Demon Inside

Tires squealed on the pavement. Brian spun Megan’s car around, turning the headlights on high beam, aiming them right at the demon woman.

She turned, her eyes widening as the hood of the Focus sped toward her. Malleus pulled back his knife and raised it for another strike—

And fell to the ground just as the car whizzed past. The demon woman had disappeared, leaving the street silent and empty except for the dead.

“Hot buttered rum?”

“Sure, just hold the hot and the butter,” Brian gasped, collapsing on the couch. “In fact, hold the glass and give me the whole fucking bottle.”

Megan considered it for a minute, then obeyed, grabbing a bottle of bourbon for herself and whiskey for Malleus. Roc took a shot of crème de menthe and sipped it slowly, a habit that usually made her laugh. Tonight she didn’t think she could find humor in a Chris Rock routine, let alone the curious drinking habits of a little green demon.

“M’lady.” Malleus finished swallowing and rested the bottle on his knee. He’d drunk half of it in one long gulp. “You ’ave to call Mr.—”

“Don’t even say it. Just don’t.”

His brows lowered. “You know you ’ave to tell ’im. You need to—”

“He’s right, Megan.” Rocturnus spoke so quietly she had to lean forward to hear him. “They all have to know.”

“Who all? Why does anybody need to know—”

“Because she’s hurt others, from other families.” Roc finished his glass and poured another. “Because she’ll keep doing it.”

“You know who she is?”

“And so do you. You heard her name.”

Ktana Leyak.

She opened her mouth, but Roc, eyes wide, held up a warning hand. “Don’t say it, don’t even think it.”

“Why? Who is she, who was she?”

He sighed. His eyes closed. “She’s our mother.”

The phone rang.

For a moment Megan didn’t even understand what it was. The sound, so normal, so everyday, didn’t seem to fit into this conversation; it belonged to a different life in a world that hadn’t become increasingly more insane over the last few months.

“What do you mean?” she asked Roc.

“Just what I said. She created us. She’s our mother.”

“So—”

“Are you going to answer that?” Brian’s eyes were closed as he slumped back on the couch. With the bottle in one hand and his other hand on his chest he looked like a drunken fraternity boy.

“No, I don’t think so.” The bourbon was starting to spread its heat and false comfort through her body now, taking the edge off the deep chill.

“M’lady, you should—”

“So what does that mean, your mother, Roc? Why is she killing you, why is she killing other demons?”

He shook his head. “We don’t know.”

“Is it the ones who leave she’s killing, or the ones who stay, or what? Why is she going after demons from other families?”

Megan’s answering machine clicked on, then fell silent as her caller hung up.

“We can’t tell,” Roc said. “We don’t really talk a lot as a rule, you know. It’s not like we all sit down at the end of the day to have these little meetings you humans seem to enjoy so much.”

From her purse came the sound of her cell phone. Damn it. She’d known it was him. Greyson was pretty much the only person who had that number except for Brian and Tera.

“Sorry if we try and communicate with each other,” she snapped. This was too much, all too much. She just wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep. For a week. She’d basically killed one of her clients, she’d lost her job, she’d lost another demon, from the look on Brian’s face it was possible she’d lost one of her few friends, and now her damned—well, whatever he was—wanted her to talk to him. She was going to have to tell him what happened and he was not going to be pleased, and she thought if she had to deal with one more thing tonight she was going to start screaming. And keep screaming until they put her in a nice, quiet, padded room somewhere. Hey, straightjackets probably weren’t as uncomfortable as they looked, right?

“Don’t get snippy with me. I’m trying to help you.”

Megan stared at him, trying to keep her anger from overflowing and leading her to do something she would regret. “I appreciate that, Roc,” she said, enunciating each word carefully. “But I’ve asked you to tell me what’s going on and you haven’t. So do you think I have a right to be angry?”

Now Malleus’s phone rang. Megan closed her eyes. She could refuse to answer her own phone but she couldn’t stop Malleus from answering his. He didn’t work for her. He worked for Greyson, and if he ignored Greyson’s call she had no doubt he would be punished.

With a look that was half guilty, half defiant, Malleus picked up his phone and flipped it open. “Yeh,” he said. “Yeh. Sorry, I—She’s safe, she’s right ’ere. We had a little trouble—the lady found the car, y’know, the one them witches—she wanted to—she said she’d go wifout me if I—Mr. Dante, please don’t—” He cringed and held the phone out to Megan. “He wants to talk to you.”

God damn it. How dare he call her up to yell at her, how dare he order her to the phone like she was his goddamned slave. She snatched the phone from Malleus. “Hello?”

“What’s going on, Megan?”

That was a bad sign. He never called her Megan.

“Nothing,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. She could practically feel his anger through the satellite co

“Brian?”

Deep breath. “Yes, Brian. He can read inanimate objects and you know I can’t. So we went to see if we could get anything from the car.”

He was quiet for so long she wondered if he’d hung up. Then he said, “Let me get this straight. Someone shot at us the other night. You saw the car you thought they were driving, so you grabbed the choirboy and ran over there to see if you could figure out who they were, after I asked you not to get involved, is that right?”

“Well—”

“And you thought that was a good idea.”

She gritted her teeth. “No, I thought it was an incredibly stupid idea, that’s why I did it. After all, that’s what I do all the time, right? Stupid shit?”

“No, you don’t,” he snapped, echoing her own nasty tone, “which is why I can’t figure out why the fuck you’d do something so reckless when you know how dangerous—”

“I don’t know anything, because you haven’t told me anything!”

“Jesus, I didn’t think you would—”

“You lied to me, Greyson.”

“What?”

“You lied to me. In the restaurant. I told you about—I told you that name and you lied and pretended it was nothing to worry about, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t pretend anything. I told you what I knew.”

“You’re lying! Again!”

“Why didn’t you say the name just now?”

“Don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not trying to change anything. I say I didn’t lie, you say I did; we’re at an impasse. But I would like you to answer my question, please. Why didn’t you say the name? You said it in the restaurant, why not now?”

“What difference does it make?”

“For fuck’s sake, Megan. You saw her, didn’t you? She showed up while you were broadcasting your presence to every sensitive in a ten-mile radius, right?”

“So what if she did?”

“Are you serious?”

“We got away, we’re fine, I don’t see why you’re so mad at me!” She glanced to her right. Brian was making every pretence of reading her battered copy of The Caine Mutiny, but the speed with which Malleus and Roc looked away told her they’d been hanging on her every word.

Now she looked like some dumb little girl in front of them. “You don’t own me, Greyson,” she snapped. “It’s not up to you what I do or don’t do.”

Pause. “Fine. Do whatever you like.”

“I will!”

“Good.”

“Good!”

This was what her anger and embarrassment had reduced her to. The kind of fights thirteen-year-olds had.