Red Demon (20 page)

“I mean, if you felt, I dunno.” Jamie shrugged. “If there was something more to this thing with the demon and Kelly. Something even darker, maybe?” Jamie raised an eyebrow. “To what you saw or what that Djinn did to you?”

What did Jamie think? That the demon had violated him sexually? Molested him spiritually like a succubus could? His brother’s circling questions were like wasps underneath Mason’s skin. Any second and it seemed that Jamie would nail the real truth about Kelly having been a man.

Mason kept his mouth shut, and finally Jamie sighed. “There’s nobody I know better’n you, Mace. That’s all.”

They were a family of mystics and demon hunters; it wasn’t too far- fetched to imagine that his brother knew he was concealing something. But holy shit, he didn’t want it to be the full truth about Kelly.

Mason waved the volume in his hand at Jamie. “I have to protect y’all,” he insisted. “I have to make sure nobody else dies because of my mistakes.”

Jamie took hold of his shoulder. “You didn’t cause your girlfriend’s death, Mace.”

Mason smiled at all the wicked ironies in that statement and slowly lifted his eyes. “No, you’re right about that.”

Jamie winced at whatever he must’ve seen in his gaze. “Mason, bro, you need some sleep. In the morning, you’ll see that there’s no connection between this Juliana and your Djinn. You’re the one who told me the males keep ’em locked up in the desert, anyway.”

“Yeah, okay; you go get some rest,” Mason said, doing his best to appear composed and calmed, as he walked past his brother. “I’ll be up in a few.”

And then, to himself, he smiled.

Marines always loved a shot at some well-deserved payback.

J
uliana had spent a restless night in the guest room downstairs, tossing and turning every time a branch scratched at the panes, or thunder cracked outside the house. The storm had been relentless, battering the windows like an accusation against her past.

She’d cried at the height of the noise and rain, trying to recall why she’d chosen to walk into the heart of that long-ago hurricane. Ari had left her balcony that night—obviously believing that she’d rejected him. Everything after that, however, until the next day when she’d gone to the river, was as murky as that flowing water had been. And as threatening whenever she tried to delve into the memories.

One question, however, remained crystal clear. Why would she have left Ari by killing herself, or have hurt her family that way? Her gentle little brother, Edward, had been deaf, closer to her than anyone else in their family. He’d relied on her and Aristos, as well, who never hesitated to sprawl in front of the fireplace, playing a silent game of tin soldiers. She could not fathom having taken her own life, and that was the one sure thought that had come to her repeatedly all night long.

So she’d wrestled against those memories the entire previous night, tossing in the unfamiliar bed until at last the wind had died down; the sound of steady rain lulled her to sleep. Now the early-morning light had filled this unfamiliar room. Walking to the window, she pulled back the curtains, unsure of the world that might exist beyond the panes. A thicket of trees stood behind the house, a mixture of oaks and pines that marked the land as her native low country.

There were wicker chairs and rockers arranged on a slab of cement, with at least a dozen potted plants between them. Perhaps this was a paved garden of sorts? So many of the items were unfamiliar, including a shiny box that stood on a pedestal, a bag labeled CHARCOAL beside it. Surely this house had a more developed cooking space than this summer kitchen.

Pulling her thin robe about herself, she let the curtains fall back over the window. The morning was dreary, but at least those frightful winds had calmed. She shivered, recalling her final days, the way that hurricane had built strength offshore. None of them had truly understood the force that was approaching downtown Savannah, not until the winds had grown dangerously strong.

She’d left the town house that last morning as if in a trance, not even bothering with her parasol. That much she did remember, as well as her maid Natalie calling out to her, voice shrill with concern. She could recall certain physical sensations from that last morning. The rain slapping her cheeks, her hair plastered to her face, her promenade dress soaked. But, no matter how hard she tried, she never understood precisely
why
she’d walked into the heart of that deadly storm.

Maybe now that she was alive again, she could piece together that lost part of her past. And that would start with living in the here and now. With getting to know Aristos and learning his own secrets.

She wandered barefoot into the main area outside her bedroom, listening for any stirrings from the others, who apparently lived in this mansion. If they were awake, she should dress and join them, but the house seemed mostly silent, so she padded about the large room that Emma had explained was for recreation. There were many unfamiliar devices made of materials she’d never even seen before. A large, flat item sat at the center of the furniture grouping, an obvious focal point of activity. She touched its slick surface. Along the top portion was a raised band of silver labeled PANASONIC.

She’d have to ask Ari about the device’s purpose, and why they held it in such high esteem. Did it offer guidance, like their Oracle?

A draft chilled her then, and she tightened the sash of her borrowed robe. Such a skimpy item of lingerie: The cerulean silk clung to her body, revealing the lift of her breasts, the narrow curve of her hips. Staring down, she smoothed the fabric over her flat belly. Emma had loaned her the robe last night, explaining that it was for sleeping and lounging.

Emma had blushed. “River bought that set for me. It’s from Victoria’s Secret.”

“What does the queen have to do with risqué undergarments?”

Emma’s blush had intensified, and with a nervous gesture, she’d smoothed her own robe over her body. As she did so, the clinging fabric revealed a telling fact: There was a slight swell to Emma’s belly.

“Emma! You’re expecting a child,” she declared. “Aren’t you?”

Emma shushed her. “Nobody knows. Not yet. It’s too early.”

Juliana shook her head, confused. “But it’s a time of joy for you and River. I don’t understand.”

“We don’t know . . .” Emma sighed, rubbing her belly protectively. “It’s because of what River is, you know? We just aren’t sure how the baby’s going to develop.”

“What River
is
?” Juliana repeated in confusion.

Emma glanced away, looking nervous.

“What
is
he?” Juliana asked more urgently.

“A normal, mortal man, and our baby will be fine,” she said as if trying to convince herself—and ignoring the much larger question.

“Does he not become winged?” Juliana prompted. “Like Aristos?”

Emma nodded slowly. “Yes, he can still transform.”

“But he is mortal. You made a special point of saying that. Ari has lived a very long time—River is different.”

“That changed for River recently.” Again, Emma looked away. “I don’t feel right telling you too much. Aristos needs to talk to you.”

“I’m not an unwise woman, even if I’ve traveled an unusual path to arrive here tonight. I always knew that Aristos was not human.”

“That’s not true,” Emma disagreed, touching her abdomen again, almost as if wanting to protect her child. As if the conversation itself touched on something dangerous. “Aristos and all of the . . . men are human.”

“But they can become more than human?” Juliana asked, her thoughts whirling. She’d seen the broad, feathered appendages along Ari’s back with her own eyes. “The wings . . . they’re feathered. When these men transform?”

Emma began backing away. “Juliana, seriously, just let Ari—”

Juliana seized hold of Emma’s hands with a desperate gesture. “I’ve never understood about Ari and how he’s lived for so many years, and he never had a chance to tell me. So will you, please, explain about these gentlemen? Give me some indication as to their true nature? Is it that they are part bird? And if so, what sort? An eagle . . . a falcon? He’s already insisted to me that he’s not an angel.”

“Ari, all of the men you’ve met, they’re . . . amazing. Unlike anything you’ve ever heard about.” Emma gave her hands a kind, sympathetic squeeze. “But the truth, well, it’s Ari’s secret to tell, Juliana.”

“He does not trust me completely.” Juliana frowned. “I fear he might never do so again.”

“It’s going to take time. Your coming back like this, it’s pretty unusual,” Emma said, walking toward the stairs. “Definitely different. But so is
he
, so he oughta have some patience about that.”

Emma had left her alone after that, and Juliana had spent the night puzzling over Ari’s nature—and her own murky past—ever since. Settling in a large leather chair, she gazed about the unfamiliar room. So many years had passed, yet Ari remained largely unchanged.

He does not die; that is obvious
, she thought.
He’s not aged a month or day since last I saw him.

And even then she’d known he wasn’t from her own time.

Glancing about the odd room, noting all the modern devices and foreign objects, she decided that perhaps she should explore her beloved’s current era. The more she understood about who he was now, surely that would help her learn who he’d always been throughout the past.

Rising to her feet, she approached the PANASONIC frame. A button indicated POWER, and she held her breath and pressed it.

Visions of “Eat Me” and
Alice in Wonderland
danced through her head as a crackle of energy leaped to life before her eyes.

 

Ari took the steps downstairs two at a time, neatening his hair with a quick gesture. A thrill rushed through him at the thought of Day One in this new era with Juliana. He had questions, but as far as he could tell, there’d be plenty of time to ask them. Besides, he was finding it almost impossible to remain angry over her suicide. She didn’t even remember what happened, she claimed, and, more than that, was so clearly determined to make him realize that she had always loved him. This was their second chance.

Yeah, and he could buy that one without much resistance at all. Besides, there’d be time for the
CSI
forensic analysis of her past soon enough.

And forgiveness seemed like an even better idea the minute he rounded the corner and found Juliana sitting on the floor. She was decked out in a slinky little azure number that made her skin seem even creamier than usual, if such a thing were actually possible. Just as that lingerie set made her appear even more voluptuous and alluring—again, if such a thing were even remotely possible.

But the most striking, breathtaking aspect of her appearance, one he’d never before seen, was how she wore her hair. It cascaded past her shoulders almost to the small of her back. How had he not realized how luscious those wild locks could be? The flame color contrasted with her gown beautifully; she was like the subject of one of those Pre-Raphaelite paintings she’d always admired so much.

He braced himself against the wall at the foot of the steps, watching her silently. So far, she hadn’t heard his approach, and the reason for that was obvious. She sat in front of their flat screen—somehow she’d managed to turn the complicated thing on—and was watching the
Today
show with rapt attention.

It was one of those live broadcasts from the streets of New York, and she leaned forward, touching the people on the screen as if they might come alive beneath her hand. He smiled at the innocence and wonder in that gesture. Yes, this was Jules, he thought. She’d approached every aspect of her own world that way, whether marveling over a new gramophone or talking at length to her father about how they would eventually upgrade her townhome so it could rely on electricity.

Abruptly, the show cut away to a car commercial, which blasted much more loudly than the news program, and he couldn’t help laughing at the way she startled, rearing backward.

“No cash down! No credit history necessary!” the salesman bellowed.

Slowly Juliana leaned forward again, reaching tentatively to touch a Chevy pickup truck.

“Horsepower?” she asked aloud.

He walked all the way into the room. “That’s how people get around these days. Trucks, cars, SUVs.”

She whipped around to look at him. “It’s like a carriage, then? But I don’t see any horses. How do they pull that machine?”

He extended a hand for the remote that she had clutched in her hand, and reluctantly she relinquished it. “One thing at a time, Juliana. You’ve got lots of catching up to do.”

She pointed at the television. “What do you call this box? How does it broadcast pictures that move?”