Demon Inside

Chapter 5

She had no idea what to say.

Faced with a sea of little bald heads in a confusing Impressionistic variety of colors and squinty lash-less eyes, she started to regret her impulse. It would have been better to let it go. It would have been better to let the ones who didn’t want to stay with her just leave. If they weren’t even interested in trying things her way, in giving being a little less vicious a chance, they should go.

But the people…

And that was why. She couldn’t let them all just leave her and move on. Not when she’d spent so much time formulating a plan. Not when she was able to sleep easier at night knowing the humans her demons affected slept a little easier as well, because her first rule had been no more suicides, no more abuse. They could make their people miserable, but they were not to harm others.

Even that made her uncomfortable. But she couldn’t let the Yezer starve either.

“I called you here because I know some of you are leaving,” she said finally. “And going to a different house.”

The crowd shifted uneasily. She glanced at Roc, but his expression was unreadable. She hated not being able to use her gifts with demons. Having spent her early life getting hunches about people and then her entire life beyond her teen years being able to simply open up and know all sorts of things about what a person was feeling or thinking or doing, she felt disarmed these days. Naked, and not in a good hot-demon-in-bed kind of way, but in a showing-up-to-work-undressed-and-being-laughed-at way.

“I want to reassure all of you that I’m doing everything I can to stop the…ah…the attacks on you. I will find out who’s doing it, and I will make sure they’re punished.”

A ripple of interest moved through the crowd, and her spirits rose a little. “It’s happening in other Meegras too. Not just to you.”

“So if the others can’t protect their rubendas, how are you going to protect us? You’re not even a demon.”

“Yes, when are you going to do the ritual?”

The words echoed in the cavernous space for a moment, bouncing off the wooden cabinetlike doors of their bedrooms and the incredibly high ceiling. Normally this house felt oddly peaceful, a happy place despite the human despair its inhabitants fed on. But now…the demons were angry. With her. With the Accuser for having bound them to her. At the unseen, unknown killer stalking them.

“We’re not here to discuss that,” she said, then, remembering what Roc had said, “I didn’t come here to be questioned. I give my orders and you follow them.”

A few of them seemed to settle down, either at her strong tone or the words themselves. But unrest still hovered in the air.

“Do you doubt I have the power to protect you? Is that why you’re going somewhere else?”

Murmurs. Mutterings. But none spoke up.

“I’m connected to you. You’re connected to me.” Her face reddened. She felt like a bad actor in a melodrama. But Rocturnus nodded slightly beside her and the numerous eyes glinting in the white light from the ceiling were trained on her. Bad melodrama was just the sort of thing they liked, along with sugary snacks and twee home decor. They were like vicious little old ladies in that way. “Any more of you leave and you’ll all be—punished. Punished severely.”

The crowd sighed and shifted a little. Shit, Roc was right. This was what they wanted. Did they know it was bullshit? That she didn’t think she could bring herself to punish any one of them demon style? The only example of such treatment she’d seen had turned her stomach; she still woke up some nights alone in her bed with the image of Greyson’s bloody back in her mind, with the sound of the whip echoing in her ears.

What she could do, though, was hit them with her power. The telekinetic ability Tera had taught her didn’t always work; in fact, it hadn’t been working very well at all of late. Tera said it was because despite Megan’s abilities being so closely aligned to those of witches, she wasn’t a witch. She simply didn’t have the genetic power.

Megan suspected it was more than that, but she didn’t want to think about it. She’d been doing very well with it before the Yezer Ha-Ra had connected to her.

Demons weren’t telekinetic.

But she didn’t need to move any solid objects here. She just needed to let them know how strong she was, how capable. And since they were bound to her, it would be easy.

Deep inside her was a door and behind it lurked her power. Lurked the piece of demon lodged in her chest. Lurked the anger and the fear and—her heart pounded in her chest, red heat spreading from it through her body. In her mind the door bulged and shook, wanting, waiting, ready to—

She opened it.

For the first time since the night she’d been bound to them she opened it and power, shiny bright and cold-hot, burst from it, into her, through her, filling the room.

The little demons screamed in unison. Megan screamed too, but whether it was from triumph or fear she didn’t know. All she knew was her throat ached, her head fell back, and before she could stop it she was pulling the energy back in, pulling it in mixed with theirs, her body acting of its own accord just like the last seconds before an orgasm—

Their power thrust itself into her. Every bit of misery they caused, every shameful thought and deed that fed them, ran through her mind like a triple-speed film played on the backs of her eyelids.

And it was wrong, it was so wrong because it felt good, it felt better than anything, it was power and danger and food and sex and everything she’d ever wanted, and it filled her until she thought she might explode.

“No!” She fell, crouching herself into a ball, trying to fight. The door had to close, the flames inside her had to recede, had to, because if she stayed like this much longer she might decide never to stop it, she might go ahead and—“No!”

With a final, almighty mental shove, she slammed the door shut, locking it tight, and just before she realized she’d fled the Yezer and gone back to her house something came to her, words that turned her shivers into quakes of terror though she didn’t know what they meant.

Ktana Leyak.

“Megan, are you sitting down?”

It was so much like Roc’s question the night before that she shivered and gripped the phone more tightly. “Yes.”

“Gerald Caroll died.”

Megan bit her lip. She almost said “I know” before she remembered she wasn’t supposed to know. “Gerald?”

“Yes, your client Gerald.” Althea Sprite’s voice, full of compassion, made Megan want to cry. Althea was, at this point, the only one of her practice partners—except Neil Fawkes, and that was simply because Neil didn’t have an opinion about anything—who didn’t turn away from her in disgust when she spoke up at their weekly meetings. Her radio show had not made her popular with them.

Megan knew she was holding on to her membership in the group by a thread and that one of these days it would likely break.

So why not just leave? a voice said in her head. It sounded suspiciously like a certain demon she knew.

Because I don’t want to leave, because I worked hard to build that practice, because it’s something I’m good at…

“Megan, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just—how? Who told you?”

“The police called the service; they found an appointment in his diary but it didn’t have your name on it. The service called me and I said I’d call you.”

“Did they say how…it happened?”

“Heart attack, looked like,” Althea said. “They can’t be sure, of course, until the autopsy. The police want to meet you at the office tomorrow morning, to get a look at his file.”

“But they know I can’t just show anybody those records, it’s—”

“They’re bringing his next of kin. So technically you’re not.”

“That’s fine.” Her voice shook a little. Next of kin. Gerald had a sister, she remembered.

“Are you going to be okay? Do you want some company?”

Althea, despite being the closest thing Megan had had to a friend until Tera entered her life, had never offered to come to Megan’s house before.

Then again, Megan had never had a patient die on her before, had she?

“I think I’ll be all right. I just…” She took a deep breath. “I feel like it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, honey. It was just his time to go. Sometimes it’s fast and sometimes it takes a long time, but when it’s your time to go there’s nothing anyone can do.”

Megan tried to take comfort in this, but somehow the idea that Gerald’s end via demonic possession—whether it had caused a heart attack or had taken his life in some other, more sinister fashion—had been written in the stars just didn’t hold true for her.

“Yeah. Well. Thanks for calling me, Althea. Did the police say when they’d be there tomorrow?” With her luck it would probably be the same ones who’d busted her on Friday.

“They asked if nine was okay, but I told them eight’s better, that way there aren’t any clients in the office.”

“Great.”

“And, honey…I feel just awful springing this on you at a time like this, but…”

“Just say it, Althea. Don’t worry.”

“The partners…that is, some of us…”

“Which means everyone but you, right?”

Althea cleared her throat. “Some of us want to talk to you. About what happened Friday.”

“Do you mean my interrupting a session?” Did Althea’s refusal to answer mean she was included in this group this time? When the partners had suspended her three months before, Althea had been the holdout. She’d been the only one purely on Megan’s side. Was she not any more?

“Well, yes. And the, ah, arrest.”

“Jesus, does everyone in the city know about that?”

“Someone called us.”

“Someone?”

“She didn’t give a name. Just said you were in jail. By the time I got there, though, you’d been let go.”

“Nobody pressed charges,” Megan said. “It was a mistake.” Who the hell had called her office to tell them she’d been arrested? Nobody knew about that. Nobody but the arresting officers, Greyson, Hunter Kyle, and…

And whoever it was who’d made that phone call about the supposed body and tipped the cops off to begin with.

Not to mention probably all of Vergadering, but the chances they would have involved themselves in something as mundane as this were slim to none. Tera said they weren’t investigating, so the idea that they would have been responsible for an anonymous phone call to get Megan in trouble at work was really stretching it.

“Honey, I just want to warn you. I’m sure the police thing was just a big misunderstanding. But you know one of the things that makes our practice different is the way we organize things and, well, ever since you started that radio show you haven’t been very organized. We had to suspend you for that one week, then you took two weeks off, and now it seems you’re taking long weekends almost every month…we just don’t feel like your heart’s in the practice anymore.”

“Are you…” Her throat felt like someone had filled it with glue. “Am I being asked to leave?”

Pause. “We just want you to think about whether you really want to stay. If you still want to make that kind of commitment to us.”

Funny. Everyone seemed to want her to make some kind of commitment to them these days. Everyone except, of course, Greyson Dante.

Two minor domestic disputes, one rebellious teenager, one disgruntled employee, and a woman who didn’t know if she should accept a marriage proposal from a “reformed” felon later, Megan was just taking her last call of the night on her radio show when it happened. Again.

As my-name-is-Pat started telling her about an issue with her mother, Megan opened her shields to read. This had actually become much easier to do over the phone than in person lately, she’d noticed, in large part because so many of the Yezer felt the need to show themselves during appointments, especially when clients described feelings of misery or doubt. They’d nod and wink and wave, expecting Megan to cheer them, she guessed.

She had guessed. Now she wondered if they were taunting her instead. Although given what had happened in their home the night before, she doubted they’d be taunting her again anytime soon.

So, relieved that there weren’t any little demon faces looking at her, Megan lowered her shields, just as she had for her first ten callers, and reached out.

And got nothing.

It didn’t make sense. My-name-is-Pat, whose real name was of course probably not anything like Pat, had the trembly, shaky kind of voice Megan associated with people who were easy to read. Nerves opened them up, as a rule. So did adrenaline, fear…the closer to victim-hood people were, the easier it was to break through the weak shields most carried instinctively.

“But she just doesn’t seem to appreciate anything I do for her,” my-name-is-Pat said. “All she does is criticize. And she tells my children she doesn’t care about them.”

Megan leaned forward in her chair as if she could somehow get closer to the woman by doing so. Why wasn’t she getting anything? She’d never not been able to read someone, unless…Unless they weren’t human. She couldn’t read demons.

My-name-is-Pat didn’t sound like a demon, and Megan couldn’t think of a single reason why a demon would call her show and pretend to be just another human seeking advice. But there was no other explanation for it. Either my-name-is-Pat was a demon, or…

Or she was possessed by one.

“Pat, this seems to be causing a lot of stress for you,” Megan said. “How have you been sleeping?”

Flying blind was definitely not her favorite thing to do, and whatever she knew about demon possession she’d learned from B movies. But she imagined it would be something like Dissociative Identity Disorder, so she came at it from that angle.

“Oh, I seem to fall asleep anywhere,” warbled my-name-is-Pat. “What difference does that make?”

“Do you think you’re sleeping too much?”

“I didn’t know you could get too much sleep. Is that, like, a medical problem?”

Just answer the damned question! “So are you just falling asleep at odd moments or places? You said you seem to fall asleep anywhere.”

“Well, sometimes I sit down and the next thing I know it’s several hours later.” Nervous laugh. “But I’m not getting any younger, you know! We start to need more sleep as we age.”

Given that the woman was probably barely forty, Megan rolled her eyes. Still…she shifted in her seat. The woman was losing time and couldn’t be read. Something was definitely wrong here, and it was a lot more than just a disapproving mother. Hell, Megan’s own mother hadn’t spoken to her in ten years, unless you counted curt little Christmas cards printed complete with signature facsimile—Happy Holidays from Diane and Dave”—as talking. Megan didn’t.

“Have you been to a doctor? About your sleeping?” What to tell my-name-is-Pat? “You’re probably possessed by some sort of demon” just didn’t seem right, somehow. Aside from the fact that Megan had no idea how to treat it or take care of it or anything. Greyson had said all that God versus the Devil stuff ceased being relevant centuries ago, and there wasn’t even a Hell anymore.

So Megan did the cowardly thing, the only thing she could. She told my-name-is-Pat to give her mother a break and remember how hard the old woman’s life must have been. She told her to take vitamins and get some exercise and to cut down on time with her mother if it upset her so much. She told her everything she would have told any client in the same situation, and hoped for her sake this had nothing to do with the red shape behind Gerald’s eyes before he’d leaped at her Friday night.

Her cell phone rang just as she was nearing the turnoff for her neighborhood. Thankfully she was stopped at a light, because the damn thing had fallen so far into the bottom of her purse she would have run off the road while hunting for it.

“Hello?”

“It was lost in your purse, wasn’t it?” Greyson’s voice was sexy and intimate even over the phone. Megan wondered how he managed it.

She laughed. “Maybe.”

“I’d buy you a big heavy chain to attach to it, but you’d probably manage to choke yourself with it if I did.”

“Probably.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Heading home. Are you—”

“Why don’t you come here?”

“Where, the house or your apartment?” She preferred the apartment, honestly. More anonymous, less crowded, and with a much better view. But he spent so much time at the Ieureanlier these days, and with Templeton Black gone, it made sense for him to spend most nights there.

“Actually, I’m at Mitchell’s.”

“Mitchell like a guy, or Mitchell’s the—”

“Restaurant, yes. Come over. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Haven’t you eaten?”

“Earlier. Come on. I’d like to see you before I leave and this way you can have something to eat.”

If she waited she could probably get him to say please, and she did love it when he said please. But she wanted to talk to him anyway. After everything that had happened, after her visit to the Yezer and Althea’s phone call and my-name-is-Pat…

Actually, she probably didn’t want to tell him about Althea’s phone call, now that she thought about it. But everything else, she did. More than that, he should know about it. If the answers weren’t already lurking in that twisty mind of his, he’d find them somewhere else.

“Okay,” she said. “Just let me stop off and change, okay? I’m not exactly dressed for Mitchell’s.”

“I’m sure you look fine.”

“I’m wearing jeans and a big T-shirt.”

“Ah. Put on the dress Mr. Santo gave you yesterday then.”

“I—how did you know—oh, of course. Malleus, right?”

His laugh caressed her. “I know everything, bryaela. See you soon.”