The massive front door of Campbell Hall creaked open when I pushed on it.
“Hello?” I called out. No one answered. I took a deep breath and slipped inside. The door slammed behind me. I spun around, but I was alone.
I tiptoed into the lobby, my steps echoing on the marble floor. “Hello? Graham? I’m here. Now let me see my grandmother!”
A wooden panel in the wall to my right slid open.
“Come in,” Graham’s voice called.
I followed it into a room decorated like a ski lodge, with dark green carpet, overstuffed brown leather chairs, and an equally overstuffed moose head gazing blankly from above the fireplace.
Graham was in a chair, partially facing me. “Please, sit.” He motioned to the seat across from him with the drink in his hand. The clinking of his ice cubes was followed by a deep rumble. “I hear your friend is outside,” he said with a chuckle. “Temper, temper . . .”
“Where’s my grandmother?” I demanded. If he had harmed her in any way . . . I couldn’t bear the thought.
“I’m not telling you anything until you sit and have a wee chat with me,” Graham purred, taking a sip from his glass.
I sat down on the very edge of the empty seat. “Where is she?”
“She’s perfectly safe,” he said. “And if you want, I’ll let her go right now. You did show up, and you certainly can’t leave.” He picked up a small, black remote control from the table next to him and pressed a button. “There, it’s done. Your grandmother is on her way outside right now.”
“How do I know that? That button didn’t do anything.”
“You’ll just have to trust me,” he said with a shrug.
Not in a million years.
“Maybe when that fly boy of yours stops killing all the trees in my garden, you’ll believe me,” he continued. “I’m guessing he’ll stop banging his head like a big baby once he sees dear old Grandmama.”
The noise outside had stopped, but I wanted to keep Graham talking until I had some kind of confirmation my grandmother was truly free.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked. “And why did you save me from Anders?”
“I’m doing this because it’s in my blood,” he said, licking his lips. “And I saved you from Anders because I didn’t want you sullied by his stupidity. I want you for myself.”
I remembered Gavin saying the demon in Campbell Hall was an incubus demon—a lowlife, a thief. I knew what they went after, and it wasn’t love. Graham wasn’t obsessed with me; he was obsessed with my virginity. This was a game to him, and I was the spoils.
I ignored his disgusting innuendo and tried to keep control of the conversation. “I saw Anders in church today,” I said. “How is he not a demon if you’re related? You’re both Campbells.”
“We’re related in name only, not by blood,” Graham answered. “He likes to play the prince, but really, he was adopted. It’s a pity too, because he would make an excellent demon, don’t you think?”
“He was adopted? Demons adopt kids?”
“Not usually, but my aunt and uncle had an incident with a girl a number of years ago. She came to live with them, to work for them, really, and when she got pregnant, they were delighted, of course, because demons aren’t supposed to be able to sire children . . .” He paused to let the scenario sink in. “Unfortunately, the baby wasn’t one of ours. When she’d come to them, she was already pregnant. She died in childbirth, and they were stuck with the baby, so they adopted him.” He took another drink. “Did he give Mrs. Dougall my regards at the funeral?”
His words punched me in the stomach.
“What did you do to Jo?” I gulped.
“I needed to get your attention. It was easier than I thought, really. I met her out on a walk and took her . . . for a little ride, if you know what I mean.”
“You didn’t!” I screamed, jumping to my feet.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” he said. “It wasn’t that kind of ride. Please,” he sniffed. “I don’t waste my time with just any girl. I took her for a little sightseeing flight. She didn’t like it, of course. So when she scratched me, the little witch, I dropped her.”
“You just dropped her?” I felt tears welling up in my eyes. I wiped them away. I had to be strong.
“Yes, just like that. I dropped her. She wasn’t what I wanted.”
I knew what he wanted, and he planned to get it from me. Coming in to Campbell Hall had been a big mistake. I stood up.
In a flash, Graham was standing in front of me, blocking my path. His breath reeked of alcohol. “You’re a special girl, Maren. Very special.” He walked his fingers along my shoulder.
I slapped his hand away. Unfortunately, he seemed to enjoy it.
“Oh, I like a feisty one,” he whispered, moving closer to me.
I tried to step back, but the chair was behind my legs. I twisted and ducked around him, but he caught me by the wrist. He threw his drink on the floor. It shattered in a mess of liquid and broken glass. He grabbed my other wrist with his now-free hand, and pushed me backward into the wall.
“We can do this the easy way,” he breathed. He leaned forward and licked my cheek. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to quiver. “But I do so like the hard way.”
When he pressed his body against mine, I heard a high-pitched whistle. He let go of me to put his fingers in his ears.
“What is that?” he wailed. “Make it stop!”
The noise was so quiet I could barely hear it, and it didn’t bother me at all. It stopped as soon as he stepped away. He straightened up, his face furious. He planted his hands on the wall behind me, trapping me between his arms.
“Now, where were we?” he hissed. I turned my head as he pushed his body against me and again, as soon as we touched, something screeched ever so faintly. He jumped back in audible pain. It stopped, and he realized the noise was coming from me.
He pulled my sweater down at the neck and spied the Tudor rose necklace. This was why Gia told me to use it for Anders, I thought. The necklace was some kind of ultrasonic demon agitator.
Graham ripped the necklace off my throat, and threw it across the room.
“If you thought a little buzzing would stop me, you were wrong,” he sneered. “Dead wrong.”
A low gong sound reverberated through the room. Graham cocked his head and sniffed. He had a strange look in his eyes.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said, as if I were the main course. He stepped away from me and held out his elbow. I didn’t move. “Come now,” he motioned. “I have to eat when it’s hot. If my food gets cold, I’m afraid I get into a terrible mood.” Get into a terrible mood? What was his mood before?
He took my hand, shoved it through the crook in his arm, and squeezed. Then he started walking, half dragging me behind him.
If I allowed him to drag me anywhere, it would seem like I’d surrendered. I had to at least pretend I was confident and could hold my own, even if I wasn’t so sure I could. In any competition or puzzle, the minute you give up, you lose.
I couldn’t afford to lose.
In a few steps, I was marching next to him, as if we were on our way to a date of my design.
We walked down the hall, passing the portraits of men I assumed were Campbell ancestors. I’d seen them before, at Anders’ birthday party, the stern looking people in stilted poses. Only this time, a fog hung about the tops of the pictures as if the painted men themselves were breathing. I shivered in spite of myself, and involuntarily drew closer to Graham. He seemed pleased that I was cooperating, and relaxed a little. He played the tour guide, pointing out artifacts on the walls and bragging about Campbell conquests.
We came to a large opening that led into a grand dining room. A carved crest over the doorway read, Ta er jerrey hoshiaght. It was Gaelic, and I found that for no good reason, like at Magnificat, I could read it.
“‘The last shall be first’?” I asked aloud.
“Well spotted,” Graham congratulated me. “It’s our motto.”
“Your motto is from the Bible?”
“Why not? It’s fitting, since someday we will have ultimate power over the earth and the heavens. And, yes, demons are well versed in your holy book. To us, it’s like reading The Art of War. Know thine enemy, as it were. The Bible is also a bit of our family history. Our father is in there quite a few times.”
“The father of lies, you mean? Satan?”
He smiled. “That’s the one.”
The dining room was completely illuminated by fire. Tall candles dripped in the middle of a long, polished table that was dwarfed by a fireplace so big, you could stand inside it next to the fire and not get burned. The flickering flames danced around everything shiny in the room, sending sparks of reflection bouncing off the cutlery, the glasses, the candlesticks, and the weapons on the walls.
As Graham pulled back a chair for me, I saw the room was rather ominously lined with dozens of swords, battle-axes, spears, and other death devices.
“Cheery,” I commented.
Graham pretended to look embarrassed. “Oh, yes, well, the dining room doubles as the trophy room, doesn’t it? It invigorates the appetite to see the spoils of victory. These are the weapons of some of our greatest kills. Not all of them, of course.” He pointed. “There’s the dagger we used to kill Julius Caesar. There’s one of the swords used to kill Thomas Becket. The axe used on John the Baptist—”
“I thought demons just dropped people to their deaths,” I cut in, to show I wasn’t impressed. Images of my mother, the girl from Culloden, and Jo came to my mind. I swallowed hard to keep my composure, but something wasn’t adding up.
“Usually, yes,” Graham replied. “But sometimes we do like a show. Feel free to look around while I fetch our first course.” He sauntered toward a single door on the far left.
Why did I think I could do this? The farther inside I got, the farther I was from ever getting back out. I needed to leave. Now.
As soon as Graham disappeared through the door, I turned and ran as fast as I could. I had only taken about five steps when I crossed back under the Campbell crest and smacked into Graham. He caught me as easily as if he were waiting for me, grabbed my wrists, and planted a kiss on my lips. I clamped my mouth shut, willing myself not to throw up, and waited for him to pull away. When he did, he smiled.
“I told you, darling, there’s no way out. No trap doors, no secret tunnels to save you this time. The only way to leave is if you die, I die, or you give me what I want. And I’m betting on the last one, aren’t you?”
He put his hands on my shoulders, turned me, and walked me back to my dining room chair. “Now I have to get our dinner before it goes cold. Don’t vex me again or I shall lose patience.” He disappeared back through the doorway.
I wiped at my mouth with the back of my hand, then grabbed a napkin and scrubbed it again. I couldn’t stand the thought of Graham touching me. Clearly, Graham would be there no matter which way I turned. I needed to get rid of him somehow. Permanently.
I looked around at the walls. Maybe I can use one of the weapons to kill him. I walked to the nearest dagger and yanked. It was bolted to the wall. I ran my fingers over it. Even if I could get it off, a simple knife would never kill a demon.
I circled the room, looking at the deadly wall decorations. There were more daggers and spears, but also maces, spiked clubs, and even a formidable-looking hammer. Directly across from the fireplace, I came upon a thick glass display case. It was fitted with an ornate frame and held the biggest sword I’d ever seen. The sword wasn’t just mounted behind glass, it was locked.
There were six tiny number dials at the bottom of the frame set—not coincidentally, I thought—to 666666. I spun a few of the numbers so I didn’t have to look at the creepy combination.
Suddenly, the sword caught on fire—only blue-white flames licked its blade, not red-orange ones. I jumped back, thinking I had somehow caused the ignition by disturbing the dials. Behind me, Graham laughed.
“You’ve found our flaming glory,” he said. “Our most valuable treasure. Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything. You couldn’t if you tried. I set it alight. You touching the knobs would hardly upset it.”
“So it’s not locked?”
“Oh, it is—we can’t have someone stealing it from us and trying to return it, or selling it to a museum or something. It’s priceless, really.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a celestial claymore. An Archangel’s sword. Very rare. I believe we’re the only family in Europe to have one. Quite a conquest. Now come, dinner is served.” He motioned toward the table, where blackened and bloody food was steaming and sizzling on various-sized plates.
I slowly walked back to my seat. The Campbell demons had actually killed an Archangel, and now they gloated over his sword. It seemed they were interested in more than just virginity . . .
“I thought incubus demons were supposed to steal, not kill,” I blurted out.
He slammed his hand on the table and screamed, “Incubus? Never call me that!”
I blanched. He twisted his jaw and smoothed the front of his shirt.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “Please forgive the outburst. It’s a touchy subject. Of course that loser Guardian angel would have told you we were incubus. It’s his clan’s fault we got demoted, after all. I can’t believe I have such an unworthy opponent. Ah well, all in good time,” he drawled.
I bit my lip and tried to look noncommittal as he talked about Gavin. The mention of my powerful love—who was just outside, powerless to come in—underscored the reality that I was out of my league.
As I took my place at the end of the table, I was dismayed to notice Graham collecting his plate and walking toward me.
“These long banquets are quite a bother,” he said, placing everything next to me. “I can’t sit so far away from you. I need to be near you, where I can see you and smell you and taste you.” He lifted my hand and pretended to bite it, but I snatched it away.
As I sat down, I got a strange sensation, a tingling sixth sense like déjà vu. I saw the scene before me as if I’d lived it before, only it wasn’t me sitting at the table, it was another girl my age. An ancestral memory?
She was wearing an old-fashioned dress with a ruffled corset and a wide black ribbon tied in a bow on the side of her hair. I hoped that instead of just seeing her, I could use her memories and knowledge to escape.
As if in answer, she pointed to the case holding the flaming sword. The sword of an Archangel. The one thing a human could use to kill a demon! If only I could unlock it . . .
I cleared my throat. “It’s very impressive,” I said to Graham.
He stopped his fork on the way to his mouth. “Thank you,” he answered before realizing I hadn’t told him what impressed me. His cheeks turned crimson, and I guessed he’d been lost in his own fantasy. I didn’t want to know what it was about, but I could guess.
I nodded at the wall. “The sword. It’s huge. You must be proud.”
My compliments must have played nicely into his daydream, because he smiled broadly. “It is big, I assure you.” He winked. I tried not to blanch.
“Do you know the code?” I picked up my fork to emphasize that I was only making innocent, superficial dinner conversation.
“Of course I do. You think they don’t trust me enough to give me the code? I’m not as young as I look,” he sniffed.
I looked at the ghostly girl next to me, tried to search her brain. What should I do?
A hint, she whispered silently to me. Ask for a hint.
I stabbed at something meaty with my fork and gave Graham what I hoped was a beguiling look. “I bet I could guess your code.”
“Guess the code? It can’t be guessed, dear. The numbers repeat, so there are over a million combinations.”
“I could try to guess part of it,” I suggested. “Come on, humor me. I love puzzles. Give me a hint. Please?” I twirled a lock of my hair between my fingers.
“Four,” he sighed.
“That’s not a hint,” I scolded. “That’s just a number.”
His hand found my knee. “You like to be teased, don’t you?” he said. I felt like a mouse being played with by a snake before it was eaten. It was not a good feeling. “All right,” he conceded. “I’ll tell you it’s the most powerful number in all the world.”
I thought about the possibilities. Six numbers were too long for a coded Bible verse. In terms of money, six digits was less than a million. It couldn’t be 666, since that was already entered. It had to be mathematical. What is a famous long number in math that has a four in it?
“Is it pi?” I asked.
He smiled. “Very clever, but also very easy. Yes, it’s from pi.”
I felt a surge of hope. I got it! Now I just have to get rid of him long enough to use it . . .
He removed an ink pen from his breast pocket and started drawing on his white napkin. “Three point one four. Pi. The number every eleven-year-old knows,” he mocked.
I fought the urge to punch him.
“I bet you didn’t know this, though,” he continued. He flipped the napkin over and held it up to the fireplace so the numbers showed through the cloth: PI.E. They spelled pie!
“Wow,” I enthused before I could stop myself. “I never saw that before.”
“Yes, well, I have many tricks up my sleeve. One of the perks of being around for three hundred years. You meet a lot of interesting people.” I felt his foot caressing my leg. I pushed back from the table. I had to get him out of the room.
“Speaking of pie, do you have any dessert?” I asked. “I’m sort of a sweets girl. It’s a lovely dinner, but I’d rather just jump right to dessert, wouldn’t you?” I winked, hoping I didn’t look like an idiot.
His eyes danced. “I think I can whip something up.” He stood and walked toward the door. Halfway across the room, he stopped and turned back to me. “Oh, I forgot to mention. The code for the Claymore case is pi, but it’s not the first six digits. That would be far too simple. It’s the last six digits.” My face must have fallen, because he laughed as he left the room.
I was devastated, as I knew that pi is an irrational number. It never ends. No one knows the six last digits. Well, apparently demons know, I thought dejectedly.
I had another flash, and I saw the spirit girl again. Only this time, she wasn’t talking. She wasn’t breathing. A knife protruded out of her chest, from her heart. She was dead. My entire body went ice cold.
Dear God, don’t let this vision be a foreshadowing of where I die, I prayed.
I had to get out. And I only had a few seconds. Think, Maren, think!
The last six digits of pi. No one knew them. A lot of people knew the first six digits though: 3.14159. At least, everyone in Mr. Mick’s fifth grade class did, since for no good reason he’d made us memorize them with a little song.
The last six digits. The last. Why couldn’t they be the first?
Then it hit me: the last shall be first. The Campbell crest. I stood up and ran to the frame. Maybe he was tricking me with wordplay, and it was the first digits after all. I quickly spun the dials to read 314159. Nothing.
The last shall be first. What makes something at the end suddenly be at the beginning? I remembered Graham’s napkin in the firelight. Backward! When it’s backward! My fingers slipped as I desperately rolled the wheels.
9 . . . 5 . . . 1 . . .
“I’ve found dessert, darling!” Graham called from outside the room.
4 . . . 1 . . .
His footsteps got closer and closer.
I fumbled with the last dial.
3.
Clink! The locks released and the glass panel started to slide silently upward from the bottom of the frame. I did it! Thank you, Mr. Mick, I whispered.
I shook while I waited for the opening to be large enough for me to stick my hand inside. Come on, come on, hurry up, I willed it.
“Maren,” Graham called out from the doorway. I turned and strode quickly toward him. If I got his attention away from the sword, he might not notice the case was open. Then, when he wasn’t looking, I could grab it.
“What do you have for me?” I asked, forcing a smile.
“What don’t I have for you is a better question,” he replied. He was holding a pie tin filled with whipped cream that was, of course, on fire. He set it on the table, put his finger in the middle of it, right through the flames, and pulled out a dollop. He dabbed it on my lips, and exhaled loudly.
I knew he was going to use the whipped cream as an excuse to kiss me, and thankfully, I came up with a plan. I would let him lean in, then stop him at the last second and ask for a drink. I’d promise to kiss him back if he just got me a glass of water. Then, when he left the room, I would free the sword.
I tried not to contort my face in disgust as he moved his lips toward mine. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could . . .
BAROOM! A roaring explosion rocked the room. When the smoke cleared, we saw a huge, jagged hole in the wall behind us.
Gavin was standing in the center of it.