Summoning the Night (Arcadia Bell #2)(84)

Now that we were here, the golden thread was much tighter, and the angle wasn’t as level as I thought it should be. I dashed to the side of the house. Lon unlatched the gate. The hinges squeaked when it he pushed it open. We craned our necks, looking upward in the night sky, searching the trees. No, not there. The roof.

We crept inside the fenced backyard and skirted the house. Streetlights provided little illumination here, casting lacy shadows on the damp grass. At the back of the home, where it was even darker, Ms. Forsythe’s possessed body stood on the edge of the sloping tent-covered roof, one broken arm wrapped around Jupe’s shoulders. Blood soaked through her poncho and stained Jupe’s shirt. Her free hand—the one that wasn’t damaged in the free fall onto my lawn—was clamped over Jupe’s mouth.

A single loud sob escaped my mouth when I saw him.

He was conscious, standing on his own, to my great relief. And a bright golden light shone from beneath the waist of his jeans, just over his hip. My golden line of magick was connected there. He squirmed and tried to break away from the demon, who bent to speak into Jupe’s ear. Whatever was said, it stilled him.

I held up my finger and showed Jupe the golden thread, smiling tightly. I tried hard to sound braver than I felt. “You left bread crumbs, Motormouth.”

Lon raised his shotgun. The ghoulish specter of Ms. Forsythe shifted position, just slightly. Enough to show us that she could snap Jupe’s neck. “Please lower your weapon,” the demon said in the teacher’s voice. It didn’t sound quite right. The accent was rough and stilted. But it was English, not the Latin that he’d spoken to Merrin inside the Silent Temple.

Lon hesitated, considering for a moment, then lowered the gun. He spoke to the demon. “That’s my son. I know you want him for the ritual. If I bring you a substitute, will you release him?”

Lon’s attempt at negotiation surprised me, but I didn’t comment.

“I am not able to make such allowances,” the demon said stiffly.

“He’s afraid,” Lon whispered against my hair.

At first I thought he meant Jupe, and wondered why he was telling me something I’d already guessed, but he meant the demon—Chora was afraid. He certainly hadn’t seemed frightened when he punched Jupe’s lights out in my bedroom and spirited him away into the darkening sky. But I had to trust that Lon could hear the demon’s emotions. I just didn’t know what to do about it. Maybe the neighbors were home. Surely someone down the block had heard Lon’s shotgun blasts. I quickly scanned the house and looked for a way to climb, but the striped tent made that idea an impossibility. Nothing to hold on to.

Lon whispered to me again. “Can hear the children, too. Inside the house.”

Before I could process any small bit of comfort over that good news, the gate creaked. Merrin’s silhouette limped our way. He was panting and sweating. Running down the block must have been a feat for him. I shifted my position, moving into a shadow with the golden thread. Two steps and it wasn’t glinting quite so brightly in the dim light that spilled over the roof. If Merrin hadn’t noticed it, I wanted to keep it that way.

“I’d advise you to drop that gun if you value your boy’s life. The duke is stronger than he appears.” Merrin might be gasping for breath and limping in pain, but his mood was giddy.

“Why would he kill someone he needs for his damned Buné spell?” Lon asked.

“I didn’t say the duke would kill him.”

“Do not speak for me, mage.”

I looked toward the roof, surprised to hear the demon again. Surprised to hear a sharp note of animosity under Ms. Forsythe’s strained tones. Then I remembered how the demon had spoken to Merrin in the Silent Temple. This was not a happy partnership.

Merrin ignored him and spoke to Lon. “I’m guessing that the boy could withstand an incredible amount of pain and remain alive for our purposes. Put the gun down, if you would, please.”

Lon measured his options and tossed the shotgun on the grass. Merrin smiled and canted his head politely. Then he held out his arm, revealing something round and shiny in his grip—the metal instrument he’d used to throw Heka against us in the temple, maybe, or some other magic weapon. He stepped toward us and hastily retrieved the gun and with a grunt, heaved it over the fence into the neighbor’s yard. Lon groaned under his breath.

I knew he was probably panicking about losing his weapon, but it didn’t matter to me—I was trying to keep my eyes on both Merrin and Jupe while I considered my options. How could I use the Moonchild ability to bind the demon inside Ms. Forsythe’s body without binding Jupe along with him? “How much of what you told us was true?” I asked the magician, stalling for time.

Merrin shuffled back a few steps and pocketed the metal disk as he glanced at the roof. “In the restaurant? Almost everything. It was a close approximation of the truth, anyway. I’m betting that you’ve already guessed the white lies.”

“You’re the one who killed Bishop,” I said. “Not the demon.”

“First Bishop stole the key to the capsa, then he took a photo of me hiding it.”

“The silver tube at the putt-putt course?”

“Bishop was planning to blackmail me with that photo. He was running to Dare and Butler, trying to get me stripped of my Hellfire paycheck. Chora had taught me some new magical skills, so I practiced them. You found the body at the cannery, so you already know how well they worked.”