Demon Inside

But it wasn’t. It was a small railed ledge at the top of a staircase cut into the rough stone of the wall, and directly below it Greyson stood naked on a dais at the end of a long wooden table.

His body was covered from neck to feet in designs, black and red ink on his skin. Greek letters, a few of them looked like, words ru

She’d started to turn away, trying in vain to return the privacy she’d stolen, when he burst into flames. His arms raised skyward, like a phoenix, and his voice echoed through the chamber, filling Megan’s ears with demon words, words she knew were promises and pledges. She crouched down, afraid to leave, afraid to stay, biting her lip to keep from crying out. It wasn’t the fire. It was the power, the sheer heart-pounding energy of it, filling the room, snaking over her skin and trying to gain entry.

The rubendas started chanting. A drum beat time in the background, loud and fast. Flames spread from Greyson, touching everyone at the table, crawling across the floor and partway up the walls. The rubendas started their own fires, smaller, reaching out to meet his, and the inferno mushroomed and rose toward the ceiling. A thin bead of sweat trickled down Megan’s face.

The priest strode forward through the fire, and placed his hand on Greyson’s head. The flames died, instantly. An expectant hush filled the room.

“Greyson Plantagenet Dante,” the priest said, his voice ringing off the stone. “Achen Solomon Plantagenet Dante, achen Greyson Plantagenet Dante, achen Luchior Plantagenet Dante, achen Aradios Plantagenet Dante…”

The list of names intoned in that sepulchral voice and the smoky haze in the air, the scent of incense—dragon’s blood, if she wasn’t mistaken, roundly fruity and spicy—made Megan’s head start to pound. She was on the ledge and not there. Only some tiny instinct, like that of a mouse in a wolf’s den, kept her from lowering her shields, from trying to fly down to the floor so she could take part. If she opened her fist she knew she could create flames from nothing, could take her part with the rest of them. She was them, she was all of them…she shoved her fist against her lips so hard it hurt.

From the right side of the room stepped one of the brothers—she thought it was Maleficarum—holding a covered tray, bright gold and shining in the reflected torchlight.

The rubendas started to cheer, to clap, to bang the table. A few called out, “Greyson Dante!” a few more, “Templeton Black!”

The yells grew louder, more cohesive, until only one word roared off the walls and filled Megan’s soul. “Gretneg! Gretneg! Gretneg!”

Maleficarum lifted the lid of the tray. Even at this distance Megan knew what rested there, knew what was going to happen. A ritual older than time…a gesture of respect and continuity, a form of communion overwritten by modern organized religions. She’d read about it, studied it, but never thought she would actually witness it. She wanted to close her eyes but the greatest force she possessed would not convince her lids to lower. This was a mistake, this was such a mistake, she shouldn’t be here…

Greyson scooped the heart of Templeton Black from its pool of blood. The sound of his teeth sinking into it echoed through the cavern, becoming lost only in the sound of Megan’s own heart pounding in her ears.

She tried to crawl back toward the door as Greyson extended his arm, tried to scramble to her feet but stumbled as the priest sliced Greyson’s forearm with a sharp silver blade. Her hand found the catch again when his blood poured into a golden bowl held by Malleus.

But she did not manage to run away until the rubendas came forward with their cups.

Chapter 20

She rinsed her mouth again, then once again, spitting into the sink, trying as hard as she could not to see her red face in the mirror. There wasn’t time, even if she wanted to. She had no idea how much longer the ceremony would last.

Pushing her sweaty hair back from her forehead, she left the bathroom and grabbed her purse and shoes, then flung the door open and started to run.

The marble stairs had never seemed so slippery, the hall never so threatening. No ghosts lurked in the shadows near the ever-moving ceiling. No demons hid in the corners; they were all down in the dungeon.

The danger came from her, from that place deep inside that had sneaked into a ceremony she had no business witnessing. The part that wanted to see it. The part that recognized it for what it was, the transfer of power, the continuance of a legacy going back mille

The part that had watched Templeton Black’s blood spurt from his heart, one last forced beat before all power left it forever, and drip down Greyson’s chin.

And had wanted to strip off her clothes and run down the stone steps and go to him, wrap herself around him so the ink on his skin smeared off onto hers. Wanted to lick the blood off and taste it, raw and coppery in his mouth, to feel him force all that power into her body, force himself into her body, to scream in ecstasy while they all watched.

It was a siren’s call wending its way to her head, and she had to get out, get back to herself, before she obeyed it.

Her feet slid on the floor at the base of the stairs. She twisted her ankle trying to keep her balance and had to half run, half hop to the doors, across the dim rectangles of light coming through the windows, exposed and vulnerable, like hobbled prey ru

She twisted the doorknob. It would not budge. She fumbled with the locks, pushing until her fingers hurt, but they would not move.

Nobody entered or left the Iureanlier without permission from the Gretneg. She was trapped.

In her panicked state, when she first heard the pounding she thought she was the one doing it, beating senselessly at the door. It took a moment for her to realize her arms were folded, her fists clenched. Someone was outside, hammering at the wooden gate that separated the house from the street.

She ducked down. The police. It had to be the police, they’d heard about the ceremony, they knew about everything, they were—

Calm down, for fuck’s sake! The police probably didn’t even know Templeton Black was dead, much less anything about demon customs or rituals or anything else. The idea that they would be outside, ready to bust everyone for—what? unlawful disposal of demon remains?—was ludicrous.

She curled her fingers around the edge of one of the heavy red velvet curtains and tugged it aside, but the floodlights on the lawn were too bright to see past. She had one brief, heartfelt moment of thanks that she hadn’t been able to get out after all before voices flooded into the hall and the lights flashed on.

“M’lady? What’s wrong?” Maleficarum stood before her, his stout, powerful hands hovering ineffectually a few inches from her shoulder. “What’s ’appened?”

“It’s Maldon,” Malleus snarled, whipping back the curtain. “What’s that Aylesbury think ’e’s doing here? Scaring our lady, makin’ a scene!”

“You watch yer language, Mal!”

“Yeh,” said Spud.

“I presume he’s begging for his life.”

They turned as one at the sound of Greyson’s voice. Megan was afraid to look at him, somehow convinced she’d find him still naked, covered in markings, blood dripping down his chest and pouring—