“Now, see, I knew I liked you, Geoff.” Hector’s voice brought my attention back to him.
“Thank you,” I said, a little surprised. Some of my earlier thoughts about him returned, and I experienced more than a twinge of guilt. “I appreciate you welcoming me into your . . .” Words failed to describe the space.
With a chuckle, he said, “Tamara refers to it as my armory. Her sense of humor isn’t shared by all, but she’s also not entirely wrong.”
Before he could explain, Lilac trotted up the last few steps. “We did it! We got the meeting changed. It’s just after dark now.” Lilac’s bubbling update screeched to a halt. “Heavens above and hell below,” she whispered, her eyes huge as she took in Hector’s sanctuary. Then her gaze landed on him and she frowned. “Oh, sorry—”
Hector held up a hand. He waited to speak until Sylvie and Tamara joined us. Sylvie didn’t have much of a chance to take in her surroundings before he began. “There seems to be some misunderstanding as to my exact nature.” He glanced at Tamara, but there was no harsh judgment there. He appeared amused more than anything else. “Am I from hell? Am I the son of Satan?”
“Oh, thank the goddess,” Lilac said. “I’ve been dying to ask.”
“Lilac!” Sylvie said.
“What? We have time now. If I’m going into battle with a”—she looked around the room—“with a scholarly curator from hell, I want all the details first.”
Hector’s baritone laugh rumbled through the room. Once his amusement died down, he said, “The existence of heaven or of hell haven’t been conclusively proven or disproven, so we’ll say I’m ambiguous on the question, but I most certainly did not originate from either hypothetical place. And while my father and I have a . . . difficult relationship, I’m certain he’s not Satan.”
Lilac cocked her head. “But then, how are you a demon?”
“Demon is a catch-all term for a group or beings with specific types of powers.” He sounded much like a father speaking to a young child: primarily patient, but with a touch of indulgent amusement and a smidge of condescension.
Not having had dealings with demons in the past, I wasn’t certain if inquiring as to one’s powers was considered indelicate.
Lilac didn’t share my uncertainty. “So, what cool stuff can you do? I’m a medium, oh, and as of today, I can do psychometry. I think. So?”
As if revealing her own skills obligated the man to share . . .
But then Hector flashed his charming grin.
There comes a point when something is so obviously true, it’s no longer an expression of subjective opinion. That point was now, and the subjective truth was that Hector was one handsome devil. Hopefully, he was too busy with Tamara to have any aspirations in Sylvie’s direction.
Not that I had aspirations in Sylvie’s direction.
Not exactly.
“I’m a master of the cursed object.” Hector dropped that bomb like it wasn’t one at all.
“What?” I snapped, then felt my neck warm. “Sorry. That sounds like a handy skill.”
“Very.” He let me dangle a bit, then said, “But not in the way you mean.”
“Do you want me to punch you?” Tamara asked Hector. To the rest of us, she said, “Cursed is a term of art. It simply means the ability to imbue objects with self-sustaining magic.”
My brain twisted that around to fit the man we’d met. “So one could use cursing as a force for good.”
“Exactly,” Hector replied.
Cursing for the greater good. An interesting concept, certainly.
Lilac nodded with a satisfied look on her face. “Now that’s cool.”
“And a PR problem,” I muttered as I eyed the shelf of books nearest us. I desperately wanted to start digging through some of these books he had collected. “Demons, curses . . . a PR nightmare,” I mumbled.
The walls practically shook with the sound of Hector’s laughter. Since I’d been drawn in by the room’s attractions and hadn’t been entirely minding my words, I was caught off guard by Hector’s response.
When his laughter died down, Tamara asked, “Everyone passed?”
Hector didn’t respond directly, not that I could see, so I hoped the answer was yes. I still couldn’t shake that “moody during daylight hours” warning Tamara had issued when she’d first mentioned Hector.
Rubbing his hands together, Hector said, “Let’s talk cursed objects and rescue plans.”
Turned out Hector’s magic was much stronger at night, which meant the tools of his trade—objects cursed by him and managed by him in his library-armory—also worked much better at night.
My curiosity was piqued as to his other talents, but he wasn’t saying, I wasn’t asking, and even Lilac was silent on the subject.
It took us twenty minutes to decide on the simplest course of action: trade the rock for the cat, and if that didn’t work, then run like hell with Clarence in tow. Basically. It was a little more complex than that, especially the recovering Clarence part.
In the remaining time, we—meaning Sylvie—had to pry whatever was inside that rock loose.
Two hours later and Sylvie had nothing but a headache. I still sat across the kitchen table from her. Lilac was checking in regularly, but was primarily consumed with the “toys” in Hector’s library. She’d been admonished to look, not touch, and had only agreed when Hector told her he’d know if she got overly inquisitive. Tamara had left to retrieve lunch fixings, since Hector hadn’t been expecting company.
Hector had remained to help Sylvie crack the rock’s code. He handed her a second can of sparkling water and a bottle of painkillers.
“You’re sure you can’t just do this yourself? You know, use a little brute magical force and pry the thing open?” She popped two pills into her mouth and chased them with fizzy water.
Hector shook his head. “I’m surprised your grandmother didn’t leave instructions. You’re certain she never discussed anything that might have been a hidden message? Something to do with unlocking or revealing, maybe?”
Sylvie shrugged then rubbed her temple. “What about
