You Slay Me

  "What a beautiful place you have," I gasped, trying to look everywhere at once. I felt incredibly gauche show­ing up with my demon and my plastic bag of clothing.

  "It's home," Ophelia said with a shrug. "Come, let me show you to your room. I hope you don't mind sleeping in our workroom. "

  "Not at all," I said, my eyes huge as she paused to point out the bathroom (the tiles lining the shower unit formed a lovely Turkish mosaic) and separate toilet be­fore sweeping into a well-lit room done in a pretty yellow-and-green floral pattern. The bedspread matched the hand-knotted rug, which matched the upholstery on the armchair next to the window, framed between lace and yellow-and-green matching curtains. On the far wall was a large bookcase that contained a number of books, sev­eral glass jars like Amelie's that I assume held the sisters' Wiccan herbs and such, a variety of candles, a set of aro­matic oils, a couple of chalices, three different-size bells, and several items in bone that I did not recognize. I turned back to the rest of the room. It was feminine, light, attractive, and made me feel even more like an interloper. "I can't thank you enough for being so kind to me, and I hope that I won't have to stay here more than a day, or two at the most. I need to ... er ... conduct a ritual, if you don't object."

  "Well, you are a Guardian," Ophelia said with a know­ing smile. "We would be surprised if you did not practice your arts. Oh, but you cannot do it today!"

  "I can't?" I shot a quick frown at Jim as it sniffed around the bookcase.

  "No, the room hasn't been cleansed yet."

  I looked around. It was cleaner than my apartment back home, much cleaner. This apartment looked like dust wouldn't dare settle anywhere. "Oh?"

  "Yes, indeed. We would never allow you to work in an uncleansed room."

  "Ah," I said, gathering the cleansing was some sort of Wiccan ritual. "But I'm not going to be doing the sort of magic that you and Perdita do, so the cleansing isn't nec­essary—"

  "It is," Ophelia said firmly, moving over to the bed to pull out my clothing stuffed into the bag. She shook out the dresses and hung them in a rosewood armoire, saying as she did, "We would never be able lo live with our­selves if some negative energy from the uncleansed room interfered with your ritual. Perdita will cleanse it tonight, when the Moon Goddess blesses us with her light."

  I gave in. What choice did I have? I was going to have to walk very carefully as it was since I would be sum­moning a demon into their home, an event I had a feeling they would not be terribly happy about, but I had little choice. I had thought to do the ritual that night while Perdita (and hopefully Ophelia) would be at G & T, but it looked like Bafamal would have to wait until the follow­ing day.

  Perdita returned from doing some grocery shopping (which made me feel even more guilty since I had little money left to reimburse them) and sat down with Ophe­lia to hear my story. I told them about finding the Venediger’s body, reassured them I didn't kill him, and sidestepped the issue of Drake altogether. I trusted Amelie just as I trusted Ophelia and Perdita, but in the wake of Drake's betrayal, my faith in my ability to deter­mine who was trustworthy and who wasn't was shaken. It was just better, I told myself, to not involve them that deeply in the situation.

  "The V got what he deserved," Perdita said as I con­cluded my tale. I stared at her for a moment, surprised by the strong emotion in her voice. There was almost a gloating element to it. She must have noticed the question in my eyes because she added, with a light laugh, "That sounds terribly wicked of me, doesn't it? But the truth is, he was not a nice man. More than once he fell victim to his desires and used the dark powers to gain that which he wanted. Oh, yes, a dagger in his heart was a justified end for the likes of him.'"

  "Perdy, that's a bit harsh, surely? No one deserves to be murdered," Ophelia gently chastised her sister. She nodded toward me. "You forget our guest is the one who discovered the Venediger's body. I'm sure Aisling would prefer to forget that horrible experience."

  "I..." I chewed my lip for a moment, trying to think of how to ask what I wanted to ask Perdita without it sounding offensive. "I was told that you were employed by him?"

  Her chin lifted in challenge to my question. "Yes, I was, but that did not mean I was blind to the man's sins.

  By using the dark powers, he wronged not only the peo­ple who make up the Otherworld, but the Goddess and nature itself." She slid a quick glance toward a fretting Ophelia. "That is why I took the position. We had hopes that we would be able to bring the Venediger back into the light, but he ..." Her lips twisted.

  "He mocked her and refused her offer to baptize him into the Old Religion," Ophelia whispered, placing her hand over her sister's and giving it a squeeze. "He was a bad man, Perdy, but he is gone now. He is paying for his sins. The Goddess has seen to that."

  "Yes," Perdita said, collecting herself. She leveled a firm blue-eyed gaze at me. "He was a very bad person, but he will not taint Paris any more. The Goddess's will has been done, just as it will be done to every member of the Otherworld who ignores the True Path and gives themselves over to the dark powers."

  I was more than a little uncomfortable with this sort of talk, what with the demon I'd summoned lying with its big hairy butt on my left foot. "Er... yes," I said neu­trally, unwilling to commit myself to anything more. Jim, whom I had commanded to silence in order to relieve it from the temptation of making a snarky comment in front of the sisters, rolled its eyes at me. I searched my mind for safe topics of conversation.

  "Aisling has a ritual she wishes to conduct," Ophelia said, saving me from resorting to inanities like the weather. "I told her you must first cleanse the workroom before she can perform it."

  "I don't want to be any trouble," I said quickly. "If there's somewhere else, somewhere quiet I can do it—"

  "We use magic only in the workroom," Perdita said, shooting her sister a questioning glance. "It must always be cleansed first."

  Ophelia smiled at me, adding, "It will be no trouble, I assure you. Perdy is ever so fond of cleansing. She likes the incense."

  "Cedar works the best," Perdita agreed, her eyes on Ophelia for a moment before turning to me. "What sort of ritual will you be performing?"

  Rats. I was hoping to get by without having to tell them, but I supposed it was only fair to let them know. I had a bad feeling, though, they'd tell me I couldn't. The key was to present the demon-summoning so it meshed in with their own beliefs.

  "I am seeking proof of the murderer's identity," I said slowly. "My idea was to summon the being that can give me information, question it about its role in the murders, and present the proofs to the police. It is solely in regards to justice that I take such a dramatic step, you understand. I don't perform such rituals lightly, but I feel very strongly that the deaths of Mme. Deauxville and the Venediger must be avenged, and the person rightfully re­sponsible for them must pay for his crimes."

  "A being?" Perdita asked suspiciously.

  Ophelia gasped, her eyes big pools of shocked blue. "You're speaking of a demon? You wish to summon a demon here, to our haven?"

  I nodded, offering what I hoped was a reassuring smile. "I know it goes against everything you believe, but you must see that the only way I can gather enough in­formation to turn over to the police is to question the demon used by the murderer to commit the crimes. I swear to you that I will be as quick as possible, and I will be happy to conduct whatever cleaning rituals you like afterwards."

  Ophelia and Perdita exchanged glances before turning back to me. Ophelia cocked an eyebrow. Perdita frowned,

  and I was convinced she would refuse permission until she shrugged. "Very well, you may summon the demon, but we will be present when you do so. We have respon­sibilities to the Goddess, you know."

  I blew out a silent sigh of relief. I wasn't thrilled about having them witness me grill the demon, since it would mean they'd know Drake was responsible for the mur­ders, but it would all come out anyway. It couldn't hurt to let them find out the truth. "No problem."


  'Tomorrow, then," Ophelia said, clapping her hands together happily. "How very exciting that will be! I've never seen a Guardian summon a demon."

  "Don't expect too much," I said with a little smile. "It's not very impressive."

  Jim rolled over onto its back and presented me with its belly.

  "Oh, how. adorable, your puppy wants his tummy rubbed!" Ophelia squealed, getting down on her knees to scratch Jim's belly.

  Perdita gave me a measuring look as her sister crooned over Jim (who ate up the attention, the big demonic ham), finally relaxing back against the lovely rose couch. "You have summoned many demons as a Guardian?"

  "Not many," I said, pretending interest in Ophelia and Jim.

  "I am always surprised how many Guardians do not appreciate the ways of the Old Religion. I would be happy to instruct you. You have no doubt offended the Goddess with your activities as a Guardian. To appease her will assure you of your place in the Summerlands."

  "Uh . .. Summerlands?"

  Perdita smiled a very intense smile. It made me even more uncomfortable. There was something about her eyes that made me think of a religious zealot. "You would call it Heaven."

  "Ah. Well, you know, it all sounds fascinating, and I'm sure it would be very good for me to learn more about Wiccans, but I really just want to get this murder situation cleared up, and then I really have to go back home. My uncle is already furious with me—"

  " 'Where the rippling waters go, cast a stone and truth you'll know.' That is from the Wiccan Rede, the words by which we guide our lives. You would do well to heed it, Guardian."

  "It sounds lovely, but—"

  " 'Mind the Threefold Law you should, three times bad and three times good,'" she quoted.

  And so it went. I sat through several lectures on the sins of being someone who dallied with the dark spirits, all the while extremely aware of the soulless demon who alternated between rolling around begging Ophelia to rub its belly, and mooching in the kitchen. By the evening I was exhausted with trying to keep my tongue behind my teeth. I pleaded an all-too-real headache and escaped to my bedroom, Jim in tow. I surprised myself by falling asleep in a nap that lasted until well after dinner.

  When Ophelia woke me, I felt refreshed, my mind made up as to what course it would take.

  "You must come with me to G & T," Ophelia insisted, smiling a winsome smile that would have melted the heart of a misanthrope. "Perdy is already there, but I know she'd want you to get out, too."

  "Considering my face was plastered across the news­papers of Paris this morning, I don't think clubbing is the wisest choice of how to spend the evening."

  "Don't be silly. No one will harm you there—it is neu­tral ground," Ophelia said, opening the wardrobe to see what I had suitable for an evening out. "Besides, Perdy is in charge now. No one would dare cross her."

  That statement made me shiver. 'To be honest, I just don't think I'm up to socializing tonight, but there is something you can do for me, if you would."

  She turned away from the wardrobe, a disappointed pout evident. "If I can, you know I will."

  "Other than Drake, are there any other wyverns in Paris?"

  Her pout faded as a puzzled look replaced it. "Wyverns? Yeeees ... Fiat Blu is here. He is- the blue wyvern, although I do not recommend you have anything to do with him. He is not only depraved and immoral; he is a psychic, too. All the blue dragons are, but he is the most powerful." Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper. "It is said that he uses his powers to make women do ... do ... unnatural things with him."

  "Sounds like quite the guy. The blue dragons are psy­chics, then? That's their trait? Are they known for their strength?"

  She grimaced and absently straightened a picture on the wall. "All the dragons are strong."

  "Hmm." The plan I had been mulling over since I left Amelie's solidified. "Do you know where Fiat Blu lives?"

  She nodded reluctantly. "Yes, but I counsel you not to see him, Aisling. Fiat is much different from your wyvern."

  I reached past her and pulled out the fanciest of the dresses Pal had bought for me. "All the better! If you tell me where he lives, I'll be very grateful." Stricken by the disappointed look in her eyes, I added, "And if I finish up with him quickly, I promise I'll drop by G & T and say hi."

  That cheered her up.

  An hour later, Jim and I walked up the shallow stone steps of an elegant building in the very chic Place de la Resistance. (The Eiffel Tower was just a few blocks away; then again, so was the Paris sewer museum.) "I don't know why I'm surprised by such a luxurious ad­dress," I said as I pressed the bell beneath a gold en­graved nameplate that read simply blu. "By now I should know that dragons equal wealth."

  'This isn't just wealth," Jim said. "It's an attitude. You should adopt it."

  I was a bit surprised when rather than someone using the intercom to find out what I wanted, the black-and-silver-door in front of me opened.

  "Uh, hi. Bonjour. Parlez-vous—"

  "Or!" the man in front of me interrupted, sniffing the air just as Drake had done. It flashed through my mind that the French word for "gold" was or, but before I could explain my gold wasn't valuable, he grabbed my arm and jerked me inside the apartment house, the door slamming behind me with a grim finality.

  14

  “Hey!" I yelled, squirming out of the grasp of my cap­tor for a second before he grabbed me again. "You left my dem ... my dog outside! Let go of me! You can't just drag me around like I'm a sack of potat—mmrf!"

  The man, blond and muscle-bound and looking just like the surfer types my ex hung around with, clapped a hand over my mouth and hauled my struggling self into a small elevator. I tried kicking him in the shins, but he just threw me against the wall of the elevator and leaned against me, all but squishing the breath out of me. I'm not a small woman, but this guy was big and broad and didn't seem to be bothered at all by the fact that I was clawing at his back.

  The elevator pinged its arrival at a floor, the doors opened with a rush of air, and for a few seconds I was air-born as Muscle Boy jerked me forward. "Come," he said in heavily accented English.

  I dug my heels in, raking both sets of fingernails down the arm that clamped tightly around my wrist, but it did no good. I was hauled into an apartment, and without an­other word, tossed onto a blue velvet sectional couch. While I was fighting my way out of a nest of velvet pillows that served as the back of the couch, Muscle Boy rattled off something in a liquid-sounding language.

  I managed to get to my feet, and stood glaring at the back of my abductor until the person he was speaking to stepped forward into the room. I sucked in my breath at the sight of him—Drake was handsome in a dark, sexy, seductive sort of way, but this man looked like a Greek statue come to life. Curly blond hair brushed his shoul­ders, pure blue eyes—a true blue, not a filtered blue like you see in most blue-eyed people—glittered brightly, adorning a face that was so beautiful, it almost made me want to weep. The rest of the man wasn't bad, either, al­though I only had a chance to notice that he was a few inches taller than me before he glided forward with his hands outstretched.

  "Cam, Renaldo did not hurt you? He did not know who you are. You must forgive his very poor manners. We have been in Paris too long; he begins to behave like a Frenchman."

  "Actually, the Frenchmen I've met have all been ex­tremely polite and very helpful, not to mention loaded with manners," I said with great dignity, straightening my dress. Where Drake was all heat and smoldering sensual­ity, this man radiated coolness—literally. The apartment had that silent swish of air that indicated expensive air-conditioning, cold almost to the point of seeing your breath. I could imagine this man's dragon fire was of the frigid variety, a blue fire that burned cold rather man hot.

  He took my hands in his, kissing the back of each. Even his hands were cool to the touch. I assumed this was Fiat Blu, the wyvern of the blue dragons. He certainly oozed confidence and power... and I understood exactly why Ophelia had
warned me against him. He looked like the very worst sort of rogue.

  "You are fortunate, then, for we have found Paris to be a city filled with barbarians," he said, waving his hands toward the window before gently pulling me down onto the velvet couch next to him.

  I glanced quickly around the apartment. It was... blue. Everything in it was blue—the ceiling, the walls, the carpet, all the furniture. There were varying shades from midnight blue that was almost black to a pale washed blue that reminded me of an early spring morn­ing. I turned my, attention back to the Adonis sitting next to me. "I take it you are Fiat Blu?"

  He put his hand on his chest and made a courtly bow. "I am Sfiatatoio- del Fuoco Blu, the wyvern of the blue dragons, and Lam very much at your service. How may I be of help to the mate of my esteemed comrade Drake Vireo?" »

  I frowned. "How do you know who I am? And how do you know I'm Drake's mate, not that I have any intention of fulfilling those duties even if I did believe I am who he says I am, but even if I was, how is it you know? Am I like marked somewhere? Is there a big red neon sign over my head saying 'Wyvern's Mate' with an arrow pointing to my head? Did someone tattoo it on my forehead with­out me knowing it? How?"

  Fiat chuckled. It was a sexy chuckle as chuckles went, but gorgeous as he was, it had nothing on Drake's dark, sultry laugh. "I know who you are because I make it my business to know what goes on with those who are im­portant to me. I have seen you with Drake. I hear a rumor that Drake has found his mate, an American who is a Guardian. I hear also that the police are searching for this woman, and that Drake has lost her. An American Guardian shows up on my doorstep with a demon. Who else could you be but his mate?"