The Devil You Know (5 page)

I’d never ascribed to the belief that fainting made a lady delicate, ethereal, or whatever other bullshit word you wanted to use. Nope, I was pretty sure it was a liability. But my body refused to obey my order to stay away from the darkness. As I drifted away to Jacq’s voice accompanied by the mourners’ dark melody about war and lost innocence, my last thought was that sometimes it really sucked to be a mortal hanging with immortals.

They never knew when to pull their punches.

* * *

Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia—Hours Earlier

It was amazing how the details of one man’s life could be contained within a few sheets of paper. Cassie LaFortuna sat on her great-aunt Lucine’s couch, sight blurring with unshed tears as she read and reread the pages clutched tightly in her hands. She knew what they said, what they meant. The lawyer had been quite clear. But she didn’t understand why.

Why him? Why now? Why there?

There was no explanation, not even a date of Arno Wellsy’s death. Only that it had occurred. They—the lawyer, Lucine, even the documents—focused on what she had been given. What about what they had lost? What of the man of whom the children would now only have vague memories? Wasn’t it enough they had already lost their mother? For them now to lose their grandfather, for her to lose the man who was like a father to her?

It was incomprehensible.

Still, Cassie had no power to turn back time so this they must bear. But what of their home, the one they would be giving up to move hundreds of miles away to become strangers in a strange town? For what?

Her great-aunt knew Cassie was a Winter Witch. Even if they hadn’t been family, Cassie’s white hair and pale eyes would have attested to it. Her powers weakened away from the mountains, putting her and the children at risk. Inwardly, Cassie shook her head, anger overriding her grief. What was so great about this Gandsai and the house waiting there that her great-aunt insisted they leave now to occupy it?

Lost, she looked at the woman she had served faithfully for so many years, the woman who sat so near, her presence no longer the comfort it had once been. Lucine LaFortuna’s once golden hair was now gray and her black eyes dimmer than when she was young, but she was still the Witch Prime, the strongest of them all and their voice within the Supernatural Council.

“Am I being punished?” Throat tight, Cassie hid her anger and blinked away tears.

“Cassandra, no. Why would you think such a thing?” Lucine placed a blue-veined hand on Cassie’s knee.

Cassie inwardly cringed at the touch, but her face never changed, one distress masking the other. “You’re sending me away when I’m needed most. That’s why.” Cassie gazed out the window, seeing the girls practicing in the courtyard below—her students, her responsibility, her burden and her cause. If she was not near, how could she do as she had been asked and find a diamond in the rough, one with enough pure blood to manipulate the darkmirror’s song?

Lucine’s keen gaze followed the young fighters. “This is temporary. I would not have you from my side for long. You’re the only one here, the only one anywhere truly of my blood. Your dear grandmother, my dear sister, goddess rest her soul, would have it no other way.”

Cassie kept her eyes averted, knowing her grandmother and mother would have said the opposite. Even before her great-aunt had come to power, before their deaths had paved the way, they had asked Cassie to stay away. She regretted not being able to respect their wishes but didn’t regret taking the path that had until now kept her by her aunt’s side.

Lucine continued, her voice wavering, “But I believe it’s best the boys spend some time in their grandfather’s house to say goodbye. Don’t you?”

Cassie nodded. It was difficult all at once to learn Carlin and Alex’s grandfather was dead and they three had to leave the home she’d carefully built for them over the past three years. Doubly difficult when she added to the list her aunt’s cavalier attitude about how this would affect the children. Though the latter shouldn’t have been a surprise. Cassie knew the generous image Lucine generated had long been a means to an end. To what end she wasn’t sure. For years she had suspected it wasn’t the foretold outcome of finding and fostering a new generation of guardians to protect their world.

Cassie looked again at the old woman, undeceived by her aged appearance. The Witch Prime’s magic suffused the small wood-paneled office. Only fools and the self-important thought her weak, seeing only this humble residence among the peaceful village in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Seeing only what Lucine wanted.

And Cassie was no fool. Or at least, she was no longer.

Not that it mattered,
Cassie thought. Being awakened to her aunt’s true nature hadn’t changed anything. Her efforts thus far had done little good. Things would not change while she was away, not for the better. But she resigned herself to leaving knowing her duty to Loren Wellsy’s children superseded any previous promises…any previous loyalties.

Cassie looked out the window again, seeing the other children, those she could not take with her. The oldest was barely a teenager. Fresh-faced eager orphans like she had once been, they unquestioningly gave their loyalty to the one woman willing to offer them a home—an army of young blood ripe for the taking.

One day Cassie would return to lead them. Until then, she would do as she was told, no matter the cost. Too much was at stake to risk disobedience. That meant she needed to pack…and figure out where, in the name of all that was magical, was Gandsai, Mississippi. Then she needed to call the executor of Arno’s will, Helena Delacy, and let her know the children were coming to claim their inheritance sooner than anyone could have possibly expected.

Chapter Three

“Weep and wail! Weep and wail! All you want us to do is weep and wail? Seriously, get over yourselves. I’ve been weeping and wailing for centuries and I’m tired of it. Maybe I’ll just take up the ukulele. Then we’ll see who’s crying.”

—Elvira, Banshee Extraordinaire

Night Ten

There are four things in life I truly hate. One was being used. Two was unpleasant surprises. Three were people who hover. And last, but certainly not least, was being caught with my pants down. I awoke in a strange bed with a bandaged head, a migraine big enough to split logs, and the realization that I was four for four. How having a head injury equaled removing my pants was a bit confusing but not really my main focus.

Only half-conscious, I drifted, letting the night’s fuzzy memories play in my head like a warped movie reel.
The attack…Being blasted…Blood and screaming…A funeral procession…I’d been afraid for someone…for Jacq!
Without conscious thought, my body tried to go to her, arms and legs jerking, the pain in my head ratcheting up as an annoying monitor began to beep loudly, dragging me closer to awareness.

“Peace, cher,” Jacq said softly. Her soothing magic caressed my shoulder.

Comforted, I rested, gathering my strength, listening as people bustled about speaking softly. Jacq’s warm hand occasionally brushed my cheek as strangers poked, pinched and generally praised me for a miraculous recovery. The last would have been more reassuring if it hadn’t meant I’d been in a dire condition upon arrival.

Though tattered, my connection to Jacq was still intact. I felt her worry and tried to send a message of reassurance, grimacing as the chainsaw in my head turned into a full-scale demolition derby. Obviously, I was too weak for telepathic gymnastics because my mind again slipped away.

When next I awoke, I first noticed the silence. The unfamiliar voices, hovering bodies, and loud beeping were gone. Somewhere in the distance, a grandfather clock softly tick-tocked the night away. I had the feeling a long time had passed. My stomach being painfully empty and my bladder painfully full were good clues. Then I felt Jacq’s absence and tensed. Upon hearing her husky voice quietly murmuring in an adjoining room, I relaxed only to tense again, realizing another woman had taken my good detective’s seat. I felt the new woman’s muted but still overwhelming demon presence. My own demon, as battered as I, didn’t react. But my visitor’s magic was an effective wakeup call, reminding me of one important fact.

I had a grandmother.

Or rather one in addition to the one I already knew of. My Nana was probably even now baking midnight brownies and fussing over our remaining houseguests. This new grandmother had probably never set foot in a kitchen…unless it was to issue an order. Of course, I could be stereotyping. Denoir’s Queen seemed similar to my Nana in many ways. Both had killer faces and wicked magic, the difference being that this new grandmother wanted something. Maybe not necessarily from me, but I was involved. And if she played like the big boys, my new grand ma-ma wouldn’t be sharing her plans willingly. That suspicion and the newly opened fissure in my head did not put me in the best of moods.

I cracked my eyes, wincing as the bedside lamp’s dim light seemed to glare, and took stock. Unaware, the current subject of my ire sat in a plush armchair near the bed, silently reading with the assistance of silver-rimmed glasses. The room was dark, its furnishings outrageously luxurious, its drapes dark and thick. The air smelled of furniture polish, animal musk and spicy aftershave, but no brimstone, which meant it was only the second most hellish place I could imagine.

Noticing my open eyes, the Queen smiled and leaned forward. “You’ve awakened.” She sounded pleased. Her silk suit rustled as she pressed a glass to my lips. “Drink this.”

I gratefully sipped the cool water, listening to her soft words. Unlike her jester, the Queen had an Old World accent.

“My sincerest apologies for your injuries,” she said. “Ramus, our driver, overstepped. He will be punished accordingly.”

Surprised but not fooled by the unexpected apology, I gulped the water before pushing the glass away. “Thank you,” I said hoarsely then cleared my throat and pushed myself higher on the plush pillows, letting the soft sheets fall to my lap. “But that’s not necessary. I’m as at fault as any.”
And I had enough trouble without making an enemy of the Queen’s guard.

Denoir’s Queen frowned. “If that is your wish.” She leaned back, closing her book. Removing her glasses, she tucked them into a breast pocket then folded her hands. “I’m sure you have questions.” She paused, perhaps waiting for another no, but I wasn’t going to make things that easy. “Things you would like to know about your father, about why we are here, why we asked for this meeting.”

I folded my own hands, cocked my head, and waited, holding my tongue. As ill-tempered and weak as I was, a heart-to-heart could easily turn into a fist to face. And since I was in no shape to duck and roll that was a monumentally bad idea.

But she also remained silent, not taking the bait. Being a fan of awkward silences, that would have been fine, but at the moment I was in a hurry…and surprisingly not in my usual mood to play confessor.

Watching her face, I said, “No.” I started to shake my head then thought better of it. “I could ask about those things, but in my experience, answers only lead to more questions—until you find the one that’s at the heart of them all.” My words rang truer than I’d expected, nudging at a memory I couldn’t quite grasp.

Her silver head nodded.

I sighed, trudging on. “And tonight I’m just not in the mood to play twenty questions. I’m sure you’ll tell me what you want and no more, no matter what I ask.” The Queen opened her mouth, but I waved her protests away. “I’ll make you a deal.”

She arched an elegant brow. In the other room, Jacq’s conversation went silent, her presence curious in my head.

“I’ll ask one question,” I said. “If you answer it honestly, completely and fully to your best knowledge, then you can tell me what you want and I’ll listen. I may not agree to your request, but I’ll promise my undivided attention. Otherwise, I’m going home. That’s the best you’re going to get right now.” Yep, I was intentionally negotiating with a woman who could blast me to hell and back. Crazy, right? On the other hand, if it backfired I could blame my fractured skull for leading me down a destructive path.

It had absolutely nothing to do with needing to wrap this quickly…before I wet the bed.

“One question?” She chuckled. “You already make demands. You must be of my blood. Though, perhaps…” She tapped her fingers, her eyes going distant. “I would have asked for more.” Eyes meeting mine, she sat straighter and inclined her head. “Agreed. What is your question?”

“Simple, who’s the bear?” I mimicked her eyebrow arch.

“Bear?” Her confusion was understandably genuine. Few people spoke hillbilly as fluently as I.

“Yes,” I drawled, letting my accent thicken. I pushed the sheets away fully, exposing my legs, thankful my underwear was still where it should be. “If I’m the nice and spicy, little half-demon bait, then there must be a bear. Or some big boorish demon, since that was demon magic battering your elegant tin can into smithereens.”

“I’m sorry. I know not what you speak of.”

Wow, she was good. Her tone was so sincere, her expression so convincing. Then again, she’d had enough years to learn to lie. But while I was no expert on demonology (that was my aunt), I did know magic. And I knew one didn’t live long if they let rivers of it trail behind them wherever they went. Still, if that’s how she wanted to play things, I would roll with it. There’s nothing like compliance to surprise people. And we knew surprise was an effective battle technique. My ass, my head, and everything in between had the bruises to prove it.

“Oh, okay. My bad.” Her expression at my easy acquiescence was priceless. It was probably wrong of me to enjoy what was coming, but I did. “Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought.” I raised my hand, tentatively feeling the bandage, then looked around for my pants. “I must have imagined that Van called you the Queen of Denoir. Silly me. My apologies, G.”

“I
am
the Queen,” she snapped.