King of Demons or … something. He goes by many names, and he has these Demons who interact with people here on Earth – Demons with a capital D. The Shining Demon is one of them. The book detailed how we could make contact.”
“How did you?”
“It was a ritual. It took months to prepare. So many requirements to meet, things to arrange. We couldn’t eat for four days beforehand. Couldn’t drink for two. It was hard, arranging everything. Almost impossible. But we did it. We managed it. And we made contact.”
“Did it look like you?” Amber asked. “You know, monster–you?”
Imelda shook her head. “He was … he was something else. But the book said that one of the most important rules was not to look at him. You avert your eyes. I only caught glimpses. The first thing I noticed was the smell. We were in a basement. Dark. Cold. And then there was this smell of sulphur. It got stronger and stronger until … One moment we were down there, just the six of us, the next this light started to burn, right in front of us, and he kind of grew out of that light. We all looked away immediately.”
“And you didn’t sneak a peek?”
“All I can tell you was that he glowed. He shone.” There was a strange look in Imelda’s eye. Almost wistful.
“And he offered you a deal,” Amber said, a little louder than necessary.
Imelda snapped out of it. “Yes. He offered us power. Power enough for seven people.”
“But there were only six of you.”
Imelda went quiet for a moment. “That’s right. He told us what we’d have to do. The terms and conditions were … unexpected. Half of us – Kirsty and Grant and myself – wanted to walk out right there and then. But in doing so we’d break the circle and … well. He would tear us apart. So we stayed. And we listened. And, in the end, we agreed.”
“To what?”
She cleared her throat. “The Shining Demon would give us power enough for seven people. So two of us would have to have a child. That child would grow up, and their power would manifest at some stage in their sixteenth year. They’d become as strong as we were. Just like you.”
“Okay,” said Amber. “And then there’d be seven of you. What was wrong with that?”
“It was what was expected in return, Amber. Some Demons want souls. The more they have, the stronger they get. The stronger they get, the stronger the Blood-dimmed King becomes. But the Shining Demon didn’t want souls from us. He wanted a jar of blood from each of us. Our blood, which had magic in it already, spiced with … more magic.”
“And how did you spice your blood?”
Imelda’s eyes locked on Amber’s.
Seconds passed.
“You’re looking at me like you’re expecting me to figure something out,” Amber said, “but I have no idea what it is you’re hoping for.”
Imelda held her gaze. “Your parents had a son.”
Amber’s eyebrows rose. “I have a brother?” She’d dreamed of having a brother or a sister, someone to talk to, to share with, to alleviate that awful feeling of loneliness that would creep up on her whenever the house got too quiet.
“Your parents had a son,” Imelda repeated. With emphasis on the had. “He reached his sixteenth birthday. A few months later, he started having headaches, started feeling sick, and then his power manifested.”
“Yes? And?”
“And we killed him.”
Amber paled. “What?”
“The Shining Demon explained it all to us, down in that cellar. He told us how we’d have to absorb the seventh’s power, how that would make our blood more potent, how that would be a suitable tribute.”
“You killed my brother?”
“We killed him,” Imelda said. “And then we ate him.”
THE WORLD DULLED.
“No,” said Amber in a soft, soft voice.
“Our demon forms made it easy. Made it far too easy.”
Amber shook her head. “You can’t have done that. Please, Imelda, tell me you didn’t do that.”
“We could never let the children reach the stage where they’d realise what they were. It was too dangerous. Too unpredictable. We got stronger with each child we consumed, but each one was born with a strength to rival our own. You’re the only one I’ve seen actually get a chance to shift.”
“Was … was I going to be eaten, too?” Amber was suddenly standing. “They were going to eat me? They were going to kill me and eat me? My own frikkin’ parents?”
“Please sit down.”
“I don’t think so!”
“Fine,” Imelda said, sounding tired.
“So go on! Tell me what you did to my brother.”
“We killed him and we ate him, and he made us stronger,” Imelda said. “We each gave a pint of our blood, which was practically sizzling with power by that stage, and by then Kirsty and Grant were expecting.”
“No,” Amber said. “No, you can’t. None of that happened. That’s sick.”
Imelda didn’t meet her eyes. “Once their son reached his sixteenth year, once we’d eaten him, it was my turn, with Alastair, and we ate my child when she turned sixteen, and then it was back to Bill and Betty.”
“You took turns? What was it this time? Another brother? Maybe a sister?”
“It was a girl.”
Tears rolled down Amber’s cheeks. “I had a sister. I had a sister and you killed her.”
“Yes, we did,” Imelda said, pulling at a tiny loose thread on her sleeve. “Every sixteen years, the seventh’s power was recycled through us, making us stronger, and then the surplus was available again for the next child.”
“So that’s what you’ve been doing?” Amber asked. “For, what, the last hundred years?”
“We make it a point not to grow too attached to our children. It’s the only way to stay sane.”
Amber laughed. “Sane? You think this is sane? This is the most insane thing I have ever heard! This is nuts! It’s sick and it’s wrong! It’s evil! You’re saying my parents are—”
“Psychopaths,” said
