Cloak of Night (Circle of Shadows #2) - Evelyn Skye Page 0,24

said.

“You don’t remember the story from Spirit’s mother’s books? Mortal women who want Vespre’s attention set out night bloomers like wisteria, moonflowers, and certain types of jasmine to summon him to their beds.” It was one of Fairy’s favorite myths because it had to do with plants. And she wouldn’t admit it, but it had also been her earliest primer on how to attract boys.

Wolf sat up on his mat, though, eyes alert with horror all over again.

“Stars, no!” Fairy said. “I promised you I wasn’t trying to flirt with your dad, and I won’t! That’s disgusting. Besides, we’re all going to use these flowers to contact him.”

“It’s a good plan,” Spirit said. “But where do we find the flowers? It’s daytime now, and you’re the only one who would recognize them in their unopened state.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” Fairy grinned and pointed to the base of one of the chestnut trees, where a mound of flowers was piled several yards wide and almost as tall as she was. “I didn’t sleep because I was too excited about the idea, so I went foraging for us.”

Broomstick, Wolf, and Spirit blinked.

“Wow,” Wolf said. “You did all that while we were asleep?”

“Yup! And I also gathered some lolaro berries. They’re actually five times as caffeinated as coffee beans!”

“You don’t say,” Broomstick said. “How many have you had?”

Fairy stopped bouncing in place—only for a second—to stick her tongue out at him.

“Anyway,” she said, “as soon as it’s dark again, we can start burning flowers, and the perfume will carry our prayers up to Celestae. In the meantime, who wants some lolaro? They taste like cherries mixed with apricots and a dash of sunshine!” She skipped from Wolf to Broomstick to Spirit, offering the purple berries. No one extended their hands.

She couldn’t understand why.

Chapter Fourteen

A couple hours later, Daemon carefully placed a stem of night jasmine in front of him. Without water, it had wilted a bit, but it still seemed to wake beneath the moonlight, delicate petals opening and releasing their powerful perfume.

Please work, he thought as he knelt on his rolled-up mat.

Daemon took a deep breath and began to recite a plea, but it was very different from yesterday’s.

Hey-o, he began. I’m going out on an arrogant limb and hoping that, because I might be your son, you’ll hear me. Kichona has fallen into the hands of a delusional maniac who worships Zomuri, who, you probably know, is also insane. The only ones who can stop him are me and my friends, but as you can see, we could use your help. Me, in particular. I switch from wolf to pathetically naked boy at random, which pretty much sums up our position. So will you do it? I could really use some fatherly guidance here. I mean, even if it’s not you, just someone up there, please help.

Was it too up front? Possibly. Requests to the gods were supposed to be laden with deference and ceremony. But so far, the stiff approach hadn’t worked; maybe normal entreaties were just background noise in Celestae. Daemon hoped his informality would make his plea stand out.

As with yesterday, they kept praying steadily through the night, but they took breaks when the smoke got too thick, since it was compounded with the heady perfume of the flowers tonight.

As night gave way to early morning, Daemon began to sag on his mat. The brashness of his pleas shifted to dispirited resignation. At one point, he caught himself staring blankly at nothing in front of him, the flowers just a smoldering pile of ash.

But at the moment Daemon was about to give up, some of the stars directly above him seemed to wink out, as if a giant cloud had blown in to cover that portion of the sky.

He didn’t move.

Did I imagine that?

Daemon looked again at the spot in the sky. Where a constellation had twinkled earlier, now there was a distinct splotch of black sky.

“I think something’s happening . . . ,” he said.

Someone in the thicket of trees cleared his throat.

Daemon, Sora, Fairy, and Broomstick were supposed to be the only ones in the chestnut grove.

They turned toward the noise, half-hopeful their pleas had been answered but half-afraid they’d find a squadron of ryuu standing there. Everyone drew their weapons.

A young man stood in the shadows on the other side of the grove. He was so still he could have been mistaken for a tree. He stepped forward into the moonlight,