Interview With a Gargoyle (18 page)

Despite himself, Percival flinched at her touch. “If you’re going to kill me, do so quickly. I have no patience for your games.”

She laughed, a bright sound more suited to the genteel parlor of a noblewoman than the lair of a demon. Percival struggled to remind himself that in daylight hours this creature walked the streets of Paris with her head high as a beloved member of society. At night, though, she crawled in the dirt beneath this abandoned abbey, presiding over a nest of her kind, and she reveled in their desecration of what had once been holy ground.

“My dear Percival, I have no intention of killing you. Truly. Your death would bring me no pleasure. In fact, just the opposite is true. I’d love for you to live well beyond your mortal years. Each day you survive is another opportunity for you to repent your sins.”

Percival spat, and the demon queen stepped back to spare her delicate silken slippers from his own desecration.

“You were a gentleman once, my lord. You would do well to remember your upbringing.”

“And what were you once? Human? Were you born to live life in the sunlight and corrupted somehow? Or were you truly spawned in darkness?” He’d chased demons so long, learned so much about their various breeds, he thought himself jaded on the subject, but these lovely ones, the Domaré, they brought a new dimension to his obsession.

If a beautiful woman such as Lady Arabel, with her raven hair and beguiling eyes, her ethereal features and melodic voice, could be, underneath her silks and satins, a creature of such vile origin, then anyone could be.

For all Percival knew, he was the only truly human being left in all of Europe. That thought chilled his blood.

Arabel smiled at him. “I’m of noble birth, my lord. Higher than yourself, in fact, and born and raised as any other woman of my station. I suckled at my mother’s breast. I played with porcelain dolls and dressed my hair in satin ribbons. I ate cakes and learned the waltz, and I’ve pricked my finger many a time while attempting to embroider. My blood is red like yours, and my tears taste like salt.”

“And yet you are not human.”

Arabel paced. Her skirts scraped the cold stone floor of the chamber in which she’d held him hostage for half the night. “No. Not human at all. Unlike my society sisters, I will live for more than a century, and I will bear two dozen or more offspring. Most of them will be male. Females of my kind are scarce, and we are exalted. It’s sad that human women are considered a step beneath their men, pretty but disposable.”

Percival tore his gaze away from Arabel. He’d already spent too long lost in the spell of her eyes. “If you don’t plan to kill me, what then?”

“I plan to strike a bargain.” Arabel stopped her pacing. She stood straight and tall before him, a statuesque vision in lavender silk. Demurely, she twirled a fat curl through her fingers, but the set of her carefully painted lips belied the darkness in her soul.

“I doubt you and I could reach agreeable terms on anything,
my lady
.”

“Oh, but I’m sure we can. You want the power that will one day be my inheritance. I know you chase the gem that controls your curse, and I know you would kill for it.”

“That is true. What, then, can you possibly offer me besides your life and by extension, my own?” Percival yanked hard on the leather straps. The pain helped him focus. A month tracking the gem through France had brought him to Arabel’s lair. Another fortnight would see the object safely transferred to her care, unless he stopped it.

Arabel sighed. “I have only this to offer—the life of your precious son.”

Rene!
Percival bridled. How dare she threaten his child. “You would harm a boy—”

“No! No. Of course not harm him, my lord. Do I look like a monster?” She laughed at the irony of her remark. “I would not harm him. I would enchant him and conspire to see him mated to a daughter of my kind. Wouldn’t you like that, dear Percival? Your son as husband to a demon, father to a Domaré child?”

Bile rose, burning Percival’s throat. “My son would never!” Before he completed his thought, Arabel brought her sinful lips to his and kissed his breath away.

A longing like he’d never felt stirred his loins. His heart filled with an emotion he hadn’t experienced since the last time he’d raced to meet Rebecca in the glen so many years ago. Hot tears sprang to his eyes.

When she pulled back, the loss of her magical touch left a pain in his heart that rivaled any ache or injury he’d ever suffered.

For a moment, she’d made him
love
her.

“Do you see, my lord? Your son will do whatever he has to for the love of the Domaré woman I choose for him. She can enslave him with a kiss, or not, depending on whether you accept my bargain. And be aware, my death will not stop this plan if I decide to put it in motion this evening.”

Percival slumped, and the leather bit into his bruised wrists. “He’s just a child.”

“Now, yes. But he’ll be a man soon enough, and we can wait.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Arabel caressed his sweaty brow and his heaving chest. “I want nothing from you. Not a word. Not a sign. Not a glimpse of you anywhere near my home, my family or any of my clan. I know you earn your living hunting the lesser demon breeds, and that is not my concern. Do as you will to the others, but make me this promise that you will never touch a Domaré, and I shall make you the promise that neither will your son.”

Percival hung his head.

“I didn’t hear your answer, my lord. Please speak up.”

“I said yes. Yes. I will leave your kind alone.”

“Excellent.” Arabel reached up to unfasten the evil straps.

Percival’s arms dropped, bloodless, to his sides, and he sank to his knees. The scent of jasmine reached him, and his heart clenched with the remnants of her insidious love spell.

“Now, go home to your boy, my lord. Give him the one precious thing you still possess.”

Percival wiped stinging sweat from his eyes and glared up at his nemesis. “And what is that, my lady?”

She bent at her cinched waist and cupped his chin in her soft hand. “Your time, dear Percival. Your time.”

Calypso left Blake’s house at noon, promising she’d be back before her shift at Gleason’s.

Mel paced the confines of Blake’s bedroom, occasionally venturing into the small section of hallway Calypso had “unwarded” between the bedroom and the bathroom. Calypso’s calming potion had done little but taste bad and make her sleepy for an hour or two. Now the magick panacea seemed to have worn off, leaving her more jittery than before. With nothing to do but watch television until sunset, she’d go completely insane.

The frustration of captivity had her wrestling with the power of the Cabochon. It seemed to reside in the pit of her stomach, a hard dark nodule that, when she concentrated on it, made her feel both desperate and invincible at the same time.

It scared her to think what might happen if she unleashed it all at once and what might happen if she completely relinquished control. As long as the sun shone brightly outside the bedroom window, she had a tenuous hold on reality, but something in her longed for the darkness. Just like Blake, she’d begun to live only at night.

She was poking one of Calypso’s ward stones with the tip of a ski pole she’d found in Blake’s closet when she heard the front door open downstairs.

“Hello? Cal, is that you?”

She raced into the hall and craned her neck to try to see down the staircase. A shadow fell across the entranceway below, and Palmer appeared, carrying a box from DeLio’s Pizza and a six-pack of soda. She nearly wept with relief.

“Hey, Melodie. It’s my shift. Sorry I’m a little late.”

“Your shift?” She snatched the pizza box from him and retreated into the bedroom. “There are demon-sitting shifts?”

“Yeah. I hope you like pepperoni. I can hang out a little while, until sunset; then it’s DeWitt’s turn.”

Mel set the pizza on the bed and waved away Palmer’s offer of a cola. “Palmer, please get me out of here. I don’t want to sit around waiting to go all
Exorcist
.”

“You’re not going to go
Exorcist
. This is for your own safety. Really.”

Mel had always considered herself above using feminine wiles to get what she wanted, but desperate times and all. She thought about the dismal hours spent by herself in DeWitt’s bedroom without even access to a phone, and her eyes misted. “Palmer, I can’t go on like this. What about your spell? Is it ready?”

“Almost. I’ve finished the research, and I’ve translated the incantations.”

“So what’s the holdup? Why can’t we do it now?”

“It has to be done at night.”

“Well, how am I going to get away from DeWitt after sunset? If we’re going to perform the spell, I’ve got to get away from here now. Please, Palmer. Don’t make me wait around until the Council decides what to do. I can’t spend another night handcuffed to Blake’s bed.”

Palmer glanced at the bed. “He handcuffed you to the bed?”

She nodded, hoping he could see the tears welling in her eyes. She hated to manipulate him, but she hated being a prisoner more. “All we need to do is move a couple of the ward stones. I tried poking them with this.” She held up the ski pole. “But I get a shock. You could just pick them up in your hands and move them, and I could leave.”

“Where would you go?” Palmer glanced at the bed again.

Mel thought of mentioning the kiss she’d shared with DeWitt just to capitalize on what appeared to be Palmer’s latent jealousy, but the memory of that encounter made her skin tingle and the back of her knees sweat a little. Better not to think of Blake at all. “Home? Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. I promise I’ll come back later—if your spell doesn’t work.”

Finally he met her gaze. “I don’t know, Melodie. I’ve got everything lined up, but I don’t have a demon yet. Without something to transfer the Cabochon to…”

Mel eyed the window. “I can get a demon. The Fremlings. I can get a Fremling to follow me anywhere.”

Palmer shook his head. “No. Bad idea. They swarm. And besides, they’re not smart enough to handle the Cabochon. It would be like giving a rat a grenade.”

Mel sighed and sank to the bed. “You’re right. We don’t know what the Cabochon would do to a Fremling. I’m better off here, chained to Blake’s bed.” She ran her fingers over the nearest metal cuff, somewhat lovingly, she thought.

Palmer paced. Clearly the thought of her and Blake together in any intimate setting made the demon hunter uncomfortable.

“Please?”

After a few turns around the room, he lost his inner battle. “Okay, I’ll let you out. You can’t go to your place, though. That’s the first place they’ll look, and I don’t really want Calypso mad at me.”

“How about your lair? No one knows where it is.”

“That’ll do. You’ll have to stay out of sight until dark. I’ll see if I can get the DHN to line up another demon for us by dark.”

“DHN?”

“Demon Hunters’ Network. Stay here a second.” Palmer left the bedroom, kicking Calypso’s black ward stones away from the threshold as he went. Mel followed him into the hall, where he slid several more of the polished river stones around on the hardwood floor until Mel had a clear shot for the stairs. She followed him downstairs and waited at the landing while he moved a few more stones, clearing her path to the front door.

Mel approached freedom with cautious steps. She would never forget the pain of the ward burn. She tapped the air within the door frame and nothing happened. No snap, crackle or pop.

Palmer grinned. “That was easy.”

Mel hugged him, a quick, chaste gesture of thanks. “You’re the best. Come on, let’s get out of here before Calypso comes back.”

“Wait.” Palmer grabbed her arm, and for a second, Mel feared he might have changed his mind. She couldn’t blame him, after all, for fearing a witch’s wrath, but with freedom so close she could taste it, there wasn’t time for second thoughts.

“Whatever it is, don’t worry about it, Palmer. Let’s just go.”

“We’d better take the pizza. I have a feeling we’ll need to keep our strength up.”

Chapter Eighteen

The moment Blake awoke, he knew Melodie had gone. The power of the Cabochon still teased his sixth sense but much fainter now, obviously farther away.

He bounded up the basement stairs and found Calypso in the kitchen. She stabbed one ebony-tipped finger in the air to silence his question and continued yelling into her cell phone. “I know it was you, you weasel. You’re not doing Melodie a favor by letting her free, and I promise you, Van Houten, if anything happens to her, you won’t be hunting demons anymore. You’ll be hunting for what’s left of your head.”

She growled, much like Melodie had the other night, and snapped the phone shut. “Van Houten took Melodie.”

Blake wanted to growl as well. Stupid demon hunter.

“Don’t look so surprised. I told you we shouldn’t let him have a demon-sitting shift.” Calypso tossed the phone into her purse. “I’ve already been to his apartment and to the library. Where else do demon hunters hang out?”

Blake shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I can find Melodie, if she still has the Cabochon.”

The witch’s deep blue eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip. “You don’t think he’s dumb enough to try to remove the Cabochon from her by himself, do you?”

“He’s no witch, but from what I understand about the old magick, he doesn’t have to be.”

Calypso slung her purse over her shoulder. “Let’s go find them. I’m going to show Palmer some old magick he’ll never forget.”

Blake grabbed his jacket and two helmets and followed Calypso out of the front door. Something dark and dirty scuttled in the bushes beside the house as they passed.

“Fremling,” Calypso whispered. “A spy?”

Blake eyed the bushes. He imagined a pair of black, soulless eyes staring back. “More like a straggler. They’re not the smartest of the breeds. Ignore it. I have a feeling we don’t have much time.”

“How long is this going to take?” Mel paced impatiently in the rectangular swatch of warehouse Palmer had cleared for the spell.

“I’m almost done,” he replied. On the freshly swept concrete floor, he’d drawn a circle of sea salt. The rough crystals glittered in the beam of a two-hundred-watt work lamp he’d attached to a nearby shelf.