“There you are, Oracle.”
The Kapres were tall, slender creatures with moss green skin that was completely hairless. They were also a passive race with few powers who often hired themselves as servants to more powerful demons.
This particular Kapre was a valet to Recise, a Zalez demon who was one of the most powerful of the Oracles. The position gave the prissy, overly formal twit a sense of superiority over other demons.
Fiercely reminding himself that he was posing as a mild-tempered Miera, Brandel turned, concentrating on holding his form.
“Not now,” he said, his tone carefully bland. “I’m busy.”
The creature sniffed, his black eyes filled with a malicious amusement.
“What you are is late.”
“Late?” Brandel frowned. “Late for what?”
“The Commission has been called into session.”
Brandel was forced to turn away, knowing his eyes would reveal his true nature as he struggled against a surge of fear.
“Why?” he asked, pretending to straighten the pillows arranged on a flat outcropping that served as a sofa.
Another sniff. “It’s not my place to understand the workings of the Oracles.”
He continued to arrange the pillows, barely containing the pulses of vibrations that would destroy the Kapre. He needed information. Unfortunately, the servant was the only one who could give it to him.
“Perhaps not, but I’m sure your position as Recise’s most loyal servant has given you access to highly sensitive information.” He forced himself to stroke the bloated ego of the Kapre.
He could almost feel the creature preening behind him. “Certainly I am trusted, but my master is quite discreet.”
Hmm. Clearly it was going to take more than flattery. Brandel reached behind a pillow to pull out a small bag filled with precious gems. He extracted a small emerald before turning to hold it in his open palm, pretending to study it in the candlelight.
“Not everyone is so discreet, are they?”
“True.” The servant licked his thin lips, his gaze locked on the emerald with blatant greed. “I did hear a rumor that the body of a dead fairy was found in the lower caves.”
No. It was impossible. He’d hidden the body where it couldn’t be found, hadn’t he?
“Was he very ill?” he asked with the pretense of innocence.
The servant shrugged with obvious indifference. “No one knows for certain what happened, but Siljar is determined to have a full investigation.”
Brandel forced his lips into a stiff smile. Meddlesome bitch.
“Of course she is.”
“Can you imagine any demon foolish enough to try to kill beneath the noses of the Oracles?” The Kapre inched forward, his gaze never wavering from the emerald. “The demon would have to be suicidal.”
“Obviously.” With a flick of his wrist, Brandel sent the emerald flying through the opening to land in the passage outside his chamber. “I must change before I can join the others. Please inform Siljar I will only be a few minutes.”
“Yes. Yes, of course.” The servant scrambled toward the small gem, unaware of the invisible barrier that Brandel placed over the opening.
Once assured there would be no further interruptions, Brandel headed into the back chamber allowing his shape to dissipate into mist as he considered his limited options.
He could rush and try to join the Commission with the excuse he’d been out for a stroll. Or even remain in these private rooms and send word that he was sick and unable to attend the council.
But neither would halt Siljar’s quest to discover who killed the fairy.
If he remained, there was a very good chance he was going to end up in the Oracles’ secret dungeons.
A place where demons went and never left.
Ever.
“Damn,” he muttered, knowing he had no choice but to disappear.
Raith would be furious to lose their eyes and ears on the Commission. It’d always been essential to have early warning if the Chatri decided to make a return to the world. And, of course, to halt if the fey approached the Oracles with complaints their people were disappearing.
Still, it was easy for Raith to toss out commands when he remained in the safety of their world.
It was Brandel who was forced to take all the risks, with very few rewards.
Well, no more, he abruptly decided.
He was leaving behind the Oracles and tracking down the witch.
Once he had the box, no one would be giving him orders.
Styx stood at the back of the large cave that had once been the receiving room for the previous Anasso.
Not much had changed in the past months. At least not as far as the scenery.
The dark stone of the floor and walls had been polished smooth over the ages and a shallow stream of water ran through the back of the cavern. Torches were set in brackets along the walls that shimmered in the crystals that had been exposed in the lofted ceiling.
The atmosphere, however . . . yeah, that couldn’t be more different.
All hints of the opulent gold and crimson furnishings had been stripped away and replaced with a twelve-foot marble table that consumed the center of the room with twelve chairs set at precise distances apart. And gone were the barely civilized vampires with their raucous parties and bloody brawls.
In their place were a variety of subdued demons attired in matching white robes who settled in their seats with a silent dignity.
With a wry smile, Styx waited for Siljar to step to his side, her expression unreadable as they watched the last Oracle take his seat.
“Is this all of them?” Styx asked.
“All but one.”
Ah. Success.
“Who is missing?”
“Brandel.”
He turned toward the tiny demon, making certain his voice was pitched low enough to keep from carrying.
“You don’t sound particularly surprised.”
Her expression remained aloof, but Styx could sense her growing concern. He grimaced.
The thought of an Oracle going rogue was enough to give the entire demon world nightmares.
“I have been . . .” She searched for the proper word. “Troubled by him since our arrival to the caves.”
“Anything in particular?”
“I sense there is more to him than meets the eye.”
Well that was predictably ambiguous.
God forbid an Oracle just say what she was thinking.
“A secret he’s hiding?” he prompted.
She shook her head. “It’s more than a secret.”
“Then what?”
“I think his very identity is a lie.”
Styx blinked, then blinked again.
It was one thing for a human to alter his identity. A new hair color, a pair of colored contacts, and a change of name and—presto—a new person.
But a demon . . .
They would have to modify themselves on a cellular level, or have their essence scrubbed like Gauis, to fool other demons.
Even then he couldn’t imagine an Oracle being deceived for long.
“I don’t understand,” he muttered.
“Neither do I,” Siljar slowly admitted, her eyes shifting from the gathered Commission to meet his confused gaze. “But I do know one thing.”
“What?”
“Your brother Roke is in danger.”
The warning was so unexpected that it took Styx a beat to wrap his head around it.
“Roke?” He was instantly in full Anasso mode. No one screwed with one of his brothers. Not unless they wanted to deal with him. “What does he have to do with this?”
Siljar paused, as if considering her words. “As you are perhaps aware, I am in tune with the universe.”
He shrugged, not giving a shit what she was babbling about. He just wanted the info on Roke.