Part Eleven: In Which Evie Gets a Mysterious Note
I resigned from my university position shortly after my return to Florida. It's not like I could continue to teach there after I'd put a student's life in danger, even if I did end up saving that student's ass in the bargain. It didn't matter that I'd been doublecrossed by his family, either. They were out for blood.
I would be called before the Coven to answer for my actions, I knew that much. I was curious to see how it would go. I didn't care. I could justify everything I did, and I had only been trying to help. If they decided to censure or shun me, well...I'd lived as if shunned all my life, why not make it real?
I thought about my future career carefully. University work was out. Perhaps I could get a degree in library arts, shouldn't take long since I'd practically lived in libraries since I was eighteen. I wasn't worried. I wasn't running any longer. I'd move, sure, no reason to tempt fate by making it easy for Al or Ash to find me if he were in the area. But I wasn't running any more, and I had enough money to live on for a short time. I was actually happier than I'd been in quite a long while.
After my story hit the papers, I got a phone call from another family. A demon named Al had stolen their son a few years back, and they wanted my help and advice in contacting him. Funnily enough, I happened to know a guy who might be able to help them. Was there a future in being a consultant in cases of demon-kidnapping? I found my thoughts returning to it, how it could work with a minimum of danger to me. Two circles, I thought, one for me, one for the demon, and I don't interfere in any bargaining that happens. Advisory role only.
It meant dealing with Al again, though. But maybe he wouldn't be so pissed if he were making new contacts in reality. Could I condone my actions if I accidentally got someone snatched? On the other hand, a fool would almost certainly be snatched if he/she went in completely unprepared.
I kept turning the idea over and over in my head as I packed up my meager belongings and began house hunting. Perhaps Louisiana somewhere. New Orleans was still pretty messed up, but it might be a great place for setting up a demon-consultant practice for bereaved families.
The bundle of flowers arrived the following week. There was no return address, nothing to identify from whom these flowers had originated. They were roses, red roses. Two dozen of the mysterious little suckers. I called the florist to find out who'd sent them, and they gave me a fake name and number from someone in Texas. There was a card, too, but it was even more cryptic. It read simply, "From a mutual friend."
OK, this was more than a little creepy. Especially when a note that I could have sworn hadn't been there before slipped out of the card I'd just closed. I glanced at it, lying innocently on the floor, then promptly doused the sucker with a glass of salt water, just to be sure. Nothing.
I picked it up and, after only a slight hesitation, opened it.
The handwriting was very neat but oddly shaped and slanted, as if the writer were used to very different characters. There was a single word.
Kaviashemedaeva.
Funny thing about summoning names. No matter how odd they sound, no matter now briefly they're spoken, you simply cannot forget them. Which is why I wasn't surprised when the parchment burst into flames and burnt to ashes the moment I'd finished reading it.
I felt the familiar knot of terror rise up with the pounding of my heart trying to escape from my chest. I stared at the ashes in my hand for a long, long time. Perhaps he felt he owed me one for that conversation. I shouldn't have said anything, dammit. He was right, he could and would use it.
But whatever his reasons, I now had his name. His real name. No strings attached.
Kaviashemedaeva.
I glanced at the roses again, and put them in a cheap vase. I dropped a preservative charm into the water to keep them fresh. Why not? I might be a bitter old hag at heart, but I'm still a sucker for pretty flowers. I had to laugh, though. Figures, the first time I get flowers in my entire goddamned life, and they're from a fucking demon.
Author's notes:
Etymology of Ash's name (a bastardization of bits of Avestan, an ancient Iranian dialect)
Kavi/ Kauui for "king" or "poet-priest"
aēšma-daēva: demon of wrath
Thanks for all your positive reviews, they really got my mind humming with ideas! I thought about writing a small story to answer the question about how Ash felt about Evie escaping him as a kid, but the answer could be summed up in the following exchange:
Al: Hey, you'll never guess who I met today.
Ash: ?
Al: Evie! She's summoning me in about a week.
Ash: *blank look* ...who?
Al: You know, Evie! The one with the scar? Thirty years ago?
Ash: *thinking*
Al: The one that got away? The one I had to waste sixteen bottles of tequila on you until you were drunk enough to tell me the story about?
Ash: Oh. Right. Always meant to get back to her, but you know how it goes. Dang, it's really been thirty years?
Al: You forgot? You were so pissed off at the time! You vowed to hunt her down to the ends of the earth!
Ash: *shrug* I got distracted. I'm a lazy son of a bitch, what can I say?
