Demon Inside

“Yes.”

He held out his hand. “Winston Lawden.”

“House Caedes Fuiltean,” she replied, forcing herself to shake it. It had a familiar hard, tight feel to it. Would Greyson’s hands change when he became Gretneg? She sincerely hoped not. Templeton’s had been distinctly dry. “Orion Maldon’s boss.”

Winston’s ruddy face darkened. “I hope you know how sorry I am about that. Orion overstepped himself most egregiously.”

“Orion tried to kill me.”

“I know. And trust me, our meeting tomorrow is only a formality. I am prepared to punish Orion in whatever way you feel is necessary, I assure you.”

She nodded, pleasure at his sincerity warring with doubt of the same. Demons prided themselves on keeping their word, but they planted all sorts of loopholes in those words too.

“I’d like to ask you about my demons,” she said. Perhaps this wasn’t the right time, but she’d promised. “I understand some of your Yezer have been attacking mine.”

Lawden’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. “My Yezer? Oh, dear. My Yezer are very well policed. That’s not possible.”

“I have a list of names.” She pulled it from her little evening bag and handed it to him. “Surely you don’t think my demons are lying to me?”

She had to give him credit. He started to read the list, but glanced up sharply after a few seconds. “Two of these Yezer are dead.”

“I suppose this was before they—wait, dead? How?”

His blue eyes read the knowledge in her own, and he nodded.

“They exploded,” she said. “Didn’t they? Greyson said you’d lost two.”

Winston folded the paper back up and slipped it into his breast pocket. “They did. What do you know about it?”

The question wasn’t a demand, but her skin grew warm anyway, as if he were blaming her. “Not much. But if those who exploded were attacking mine…”

“Do you have the lists from other families?”

She nodded and opened her bag again. “Everyone has a few—”

“Megan? What’s wrong?”

She forced herself to smile. “Nothing, nothing. What were we saying?”

Every house had lost some. Even Greyson’s. Were some of his Yezer attacking hers, was he actually trying to undermine her, to steal from her?

He’d said he’d lost one, that he didn’t know what was happening until one of his had exploded last week.

There had to be some explanation for it, she knew it. But what did it say about their relationship that three months in, her first instinct was to see if she could trick him into telling her what was going on instead of asking him outright?

“You think these explosions are co

“It’s not Yezer, though. It’s—” She stopped herself. If he didn’t already know, she wasn’t going to tell him now.

“It’s the leyak?” Winston asked, his blue gaze rooting her to the spot.

She nodded.

“I thought so.” Why was he being so nice to her? He was Maldon’s boss, and Maldon had been in on the deal with her father and Templeton, and that would be reason enough not to trust him even if he wasn’t what and who he was. The head of an opposing demon family was probably not the best sounding board for her fears.

“After I meet with you and Greyson tomorrow, the others will be over to discuss this,” he went on. “Will you stay? We all want this problem solved. I think you might be able to help us.”

“I—I’ll have to check—”

“No, Megan. You’ll have to be there. We all know you’ve been having some difficulty adjusting. Some of us want to let you have whatever time you need. But this is a discussion you must be part of if it centers around your rubendas. Failure to participate…it may make some of us angry.”

She looked up sharply, searching for the threat in his eyes, but finding only kindness. “It’s time to take your place, Megan. Ready or not.”

She was hungry.

Around her the house was silent, empty, every living being except her back down in the dungeon while Greyson became Gretneg.

Surely it would be okay for her to sneak down to the kitchen and get a snack? She wouldn’t go down that long winding hall. She didn’t particularly want to, and even if she had, she knew it would definitely not be a good thing to do. It would be violating a trust. She wouldn’t be in this house at all if there hadn’t been complete confidence in her staying away from the ceremony.

A trust she suddenly wasn’t so sure she returned.

“The Gretneg of a Meegra has to do what’s best for her family first,” Greyson had told her the night she’d co

Greyson was Gretneg now, and nobody knew better than Megan how seriously he took that responsibility. If he thought it served his needs and those of his family best, he would flick her demons out of the way with no more care than he would if a moth landed on his windowsill.

Wouldn’t he? Had he done it already?

She knew this was silly. If she asked him he would tell her. He would give her his word, and she trusted that word. But the heavy atmosphere in the house, the sense that the air around her was swirling and shifting, made her skin tingle and butterflies fill her stomach. Something was changing, and she didn’t know yet how serious or far-reaching those changes would be.

She got up and started pacing, while the walls and furniture stood as silent observers to her unease. Her stocking feet sank into the soft carpet, whispering at her as she moved.

“This is stupid,” she said out loud. She was hungry. There was food downstairs. She’d sneak down and grab something and be back in less than five minutes, long before the ceremony ended. She needed something to do. Her book didn’t distract her and nothing on television was of interest. She’d get a snack, she’d bring it back here and try to get some things straight in her head while she waited. Formulate a plan for when Greyson returned.

Her toes grew numb from the freezing marble as she crept down the stairs, and the few oriental carpets in the hall did nothing to warm them. The torches had been put out immediately after the guests left, and only the floodlights from outside provided any illumination. Roc had had to leave too. The complicated process by which demons were permitted into each other’s homes still eluded Megan, but there hadn’t seemed to be much reason for Roc to stay.

She padded across the shiny white tile floor to the fridge, not turning on the light. Hmmm…cheese, the remains of a very rare roast sitting in a pool of blood on its tray—her stomach lurched, but whether from disgust or hunger Megan didn’t know and didn’t want to contemplate—she grabbed the cheese and slammed the door shut.

There were crackers in the pantry. That was an acceptable snack. A handful of them, a chunk of cheese, and there wouldn’t be plates or anything else to dispose of in the bedroom.

She had her hand buried in the cracker box when she became aware of the singing. It had been there since she’d walked into the room, but only then did it register.

A few moments of heart-pounding panic later, she calmed down. They weren’t upstairs. The sound didn’t grow louder, so they weren’t on their way back up the tu

Beside the pantry, almost invisible, a small door cut into the smooth wall. It would be wrong to open it. It would be a violation, even though she hadn’t actually promised she wouldn’t watch.

Curiosity killed the cat…

Her feet moved of their own volition, her fingers found the almost-invisible catch in the door. Probably just a storeroom anyway, or a low dumbwaiter.