Personal Demons

Chapter 9

"Is she sleeping?"

Smack. "Whad'ya think? Is she sleeping, ‘e says. Don't she look like she's sleeping?"

"Yeh."

"That is a sleeping woman, if ever I saw a sleeping woman," the second voice continued.

Megan opened her eyes.

The three men standing next to her bed jumped back, their expressions ranging from terror to curiosity.

"She's awake!" said the one closest to her. She recognized his voice as the second speaker, the one with the strongest cockney accent.

"You just said she was sleepin', Lif," said the next one. He was the tallest, with a large nose and scarred, gin-blossomed skin.

They were all big, broad men with small eyes and stubbled chins. They were all dressed in hitman casual: black trousers, black turtlenecks, black rubber-soled shoes, black windbreakers, black knit caps. Gold rings and watches completed the look.

Megan caught only a glimpse of these things before she seized the lamp on her bedside table and held it over her head. The cord refused to come out of the wall. She yanked at it with her left hand, aware not only that she looked silly, but that the men in her room had ample time to attack her while she sorted out her weapon. Their restraint from doing so provided her some comfort, but her heart still pounded in her chest.

"Who are you?" she demanded. Her voice squeaked.

The men glanced at each other, chagrined. The tall one spoke. "M'lady, didn't—"

"Good morning, gentlemen." Greyson entered the room, clad in a black suit with creases so sharp Megan imagined he could cut himself on them if he wasn't careful. He was freshly showered and shaved, and smelled like vanilla and smoke. "Good morning, Megan. Just barely. Doing a little redecorating?"

Megan glanced at the lamp in her hand, glared at him, then looked at the clock. It was 11:30. "Shit!" She set the lamp on the edge of the table and pushed the covers back, ready to leap out of bed.

"Sit down," Greyson said, holding out his hand. "I called Brian already to make sure you didn't have to be up for a while yet. The shoot's not until two."

"Who exactly are these men and what are they doing in my bedroom?"

"Ah." Greyson looked at the three, who stood a little straighter under his gaze. "Megan Chase, may I present your bodyguards: Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud."

"My what?"

"Your bodyguards. The one on the left is Malleus, the tall one is Maleficarum, and that one is Spud. I've assigned them to you."

Megan glanced at the three men, still standing against the wall like they were in a police line-up. She got out of bed and grabbed Dante's arm. "I need to talk to you."

"Excuse us," Greyson said, as she led him out into the living room and closed the bedroom door.

"Who are they? What the hell do you mean, scaring me like that? How do you think I felt waking up with strange men in my room after last night?"

"I told you who they are. They're your bodyguards. You need someone with you at all times, and I can't do it." He leaned in a little closer. "They wouldn't have been in there watching you sleep if you'd let me stay, you know. Care to change your mind for the future?"

"No." Megan was suddenly aware that she only wore a T-shirt. He'd seen her in her bra last night, but somehow that was different. She grabbed the blanket from last night off the couch and wrapped it around her. It wasn't great, but it was better. "Look, Greyson, don't think I don't appreciate your help. I do. And I—I'd like it if you'd keep helping me, because I don't want to die. But those men ... I can't have those men follow me around. They look like they're going to kill someone."

"Only if that someone tries to get in their way," Greyson said. "Or yours. Besides, they're not men. They're demons."

"Of course. I should have known."

"Yes, you should have. Painkillers getting to you? Come with me." Without waiting for an answer, he handed her a cup of coffee, then led her through the French doors to the patio. Her little black cast-iron table and chair set beckoned, the blue and white mosaic tile tabletop looking as peaceful and cheerful as ever. The patio was her favorite place.

The sun had warmed the seats and warmed her skin, too, as she sat down. She sighed, relaxing, but then she caught sight of the shed. Everything came back, the rotting faces, the smell, the screams ... she set down her mug and pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders.

Dante was silent for a minute. "I thought you might be more comfortable out here. Would you rather go back in?"

"No. No, I'm all right." The coffee was hot and strong, almost burning her tongue, but she forced herself to drink deeply. The cobwebs in her head didn't want to go away, and she needed to be on her toes. Which still hurt.

"You're in a lot of pain?"

"No more than I expected." She lied, it was a lot more. On waking she'd thought it wasn't too bad, but as she moved around she realized how badly her muscles hurt, how tender her skin felt.

"I might be able to help you with that."

"Sensual massage?" The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She'd meant it as a joke, but it sounded like an invitation. The forced laugh made it even worse.

Dante didn't reply, but he stood up and came closer to her. She raised her hand. "I was kidding about the massage, okay? Bad joke, I know, but—"

"Hush." He stood behind her, close enough for her to feel the warmth of his body, but not touching. She sensed his hands in the air over her head. He started speaking, muttering something under his breath.

Energy flowed down through Megan's head into her body, rich and thick, soothing her aching shoulders and arms, relaxing the muscles of her back. She tried to lean away, but he pulled her back, holding her in place while his power washed over her. Her fingers tingled and flexed involuntarily as the energy kept pouring down, until every part of her body felt alight.

It only lasted for a couple of minutes at the most, but when he was done Megan felt better than she had in days. She raised her arms experimentally. No pain. "How did you do that?"

"Fire demons learn healing skills pretty early." He cleared his throat. "Is that better?"

"Yes."

"Good." He sat back down and picked up his mug with trembling hands. Catching her look, he said, "Sometimes it takes a bit out of me. I'll be fine. We have more important things to worry about."

Damn, she'd been feeling so much better too. A cool breeze swept across the patio, sending the first fallen leaves of the season skittering over the concrete. "I don't even want to think about it."

"Too bad. You have to think about it, Megan, or you—"

"Look," she said through gritted teeth, "I get it. I'll die. Will you stop saying it? You make me feel like you're looking forward to it."

He shrugged.

"Thanks. Thanks a lot."

"What am I supposed to say? No, I'm not? I think that should be obvious. I wouldn't be here giving you three of the best bodyguards my family—or rather, my company—has, if I wanted you to die." He slammed his coffee cup back down on the table. "Hell, Megan, I could have killed you myself quite a few times by now if that was what I wanted to do. This isn't a horror film. I'm not waiting for the planets to align or for you to sign your soul over to me. I'm helping you purely out of the goodness of my heart."

He looked sincere, but Megan didn't believe it for a second. He definitely wanted something. She just didn't know what.

At the moment it seemed he wanted an apology, so she gave him one. "Sorry."

He nodded. "As for the brothers, I think if you give them a chance you might like them."

"Do I have a choice?"

"No."

"Are they armed?"

"No. They don't need to be."

"But you do."

He shrugged. "I'm not a guard demon. They are."

For a minute Megan considered telling him to fuck off and leave her alone. To take his demon bodyguards and go, then run away herself. It was a sweet minute, full of promise.

But she couldn't deny the reality of the night before. She didn't want to trust him, but she didn't see she had a choice. If he was offering to help her in order to put her in danger later, there wasn't much she could do about it. If he was behind everything that had happened, he wasn't going to stop just because she told him she didn't trust him. This was her life, and she was going to keep it.

He took her silence as assent. "Good," he said. "I have to go."

"Wait a minute. You need to tell me the rest of what's going on. You never told me who the personal demons are, or what their plan is, or what your plan is, or anything I need to know."

"All you need to know right now is to stay with the boys. They'll keep you safe. Oh, and I've ordered them not to touch you or bother you. If they do, let me know."

"You had to tell them not to—"

"We'll talk more later."

He left without saying goodbye.

The "boys" were still standing exactly where she'd left them.

"Ah, hi guys," she said. "How are you?" It was kind of a stupid thing to say, but what was she supposed to say? What did one say to one's demon bodyguards?

The tall one—Maleficarum?—bowed, scooping off his hat to reveal two small but unmistakable horns on his head. So some of them did have horns. "At your service, m'lady," he said. "I ‘ope my brothers and I will please you."

The other two followed suit. Six tiny horns pointed to the ceiling from three shiny bald heads.

"Thank you." She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "I appreciate you being here."

"No need to thank us, m'lady," Malleus said. "Mr. Dante told us we was needed, and here we are. Ready to guard you. With our lives, you know."

"Yeh," said Spud.

"Well, that's fine. But I wonder if you could go wait in the living room, please, while I shower and change?"

"Sorry," said Malleus. "But Mr. Dante said we was to guard you. Every minute, ‘e said. So we can't let you out of our sight."

"I'm sure he didn't mean when I'm—" she didn't want to say "naked" in front of them, so she substituted "—undressed. I wouldn't feel comfortable with that. I'm sure you understand."

"Mr. Dante said every minute, and that's what we're gonna do."

"I don't think he wanted us to watch the lady when she's all undressed," Maleficarum said. "She don't want you starin’ at her naked."

"'e said every minute, Lif." Malleus folded his arms across his beefy chest. "You wanna be the one wot tells him we didn't do what he said? You wanna tell ‘im we let her get done over or somefing? ‘Cos I don't. He'll ‘ave our heads, he will."

"I think he'll be angrier if ‘e finds out we been lookin’ at her naked," Maleficarum said. "I think she's ‘is."

That was enough for Megan. "I am not ‘his'," she said, drawing herself up to her full five feet two inches, "and you are not watching me shower. You may inspect the bathroom before I enter it. That is all."

Maleficarum narrowed his eyes. "And you'll tell Mr. Dante you made us take our eyes off you?"

Megan nodded. "Yes."

Malleus turned to Maleficarum and whispered something in his ear. Maleficarum turned back to Megan. "Could you put that in writin', m'lady?"

She glared at him.

Malleus looked down. "C'mon, guys. Let's check the bog."

The three of them trooped off into her bathroom, presumably to look inside the toilet and down the drains. Megan had to admit, the three demons seemed dedicated to their jobs.

And to Greyson Dante. Who exactly was he?

They emerged while she was still thinking. "Sound as a pound," Malleus said, giving her what he obviously hoped was a reassuring smile. In his squat face it looked more like a leer. "You go ahead. We'll wait ‘ere."

She sighed. "Fine."

The bathroom, like every other room, showed no signs at all of what had transpired the night before, save for the boarded-up window.

Water spurted in jerky bursts from the dented shower head as she hurried through her ablutions. She'd have to get a new one.

The familiar walls started to close in on her too soon. Don't cry. Let it go. Breathe through it. Let it go.

She pressed her hands against the wall over the taps, letting the water hit her back. Her legs shook. Let it go. Let it go.

She was sixteen again, standing in the shower. Over the spray of water she heard the voice. "Megan ... Megan ... don't forget ... you promised, don't forget what you promised, DON'T FORGET WHAT YOU PROMISED..."

Megan bit back a scream. She didn't want to remember it, didn't want to remember anything that had happened that winter. Damn Brian and his anonymous emailer, damn that article still sitting around in archives. Damn them all.

The hot steamy air felt good in her lungs. She took a couple of deep, cleansing breaths and turned off the faucet. She would have to face that memory, she knew, just as she knew it had something to do with why this was happening, just like she knew somehow there was a reason why she was not collapsing into a heap and checking herself into a hospital for believing that demons were real. Because somewhere deep down, she'd known it all along.

She pushed the shower curtain aside and screamed.

Stumbling backwards in the tub, she yanked the curtain around her body. It clung to her, wet and vaguely slimy. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

"We're not looking, m'lady," Malleus said. Indeed, all three of them had their backs turned to her. Not that it made a difference.

"You said you'd wait outside."

"We did. We waited ‘till you was in the shower so we wasn't watching you shower, but we was still in the room. We didn't see nuffin’ through the curtain, m'lady. We promise. We kept our backs turned. But Mr. Dante tol’ us—"

"I know what he told you." Her heart still had not started beating normally. She'd have to talk to Dante about this. "Will you wait outside now? I want to get dressed."

"Our backs are turned."

"I don't care." She took another deep breath. "Wait outside. Now."

Her teeth were brushed, her hair was dry, and her plain black suit and stockings were on before forty minutes had passed. She didn't bother with makeup. Brian told her not to when she called to finalize everything.

"I'm glad you're doing the shoot, anyway," he said. "Maybe after we can have dinner?"

"Sounds great." They said their goodbyes and hung up.

The brothers were waiting for her right outside the bedroom. She almost walked into them when she opened the door.

"Guys," she said, "I don't think Mr. Dante meant for you to watch me quite this closely."

"Oh, he did, m'lady," Malleus said. "You believe me, he did. He told us you was very important, and you need to be kept safe. Nobody'll keep you safer than us."

"That's a promise," Maleficarum said.

"Yeh."

In the pale greens and tans of her living room, they looked like crows in a field. Large, black, vaguely threatening. She could only imagine what it was going to be like having them with her all day. All day, every day, for the time being. Never had she imagined her life would be spent followed by three cockney demons in black cashmere.

"Um ... you don't have to call me that." She sat down on the couch. The car Hot Spot was sending would be there in about fifteen minutes.

"What?"

"You don't have to call me ‘milady'. It's a bit ... well, I think people might think it's odd."

"What should we call you by, then? Your first name?" Malleus started to chuckle. The others joined in, as if the idea of calling her by her name was too amusing to be believed.

"You could," Megan said. "That would be fine."

They stopped laughing. Expressions ranging from horrified to scandalized crossed their wizened faces. "We couldn't! That wouldn't be right!" Malleus crossed his beefy arms across his chest. His cap had slipped to one side, giving him the rakish air of a cut-rate pirate.

"It's like touching you in your unmentionables," Maleficarum said. "We never could, m'lady, not ever. Mr. Dante wouldn't like it."

Spud said nothing, but he shook his head with conviction.

Megan sighed. "How about ‘Miss Chase', then? At least in public?"

"Ain't you a doctor or somefing? Mr. Dante said you was."

"I'm a PhD, not an MD. I don't use the title socially."

The brothers looked at each other. "Miss Chase," Malleus whispered. Maleficarum followed suit. "Miss Chase." They tasted the words for several minutes, while Megan watched, holding her breath. Such a little thing, but their fascination made her feel like she was watching an alien learn about modern culture.

Which in a way she guessed she was.

Finally they nodded. "We can do that," Maleficarum announced. "We'll call you "Miss Chase" when there's other folks about what might hear us. ‘Slong as you tell Mr. Dante it was you wot made us. We don't want ‘im thinking we was taking liberties."

"I'll tell him," Megan said. "And..." She had no idea how to broach the subject of their names. Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud might be perfectly reasonable names for demons, but they were bound to draw stares from anyone who heard them. Probably best just to do it, she decided. "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I think we might need something else to call you by when people are around, too. They might think, well, your names are lovely, but they're a bit unusual."

Maleficarum nodded. "'S no problem, m'lady. You call us ‘Mr. Brown’ when you fink we oughter keep our names secret. We've used that one before."

Malleus and Spud snickered and prodded each other in the ribs.

"Mr. Brown? But how do you know which of you I'm speaking to?"

Maleficarum's eyebrows went up. "Don't matter. You say Mr. Brown, and one of us'll be there. We swear it."

The studio looked very different, filled with people and camera equipment. The dark blue carpet was littered with boxes and crisscrossed with duct tape, the walls hidden behind lights and reflective umbrellas. Megan couldn't believe she'd been here just a few days before to start her show, when her biggest worry was publicity and not her life.

Richard started towards her, a broad smile on his face and his arms outstretched. Megan started to smile in reply, but Malleus leapt in front of her.

"Oi, mate," he said, jabbing his thick index finger square in the center of Richard's chest. "No need to get grabby, is there?"

"It's okay, Ma—Mr. Brown," Megan said, catching the look—half terror, half outrage—on Richard's face. Gently, she took Malleus's hand and removed it from Richard's sternum. "This is my boss, Richard Randall."

Malleus stepped back, but the suspicion on his face didn't change. He gave a curt nod.

Richard glanced at the demons, then back at her. "Megan," he said, regaining some of his dignity. "How brave of you to come! Brian called us this morning. We're all glad you're okay. How are you feeling? You look great. Like you got some sleep. It's great."

Were the demons making him that nervous?

"Thanks, Richard," she said. "I'm fine."

"Great! Excellent!" He glanced sideways. Megan followed.

"Good afternoon, Megan," said Don Tremblay. "Nice to see you again."

Megan nodded. At least now she knew why he was nervous. Don must have told him about their conversation at the restaurant.

Or maybe Richard somehow picked up on the changes in Don's energy. Looking at him sent cold chills through her body. What was he doing here, anyway? Had Richard invited him? The two men were friends after all.

Malleus glanced back at her. "All right, Miss Chase?" He grinned and winked, delighted to be pulling off "Miss Chase" with such aplomb.

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Brown." All three of them guffawed. Megan turned to Richard. "Richard, these are ... the Misters Brown. They're friends of a friend. Guys, this is my station manager, Richard Randall ... and Don Tremblay, a colleague."

The brothers nodded, but they folded their arms across their chests and did not shake hands.

"Megan?" A blond woman in a loose smock top advanced on her, smiling. "I'm Dana Cross. Nice to meet you. I'll be doing your make-up."

She reached for Megan, only to end up almost grabbing Spud, who did not move out of her way. "Excuse me," she said, her smile turning uncertain on her wide, friendly face. Spud still did not move.

Too late, Megan realized she needed to say something. "Mr. Brown, could you move, please? I need to go get my make-up done."

All three of them looked at her with varying degrees of disapproval.

"I mean it," she said.

They moved away, every stiff muscle in their big bodies letting her know what a mistake they thought she was making. Megan sat in the chair Dana indicated, yelping when someone swooped down on her with hot rollers and started twisting them into her hair. The brothers stood against the wall to her left, scowling at the hairdresser, but obediently making no move to intervene.

"They seem very ... nice," Dana said, smoothing a cotton ball soaked in something that smelled like plastic over Megan's face. It left cold, tingling wet trails on her skin. She resisted the urge to scratch at them.

She had to resist the urge to scratch her entire body, in fact. For some reason she was restless. Dana's soothing chatter as she did Megan's make-up was irritating rather than fun, and for all her reservations Megan had expected to have fun. What woman in the world hadn't dreamed at some point of being a model? Of having people fawn over her and bring her bottles of water before making her look beautiful forever, preserved in a perfect moment on film?

For Megan the dream hadn't lasted much longer than it took her to realize she would never be tall enough to be a model, even if she was pretty enough, which she wasn't. Pretty enough for everyday life, sure. Pretty enough for the cover of Vogue? No way.

Maybe that was why this made her uncomfortable, and not just because Hot Roller Man was now gouging into her scalp with a comb. The memory of young Megan realizing that in a world full of attractive girls, she was just one of the crowd? Or maybe it was leftover anxiety from the night before?

She wanted to turn around. Something or someone was behind her, weren't they? Her skin was prickling, as if someone was watching her. As if someone was reading her.

She spun around, half-expecting to see Dante standing there grinning, but there were only the photographer and his assistant, her boss Richard and Don Tremblay. None of them were even looking at her.

Perhaps Don was the problem. His aggression, his anger and hatred, were charging the air around her.

She returned to the mirror, only to jump in her seat when something crashed behind her. She turned to see Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud giggling, while one of the photographer's assistants lay in a heap on the floor, surrounded by equipment.

"I tripped," he said to the photographer. Megan caught Malleus's eye. She frowned and shook her head. He looked down. The hairdresser grabbed her head in both hands and positioned it firmly, then gave her a final yank, patted her shoulder, and disappeared in a cloud of Aqua-Net. He had not spoken a word to her through the entire process.

"Close your eyes." Dana picked up a pot of greenish brown eye shadow and a brush. Megan gave the shadow a doubtful glance but obeyed. The woman did this professionally.

With her eyes closed, the voices and activity in the room reduced themselves to a low hum. The strong claylike smell of the panstick makeup Dana had applied to her skin mingled with the various colognes and soaps and something else, something sterile and cold that was the room with its generic furnishings.

Six hours of sleep was more than enough to get an old insomniac like herself moving, but leaning back in the comfy chair, with Dana's soft fingertips patting her skin, made Megan start to tune out the room. She had the sensation of her mind climbing beneath soft white sheets, burrowing down into the silent blackness of sleep.

"Megan."

The voice was right in her ear. Megan's eyes flew open. The quality of sound in the room had changed, and it took her a few seconds to realize what was different. The brothers were no longer talking.

She turned to look at them, only to have Dana's fingers on her chin gently bring her back. "I'll be done in a minute."

Swallowing her panic, Megan opened up and gave Dana's mind a quick scan. There was nothing distressing there, no indication Dana should be feared. Just the normal worries of a single woman in the city: an ex-boyfriend who was trying to come back into her life, a job that didn't pay enough.

Why were Malleus, Maleficarum and Spud not chatting? And why had that voice in her ear made every hair on her body stand on end?

A hand touched her shoulder. "You stay calm, Miss Chase," said Malleus.

"About what?" Her gaze sought the small mirror Dana had propped on the desk. The black plastic frame wasn't centered in front of Megan, so she could only see a small slice of the room.

It was enough. A horrible, grinning face filled the glass, just long enough for Megan to get an impression of greenish skin and sharp teeth before it disappeared. She gasped.

"Are you peeking?" Dana laughed. "You know, everyone does. Nobody trusts me to make them look good."

It took a minute for Megan to find her voice. "I'm sure you'll make me look great."

"It's not hard with you, hon," Dana replied, with the easy familiarity of a woman preoccupied. She reached over and grabbed the mirror, handing it to Megan. "See?"

Megan barely glanced at her reflection. She had a fleeting glimpse of her own eyes, looking impossibly wide from either shock or Dana's skilful makeup, before she started tilting the mirror, trying to find the thing again.

She couldn't. The room looked just as it had when they arrived. Megan turned to Malleus, still standing right at her side. "What do you think, Mr. Brown?"

He glanced at her, but he wasn't paying attention. Instead he, too, scanned the room. Maleficarum and Spud were no longer standing by the wall. "Lovely, Miss Chase. Don't you worry."

"Is there something I should worry about?" she whispered. The uneasy feeling from earlier was starting to spread into a full-blown panic.

"Not while we're here." He wouldn't look at her.

"I think everyone is ready, Megan." Brian appeared at her other side. Megan jumped. "Don't be nervous. You look very pretty, and I'm sure the pictures will be great."

Megan plastered what she hoped looked like a smile across her face and stood up. On shaking legs she made her way to the desk, surrounded by umbrella'd lights like an urban oasis.

"I'm Gene," the photographer said. "Just relax."

Did she look that bad? Probably. Her skin was cold. She still couldn't see Maleficarum or Spud. Malleus stood next to the desk, just out of her direct field of vision.

"Okay, Megan, let's lean forward towards the mic," Gene said. "And smile. Look happy. Look welcoming. A lot of people will see this picture, so let's have some fun."

Like telling her the world was watching would help her relax. Megan leaned forward anyway, folding her arms on the polished wood in front of her.

Something scuttled across the floor at the back of the room, something dull mud-brown with clawed feet and a bald head. She just caught a glimpse of it, like a huge scaly rat. More than one of those things lurked in the studio today, then.

Megan jumped, her eyes wide. The first flash of the camera preserved her look of terror.