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A few hours later, after a parchment paper and gasoline delivery from a teen shifter boy who takes one look at Baron glowering at him in the corner and scuttles back toward town without the scone I promised him, I have the first batch of books papered and weighted and Baron is getting to the really good parts.
I learn that demons have been enchanting human women since the dawn of time, but that the hold is easily broken by burning a protective sigil into the timbers of your home or hiding an old pair of shoes in the wall. I learn that a half demon child’s “demon heat” can be cooled by a monthly dunk in ocean water, which is certainly easy to come by in a coastal town like Nightfall, and that Amy should eventually be able to retract her horns into her head at will to pass in the human world. To the author of the text, this was clearly a horrible thing that would lead to half-monsters living undetected in human society, but for the aunt of an innocent, half-demon darling, I’m cheered by the news.
I’m cheered by most of the book, in fact—especially the descriptions of the silly things the author insisted the demons did to the local cattle, though I can’t imagine why a demon would dress a cow in a Greek sun hat or cause their udders “to glow bright red as if burned by Satan’s own fiery kiss”—until Baron starts the chapter on a war between demons and vampires. It apparently lasted most of the tenth century B.C. and ended with the vampires forcing the demons back to the underworld and destroying the portals that allowed travel between the realms.
“Do you think it’s possible the demons are still holding a grudge about that?” I ask as he turns the page. “Even though it was such a long time ago?”
He glances up, the first move aside from turning pages that he’s made in hours. “Perhaps. Time moves differently in their realm. It might not seem like so long ago to their people. And vampires have a bad habit of assuming a battle fought once won’t have to be fought again.”
“Humans are like that, too,” I say, digging my fingers into my aching back as I twist from side to side. “They think getting rid of the Stalin or the Hitler will solve the problem, when it’s really our culture that needs to change so we stop creating monsters like that in the first place.”
“There are always monsters. No matter how healthy the culture. It’s the one thing you can count on.”
“Monsters gonna monster?” I tease.
His lips quirk again. “Yes.”
“I can’t take credit for that joke,” I confess. “Blaire started it the other day, something about shitters shitting that I can’t remember right now because I’m starving. Are you hungry? Do you want me to put some blood on to warm for you while I make a sandwich?”
“Why don’t I make you a sandwich? You’re the one doing all the work.”
“Untrue,” I say as I pick my way around the various piles of books. “You’re providing the entertainment. And education. Casey’s going to be psyched about the shoes in the wall thing. She was just saying we all have to get new snow boots anyway. This is a good excuse to toss the old ones in the wall and splurge on quality boots that will last a few winters.”
“Yours should arrive within the week,” he says, surprising me.
I pause beside his corner, my pulse picking up the way it always does when I’m close to him. “What?”
“Your new snow boots. The night you…” He clears his throat as he slips his handkerchief into the pages and closes the book. “I noticed your boots were damaged. I purchased new ones the next day, but they’re on backorder. Apparently size 7 is a common size.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a pretty common girl,” I say, a grin curving my lips as I add, “I can’t believe you bought me a present. I should be buying you presents. You’re the one who saved my life that night.”
“And then you saved mine,” he says. “So…we should be even.”
My nose wrinkles and my smile fades. “Yeah, I thought about that. After I left the library. I suppose you want me to let you off the hook and get out of your house?”
A pained expression tightens his features. “No, I don’t. And that frightens me more than you know.”
Memories of what I read about his life and the horrific things that happened after he was turned flood through me, making me wish I could tell him that I know his story, and that I forgive him for not seeing the danger coming in time. I want to tell him that his wife and children would forgive him, too, but my gut tells me it’s too soon.
Baron is like a semi-feral cat, one wrong move and he’ll run out the door and I’ll never see him again.
So instead of any of the comforting things I wish I could say, I rest my hand gently on his chest as I whisper, “Can you do me a favor?”
He scowls. “What sort of favor?”
“I’ve had the lines of a poem running through my head all morning, but I can’t remember the exact words,” I say, lying through my teeth. I will never forget a single syllable of Sonnet 116, but Baron doesn’t know that about me yet. “It’s something about the marriage of pure minds. And impediments.” I hum thoughtfully. “I’m pretty sure it’s Shakespeare, and I thought I remembered Darcy saying you’re pretty well-versed when it comes to The Bard.”
“It’s true minds. Sonnet 116,” he says, his eyes locked on mine in a way that makes me suspect he realizes I’m malingering.
But when I whisper, “Oh, that’s right. Do you remember how it goes?” he doesn’t hesitate to recite, in a deep, heart-felt voice that vibrates my very soul…
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
