Demons Undone: The Sons of Gulielmus Series (42 page)

John grinned, and nice as it was, it wasn’t a grin that did anything for her. It certainly didn’t wake up her girl parts and make her ponder whether she was all that keen on going to heaven after all. Nope. There was only one grin that did that. “My mother isn’t dumb so much as a wee bit addlebrained. Generally, she knows what’s going on, but she has a condition Claude lovingly refers to as Angel Brain Rot. He did a bit of research, and found out it’s somewhat common for folks with distant angel lineage to not be as tuned in as they should be. Brains are working on too many frequencies.”

“You seem to be firing on all cylinders.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if Ariel would agree with that. But, really, Gulielmus does make mistakes. Claude’s mother was a big one, although in that case I’m not sure how much he could resist her, and Charles’s mother—”

“So, Clarissa, I made some inquiries,” Charles cut in, narrowing his eyes at John.

John’s grin broadened.

Well, well. Secrets abound.

Clarissa didn’t turn around. She was busy poking the pork. “About what?”

“A certain offspring of yours. She’s been spotted.”

Now she turned, clutching her big fork, and eyes wide. “Lottie? Where?”

“Up in the Wyoming Rockies. A Fury I used to hang out with has a ranch up there. Spotted her and Mr. Thomas at the local tavern. She recognized him, but not her, and then made the connection.”

Elation sped Marion’s heart rate, accelerated further by the panic that settled in immediately after. Her parents? She hadn’t given much thought to them since arriving in North Carolina, even knowing they were alive. They weren’t much more than phantoms in her mind, occupying little space because she assumed she’d never cross paths with them. She was used to being an orphan, and perhaps the prospect of having so much living family overwhelmed her a touch. She would love them just like she was beginning to love Ariel and Clarissa, wouldn’t she?

Pulling her suddenly tight collar down, she swallowed. “What’s a Fury and why would one recognize my father?”

“A type of avenging goddess, and probably one in hiding like so many others,” Clarissa responded. “Your father is just an average guy, more or less, but some families are just more tuned in to what happens in the hidden world than others. Mine is one. His family migrated here before World War II. They were Romani and feared they were going to get caught up in the purging. Ran while they could, and settled in the Appalachians. Thomas is an Anglicized name. The original family name is barely pronounceable by human tongues. Anyhow, lots of seers and psychics in his lines. Sometimes people see too much. Know too much. Boogeymen don’t particularly like when humans shine spotlights on them.” She turned to Charles again. “Well, how were they? Did they look well? Did she talk to them? Know where they were headed?”

“She didn’t talk to them. She didn’t think it’d be prudent for them to be seen with a known supernatural entity. She did question the waitress, though. Didn’t know where they were going, but they didn’t plan on being in town long. Said they seemed well enough, if a bit tired.”

“Who wouldn’t be tired? They’ve been on the run for twenty-five years.” Clarissa sighed, shook her head, and turned back to the bacon. “Maybe one day they can rest.”

“Well, why can’t they?” Marion carried her bowl of beaten eggs to the stove and propped her hip against the kitchen counter. “If I’m safe here, why wouldn’t they be?”

“You’re safe here because no one
knows
to look for you here. When you stepped foot on this property, you were basically a non-entity. Then you turned twenty-five, and now the world, more or less, acknowledges your presence.”

“Wow. Glad to have some validation. I always felt like a nobody growing up in foster care.”

“Stop it. You know what I meant. In here, you’re safe because this house and the land it’s on are warded with spells. There’s old magic from before you were born, and new tweaks Claude has added since John came to us. It’s like you’re in a supernatural bubble. Folks can’t pop in or out of this house without a welcome, and if they’ve never been here before, it’s not so easy to find. Your parents aren’t dumb enough to come close because they don’t want to lead people here unwittingly.”

“I guess there’s a definite perk to living in the boonies where no one can find you.”

“Not just that. Most supernatural types don’t navigate with roadmaps, honey. The guideposts they use to find people and places have nothing to do with Cartesian ordinates.”

“So, what does that mean for me? That I’m trapped here forever? Forever’s a long time.”

“No kidding,” Charles murmured from the doorway he’d walked to.

“Ignore him,” Clarissa said. “He’s got a death wish for some reason. I don’t know about you, but if I were damn near immortal, I’d be a bit more thankful.”

“The difference between you and me, Clarissa, is that you have goals and motivations,” Charles said. “You know where you’re going when you leave Earth. Me? What the fuck do I have? I wake up every day with a goddamned demon breathing down my neck nagging me about quotas. With the exception of one short period, I haven’t been truly happy in a hundred years, I’m in a hellish bureaucratic merry-go-round, and everyone I know from before Pop brought this shit online—”

He held up a palm and some unreadable glyph beneath his skin flashed blue.

Marion closed her eyes and put up a hand to cover her face, feeling the sear from mere proximity. What the hell was that?

“—is dead,” Charles finished. “So, yeah. Some days, I wonder, why bother? The moment I think I can have something for myself that’ll bring me even a modicum of joy …” He let his voice trail off, but his gaze flitted over to Marion.

Clarissa looked from Charles to Marion, and turned back to the stove.

“I’m sorry for both of you. Really. I love you both, and don’t want either of you miserable, but I’m the kind of selfish old broad who’d rather you be miserable and alive so I can have you, than you being reckless and dead.” She dropped a second pan onto a burner and cranked up the heat. “So suck it up, buttercups.”

“I swear this isn’t a ploy for me to leave the property and explore. I’m pretty sure I’m dying. Call an ambulance.” Marion pulled the sofa pillow closer and jammed it over her head. Her head hurt. Eyes hurt. Gut roiled. “No. Call the coroner. That’s where I’m headed.”

She knew this feeling well. She’d been on a bender or two in her life, and had woken up feeling like she’d walked through Hell and her body still bore reminders of it. But she hadn’t had anything stronger than French Market coffee in two weeks. Before that, she’d had a couple of glasses of wine on her birthday, and then there were a few beers with John and Claude.

Certainly, at no point in her recent memory, had she purposefully consumed mass quantities of Hellfire.

“I’m sure it’s just a little bug,” Ariel said from the end of the sofa. She kneaded Marion’s arches and massaged her ankles. She muttered something about pressure points, and Marion had to admit she felt a little less queasy with her sister’s careful touch.

Her sister. Her
actual
sister. Clarissa hadn’t seen the point of it, but one day Ariel had come home after work with a couple of swabs in test tubes. “Swish that against your cheek,” she’d said, indicating one swab. Marion didn’t know how much it’d cost her, but the results came back fast and conclusive.

“Told you so,” Clarissa had muttered.

“There’s been a lot of bodies traveling in and out of this house lately,” Ariel said. “Could have picked something up from one of them. I’d imagine your immune system is nowhere near as keyed up as mine since you’ve spent so much time alone in your truck.

“Maybe you’re right,” Marion said into the sofa crease. “But still. I need a doctor to tell me I’m not dying or I won’t believe it.”

The deck door creaked open, and banged closed, and Marion sighed beneath her pillow. “Which of the cambion giants is it this time? God forbid I have a single afternoon to watch television in peace.”

Actually, she did need to see one cambion giant in particular. Someone needed to check on the truck she left back in Idaho. That sucker was custom and she’d spent good money on that sparkly paint job.

Money!

She sat up, squinting against the bright light in the front room. “Hey! I have money,” she said to Ariel.

Ariel scrunched her nose. “Well, that’s random. Thanks for letting me know, though.”

Ariel’s boss Agatha strode into the room clutching a Walgreens sack, and for once, not wearing her usual weekday taupe suit. She was wearing what had to be the most fancy tracksuit Marion had ever seen—maroon velour with cream-colored floral details. Beneath the jacket, she wore a ruffled blouse, which probably defeated the purpose of wearing the tracksuit in the first place.

“Brought you something,” she said in her typically flat voice, and thrust the bag toward Marion.

“For me? Why?”

“Open it and find out.”

Slowly, Marion sat up and closed her eyes. When her brain ceased its infernal spinning, she extended a hand toward the sack. Prying it open, she furrowed her brow. Inside was a pregnancy test three-pack.

“Uh. I know you mean well, but this is … well, what’s it for?”

Agatha sank into the recliner near the door in a graceful slump. “That should be evident, dear.”

“What is it?” Ariel asked.

Marion handed the bag over.

Ariel pawed through it, and her gaze slowly tracked toward Agatha. “You got something you want to tell us?”

Agatha crossed her long legs and pushed a swath of her silver hair behind her right ear, exposing the pearl stud she wore. Picking up the remote control, she said nothing, just scrolled through the satellite offerings, finally landing on some climate change documentary. Staring at the screen a moment, she worried at her bottom lip, and then turned her attention to the sisters.

“Ariel can tell you I’ve always been coy about what I am. People find out, and suddenly they think you have anger management problems.”

Ariel snorted.

Agatha narrowed her eyes at her favored employee.

“Well, what are you?” Marion asked.

Agatha blew out a breath and crossed her legs in the other direction. “Minor wind goddess. Retired. Or
mostly
. I try to keep hurricanes from plowing Wilmington flat whenever they come close. Anyhow, because my affinity is with the air, I can detect subtle changes around me.”

“Are you saying I’m full of hot air? That doesn’t explain
this
.” She waved the pregnancy test box at her.

“No, I’m saying your scent has changed, and I know that scent. I’m old as shit, so take my word on this.”

“But … I can’t be …”

Yes, she could. She and Charles hadn’t exactly been careful, and unless an immaculate conception had taken place, the cause of her current trouble was without a doubt Charles.

“I don’t …”

Ariel gave her arm a nudge. “Go pee on the sticks, then we’ll worry about it.”

“Right. Might just be flu. Maybe that’s what you smell, Agatha. The virus eating me from the inside out.”

Agatha twined her fingers and twirled her thumbs around each other. “Mm-hmm. You should be grateful I waited this long to say anything. I’ve known from the moment that zygote started inching its way toward your cozy little uterus. Miracle of life and such. I’m in tune with those things.” She cleared her throat and fixed her gaze on the television screen.

Ariel nudged her again. “Go. What do you need, moral support? Should I go warm the toilet seat for you?”

“No. Maybe I don’t want to know.”

Could she really be pregnant? She’d always wanted a family, but like this?

“You already know in your heart. Now you just need to convince your brain.”

“I can’t have
his
baby.”

“Why not?” Agatha asked.

“Yeah, why not?” Ariel asked, shifting on the sofa to put her foot beneath her rump. “I’d have John’s kids, and plan to some day when we have somewhere to put them.” She rolled her eyes, and Marion didn’t have to ask why. Apparently, the house had been undergoing a non-stop expansion project ever since John had moved in. He was due to start taking off the roof and framing up the new second floor in spring.

“John’s not really a cambion anymore. He’s not …”

“Evil?”

Marion shrugged. Better Ariel say it than her. She didn’t know what Charles was capable of. He was never around, and that was all the proof she’d needed that he’d never cared about her in the first place.

“I can’t convince you of what Charles is or isn’t, but I’ve known him a little longer than you have, and I can tell you this. It’s not easy being what he is. Most cambions go bad right from the bat—as soon as their demon parent claims them and brings them online. It’s a struggle to not succumb to the power. Sometimes they do things that you and I would find morally questionable, but believe it or not, they question things, too. Claude has been butting heads with Gulielmus since he was a young child. Charles—well, Charles fights hard to keep the man part of himself front and center, and to keep the demon suppressed. I think if it weren’t for this little family, he would have stopped trying. I’m not going to talk you into doing anything, but I think this a choice the two of you have to make together, assuming you need to think it over at all. I think it’d be good for him. For you both.”

Suddenly, Marion’s throat was very dry, and her tongue leaden. She struggled to swallow, and wrung her hands around the paperboard box.

She needed someone to tell her what to do, but how could anyone know that? Most people didn’t conceive demon spawn. Shouldn’t that be harder to do?

“You want me to call him?” Ariel asked in a whisper.

Marion nodded. Stood. “Yeah. Let’s see what he intends to do about it, because I
have
to see a doctor. Also, like hell if I’m giving birth in this house.”

• • •

Charles slipped into the small bathroom and closed the door before Marion could shut him out.

She sighed as she kicked off the slippers that looked very similar to a pair he’d seen Clarissa wear. “Go away, Hellboy.”