“Should I?”
“But of course. I am, Levet, recently reinstalled member of the Gargoyle Guild and savior of the world.”
The man offered a stiff bow. “And I am Brandel, Historian for the Commission.”
“You are an Oracle?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. . . .” Had Levet been a lesser demon he might have been frightened by the information. There were Oracles who would destroy entire villages for an imagined insult. Levet, however, had promised himself that he would never be intimidated again. “Very well. I have been brought here by Yannah. I wish to see her.”
“Then I suggest you locate a servant to alert her to your presence.”
The man turned, as if he were intent on escaping, but Levet was waddling forward to block his path.
“Wait,” he said, leaning forward, sniffing the thick robe. “What is that scent?”
A strange humming filled the air as the demon shoved Levet away with a surprising strength.
“Stay back.”
Levet frowned, recognizing that precise scent of salty air that clung to the fabric of Brandel’s robe.
“Have you been to Canada?”
The humming intensified, creating a vibration in the air. Levet stepped back in concern.
He didn’t know what was causing the peculiar hum, but he didn’t think it could be a good thing.
Not when it was making his insides feel . . . icky.
Then as swiftly as the humming had started it disappeared and Levet was distracted by the scent of brimstone.
Spinning on his heel, he expected to see Yannah standing in the arched entrance that led deeper into the caves. Instead he discovered a female demon who was almost her exact double.
The same short stature and slender body covered by a white robe. The same oblong eyes that were a solid black, the same delicate features and sharp, pointed teeth. They even had the same long braid that nearly brushed the floor, although Yannah’s was a pale blond, while her mother’s was gray.
Siljar also carried with her the sort of power that blasted through the air like a freight train.
Yannah didn’t yet possess her mother’s strength.
Dieu merci.
“Is there a problem?” the tiny demon demanded, her black gaze focused on Brandel.
“Siljar.” The Miera lowered his head in a respectful nod. “This . . . creature is searching for your daughter.”
Siljar’s gaze never wavered.
“Are you just returning?”
Brandel kept his head lowered, his fingers nervously plucking at the hem of his sleeve.
“Yes, I heard a rumor that a rare manuscript had been discovered in a harpy nest near Singapore,” he explained in timid tones. “Unfortunately it turned out to be a fake.”
Levet stepped forward. The demon was lying. He’d bet his favorite Fabergé egg.
“But . . .”