Demon Inside

Chapter 14

Whatever talents Ktana Leyak might have, Megan thought in the next dizzy seconds before all hell broke loose, the ability to pile on the distractions had to rank near the top.

Larry turned to them, his papery face stretched shiny, his eyes burning pits. Once again Megan heard the voice of Ktana Leyak erupting from a mouth that had no business shaping it.

“Hello again, Megan.” Larry’s expression turned coy. It was so bizarre to see an old man simper Megan might have laughed if she hadn’t been so utterly terrified.

Malleus and Spud rushed forward to the chef and hustled him out of the doorway, taking advantage of his inability to move. A steel door slammed, barely audible over the panicked screams of the old woman. Her hands pressed against her cheeks, her eyes open so wide they seemed to float from their sockets.

“Larry! Larry!”

Larry glanced at her. Almost as an afterthought his arm swung back, slamming the woman across the face, throwing her back against the wall. The windows rattled. The woman did not scream again.

“And a witch.” The giggle made every hair on Megan’s body stand on end. “Good. I’m hungry again.”

It all seemed to take such a long time, but in reality Megan knew only seconds had passed, that the door had slammed at the same time Larry’s hand was delivering the blow to his wife, that Malleus and Spud were just reentering the room as Larry moved quickly, his body jerking and creaking, toward Tera.

Flames erupted around him, filling the air with the terrible smell of burning flesh. Still he advanced. The flames grew higher, turned blue-white, as Greyson tried to stop Ktana’s advance, but her tinkling laugh floated through the air and the flames died.

Larry’s body was charred, blackened, horribly blistered. Megan’s stomach twisted and roiled in her belly. Not a man in front of her, not anymore. A thing, a demon-powered corpse worse than any zombie because somehow she knew Larry was still alive in there, that he was still able to feel and think.

Ktana tried to move forward, but Larry’s legs were curling, his arms bending, as his muscles shrank from the intense heat. Megan closed her eyes and covered her face, knowing what was coming.

“Get down!” Greyson shouted. Someone jostled Megan, pushing her down, as Larry exploded in a creaking, horrible splat like the breaking of a rotten egg.

Tera started to shout something, a spell or a command, but her voice stopped abruptly. Megan looked up and saw Ktana holding her by the throat.

More flames, white around Ktana’s head, disappearing quickly when Greyson saw they were doing no good. The metallic click of the gun being cocked followed, and a shot, but Megan had already seen how little good bullets did.

Tera’s face was turning blue. The sight galvanized Megan, seemed to galvanize all of them, because they rushed forward as one. Megan grabbed Ktana’s arm, the flesh rubbery and somehow fragile under her fingers, as though it was only a thin layer of flesh over something putrid that was about to burst. It did split a little as she dug her fingernails in, trying to break the demon queen’s hold on her friend. Clear, reddish-brown liquid seeped out from the wounds, stinging Megan’s skin.

Brian fought Ktana’s other hand as it went for Tera’s chest, trying to catch it between his arm and his side so he could bring his hand down karate-chop style on the back of her elbow. She kept managing to slip out of the makeshift vice but he refused to let go, his movements increasingly frantic as the choked sounds coming from Tera’s throat grew fainter. Malleus and Maleficarum joined the fight, hitting Ktana, punching her, but nothing seemed to make any difference.

Megan looked around, desperate to find something that could help them, looking for Greyson and Spud. Spud she finally spotted, crouching over the body of the old woman on the floor. He stood up, caught her gaze, and looked away guiltily; fresh blood dripped off his knife.

Before she had time to even consider what that meant, Greyson pushed her aside. His eyes burned, his rage froze her to the bone, but his expression was impersonal, almost curious. Malleus and Maleficarum’s arms tightened around Ktana Leyak’s waist and neck; Tera gave one last choked gasp, and Greyson put his hands on Ktana’s grinning face.

Megan felt the heat first, heard Ktana’s laugh of triumph turn into a shriek of agony.

Then she disappeared, while Tera slid bonelessly to the floor.

“Tera! Oh my God, Tera!” Megan’s knees hit the tile with a painful thud as she checked Tera’s pulse, finding it—thready, but there. She put her hand under Tera’s neck and lifted, trying to open her airway at least a little bit.

Why wasn’t anyone helping her? Tera was alive, but what if she had a heart attack or something? Could witches have heart attacks? She assumed so, but they didn’t catch human diseases, so—

“What are you doing? What the fuck are you doing?”

Megan tore her gaze away from her pale, unmoving friend to see Brian surrounded by Greyson and the boys. Spud’s bloody knife was at his throat. Greyson’s hands hesitated on either side of Brian’s face. “Are your shields up, Brian?”

Brian caught her eye. “Megan, tell them to get off me!”

“She could come back! Are your shields up, do you still feel her in the room?”

Brian’s eyes widened. “I don’t—” He glanced down at the knife, then back up. “No, I think she’s gone.”

Tera coughed. Megan glanced down at her, wanting to help, but she couldn’t seem to move. “What do you mean, come back?”

Greyson lowered his hands and the boys relaxed too, stepping away and leaving Brian to slump against the wall.

“She’s a parasite, she could have tried to invade you, or that old woman if she’d still been clinging to life,” Greyson said. “Leyaks usually don’t—they’re imitators, not possessors—but she gets more power this way, I guess. I don’t know. But she disappeared before, and she’s disappeared now—”

“Before?” Tera croaked from the floor. “Before when?”

They all stood there, grouped together in the wreckage of the diner, until Tera broke the stillness by throwing up on Megan’s shoes.

Maldon wasn’t putting in the yard tonight. Greyson had been right about that—it was a show put on for her physical discomfort. Unfortunately, just sitting in the same room with him made her more uncomfortable, especially now that she’d come begging, needing information from him.

Sitting in a hotel room watching public-access television with a very grumpy witch who sounded like Wolf-man Jack was definitely preferable to this, and that was saying a lot. Lucky Brian got to take care of her instead, while Megan and Greyson ate dinner with Maldon and a few of his rubendas. His wife, Megan noticed, was nowhere to be seen.

Megan took another tiny bite of her fish. It was excellent, perfectly cooked, but her stomach was too full of butterflies for anything else to fit.

“So, Megan,” Maldon said, setting down his fork. “What information are you looking for? Your father’s business affairs? Your brother’s rehab? Your mother’s social clubs?”

Megan forced her features to stay still. Another ploy, designed to make her think Maldon knew everything about her family, possibly everything about her.

All the same…Dave’s rehab? If she hadn’t been so loath to admit she needed anything from Maldon at all, she would have loved to have that discussion. Not that she bore Dave any ill will—or at least not much—and not that she wasn’t glad he’d gotten help if he needed it, but still…

“I’m interested in what you did for him,” Megan said, repeating the line she and Greyson had gone over in the car. “How you helped him. What he did for you in return.”

Maldon smiled. “I thought you might be. Now let’s see…You need two pieces of information from me. Two things you want. So do I get two things in exchange?”

She took a deep breath. “I’ll owe you a favor.”

“Two.”

“Not an equal exchange,” Greyson said. His hand on her thigh sent waves of reassuring warmth through her body, while the rest of her shivered. God, Maldon hated Greyson. The emotion was so close to anger she felt it, ghostly cool against her bare arms.

Dressing up had been the last thing she’d wanted to do, but demons loved formality, so here she was, in a black cocktail dress Malleus had picked up for her at the mall while Tera settled into bed and the rest of them had a few tense words going over what Tera did and did not need to know about Ktana Leyak.

“Two bits of information, two favors.”

Greyson dipped his head to the side. “Are the pieces of information totally unrelated?”

Maldon looked away.

“Good. One favor.” Greyson gave her thigh a squeeze. “Ask your questions, Meg.”

Whatever Maldon’s other faults, his bartender did excellent work. Megan fortified herself with a sip of vodka tonic and took a deep breath. “What did you do for my father?”

“I gave him acceptance. I pulled strings, greased a few palms—with his money, of course.” Maldon shrugged. “People who had things against him and your mother suddenly forgot. People were persuaded. Not difficult, but time consuming.”

“But why? Why would you do it for him?” Wheels spun in her head but didn’t manage to touch ground and move forward. There was another question to be asked, she knew it, but she couldn’t seem to formulate it in her head.

“He helped with my books, which are quite complex. He had a good head for figures, your father. I’m sorry he died. He’ll be difficult for me to replace.”

“He helped with your books as payment or he helped with them before?” She didn’t remember seeing Maldon around when she was young, but that didn’t matter. The acquaintance, if it was based on her father’s needing help to get past the town’s anger at her, would have begun when she was well past the age of noticing or caring what her parents did.

“After.”

“Was that the deal? That you helped him, and he did your books in exchange?”

“Yes.” But Maldon’s gaze was too steady and Megan recognized a lie. Her clients did that too—or had, when she’d had clients.

What was he hiding? It couldn’t be loyalty to her dead father that stilled his tongue.

The question clicked into place. “How did he know you? I mean, how did he know to come to you to begin with?”

“Everyone in town knows me.”

“No, no they don’t. I didn’t, when I lived here. I never heard anyone talk about you. When did you move here?”

Maldon sighed and shifted in his chair. “You were fourteen, I believe. Miss Chase, my time this evening is limited, and we still have to discuss your payment for the demons you stole. Can we hurry this up?”

Shit! She’d forgotten about that, and she couldn’t possibly pay him. “I—”

“She’ll give you ten grand for them,” Greyson cut in, so smoothly she wasn’t sure at first he’d even heard her start to speak. Was he crazy? Ten thousand dollars?

“She will or you will?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m deciding whether to treat her as head of her own house, or as your ornita.”

Megan didn’t need to know the literal meaning of the word to understand what had been said. Gasps sounded around the table; one or two rubendas pushed their chairs back in shock, and fury and embarrassment rose in her chest despite their obvious disapproval.

“Hit him,” Greyson muttered.

“What? I—”

“Show him your power. Now.”

No time to worry, to wonder about what might happen if she did. He was right. Megan closed her eyes and gathered her strength, seeing the door inside herself, finding her connection to her demons and the source of her own power. Like a rushing underground spring it welled up inside her, filling her chest, flames burning cold into her head. She saw it, tasted the ozone flavor of it, and let it form itself into a wave and pour from her, over the table, over the floor, smashing into Orion Maldon and knocking him from his seat.

She stood up, aware that the others around the table had leaped out of the way and were now staring openmouthed at her.

“Does she feel like an ornita now, Orion?”

“Bitch,” Maldon spat from the floor. He wiped blood from his lips and licked it off his fingers.

“Don’t do it,” Greyson warned. Tension laced his pose as he stared at Maldon. “Insult a Gretneg and get punished. Attack one…”

“Eska brenti Gretneg, kallahept!”

Megan blinked. The sensation of cold from the anger in the room seeped through her skin, into her body, as if the blood in her veins was running cold…running more slowly…

Her knees buckled and she grabbed for the edge of the table with stiff, numb fingers. She couldn’t seem to hold it, couldn’t put any strength into it…Why was it so hard to breathe? The room started swimming as blackness filled the edges of her vision.

Greyson’s hand closed over her arm, his fingers dragging bruises from beneath her skin. “Meg, come on, don’t give in,” he said, but she couldn’t hear him very well through the haze of voices and the loud, slow beating of her own heart. Ba-bump…ba-bump…ba…bump…

“Damn it, Meg, reach for it!”

Ba…what was he saying? Did it matter? The cold was starting to feel pleasant now, the way she’d heard it did when you started to freeze to death. Maybe that’s what was happening, maybe she could just slip off into sleep now and—bump.

What? No!

Her panicked brain rebelled, woke up, and she knew what Greyson was telling her, begging her, to do. Heat burned the arm he held, warming her freezing blood enough to keep it beating, but she needed the heat inside, all the way through her. Somehow she forced herself to open up, envisioned tentacles coming from the demon inside her and reaching out, reaching through her skin, until she found Greyson’s power and grabbed it with every bit of strength she had left. It roared through her body, obscuring everything else. For a moment she didn’t just see the flames, she was them, bright and glorious as she rose to the ceiling and burst apart.

Greyson tugged at her, dragging her away from the table. Her vision cleared, the flames subsiding enough to see it wasn’t just in her mind, it wasn’t a hallucination built on power. The room was on fire, the curtains already gone, the crystal glasses on the table shattering from the heat.

They made it almost to the edge of the dining room before Maldon grabbed her other hand, almost yanking her away from Greyson. The shaggy blond hair on one side of his head was gone, burned away. His cheek on that side was red, his eyebrow singed.

“T’gau li!” His voice, thick with rage, chilled even Megan’s overheated skin as his piercing blue stare bored into her.

But more than his gaze on her, she felt his power. Not being aimed at her, but resting in his body. His abilities, like hers with reading images in people’s minds or Greyson’s with fire. She felt his connection to blood, felt an answering bell somewhere in her chest and knew that if she wanted to she could attack him in the same way. She could turn his power back on him, combine it with her anger and Greyson’s fire, and make him explode from inside. For one moment she wanted to, needed to. Desire burned in her breast and raced through her veins.

Then it was over. And she would never know if it ended because she wanted it to, or if it ended because Greyson punched Maldon squarely on the nose and sent him sprawling across the carpet.

The sliding glass doors behind the dining table exploded. Megan started to turn toward them but she was already falling, being shoved down to the carpet a few inches from Maldon’s feet. Demons ran everywhere, down the hall to her right, escaping from what, Megan didn’t understand.

Maldon stirred. Blood poured from his nose down his face as he tried to sit up, but Greyson was already grabbing his lapels and using them to lift his upper body.

“You set us up!”

Maldon swung his fist. Greyson’s head snapped to the side but he held on, managing to hit Maldon again in the process.

Porcelain shards filled the air as a vase shattered only a few inches from the men’s heads. Greyson dropped Maldon and ducked. Megan ducked too, covering her head and screaming as a wall of flame rose behind her.

“Megan! Go!”

Glass and china tore her stockings and cut the skin on her knees and palms as she scuttled away. The front door filled her vision, the front door and the promise of freedom from the hell this modern suburban home had become. Over the subtle roar of the fire and Greyson’s shouts she heard more gunshots.

No time to waste wondering who was doing the shooting. She had to get out, now, immediately, before the heat overcame her. Sweat poured down her forehead to sting her eyes, but she dared not stop even to wipe it away.

It felt like an eternity before she made it. Her hand slipped on the knob once, twice, three times before she realized the door was locked. She fumbled with the dead bolt, aware that as she stood in front of the ivory-painted door in her black dress she might as well have had a target painted on her back.

Other fingers covered hers, strong and sure, flipping the bolt. Greyson yanked the door open. Cold air rushed in, cooling the sweat on her skin. It felt wonderful, but not as good as knowing she could get out. She lifted her foot to take the first step toward freedom, then stopped short when the cold barrel of a gun pressed right between her eyes.