The Devil You Know (11 page)

“I’ve been changing ever since. Into what, I don’t know. But I’m more than a little afraid of what it could be.”

In that moment, my family’s sad knowing expressions said more than their silent tongues had in nearly thirty years. They had known, or at least suspected, that my spell had broken their bindings.

And they had left me alone in my ignorance to deal with the fallout.

It was painful enough to face something like this alone. But to know that my family had known and given me no other choice? To see clearly in their faces that they would give me no explanation or excuse, not today, maybe never? That was enough to shatter my world as I had known it.

My mind screamed in denial, but I kept my voice calm, resigning myself to the knowledge that I would not get my answers, at least not at this time, not from my family. I began my story more delicately than how I had entered the room, knowing I would need their help to get Gemini her father back.

But while I was willing to call a temporary truce, I wasn’t giving up. From the corner of my eye, I glanced from Mynx to the book she had left me.

Sometimes allies could be found in the most unlikely of places. And a vow of silence could be negated…if one knew where to jam in the crowbar and was willing to deal with the scars that would be left when the job was done.

* * *

Head bowed, arms wrapped around her knees, Jacq sat in the cool shade of a tree far from anywhere she might be discovered. Or so she had thought. Sensing a presence, she raised eyes that glowed with the same bright silver slowly pulsing around her and glared at the intruder.

“Why are you here?” she snapped.

Whining, the demonic creature shuffled closer, crouched, then finally lay at her feet, its soft fur barely touching her shoes. The hound looked at her once with black irises, the red coals of Hell that normally burned there banked, then laid its head on its front paws, answering her question with its silence.

Understanding, Jacq bent her head to her knees and debated. Seconds passed. Nearly panting with pain, she finally released a silent sigh of grudging acceptance, slowly loosening the stranglehold she’d placed over her ever-growing magic. Then she closed her eyes tightly and waited, hoping she had not misjudged. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the magic within her surged, the pulses growing faster and more powerful with every heartbeat, throbbing through her.

The hound whined again, this time in pleasure as its greedy flesh quickly absorbed everything she could give. Jacq cried out, first in agony then in sweet relief as the flood of power that had threatened to blow through her skin and consume her in the process rushed out. It was so bright she saw stars behind her closed lids. Unable to breathe, she felt as if her soul were spilling free. Then the force passed and she once again gasped air.

Jacq sat there for several minutes, letting the magical aftershocks ebb, panting softly. Finally, she wiped the sweat from her brow, stretched stiff muscles, and stood, looking at the motionless beast at her feet. It had done for her what no demon had done for one of her kind in millennia. Jacq appreciated its sacrifice, though she would likely never understand the motivations behind it. Crouching briefly, she ran her hand over its now scorching hot fur, feeling the soft, slow rise of its chest, strangely thankful that she had not killed it, even if its death would not have been permanent.

Jacq stood again and tried to eye it dispassionately. She now knew, or thought she knew, its Master. But she didn’t know what purpose its presence served or the level of threat it might someday pose to Cate. Almost unbidden, a silver sword appeared in her hand. They would be better off if it were dead. She glided across the soft pine needles and cool earth, circling the soundly sleeping creature, gauging every angle and approach.

Without hesitation, Jacq struck, the sword flashing bright with magic as it arced downward. Just as quickly, she pulled the blade out of the damp ground she’d speared it into and waited only long enough to ensure the silver runes spread like frost rising from the ground, circling the unconscious beast…the illusion so perfect none would see the animal hidden within. The spell would last as long as the hound slept. Unlike her former employer, the Council, Jacq did not kill without just cause.

Nor did she leave an ally, no matter how unlikely, vulnerable. The night she had seen Cate and decided not to walk away, she’d chosen on which side she would stand. It was too late to start second-guessing that decision, even if that meant going to bed with old enemies…or new ones.

* * *

Burned at the stake.
Even for a woman who played with fire on a daily basis, those were truly horrible words. I stared at the black and white, woodcut flames, wondering at the details that no longer made sense. Wondering what could possess someone to do something so horrific to anyone, but especially to someone so young. The picture showed a child of maybe seven years, face contorted in pain, standing atop a large pile of burning wood, body surrounded by smoke and flames. A large crowd circled the blaze, but that was where things got weird.

The angry mob I expected was anything but. The emotions on the small, black and white faces were hard to understand. One side of each face was in shadow, the other starkly clear and painful to see. If that wasn’t strange enough, the watchers didn’t look angry. A mob in the midst of burning a child alive should look crazed with rage. But if anything, these people seemed…sad, hurt, fearful? It was hard to say. But I’d seen that same mysterious look on my family’s face more than once, and the possible connection was disturbing. I shook my head, impossibly more confused than I had been an hour ago.

A text about demons had seemed useful, but as I flipped through the pages, I remembered why I’d read only a smattering of the book. The majority was in Latin. And while I knew a great deal of that old dead language for spell-casting, many of the words were still foreign. Other parts were written in even older, unrecognizable languages. Languages no doubt Aunt Helena spoke fluently. It was as if the book had been written by different authors, born in different time periods. I looked at a set of symbols that appeared to be childish squiggles.
And of different sobriety levels
.

Like the book, my conversation with Aunt Helena and Nana had offered great potential for enlightenment but fallen far short of expectation. I was thankful they had left the kitchen, allowing me a few minutes to digest their revelations or lack thereof before my meeting. They hadn’t denied what they’d done. But they’d avoided explaining why. And that was what I so desperately wanted. Though it was little consolation, they’d confirmed taking a vow of silence. Their lips wouldn’t say who had issued the vow, but their faces had said enough.
My mother.
She was keeping them silent even from the grave. While I was normally all for family unity, today the ties that bind felt more like a noose.

The only highlight had been learning that Arno Wellsy’s house, located through the woods behind our property, would soon be occupied. Wellsy’s young grandchildren and their guardian, Cassie, were driving down from Virginia and were expected late tonight. Cassie’s great-aunt, The Witch Prime, insisted the move would be good for the grieving children. Aunt Helena was executor of Arno’s will. The Prime’s secretary had called her and asked if the house could be made ready. I didn’t see how this was good for the children so soon after learning their grandfather was gone, but Aunt Helena and Nana were excited about their arrival.

Taking advantage of that excitement, I’d explained Gemini’s case and my need. During our battle, Nicodemus had covered himself with wards to block any magical attacks. Jacq had similar wards at my door to prevent entry of black-magic wielders. I suspected a new ward combining these two might prevent possession. Nana and Aunt Helena had looked at the wards I’d drawn and agreed it was possible. But neither could explain how Roskov had been possessed. For this, I’d have to ask my new demon grandmother.

Mynx stood by the stove fixing a fresh pot of tea. As if sensing my thoughts, she said, “Your grandmother was wrong, you know.”

“About what?” I didn’t look up from the page.
I had to be missing something.

“About that book. It’s not Helena’s.” That drew my attention. Mynx turned and looked at me very seriously. “It was your Gram’s, then your mother’s. Now it’s yours.”

“Why—” I looked down at the old dusty pages, unsure of the question I wanted to ask.

Mynx turned back to the stove. “Evie gave it to me to leave for you.” Her voice was so low I had to strain to hear. “I’ve always wondered if maybe she didn’t know…” Her voice broke. “She said sometimes—” Mynx cleared her throat. “Sometimes we have to find the answers for ourselves to believe them.”

“Maybe,” I said hoarsely, eyes watering as I stared at her back. When she didn’t turn around, I looked back to the book. I often forgot that Mynx had helped raise my mother like she had me. When I had lost my mother, Mynx had lost a good friend, a daughter almost. The teakettle whistled, and I heard her move about, fixing things. We both remained silent, letting our sadness fade under the weight of routine and contemplation.

Minutes later, my head was bent over the table, my body hunched as I again squinted at the print, expecting to see answers emerge if I looked at it just so, when Mynx plopped down a cup of tea so close to my face my eyes crossed.

“You know,” I said, trying to lighten the mood, “a clue would be nice. Preferably a big fat one on a billboard with giant neon arrows.”

I felt Mynx move to stand close behind me. Her voice lowered. “Your mother did tell me one thing.” She reached past my shoulder and closed the book, snapping its cover shut and sending a small cloud of dust into the air. “She said sometimes it’s not what you see but what you don’t that wins the day.” I turned to see her arch a brow. “Cluey enough for you?” Then like the cat she was, Mynx turned and left, heading to answer the wards that were ringing, signaling someone’s arrival.

“What about my arrows?” I shouted. Over her shoulder, she pointed at me with her middle finger.
Cheeky.
I grinned. Evidently, the example of the smart-mouthed Fera was wearing off on my normally reserved business partner.

Mynx’s step never faltered, so certain was she that her brief message would eventually make perfect sense. And in a way, it did. I looked at the cover and tried to see what I didn’t see.

Which was a great deal.

“Shit.” There was no title. How could I have missed that? The cover was completely blank, its old spine smooth and bare. How could a book not have a title? I opened it to the first page but saw only a small inscription written in a familiar hand. It said merely,
Darkness is…

What sort of metaphorical, philosophical, cheapskate bullshit was that? Could my mother not afford the ink to finish the sentence?

I returned to the woodcut, looking again at the mob. The empty-handed mob that stood before a massive blaze yet somehow still managed to be half in shadow. I closed the book again, looking at the cover then the title page. Mynx had said to look for what was missing.

Surely, it couldn’t be as easy as that.

Illuminare
, I thought the word even as I cast the spell, bringing light to the darkness that was my life. Magic shimmered briefly before settling on the old leather. My jaw dropped as fire spread across the book’s cover. “Mother of—” I beat at the flames.
Great, I’d just torched my only hope of getting an answer.
I lifted my hand to smack the old leather again and stopped, shocked.

The leather had darkened until it was black and liquid, its surface undulating like living water, its shape that of a giant arched gate. Across the gate, flames had burned into the cover, were burning there still. As if living in the leather, the fire rippled and shimmered with life, its brilliant golden-red shocking against the gate’s blackness. But now the flames formed a picture. Two shadowy hands held swords of flame, crossed to form a large fiery X and above the swords, as if rising from where they clashed, was a bright bird of flame.

I traced the bird lovingly, feeling it shudder under my caress, its feathers ruffling in pleasure at my touch. I stroked the bird’s wings, and a familiar
zinging
magic shot up my arm. Its beak opened, cawing silently in delight. I jerked my hand back, face flushed, embarrassed, confused…and very uncomfortable. I knew this creature. Had given pleasure to this creature.

And I didn’t mean the one encased in leather.

Down to the golden wings and the look in the proud eyes, detail for detail, this beautiful, noble, extraordinarily confusing phoenix matched the one tattooed on Jacq’s back. I couldn’t look away. Unbearably curious, I turned to the title page, watching as little scrawls of fire, directed by an unseen hand, finished the sentence, filling it in with the exact words I had expected.

I smiled sadly. The ability to bring forth light had been my very first spell. I’d been afraid of monsters lurking in the dark. My mother had taught me, a child too young to yield magic well, the simple spell to dispel my fear. For who could fear something she could banish with a wave of her hand?

Memories fading, I laid my hands to either side of the book, my fingers trembling. I finally had my answers, and I was too scared to turn the page.

If this were Jacq sitting here frightened of a book, I would tease her unmercifully.
I laughed at the impossible idea. There wasn’t much that scared Jacqueline Slone. I took a deep breath and flipped the page, watching as fire moved letters and images, rewriting the page to form something understandable. The words were now English but no longer in a familiar hand and looked old…very, very old. I read only,
In the beginning
, when Gem and Mynx called my name from the hall, making me jump.

With great effort, I dragged my eyes from the image of a woman, face deep in a cloak’s shadowy hood, walking with a bundle in her arms toward an active darkmirror. Though I couldn’t see the woman’s face, there was something in me that recognized the image. Something that understood it meant more than a trip through the gates.