Demon Inside

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 millennia, older even than the funeral rite had been, and wanted to participate in it. The part that knew the ritual was not a human one, and he was not human, and she wasn’t entirely human either, not anymore.

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 running through sparse foliage.

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—

Don’t think about it!

But he looked just as he had before he’d left for the ceremony, save his damp hair and clean, ordinary clothes. Black pants, a black V-neck. Greyson casual. A sweating bottle of champagne dangled from his left hand.

Some of the choking fear abated. He hadn’t turned savage in the last hour. This could have been any night, one of many when he’d greeted her with a cold drink and a warm kiss. If her heart hadn’t been pounding in her throat she could almost have imagined it was.

She found her voice. “His life?”

“He knows we’re meeting with Winston tomorrow, so yes.”

“But his life isn’t in danger.”

“Isn’t it?” The bottle clanked solidly onto the table by the door.

“No. I mean…oh.”

“He tried to kill you. He tried to kill us both.”

“I can’t…I can’t just order someone killed, Greyson. I can’t do that.”

I can.

“What if I ask you not to?”

He stepped back and put his hands in his pockets. “If you ask me not to…we’ll discuss it.”

“Now?”

“No. Now he’s standing outside on the street, getting ready to make a scene. I don’t want him out there any longer than necessary.” His glance took in her shoes and purse still clutched in her hands. “Mal, get Miss Chase’s coat, please. Better put those shoes on, Meg.”

“We’re going outside?”

“We should get a look at him before we let him in, don’t you think?”

Oh. Ktana Leyak. “He’s not a Yezer, though, isn’t he safe?”

“I would think so, but I can’t guarantee it. Especially not in his—shall we say highly emotional?—state. He’s vulnerable, and that’s not a safe way to be.”

She nodded as Malleus slipped her coat over her shoulders. Her cold, stiff shoes refused to admit her feet. She stooped to shove them on and almost fell over.

Greyson didn’t tease her about her clumsiness. Normally he would have. She glanced at him once she’d righted herself and found him watching her. He’d seen her at the door, obviously preparing to flee; was he going to say anything? Did she want him to?

The trouble with keeping secrets was that it became harder and harder to stop as time went on. Tiny discussions, simple questions, grew out of control the more she tried to put them off, until they were no longer simple, but complex and full of mines.

“Open the door,” he said.

Cold air blasted into the room, scented with wood smoke and snow. The pale sky hung low and heavy above them. Megan had forgotten it was only a few days until Christmas.

They stepped outside, their shoes scuffing the white stone steps and the sidewalk beyond, until they stood almost at the gate with the boys behind them.

“Greyson, Megan,” Orion said. It seemed clichéd somehow for a blood demon to have bloodshot eyes, but the pinkish tinge, like Pepto-Bismol in his eye sockets, was definitely not anger or passion, and the tremulous rasp of his voice made her skin crawl. Greyson was right. Orion had come begging.

“What do you want, Orion?”

“To talk to you. I have information. You came to me for it. I’ll give it to you now. Free. A favor you don’t have to return.”

“No.”

She glanced at Greyson, opening her mouth, but his warning look shut it again.

“Megan? Don’t you want to know how it happened? What your father did, what he said? Why he left that hospital to you?”

“I’m tired, Orion. And bored with you,” she lied, but his words echoed in her head. She did want to know why her father had left it to her, more than almost anything. Was it one last reprimand from beyond the grave?

Or was it an apology he felt he couldn’t make in life?

“I can tell you,” he continued. “I was there, I know it all. All you have to do is let me live. I’ll leave you alone. It wasn’t my idea, anyway, at my place. You know that.” His horrible pink gaze turned to Greyson. “You know I wasn’t behind that, you know it!”

“Just like I know you jumped at the chance to help,” Greyson said.

“You fucked my wife! What was—” Orion subsided. His thin fingers curled over the top of the gate. “We’ve never been friends. But that wasn’t personal.”

Greyson shrugged. “And neither is this. Come on, Meg, it’s cold out here.”

He took her hand and started to turn away, but Orion’s next shout stopped them both. “I’ll tell you how to stop the leyak! I know what she wants!”

For a second Megan thought he’d somehow managed to break the gate and it had exploded with a sound like thunder. Then she heard him scream. She was already throwing herself to the ground when Greyson’s hand caught her neck and shoved.

Not an explosion. A ball of something black and shiny, like obsidian or jet, with trails of red sparks in its wake. And not aimed at her, but at Orion, who was now shrieking, “Let me in! D’sham tergan, chresh! Chresh!”

The brittle, frozen grass sliced at her palms like razor blades as she clambered out of the way. Greyson caught her around the waist, trying to roll her to the right across the icy lawn, but she didn’t want to go. The front of the house was naked, innocent of trees or shrubs, and they would have to climb back up the stairs to find sanctuary. Belatedly she realized he knew that too, and was pulling her toward the break of pines on the side of the house. Together they scuttled toward it.

Another bang. Orion screamed again, and now other voices joined his, harsh muffled voices in English. “He’s down! Get him!”

“Greyson, we have to help him,” Megan gasped. “We can’t just leave him!”

“The fuck we can’t. He’s going to die tomorrow anyway—”

Maleficarum slammed into them, knocking them into the trees. The scent of pine filled her nose, and for one absurd moment it actually felt like Christmas.

Until a dried pine needle, sharp as a dental instrument, jammed itself into her cheek when she hit the ground. “Ouch, shit!”

“Are you okay?”

Muffled footsteps sounded on the street, some distance away but gaining fast.

“Help me! Chresh!” The hysterical quality of Orion’s pleas made her jaw clench. She glanced around and saw another ball hit the fence and erupt into a shower of black sparks like the sequins on Justine’s dress.

“We have to help him!”

“This doesn’t concern us, those are—”

“Greyson! Ak vend retchia! Ak vend retchia!”

Maleficarum said something Megan was fairly certain he wouldn’t have said in her presence at any other moment, but the exact phrase was covered by Greyson’s much more concise one.

“Ak vend retchia—aaaaa!”

“Damn it!” Greyson paused for a moment, then shouted, “Retchia a capt.” Megan heard the footsteps outside getting closer, heard the front gate squeak then slam shut.

Greyson snatched her hand and yanked her toward a small side door she hadn’t seen until then. “Fuck.”

“What about—”

His face was hidden by shadows. “Mal and Spud have him. I gave the bastard sanctuary.”

“Call Tera.”

She actually stumbled. Words she never thought she’d hear Greyson say. “What?”

“Call her, now. Tell her we have Orion and he’s been injured, but convince her we’re not going to help him escape or anything stupid like that.” He paused and glanced at her shoes and purse again, his arms crossed over his chest. “Please, Meg.”

The blaze in the fireplace warmed her skin, but the phone was still winter-night cold in her hand. Tera picked up on the first ring.

“Megan, is Orion Maldon in that house? You need to send him out now, out front, unarmed—”

“Wait, wait, Tera, hold on. Yes, he’s in here. He’s injured. We’re not going to help him escape or anything, but we can’t—”

“Look, this has nothing to do with you or Greyson. This isn’t even me, I didn’t order this. This is Vergadering business, and they’ll storm that fucking gate if they—”

“Tera, please. Just listen for a minute, okay?”

She didn’t know if the silence was her invitation to speak or if Tera was simply too pissed off to continue. Hoping for the former, she plunged ahead. “Maldon has some information I need. About my father, remember I told you about that? About the hospital? He came here to give it to me, and I need it. Please. Don’t storm the gates.”

Greyson snorted. A chill breeze wafted over her skin, distracting her from the phone call. They were supposed to be celebrating right now. Snuggled up in his big bed with a bottle of champagne or something.

Instead they were here in the study, while someone who’d tried to kill them sobbed and bled just outside the door, a gang of witches waited on the street—presumably with battering rams—and Greyson knew she’d been about to run out on him when he’d come upstairs after the ceremony.

Finally Tera sighed. “Put Greyson on.”

Megan did.

“Hi, Tera. No. I had to, I didn’t want to. He invoked—No. No, I—no. I’m not going to, I give you my word. Yes. I swear it. Hey, I hate the guy, I don’t want to help him do—okay. Yes. Here she is.”

He handed Megan the phone and leaned toward her, as if to give her a kiss, but stopped himself. Okay, they were definitely going to have to talk about what had happened. Guilt made her duck her head and look away as she raised the phone to her ear.

It wasn’t that she didn’t still want him. She did, unquestionably. It wasn’t that she even thought of him differently—she didn’t, not really. It wasn’t as though what she’d witnessed was part of his everyday life or anything.

It was herself she saw differently, herself who seemed like some sort of monster, and she had no idea how to admit that to him. To anyone.

“I’m going to make some calls,” Tera said. “You should have the night free. But in the morning, you’re going to have to hand him over.”

Megan’s shoulders sagged. She hadn’t realized they were tense. “Thanks.”

“It’s okay. Call me tomorrow.”

“Okay. ’Bye.” The phone clicked shut. “What’s going on? What’s all this about sanctuary, and what’s Vergadering doing outside?”

He handed her a glass half full of bourbon. “What’s going on,” he said, “is that we’ve just interfered in a Vergadering arrest. Sanctuary—the retchia—is an ancient demon custom, which essentially has to be granted if requested. And I assume Vergadering is outside because they think Orion killed those witches Temp hired to kill me. Any more questions?”

“Why do they think he did it?” The whiskey burned going down her throat and brought tears to her eyes, but she felt better. Stronger. False confidence, but confidence just the same.

He shrugged. “Probably because some interesting clues to that effect have been planted around the city and the rumor mill is working overtime.”

“So you weren’t going to have him killed, you were going to have him arrested? Like T-Templeton?” That bloody heart…

“Oh, no. I definitely planned to have him killed. But this way when his body turns up, Vergadering will consider their case closed.” He left which means we’re both off the hook unsaid, but Megan knew it was there.

Damn it, how did he manage to do this to her? Put her in a position where his way seemed the only sensible and logical way, where it kept coming down to her life or someone else’s?

And make himself look magnanimous in the process, as well as right?

“Which reminds me…” he said, and picked up his own phone. “I have to call Winston. No point putting off until tomorrow what we can do today.”

“No! I mean, can’t we…you said we’d discuss it.”

“And we will. But Win needs to know he’s here, so he can come over if he wants. We might as well meet with him now.”

She nodded. It wasn’t like she’d be going to sleep anytime soon. If she even stayed here.

She was of two minds about that one. Or rather, two hearts and a mind. Both hearts wanted to stay. Her mind thought it might not be a good idea.

It might not be a good idea for her to be involved in any of this anymore. Despite what Winston said to her earlier about it being time for her to take charge, she had a feeling that, as much as the demons might like it, it would be the absolute worst thing she could do for herself. When she started thinking murder wasn’t such a bad plan after all, when she started thinking of people—even for a second—as problems to be dealt with and not individuals, that wasn’t good.

But hadn’t she been training herself for years to think of them that way? To see them in the light of their issues, and to use their lives and the events in them merely as stage settings to help her treat the problem?

Had her career been nothing more than a way to remove herself from people, all along, to let herself feel superior to them? Were these changes in her the result of the awakening of that piece of demon nestled in her chest, or were they simply her true feelings—as black and miserable as they were—finally being allowed to come out?

After all, she hadn’t had her own personal demon. Every shitty thing she’d done to other people in the last sixteen years had come purely from the depths of her one human heart.

Greyson looked at her oddly, and she realized she was standing in the middle of the room with her brow furrowed, biting her lip.

“I was just…thinking about something.”

“I’d never have guessed. Win’s on his way over, so let’s get Orion in here now. I want to have this done as soon as possible.”

“What about—are we going to decide now what to do about him? What to tell Winston, I mean?”

He finished his drink. “Why don’t we see what he has to say first. You might change your mind when you hear his story.”