Affixed to the walls were masks with eerily serene expressions. One mask made of burnished metal was angled in our direction, the empty eye sockets seemingly following us.
“Don’t stare too long at anything,” Cirrian warned close to my ear, his breath unnervingly warm against my skin. “Some of them stare back. You wouldn’t like the results when they do.”
He fell back, making a sound that might have been a grunt or a chuckle. I couldn’t determine if the advice was part of Cirrian’s many games or a true warning, but I heeded it as if it was the latter. My imagination got the best of me as I envisioned the mask holding trapped souls. I hated this house.
We passed built-in shelves covered by glass that displayed a collection of less ominous masks and books bound in variousmaterials with titles in gold and silver lettering in languages I couldn’t understand. It could have been Etruscan, but I hadn’t seen the language enough to easily recognize it. A few of the books were bound with scales that shimmered and appeared sentient. The house served as a reminder that Diehle was probably older than any vampire I’d dealt with and had accumulated a substantial amount of knowledge and power.
My attention was grabbed by a crystal made of unnatural hues—violet, chartreuse, and a blue so deep it seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it—that glowed with movement, then to a crystal decanter filled with swirling purple liquid moving in defiance of gravity. Diehle’s collection of magical oddities, peculiar spellcraft books, and unsettling acquisitions were likely amassed from the many deals he’d made. The thought left me uneasy, unsure of what he might demand from me in exchange for the fig.
I stopped at a trio of flutes that looked similar to the one William had given me, including the strange markings on it. I’d assumed it was my name in Malagasy. Every item he’d ever given me had my name inscribed on it.
“I see my modest collection appeals to you,” Diehle said, sidling up next to me. He studied me for a long moment. “What drew you to this?” he asked with an interest that exceeded casual curiosity.
“The beautiful craftsmanship,” I said. “These are the most beautiful of your amazing collections.” Any exchange of information with Diehle had to be on a need-to-know basis. I’d give him as little info as possible to use against me. “You’ve earned considerable favor to receive such unique gifts,” I said, hoping flattery would steer into a subject change.
He smiled, revealing teeth that were just a shade too white. Too perfect. “I have.” It seemed like a lie, but I took it at facevalue. A wicked shadow fell over his features. “Although many are the seized property of those who broke their deals with me.”
“Was it just their property you took?” I asked.Or their lives as well?
He offered me a small smile in lieu of a response and continued our plod toward the end of the hall where we passed a glass cabinet showcasing a collection of antique timepieces—pocket watches, hourglasses, sundials—all frozen at different times. Some ticked despite their stillness. Directing me to a door, he opened it to reveal a room that could only be described as a walking nightmare.
Diehle’s house was a series of carefully curated unhinged décor to warn you off any dealings with him. It spoke to a person’s level of desperation if they made any kind of deal with him after getting even a glimpse of his home past the living room.
The room was color-drenched gunmetal gray. Intricate moldings twisted into a serpentine pattern decorated the ceiling. Heavy, deep-gray curtains were drawn, and the only source of light was the sparse glow from a chandelier made of wrought iron twisted into mangled horns.
A loveseat, two austere chairs, a coffee table, and a dark rug on the hardwood floor comprised the minimal furnishings. Coarse-textured paper was on the table next to a wooden bowl holding three pens, their ends honed into unsettling fine lancet points.
The small bar in the corner held an assortment of liquor bottles, a goblet, and several clear vessels storing liquid of various colors that I was positive wasn’t liquor. The gothic nightmare of a room heightened my growing apprehension of dealing with a demon and death simultaneously.
Diehle lingered, regarding us with curiosity before easing from the room.
Waiting until I could no longer hear his footsteps, I whipped around to face Cirrian. “I’m not a toy that you get to play with at your leisure. Don’t manipulate situations for your own enjoyment.”
The edges of his lips lifted. He looked thoughtful as he ran a finger along his bottom lip, drawing my eye to the imaginary lines he made across it. He dropped his hand to his side and canted his head. “If I were to play with you, it wouldn’t be as a toy.” His look was wicked. “Although toys could be involved if that is to your liking.” Swallowing the distance between us, he leaned in and whispered, “Would it be to your liking, Kara?”
His velvety tone wrapped around my name in a way so sinful it invoked thoughts of what it would be like to have him say it in different circumstances. I shoved the images away and placed some physical distance between us. His flirting was nothing more than entertainment for him, and possibly a distraction.
“Nothing you’ve done has proven to be to my liking. I have no desire to see how disappointing you are in that capacity, either.”
“If I were less confident, that would indeed wound me, darling.” His responses were grating on the last fiber of my nerves. Everything about him was. His smug apathy fueled the tinderbox.
“Arranging a meeting with Diehle was not to your liking?” The playful note in his voice faded away and earnestness settled in.
My shoulders sagged into my sigh. “No, I needed to meet with him.”
“Then I haven’t disappointed you?”
Great, he managed not to be arrogant for a whole two seconds.
“No, I’m not disappointed with you arranging the meeting. But your intentions weren’t altruistic. This is a game for you, but not for me. Maybe I’m naïve for believing you could show somesemblance of humanity.” I shrugged. “I guess living a gazillion years has made you so numb to life’s brevity that you can’t grasp the gravity of this situation. I don’t know if it’s because you’re a masochistic asshole or if this is typical behavior for a shadow?—”
Moving with the fluidity and speed of rushing water, he was in front of me, pressing a finger firmly against my lips.
I swatted his hand away. He didn’t realize how close I was to chomping at the offending finger. “Oh, I forgot, you’re cosplaying as a demon now.”
“What you call cosplaying is me existing. I’m an observer in this world.” His eyes changed back to the odd color of the demon and the talons returned. Gently placing them under my chin, he tilted it until our eyes met. “I blend into this world to prevent being discovered.” His teeth elongated like the vampires and his focus dropped to my neck.
“That’s just a glamour,” I asserted, needing it to be a convincing illusion and not the product of his massive well of magic abilities.
