Page 59 of The Demon's Discovery
Chapter 25
Greta
“Fae?” I asked. “Like fairies? From children’s stories?”
We’d gone back to Ophelia’s living room, more bread and whiskey with a splash of tea making the rounds. Magnus was quietly absorbing everything, and Vassago relaxed into the seat beside me, glancing back at his book now and then.
“All stories have some seed of truth,” Ophelia said. “The fae are much like the stone kin or demons. A whole race with their own kingdoms and politics. There’s always been rumors of doorways to their realm existing here, but it seems our Rowan may have managed to find one.”
“You think Rowan’s gone to the fae realm?” Magnus asked.
“It’s one of several possibilities. A likely one, given the portrait, wouldn’t you say? Did you notice that handsome man’s pointed ears and extra-sharp canines?” Her eyes drifted to Vassago, then back to her nephew. “I’ll admit, the impressive scar on his face was a little distracting, but they were distinctly unrounded.”
“Perhaps.” He frowned, rubbing at his chin with his hand.
Ophelia’s attention returned to me. “Come sit in front of me. I want to see what you keep digging at on your back.”
I glanced at Vassago as I stood to obey her request.
“There’s some discoloration under her skin,” he said. “When I was examining it, it flared and caused her pain.”
“I see.” Ophelia gestured with her hands, and I sat at her feet. She pulled up the back of my shirt without hesitation. I startled under her cool touch, braced for the bite of pain that had come before or some commentary on my scars. The ache was its usual dull, insistent throb. She pressed her whole palm to the area that hurt, and it warmed, riding the edge of pain but never crossing it. Suddenly she gasped. “May I show them?”
I nodded. Vassago and Magnus both straightened in their seats. She beckoned them to come forward.
“That’snotwhat it looked like before,” Vassago said, tone stern and bordering on defensive. “There were just small pockmark scars there, some darkening. How have you lit up her flesh on the inside like that?”
“What?” I squeaked.
“That’s one of my favorite little tricks, demon. Does it hurt, Greta?” Ophelia asked blandly.
“No, not really. It’s just warm.”
“See? There’s no danger. It just helps me get a better view.”
“I could see these,” Vassago said, and I felt his fingertip brush my skin. “But they were a bit darker, not like this.” His voice went whispery, regret riding the edges. “I would have acted with far more urgency had I known.”
“I’ve been this way as long as I can remember,” I reassured them as well as myself. “Urgency wouldn’t have changed anything.”
“Years like this? Decades?” Ophelia sounded angry.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“What is it?” Magnus asked.
“Her wing ways. They’re sutured closed. Never mind that she’s been bound. Though the two… may or may not be related.”
There was a general sense of discomfort at her pronouncement, noises of displeasure rumbling out of them all.
“Bound?” I asked.
“Some kind of fae magic, if I had to guess. It’s not ours, nor yours I would assume?”
“No,” Vassago said, sounding appalled that she’d asked. “This hideous curse isn’t demon mage craft.”
“There’s no way for her wings to work, not like this. It would be excruciating to try. Can you shift at all, Greta?”
“No.”
