Kindling the Moon (37 page)

I was standing inside a strange metal object. Several feet in diameter, it looked like a giant communion bowl with a flat lip around the outside that was etched with symbols. I tried to read them. Rebirth, sacred, transference … sacrifice. It was an oracular bowl.

It was used to catch sacrificial blood.

Panicking, I tried to move, but my arms were bound. I was tied to a metal pole affixed to the bowl below me.

“You're going to kill me?” I demanded in a shaky voice.

My father looked over at me, breaking away from the kiss, taking my mother's hand in his. “We're going to transfer your power to us through a short ritual. I'm sorry, but there is no other way. You are too weak to wield that kind of power. We have no choice but to take it from you.”

“It would be irresponsible to let it decay,” my mother agreed. “This is bigger than all of us.”

“And the only way we can siphon your ability is to harvest it when it's captured in the blood, right as the soul lifts from the body.”

“There is no shame in sacrifice,” my mother added. “Just because you couldn't fulfill your destiny as our messiah doesn't mean your life is wasted. Don't you see? Once we realized that you weren't suited to keep the Moonchild power, and once we realized that the siphoning spell could harvest more than Heka, it all fit together neatly. We are all redeemed. Your power will live on in us, giving back to us … just as we lived on in your body, like we gave you life. It's a fair exchange, and please know it's done in love.”

“Love?” I repeated.

I began shaking uncontrollably, sobbing, screaming. My life, my family, it was all a sham. They thought of me as a possession right from the beginning? Something they created that failed? And now they were nothing but pathological killers, and I'd wasted my adult life in hiding, believing that they were innocent … that they loved me.

How could I have been so blind? My head felt like it was splitting open as dark recollections began surfacing, piling on top of one another, spinning. The memories that Lon saw in his visions solidified in my head.

The caliph hadn't been the enemy. Half-remembrances tangled in my brain, quiet moments of him talking to me when I was a teenager, after my parents were wallowing in self-created shame, thinking that their reputation was ruined because they'd failed to bring a real Moonchild into the world. The caliph told me many times that it didn't matter, and that he loved me anyway. The dream Lon had … My mother had
been arguing with the caliph because he must have suspected something was wrong. Maybe he knew they were hiding something. Maybe he suspected that they were sick in the head.

“Did the caliph know you killed the other leaders of the orders?” I asked.

My mother smiled. “He was suspicious, so we did a little spellwork on him. Something to confuse the mind.”

“You performed that spell on me, too, didn't you?”

“On you?” She shook her head. “No need. Your loyalty to us kept you blind. The caliph, however, we had to control by force.”

My mother then explained that they didn't know what to do with me after they were accused of the murders. They knew that they had to run, and I was baggage, weighing them down. Useless baggage, because they hadn't yet come across the twelfth-century Moonchild journal. It was easiest for the caliph to watch over me. He always doted on me, they said, so it was simple to persuade him to accept the responsibility once they'd cast the confusion spell on him to eliminate any lingering suspicion or doubts he might have had concerning their motives.

“Unfortunately,” my mom lamented, “that particular spell was not permanent. It fades with time. We are not sure whether the caliph's spell began waning, or if he underwent a counterspell to remove it, but something changed recently. Anyway, it doesn't matter now.”

Whatever happened must have occurred before they were spotted in Dallas, because now it struck me that the caliph hadn't sent me after the albino demon to prove their
innocence
—he wanted me to find it to
prove they were guilty
. “The albino demon. Nivella,” I whispered.

“Oh,
oui
. We found the talon and seal in your clothes,”
my mother said. “How did you find out about Nivella? We didn't tell anyone about her.”

“You lied to Caliph Superior—gave him a bad description of the demon,” I realized.

“Of course,” my father replied. “We couldn't have him snooping around and digging her up. She helped us with all the siphonings.”

“Siphonings? You mean
murders
.”

“Well, that's why we removed the talon, so no one else could conjure her and find out what we were doing. It also served as a beautiful ritual dagger. When it was confiscated, we had to search for another demon with the same power. It took us years, but we found one, and were prepared to summon her tonight, but now that you've brought us Nivella's talon, we can just use her. Better the devil you know, yes?”

“How did you piece together that we'd originally used Nivella?” my mother asked.

“The Tamlins.”

My parents looked at each other in disbelief. “The confusion spell—”

“They had it removed,” I said. “Mostly.”

My father nodded in understanding. “Not a particularly bright couple. We thought about killing the Tamlins when they caught us in Portland during the third siphoning, but they weren't worth the effort. Not enough Heka to even consider harvesting.”

“They still think you're innocent.”

“Regardless, we might need to pay them a little visit soon to keep them quiet.” My father shrugged. “Almost time now.” He smiled and turned to Frater Blue and gave him a silent signal. The man stepped inside the circle and lifted the hood of his robe.

Panic sobered me. I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“Calm down, don't wear yourself out,” my father said. “We're deep inside Balboa Park, off a private hiking trail. There's no one for miles. The ritual will go smoother if you remain calm and centered.”

“How could you do this?” I sobbed, tears blinding me, stinging my eyes. “I'm your daughter. You loved me—I know you did. Why did you stop?”

“Darling,” my mother said, moving her hand near my cheek but not touching me, “how many times have we told you that strong emotions are weakness? That's not to say we don't care. We planned your conception. Meticulous, careful planning. You weren't just an accident or a result of some unplanned erotic passion, like most savages are.”

“I was the result of some stupid, loveless ritual—that's worse!”

“No, you are very mistaken, it was not loveless, and we were so happy when you were born. We treated you like a goddess. Gave you every tool you could need to be successful and enjoy the life that you were given. We were good parents.”

“Good parents don't kill their children after raising them!”

“It's an honorable death,” my father argued. “Not a wasted one. People die honorably for their country in war every day. How could dying for this be any less?”

He said this like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. And instead of being repulsed by the motive behind the words, all I could think about was trying to get back what I'd lost. Raw, painful sobbing hobbled my reasoning. And I snapped, racked by memories of better times.

“I can change,” I pleaded. “I can be what you need me to be. Whatever you envisioned, you can teach me. I can learn.” A shadow crossed my mother's eyes. Emotion. I know I saw
it. “You can take me overseas with you. I can stay hidden. I've never been caught, not in seven years. I'm smart. I can …” What? What would I do? “I can help you start your new Aeon. I'll summon whatever you want. Please. Give me a chance to show you.”

For a moment, just a moment, I thought I might have reached her. Thought I spotted some spark of motherly instinct inside her that would override her insanity. But then my father touched her shoulder, whispering something low in French that I couldn't hear. And her face hardened along with her will.

“There is no shame in this,” my father said gently. “It is a beautiful gift, what you are giving us today, and we are grateful for it.”

My head spun as madness overtook me, and I screamed again. It reverberated off the rocky hill and echoed around the dark trees, the only witnesses to the my last breaths.

“Shh, now.

Calm and centered,” my father repeated. Calm and centered? Ironically, it was good advice. Begging them to spare me had been weak and pathetic. A mistake made in desperation. I had to pull myself together. Focus. This was no time to fall apart. If I could survive, I'd have time for that later.

I compartmentalized my panic and surveyed my escape options.

The bonds around my hands and ankles were too tight to break. Maybe my wards? I tried to spit on my arm to activate one of them—
any
of them—but my mouth was dry from the drugs they gave me; what little saliva I could muster just stuck to the red shroud or trickled down my upper arm, stopping far above my elbow.

There was no electricity nearby. I reached out, straining
to pull anything at all, but came up empty; we were too deep in the woods. And Priya was dead, so I had no guardian to call for help. My mind flashed back to the incubus in the caves. He gave me his name, Voxhele of Amon. I could summon him. But why? How could he help? Offer to have sex with my parents to distract them? Useless.

Think, think. What else?

The caliph was trailing my parents, they'd said. Could he have been one of the people running out of the Luxe temple? It probably didn't matter; we were hidden and warded.

Then there was Lon … He'd begged me to let him come with me that morning, and I'd foolishly told him no. Stubborn, he'd called me. He was frustrated and angry; but I insisted, and he didn't argue. This memory kick-started another round of tears. Everything he'd done for me, the time and work, the money he'd spent. It was all for nothing. Apart from that, I was losing him, and Jupe, and I'd only just found them. My aching heart shriveled.

Years of lukewarm relationships, noncommittal and joyless, lined my stomach like a lead weight. No happiness, no friends, no love, all because of my parents.

Hiding from the law, living a lie …

While they were running around scheming up crazy rituals to harvest some stupid power from me, I put my life on hold and lived in fear and silence. I ran from
their
enemies— the Luxe Order, Riley Cooper … I took the brunt of it for my parents. Their sins, not mine, but I paid for them. Me! How stupid was I?

“One minute,” my father whispered to my mother as they took prearranged places in front of me.

I was out of options. Broken. They won. Nothing I could say or do would stop them.

But just as I'd accepted my fate, a light flashed. Not in my head, but out in the woods.

It floated and moved like a torch in the distance.

Flames bobbed and flickered.

It was a halo on fire.

I didn't know how, and I didn't care; hope sprang through me.

Oh, Lon,
I thought,
please let that be you. My parents are crazy. They killed all those people and they're going to sacrifice me. I'm so sorry for dragging you into this mess.

As soon as I finished my thought, the fiery halo went out.

I choked on a sob.

Maybe it wasn't him after all.

My father sauntered to the edge of chalk circle with something in his hands. Intoning a spell—not in Latin or English, but in some Æthyric language—he walked the circle. As he did, Frater Blue followed.

My father blew a breath onto the triangle that held the winged demon. The air around it got brighter. Then he walked behind me, repeating the incantation. Next was the watery female demon at the western point; he sprinkled liquid on her triangle to lighten it. Last, dirt was scattered on the demon with the barklike skin who represented earth. Not only did that triangle get brighter, but my father yelled out the spell and threw Heka down at the ground. The entire circle roared to life.

A blue glow emerged from the earth and spread over our heads like a gigantic umbrella, enclosing all of us inside a dome of light.

The circle was now fortified; it couldn't be breached from the outside. Not by a person, or even a gunshot.

“Let us begin,” my father announced.

He dropped what he was holding and picked up the glass talon. My mother joined him and they approached me, strutting like deranged peacocks, both wearing horrible, repugnant smiles. Whatever image I'd once had of my parents, I couldn't reconcile it with the two alien beings standing before me. My family was gone. Lost. Dead. Worse: I'd never really had one at all.

Frater Blue's robed figure moved around the inner edge of the circle, vibrating with a low noise. A background spell, an underpainting to serve as the base for the layers of the main incantation.

My father began droning the Æthyric words to his ritual.

“
Oh-ele sohnef vorereh heg-heh. Goho-he iehadah bal eh teh
.”

I wriggled desperately against my bindings, then tried to rock the entire oracular bowl with my body. It gave ever so slightly, scraping against the rocky ground below me. My mother put her bare foot on top of the rim to still it. I growled at her, but neither one of them made eye contact with me.

“
Koh meh mateh—
”

“Fuck you!” I spat. “Fuck both of you … you … lunatics!”

“
Ah-deh nah gorgan-mal—
”

“I hope you both burn in hell.” Angry tears ran down my face.

Movement outside the circle caught my eye. Three dark figures appeared at the top of the rocky hill outside the circle. My heart rammed against my chest.
Please …

The caliph was the first. The head of the Luxe Order— Riley's father, Magus Zorn—was the second. And the third? Lon.