Saetan knew it was hypocritical to be angry with Dujae for coming here since Mephis, Andulvar, and Prothvar were all frequently in residence at the Hall since Jaenelle had returned with him, and they all had contact with the children. Even so, keeping the Dark Realm separated from the living Realms had always been a knife-edged dance, and he was uncomfortably aware that, even when living, he'd straddled that line. Now with all the children spending the summer at the Hall and the Dark Council pressuring him for an interview with Jaenelle, having demons coming into Kaeleer for an audience with him was beyond tolerance.
'Twice a month I hold an audience in Hell for any who wish to come before me,' he said coldly. 'You've no business here, Lord Dujae.'
Dujae stared at the floor, his long, thick fingers pulling at the brim of the shabby blue cap he held in his hands. 'I know, High Lord. Forgive me. I should not have come here, but I could not wait.'
Saetan could, and did.
Dujae crushed the cap in his hands. When he finally looked up, there was only despair in his eyes. 'I am so tired, High Lord. There is nothing left to paint, no one to teach, to share with. No purpose, no joy. There is nothing. Please, High Lord.'
Saetan closed his eyes, his anger forgotten. It happened sometimes. Hell was a cold, cruel, blasted Realm, but it
had its measure of kindness. It was a place where the Blood could make peace with their lives, a suspended time to take care of unfinished business. Some did nothing with that last gift, enduring weeks or years or centuries of tedium before finally fading into the Darkness. Others embraced that time to nurture talents they'd ignored while living or chosen to forsake in order to follow another road. Others, cut off before they were finished, continued as they had lived. Dujae had died in his prime, suddenly, unexpectedly. When he realized he could still paint, he had accepted being demon-dead with a joyous heart.
Now he was asking Saetan to release him from the dead flesh, to consume the last of his psychic strength and let him become a whisper in the Darkness.
It happened sometimes. Not often, thankfully, but sometimes the desire to continue faded before the psychic strength. When that happened, a demon came to him and asked for a swift release. And because he was the High Lord, he honored those requests.
Saetan opened his eyes and blinked hard to clear his vision. 'Dujae, are you sure?'
'I'm-'
Karla exploded into the room. 'That overbearing, overdressed, overscented sewer rat says my drawing is deficient!' Her eyes filled with tears as she flung a sketch pad onto Saetan's desk.
He vanished his glasses before the sketch pad landed on them.
'He's a grubby-minded prick,' Karla wailed. 'This isn't my life's work, this isn't my road. This is supposed to be fun!'
Saetan surged out of his chair. There had been so many tutors coming and going in the past three weeks he couldn't remember this particular ass's name, but if the man could reduce Karla to tears, he was probably shredding Kalush and Morghann, to say nothing of Jaenelle.
Dujae reached for the sketch pad.
'No!' Karla dove for the pad, too upset to remember she could vanish it before Dujae's hand closed around it.
Her forehead hit Dujae's arm. She stumbled backward
into Saetan. He wrapped his arms around her and ground his teeth, hating the anguish pouring out of her.
Dujae studied the sketch. He shook his head slowly. 'This is terrible,' he rumbled, flipping the pages back to earlier sketches. 'Obscene,' he roared. He shook the sketch pad at Karla. 'You call him sewer rat? You are too kind, Lady. He's a-'
'Dujae,' Saetan warned, first to prevent Dujae from possibly teaching Karla a pithy phrase she didn't already know and second because he'd felt Karla perk up.
Dujae looked at Saetan and took a deep breath. 'He is not a good instructor,' he finished lamely.
Karla sniffed. 'You don't think my drawings are good either.'
Dujae flipped to the last sketch. 'What is this?' he demanded, stabbing the paper with his finger.
Karla pulled her shoulders back and narrowed her eyes.
Saetan stifled a groan and held on tighter.
'It's a vase,' she said coolly.
'Vase. Bah!' Dujae ripped the page from the pad, crumpled it, and threw it over his shoulder. He pointed at Karla.
Did Dujae realize just how close his finger was to Karla's teeth?
'You are a Queen, yes?' Dujae continued to roar. 'You do this for fun when you are finished with the hard lessons of your Craft, yes? You do this because Ladies must learn many things to be good Queens, yes? You do not make polite, itsy-bitsy drawings.' He scrunched up his shoulders, scrunched up his face, tucked his wrist under his chin, and made tiny scratching motions. 'Bah!' He pulled Karla out of Saetan's arms, spun her around, engulfed her hand in his own, and began making large, circular motions. 'There is fire in your heart, yes? That fire needs charcoal and a large pad to express itself. Then when you want to draw a vase, you draw a vase.'
'B-but-' Karla stammered, watching her hand sweep round and round.
'That vase you try to draw, that is someone else's vase. Use it as a model. Models are good. Then you draw your
vase, the one that reveals the fire, the one that says I am a' witch, I am a Queen, I am-' Dujae finally hesitated.
'Karla,' she said meekly.
'karla!' Dujae roared.
'What's going on?' Jaenelle asked from the doorway. Gabrielle stood beside her.
Saetan settled on the corner of his desk and crossed his arms, resigned to whatever the little darlings were about to do.
Seeing the other girls, Dujae released Karla and stepped back.
'Do we have any charcoal?' Karla asked, wiping her eyes.
'We have some, but Lord Stuffy says charcoal is messy and not the proper medium for Ladies,' Gabrielle said tartly.
Saetan stared at Gabrielle and wondered what sort of idiot he'd hired as an art instructor.
Then he felt the blood rush out of his head. He gripped the desk, willing himself not to faint. He'd never fainted. This would be a very bad time to start.
With the other girls around them, he hadn't recognized the triangle of power. Karla, Gabrielle, Jaenelle. Three strong Queens who were also natural Black Widows.
'High Lord?'
Saetan blinked. He took a deep breath. His lungs still worked, sort of. Finally sure he wasn't going to keel over, he looked around. Dujae was the only one left in the room.
Dujae twisted his cap. 'I did not mean to interfere.'
'Too late now,' Saetan muttered.
Three blond heads appeared at the study door.
'Hey,' Karla said. 'We've got the charcoal and large sketch pads. Aren't you coming?'
Dujae continued to twist his cap. 'I cannot, Ladies.'
'Why not?' Jaenelle asked as the three of them entered the study.
Dujae looked beseechingly at Saetan, who refused to look at anything but the point of his shoe.
'I-I am Dujae, Lady.'
Jaenelle looked pleased. 'You painted
Dujae's eyes widened.
'Why can't you give us drawing lessons?' Gabrielle said.
'I am a demon.'
