White hot panic welled inside my chest, and I bit the inside of my cheek to conceal the evidence of my growing fear. I spoke slowly. “So, you’re saying Devereaux Graves is… not human. That he’s some sort of… monster?” I said, catching Casimir’s wince on the wordmonster. “And you expect me to just believe you?”
He rolled his eyes at that. “Would you like more proof? Shall I put together a formal presentation?” His lip curled in disdain. “I would’ve thought what you witnessed in the Tusk was enough to take me at my word.”
“No, but a little context would be much appreciated,” I snapped. “You’ve just told me that some boy I’ve gone to school with for over a year isn’t even fuckinghuman, and you expect me to justacceptthat?—
“I don’t have time for this,” he cut in.
“Make time for it, then!”
We glared at one another across the dark alcove, his bright eyes glowing like a beacon against the shadows.
Casimir’s voice dropped to a dangerously low octave. “I know you grew up in Maine. Don’t tell me you weren’t told thestories about Daemonic beings who reside in the caves and archipelagos off the coast?” His eyes glinted menacingly, unblinking as he held my gaze. “‘Beware the Daemon, the spirits of bone and blood. The spirits who kidnap children that wander into their woods; cross them once, and you’ll never be seen again.’”
A chill crept over my spine at the words. My father had told me those very stories about Daemons when I was young. But that’s all they were. Stories. Amusing local lore and fairy tales for children.
“But those are just fairytales,” I argued. “Folklore, told to keep children from wandering too far, lest they meet their deaths in the caves and forests around the island.”
A low, sardonic laugh rumbled through Casimir’s chest, the sound of it driving shards of ice into my bones.
Even as I shook my head, refusing to accept the truth of his words, dread twisted in my stomach like a dagger.
Casimir spoke again, cutting off my unvoiced denials. “The tales of kidnapping and poisoning might be a bit exaggerated, but theDrekavacfolk are real.” He was watching me warily, expectantly. He was waiting for me to panic.
Could it be true?ThatDevereaux Graves lived as a wealthy, popular socialite—albeit with a reputation for cruelty—when in truth, he was an evil creature of folklore? A Daemonic interloper in mortal society?
Or… maybe he was just trying to scare me. Perhaps he and Devereaux were both in on it, and this was all part of some sick, elaborate prank. But the way he was looking at me… it was as though he were hanging off a steep precipice, and my answer would determine his fate. He had placed a delicate secret in my palms, wondering if I would crush it.
“How oldareyou?”
His answering expression bordered on a grimace. “Are you implying I look older than our peers?”
“I might be.”
He snorted. “It’s true that Daemons age slower than mortals… but I’ve only just passed my thirty-sixth year.”
“Oh!” I gasped in obvious relief.
Casimir laughed at my dumbfounded expression. “What, did you think I was four-hundred years old or something?” He almost looked offended.
Still, a bit old to be a college sophomore. Even if Daemons did age more slowly. Our conversation struck me as so utterly absurd that I loosed a choking, hysterical sound—not quite a laugh. But as I gazed into his eyes, I struggled to comprehend that he was anything but otherworldly. Angel or Daemon, I couldn’t deny he was formidable.
“So, you’re a Daemon.” The words slipped out like an accusation.
Casimir’s eyes glinted like dark jewels as he moved closer. “You’re a clever girl,” he said, his tone taunting. “Didn’t I all but say as much?”
The air between us grew thick with tension. I could hardly believe it. Here I was, standing alone, in a dark alcove with a creature of myth. Amonster. A small voice in the back of my mind reasoned that if Casimir wanted to harm me, he’d had many opportunities to do so. Furthermore, Casimir had rescued me from further torment at the hands of Devereaux.
Hadn’t he?
I swallowed, averting my gaze. My fingers twitched nervously. “Alright,” I hedged, “If you and Devereaux are—Daemons—what are you doing here?”
“I was in Vancouver when I first heard that the Order had reestablished a chapter at Ouverham College. I’ve known Devereaux long enough to suspect he was plotting something…unsavory.”
Reestablished?So, this wasn’t a new society after all. More lies that had somehow evaded my detection.
“And what unsavory activities do you suspect him of plotting?” I pressed. “Does it have anything to do with this ritual?”
Casimir hesitated. “Possibly,” he said, pausing to pull a cigarette from the gold case inside his jacket.