Demon Moon

it was psychic in nature. So you are likely correct; a painting can’t produce the same effect.” His brows drew together when she turned to him, her gaze searching his face, her lips parted in surprise. “I’ve always been splendidly handsome, Savitri, but I’ve not always been this .”
    She shook her head, certain she’d misunderstood. “You’ve seen yourself in a mirror? After you were turned?”
    “Yes.” Was that embarrassment in the casual lift of his shoulder, the tilt of his smile? “I’m no stranger to moments of idiocy.”
    “When did you begin seeing Chaos?”
    “The summer of 1816. June fourteenth, to be exact—after a house party in which the houseguests thought a séance and invoking a curse purchased from a Gypsy would be a brilliant diversion. We determined that as a vampire, and a member of the paranormal set, I was the most appropriate person to recite it. Idiot that I was, I agreed—and finished it up with the dramatic use of my blood to write the necessary symbol. In hindsight, it was an embellishment I should have refrained from making.”
    Her eyes widened. “A Gypsy curse? What did it say? What language was it in? What was the symbol? Have you tried to find a way to reverse it?”
    Colin briefly caught his tongue between his teeth and grinned at her, his gaze bright with humor. “No. I’ll not answer these; such things ought not to be played with, Savi. I’ve learned that lesson well.”
    “Have you asked Michael? Or Hugh? Do they know how it happened?”
    “I imagine so, as Castleford was there directly after.” His face darkened slightly. “No matter. The anchor to Chaos is from the sword, and has been in me since the transformation; the mirrors are a minor inconvenience compared to being there.”
    Minor? She could not believe that, not after experiencing the emotions of it, seeing his aversion to the Room, and hearing from Jake and Drifter about the effect it had on him. And it had forced him into seclusion for almost a century. Why should he carry the burden of it? “But maybe—”
    “No, Savi.” He softened the denial with a kiss to her fingers, and led her across the foyer. “No. The consequences of that night were heavier than simply mirrors and reflections. I’ll not risk you to them, even to satisfy your curiosity.”
    “What other consequences were there?”
    He wiped away the blood from the symbols, turned to look at her before opening the door. “Three men dead by my hand; not intentionally, but dead all the same.”
    She held his gaze. “You can’t protect me from that; I’ve already killed three people with my stupidity. I’ve just not paid for it.”



CHAPTER 21

    On the Continent, finding one or two companions and living amongst a community has become all the rage. They have come to resemble poets huddling about in self-congratulating and, at the same time, melancholy societies. I do not know how they manage to be both—only that they do .
    —Colin to Ramsdell, 1823

    The younger son of an earl, with no ambition to take orders or serve in the Foreign Office—and after his transformation, unable to marry—Colin had had two options to maintain his lifestyle: to kill his older brother and his brother’s heir to gain a title and fortune, or to be so handsome and his manners so engaging that, even if his family disowned him, even though he might become destitute, the rest of Society would welcome and support him out of simple appreciation for beauty. But though Colin had little affection for his brother Henry, his nephew had been too adorable to strangle; despite his status as one of the bloodsucking undead, his family had not cast him to the dogs—or the duns; and Society had never rejected him, though eventually he’d left it.
    He determined he was either the luckiest sod alive, or he was simply that charming and beautiful. Perhaps both. Savi falling in love with him he ascribed to the first—but to win over the vampire population, he intended to utilize the latter.
    Colin couldn’t defeat the demon in combat; he hadn’t the strength. He could, however, fortify himself with the vampires’ loyalty, by playing on the very thing the demon would never recognize in them, would never think to recognize: modern vampires did not want to be led, particularly by a figure who would raise himself above them.
    They wanted order; they wanted protection. They wanted knowledge. They didn’t want a barbaric hierarchy based on physical power and