Brushing the dust from his wings, Levet wrinkled his snout, considering the possibility of a long vacation in the Bahamas.
Sand, palm trees, and drinks with little umbrellas in them.
What more could a gargoyle want?
And perhaps in a few centuries Roke would have forgotten all about his silly motorcycle.
It was the scent of brimstone that yanked him out of his broodings, making his tail twitch in warning.
“Yannah?” He searched the darkness, confused when there was no sign of the tiny demon who kept his life in constant chaos. Then, without warning, he felt a familiar tug that started deep inside him spreading outward until he was consumed by a sudden darkness. “Eek.”
Only seconds passed, but Levet knew he was being jerked through space. How often had Yannah taken his hand and smiled sweetly before zapping them halfway around the world? And this felt exactly the same, although this was the first time he’d been alone when he was being zapped.
It only made the terrifying experience worse.
Coming to a gut-wrenching halt, the darkness abruptly parted and Levet spread his wings as he struggled to keep his balance.
Mon dieu, he would never get used to that.
Never.
Waiting for the dizziness to clear, Levet glanced around the large cave.
There wasn’t much to see, but his gargoyle senses could detect the vast spiderweb of caverns beneath his feet and catch the scent of river water that wafted on the breeze.
Ah. He recognized his surroundings.
This was the hidden lair south of Chicago and where the Oracles were staying.
Which, of course, made sense.
Yannah’s mother, Siljar, was a piggly-wiggly, no wait . . . was it big-wit? Wig? Bah. Whatever. Siljar was an Oracle who carried a lot of power on the Commission and Yannah was her most trusted ally. The two would never admit that Yannah carried out secret duties for her mother, but Levet was not entirely blind.
Yannah would abruptly travel to strange places and skulk about areas he considered far too dangerous, then without warning would be halfway around the world, feverishly digging through ancient manuscripts.
Not that she ever discussed her mysterious duties with him.
Non.
He was just the male she wished to keep tucked in her private lair with his wings firmly clipped.
Scowling at the thought, Levet was preparing to go in search of the aggravating female when a demon stepped into the cave from a hidden entrance.
The small man was swathed in a heavy robe that covered him from head to toe, making him look like a monk with his bulge of a belly, his round face, and his nearly bald head.
But his pale, translucent skin marked him as a Miera demon.
“You,” Levet called, making a sound of impatience when the creature pretended he hadn’t heard him. “Sacrebleu. Are you deaf?”
The male Miera came to a reluctant halt, his expression carefully bland.
“Are you speaking to me?”
“But of course.” Levet glanced around the empty cavern. “There is no one else about.”
There was a beat before the man managed a smile. “Have you come to petition the Oracles?”
“Moi?” Levet’s wings fluttered in disbelief. “Do you not recognize me?”
“Should I?”
“But of course. I am, Levet, recently reinstalled member of the Gargoyle Guild and savior of the world.”
The man offered a stiff bow. “And I am Brandel, Historian for the Commission.”
“You are an Oracle?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. . . .” Had Levet been a lesser demon he might have been frightened by the information. There were Oracles who would destroy entire villages for an imagined insult. Levet, however, had promised himself that he would never be intimidated again. “Very well. I have been brought here by Yannah. I wish to see her.”
“Then I suggest you locate a servant to alert her to your presence.”
The man turned, as if he were intent on escaping, but Levet was waddling forward to block his path.
“Wait,” he said, leaning forward, sniffing the thick robe. “What is that scent?”
A strange humming filled the air as the demon shoved Levet away with a surprising strength.
“Stay back.”
Levet frowned, recognizing that precise scent of salty air that clung to the fabric of Brandel’s robe.
“Have you been to Canada?”
The humming intensified, creating a vibration in the air. Levet stepped back in concern.
He didn’t know what was causing the peculiar hum, but he didn’t think it could be a good thing.
Not when it was making his insides feel . . . icky.
Then as swiftly as the humming had started it disappeared and Levet was distracted by the scent of brimstone.
Spinning on his heel, he expected to see Yannah standing in the arched entrance that led deeper into the caves. Instead he discovered a female demon who was almost her exact double.
The same short stature and slender body covered by a white robe. The same oblong eyes that were a solid black, the same delicate features and sharp, pointed teeth. They even had the same long braid that nearly brushed the floor, although Yannah’s was a pale blond, while her mother’s was gray.
Siljar also carried with her the sort of power that blasted through the air like a freight train.
Yannah didn’t yet possess her mother’s strength.
Dieu merci.
“Is there a problem?” the tiny demon demanded, her black gaze focused on Brandel.
“Siljar.” The Miera lowered his head in a respectful nod. “This . . . creature is searching for your daughter.”
Siljar’s gaze never wavered.
“Are you just returning?”
Brandel kept his head lowered, his fingers nervously plucking at the hem of his sleeve.
“Yes, I heard a rumor that a rare manuscript had been discovered in a harpy nest near Singapore,” he explained in timid tones. “Unfortunately it turned out to be a fake.”
Levet stepped forward. The demon was lying. He’d bet his favorite Fabergé egg.
“But . . .”
“You must be tired,” Siljar gently overrode his words.
Brandel lifted his head high enough to give a relieved smile.
“Exhausted, actually. If you will excuse me?”
“Certainly.”
Siljar stepped to the side so Brandel could scurry from the cavern, her expression distracted.
Levet clicked his tongue. “I may not be an Oracle, but I do have a highly sensitive nose.” He turned his head to one side, allowing Siljar to admire his snout. “In profile I am told it resembles Brad Pitt’s.”
“Ah, so I see.” Siljar cleared her throat. “And what did your magnificent nose tell you?”
Levet turned back to meet the Oracle’s steady gaze. “Brandel the Historian has not been to Singapore.”
“No?”
“Non.”
“Then where has he been?”
“Canada.”
A slow blink was Siljar’s only reaction to the information one of her fellow Oracles was liar-liar-pants-on-fire.
“Interesting.”
Levet shrugged. Eh bien. If she did not care, then neither did he.
“And odd,” he muttered.
“Why do you say that?”
“I, myself, was in Canada before I was so rudely transported here.”
“Indeed.” Siljar smiled. “Why were you in Canada?”
Now she was interested?
He grabbed his tail to polish the tip, attempting to appear modest.
A difficult task for a gargoyle as formidable as himself.
“As usual the vampires were in need of my considerable skills.”
She nodded, naturally eager to learn of his bravery. “Any skills in particular?”