Demonosity (5 page)

“What’s up? Are they home from the hospital yet?”

“Oh, they’re home all right. But it turns out that Dad is feeling
so
well that my mom’s decided to go into the office for a few hours,” Cassidy said in a tight voice, still not quite able to process the message her mom had left. “He’s on crutches and is meant to keep his knee elevated and rested. What’s so important that she has to leave him alone in the house like that? Does she think the whole office building will fall down if she’s not there? And she even had the cheek to leave a list of things I would need to cook spaghetti for dinner. I mean, if she’s not going to bother coming home, why should I cook what she wants me to cook?”

“Yes, but you love spaghetti.” Nash’s face clouded over with confusion.

“That’s not the point.”

“Okay, so what
do
you want to cook?”

“I don’t know.” Cassidy gave an impatient shake of her head. Out of all the decisions that she hated making, deciding what to eat was at the top of the list. Then she let out a sigh. “Anyway, I don’t want to fight. I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at my mom. But this means that I won’t be able to come with you this afternoon to see your book guy. If you want to take the book with you, though, then that’s fine.”

“Are you crazy?” Nash looked at her in shock. “Howard’s an antiquarian bookseller, not a Good Samaritan. There’s no way I’m going to take the book with me. It would be like walking into the mob with a bagful of cash and diamonds and expecting them not to want it. A big no-no. It’s much better if I just show him a few blurry photographs and then casually ask him some vague questions.”

Cassidy raised a surprised eyebrow. She hadn’t realized that the antique-book business was quite so cloak-and-dagger, but before she could say anything, the bell rang. She waited patiently while Nash quickly snapped a couple of photographs on his cell phone, and then they both hurried to fifth period. Besides, Nash would either find the owner of the book or he wouldn’t; right now she had bigger things to worry about.

“D
o you ever get the feeling someone’s watching you?” Cassidy’s dad asked later that night as they sat in the living room eating their dinner. Her dad was resting on the couch, his leg out flat in front of him and his empty pasta bowl on the small table beside him. Her mom still hadn’t returned from whatever “work emergency” she was dealing with, so it had been just the two of them eating the spaghetti that Cassidy had grudgingly made. More because she couldn’t be bothered to decide what else to cook than because she thought her mom’s idea was a good one. However, at her father’s question, she immediately looked up.

“Why?” She put aside her own pasta bowl as she remembered the eerie sensations she’d been feeling lately, and the burning eyes that had been emblazoned in her mind. Just thinking about it made the hairs on the back of her arms stand up, and she gave a little shiver. “H-have you noticed something?”

“Actually, I have. It’s my daughter, and she seems to be watching my every move,” her dad retorted in a dry voice. Cassidy let out a private groan. Talk about getting her wires crossed.

“I’m not watching your
every
move,” she protested before raising her hands in defeat. “Okay, fine. But I’m worried about you.”

“Cass, you can’t keep looking at me like I’m made of cotton,” he said, and she saw the hint of the temporary tattoo peeking out from under his shirtsleeve. It should’ve made her smile, but she couldn’t quite muster one.

“Yes, well, if I don’t do it, then who will?” Cassidy retorted as she pointedly glared at the empty chair where her mom normally sat and then over to where his crutches were lying on the floor.

“We’ve talked about this. I’m fine. The surgery is over, and in a few weeks I’ll be crashing your school disco and embarrassing you in front of your friends with all of my slick moves.”

“I’m pretty sure that discos haven’t existed since 1985,” Cassidy pointed out before letting out a sigh. “But fine, point made. I’ll stop being so overprotective.”

“And stop giving your mom such a hard time?”

Cassidy went to open her mouth in protest. Especially when she thought of the large stack of printouts on the kitchen bench that her mom had left for her. There were dozens of articles on college applications and why it was good to show diversity. However, then she remembered that stress was the last thing he needed, and she let out a reluctant sigh. “And I’ll stop giving Mom such a hard time,” she dutifully repeated.

“Thank you.” He nodded as he reached for his crutches. “Now, we should really do these dishes.”

“Don’t you dare!” Cassidy jumped to her feet and gathered up the bowls before he could even think about standing up. “You can sit there and reminisce about your glory days as king of the disco,” she commanded, before walking out to the kitchen and loading up the dishwasher.

It was almost eight o’clock, and despite what her dad said, she still thought that it was wrong of her mom to have not come home yet. Cassidy shook some detergent into the machine and tried to stay calm, but it was hard when she was so pissed off. After all, what was so important that her mom had to stay at work for so long? And if this was what it was going to be like from now on, then why didn’t her mom just stay in Boston? All she was doing here was bossing everyone around and giving orders.

She turned the machine on with a thump and was just about to walk out of the kitchen when she caught sight of a large handwritten note stuck to the refrigerator: CASSIDY—TAKE TRASH OUT.

For a moment Cassidy glared at it. Especially since over the last five years her mom probably hadn’t even known what day the trash was collected. Then she caught sight of the wedge of paper sitting on the bench. The printouts she was meant to be reading, complete with color-coded Post-it notes attached to them. Suddenly, she smiled.
Oh, she would take out the trash, all right.

She grabbed a plastic bag and gleefully scooped the offending articles into it, then hurried outside and down along the side of the house. The large tree in the neighbor’s yard threw
Edward Scissorhands
–style shadows across the concrete as she made her way along the path. Nash would say that she was being completely irrational and probably passive-aggressive to dump the articles her mom had left for her, but all Cassidy knew was that it also made her feel as if she had some small sliver of control. Plus, it would totally piss off her mom when she found out.

Cassidy grinned some more as she emptied the papers into the recycling bin. She had just flicked the lid shut and was about to open up the gate to drag the bin to the street when she heard a scratching noise from somewhere behind her. Her excitement at defying her mom disappeared as the hairs on her arms stood up, and fine tendrils of fear clutched at her heart. It was the same feeling that she’d had several times during the last two days. The feeling that someone was watching her.

Part of her wanted to believe it was because tomorrow was Halloween. But the other part of her—the part that her brain seemed to be listening to—wasn’t so sure.

This time the scratching was louder, and Cassidy unconsciously edged away from it. In the process she managed to stumble back into the bin; she watched in dismay as it fell to the ground with a thud, spilling plastic bottles and papers out onto the path in front of her. She ignored the mess, her breath catching in her throat. But apart from a soft breeze that was blowing against the surrounding trees, there was no sign of anything and—

Whatever Cassidy was about to think next disappeared from her mind as a violent flap of wings sounded in her ears and she looked up to see an enormous bird on one of the lower branches of a nearby tree. Its wings were spread out in an eerie silhouette against the crescent moon as it turned its pale heart-shaped face toward her. Inspecting her with a pair of dark, swirling eyes that sat above its noselike beak.

Cassidy shuddered as a single feather leisurely floated down to the ground. It was almost identical to the feather that had fallen into her lap the previous day, and Cassidy found herself helplessly following its progress until it finally landed just by her scuffed-up Docs.

Two feathers? The hypnotic amber eyes that she kept thinking were watching her? She wasn’t a genius like Nash, but she knew all these things had to mean something. It’s just that she had no idea what, and despite the fact that every single nerve in her body was screaming at her to go inside, she looked back up into the tree.

The owl spread out its wings and pushed its talons against the gnarled branch, and for one awful second Cassidy thought it was going to launch itself at her. But instead it sprang off the branch and glided down to the other end of the path, effectively blocking her path.

For a moment it just stood there, feathers shimmering and glowing in front of her very eyes; before Cassidy quite knew what was happening, the owl was gone and in its place was a body. A person.

A guy.

Cassidy was past screaming. She was past thinking. She was past taking any kind of action. All she could do was stand there and stare helplessly at the figure in front of her. He looked about her age, perhaps a year or so older, and his dark hair was cropped close to his head. His strong brow was knit in powerful concentration, and he was dressed in a coarse, collarless shirt, which reached well below his thighs and was ripped and stained.

As he walked toward her, she could clearly see a jagged, angry scar running down one side of his face. It was brutal, but then as he got closer, she discovered that even more compelling than the horrendous scar were his eyes. One was the palest of blues and the other a swirling brown color, and they were staring at her with such intensity that Cassidy felt incapable of looking away.

Then he spoke. “My name is Thomas de la Croix, and we don’t have much time.”

That was when she finally started to scream.

C
assidy clamped a hand over her mouth to try to muffle the sound of her scream, because whoever or
whatever
this thing was, there was no way she wanted to make her dad come out to check on her when he was supposed to be resting. Instead, she used her teeth to bite down hard on one finger, in the hope that the pain would cause the vision in front of her to disappear. It didn’t work, and when she looked again, his disconcerting gaze was still fixed firmly on her.

He looked annoyed, and strangely enough, it was that which finally helped Cassidy to get herself under control. She dropped her hand back down to her side and took a deep breath. There had to be a logical explanation for what she’d just witnessed.

“What are you?” she said, her whole body still shaking from the shock.

“I told you”—his voice was laced in an accent that she couldn’t quite place—“I am Thomas.”

“I didn’t ask
who
you are. I want to know
what
you are,” Cassidy repeated, as she unconsciously took a step backward to try to avoid his uncompromising stare. To try to give herself some space in which to think. “I mean, you were an owl, and then you were . . . Well, then you weren’t an owl. Are you some kind of shape-shifter, werewolf thing?”

“I am not a beast,” he said in a low voice, and it was obvious from the way his jaw was clenched that patience wasn’t one of his virtues. “I’m a knight of the Brotherhood of the Black Rose.”

Black Rose?

The tattoo on her arm burned in response, and once again she heard a voice calling out to her.
Pick me. Pick me.
She took another step away from him until the rough plaster on the exterior of the house was rubbing against her sweater and into her spine. She thought of the crazy guy at the mall. Armand. His accent had been almost identical to Thomas’s, and he had kept pointing at her temporary tattoo.

She let out a small gasp. “He gave me the book on purpose?” Her mind was spinning as she tried to connect the dots, but it was a puzzle that didn’t want to be solved. Where was Nash’s brilliant mind when she needed him?

“
Oui
. Armand would have been desperate. He came here to protect the Black Rose, and when he discovered his mistake, he would’ve been looking for another guardian who could handle the burden. There must have been something about you that called out either to him or to the grimoire.”

“Wh-what’s a grimoire?” Cassidy was almost too scared to ask.

“It’s the most important book that the Brotherhood possesses, and it is the heart of our magic.”

Cassidy was silent.

She had been forced to sit through more than her fair share of strange conversations with Nash, most of them full of names and places that she’d never heard of before. But right now this Thomas guy was making Nash’s conversations sound like watercooler stories. It was ridiculous, and she’d heard quite enough of . . .
well, whatever it was.
She edged her way along the wall, hoping to slip past him, but Thomas quickly blocked her way, his mismatched eyes cold and clinical.

“You must listen carefully,” he said, a guarded expression on his tense face. “Perhaps if I start at the beginning, it will make more sense.”

Doubtful,
Cassidy thought as her mind raced, trying to decide if she could get out through the gate that led through to the front yard. Unfortunately, her gate-jumping skills weren’t what they should be, and she doubted she would have time to unlock it. She took a deep breath and tried to stay calm.

“The Black Rose is an essence. A very powerful essence that offers immortal life and unlimited power to whoever inhales it. It was created by alchemists before they realized that everything comes at a cost, and that the Black Rose also brings madness, pain, and destruction. That is why the Brotherhood has sworn to protect it from the men and demons who desire it.”

Essences? Immortal life? Demons?

Cassidy, who was still struggling to deal with the owl-transforming-into-a-guy thing, blinked. He had to be kidding, but when she inspected his face, she got the feeling that he never kidded. About anything. Ever. She hugged her arms around her chest.

“As yet there has been no way to destroy the Black Rose, and those who covet it are growing ever stronger.” And still the disarming eyes were staring intently at her.

“A-and what’s any of this got to do with me?” Cassidy croaked, ignoring the way the fake tattoo on her arm was blazing. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep things together.

“The Black Rose is currently residing in an unknown vessel. A corporeal body.
A virginal human body.
The vessel and the Black Rose need to be protected from those who desire it. That is where you come in. You must be the guardian. I need you to find the virginal vessel and the Black Rose and protect them until the moment of the next solstice, when you will send it back.”

“Send it back
where
?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“Back where it belongs. Back where we can keep it safe. Back to the year 1310.”

“
What?
Are you insane?” Cassidy felt her jaw drop. So far, she had been doing a good job of not giving in to the hysteria that was threatening to rise up from her belly. Not when faced with the owl turning into a guy. Not when hearing of the demons and the immortal life. But now she was being told that she had to send something back through time. Her whole body began to shake as she stared at the loose woolen shirt he was wearing before she remembered the other guy from the mall, who had been wearing chain mail. How was this even possible?

“That is something I’ve often been accused of. But my mental state is not the issue here. I have explained what I need you to do, and the sooner we start your training, the better,” he said, but Cassidy just stared at him blankly, causing him to bristle with frustration. “I
need
you to take this seriously. Whether you like it or not, you are the next guardian.”

“I’m sorry.” She had finally managed to find her voice. “If you really were from the fourteenth century, then why can I understand you? According to Nash, you all spoke differently back then. Even the writing in that book was different.”

“The grimoire.”

“Fine. Book . . . grimoire. What’s the difference?”

He gave an impatient shake of his head. “
Non
. The grimoire is the reason you can understand me. All the power and knowledge of the Brotherhood lie within the covers.”

“What? So by touching a book, I can go all BabelFish?”

He ignored her question. “It only works when the grimoire chooses to accept your touch. But since we are standing here, it is obvious that it has now done so. That is why you can understand me when I speak and why you can see me. You will also find that you can now read the text.”

Again, the tattoo on her arm began to blaze as the hysteria in her belly turned to dread. Not because of how ridiculous he sounded but because some of what he was saying made sense.

“And how can you understand me?” she croaked.

“It’s not important,” he assured her, his mismatched eyes blazing with a passionate intensity that made her shiver. “What
is
important is that you start training to find and protect the Black Rose immediately, because it won’t be long before the demon knights discover that it has been lost. You have a lot to learn before the solstice if we are to succeed.”

“Stop saying that.” Cassidy shook her head. “Because it isn’t going to happen. I’m not going to be a guardian of anything. Besides, there must be hundreds of people who would do a better job of it than I would.”

Thomas didn’t disagree; instead, he merely shrugged. “The grimoire has chosen you.”

“Yes, but it chose me only because I had a stupid fake tattoo on my arm.” Cassidy pushed back her sleeve to show him her arm. “Your book made a mistake. Anyway, if it’s such a big deal, then why don’t you do it, huh? After all—”

Thomas abruptly cut her off. “Touch me,” he said, and Cassidy widened her eyes.

“Wh-what?” she asked in alarm, since, despite the surreal nature of the whole conversation, up until now she hadn’t felt in danger. But it suddenly occurred to her that she had no idea what he was capable of. She edged her way farther down the wall, once again feeling the uneven plaster digging painfully into her spine.

“You heard me. Touch me,” he said, his voice not brooking any argument, and Cassidy found herself stepping toward him, purposely avoiding his hypnotic gaze. He held his arm out to her. She took a deep breath before finally reaching out to him. She could almost feel the heat radiating off his body, as his intense eyes stared down at her, and—

Her hand sliced through the air as if he wasn’t even standing there.

She whipped her hand back as if she’d been bitten, confusion stinging at her eyes. Thomas didn’t say anything. He just stood there, his brow taut with impatience. She reached forward again, this time for his chest, but once more her hand was greeted by nothing but air.

“I don’t understand.” She rubbed her fingers, her eyes never leaving his face. “Are you a ghost? Why can’t I touch you?”

“I am no shade,” he assured her. “Though many have tried to put me in my grave. Unfortunately, I cannot travel through time. I am where I have always been. You can see me because I have projected a vision of myself to you,” he said, his voice still filled with impatience. “However, to do so requires a lot of effort. Magic.”

“Okay.” Cassidy shut her eyes for a moment as she tried to make sense of everything. “And the owl?”

“The owl is real and exists here in your world. I am not part of it, and it is not part of me, but my power is such that I can bind with creatures if I choose. It is a lot less exhausting than appearing to you as I am now. So I connect with the owl to find the things that I seek.”

“Like me?” she croaked as she realized why she’d had the eerie sensation that someone had been watching her.

“Like you,” he agreed in a calm voice, as if it was totally okay to go all stalker dude when it was for a good cause.

“What about the guy at the mall? Armand? I felt him. He knocked my purse off my shoulder. He wasn’t an apparition. He was real,” Cassidy said, while trying to stop herself from drowning in the overload of information. Thomas bowed his head, and she had the distinct impression he was swearing, but when he looked up, his face was blank.

“Armand thought he could defy the laws of nature and travel through time. He wanted to follow the grimoire and protect the Black Rose as he had sworn to do, but he didn’t understand his limitations, and thus, he paid the ultimate price.”

“He died?” Cassidy gasped as she recalled his unnatural pallor and the feverish red spots on his cheeks.

Thomas gave a curt nod of his head. “He was a fool, and his foolishness has cost us dearly,” Thomas spat. “The Black Rose and the grimoire are here, and we, the knights who have sworn to guard it, are there.
Now can you see my problem?
”

“Not really.” Cassidy shook her head so that her long hair went flying into her face. She quickly pushed it out of her eyes. “If you can’t time travel, then how can anyone get it?”

Thomas let out another faint string of expletives. “We use magic to help us fight the demon knights, but our magic is earth-based and pure. Unfortunately, those who covet the Black Rose don’t share the same beliefs. They use blood magic. Slicing the veins of innocents corrupts almost as surely as the touch of the Black Rose. It also gives them power. And not only will blood magic let them travel through time, it will help them trace that which they seek. And if they succeed, they will be even more dangerous. More deadly. More . . .
unthinkable.
Now, please. Our time is limited. The demon knights will soon find the grimoire, and unless you stop them, they will also find the Black Rose. I
can’t
let that happen.”

Despite the fact that he wasn’t really there, the intensity in his face was so overwhelming that she could almost feel the force of his emotions shimmering out through the apparition. As surreal and unbelievable as the situation was, she had no doubt he was telling the truth. Cassidy felt the familiar confusion that often happened to her as she tried to make up her mind.
If the Black Rose really was half as dangerous as he said, then—

“Cass, are you out there?” her father called as the outside light flicked on. A moment later he appeared at the top of the path, leaning forward on his crutches.

“Dad, what are you doing?” Horror rose in her throat, though she wasn’t sure if she was more freaked out that he had caught her talking to a strange ghostlike guy who could turn into an owl or that he was outside on his crutches when his doctor had quite clearly told him that, for the first week, he should keep his leg elevated as much as possible and use his crutches only on even surfaces.

“I was worried about you. You’ve been out here for at least half an hour, and I could hear voices,” her dad said before catching sight of the overturned recycling bin. “Don’t tell me that the neighbor’s cat has been at it again.”

“What?” She was blank for a moment as she followed her dad’s gaze past where Thomas was standing, still as a statue, his face pale, apart from the angry scar running down his check. She let out a little gasp.
Her dad couldn’t see Thomas.
Then she realized he was waiting for an answer, and so she dropped to her knees and started to shovel the plastic bottles and papers back into the bin before dragging it back into an upright position. “Yeah, it was the cat. I’ll just finish cleaning up out here, but you need to go back inside and put your leg up.”

“Remember that chat we had about your not being overprotective?” he asked in a mild voice, before turning and carefully maneuvering himself with his crutches back inside. Once he was gone, she got to her feet and headed to the gate. Her fingers trembled as she unlatched it, but finally it was open and she began to drag the recycling bin and the trash can out to the curb for tomorrow’s collection. As she moved, adrenaline pounded through her body. She had no idea what was going on, but she knew that it wasn’t something she could get involved in. Not if it meant her dad would risk his recovery just to check up on her. She left the cans on the curb and made her way back inside the gate. Thomas was still waiting there, but she ignored him.