Long Live the Queen (Book 5 of The Powder Trail)

Chapter Seventeen: Bright as Night

Manda didn't want to criticize the demon mother of the new-breed race, but she couldn't help thinking that Elsie was going about this the wrong way. Sam liked to be told bad news outright. He liked to glare and shout and reel back as if he'd been struck. He did not like to be offered a chair or a cup of tea. The longer they delayed, the more his shoulder-muscles tightened under Manda's hand.

She had stationed herself behind him, with one restraining hand on his shoulder, the moment he sat down in the Academy's wood-pannelled office. The teacup was before him on the desk, practically quaking with his rage.

And Elsie just stood there in her nightgown, smiling vaguely, letting her long, lacy sleeve trail in her teacup. She looked thoughtful, but not strained. She didn't look as though she was working out a tactful explanation of the night's events.

Finally, she dragged her sleeve out of her cup, squeezed it dry, and said, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Inspector, but you're a little bit demon."

Manda winced. She noticed that John Danvers – who had taken up exactly the same position with regard to Elsie as she had with regard to Sam – was also wincing.

Sam said nothing. He glared uselessly at the blind girl, until the silence sucked more words out of her.

"I always knew I knew you," said Elsie. "Those scars on your neck..." She stopped smiling, and seemed to be gathering her thoughts, as if she could sense Sam's impatience. "You see, a demon bit you."

"He was a new-breed," said Sam.

"He was a carrier. The demon needs a host body – human or new-breed, it's not particular."

Sam stood up very suddenly, jerking Manda's hand upwards. "I've had enough of this."

"Please listen, Inspector," said Mr Danvers.

"Why? So she can stand there and tell me what I am? I've had these scars for years, they haven't changed me."

"I think they haven't," said Elsie. Her smile had crept back. "I think the demon must have been very proud when it found you as a host. You have the perfect temperament to hide it."

Manda cleared her throat, half-impatient and half-awed by the girl's daring. "Could you start from the beginning? And stay factual? I really think it would help."

Danvers squeezed Elsie's shoulder, and it seemed to have an effect. The girl made an effort to straighten her face.

"Not all demons have bodies, I expect you know? This kind, the Anhartha, are a little like the elementals – formless but conscious. But where the elementals love to ride on the wind, all formless and free, the Anhartha seek out host bodies to inhabit. They're not too forceful. By and large, they don't interfere with the day-to-day business of their hosts. They generate a kind of aggression in you. I expect you find you're always having to stifle the urge to strangle people?"

Sam stuffed his clenched fists into his pockets. "That proves nothing."

"It really doesn't," said Manda. "He's always been like that."

"That's just what I mean," said Elsie excitedly. "When it inhabited you, the Anhartha had found the perfect host – someone whose increased aggression would go unnoticed."

"I do not have increased aggression!" Sam shouted.

"And someone who already had the urge to protect Oxford," she went on. "You see, this Anhartha had a mission. I gave it to him the last time I was in Oxford, only I'd forgotten until that funny old man – that Faustus – reminded me."