Leah Carstairs (Book #2)

Veins Of Fire

2008

Oskino remained asleep for a long time - an embarrassingly long time - before he woke up, fresh and clear-headed. His memory was more precise and his senses much sharper than they had been during the short interval of time he had spent in New York a couple of days ago.

Now he remembered each and every minute detail of the beginning of the universe and the primordial demons to when he had been born - an offspring of the Angel Eidolon and Yanlou, when he had been exiled from Heaven after his parents Fell, the beginning of the race of shadowhunters, every single war, tragedy, human poignance and event that had occurred on the earth, all those millennia passed in hatred and bitter ignorance and those short years of light and blessing - along with an unimaginable burden of guilt - those years of the existence of Leah Carstairs.

"Catarina. Catarina Loss." Oskino called in a clear, loud voice.

In moments, his hostess appeared at the door. Now, the demon realised he could see through the glamour Catarina put up; he could see her infernal blue skin, and he could see that she was a warlock.

"Good afternoon." She greeted. "Would you like to you perhaps . . . .change out of your burnt up rags?"

Oskino spoke as if Catarina had said nothing. "First of all, my wholehearted thanks to you for letting me lodge at your place for . . . ."

"The past one week. You're welcome." Catarina appeared quite surprised at her patient's gentlemanly politeness.

The demon's eyebrows shot up at the mention of the past one week. "Very well. I would've paid you for your services, but . . . I hope you will understand when I say that I am going through an existential crisis - and a damnably lot of confusion. I don't have mundane money or warlock money or whatsoever to pay you in, but I would forever remember that I owe you a debt to my health, and perhaps one day when I am not so unstable or confused, I will express my gratitude to you - "

"It's okay, sir. I don't always take a payment."

Oskino raised an eyebrow. "So, I assume I am a charity patient then, am I?"

"Quite so. And besides, I didn't really do much to you. Your skin . . . .there was something about you, whenever I attempted to touch you - with my instruments, with gloves or cloth - your skin seemed to burn everything up."

"Well, then have I perhaps involuntarily disintegrated some of your precious medical tools. Looks like I am increasingly piling up on debts." Oskino replied.

"You seemed to be shaking, tossing, turning, shivering and muttering things in your . . .sleep, should I call it?" Catarina continued.

"Muttering precisely what, was I?"

"Er, I couldn't recognise very well, but to me, it seemed like some form of an ancient, almost primordial faerie-demonic language."

"Surprising. I don't speak faerie."

"And . . .you mentioned someone too." Catarina hesitated.

Oskino didn't even require confirmation about whom he had mentioned in his sleep. It had to be her: the only source of light and happiness in his life, and yet a happiness that filled him with grief, guilt and regret.

"Tell me, Jack, how do you know Leah Carstairs?"

"So, she's known as Carstairs now; the last I heard, she was called Leah Ravenscar. Never liked it very much, though; I prefer the true sides of people - not the fake identities created for safety and convenience sakes."

"You ignored my question."

"Well, Leah Carstairs is famous. That is how I know of her." Oskino replied, but with a strange firmness to his tone, which probably meant he wasn't yet ready to discuss about Leah just yet.

Catarina nodded. "Sir, about your diagnosis . . ."

"Diagnosis? Don't you feel the term is rather sophisticated coming from a magical warlock doctor?"

"Whatever. The . . . .kind of behaviour I saw in you, is oddly similar to another Shadowhunter boy I had a look at, some weeks back."

"And?"

"The Shadowhunter boy - his name is Jace Herondale, and you might have heard of him, if you know so much of the Shadow World; he was suffering from a . . . .rather awkward phase in life, when he had heavenly fire in his veins. And from the way I saw you behaving in your unconsciousness, it looked like you had heavenly fire in your veins too."

Oksino's jaw tightened. "I am only wondering from where you could've got the heavenly fire. From Jace Herondale, perhaps, is a nice assumption. Or, as we have heard from reports by Clary Fray and her clan, the city of Edom was set on heavenly fire before Sebastian Morgenstern was killed and the nine returned to Idris.

"Maybe . . . .you were present in Edom, either as a captive who went unnoticed by the Clave authorities and the Shadow World records, as a 7th person who followed Clary Fray, Jace Herondale and the others to Edom, or maybe one of the many victims of Sebastian Morgenstern's wrath, who might've been injected with heavenly fire to fulfil some role in his vile future experiments. I couldn't be more curious. Could you explain yourself, Jack?"

With a tightly set jaw, Oskino replied in very sharply-emphasised words "As I had said before, I am currently suffering from an existential crisis - and a brief memory loss. Perhaps if I remembered, I'd let you know. Till then, I'd like you to seal your lips and forget all that you saw and observed. Good day to you, Madam. I'm sure I have had an excellent time under your hospitable roof."

"No need to be offended, sir -" Catarina began, but Oskino quietly got off the bed, walked out of the room's door and outside Catarina's house.

His host, confused and rather embarrassed, stumbled out herself, asking what might be the reason for his abrupt departure and won't he have some tea before he left. But Oskino was set about his decision.

He strutted outside in haughty stubbornness, ears clogged with indifference. When, at Catarina's doorstep, an electric blue-black whirlpool started to conjure up, he couldn't care less of the Portal and whoever might be coming out of it, either. Till then, it was only a tall woman clad entirely in black.

But as Oskino took a double take at the woman - her pale white face, under her short net veil, her brown hair pulled into a soft bun, her lips tightly pressed together and her eyes - her crystalline grey eyes - he froze.

This tall woman was none other than her. Tessa Gray. Obstinately embarrassed, scared and guilty, Oskino hurriedly sought a way to disappear from before her eyes.

There was no requirement for that, though. Tessa barely recognised him without his majestic cape and leather boots, and with a half-hearted glance, was past Oskino and at the door of 441 A Charleswick.