The Demon Lover (16 page)

FIFTEEN

“F
or Phoenix?” I asked in a whisper. “She
has
been drinking a lot.”

“No, dear,” Dean Book said with another sigh. “For you. Can we please come in? This weather you’ve raised is quite chilly.”

“And likely to get colder as the night goes on,” Diana Hart said, shaking the water from her down coat before stepping in. “I do hope it doesn’t freeze. We lost so many trees in the last ice storm.”

They all came into the foyer. I had to struggle to close the door behind them. “How did you know …?”

“I saw that you took the demonology book from my office,” Soheila said, handing me her cloak. “I was at Liz’s house telling her when the wind came up.”

“And I saw the animals breaking from the forest and then heard the wind,” Diana said, handing me her damp down coat. “I called Liz right away and confirmed it was coming from Honeysuckle House.”

“We knew then that you must be trying Angus’s spell for banishing incubi,” Liz said, handing me her heavy fur coat, which gave off a spark of static electricity.

“I could have told you the spell has its drawbacks,” Soheila said. “It certainly should never be used by the person possessed by the incubus.”

“I am not
possessed
,” I said huffily. I was going for righteous, but since I was weighted down by the women’s three heavy coats—Elizabeth Book’s fur alone must have weighed twenty pounds—I sounded more like an aggrieved housemaid. Or, I realized as the women exchanged pitying looks, a dope addict in denial.

“No one ever
thinks
they’re possessed, dearie,” Diana said, patting me on the arm. “Now why don’t you put those coats away and we’ll sit down with some hot tea. I brought homemade donuts.” She plucked a fragrant paper bag from her quilted purse.

Of course, I thought grumpily as I wrestled the heavy coats into the hall closet—Elizabeth Book’s kept slipping off its hanger as if it didn’t want to go—donuts and caffeine, staples of twelve step programs everywhere. And speaking of rehab … where was Phoenix? She’d been in the library when I went to the door. Had she passed out?

But when I came into the kitchen I found her opening cabinet doors.

“We have an electric kettle,” she was saying, “but I don’t know where it’s gone to. And I can’t find the sugar bowl anywhere …”

“Um … I borrowed those, Fe, they’re up in my room.”

“Well, I’ll just go get them.”

“We can use the kettle on the stove,” Diana said. “I think you probably should stay downstairs, isn’t that right, Callie? I imagine your bedroom’s a little … messy right now.”

I nodded and sat down at the kitchen table. Diana and Elizabeth exchanged a worried glance behind Phoenix’s back.

“I suppose we could try a sleeping spell on her,” Elizabeth said.

“Not advisable for bipolars,” Soheila said, giving Phoenix an assessing look. “Especially if she’s on Depakote.”

“Who’s bipolar?” Phoenix said, popping her head out of the mugs cabinet. It struck me that that was the word that caught her attention, not
spell
.

“You are, sweetie,” Diana said, putting an arm around Phoenix’s shoulders. “Which means you don’t react well to magic. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be around some tonight. I’ll give you some herbs for your nerves later.”

“What are you three?” I asked, tired of feeling ignored in my own kitchen. “Witches?”

Diana laughed. “Well, Liz is, of course. She’s one of the most powerful witches I’ve ever met.” Diana smiled lovingly at the dean and I wondered why it had taken me so long to realize they were a couple. Apparently my gaydar was working about as well as my witchdar. “But me, I’m just a garden variety fairy.”

“Oh my dear, there’s nothing garden variety about you.” Elizabeth slipped an arm around Diana’s narrow shoulders. “Diana is from the ancient line of Fiadh who have tended the fairy deer of the Fairy Queen for time immemorial.”

“I see,” I said, surprised at how unsurprised I was. “And what about you, Soheila—are you a fairy or a witch?”

“Oh, neither,” Soheila said, smiling. “I’m a demon.” Seeing the expression on my face, she laughed. “Or
daemon
, as the more politically correct of my tribe call themselves now.”

“Soheila, you really mustn’t be shy about your origins. Soheila is descended from a great Mesopotamian wind spirit …”

“Really, Liz, I don’t think it’s necessary to go into that right now. The important thing for Callie to know is that most of us are no more dangerous than the fairies—although that’s not really saying much. We can discuss genus and species later when we have more time. I’m afraid all you’ve managed to do with your spell is rile up your incubus. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

There were a lot of surprises in store for me that night, but the first was how easily Phoenix took to the idea that we’d both landed in a college populated by fairies, witches, and demons.

“I always knew I had some fairy blood in me,” she crowed once we were all seated around the kitchen table with tea and donuts, the wind howling outside.

“Sorry, dear,” Diana said, patting Phoenix’s hand. “I’m pretty sure you haven’t a drop. But Callie here … I had my suspicions from the start, but I wasn’t sure until she rescued that bird from the thicket …”

“Well, then I can be a witch, right? I’ve long been a follower of Wicca. Can you train me?”

“That’s not a good idea given your mental health profile,” Soheila said—a bit too brusquely, I thought. She was clearly the most impatient of the three to get on with banishing the incubus. Maybe it took a demon to know what one was capable of, but I had a bunch of questions of my own.

“Is the whole faculty made up of fairies and witches and”—I still felt a little uncomfortable calling Soheila a demon—“other supernatural creatures?”

“Oh no, not at all!” Elizabeth cried. “Imagine the trouble we’d get in with the MLA! But we do keep an eye out for hires who might have fey ancestry or hidden necromantic talents. Not that we can always tell right away, especially with those who don’t know they are descended from witches or the fey. You, for instance. Given your interest in fairy tales and folklore I suspected there might be something there, but I didn’t sense any witch’s power in you …” She paused, a troubled look on her face. “But when you told Diana that you’d released a bird from the thicket we realized you must have a fey ancestor—and a very particular kind of fairy—one who is able to open and close the door to the world of Faerie. A doorkeeper.”

“There’s a door to Faerie here …” Diana said, cutting her eyes toward the back of the house. “… in the woods. After the fey departed the Old World for Faerie some found their way though this door back into the human world.”

“There was another door east of here on the Hudson River, but that closed almost a hundred years ago.” Dean Book’s voice trembled and Diana patted her hand.

“As far as we know,” Soheila added, “this is the last door to Faerie.”

“The humans we found here,” Diana continued, “the Native Americans, were happy to share their land with us. And then the first Colonial settlers who came into the area were witches exiled from Salem and other colonies inhospitable to the old religion.”

“You see,” Elizabeth said, taking up Diana’s narrative like picking up a stitch she had dropped, “the old world witches worshipped the old gods, the horned god …”

“Cernunnos,” Diana whispered.

“Mithra,” Soheila breathed.

“And the Triple Goddess,” Elizabeth continued.

“Morrigan,” Diana said.

“Anahita,” Soheila echoed.

“And so the two groups formed the town,” Dean Book continued, “and named it Fair-Wick to celebrate the union of the fair folk and the witches.”

“The witches were helpful to the fey when they came through the door,” Diana said. “New arrivals are often weak and confused.”

“And the fey taught the witches many secrets of their craft,” Elizabeth added, “just as they had in the Old World. The first witches were humans who mingled with the fey and learned how to use the powers of nature from them—”

“But then,” Diana interrupted, “during the Middle Ages the Old World witches were persecuted because they worshipped the Old Gods. Some of the witches renounced their connection with the fey …”

“But others came here and reestablished their connection with the fey,” Elizabeth continued. “It was decided that a college should be formed to store the knowledge that was accumulated. But as more people came to the area it also became important to safeguard the door …”

“Because not every being that comes through the door is harmless,” Soheila said. “The incubus you’ve encountered, for instance. He came through more than a century ago and latched on to Dahlia LaMotte. I tried myself to get him to go back …”

“A century ago?” I asked. “So you’re …”

“Older than I look,” Soheila finished for me. “By quite a bit. But even I couldn’t make this creature go back into Faerie. He’s very powerful. It was Angus Fraser who was able finally to drive him into the thicket … into the Borderlands, but he couldn’t drive him though the door back to Faerie. He died before he could do that.” She paused and looked away. Dean Book laid her hand over hers. After a moment Soheila took a deep breath and continued. “After the incubus was driven into the Borderlands we asked Brock—” She saw me about to interrupt and added, “Yes, he’s one of the Norse daevas, once blacksmith to the gods. He and his brother have been here for more than a hundred years. We asked Brock to fit the windows and doors with iron locks to keep the incubus out. We believe Dahlia still let him in, though, from time to time.”

“But she lived a long life,” I said. “I thought the incubi drained their victims until they died.”

Soheila and Elizabeth Book exchanged a worried look. The dean nodded to Soheila to go on. “This incubus seems to know how to keep his victims alive for a long time. If the story about him is true he once was mortal and believes that he’ll regain his mortality when a human falls in love with him. We think that Dahlia found a way to coexist with him. He fed her creativity—but if she grew too weak she could banish him back to the Borderlands for a little while.”

“Sounds a little mean,” I said, wondering if it was Dahlia’s treatment of him that had left him with such a chip on his shoulder.

Soheila clucked her tongue. “You’re thinking he’s the way he is because he’s been treated badly. But you read Angus’s letter. This demon killed his sister. Please don’t underestimate him. And don’t try to make nice to him. Dahlia may have lived a long life, but she had no energy for anything but her books. She couldn’t have a normal relationship, even though I know Brock loved her very much.”

I was about to ask what kind of a normal relationship she could have had with an ancient Norse divinity, but Phoenix spoke up. She’d been following the conversation goggle-eyed, sipping eagerly from her teacup (which I suspected from the smell had been spiked with whiskey). “I’ve been feeling very tired lately. Maybe the incubus has been draining me.”

“I don’t think so,” Diana said, pouring more tea into Phoenix’s cup. “You’ve been sleeping downstairs in Matilda’s cast-iron bed. Iron keeps him away.”

“Oh.” Phoenix looked disappointed, then brightened. “But I sleep on the couch a lot.”

“It’s Callie he wants!” Elizabeth Book said, slapping the table. The sound was echoed by the wind knocking against the shutters. “But we can’t let him have you. You’re too important to us. Now I know you probably have lots more questions, but I believe we should leave them till later—after we’ve banished this demon from your house.”

“You can do that?” I asked.

“Yes, together the three of us can—as long as you truly want him gone. Are you sure you’re not harboring any hidden … um, affection for this creature?”

I considered the question. I’d certainly been infatuated with him—
besotted
, a voice inside my head mocked,
a sex slave
—and I’d felt some sympathy for him after hearing that he’d once been human. When I recalled the gentle creature who had appeared in my dreams after my parents died I felt a pang of loyalty, but either this wasn’t the same creature who had appeared to me or he had changed. I hadn’t liked the high-handed approach he’d taken upstairs. He’d been arrogant and imperious. The nerve of him saying I didn’t love Paul because I’d been waiting for him! No way was I going to fall in love with a guy like that.

“Not at all,” I said. “Let’s show him the door.”

Once we had gathered fresh supplies—salt, spices, a new covered dish (an iron blue enamel Le Creuset casserole with a heavy lid), fresh candles, a broom and dustpan—we started up the stairs. Dean Book and I went first, Soheila next, Diana and Phoenix bringing up the rear.