Page 55 of The Demon's Discovery
“Not as such. But we haven’t had the pleasure of meeting before now.”
She only grunted in response, eyes twinkling. It would seem even she wasn’t immune to his charms, especially when he had them turned up to full power. Magnus’s mouth twitched. He met my eye, and I felt the rest of my apprehension melt away with his amusement. She was an interesting lady, I’d give her that.
“In any case, it was my pleasure,” Vassago continued smoothly, ignoring that she’d never actually given words of gratitude even after dangling it like that.
“You’re very like your brother,” she said suddenly, head tilted as she looked at him.
His eyebrow raised. “Oh?”
“Yes. The pair of you could be twins.”
Vassago smiled, the points of his slightly elongated canines pressing against the inside of his bottom lip. “How’s that?” he asked.
I too was curious how she’d arrived at that estimation, because I knew as well as anyone that he and his brother were basically opposites when it came to appearance, despite not yet having met the archmage.
“You both bring me the most interesting women as company, for starters. How is it that you both happen to be fated to truly extraordinary stone kin mates? Seems odd for demons, even if you are some kind of royalty. There are a great many parallels in your lives, are there not?”
Everything stilled. Vassago’s eyes slid to mine, his smile faltering. Magnus busied himself with straightening the cuffs of his shirt, eyes cautiously traveling between the three of us. He was clearly enjoying the show while remaining uncharacteristically quiet.
“Mate?” I asked, voice barely a squeak.
“Yes, yes.” Ophelia busily poured healthy dollops of whiskey into fancy porcelain teacups before adding an equal amount of steaming tea. At our silence, she looked up, though there was no shame or repentance in her expression. “No need to rub it in with those of us who aren’t so lucky, hmm? I assume you’re here for a reason?”
“Several, it seems,” I managed to say, heart lodged in my throat.
“Yes, my dear. That’s usually how it goes. And you? What’s your story?”
“Oh, um, I recently moved to d’Arcan to practice chemistry.”
“And before that?”
“I was employed by the Belettes. I lived with Henrik and Lara since I was a toddler?—”
Ophelia flapped a hand impatiently as she dropped into her chair, the full teacup in her hand nearly sloshing its contents over the edge. “I don’t care about the impostors you lived with. Tell me, who are your parents?”
I sipped at the tea concoction, the fire the whiskey put in my nose and throat slowing my response. I finally managed to cough and clear the tears from my eyes after several attempts at swallowing over the burn. “Rowan,” I coughed again, sucking in a deep breath to soothe my burning throat before trying again. “I don’t know her surname, but my mother’s name is Rowan. I… I never knew my father.”
“Yes, I thought so.” The old woman smiled, revealing several missing teeth, but there was a sparkle in her eye. “You look likeher.” The compliment hit me square in the chest and my heart thudded painfully. She said it reverently, with kindness.
“She’s been missing for decades, much like the Noctuas.” Magnus frowned, voice soft. The way he spoke about them, he seemed to take every mystery that existed within the stone kin community as a personal failing. I wished I could reassure him that not all these things were his responsibility, and likely none were his fault.
“Yes. So many of us vanished without explanation. Entirely too many families have met such painful, unnecessary separations.” Ophelia tossed back the contents of her cup, only looking away from me when she had no other choice. The attention was not unexpected, but it was slightly uncomfortable. Vassago was a solid presence at my side, and I knew Magnus would protect me if it came down to that, but it was not lost on me that this tiny woman was seen by both of these powerful men as a threat.
She nodded firmly, pulled herself out of her seat, then gestured for me to follow her. “Come.”
I followed her to a little nook behind the kitchen. She approached a table full of assorted items, and rapidly rearranged them. Crystals and herbs, sand and salt. Everything went to a specific location only she understood the reasoning behind. She stopped, glanced at me, turned a piece of white ocean coral ninety degrees, swapped the positions of a chunk of amethyst and a square bit of rose quartz, then handed me a small bell.
“Ring it,” she instructed blandly, looking perplexed as she examined the layout of the table. I did as she asked, gripping the wooden handle as the clapper clanked hollowly against the side of the bell.
“Foolish, foolish. Of course. May I see your palm?” I held one hand out for her, and she peered close to the skin. “Yes, there itis. Your demon’s mark. And this?” Her lip curled in disgust at the sight of the ring.
I wasn’t sure how to address it exactly, but managed to say, “Unwanted. But it won’t come off. The more we try, the harder it clings.”
She turned her head toward Vassago. “Surely not yours?”
“No, no.” I rushed to tell her. “My former employers accepted an offer for my hand. This was his token.”
“Bad magic,” she shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about that kind of thing, but I can tell it’s rotten. Here.” She handed me a tightly rolled bundle of papers. “Hold this. Now try again.”
