Page 25 of Demon Loved
The homes in this part of town were much grander, that was for certain. High above the busy tourist traffic on Jerome’s main street was a quiet little eddy of a road called Paradise Lane. All the houses were carefully restored and built in the style he knew was Victorian, since the home in Santa Fe that Elena shared with her husband Alessandro possessed similar architecture. Some of them had more scrollwork and stained glass than others, but they’d all been built with large front porches and multiple stories, as well as paint schemes that included sometimes as many as five different complementary hues.
He’d walked here from the Grand Hotel, where he’d had green tea and toast and fruit for breakfast. Quite possibly, he didn’t need to eat at all, but he’d found himself feeling better after the light repast and wondered if somehow this human form he currently wore was affecting him on a level he didn’t quite understand.
On this Friday morning, Paradise Lane was very quiet. He’d waited until the people who lived there most likely would have already departed for their various schools or places of work, although if the street was inhabited mainly by McAllister witches and warlocks, he supposed some of them might still have lingered there. Based on what he’d seen of the Castillo clan, it seemed that many members of the magical community either worked from home or had their own businesses, so their schedules were somewhat different from those of most of the mortal population.
But no one seemed to be out and about today, except a woman at the far end of the street — a cul-de-sac, really, since the narrow road terminated in a steep hillside partially obscured by a small grove of tall trees, oak and sycamore and a few graceful willows — who appeared to be intent on tending the luxuriant rose bushes that grew in a bed in front of her home’s front porch. Even at this distance, Belshegar could tell she wasn’t a witch, and although she looked up and sent him what he thought was a curious look, she didn’t seem so discommoded by his presence that she felt it necessary to ask what he was doing there.
Well, the neighborhood offered many splendid examples of late Victorian architecture, so he assumed he wasn’t the only traveler who’d wandered up here to take a look at the houses and their colorful paint, their stained glass windows and fanciful turrets and weathervanes and gingerbread trim. He had his sketchbook tucked under his arm, and he pulled it out and began drawing the house closest to him, one that was painted pale blue with white and darker blue and deep red as its accent colors.
Was it the prima’s house?
He didn’t think so, just because there were several on the street that were a good bit larger. Once he was done with his sketch, he began moving toward one of the bigger homes, this one pale yellow with trim in various shades of sage-hued green. When he got closer, though, he stopped, small shockwaves going through him as he sensed the energy that seemed to flow out from the place in all directions.
This was Brianna’s house.
But…that couldn’t be right, could it? She’d already told him that she lived in an apartment above the gallery where she sometimes worked.
And yet, the yellow house practically shimmered with echoes of her presence.
Her childhood home, he guessed. She might not live here any longer, but the place where she’d grown to adulthood was still full of her essence, her energy.
He tilted his head to gaze up at the second story, wondering which of those windows was the one that opened into her former bedroom. Had she looked out onto the street, or was her room one of the chambers that gave a view of the backyard?
Impossible to know for sure, of course, although he thought most likely she and her brother had occupied the rooms at the rear of the house, where their sleep wouldn’t be disturbed by any traffic on the street.
Of course, considering how quiet Paradise Lane appeared to be, he didn’t think the rooms that overlooked the street would have been very noisy, either.
As he stood there on the sidewalk, trying to decide whether he should attempt to sketch the house or move a little farther down, perhaps to the big white house with the green shutters that seemed to be the largest on the block, the front door to Brianna’s house opened and a tall man emerged. His hair was even lighter than hers, with what looked like glints of silver at the temples, and he appeared to be in his middle or late fifties as humans reckoned time.
That wasn’t what took Belshegar aback, however. No, it was the subtle aura of power which surrounded the man, one that was very strong and at the same time alien. It didn’t feel like the magic he’d sensed around regular witches and warlocks, not at all.
In fact, what it reminded him of most was the power he’d sensed shimmering around Loc, the demon lord who’d married a Castillo witch and who’d given Belshegar a human appearance so he might attend Elena’s wedding.
Was this man also a demon lord?
An impulse to flee came over him, even though Belshegar knew running away was probably the worst thing he could do. No, he had to pretend he hadn’t sensed anything out of the ordinary about the man and that he was nothing more than the tourist he was pretending to be.
The stranger’s eyes met his, clear blue.
Nearly the same shade as Brianna’s, although hers weren’t nearly so piercing.
Was this being her father?
Before Belshegar could attempt to analyze the implications of such a possibility, the man spoke.
“Good morning,” he said. If he’d detected anything out of the ordinary about the stranger who stood on the sidewalk outside his house, sketchbook tucked under one arm, he didn’t give any sign of it. “Are you looking for someone?”
“No — no,” Belshegar replied quickly, and then pulled out the sketchbook, brandishing it like a shield.
In a way, he supposed it was, since it provided him with an excuse to move around Jerome without anyone questioning his motives too closely.
And he also had to hope that the same enchantment which had given him a mortal face and form and also masked his inhuman nature would be enough to hide his true identity from the man — well, more than a man — who faced him now.
“I’m interested in architecture,” he explained. “This is a wonderful collection of Victorian homes.”
The man nodded. “That it is. And you’re certainly welcome to draw whatever you like, although I’ll have to ask you to leave off any street names or house numbers from your sketches, just to protect the privacy of the people who live here.”
“Oh, of course,” Belshegar said immediately. As far as he could tell, he wasn’t able to detect any suspicion in the other man’s face and expression, although he wouldn’t allow himself to relax. “These sketches are just for me,” he added, hoping that extra bit of information would help to reassure Brianna’s father…if that was even who the man was. “I certainly have no plans to share them with anyone else.”
