Demon Moon

had threatened Savitri’s life, Michael had teleported her to his temple in that realm, out of the demon’s reach. Several days later, the Doyen had taken Colin so that Lucifer would not discover Colin’s link to Chaos.
    Lilith had not been able to escape as easily: a symbol on her chest anchored her to Hell and prevented her being teleported to Caelum. Moments before Michael had taken Colin to Caelum, before she and Castleford had left to face Lucifer, Castleford had requested that Colin bring Caelum back to her, and the painting Colin had created filled one wall in Castleford’s living room.
    He’d chosen the prospect from outside the doors of Michael’s temple. It had been from that spot Colin had first seen the splendor of that realm; he didn’t know if he’d managed to capture the effect for Lilith, but it still overwhelmed him .
    He traced his fingers over the rough canvas, followed the curve of a spiraling tower in which the anterior edge of the lower spiral was the same as the posterior edge of the higher. What had Savitri said of the shape? He pondered for a moment. That it was the result of the Gestalt effect, he suddenly remembered; that they couldn’t truly see it and their minds completed the form with the most rational interpretation. He’d painted what he’d seen—but she was correct; there was no sense in such a structure.
    And she’d been as awestruck as he, naming most of Caelum’s forms irrational. Indeed, the spires seemed too tall and thin to hold their weight; the sky too blue and the sun too bright; the waters surrounding the city too still.
    How many times had she stopped him to point out a physical impossibility? How many times had he pulled her along to show her another sublime arrangement of shape and shades of white?
    She’d had to leave the day after Colin had opened the doors of the temple. He’d had two months; time given by Michael so he could paint—and recover.
    But had she seen it better than he?
    The click of Savi’s heels sounded quick and light on the stairs. He resisted the urge to shut off the lamp, to give himself the advantage of darkness. In the months since his return, he had never observed her reaction to the painting.
    She’d always run too quickly; the moment he arrived, she’d fled for the safety of her flat or the dark little office she kept downtown.
    Savi stepped through the entrance to the living room, and paused. Her gaze slid past him. Her eyes darkened, her lips parted on a sharply indrawn breath.
    And it was the only time in his long life he’d been pleased that something other than his face had caused such a response. Would that he could read her emotions as well, but as usual, her shields were firmly in place.
    He smiled, and the change of his expression must have caught her attention; she narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you put my grandmother to sleep?”
    “Yes,” he said.
    “I didn’t know you could do that.”
    “You’ve never asked me, Savitri. I did not take her blood.”
    Oh, but to have Savi’s again; to have the whole of her. He settled for looking, though he shouldn’t have taken so much pleasure in that, either.
    She’d chosen low-waisted, black trousers and a crimson silk top with sleeves that split at her shoulders, leaving her slim arms bare. Her skin seemed the warmer for the blue tones in the crimson; it shouldn’t have. A long cream coat was draped over her forearm.
    He didn’t look at her shoes for fear that he might fall to his knees to examine the contrast of strap against ankle, the arch of her foot.
    She glanced at the painting for an instant, and her mouth tightened. “Can other vampires? Can nosferatu?”
    “No. Yes, if the human has little psychic resistance or if the nosferatu drinks the blood.”
    “Does Nani have resistance?”
    “Not to me.”
    “Do I?”
    “Yes.”
    She walked slowly into the room, circled the sofa, and leaned her hip against the upholstered back. “Why?”
    “Why do you have more resistance? Or why did I suggest she sleep?”
    A wry smile touched her mouth. She’d slicked clear gloss over her lips; they glistened as if she’d eaten a ripened fruit and forgotten to lick away the juice. “Both?”
    He gave a small shake of his head.
    “Why did you suggest she sleep?”
    Was she aware of how much she gave away with that decision? Concern for her grandmother rather than protection for herself.
    He had only six feet to cross to her side; he did it in an instant. She