Hunt the Darkness (Guardians of Eternity #11)(17)
Author: Alexandra Ivy

“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?”

He dropped his tail back to the ground. He needed champagne to get a true gloss.

“The clan chief of Nevada was searching for his missing mate.”

“The witch?”

“Oui.” Levet heaved a sigh. “Lovely Sally. I hope that she can find the truth of her past. I sense it might be important.”

“As do I,” Siljar said, so softly Levet barely caught the words.

“Levet.” The female voice came without warning, and Levet flinched as Yannah stormed into the room, her long braid swaying and her white robe brushing the ground. “What are you doing here?”

Levet scowled, caught between the familiar sense of delight and annoyance as the female halted directly in front of him.

“How can you ask such a ridiculous question?” he demanded. “You are the one who brought me here.”

The black, oblong eyes flashed with fire. “I most certainly did not.”

Levet waved his hands in the air, his tail twitching. “Then how do you explain the fact that I was in one place and then . . . poof . . . I was in another?”

“Mother,” Yannah muttered and they both turned to discover Siljar had silently slipped away. “She must have brought you.”

Perversely, Levet didn’t care why Siljar would have gone to the effort to bring him to the caves. He was too annoyed by the fact it hadn’t been Yannah.

If he was going to be zapped and poofed and yanked from one location to another, he should at least be rewarded with a kiss and a snuggle.

Where was his snuggle?

“Why do you keep running from me?” he abruptly asked the question that had been bothering him for weeks.

Yannah tilted her tiny nose in the air. “I am not the only one to run.”

Oh.

Busted.

Levet grimaced. Perhaps she had a point. He had traveled to Paris without explaining where or why he was going.

“I had to confront my past,” he said, defending his hasty escape from her lair. “It was a spiritual journey.”

Yannah wasn’t impressed. “And when you returned you took every opportunity to be apart from me.”