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I could only think of one thing to do.
I slapped him as hard as I could and, doing my best Cher impression, demanded, “Snap out of it.”
He shuddered, but his hand dropped from my wrist and his eyes shifted back to normal. Barely through the door and we were already in way over our heads. Story of my life.
I had to find Calliope and get what we needed so we could get out of here tout suite.
The Oracle in question was nestled in the lap of a young man who was eighteen, give or take a year. I knew she had a tendency to feed off teenagers, but I’d never witnessed her in the process of doing it. Calliope fed on two things: fresh blood and aura energy. Since there didn’t appear to be any open wounds on the entranced minor, I gathered she was stealing bits of his aura.
It was a hell of a thing to see, and it seemed to pull Desmond more into the here and now.
The kid’s head was haloed in a purplish light, and Calliope was drinking it in from his open mouth. Her aura was a radiant blend of color, different bits and pieces stolen from a variety of pizza-delivery boys and lost coffee-shop patrons. Extending out from her aura were two nearly transparent wings, more like a dragonfly’s than a butterfly’s, but unmistakably fairy in origin. I’d never seen any evidence of the Oracle’s fairy half before and had long believed it was manifested only in her immortality and general lack of concern for humans.
Apparently I was wrong.
“Should we be helping him?” Desmond asked, stirring Calliope from her feeding trance. Desmond got his first good look at the immortal’s famous face and whispered, “Holy shit.” Guess he was feeling a bit better.
“I know. It’s a little off-putting the first time.”
He looked around the room, his traveling gaze lighting upon the Andy Warhol portrait, then back to Calliope, who appeared none too pleased. “Wow.”
“Secret, what is this?”
“You’re the Oracle, Cal. Didn’t see this one coming?”
She rose from the stunned boy’s lap, and he stared straight ahead like the enthralled detectives back at the police station. Ignoring me, she fixed her attention on Desmond. “Give me your hands, wolf,” she demanded.
Guess she was allowed to be a little cranky when I showed up unannounced, breaking one of her cardinal rules and interrupting her midnight snack. Desmond looked at me for help, but I nodded. It wasn’t that long ago Calliope had my own hands in hers and told me a truth I wasn’t willing to hear. I glanced at my left palm, my right hand still occupied with the swords, and wondered if I was making a huge mistake by accepting Lucas’s proposal. The shortened lifeline stared back at me, giving me no answers, just mocking me with its presence.
“You must never come here again,” Calliope warned Desmond, but she wasn’t focused on him. Instead she was running her fingernails over the werewolf’s palms, occasionally sniffing or quirking a brow. “Interesting,” she said at last, dropping his hands. She turned from him to me and then back again. “Very interesting.” This time she smiled.
“What?” he asked.
“Never you mind,” she said, winking at him, all of her former grumpiness fading and her usual carefree, no-worries self shining back through, then she turned her full attention to me. “I told you you’d be back.”
“Who am I to argue with fate?”
“Fates,” she corrected. “And don’t. They never forget a slight.”
“I gather you don’t know why I’m here.”
“I was a little preoccupied.” She gave the dozing boy a mournful glance. “He tasted like grape Kool-Aid. Delightful.”
Instead of letting her wax poetic about her young visitor’s youthful flavor, I cut to the chase. “What do you know about a demon who can steal identities?”
She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “All demons can to some extent, though most do it by necessity.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Most demons can’t manifest on Earth without a host. Like how some diseases won’t function in the body until they attach to cells. Demons can’t maintain a presence
on earth without a carrier. And usually the carrier is the person who summoned them. A sorcerer or a witch in most cases.”
“How long does the…manifestation last?”
“Depends on the strength of the summoner. Some of the weaker ones will invoke a low-level demon for a half-hour, sort of like an adrenaline rush or a drug high. If a practitioner were to invoke a demon outside their capacity for control, though? The consequences could be disastrous.”
“Could a demon ever manifest as multiple humans?”
