The Fox and the Starling - Part VI
"He didn't", Eren agreed and his body language shifted as he felt the air in the room change, the flames on the stove settling down just a bit. "Malphas came up to him, offering a familiar in exchange for Jean's loyalty. When Jean refused he threatened to make all of us pay. Jean, his coven. Marco and I..."
"But I bound him before he had a chance to do anything. And then I honestly just ... didn't know what to do with a vase full of rock salt and demon smoke. It looked fine in the kitchen though..."
"So you ended up using him as decoration", Armin finished for him, tacking an incredulous laugh at the end of his explanation, like he didn't quite believe it yet. "I thought you were keeping him for some kind of spell or ritual. That you wanted to harness his power somehow or force him to do what you want. That you were trying to circumfere the deals..."
Jean shook his head at the confused conjurer.
"I don't make deals with demons. I prefer business partners I can trust."
Besides, with the years he had been bound to both his mates and how their bond had evolved and grown the longer they spent together Jean was more than powerful enough to fullfill most of his wishes with his own abilities. But he was not about to tell Armin that. Either the conjurer was already aware of Jean's power, of the energy pulsing through the room around them, or he was not half as competent as he claimed to be.
"Oh, you can trust demons fine. If you know how to force them to keep up their end, that is."As much as Jean disliked it he couldn't help the intrigue that tugged at his thoughts whenever Armin made comments like that.
Back when he had bound Malphas he had entertained the thought of making the demon do his bidding for a short period of time but soon forgotten about it when thinking about the risks.
But the conjurer carried himself with so much confidence that it bordered on arrogance and Jean had always been drawn to those with power, those he could learn from. If all of this was not just a big bluff Armin used to get what he wanted.
Jean was still thinking, still considering, when the man shrugged and casually crossed his arms, the cloak billowing slightly with his movements.
"Well, if you don't need him anyway then I guess I'll be taking this."
The conjurer took a step towards the shelf where Marco had placed the vase once again, pausing as if to wait for protest, even raising a challenging eyebrow in Jean's direction, before slowly continuing his movements to reach up and splay his fingers against the gleaming copper.
"Didn't you hear a word I said?", Jean grumbled, knowing the guardian was still active and that Malphas' vessel would not leave this house without his permission. Still the sheer audacity that the conjurer touched his belongings with was starting to grate on his nerves.
"He came to me and threatened my family. There's no way I'm gonna let you free him so he can pull the same..."
"The deal you had with him ... it was about finding your parents, wasn't it?"
Jean had not expected Eren's voice interrupting him, especially not with such clarity. Like he had just understood one of the mysteries of the old world. But the way Armin paused, stilling so completely where he stood he might have just turned into a marble statue, was answer enough. After all these years Eren still seemed to be able to see through him.
"You still haven't found them?", Marco asked, incredulous. "Armin, I'm so sorry. But ... do you think ... do you think you can still ... I mean..."
The words trailed off but Jean could guess what his mate was meaning to say. If Armin had been looking since they first met, or even longer than that, there were lots of things that could have happened to his parents in over 50 years. Hope was a strong kind of magic. But often times a foolish one.
He saw a muscle in Armin's jaw twitch, blond brows furrowing.
"He told me", the conjurer whispered, his voice hard and unforgiving, fingers twitching where they still lay splayed across the polished copper, the carven sigil. "He told me where they are. That they're alive. But..."
There was a sizzle in the air that Jean had not felt before, a trace of a foreign presence that had escaped his awareness until now. He caught a whiff of smoke and sulphur, a faint trace of a stench that stung in his nose. From one moment to the next the demonic presence around them became palpable and the hairs along his arms began to prickle upright, the skin along his back tightening with a shiver.
A primal fear got evoked in him at the overwhelming sense of wrongness that twisted through his mind and made him recoil, running deeper than when he had faced down Malphas himself.
But no demon was standing in the kitchen before him. It was Armin, the conjurer, who had finally let go of his own concealment spell.
Jean had had never met anyone working closely with demons before but he never would have imagined they could reach such levels of … corruption as the man before him.
The fact that he couldn't see the crimson glow of hellfire in Armin's eyes or licking along his arms seemed like a small miracle.
He wondered if the conjurer used a glamour or some other kind of spell to dull their senses to his true form, just like he had with his own signature, or if he had somehow succeeded in keeping his physical form as pure as it was despite the traces of darkness lingering in his wake. Either option would be proof of an exceptional grasp on magic and a power that extended beyond what could be found with clever demon deals.
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