Chapter Twenty-Four

“PSST.”

Storm nudged further into the pillow and duvet, warm and cosy. He’d fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning in Rowan’s arms, with his fingers trailing patterns over Storm’s neck. He wasn’t ready to wake up and remember all the chaos and bad shit that awaited them in real life.

“Storm.”

Storm turned onto his side and reached for Rowan, to draw him closer and suggest they stay in bed. A kiss to his lips distracted him, prompting him to pop his eyes open and raise an eyebrow at Rowan.

“Morning.” Rowan looked happy, flashing a beaming smile, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Storm was tempted to say something about how he’d feign sleeping more often if Rowan insisted on waking him like that, but that thought could only lead to trouble.

“Is there a reason you’re waking me at the ass crack of dawn?” he asked, wishing he’d had warning of the early morning. They’d talked late into the night, discussing what he’d seen in his dad’s memories, then moved onto Donald’s situation when Yael returned from wherever they’d disappeared to. Yael had finally left them to sleep at close to two in the morning. According to the clock that was only six hours sleep, which was not nearly enough.

“Don’t be dramatic,” Rowan replied, rolling his eyes as he tossed the covers aside to let the morning chill in. “Come on. There’s something I want to show you.” He bounded from the bed, crossed to the dresser and pulled a winter jumper from the middle drawer.

Storm couldn’t help but notice that he was fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Realising how important this must be for Rowan to insist, he left the warm bed, slipped into the bathroom to get the basics out of the way and allowed Rowan to drag him from the room still dressed in the joggers and T-shirt he’d fallen asleep in.

To his surprise, Rowan led the way downstairs to the main house. “I thought we were going to see Donald?” He’d been sure something had happened that Rowan wanted to share with him, something related to what they had intended to do today.

“We will. There’s something you have to see first,” he said, glancing briefly over his shoulder before continuing down the extensive staircase. At the bottom, he turned left and headed for the back end of the house that Storm had never been in and passed through the kitchen into what looked to be a conservatory.

Cesa Copry was sitting at a small breakfast table with a cup of tea and an open box.

Storm was tempted to put the brakes on since they’d been keeping his presence in the house a secret, but Rowan was determined, and he didn’t see a way to stop him without bursting this bubble of excitement.

Cesa turned to Rowan with a warm smile, lifting a photograph from the box. “This was when your first tooth fell out,” he said, shaking his head with undisguised fondness as he handed the photograph to Rowan. He was still a shadow of the man who had loved Asher, but as far from the walking zombie Ithen had turned him into as Storm had ever seen him.

Rowan practically glowed at the sight of his father, sparing a glance at the photograph only to laugh. The man muttered something about a photograph of Rowan using magic for the first time as he rummaged through the box of memories, and Storm found himself the focus of Rowan’s warm, steady gaze.

“You did this,” he whispered, squeezing Storm’s hand as a smile wavered on his lips, equal parts sadness, joy and relief. “Whatever you said last night… I have my dad back. I don’t care how long this lasts. There will never be the words to thank you, but I needed you to see that you were able to do this.” Heaving a happy sigh, Rowan leaned against Storm’s shoulder and watched his father during this rare moment of lucidity.

He’d never expected this. What he’d said to Cesa last night had come instinctively from a need to help the man heal from a pain that would never leave him. As much as Storm wanted to tell Rowan that this was his father’s doing—the magic of the love between Cesa and Asher that refused to fade—this lucid moment may not last. Why burst his bubble when reality would come crashing down soon enough?

He watched Cesa mutter about the picture he was searching for, sorting through an entire shoebox of stacked photographs. The man was happy for the first time in years; aware, sane and completely in control of his thoughts and movements. He was the dad Rowan deserved and should have had all these years.

“Why don’t you stay here today?” Storm suggested, not needing to think through the consequences of being without Rowan. What they had to do for Donald was important, and though Rowan stared as though Storm had told him he wasn’t needed, that wasn’t what he meant. “Spend time with your dad while he’s like this. Like you say, we don’t know how long this will last, but you need to be here. This might be your only chance to see him like this until we break the curse.” Rowan smiled faintly and turned his focus to Cesa, who was smiling over a photograph. “I can handle Donald, and I’ll have Yael and Kyrie with me if anything goes wrong. We’ll be fine. You need this time with your dad.”

Cocking his head, Rowan’s eyes softened and threatened to spill everything he was feeling over Storm’s shoulder, where he propped his chin. He didn’t say anything, and Storm realised with a clench of his stomach that it didn’t matter. Rowan could cry on him if he wanted to, he could lean on him and count on Storm to be there in these moments when he needed him the most.

Rowan released Storm’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You know where to find me if you need me.”

*

STORM FOUND KYRIE standing outside Donald’s room. “Morning, Kyrie. You look much better.”

“Thank you, Dark One,” Kyrie replied, evidently not ready to call him by his name, no matter how often Storm reminded him to. “I have information to share once you are ready.” Turning, he opened the door to Donald’s room and waited for Storm to enter before trailing behind.

He was surprised to find Donald lying on the bed, neither moving nor conscious. The fact Donald had been unconscious since Storm released the ghosts from Gladys’s basement had been spinning through his mind. Between the panic over his feelings for Rowan, the fear of history repeating itself, and the weirdness of stepping into his dad’s memories, there was so much to worry about that he was getting a headache.

“When this is over, I need to do nothing for a month.” Storm rubbed his temples where a tension headache was steadily building.

“Here.” Yael stepped through the door Storm was sure Kyrie had shut behind him. They handed over a cup of herbal tea with a self-satisfied smile.

Storm cursed his failure to grab food from the kitchen before coming back upstairs to get ready. He sipped the tea and crossed to a dining chair by the bed, left for Yael and Kyrie who had been holding vigil over Donald. “I’ve been thinking about what happened in the basement,” he said, deciding to share his thoughts with the two people most likely to know if he was talking total shit. He paused when Yael casually walked to his side and held out a plate with a bacon roll. Storm nodded his thanks, accepted the plate and took a bite of the roll. He finished chewing and swallowed. “As I was saying…when we were in the basement, I freed all the spirits, right? Wouldn’t I have inadvertently freed DJ’s spirit? As long as the spirit was ready to pass on. Wasn’t that why my dad didn’t disappear along with the others?”

With a thoughtful arch of their eyebrow, Yael sat and crossed their legs, flaunting the smart and sophisticated jumpsuit they’d chosen today, the deep burgundy accenting their choice of long white hair. They tapped a blood-red painted nail against their bottom lip. “I thought we believed Gladys glamoured the boy to appear and act like DJ?”

Storm took another bite of his roll while he searched for the best way to explain. “Why would the demon child lose himself just because he was trapped? Isn’t that the deal with demons? They’re usually older when they find themselves trapped in a bond, but the concept wouldn’t have been unfamiliar, and he would know he’d grow strong enough to break the curse, right?”

If a demon child took a decade or more to grow into an adult, they were born with the patience of a saint. Donald wouldn’t have surrendered his entire being, his soul and body; he would have held on for the decade, knowing he’d eventually become an adult, strong enough to fight back.

“I suppose,” Yael agreed, not sounding convinced.

“Suppose the real reason he couldn’t fight was because DJ—the real Donald James Glade—was attracted to his body?” he suggested, watching Kyrie sink into the armchair in the corner with wide, sad eyes. “His soul could have returned because his mother refused to let him go. That’s another way spirits are created, right? They’re held by the family who can’t bear to lose them. Maybe DJ was haunting her house, unable to cross over because Gladys wouldn’t let him. When she brought a perfect vessel, maybe his will was as strong as Gladys’s and he took this demon child’s body which strengthened Gladys’s curse.” He hoped he was on the right track because he had an idea of what to do next.

“That may explain why he lost hope,” Kyrie said, glancing at Yael for approval. “His family horde couldn’t find or detect him because his essence had been suppressed by the presence of DJ’s spirit.”

“Which isn’t there.”

“It’s not?” Kyrie asked, eyes large with surprise.

Storm shook his head, took the last bite of his roll, and dusted his hands on his jeans. “No. Because I freed all trapped spirits from the basement, where Donald was being held in a cage.”

Yael nodded. “You believe DJ was trapped by his mother’s will and couldn’t move on through his own will. He took over the demon child’s body from necessity and a desire to be with his mother. When you offered a way to cross over, DJ accepted.”

“I think so.”

“If that is true, then we have a problem.”

“Yeah. The demon child’s body is without a soul,” Storm agreed, only staying positive because he had a plan. “I know you guys have been coming up short, but I think I could…call…him home? You know, now that the body is empty.” Souls were naturally drawn to their bodies, their essence, so in theory, now that the demon child’s body was free of DJ’s soul, they should be free to return with a nudge from Storm to guide them.

“It is certainly worth a try,” Yael agreed, more sceptical than he’d hoped.

Kyrie positively beamed as he cleared his throat to capture their attention. “I found the demon child’s horde. If they were here, surely the boy’s spirit could be called to them?”

Thinking about his suggestion, Storm came upon a realisation. “Maybe his soul has been following them, unable to find his body.”

Yael’s eyes lit with understanding. “We must do this immediately before any more time passes.”

“Just what I was about to say.”

Yael stood and gestured to Kyrie, the two demons darting into the abyss before Storm had even finished speaking. “Nothing new there,” he mumbled, and patted the demon child’s hand. “Don’t worry, kiddo. I’m much better at magic than thinking.”

*

YAEL AND KYRIE returned from the abyss after an hour, walking back into the room with a hulk of a demon in tow. He bowed his head respectfully when Kyrie introduced him as the leader of the horde and addressed Storm as the Dark One. He swore that one day he would meet a demon besides Yael who could address him as something else. Anything would do.

Storm nodded and offered the demon a polite greeting, aware that being the leader must mean that this demon was Donald’s father. Once the pleasantries were done, he turned to Yael. “Are the whole horde coming or can we start?” he asked, genuinely interested to know if he’d have to warn Rowan about a half dozen demons loitering in the spare room.

Yael turned to the higher demon who had accompanied them and raised an eyebrow.

“I believe Yael is rudely asking you to supply an answer,” Storm informed the demon with a pleasant, if fake, smile.

The higher demon glanced at them in turn before facing Storm, obviously not sure of the etiquette of talking to a dark mage without being bound to them or asked first. “I can summon the rest of the horde, but to assume they were welcome in the home of a white witch would be rude.”

“I thank you for the consideration on Rowan’s behalf. He is half-demon and would more than welcome your horde,” Storm confessed, having discussed the possibility with Rowan to make sure he was comfortable being exposed to them as a half-breed. “We can do this with you, since you were there the day your son was taken. If we don’t succeed, then we can try with the entire horde.”

Mother demons were notoriously strict with the fathers being the soft touch. If the boy would run to anyone in his horde for help after being kidnapped and cursed, Storm imagined he would want his father.

The higher demon bobbed his head in acceptance and moved when Yael suggested he stand at the side of the bed on the opposite side to where Storm sat.

“Most of my magic is silent,” he informed the demon to keep him aware of the process. “Yael will let you know if there’s anything to be concerned about. Until I speak to you, or they reveal concern, please trust that I’m focused and working hard to help your son.” He didn’t want to come across rude but didn’t want anyone interfering either, just because he’d been silent too long or was making noises. He wasn’t quite sure what he was like when his mind was deep in his magic, and he didn’t want a concerned parent panicking because of innocent sounds or words that may slip through his consciousness.

After the demon leader nodded, Kyrie took up a position at the door to the bedroom.

“His name is Haven,” the higher demon said as Storm touched the demon boy’s face.

He smiled at the trust he’d been given. “Thank you.” Knowing the boy’s name meant he, as a dark mage, had an unprecedented power over Haven. As a necromancer, he could use his magic to call on the boy’s spirit by name, which vastly increased his chances of success.

The risk the father had taken by giving him the name was immense, both an honour and an incredible duty that Storm vowed to adhere to. He focused on Haven and touched the still chest, placing his other hand to the crown of his head. Storm made light contact with his fingertips against bare skin to strengthen their connection. He was counting on the connection they’d made in the future to do the rest.

Closing his eyes, he escaped into his magic. Let’s bring Haven home.

His magic knew what needed to be done, searching through Haven’s body for any sign of life, any lingering essence of the boy’s true demon soul, while Storm called on the other side of his dark magic and spoke in his mind.

Storm Tera—protector of demons, master of demons, guardian of the lost and hopeless—calls forth the soul of Haven, demon child, from the abyss. I call for you to return to your rightful body, your true host.

Your body is free to be reclaimed. The soul which pushed you into the depths of darkness has crossed over. Once you return, I promise we will cleanse your spirit and body, returning you to the symbol of hope you are for your people.

Come home, Haven.

For too long, Storm felt nothing, heard nothing; darkness clouded his mind. His magic couldn’t detect a flicker of anything belonging to Haven. The curse lingered over the vessel, showing only the visage of Donald James Glade, as though Haven had never existed.