Page 98 of Demon Touched

I’ve never been to my aunt’s house—have only ever laid eyes on her once—but I’m not operating totally blind. Rowan gave me the address for the letter I wrote. And Filippa told me a handful of childhood stories about growing up in Luminis—how she’d play near the fountain on her street or salute the statue of her great-great-great grandmother in the drive whenever she came home. Once we’re in the neighborhood, it’s not hard to locate what we’re looking for.

“You’re sure about this?” Syrus says, adjusting Viz, still limp, in his arms.

“No,” I say. “But I’m trusting my gut.”

He looks unimpressed. “You’ve been in Aradis too long.”

“All right, it’s not just that,” I protest. “I saved her daughter’s life. That counts for something, especially with the ephilium.”

He makes no argument beyond that. We both know that asking for help is risky, but staying out in the open would be suicide.

My Aunt Ghola’s house is unsurprisingly grand, with a high wall around the driveway that shields us from the street as we wait for someone to answer the door. Syrus hangs back, out of immediate view, as I hover on the doorstep while a confused servant fetches my aunt.

“Leah,” Ghola says when she arrives in the doorway. “I didn’t expect⁠—”

She stops, eyes widening. “But what happened to your wings?”

“I had to hide them. I’m on the run because your father attacked the Seraph Seat and tried to kill the seraphim,” I say. “Now the guards are looking for me. They think I was involved somehow.”

This part I need to say up front. I won’t trick Ghola into letting us into her home without all the facts.

She clutches the doorway for support, but she doesn’t look surprised, even if her complexion goes gray in the same way Filippa’s did the day of the first trial.

“You knew what he was planning,” I say.

“I didn’t.” She huffs out a heavy breath. “I knew he was up to something. But I thought it was his usual scheming. I didn’t think he would actually…Ancestors,” she mutters, her face tightening with anger. “What a damned fool. He’s ruined us all.”

“I need your help. In fact, we need your help.”

I turn to beckon to Syrus, who emerges with Viz slung over his shoulder.

Ghola squints, baffled by the sudden appearance of the two humans. Then she sees the green of the blood on Viz’s head, and when she looks to Syrus, horrified recognition slips into her expression.

“What are they doing here?” she demands, taking a step back like she might slam the door in our faces.

“It’s a long story,” I say. I rehearsed a bit of this on our way here, but it was difficult to plan when I didn’t know how she’d react. Now, in the moment, I find myself opting for the simple and frank approach. “He came to Aradis for me.”

She stares at me. “You’re in league with Infernum? And you come to my house? Leave.” She waves her hand violently at me. “Get out of here now.”

Syrus clears his throat.

“Lady Ghola, believe me, I’m not interested in attacking Aradis. But your father was. In fact, his impromptu visit to the Seraph Seat this afternoon managed to nearly kill my friend here, and it put a target on both Leah’s and my back. So really the least you could do is invite us inside before the whole street hears you’ve had a demon lord come calling on you. Let’s not make things ugly.”

The red ring around his irises flashes a slightly more dangerous shade.

My aunt wavers under the intensity of his stare, and I apply a little more pressure.

“What about family?” I demand. “What about honor? I saved Filippa’s life; doesn’t that earn me some loyalty?”

Ghola closes her eyes, the feathers on her wings ruffling briefly, and I guess she’s trying to use a bit of foresight to decide what to do.

“All right,” she says a moment later, sounding defeated. “Get inside. I’ll make sure the servants don’t see.”

I get brief glimpses of the interior as she ushers us through a hall and into a side room. The house is big, but it’s not as grand as Ustarne’s, nor is it decorated as lavishly as the academy. It’s more homey, and I can picture Filippa here.

After checking the coast is clear, Ghola leads us down some steps into a cellar. It’s clean and warm at least, with a low table among the wine racks and storage boxes for us to lay Viz down on. Once she’s deposited us there, Ghola hesitates by the door, looking at me.

“My father, is he…” She stops, unable to finish the question.