“Dinner’s ready,” he said, as if I were the main course. He stepped away from me and held out his elbow. I didn’t move. “Come now,” he motioned. “I have to eat when it’s hot. If my food gets cold, I’m afraid I get into a terrible mood.” Get into a terrible mood? What was his mood before?
He took my hand, shoved it through the crook in his arm, and squeezed. Then he started walking, half dragging me behind him.
If I allowed him to drag me anywhere, it would seem like I’d surrendered. I had to at least pretend I was confident and could hold my own, even if I wasn’t so sure I could. In any competition or puzzle, the minute you give up, you lose.
I couldn’t afford to lose.
In a few steps, I was marching next to him, as if we were on our way to a date of my design.
We walked down the hall, passing the portraits of men I assumed were Campbell ancestors. I’d seen them before, at Anders’ birthday party, the stern looking people in stilted poses. Only this time, a fog hung about the tops of the pictures as if the painted men themselves were breathing. I shivered in spite of myself, and involuntarily drew closer to Graham. He seemed pleased that I was cooperating, and relaxed a little. He played the tour guide, pointing out artifacts on the walls and bragging about Campbell conquests.
We came to a large opening that led into a grand dining room. A carved crest over the doorway read, Ta er jerrey hoshiaght. It was Gaelic, and I found that for no good reason, like at Magnificat, I could read it.
“‘The last shall be first’?” I asked aloud.
“Well spotted,” Graham congratulated me. “It’s our motto.”
“Your motto is from the Bible?”
“Why not? It’s fitting, since someday we will have ultimate power over the earth and the heavens. And, yes, demons are well versed in your holy book. To us, it’s like reading The Art of War. Know thine enemy, as it were. The Bible is also a bit of our family history. Our father is in there quite a few times.”
“The father of lies, you mean? Satan?”
He smiled. “That’s the one.”
The dining room was completely illuminated by fire. Tall candles dripped in the middle of a long, polished table that was dwarfed by a fireplace so big, you could stand inside it next to the fire and not get burned. The flickering flames danced around everything shiny in the room, sending sparks of reflection bouncing off the cutlery, the glasses, the candlesticks, and the weapons on the walls.
As Graham pulled back a chair for me, I saw the room was rather ominously lined with dozens of swords, battle-axes, spears, and other death devices.
“Cheery,” I commented.
Graham pretended to look embarrassed. “Oh, yes, well, the dining room doubles as the trophy room, doesn’t it? It invigorates the appetite to see the spoils of victory. These are the weapons of some of our greatest kills. Not all of them, of course.” He pointed. “There’s the dagger we used to kill Julius Caesar. There’s one of the swords used to kill Thomas Becket. The axe used on John the Baptist—”
“I thought demons just dropped people to their deaths,” I cut in, to show I wasn’t impressed. Images of my mother, the girl from Culloden, and Jo came to my mind. I swallowed hard to keep my composure, but something wasn’t adding up.
“Usually, yes,” Graham replied. “But sometimes we do like a show. Feel free to look around while I fetch our first course.” He sauntered toward a single door on the far left.
Why did I think I could do this? The farther inside I got, the farther I was from ever getting back out. I needed to leave. Now.
As soon as Graham disappeared through the door, I turned and ran as fast as I could. I had only taken about five steps when I crossed back under the Campbell crest and smacked into Graham. He caught me as easily as if he were waiting for me, grabbed my wrists, and planted a kiss on my lips. I clamped my mouth shut, willing myself not to throw up, and waited for him to pull away. When he did, he smiled.
“I told you, darling, there’s no way out. No trap doors, no secret tunnels to save you this time. The only way to leave is if you die, I die, or you give me what I want. And I’m betting on the last one, aren’t you?”
He put his hands on my shoulders, turned me, and walked me back to my dining room chair. “Now I have to get our dinner before it goes cold. Don’t vex me again or I shall lose patience.” He disappeared back through the doorway.
I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, then grabbed a napkin and scrubbed it again. I couldn’t stand the thought of Graham touching me. Clearly, Graham would be there no matter which way I turned. I needed to get rid of him somehow. Permanently.
I looked around at the walls. Maybe I can use one of the weapons to kill him. I walked to the nearest dagger and yanked. It was bolted to the wall. I ran my fingers over it. Even if I could get it off, a simple knife would never kill a demon.
I circled the room, looking at the deadly wall decorations. There were more daggers and spears, but also maces, spiked clubs, and even a formidable-looking hammer. Directly across from the fireplace, I came upon a thick glass display case. It was fitted with an ornate frame and held the biggest sword I’d ever seen. The sword wasn’t just mounted behind glass, it was locked.
There were six tiny number dials at the bottom of the frame set—not coincidentally, I thought—to 666666. I spun a few of the numbers so I didn’t have to look at the creepy combination.
Suddenly, the sword caught on fire—only blue-white flames licked its blade, not red-orange ones. I jumped back, thinking I had somehow caused the ignition by disturbing the dials. Behind me, Graham laughed.
“You’ve found our flaming glory,” he said. “Our most valuable treasure. Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything. You couldn’t if you tried. I set it alight. You touching the knobs would hardly upset it.”
“So it’s not locked?”
“Oh, it is—we can’t have someone stealing it from us and trying to return it, or selling it to a museum or something. It’s priceless, really.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a celestial claymore. An Archangel’s sword. Very rare. I believe we’re the only family in Europe to have one. Quite a conquest. Now come, dinner is served.” He motioned toward the table, where blackened and bloody food was steaming and sizzling on various-sized plates.
I slowly walked back to my seat. The Campbell demons had actually killed an Archangel, and now they gloated over his sword. It seemed they were interested in more than just virginity . . .
“I thought incubus demons were supposed to steal, not kill,” I blurted out.
He slammed his hand on the table and screamed, “Incubus? Never call me that!”
I blanched. He twisted his jaw and smoothed the front of his shirt.