Page 45 of Demon Touched

“You could’ve taken me then,” he says, the corners of his mouth pulled down, his eyes not quite meeting mine.

“But you tripped,” I point out.

“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck, staring down at the patch of earth that felled him. “I don’t know what on, though. Maybe my own feet?”

He can’t quite believe it, and if I wasn’t so shaken myself, I’d have to stifle a laugh. Of course perfect golden boy Rowan can’t imagine getting wrongfooted.

Even though I know he’s not in my head at the moment, the thought sounds like something Syrus might murmur, snarky and seductive. And that in turn makes me face up to a nagging feeling.

I think maybe I tripped Rowan up.

“Hey, if you hadn’t been kind enough to trip, I would’ve been done for,” I say, my voice sounding overly cheerful even to myself. “Honestly, I’m totally exhausted—you would’ve destroyed me.”

Rowan does look a little happier after that, and it means I can use my weariness as an excuse to finish our training for the day. I hurry off to my room in the nest, eager to be alone as I replay that moment in the fight over and over in my mind’s eye.

I stopped him moving. I’m sure of it. It was a tiny, split-second thing, just enough for him to lose his footing, and yet it was like I’d glued his feet to the ground just by willing it.

Like I’d possessed him.

For an instant. That’s all. And it was so fast and instinctive I don’t know if I’d be able to do it again. But still…

The obvious question is how. Unfortunately, I already have a pretty solid theory. As I unbuckle Swiftwing from my belt and settle onto my bed, I turn that theory over to examine it more closely.

I used to not be able to understand Cyrax until being linked to Syrus gave me the power. What if that wasn’t all it gave me? The idea feels right somehow, like that power’s still prickling over my skin—so different to the buzzing of my ephilium magic.

Feeling a little ridiculous, I lift my hand and stretch it open.

After I started growing wings, I didn’t think anything about my changing body and developing magic could surprise me. But as I focus on conjuring up that prickling sensation again, letting my instinct guide me, I’m proven very wrong. Because this time lightning doesn’t crackle across my fingers.

Instead, a thin plume of shadow curls from my palm—black as a demon wing, silent and graceful—without anything from Infernum to channel it through and without even a whisper of Syrus in my head.

Chapter 14

Leah

In keeping with the Lord of Malice’s terrible timing, Syrus doesn’t visit me that night.

Of course he’d disappear just when I need to speak to him, and the annoying thing is I can’t even be annoyed because I’m too worried. He said he would check on me every evening, and I know he meant it—know it without a shadow of doubt, despite how hard it is to believe other things he says, like when he talks about his good reasons that he absolutely cannot divulge.

You’re going to let that go, remember? It doesn’t matter to you anymore.

I might have gained some interesting new skills lately, but I’ve definitely gotten worse at lying to myself. And I would be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about Syrus. Last time the two of us weren’t able to get in contact…it didn’t go well.

So maybe I should reach out to him, even if just to yell at him for flaking out on me.

He described it once as like a hand reaching for him across the realms, a tug on his consciousness, inviting him into mine. For a few tense moments, I’m afraid I’ll get no response, then there’s a little mental touch back. A nudge—nothing more. Syrus doesn’t then slip into my mind, and after that brief reply, I’m left alone with my thoughts again.

I’m relieved more than I’d like to admit. The nudge must mean he’s busy, but okay, right? He wants me to know he feels me but can’t possess me right now.

Except…he’s almost always responded before. And the only time he didn’t, he was blocked by Ajax’s magic and fighting a bloody battle against Kaliban’s soldiers.

He’s not in that kind of trouble now, is he? I hate that I don’t know, the temporary relief of his reply giving way to fresh anxiety.

To distract myself, I spend the next day testing those new skills when I can, hiding in my bedroom to call up wisps of shadow, then trying to direct them around the room. It’s a risky game—if anyone found out, I have no doubt I’d immediately be executed as a demon spy—but I have to be sure it’s not some strange, fleeting phenomenon. Especially as I can’t test the foot-sticking thing again without it looking very suspicious—or seriously damaging Rowan’s self-esteem.

And of course, I needed to check I could still conjure my lightning. It’s a fleeting but intense anxiety, the thought that the demon shadow might somehow have overtaken my innate, blood-given magic. Luckily, I can easily put it to rest, watching the bright, white energy crackle between my fingertips moments after they were shrouded in shadow.

But one fear put to rest doesn’t tackle the others, like me wondering where Syrus is, or what it means if this isn’t the last of random demon traits to crop up out of nowhere. What if the changes keep coming, and next time I can’t hide it behind a moment of clumsiness like I did with Rowan?