Demons (Damirae)

Chapter Fifty-Two

"I'm sorry, but I have to call it as it is," Raven spoke up, bringing all eyes in her direction as her's darted from purple to carmine.

Scathing and trenchant, Raven's soft voice hit the air like a schoolmaster's cane, "that is, frankly, bullshit.", taken aback, the Leaguers listened in stone silence. "Everything Damian has said is entirely true and makes all to much sense. Why you can't see that is beyond my reckoning.", she sardonically clasped her hands, "But since these clear reasons aren't being acknowledged or understood, allow me to expand:", a mocking turn edging in to her voice, Raven derided, "no one of you knows anyone of consequence within the preteen community that you could gain information from- you haven't any preternatural links, leave alone any Light links-; none of you fully grasp the preternatural hierarchy, your placement on it, the repercussions of messing with those above you in the hierarchy (and there are a lot, I assure you); not to mention that there is a general lack of understanding when it comes to the balance needed within the Dark and Light communities to insure that this unstable treaty we're in doesn't collapse."

Fixing glares across the conference room with eyes so red one might have thought she had Superman's later vision, Raven ended her cold address with a solid statement, "The impact this situation goes beyond that which you comprehend, stop asserting control  and allow us to deal with the problem."

Stunned silence.

Then Damian spoke, his voice low and icy as Raven's.

"You haven't a clue what you're dealing with; we do. Don't interfere where you aren't needed."

***

Graphite trailed over the blank space, leaving fine lines in its wake. In a trance-like manner, the rod flew over the sea of white, altering the lapping waves to smooth grey streaks and forming an image worthy of the glory of the sea. The faint scratching of the graphite stained the air as well as the page. And that was all that greeted the air. No disturbances. Simple quiet.

Damian could sit in that silence for an age- bask in the comfort of serenity- and fill the plain papers of his book with all the musings of his mind. And those musings had filed down to a lone, beautiful thought.

That thought transpired in to thoughtful pencil strokes running over the page and bringing to existence the drawing of a face shaded by a hood. The rough, short locks of her hair peeked out from the cowl's folds, flaring like the lashes framing her keen eyes. Such emotion poured from his heart to the page that the charcoal black of her eyes could damn well have been glinting their true, fiery amethyst.

Brow drawn in concentration, Damian etched the defining curve of her Cupid's bow, redefining the dip until it met his need to copy her, shade for shade, on to the sheet. As he worked at the contours of her lips, Damian's teeth tugged at his own, biting as his focused reached a meditative state.

Deeper and deeper he travelled in to that state of attentiveness, fixated on capturing the image of this enchanting demoness. Then, as is always the case, that calm was overcome by a storm.

And that 'storm' would be, in this situation, a ringtone.

Agitation flaring, Damian dropped the pencil and sketch pad besides him on the bed, reached over to the beside table's top drawer, then retrieved a phone. Not an expensive, Waynetech model; a cheap, fivers-worth phone with no possibility of being hacked or tracked- a convenience not achievable in any pricey models.