Murder The Light: The Demon Whisperer #2 Read online

  "Nothing has changed, darling. But that's the problem. And we are going to fix it."

  "Why do I feel so suspicious?"

  "You are your father's daughter. Trust never came easily to you."

  There, finally, was an element of heat: the scornful emotion that carried out upon the word father. Her parents had never gotten along.

  A mild statement. The animosity her mother demonstrated toward him was quite astronomical. All her earliest adult life, Chiara had been forced to use a unique type of diplomacy when dealing with the issue. Avoiding the issue generally proved to be an impossibility. Quite frankly, it became much easier to avoid her mother altogether.

  Chiara sighed. It was once again time to reassume the diplomat's role. "I am your daughter, too."

  "Yes, exactly. That is why you are going to be the remedy to all this."

  "All—what?"

  "Simply everything." Luminea sat down on the armchair, perching on the edge of the cushion without settling in. "Chiaroscuro, when you were born, I wanted you to be everything I could not. I am of the Light. I spent my existence in the Light. In Enochia. Surrounded by friends, my family. Our faith."

  "I know," Chiara said, her voice gentled. "I remember the stories you told me. But you never told me one thing. Why did you leave?"

  "Ah. That was not a tale for bright-eyed children. But you are no longer that child." She got up and paced slowly to the window. "I wandered. We Enochians are allowed to sojourn, you know. To see each Plane, each level of God's Creation. Oh, the wonders…"

  Her voice fell to a breathy murmur. "Oh, I shall never forget my wandering. Such worlds, such amazements. The Sphere of Infinite Space—such incomparable bliss! I wished never to leave…"

  She turned slightly, wagging a finger in warning. "But bliss, you see, is a barrier to true enlightenment. We cannot learn if we are entirely content. We cannot experience. And so I left bliss behind, because it was the responsible thing to do. And that was when I met your father."

  That heat crept into her voice again, now paired with a gravity that felt like a change in air pressure before a storm. Luminea shrugged off her blazer and draped it over the back of chair. "And I wasn't allowed to return home. Not after He…touched me."

  Silently, Luminea slipped off the shoulder of her dress, baring her skin, and half-turned. "This is what happens when Lucifer turns you from the Light."

  A black hand print stained the skin of her left shoulder.

  "Oh, Mother." Chiara was aghast. Mother had never shown her this mark before. Why had she kept it secret?

  She went to her mother's side to inspect the mark. With gentle fingers, she brushed the slightly-raised edges. Ragged and cracked, like a burn. A brand. She'd been marked. "How have you kept this from me?"

  "All I did was turn toward Him. His voice. His words. He was so…alluring. I didn't even know that I had turned away from the Light. All I did was…" Luminea pulled away and tugged her dress back into place. "No matter. This place was here. Open. Neutral. And we did well here on Earth, didn't we? You had an enjoyable childhood, didn't you?"

  "Of course, I did, Mother." Chiara reached for her mother's hand, wanting to provide some modicum of comfort. All this time, Luminea had been hiding a bottomless shame. What an awful way to live. How many sacrifices had she made to provide her child with a happy life? "I know it wasn't easy for you. It's hard to raise a child on your own. Even today, with all its modern conveniences. I cannot fathom how mothers do it."

  "Well, those times are over, for me. You're not a child anymore. You have no need for a mother's care, do you? You are self-reliant." Luminea smiled, a cloaked version of pleasantry. "Well. Sort of."

  "What do you mean?"

  Luminea spread her hands. "Do you see all of this? This apartment, this fortress, this empire? I built this. I am self-sufficient. I relied on no one. But you—still living in that quaint little glamour your father keeps for you, no?"

  Chiara looked away. "That has nothing to do with you."

  "You are absolutely right. So perhaps I am feeling a bit passed over these days. You take benefits—monumental benefits—from your father but you don't even spare a thought for me. The one who raised you. The one who gave everything up for you."

  "You didn't give it up for me, Mother." Sometimes diplomacy was too difficult a farce to maintain, especially when the attacks became pointed. "You lost it because of him. Don't blame the child for the actions of the parents."

  Luminea clucked her tongue, giving her a shrewd smile of admiration. "Oh, I don't blame you, darling. You were the only good thing that came out of it all. But…I think that I have suffered long enough. Centuries of feeling scorned—by my lover, by my child. I need to put the past firmly behind me. I may no longer be capable of another sojourn to the Sphere of Infinite Space, but I understand there are entire philosophies in this world dedicated to freeing a soul of such burdens, allowing me to heal and move on."

  Was her mother capable of enlightenment? For her sake, and for her mother's, she ardently wished it possible. "I truly hope so."

  "Abandon useless ideas like hope, darling." Luminea smiled, once more as icy as her eyes. "It's a brutal thing."

  "Well." Chiara rubbed her hands together. "Are we finished? I'd like to go home now."

  Luminea stood and donned her blazer, fastening the buttons. "I'm afraid that's not possible."

  "This grows tedious, Mother."

  "Only because you make it so." Luminea smoothed her hands down her willow thin body, the satin lapel overlay making her look stiletto-sleek. Her voice made a velvet sheath for the blade of her body.

  "No, you make it so. By keeping me here. Against my will."

  "Will." She sniffed an amused sound. "Free will, do you mean? I didn't think you possessed it."

  "Of course, I do, Mother. Just as you do."

  "None of us are free, Chiaroscuro. None. We are all a slave to something."

  "I can't believe you even let those words come out of your mouth. You've never been a slave to anything."

  "Oh, but that is where you are wrong. We all have our demons."

  Chiara looked away. "Sorry if I cramped your style. I know single mom was never the role you imagined for yourself."

  "You are not my demon, Chiara." Luminea strode over to her, taking her fiercely by the shoulders. An unusual light glinted in her eyes, a thawing of the icy fortress within. "You are my daughter. The best thing that ever happened to me. I don't regret one single moment of you."

  Chiara stood in her mother's grip, feeling more like a child then she'd ever felt in her life. The show of maternal vehemence was such a rare thing, a jewel to be treasured. If only there wasn't such dark subtext. "Then why do I get the feeling that I'm about to pay for something?"

  "Nonsense." Luminea rubbed her arms briefly before letting her go. "You are my guest. I think you'll find your suite most comfortable. If there is anything you require, just ask."

  With a perfunctory smile, she tipped her head and strode back to the mirror. Audience adjourned.

  Chiara called out after her. "How about a door?"

  "I'm sorry?" Luminea paused and turned around.

  "A door, Mother." Chiara crossed her arms, thoroughly tired of the emotional games. This conversation had been as informational and as frustrating as she'd assumed it would be. "A door that lets me leave."

  The woman laughed, a false, pretty sound. "Why would you want to do that?"

  "I have a life to lead."

  "No, you don't. Not anymore." Clearing her throat, Lumina switched voices. "Lunch will be up shortly. Poached salmon. You'll love the sauce."

  She smiled, no sign of the telltale fin, no cut of the surface. Chiara knew better than to think the waters were safe.

  Luminea peered into the mirror and smoothed the edge of her angled bangs. It needed no grooming. She was picture perfect. Always had been. She lifted a finger and pressed it to the center of the mirror. The surface shimmered a moment, rippling,
before it reached toward her, pulling her in.

  Gone.

  All that and she was none the wiser. Chiara frowned, acutely reminded of countless past conversations that had ended the same way. The last one had been the one that drove her out into the world, away from her family.

  So typical of her mother.

  Simon snapped awake, lying downstairs on the tiles in front of the fireplace. The fire was blazing, flooding him with an uncomfortable heat. He scooted away, letting the cooler air wash over him and soak into his damp clothes.

  Dammit. He failed.

  Well, okay, just half a dammit. He was alive, after all. His last sight had been that of a waterfall of molten silver crashing down on him, his last sensation that of mind-bending pain. He felt his arms, chest, legs. Amulet in place under his shirt. Everything seemed in order.

  But he hadn't been able to make contact with Chiara's father. So, dammit. He failed.

  Maybe another trip up to the pool was in order. Had Chiara installed some safety mechanism to protect him? Did the apartment itself protect him? So many questions. Only one way to answer them, and that was to go back upstairs and try again.

  He turned toward the staircase. Something odd in the stream of his periphery made him stop cold, colder than the room.

  First of all, the room was different. Lamps of every style imaginable lined the room. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Groups of candles burned in masses scattered upon the floor, the wax melting together in puddles. Everywhere, the illumination of contrived light, none of which had been there when he’d gone upstairs earlier.

  But there had been something else. With a muffled groan, he paused, really not wanting to look and confirm his suspicion. Really really not wanting and feeling quite possibly slightly alarmed. Fear solidified like an icy puddle in his lower belly, making him swallow hard.

  He tilted his shoulder and swung a look toward Chiara's couch. His breath was blue fog in the frigid room.

  Wasn't a couch anymore. It was a chair.

  Rather, it was a throne.

  Suddenly, failure wouldn't have been such a terrible thing by comparison.

  Simon stood in the center of the strange room, knowing that he'd really stepped in something. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

  "Well, you still have your wits about you." The unfamiliar voice was cultured, oily, and deeply masculine. "That's got to be counted in your favor."

  Simon counted to three before summoning the courage to look.

  A man in a suit stood at the top of the stairs. Simon knew it wasn't the butler. This man had his own atmosphere and it was the darkest kind of dark he'd ever encountered. It wasn't just dark; it was refined and…breath-stopping.

  Bad, bad, bad. Simon liked power but he had no business admiring that stuff.

  The man smiled, laughing softly, and descended the stairs one slow step at a time. "You can't help it. And it would be rude to withhold compliments from one's host."

  "I know you," Simon said, his blood pooling in his feet. "I don't know how. I have never seen your face or heard your voice but…" His voice cracked and splintered into a whisper. "God help me. I know you."

  "He won't, you know." The man stalked toward him, his dark eyes hypnotic, his gaze gripping. "Help you. Trust me. I know."

  "Why does it feel like every ounce of blood in my veins is drawn to you? Like you're a magnet to the iron in each cell—"

  "It's not chemistry, mage. And, don't worry. It's not lust, either. I know you're particularly concerned about that. Sorry. You're just not my type. But this—" He simulated a back-and-forth motion with his hands. "It's because you live on magic. Stolen magic. Stolen power. Power that belongs to me."

  Belonged to him? Simon had done a bit of spell thievery in the past, sure. Not all knowledge was passed from master to apprentice. Sometimes, a book is read that ought not to be read. Sometimes a charm is liberated from its owner. But Simon never took something without knowing whose it was. That was plain old honor amongst thieves.

  He stared at the stranger's aura, sifted through the man’s darkness as if he stirred bathwater, trying to pin a name down. "You're not a demon. My amulet would be going nuts if you were. A mage? No. None I've ever met. I don't forget a face."

  "You are correct, sir. I'm no mage. But I am what every mage secretly desires to become. The all-powerful. The mighty. The unconquerable. Second only to the selfish Creator himself."

  A cold sweat bloomed on Simon's face, trickling down his neck, between his shoulders.

  "Of course, you know me," the stranger continued. "Because I own you."

  The man shrugged as if correcting himself. "Or, to be technical, I will. Eventually. No one lives forever."

  Simon's mouth went cotton try. He tried to swallow and gagged. "Lu—"

  "Shh." The man lay a slender finger over Simon's mouth. "Think before you say it out loud."

  Think? If he'd been thinking, he wouldn't be here right now. So much for that. "Chiara's father. You're…"

  "Lucifer, at no one's service." The Devil swept a sardonic bow. "Sorry if I deflated the drama you tried building. I have no patience for it."

  "No worries," Simon said, his voice faint.

  Lucifer smiled, a wide show of gleaming teeth, and pointed at him. "I know your name, Simon Alliant. And I did not invite you here."

  Simon wanted to back pedal and run, just run screaming. His feet were rooted like thousand-year-old pines and he swayed in horror. In thrall. It was hard not to be.

  The Morning Star. The First of the Fallen. The Enemy of God. The Satan. He'd been called so many names and had done enough to deserve each and every one of them, countless times over. But that wasn’t what Simon saw.

  No, there were no leather wings, no red pointy tail or wicked pitchfork. There was only a tall, trim man, with wide shoulders who knew how to cut a suit and just how to wear it. Hair, coal black and perfectly cut, sideburns trimmed yet long enough to hint at a touch of rogue—every detail was handsome, masculine, stylish, attractive. Even to a guy who definitely preferred women.

  It wasn't his appearance, or the deep timbre of his voice, or the command in his dark eyes. It was power.

  This man was the most powerful creature on this side of the Heavenly trench and God help him, please, because he knew it. He felt it. He resonated with it.

  Here stood before him the pillar of evil, the ultimate sinner, the symbol of everything Simon stood against—and all he could do is sway on his feet, transfixed in Lucifer's gaze, hanging on every word.

  He was a fricken goner.

  "I've had my eye on you," Lucifer said, conversational-like.

  It ran a tremor of terror through Simon's veins, a zing of adrenaline that made his hands and feet buzz. "Not a good thing," he choked out.

  "Agreed. It's best to avoid my notice. But you have trouble with that, do you not? You like to be noticed."

  Simon gulped and palmed his amulet, which lay cool and still beneath his fingers. His greatest protection was behaving like an ordinary trinket. "I'm not here to gawk or…"

  "Remind me why I do not like you?" Lucifer tilted his head and lifted his brows.

  Oh, shit. There was a condemnation if ever one existed. "Definitely not that. I'm here for Chiara. She needs help and I need yours. Oh, shit. I can't believe I said that."

  "If she needs help, she'll ask. Or she'll take." The Devil pressed His lips together into a thin line, looking very put out. "She's had no qualms about doing it in the past."

  Holy crap. Of all things he'd imagined the Devil to be, Disgruntled Parent was not on the list. "Not if she's in bigger trouble than she can handle."

  Lucifer flashed an irritated look at Simon. "If she were in trouble, I would know it."

  "Then where is she?" Came out too much like a demand. Won't get anywhere bossing the Boss around, not on his home turf. He swallowed thickly and humbled his voice. A surprisingly easy thing to do. "Please. I can't find her."

  Lucifer turned to the
fire, stretching out His hand. He turned His head, His profile drawn in severe lines. "I…cannot see her."

  "Shit." Simon interlaced his fingers and held the back of his head. "If you can't see her…"

  "It does not mean she is in trouble. If she is in a place of the Light, I cannot pervade with my sight."

  "Is the Light always a good place to be?"

  "Oh, that would be a matter of some debate." Lucifer's tone was decidedly amused. "Tell me why it should concern you."

  "Because she didn't just walk off into the Light in search of puppies and unicorns. She got grabbed. Kidnapped."

  "Kidnapped?" he scoffed. "As if she were weak enough. By whom?"

  "I don't know. It happened so fast. She was sitting in the car and some lady appeared inside with here, grabbed her around the neck, and poof! They both just disappeared. No wake, no trace, no clue."

  "A woman?"

  "Blonde hair."

  "And?" Lucifer narrowed his eyes.

  "That's all I saw. I was in a store and saw it happen through a window. I couldn't see details."

  "You saw them. You are simply too mortal to be able to recount them. May I?"

  Lucifer shot out a hand and grabbed Simon's wrist.

  The room went black at the edges and he felt like he was falling forward amidst a sea of voices. Just as quickly as it started, it ceased, shutting off with a snap.

  Lucifer's voice was a liquid growl. "Luminea."

  "Lumin-who?" Simon shook his head, trying to dispel the dizzy shadows that swirled through his sight. If Chiara left a residue, the Devil left an oil slick.

  "Her mother." Lucifer exhaled through his nose. "That is why I cannot see her."

  "Really? Her mom? So, then she's okay? And I popped in unannounced at what I'm guessing is tremendous mortal peril for no good reason?"

  "I didn't say that." Lucifer jerked his head as if they commiserated over beers, complaining about their old ladies. "Her mother is…complicated."

  "As in…" Simon rolled his wrist, prompting him to explain.

  "As in you have no place in this, Alliant. You have spent a lifetime playing with tiny powers you don't even understand. Do not hope to understand this."