The girl spoke again, and this time the language was clear. I thanked the Goddess for the ability to understand.
"Father," she said, her voice light.
The white-cloaked man looked up, his shadowed gaze on the forest. I could just make out his pale skin beneath the fire lit hood.
"You were not followed?" he asked. She shook her head. "Good," he responded, "Let's proceed."
The people had begun to gather, circling the fires, their chants soothing, when I heard the men in the forest behind me.
"Stay low, boy!" a man hissed. I stiffened. "You are young yet, but you will understand one day," the man continued. "They are witches. Their humanity stolen by magic. It is our job to kill them."
My heart began to beat wildly. Hunters. I would know them anywhere. I had cut my teeth on Hunter stories. I wanted to warn the people in the clearing, but it would do no good. The vision was of the past. It would make no difference, and speaking while in a vision could hurt only me.
I closed my eyes and exhaled again before reopening my lids.
In a single blink, the scene had changed. Screaming. There was screaming everywhere. And blood. An arrow protruded from the chest of one of the white-cloaked figures, the crimson stain around it stark against the light fabric. It was the girl's father.
"Go," I heard him gurgle. "Find Mac. Go with him. He will keep you safe. Run, Eta. Run."
The girl clamped her hands over her mouth to keep from crying out as her father crumpled to the ground. Her hood had fallen back, her hair making her a visible target, and she tugged it on again, falling to the ground and crawling as figures around her ran in varying directions. It was enough to shield her, and she slunk into the forest.
I looked up, my face coming nose to nose with a Hunter. The man was tall and broad, his face covered in red facial hair, parts of it braided. His eyes gleamed, the black depths ominous. Blood speckled his face. His breath smelled like some type of liquor, and his cheeks were flushed.
I broke two rules then. I gasped, the noise loud in the vision, and I talked directly to the apparition.
"No," I whispered.
It wasn't the first time I'd ever spoken in a vision. The last time, I'd been violently ill for two days afterwards, but it was the first time an apparition ever looked at me. And not just looked at me, but saw me. The Hunter's eyes widened, his breath quickening as he raised his hand. He gripped a dagger, the metal gleaming in the moonlight. His eyes narrowed on mine, and he grinned.
I froze, shock gluing me to the spot, my horrified eyes on the blade. No. It wasn't possible.
The blade lowered.
Something slammed into me, and the vision by the lake was gone, the Hunter's gleeful eyes burned into my brain.
Chapter 8
I talked to my mother about my powers today. Up until now, I'd kept the Demonic stuff from her. The look on her face made me wish I'd not said anything. There was terror in her eyes. Terror and confusion. I'm pretty positive her gaze mirrored my own. I've made the decision to work with the Swords of Solomon in Italy for a while. Mom is returning to the States. She is going to gather the Coven in an attempt to discover what may be causing my connection with Demons.
~Monroe's Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~
"Are you stupid?"
Luther's angry voice penetrated my foggy head, and I shook off the vision. I was in Belle's living room again, my back on the floor and Luther was straddling me, his hand just beneath my chin.
"He saw me," I whispered, my eyes coming up to meet the Demon on top of me. His free hand was on the floor next to my head, and I could see the muscles rippling in his arm just under the sleeve of his black t-shirt. I didn't remember him removing his leather trench coat.
"You never speak during a vision," Luther hissed, his face lowering so that his nose was nearly touching mine, his breath on my face.
I didn't argue with him. I knew speaking during a vision was dangerous. Question was, how did he?
My eyes searched his. "He saw me," I repeated.
A shadow fell over us, blue jean-clad legs just visible beyond Luther's arm.
"Enough, Demon. You can get off of her now," Lucas demanded.
Luther's eyes remained on mine a moment longer before he glanced upward, one corner of his lip curling as he sat up, his hands lifted. The weight of his hips was heavier against mine, and my cheeks flamed.
"Getting up," Luther conceded, his grin growing as he realized my discomfort.
If I was being honest, it was more than that. There had always been something about Luther Craig that made my blood boil, made parts of my body I wanted to ignore heat up. And he knew it. I wanted to blame it on my Demonic connection, but now that I was temporarily without it, I had to admit it wasn't.
Luther's weight was gone as abruptly as it had arrived, and Lucas' outstretched hand replaced it. I took it, allowing the Angel to help me up before running my clammy hands down the sides of my pants, my eyes meeting the shocked expressions on Belle and NeeCee's faces.
"What the hell was that?" Belle asked.
I shook my head, my gaze going back to Luther. He was in front of me, his stance casual, his face unreadable.
"There was a Hunter in the vision. He saw me," I said a third time.
"What did you think would happen?" Lucas asked. "You spoke in a vision, Monroe. Something bad was bound to happen."
My angry gaze swept the blond Angel before moving back to Luther. "Not that! Never! That should never have happened. An apparition should not have been able to see me. It's the past. I was only a spectator there. An invisible visitor. I should not have been seen."
"And yet," Luther said calmly, "with NeeCee's added powers it was possible. Seems there is more than one secret in your family."
I stepped toward him. He didn't back away. "What?" I asked. "What are you talking about?"
Luther's gaze went to Belle's. "How long have Hunters been after Bernice?" he asked suddenly.
NeeCee gasped, and I stiffened. What the hell?
"Hunters after NeeCee?" I breathed.
I took another step forward. It brought me next to Luther, and my shoulder brushed his arm as my gaze went to Belle.
The raven-haired witch was fiddling with the corner of a page in the grimoire, her eyes looking anywhere but at us.
"Belle?" NeeCee asked, her voice small. She sounded so young, even at sixteen, and anger coursed through my veins.
"You aren't the only cursed Ayers, Monroe," Belle muttered.
The sound that came out of NeeCee's mouth sounded mysteriously close to a sob. She was used to being a disappointment, a klutz, and an all around disaster. But a curse? I personally thought the other stuff was hella bad, but by the look on NeeCee's face, I guess being cursed was worse. Go figure.
"What do you mean?" I asked,
Belle looked up then, her gaze going to NeeCee. "For centuries, there has always been one Ayers witch who was different. Something about her power draws Hunters ..."
NeeCee's sobs broke into Belle's words. I didn't move, and Belle's gaze moved to mine.
"Because of this, many of the Ayers witches in the past with this calling power were abandoned, left to live alone until Hunters finally destroyed them. Bernice was born with this power."
I simply stared.
Wow. Ayers witches. One cursed with ties to Demons. Another born with powers that called to killers. All in one line of witches. What the hell had we done to deserve it? And why did Belle know about it while NeeCee and I didn't?
"Why weren't we told?" I asked.
Belle's face fell. "Because even the coven doesn't understand it. Including your mother and Clara. There has been talk of other Ayers witches born with Bernice's power, rumors of others with the same Demonic abilities as yours, but no one seems to remember why. And no one has been able to translate the book. The language is odd. Your vision is the first real look at that part of the book."
I was confused. "Th
e language they spoke in the vision didn't seem all that strange. Just foreign. And there's no one who could translate it?"
"The words in the book are Demonic, written in a language only Demons use," Luther said suddenly.
I froze, my eyes going to his. "Demonic?" I shivered. "Seriously?"
"Oh, my God," NeeCee breathed.
I leaned in closer to Luther. "Then why don't you read it?" I asked. "You're a Demon."
I was trying everything in my power not to panic. There were Demonic words in my family's grimoire!
Luther's return gaze was hard, unrelenting. "There is no single Demon language. When it is written, it is only translatable by the person who wrote it, and it changes often. The only person who can translate it is someone directly tied to the person who wrote it."
What he left unsaid was more powerful than his words.
"Roe—" NeeCee began.
I didn't let her finish. I'd had a vision about a part of our family's grimoire written in a language that could only be interpreted by someone directly linked to the author. What that meant for me ... I was scared. Scared made me angry, and I turned to Belle, my eyes burning.
"What was the Coven going to do?" I asked. "Just wait until Hunters showed up at the shop to kill Bernice and then take a stand against them?"
Belle's jaw tightened, her eyes full of sympathy. "We were working on it."
I threw up my hands. "Like you were working on my curse too, right?" My gaze moved to Luther's profile."You got any bright ideas, Demon? Cause I'm all out of 'em."
Luther glanced down at me before looking over at Lucas. "Can you feel them?" Luther asked.
Lucas nodded. "There are hellhounds near."
Oh, wonderful! Hunters and Hellhounds. Life was simply rose-colored at the moment.
I grabbed my backpack and lifted the grimoire, placing it inside before anyone had a chance to tell me not to. NeeCee slung her duffel bag over her shoulder, her face red and her nose swollen. I wanted to comfort her, but there was no time.
"As for my bright idea, Monroe," Luther added. "I suggest we find some Witch Hunters."
I froze. I hadn't expected that. "We what?" I asked dumbly.
Luther shrugged. "There may be a closer connection between you and Bernice than you know. Somewhere in your family's history, two witches in your line were cursed, one to death, the other to the devil. Why sit around waiting to be hunted when we can be the hunter?"
Lucas groaned. "Right up your alley. Right, Demon?"
Luther looked at the Angel and grinned. It was a feral smile, his eyes red. There was something dangerous about Luther. Something that spoke of dark corners, blood, and death.
"Where to?" Belle asked, her voice strained. She wasn't fighting Luther's crazy idea. By the dark look in her eyes, I wondered if it was out of fear or disgust.
Luther didn't break eye contact with the Angel. "To Scotland. There are bound to be Ayers witches still there, and I think this all began with Eta."
So the Eta from the grimoire was from Scotland?
Lucas didn't argue. He walked to the apartment window instead and opened it. "Any truth to the whole witches can fly myth?" he asked.
It was dark outside, the red curtains around the open window blowing into the room. The night smelled like wet cement and old beignets.
"If you mean broomsticks, then no," I said before Belle could answer. "There are certain spells, but I don't know them, and I don't trust NeeCee's powers."
Lucas looked at Belle. "And you?" he asked.
The dark-haired witch nodded. "I'm not a blood witch, but Clara has designed a few spells that gives me many of the same powers when needed."
It irked me that she could fly. It irked me even more that my aunt was the reason she could. Something about the idea that Belle could do anything better than me really rubbed me wrong.
"Then I'll take Monroe," Luther said quickly, his eyes on Lucas. "You take Bernice." The Angel's return gaze was stormy.
NeeCee took a deep breath. "We're going to fly?" she asked, her small voice quivering. She was only two years younger than me, and yet I felt so much older.
"We fly," Luther answered.
And with that, I was suddenly wrapped in his arms and airborne before I even had a chance to breath. Somewhere behind us, I heard NeeCee shriek and Belle mutter something in Latin too low for me to understand. And then there was the smell of sulfur.
Luther had been right. The Hellhounds were still nearby, and yet they hadn't come to find me again. Why? Were they biding their time? And why would they do that? Because Luther had put a serpent wrapped rose on my back? That seemed kind of lame.
My fingers went to Luther's where he held me around the waist, and I gripped his hands. This wasn't my first time flying. I'd done it before in the past with one of my closest friends, Conor Reinhardt, who was also a gargoyle. But Conor wasn't Luther. Conor didn't make my stomach feel like an utter mess.
"The hounds are near." I searched the skies. "I know Hellhounds. Why don't they take me now?" I asked the Demon in the darkness.
His hands tightened on my waist. "Because I made you mine," he whispered against my ear.
I shivered. "Yours?"
He chuckled. "You don't feel me inside of your head, Monroe? I'm a Demon, and your powers have been swapped with your cousin's. You have no protection."
My fingernails were suddenly digging into his flesh. He wouldn't dare. He wouldn't!
"What have you done?" I whispered.
"Lift your hand," Luther ordered.
One of my hands rose into the air. I tried to lower it, but it wouldn't budge. I groaned with the effort. Still nothing.
"Now relax," Luther said.
My hand went limp, moving back to his at my waist.
The Demon's lips brushed my ear. "Possession, my dear witch, can be such a beautiful thing."
Chapter 9
I stood on one of the balconies at S.O.S. headquarters this afternoon, my eyes on the vineyard just beyond the property, and I made my decision. I don't want to leave Italy. I don't want to leave Dayton and Conor when things are just beginning to come together for them, but my powers are overwhelming me. I am having strange visions. Sometimes, I see myself doing bad things in them. Have I become so connected to Demons that their evil is corrupting me? Or are the visions of the future?
~Monroe's Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~
I fell limp in Luther's arms, my head spinning. Possessed.
"You asshole," I breathed.
He chuckled. "Tsk, tsk, Witch. If you're anything like your friend Dayton, then possessing you is going to make my job a whole lot easier."
I grit my teeth. "You really think so?" I asked.
"I'm banking on it."
I looked up at him. "Stay out of my head, Luther Craig."
His eyes met mine, and the twinkle in their depths was obvious. "Which part? Your childhood, the present, or your thoughts?"
I struggled in his arms.
"You don't think I'd let you go?" Luther asked. "Try me."
I still struggled. "How dare you! My thoughts, my head, are mine. Mine! Everyone should have that. No one should lose their free will, you understand me?" I took a deep breath. "Is that what the stupid tattoo is for? For possession?"
Luther chuckled. "The tattoo is gone, Monroe. You'd know that if you had looked for it in the mirror earlier. It wasn't even necessary and has nothing to do with possession."
I fumed. It was for what then? Fun?
"You have one twisted sense of humor!" I exclaimed, kicking him firmly in the shin with my heel.
Luther didn't seem the least bit fazed. I stopped struggling. We were attracting attention. I could see Lucas holding Bernice in front of us, and Belle was beside them, her body surrounded by a blue glow. Somewhere during the struggle, Luther and I had fallen back.
"Everything okay?" Lucas asked.
The Angel's eyes met mine, and I looked away. "I'm fine,
" I answered.
There was silence, and I could feel Luther's chin resting on my shoulder, his breath against the sensitive skin just below my ear.
"The Angel doesn't know?" I whispered.
"Funny isn't it?" Luther asked, his amusement obvious. "I've learned to hide a lot of things over the years."
I inhaled slowly. "I'm not Dayton."
Luther's hair tickled my cheek. I tried to ignore how intimate it felt, but couldn't.
"No," he conceded. "You're not."
I swallowed hard. I wanted to imagine myself somewhere else, but no matter how vivid my imagination, nothing could compare to being here right now.
"Nice to know you think so," Luther murmured.
I cursed him in my head, and he laughed.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "Do you fear being out of control?"
"Not as much as you do," Luther answered.
I tensed because I knew he was right. I was a control freak and obsessive compulsive. It was the reason why I carried dozens of those little bottles of hand sanitizer and a really thick day planner.
"It's my mind," I finally stated.
Luther lifted his head. "For now, it's ours. I'm strong, Monroe. I'm not saying that to be arrogant, I'm saying it because it's true. If anyone can take a stand against Lucifer, it's the sons and daughters of Cain and Lilith. It's why Marcas sent me. If you think I'm bad, you don't want to be controlled by the worst Demon of us all."
I glanced up at him. "Are you saying if you didn't possess me, then Lucifer would? You're wrong. I could make an amulet."
Luther grew quiet and then, "You can't make one now after the power swap spell, and I won't give up the one you gave me. In the long run, it's safer for me to wear the amulet while I possess you."
I didn't say anything else. He was right. I hated it, but there it was. In the past, I'd seen the amulet protect Luther from being possessed by Lucifer. He needed it more than I did right now because he was stronger than me.
"You can't be all bad, Luther," I said.
His head lowered again. Something about the Demon touched my heart. I'm not sure why. I didn't know him at all. All I knew about him was his parentage, his brother, and a kiss he'd given me once.