Demons (Eirik Book 1) (3 page)

Then, my father’s words returned to haunt me. I wasn’t safe here. Why? Was I not safe from her? She hadn’t even looked at me, her long-lost son. I didn’t want to believe she could harm me. She was my mother for crying out loud.

As though she’d heard my thoughts, my mother lifted her head and stared straight at me. My heart started to pound with dread and excitement. She cocked her head as she continued to listen to my father, but her gaze didn’t waver from mine.

“Let’s go,” Viggo whispered. “I want to meet her.”

I ignored him. My mother’s gaze wasn’t inviting, which was beginning to worry me. What did she see when she looked at me? Was I as she’d imagined or was I a disappointment? Even though I tried to act indifferent, sipping my drink and swallowing with difficulty, I felt a little sick to my stomach. Soon that changed as annoyance crept in. She’d made a big deal about wanting me, and all she could do now was watch me?

My eyes went to the Grimnirs, and I found Echo. He sat apart from the others, like an island. Funny, I hadn’t seen him earlier. He must have come in when my mother did. Maybe she’d summoned him to her chambers. Rumor had it he was her favorite.

“Come on. Let’s go!”

I turned to tell Viggo to cut it out when I noticed the stares. Everyone was looking at me, including my father. He waved me over. I rose on unsteady legs and wished I hadn’t tasted the mead. The drink was potent. I started up the stairs. By the time I reached their side, I was sweating.

Goddess Hel created room on her wide seat and patted it. “Sit down and let me look at you, Son.”

Her voice was smooth and low, yet glum. Her eyes were also sad. Despite feeling out of place, I wondered why. We studied each other without speaking.

What did the black runes covering her right side do? Cora had black runes that attracted souls. They were like nothing I’d ever seen and no one, not even the Valkyries, knew how they worked. My mother’s were equally strange.

Up close, she could easily pass for someone in her mid-twenties, which made perfect sense. Odin had put her in charge of this realm when she was young. The gods of Asgard ate golden apples from a special orchard to stop aging. But thousands of years ago, Loki had tricked Idun, the goddess in charge of the orchard, into taking her apples to the realm of the giants,
Jötun
heim. By the time the gods convinced Loki to return the goddess, all the Asgardian gods had aged, Alfadir Odin almost dying in the process. My mother, born and raised in
Jötun
heim by her giant mother, must not have been affected. Loki must have made sure of that. After all, she was his only daughter.

“Have they treated you well?” the goddess finally asked, glancing at the guests.

We might have been too far for the guests to hear our conversation, but they watched us. They had gone back to their food, but the conversation was now low and the musicians had stopped.

“Yes. The food was good and the musicians entertaining,” I said.

She reached out and touched my hair and my cheek, her expression growing sadder. She tilted my head left then right and studied my palms. What was she searching for?

“No, Son. I meant the Immortals who raised you. Did they take good care of you? Provide for you and love you? Were you happy?”

Looking into my mother’s eyes and hearing the concern in her voice made all the unpleasantness from my past melt away. The Sevilles’ cold faces flashed through my head. They’d hated life on Earth and would often travel to their home in Asgard, leaving me with nannies and babysitters. And when home, they’d barely pay any attention to me. Instead, they’d given me material things to make up for the lack of affection. I’d had more toys than most kids, more electronic gadgets than most guys; I even had my dream car when I’d turned sixteen. Whatever I’d wanted, they’d given it to me. But Raine and her family had given me what I’d needed—laughter and love, a sense of belonging. A family.

“Yes, I was happy,” I said. Her eyes simmered and to my horror, I realized she was tearing. “Please don’t cry.”

“Did you know about me?”

I glanced at my father, not sure what to do, but he didn’t move. In fact, he wore a weird expression as he watched us. Viggo stood beside him, looking uncomfortable. My head swung to my mother. Her eyes welled, and the tears spilled and rolled down her cheeks. The runes swirled in a frenzy, the bright side blinding.

“I didn’t know you were my mother until a few weeks ago. If I’d known, I would have come home sooner.”

“
They
took you from me,” she said forlornly.

My father shifted uneasily. Bet he was feeling guilty now. “I know. I hate the Norns for that, too.”

“They took everything from me.” Her voice became harsh, her eyes narrowing. She stopped stroking my hair and snatched her staff from the cradle on the throne. The tears stopped falling. “And they must pay. You will help me get my revenge, because no one gets the best of Hel.” She stood up, her presence commanding. “How often did you train?”

I jumped up when the white of her dress started changing color, the black spreading until everything she wore, from the choker on her throat and the sandals on her feet to the cloak, became black as midnight. Even her voice grew commanding and hard. Completely blindsided by the switch from a wronged mother to a warrior goddess, I stared at her slack-jawed.

“How often?” she snapped.

“Train?” I asked, stammering like a moron.

“Condition your mind and body, build up your endurance,” she said impatiently. “How often did you train, Son?”

“Every day. I was on the swim team,” I said quickly.

She scoffed at my words. “Can you swim the Gjöll?”

The river the giantess had threatened Echo with? They said the water was so cold it froze your limbs in seconds. But with runes, I could dare it. “If you remove the knife-like rocks and the snakes, yes.”

A sound escaped her. I couldn’t tell whether it was disgust or amusement. “You have a sense of humor. You are going to need it. Show me your true self.”

I stared at her blankly. “True self?”

“The real you, not this”—she pointed at my face—“replica of your father.”

Was it wrong to look like my father? I glanced at him. He looked worried.

“Show me the fearsome son I created and nursed. Shifting from one form to another should be normal at your age.”

“Shifting? I don’t understand. This is who I am.”

Anger twisted her face. “They didn’t just steal you from me; they turned you into a spineless excuse of a being. A shadow of what you are meant to be. You are my son, the grandson of Loki, the master of all magic. Your father is a great Seer. One of the few to see his own future. Your other grandfather, whose name
must never
be uttered in this hall, might be my sworn enemy, but he can take any shape or form he desires and fool anyone. Your grandmother, his wife, taught my father everything he knows. My mother was a powerful
Jötun
shifter. You have the blood of the most powerful beings in all the realms flowing through you and you want to tell me that this”—she waved a hand to indicate me—“is who you are?”

She raised her staff and brought it down with a thud. Lightning shot from the black crystal at the tip. A scurry of movement followed as the hall cleared. The Grimnirs disappeared to the left and the serving Dwarves to the right while the rest of the guests just melted away as though they’d turned into energy.

My father, for whatever reason, wasn’t affected. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hela,
ástin mín
…”

“Leave us.”

“But he is our son,” he protested.

“He is
your
son now, but he will be
mine
when I’m done with him.” Her voice was so low and sinister I shivered.

My father’s eyes narrowed. He had been known for being fair, wise, and gracious, but from his expression, he seemed ready to take on my mother. As though she read his mind, she shook her head.

“No, Baldur. This is my decision.”

“It should be ours,” he corrected.

“No. Mine.” Her voice was cold and unyielding.

“You will not reconsider?”

The goddess didn’t respond, and I wondered what the heck was going on. Reconsider what? My father threw me an encouraging smile, but I could tell he was worried. I tried to indicate that it was okay. I didn’t want them fighting over me. With one last glance at me, he disappeared behind the throne.

“I will undo the harm they’ve done, and when I’m finished with you,” she spoke in a calm, deadly voice, “they will suffer the same fate I’ve suffered for nearly eighteen years. You will give me my revenge.”

She lifted and lowered her staff again. Two men dressed in black heavy coats and boots, head and faces covered except their eyes, entered the hall and marched to the foot of the stairs.

“His training begins now,” my mother announced. “Take him to the east dungeon and prepare him.”

Dungeon? Seriously? Was this what my father had meant by I wasn’t safe? The guards drew closer. I reached for my mace and Viggo drew his dagger.

Damn it! I’d forgotten about him. If I fought, he would come to my defense and possibly die because of me. My grandmother might have asked him to watch my back, but my half brother, Forseti, had told me to bring him back to Asgard alive. I’d given him my word I would.

I let go of my mace and raised my hands. “Fine. Take me to the dungeon and do whatever you want. Just let Viggo go home.” Even as the last words left my lips, I remembered no one reasoned with my mother. Odin and Frigg had tried it to get my father back from her realm, and they’d both lost.

“My dear child,” she said. “Why would I give him up when he is the perfect leverage? For every day that you don’t cooperate, I’ll double his punishment. Take him to the west dungeon.” My mother smiled. It was the most calculating smile I’d ever seen on anyone. I shivered.

“Welcome home, Son.”

CELESTIA

“Ouch!” I opened my eyes and glared at Hayden Ferrand. “You pinch me again and I swear I’ll—”

She pressed her finger to her lips and jerked her head toward the front of the class. Cringing, I slowly turned to face the music. Ignoring the glowering students, I met Mr. Dupree’s eyes head-on. He didn’t look too happy.

“Crap,” I muttered when he got up and started for my desk.
Here comes another detention.
I seemed to have them once a month. So far, I hadn’t gone into a trance during calculus, but I was sure teachers compared and crosschecked their lists of trancers. Trancers. Using that word in a sentence, even though it was in my head, made me cringe even more.

Trancers. Noun. Clairvoyants who went into a trance in public and either astral projected or saw visions. It was actually cool to be a trancer, until you witnessed things that made your skin crawl or made you want to gouge your eyes. People were freaks. And I hated blood. Even my own.

Trancing. Verb. The act of standing, sitting, laying down, or falling flat on your face like an idiot as you go into a trance. I loved my powers, but the lack of warning was a bitch. One minute I’d be trying to impress a guy and hoping he’d overlook my crazy hair and the ugly skirt I’d pulled on in a hurry to avoid a tardy; the next I’d be sprinting along the hallway scared I’d humiliate myself. I’d trade a bad hair day to trancing on dates any day. Been there, done that. Twice. It was humiliating. No wonder I hadn’t had a date in over a year. The hangouts with my cousin and his jock friends didn’t count.

Tranced. Adjective. The woozy feeling one got after visiting the astral plane. It sounded like being wasted, juiced, or drugged. Luckily, my recovery was fast. I was down to a minute and a half. I planned to keep it under a minute by the time I graduated next year.

If one more teacher complained that I had gone into a trance during class, I could be suspended. The administration might understand that most students at Laveau Charter High School were Witches, but they still hated students disrupting their classes.

“I hope you were not sleeping in my class, Miss Devereaux,” Mr. Dupree said when he reached my desk at the back of the class.

Snickers from students followed.

“Trancing,” Phil Gilbert said under his breath while faking a cough. His buddy Ethan Reed snickered. I ignored them. They both belonged to the same coven. Clown Coven, Hayden called it.

“No, Mr. Dupree. I was only resting my eyes. I got new contacts.” I fluttered my eyelashes. “They’re supposed to make my eyes pop. So far the only things popping are tears. May I use the restroom?” I asked, standing and giving him an innocent smile.

“What is the school motto, Miss Devereaux?”

I sighed. “What?”

“The school motto. It’s written in both Latin and in English. What is it, Miss Devereaux?”

“No spells, no potions, no séances,” Phil whispered again.

“Mr. Gilbert, one more word from you and I’ll send you to the principal’s office,” Mr. Dupree warned, then cocked his eyebrow at me.

“‘The past is my heritage, the present my responsibility, the future my challenge’,” I said and glanced at the clock on the wall in front of the room. Time was ticking, and I had a life to save. “May I leave now? Please?”

“No, you may not. You know my policy about tests and restrooms. You must focus on your present responsibility to conquer the future. I assume you plan to attend some college or you would not be taking an advanced placement class.”

I glanced at my paper. The Cs in all the multiple-choice questions darkened. I thrust the paper under the teacher’s nose. “Done.”

Mr. Dupree’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He’d already complained to my father during the last parent-teacher conference that I wasn’t applying myself. He didn’t understand my extracurricular activities. Dad did. Besides, calculus was kicking my ass, and I’d only taken it because Hayden promised to tutor me. My eyes went to the clock. I was running out of time.

Focusing on my grandmother’s face, tears filled my eyes. I wasn’t a crier, but thinking about Grams always did the trick.

“I really need to go, Mr. Dupree,” I said, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “I can’t see a thing.”

He didn’t cave.

“Let her go, Mr. D, or she’ll turn you into a toad,” came from the front of the class.

Once again, I ignored the speaker, even though I recognized the voice. Giselle Mouton—my annoying neighbor and part of the WAC—Weak-Ass Coven. That was my name for them. Hayden’s was even more insulting. Giselle had hated me ever since I had a vision of her and made the mistake of telling her in front of the class. We were kindergarteners when it happened, and I hadn’t known about Witches or premonitions. She’d never forgotten or forgiven me.

“Mr. D—”

“She got new contacts, Mr. Dupree,” Hayden said calmly and pulled out my glasses case. “She asked me to hold on to these in case the contacts bothered her eyes. Let her go. Please.” The “please” sounded like an afterthought because her “let her go” had sounded like an order.

The teacher was undecided for about a second, then he nodded. “Fine. Go, but come right back. I’ll hold on to your paper.”

Hayden had done it again. She had a way of making people see things her way that was both impressive and scary. I gave Mr. Dupree my paper and took the blue glasses case from Hayden.

“Thank you,” I mouthed and took off, grabbing the hall pass on my way out of the room. The hallways were empty, which was perfect. I couldn’t lock myself in the bathroom while a line of girls waited to use it. Our school wasn’t big. While we only had two hundred and forty students in ninth to twelfth grade, the two sets of restrooms for the entire student body weren’t enough.

I didn’t meet anyone until I entered the restroom. A girl was taking her time in front of the mirror. She caught my reflection and smiled.

“Hey, Celestia,” she said, turning to check her back one last time.

“Jade.”

“It’s all yours.” She started for the door and paused before opening it to ask, “Are you working at TC this evening?”

“Yes, why?”

“I need to replenish a few things, and I’d rather deal with you.”

“Sure. I’ll be there,” I said, but I was annoyed by her attitude. Hayden and her mother Tammy had worked hard the last four years to make their store, Tammy’s Cauldron, thrive. It was the only metaphysical store in Windfall, and people should be grateful they didn’t have to drive forty miles to New Orleans to buy crystals and stones for healing or alter items. Her mother even held group meditation lessons, healing sessions, and spiritual counseling, yet some people still treated them like outsiders because they were new in town. Most Witches in Windfall could trace their ancestry to prominent New Orleans families.

I waited until Jade left the room, then waved and the door locked.

People like Jade were dabblers. They had little knowledge of magic, but were religious users. They bought potions to smooth their complexion, charms to lure men, and spells for everything. Half the time, the spells didn’t work because the casters were either fake or dabblers themselves. Real magic was not to be trifled with. Grams had drummed that into me. The majority of people in Windfall claimed to hate Witches, yet used magic in one form or another, or knew friends and family who practiced. The same haters were also the ones who came to Tammy’s Cauldron after hours through the back door.

Damn hypocrites!

I put my glasses by the faucet, gripped the edge of the sink, and stared into the mirror. I needed the reflective surface to solidify the vision from the bayou because it was fading fast. Usually, I could hold on to a vision and just visualize it, but Mr. Dupree had delayed me. The few times I’d tried to hold on to an image for too long, I’d ended up with a roaring headache and screwed up my clairvoyant abilities for days. Once I got a vision, I had to act fast or it faded.

A green aura appeared in the periphery of my eyes. Damn, I was cutting it close. The aura had glowed yellow earlier. Most Witches saw auras whenever they looked at someone. I didn’t. My auras were associated with my ability to astral project. Yellow auras came with future visions or premonitions, green auras with real time events, and red with past events. There were other auras, but I’d never seen them. My abilities were still emerging.

As the image became clearer, I trapped it in my head, sank to the floor with my back against the wall, and closed my eyes. Gah, my skirt offered little barrier against the cold from the tile floor. I wrapped the long skirt under me for more padding.

The admin should seriously consider investing in comfortable seats in the restrooms for people like me. Unfortunately, trancing was considered truancy. It didn’t matter that your body was present within the school compound. One of these days, I should stay in bed and send my astral image to school and see how they liked that.

My limbs grew heavy as I relaxed. Then the heaviness lifted the moment my astral form separated from my physical body. I was free floating. I willed myself to the bayou.

Whenever I practiced astral projection without a destination, I’d open my eyes and see my body, the people, and places as I moved away. It was pretty awesome. What wasn’t cool was the way an aura could appear while I was in the middle of something and force me to sprint to the nearest bathroom for privacy. Luckily, I wasn’t the only clairvoyant in my school, so seeing a student racing along the hallway was pretty normal. Some didn’t care and just dropped wherever they were. It all depended on their coven’s rules.

The scent of the bayou and the sound of an airboat had me opening my eyes. I lowered myself to the trees by the water and watched the airboat careen around the corner. Just like in my vision, the driver veered sharply to the right and miscalculated the distance between the boat and the land.

The boat flew over the water, cleared the bank, and stopped right by where I stood, or floated. My feet were on the ground without me feeling it, so I guess I was standing on the ground’s astral surface. The engine sputtered and died. The propellers whirred slowly and stopped.

The man turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. Cursing, he kicked the boat.
Yeah, genius, that should do the trick
. If I could touch or move things, I could find the problem in under a minute and fix the damn thing. Fixing things was one of the perks of being an only child to a man who liked to dismantle and reassemble things.

I whipped around at the sounds of rustling and breaking twigs. Two alligators ambled stealthily toward the boater, who was now on land, trying to fix his engine.

I’d forgotten about the gators. They were the reason I was here. I hated alligators. Hated their scaly bodies and slitted eyes. Hated that I could see their teeth when their mouths were closed. I couldn’t even explain when my hatred had begun. I just knew I’d always hated them and snakes and lizards and anything reptilian. While my friends’ idea of a horror movie was
Poltergeist
, mine was
Jurassic Park
.

  Eyeing the creepers, I moved from my place by the tree and jumped in their path, heart pounding furiously and fear drying my mouth.

“Shoo,” I said, waving at them. “Leave him alone.”

The alligators stopped, sensing my essence. Animals were weird that way. The connection between them and Witches was so strong they felt us when more advanced humans couldn’t. My grandmother had been convinced they saw us, too.

“I mean it. Come any closer to him, and I will possess you, you slitty-eyed bastards,” I threatened the largest one when it tried to walk through me. I waved my arms like a lunatic and screamed, “Back off! I mean it. Go away.” They didn’t move. “Aaaaaah!” I screamed.

Of course, I would never possess the damn thing. The very thought turned my stomach. Not just because I was dealing with a reptile, but because my grandmother’s spirit might rise from the grave and strangle me. She’d drummed it into me what good Witches did and didn’t do. Possession was bad magic. Even if it was for a good cause, it was bad. It did things to a Witch’s magical powers.

“Hurry up,” I yelled at the guy on the boat between flapping and screaming at the alligators like a banshee. But like most non-magical people, he was deaf and blind to the spirit world.

I held the alligators back for as long as I could and was reaching my pissed-off-with-non-magical-people point when the engine coughed and sputtered to life. I turned around and watched the man maneuver the boat back into the water. He was safe. Laughing, I turned around and caught the gators glaring at me. I couldn’t explain how I knew they could see me. I just did. Then the big one barreled toward me.

There was nothing as scary or as terrifying as a full-blown gator running after prey. Even though I was in an energy form, I was being hunted, and adrenaline surged through me. Fear sent me hurtling back into my body.

My heart was racing when I opened my eyes. I jumped up and stared at my reflection. The strands of my hair stuck out as though I’d touched an electrostatic ball, and nausea and vertigo hit me. I grabbed the edge of the sink again and steadied myself.

Nausea and light-headedness were perfectly normal reactions after an astral projection, but the pounding heart and the sweat on my brow were new. Usually, I merrily went wherever my visions took me without worrying about getting hurt. This was the first time I’d physically responded to the fear.