow, the truth was
lost in time.

It boils down to this: I don’t care. The
Gelpha are still alien to me, I am not part of their world. I only
care about one demon, the rest. . . . Well, the rest can go to
Hell.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO

Another cup of coffee, or take my shower now?
I sat in the kitchen wearing my pink chenille robe, feet encased in
fuzzy, ankle-high slippers, trying to find the energy to move. Jack
and Mel watched Saturday morning cartoons. Mac snoozed in a patch
of sunshine near the backdoor. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the
background noises, buzzes, squeaks and honks as Toons did their
thing; the aroma of good coffee and the kitchen’s moist warmth.

Okay, Tiff, this is it. Drag your lazy
butt off the chair and upstairs.
Shower, then more coffee, then
breakfast. And I had to go downtown to find a Christmas present for
Royal, with absolutely no idea what.

Upstairs, I stripped and dropped my undies
down the laundry chute. The shower beckoned me.

Should I get rid of my treadmill? I hadn’t
used it much in the past year. It took up space. I could move the
small television into my bedroom.

“Are those rug burns?”

By twitching to the side, I barely avoided
walking through Mel as I swung around. “No they’re. . . .” I
glanced down. They
were
rug burns, all up my left thigh and
hip. “Dammit, Mel! Stay out of here!”

She sat on the commode. “Why? We’re both
women.”

“I don’t care. This is my private place. You
are banned.”

“Yeah, like your bedroom and the living
room. We’ll be confined to the basement at this rate.”

I went to the cabinet to get fresh towels.
“Not true.
Asking
you to stay out the living room tomorrow
night is a special request.”

“Hm. What do you have planned in there?
Something involving Mister Hunky?”

I grinned into the mirror. I hoped Mister
Hunky enjoyed tomorrow night. I reckoned he would.

“Okay, I’m leaving.” Mel heaved a sigh and
rose to her feet. She blinked out like a blown light bulb.

She and Jack did that more nowadays, I
reflected as I brushed my teeth. I preferred their walking through
the house like living people, else I never knew when they’d appear
and disappear.

I ran the shower and stepped in. Steam
billowed up, water close to scalding scoured my skin. Soaping up,
with a smile on my lips, I carefully dabbed at the rug burns. I
didn’t know Royal and I were
that
boisterous.

I trotted downstairs wearing roomy, worn,
comfortable old track pants and brushed cotton sweatshirt. Going in
the kitchen, I paused to look at the green and white tiled walls,
the flaking window frames, my bubblegum-pink 1950s refrigerator and
huge old gas stove. The big wood kitchen table needed a new coat of
paint, but this time I’d strip off the old paint and sand the wood
first. Maybe I’d paint the chairs while I was at it.

Yes, I belonged here, in my cozy kitchen,
not the High House, not Bel-Athaer.

Royal said I had money and property now.
Could I sell it, or ask Royal to sell it on my behalf? Could I get
my hands on Cicero’s wealth though I didn’t live in Bel-Athaer and
turned down the High Lord’s job offer? Maybe I’d
pay
someone
to remodel the kitchen. I’d keep the fridge. I like how my diet
cola goes icy.

But I doubted Gelpha used American dollars,
and didn’t see how their money could be converted to U.S.
currency.

Mac met me at the pantry door. Breakfast is
a big deal for Mac when he’s gone without food for eight hours. I
don’t know how he survives.

“You poor mite,” I told him as I dipped his
bowl in the kibble bag. “You’re all skin and bone.”

“Breakfast?” Mel chimed as she danced into
the room. “I don’t suppose you’re having bacon by any chance?”

Bacon sounded good. Eggs over-easy, bacon
and toast.

I will never understand the allure food has
for my roommates. They cannot taste it, obviously. But they cannot
even
remember
the taste or smell. Why is it such a big deal
that they go gaga? Thank the Lord they cannot salivate.

“Bacon!” Jack all but shrieked. “We haven’t
had bacon in an age! You’ll make it crispy, won’t you, Tiff? You
know, with the fat browned.”

Mel bounced on the balls of her feet. “Can
we have strawberry preserves on the toast? And
don’t
burn it
this time.”

See what I mean?

I opened the refrigerator. “No bacon, but I
see a nice, big, fat ham steak.”

I got my heavy cast-iron skillet, dish and
silverware from the cupboard, eggs from the pantry, butter and
preserves from the fridge. The ham steak was thick, so I poured
plenty of cooking oil in the skillet and set it on the big
burner.

I capped the oil, replaced it in the pantry
and stood over the stove while the oil heated.

A rush of air rocked me on my heels.

With a smile which could only be called
predatory, Gareth said, “Hello, Miss Banks. Or may I call you
Tiffany?”

His appearance was so shocking, I forgot how
to move. In the blink of an eye he had me off the chair, held
against his chest, my back to him, his arm around my neck. I
instinctively grabbed his arm and dug in my nails. It was
immovable, an iron band. I lifted one foot to stamp on his, but he
shoved his knee in the back of my thigh.

Mel and Jack shrieked in unison.

Mac barked sharply, then came across the
room, teeth bared, snarling like a mountain lion.

Mac is all fur and fury, but he was
overmatched this time. “No, Mac! NO! Down, boy.
DOWN!
”

He stopped on the last “down.” Rumbling to
himself, he lay on his belly. But he didn’t put his chin on his
paws; he waited, alert, steadily growling under his breath.