Fiery Edge of Steel (A NOON ONYX NOVEL) (40 page)

Along the way I thought about the clues we’d gathered so far and what it all meant. Mentally, I tallied them up, as I would have for class with Telford or Copeland. The six clues that summed up the entire investigation for me were: (1) Cephas, a young man from the Shallows, had been bitten by a hellcnight out in the Meadow approximately four months ago; (2) a group of fifteen fishermen and one girl from the Shallows disappeared from the Meadow approximately three months ago; (3) the fishermen had supposedly been on their way to meet Grimasca, a notorious, albeit possibly mythological, hellcnight; (4) two hellcnights had attacked us on the way to the Shallows; (5) I’d been attacked by a hellcnight out in the Meadow while investigating the aforementioned disappearances; and (6) Vodnik was in possession of two artifacts, a butcher knife and a spice box labeled “For Ebony” that he claimed were Grimasca’s.

At this point in the investigation it was clear that hellcnights were involved. To argue otherwise would be, as Darius Dorio would say,
tauri merdam
. So my remaining questions were (amazing what a raging storm and one demon attack will do to whittle your list of questions down; last night I’d had over thirty, now I had just three):

#1—Where were the hellcnights hiding?

#2—Was one of them Grimasca?

#3—If so, was
Vodnik
Grimasca?

I realized contemplating question number three was long overdue. The various settler stories I’d unearthed about First Day of Darkness transgressions and grumpy groups of young men were just red herrings. The hellcnight’s attack on me earlier today proved that. Vodnik
alone
couldn’t be the demon responsible for everything that had happened because he was a water demon, not a hellcnight. And it was highly unlikely that Vodnik was working with another hellcnight to attack his own followers. Demons were dangerous, but patrons who’d successfully managed their flock for four hundred years usually didn’t start suddenly preying on their own people. So that meant Vodnik was a possible victim, not suspect. I’d asked Stillwater earlier today whether he thought it odd that he was the only one to have survived Grimasca’s attack on the fishermen. He’d corrected me and said he wasn’t—that Vodnik had survived too. But maybe Vodnik hadn’t.

Fact was, it was entirely possible that Grimasca killed Vodnik three months ago along with the fishermen. Stillwater could be the lone survivor of that ill-fated outing. And if Grimasca masquerading as Vodnik found out about Athalie’s demon complaint, well, it didn’t take much of a mental leap to deduce that he’d have wanted to silence her.

The way back to the Shallows took forever, and yet it happened in a millisecond. The rain, trees, wind, and water drowned out all further thoughts except where our next footstep would fall. I kept my signature open so that I could sense if there were any
rogares
lurking just out of sight, but the only signature I could feel was Ari’s behind me. His signature floated around the edges of mine, soft, thick, and meandering, like weft yarn in a weaving. But I could sense the warp underneath, the threads of his magic that were stretched thin, too tight and nearly breaking.

When we returned to the Shallows, Stillwater left us, which was a relief. I didn’t think
he
was a hellcnight in disguise, but I didn’t trust him. Based on our earlier discussion, he was obviously very loyal to Vodnik and I had no idea how he would take my new theory that Vodnik might actually have been killed by Grimasca and that Grimasca might be masquerading as Vodnik now. Further, I didn’t want a lawman on my team who tried to stop Guardian Angels from helping their wards when there was trouble. Stillwater may not have had much practice at tracking down villains, but neither had I. I didn’t need sheriffs like him riding at my side.

“We need to find Vodnik,” I said to our group. “Obviously, there’s a hellcnight, possibly two, preying on the people of the Shallows.” I explained my newest theory—that Grimasca was real, that he might be the demon responsible for all of the attacks so far, and that he could be masquerading as Vodnik.

As before when we’d discussed this case, reactions to my theory were mixed. Everyone agreed that my logic was sound, but my evidence was thin. What we’d discovered so far wasn’t enough to pass judgment on “Vodnik,” let alone execute him. Even Ari (who’d executed an untold number of demons before enrolling at St. Luck’s) agreed. I looked at Fara.

“You’re the gap filler and glamour expert. Know any spells that will strip a glamour? Or that will reveal a demon’s true face? If we could cast something like that over Vodnik it would at least tell us whether he’s really who he says he is.”

Ari’s signature zinged painfully and he gave Fara a piercing look. “Do you? I thought only Archangels knew revelation spells.”

“That’s right,” Fara confirmed.

“I know Revelare Lucere,” Rafe said quietly.

“Really?” Fara looked impressed. Ari’s signature flared. But then again, Ari had made his position on unauthorized spellcasting clear last semester. He didn’t approve of it. Thought it was wildly dangerous. Thought it could result in all kinds of unintended consequences.

“A botched spell is no joke,” he said to Rafe. “Just ask Fara.” I inhaled sharply.
Is that what happened to Fara? A botched spell?

“I don’t have to cast it,” Rafe said. “I’m just telling Noon I know it.”

“And you can cast it without botching it?” Ari said dubiously.

Rafe shrugged. And
that
, I thought, was the difference between Peter Aster and Raphael Sinclair. Peter would have bristled and been insulted, tried to convince whoever was calling his competence into question that they were ignorant and incorrect. Rafe, on the other hand, didn’t care what anyone else thought about his spellcasting abilities. Which (combined with what he’d shown he could do so far) had me trusting him that much more.

“What’s Revelare Lucere?” I asked. “What does it do?”

“It’s a revelation spell,” Rafe said. “Its name means ‘to reveal a shining brightness.’ The brightness being a reference to Lucifer’s Morning Star. It’s one of the oldest spells there is. Some Angels think it’s the spell Joshua was referring to in Joshua, one, twenty—” Rafe looked pointedly at Fara.

“‘We must look demons in the face,’” she said. It was the first time she’d quoted the Book since the Elbow. But, though her voice had the same scratchy tone it always did, it sounded far less preachy now and much more selfassured.

“It’s good to see you quoting again, Fara,” I said.

“I never stopped believing, Noon,” she said huffily. “I just realized that it’s the truth behind the words that matter more than the words themselves.”

Personally, I’d never been able to decide if Joshua 1:20 was my favorite or least favorite Joshua quote. But that was probably because, as Fara had just suggested, it was the one I felt was the most truthful. And therefore the most frightening.

“How is it that you know an Archangel spell, Rafe?” I asked. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe he could cast it, but I did want to know how he’d learned it.

He cleared his throat and gave me a self-deprecating smile. “Right after I was kicked out of the Joshua School, I stole Friedrich Vanderlin’s spell book.” Everyone looked shocked. Rafe had to be the boldest—or the stupidest—Angel I had ever known. “Anyway,” he continued, like he was telling the story of how he’d elected to take an extra sugar cube for his coffee instead of the story of how he’d pilfered an Archangel’s most prized possession, “after you were attacked by the hellcnight,” he said to me, “I spent some time in
Cnawlece
’s library, studying, because you always said I never did. I learned some new spells. Revelare Lucere was one of them.”

Well,
huh.

“In any case,” Rafe continued, ignoring our stunned expressions, “if it’s cast over a demon, it will force them to reveal their true form. Revelare Lucere is the spell Karanos Onyx ordered the Angels to use to unveil Jezebeth before he was executed. So . . . what’s our plan, then? Find Vodnik, cast Revelare Lucere over him, and if he shifts into Grimasca, kill him?”

He looked straight at me when he asked it. In an instant, we were back to the first day of the semester. The first day I’d met him.

I take it you’d rather get this over with . . . Do it right. Put the guy out of his misery without all this pomp and . . . circumvention . . . That’s what you’re telling him, right? So, what about you? Would you do it? Could you do
it?

“Yes,” I said, meeting Rafe’s taupe-eyed gaze. “That’s the plan.” Rafe held my gaze for a moment and then shrugged.

“Okay, then. Let’s do it.”

Ari’s signature was chaotic. I was sure it was in part because we were possibly headed into a lethal demon fight, but also because big, ancient spells had always bothered him.

When we reached Stone Pointe, the dirt courtyard inside the moat was deserted. Considering the weather, I imagined everyone was deep within their own small shelters, hiding behind their door curtain and hoping their thatched roof didn’t leak. We crossed the wooden bridge over the moat and walked up to the keep’s large front door.

This time I didn’t wait for Rafe to open it for me. I grabbed the iron ring and pulled.

Vodnik and Zella were waiting for us inside.

Vodnik sat on a huge bone throne. There was no other way to describe it. The massive skeleton of some immense sea creature had been used to construct the one and only oversized chair in the room. The dead fish’s macabrely twisted spine formed the back of the throne while its empty rib bones formed impressive wings at its side. At the top, nearly three stories above our heads, the leviathan head of this great sea monster towered above the throne and appeared poised to devour every occupant in the room. Its jaws were unhinged and its multiple rows of teeth were still intact. Clearly, the throne had been built to intimidate anyone and everyone standing before it.

I imagined this was the throne of the giant king who had once ruled here. Because the throne dwarfed Vodnik, its effect might have been diminished but for Vodnik’s signature. It was furnace hot, which made it feel like—to Ari and me anyway—the belly-of-the-beast throne where Vodnik sat was a kiln of white-hot waning magic. I willed myself not to raise my hand up to shield my face. It wouldn’t do any good and would only call attention to the fact that Vodnik’s signature felt blazingly hot to me. Zella sat off to one side, on some stone debris that had fallen from the keep sometime in the distant past.

Stone Pointe was even more dilapidated than I’d previously thought. Part of the roof was missing, as well as half of one of the back walls. As I’d guessed from looking at the outside, the keep had once been many stories tall. But in present times, much of it had sunk in the muck. Glancing around this crumbling, makeshift throne room, I realized the rest of the keep had long since fallen apart. The floor I stood on, which looked like it may have been reinforced with stone blocks and some sort of lime mortar, was littered with fallen beams, dirt, and dead leaves. Above us, nestled into walls that no longer enclosed rooms, were remnants of the keep’s formerly grand features. Large ornate fireplaces, gaping window holes, iron hooks that might have once held enormous tapestries, deep decorative niches, massive stone carvings . . . There were at least three oversized stories of these crumbling architectural details.

How fine this keep must have once been!

This keep must be as old as the Meadow. In fact, Stone Pointe had likely been whole and glorious when asphodel flowers had still bloomed in the Meadow. Hadn’t that boy Paulus from the children’s tale “The Grim Mask of Grimasca” stayed in a giantess’ house? Maybe the giantess’ house had been one of the homes surrounding this keep’s castle. If “Vodnik” was Grimasca, it seemed only too fitting that a demon who was rumored to be older than the Apocalypse would try to take over an ancient pre-Apocalyptic keep.

“What do you think?” Vodnik said, gesturing to his huge bone throne. “I dug it out of the bottom of the keep last month.”

I kept my face neutral. What did he expect me to say? Words like
intimidating
and
impressively disgusting
sprang to mind along with
over-the-top
and
can’t possibly be real
.

Thankfully, though, Vodnik didn’t seem overly interested in my reaction to his keep’s decor. “We’re waiting to hear what you found at the Meadow,” he said, eyeing the four of us and Virtus. Zella sat facing Vodnik and looking miserably uncomfortable. I was sure the last place she wanted to be was in a room with three waning magic users. She wouldn’t have been able to feel the waning magic radiating off of Vodnik, but her gut instincts to avoid it were spot-on.

“Ms. Rust can hear what we have to say later,” I said as casually as I could. I wanted Zella, a defenseless pregnant Hyrke, as far away as possible from the likely line of waning magic fire that would soon erupt. But Vodnik waved off my concerns for his inamorata.

“What did you find?” he asked impatiently.

“Nothing,” I said. “But we
were
attacked by a hellcnight.”

Vodnik’s eyes narrowed and his signature pulsed. “
You’re
alive so I gather
it
isn’t.” Vodnik still had a heavy Avian accent, but he didn’t seem to stumble over his words as much as he had last night.

I shook my head. “The demon lives,” I said. Vodnik’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. Virtus growled.