My Demon of Air (Rebel Demons Book 2) by Rosemary A Johns

Author:Rosemary A Johns [Johns, Rosemary A]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-14T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

Heavens Ballroom, Demon Underworld

Sobbing, I rush into the ballroom. My billowing gold train trails behind me. I don’t even know why I came here, only that I had to get away from Breeze’s secrets and the even harder truth that I can’t yet face.

If I don’t find Blue in three days, then we’ll both be trapped in the underworld forever.

Worse, whatever happens or whatever decisions we make about remaining with our demon princes, we’ll lose the memories of our past lives.

It’ll be like the death of my humanity.

Yet did my humanity die a long time ago, when the demonic bled into my music?

I shudder.

On the Hill, how can I trust Breeze, when he hid this from me?

Despair sits heavy in my stomach.

Something else drew me to this room, which is sky-blue with murals of clouds on the marble floors and ceiling. It’s like being in the heavens. Even though it’s empty and dusty — long abandoned — I can feel the echo of its revels and parties shivering through me.

I wander deeper into the room, wrapping my arms around my middle. I kick at the extravagant masquerade masks that are scattered on the floors: a lacy rabbit, pretty fox, and a mouse in pink ribbons.

It's the midnight blue grand piano, which sits on the edge of the dance floor, that’s called me here like a dark summoning. It’s the only thing in the room that looks sparkling and clean: magic.

I’m shaking.

The memory of sitting at the Victorian piano in my cottage in the Hill, while rain drummed outside and a gale howled, floods through me.

I can smell roses and feel the pain of bleeding fingertips, as I play faster and faster.

Then shadows are dancing out of the walls and…

I can’t relive the day that my parents were taken.

Can’t.

I take a deep breath to calm myself, before throwing myself down on the stool in front of the piano like it’s both friend and adversary.

Maybe it always has been.

I can’t hide or turn away. I need to face this truth now.

The music won’t control me.

I refuse to be frightened anymore.

I rub the back of my hands over my eyes, wiping away my tears.

I stare down at the keys, which glitter like they’re begging to be played.

Do they need me to touch them, as much as my fingers itch to touch?

“I guess Maxton did call me the sky player,” I mutter.

Then I rest my fingers on the keys, and the tension drains from me.

I close my eyes. For the first time, since I awoke in the underworld, I’m filled with a sense of genuine power.

Fuck. Everything.

For right now, I’m the creator, and this is my world.

A wicked smile dances at the corners of my mouth, before I begin to play Camille Saint-Saens’ “Danse Macabre”. I let the haunting notes find themselves out without conscious choice. I improvise, losing myself in the chilling music that no longer feels like a nightmare but a suitable Gothic anthem for the demon underworld.

As beautiful and beastly as my demon.

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