Summoning the Night
Page 11

Earthbound couples who could afford it hired a gemplexer when they got engaged, a demon chemist who could siphon off a bit of halo and bend it into certain gemstones. Very expensive.
Mark’s wife took her time studying me with hooded eyes. Judging. No doubt she saw me as some barely legal gold digger . . . Lon’s midlife crisis. Her gaze lingered on my head. For a second, I thought she was staring at my dual-tone, Bride of Frankenstein hair. Strands of bleached platinum white from the nape of my neck were loosely braided into the dark brown bulk that hung down my back. I had hoped wearing it this way would make me look a little older. But Mark’s wife couldn’t have given two hoots. She was checking out my unusual silver halo as if it marked me as some sort of terrorist in a sea of green- and blue-crowned demons. She’d probably also heard what I did in their Hellfire caves, banishing their incubus sex slaves to the Æthyric plane—an accident, to be fair—and busting up their underground demon mixed–martial-arts ring.
Once her critical assessment of my halo ended, she glanced at Lon and took a step back. It took me a few moments to realize why. Lon’s knack. They were moving out of his empathic range, nervous because they knew that he knew how they really felt. He’d told me when I first met him that other demons shied away from him when they found out about his ability. He’s not the person you want to be around when you have something to hide.
The awkward small talk didn’t last long, thank God. A couple of other people said hello, but didn’t stop to chat. When Dare finally walked into the room, I was actually relieved.
“Ah, Miss Bell.” His booming voice filled the atrium. Everyone turned. He grasped my hand heartily and whispered, “Our little wolf in sheep’s clothing. It’s delightful to finally meet you.”
Dare was in his early seventies, of average height, physically fit but for a slight paunch around his middle, and completely bald. His dark eyes twinkled as he looked me over. Lon seemed to relax in his presence, so I tried to do the same. They greeted each other, then Lon and I followed Dare out of the atrium to speak in private.
His home office was dark and comfortable, part Spanish baroque, part English drawing room. He encouraged us to take a seat on an antique sofa in front of an unlit fireplace, then settled in a leather wingback across from us. His knees creaked as he sat. “Parts of your body start giving out when you’re my age,” he admitted while straightening the crease in his dove-gray slacks. “You can take pills for some of them, but others . . . well, you’re just screwed.”
I smiled in response. “I’m glad to finally have the chance to thank you in person for the caduceus you sent me a few weeks ago.” Unlike my others, which were cheap knockoffs, his gift was the real thing, hundreds of years old, with a nice, fat plug of graphite and a small precious stone on the end. Most of my staves were simple poles with the two entwined snakes molded around the top half. Not this one. The staff was intricately carved into the elongated form of the god Mithras, and the snakes were replaced with basilisks, one carved from dark wood, the other pale. The wood was smooth and worn. Practically humming with residual Heka, it was an esoteric collector’s dream.
Dare smiled thoughtfully and nodded his head. “As I told Lon, I hope you find it to be an acceptable peace offering for the buffoonery to which you were both subjected on club night last month.”
Lon grunted.
“Sure,” I said. “As long as you keep David and Spooner the hell away from us, then yes. And, for my part, I apologize for busting up your glass summoning circle.”
He shrugged. “We’ll have it replaced before the annual solstice celebration in December.”
“Nothing says happy holidays like being slaughtered by a pissed-off Æthyric demon in front of a cheering crowd.”
Dare tilted his head to the side and held his palms upward, pretending to weigh the air in front of him. “Participation is supposed to be voluntary. It was designed for entertainment, not punishment.”
Entertainment, my ass. It was dangerous, is what it was. Summoning Æthyric demons is always risky, but it’s downright suicidal if you don’t have the skills to keep them leashed. Relying on vermilion-filled glass binding circles is a cheat. Good magicians depend on their skills, not on objects.
“So, Arcadia,” Dare said with a gentle smile, “you might be interested to learn that I’ve known Lon literally since the day he was born—visited his parents in the hospital. Lon’s father and I were close friends for many years. Dear old Jonathan Butler. I still miss him.” His gaze unfocused for a few seconds as he recalled some memory or another. I was beginning to think he might be a bit senile until he spoke up again. “And Jonathan was present for the birth of my son two days later—Mark. You met him and his wife in the atrium.”
I blinked away my surprise. “I . . . didn’t realize he was, uh, your son.”
“Some days I wish he wasn’t,” Dare replied dryly. “We had a falling-out several years ago. My son is a bit of a prick, you see.”
“Oh . . . ?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or fidget.
Dare chuckled softly. “It’s okay, my dear. If you feel the same way, and I can see that you do, it just means you have good sense. Lon will testify to hating Mark’s guts. Sometimes I wish I had switched you two in the hospital,” he said to Lon affectionately. “Would’ve saved myself a hell of a lot of grief.”