Personal Demons

Chapter 11

"I think it's pretty self-explanatory," Greyson said, handing her a fresh drink. They sat in a corner booth at one of the hip downtown nightspots Megan generally avoided. Tonight, though ... she wanted people around her, a crowd of loud, sweaty, half-drunk people, despite the inner shivers she got whenever she thought about what rested on each of their shoulders.

What rested on her shoulder? For the fifth or sixth—or twentieth, or fiftieth—time that day, she folded her hands together to keep from feeling around in the air by her head. Whatever sat there, she didn't want to touch. She didn't want to know. She'd seen enough for one day.

"Humor me." She leaned towards him. To any casual onlooker, they probably looked like—Megan swallowed—lovers. Or, at least, a couple on their third or fourth date. The casually territorial way Greyson's arm rested along the back of the booth would certainly give that impression. The heat of his body caressed her through both of their clothing, the warm scent of his skin assailing her and making her breathe a little more deeply than necessary.

He was so close that if she leaned forward another couple of inches, tilted her head to one side ... they would be kissing.

He cocked an eyebrow, as if noticing the same thing. "Humor you how?"

She jumped back. "Explain it to me exactly as if I didn't know demons existed until a day or two ago, and I'm a complete novice at this sort of thing, okay?"

He nodded. "The personal demons—the Yezer Ha-Ra, as the ancient Hebrews called them, the ones who are after you—are small. They rest on the right shoulders of humans. Everyone has one—well, almost everyone—and they're responsible for most of the mischief and misery mankind causes itself."

"Like when someone cuts in front of you in line at the store kind of mischief, or killing people kind of mischief?"

"Both." He sipped his drink, his eyes scanning the room over the rim of his glass. He looked back at her. "It depends on how many of them there are."

"You said everyone has one."

"No, I said almost everyone has one. Try to pay attention. This is important."

Megan swallowed her nasty reply along with a mouthful of gin and said, "Fine, almost everyone has one. Some people don't have them?"

"Some people have more than one. Sometimes a personal demon does an excellent job with their human. They manage to send that particular person farther down the spiral of whatever misery they're causing—making them more and more violent, or sneaky, or drunk, for example. The human grows more vulnerable, the demon more powerful. Soon it's powerful enough to call another demon to its command. They both gang up on the person, sucking out the energy and life-force and using that power to attract more demons, who steal more life ... eventually leaving nothing but a shell, if they aren't stopped."

Megan shivered. "How do you stop them?"

"It's different for everyone. Some people go into counseling or join twelve-step programs or something to help them hold on to the force they have left. In time they can even rebuild it. Others..." he shrugged. "They kill themselves. Or other people. Sometimes both."

A drunken woman in a dress so low-cut Megan thought her breasts would pop out at any second stumbled and fell onto the table, jostling both of their drinks and spilling them all over what little there was of her dress.

"What the—" Megan started, but then she snapped her mouth shut.

Greyson looked at Megan oddly,

The woman struggled back to vertical. "Oh, sorry." Her too-large mouth hung open as if she had something else to say, but had forgotten it.

Greyson rose, grabbed the woman by her elbow and whispered something in her ear. The drunk's eyes widened. She glared at someone across the room, then lurched away.

Greyson turned back to Megan. "What was that all about?"

"I could ask you the same thing. What did you say to her?"

"I told her that guy over there was checking her out and his girlfriend called her a whore."

Megan looked. Their drunken friend was already arguing with a blond woman. "Was it true?"

"No. Just fun. Back to you. You went pale, and stopped talking. Why?"

"I just stopped, is all." Her date liked to start fights between total strangers. Then again, what did she expect from a demon? She tore her gaze away from the now-screaming women.

"Megan, getting angry isn't like an engraved invitation to be overrun by personal demons. You're not going to make things worse by being pissed at some drunken idiot."

"Maybe not. But I seriously doubt it's going to make things better, either."

"I don't know. Maybe you need to let off a little steam."

"Are you in the Mafia?"

She'd expected a reaction—anything to make him stop staring at her like that—but she hadn't expected him to practically choke on his drink. "What? What the hell kind of question is that?"

"One I'd like answered, please." She'd never seen him on the defensive before, if that's what this was. It was a rather heady feeling to make him as disconcerted as he made her.

He rubbed his forehead. "Let me guess—Brian Stone told you that?"

"What if he did?"

"Nothing. I could tell you a few things about him, too. Things he may not want to spread around."

"Like what?"

"Oh, no. Some of us are honorable."

It was such a ridiculous statement, and he looked so self-righteous making it, that Megan laughed. "If you mean that Brian is psychic, I already know."

"Yes, but do you know because he told you, or because you tried to read him and found out that way?"

"I—" She closed her mouth. Greyson nodded, his eyes gleaming in the reflected neon lights from the bar.

"He didn't tell you. Instead he told you a bunch of crap about me, probably intended to—well, never mind. The point is, old Stone isn't exactly squeaky-clean himself. Don't you wonder how many people he's read without their knowing it to get a better story?"

Even as she nodded, she was aware of two things—one, that he was deliberately distracting her from the question she'd asked him, and two, that she'd done the same thing, and Dante knew it. "Is this your clever way of telling me I'm unethical with my patients?"

"No, I don't think it's the same thing at all. Your patients pay you to make them feel better. The people Brian deals with aren't paying him for anything, and he's sure not helping them, either."

She considered this for a minute, then nodded. "Are you in the Mafia or not?"

She'd refused to help Brian with his story. She didn't even want to entertain the idea. At least, not until she knew the truth.

"Keep your voice down. Ugh, we can't talk in here. Let's go." He slid out of the booth and stood, slipping on his jacket and nodding to Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud, who sat in the booth next to theirs downing oceans of beer.

Was he going to fit her with some cement boots? "Maybe I don't want to go."

"Yes, you do. You hate these places."

Damn it, was she that obvious? "Maybe tonight I like them."

"Are you afraid I'm going to—I believe the term is—'whack’ you?"

"Should I not be?"

He leaned back into the booth and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her seat to stand in front of him. "Stop acting like a child."

"Hold on a minute." She wrenched her arm from his grasp. How dare he say she was being childish? Even if she was. Especially if she was. "Why do we need to leave all of the sudden? You wanted to be here twenty minutes ago, now you want to leave, and it's all about what you want and not about me. What about what I want?"

"Fine. What do you want, Megan?"

At that moment, she wanted nothing more in the world than to slap him right across that sharp-boned face of his. Instead she folded her arms across her chest. "I want another drink."

She'd grown so used to reading men's minds she'd never paid much attention to their body language, for all she'd studied it in school. Now she had a chance. His fists clenched and opened, his weight shifted on his feet. The roll of emotions across his face fascinated her; his mouth tightened, his eyes narrowed.

"Fine," he said finally. "Does it have to be here?"

Megan paused. She'd won the battle. Was it worth torturing herself in order to get back at him?

Yes. Yes, it was. "I want to stay here," she repeated, smiling sweetly. "It's fun here."

His glare told her he knew exactly what she was doing. "I'll go get us more drinks."

"You do that," she said. "I'll be waiting. Oh, and Greyson?"

He stopped but did not turn back around.

"Thanks for being so sweet to me."

She grinned as he strode away.

"Hurry up." She unlocked her front door and ushered them all, sweaty and rumpled, inside. "We can talk about it in the living room."

"Thanks, m'lady." Malleus held the bloody handkerchief to his nose as he passed her, followed by Maleficarum, Spud, and Greyson, all of whom were nursing various wounds. Last to enter was the blond woman in an immaculate black suit whom Megan still hadn't been introduced to, but who'd helped them escape from the club. Why the woman had followed them back here, Megan wasn't sure, but Greyson knew her.

She closed the front door on the cloudless night and locked it. Had she once thought she spent too much time alone at home? Facing a living room full of demons and one woman who looked like she'd stepped off the pages of Better Than You In Every Way magazine made her yearn for the days when it was just herself, a few snacks, and bad Lifetime movies.

Greyson was already pouring drinks. "That was fun," he said, his furrowed brow and the swelling of his left eye belying his words. "Thanks for your help, Tera."

The woman glanced at Megan before sitting down. "No problem." Her tone made Megan certain it was a problem. The woman and Greyson seemed to be pretending they didn't know each other very well, but liked each other; felt more like they didn't particularly trust each other and would both rather they'd not met up.

Why was the woman here?

Greyson handed Megan her drink. "Megan, this is Asterope Green," he said, in an oddly graceless manner.

"Call me Tera."

Malleus pulled the sodden handkerchief away from his face. "I fink it's stopped now," he said. He glanced over at Tera. "You're not gonna write me a fine, are you, luv?"

Tera smiled. "I wouldn't worry about it tonight. It looked like a regular bar fight, and nobody seemed the wiser, so I think we can let it go."

She looked like she expected them to thank her. Instead they just looked irritated.

"Nobody the wiser!" Maleficarum folded his arms across his chest. "They'd have to be pretty stupid not to know we wasn't human, wouldn't they? After the way we cleaned that place up. Teach them to come near our lady, that will. ‘Oo'd that man fink he was, anyways, walkin’ right up to ‘er and trying to talk? Like it weren't obvious she was already—"

"I think that's enough," Greyson said. Even the swelling of his left eye couldn't hide the bags under it and he kept glancing over at Tera as if she made him very nervous. "You men did what you thought was right and I'm sure Miss Chase appreciates it."

Megan nodded. It seemed like the right thing to do. "Of course."

"What exactly are the men doing?" Tera asked.

"They're just here visiting," Greyson said. "Just out for a drink with me and my—date."

Tera looked from the brothers, who were covered with blood and bruises, to Greyson in his torn and wrinkled shirt, to Megan, who managed to close her mouth a second before the blond woman's glance fell upon her. "I see."

Greyson clapped his hands in front of his chest. "I guess that's it then. Thanks again for your help, but I assure you, we can discipline the boys on our own. There's no need to worry about a repeat of this happening."

"'Oo's gonna discipline—" Maleficarum started, but Malleus grabbed him by the arm before he could finish the sentence.

Tera smiled. "Of course. I'm sure your boss will handle the matter just fine."

"Great." He started to take her arm to lead her to the door, but she didn't move.

"Just one thing, though. If I'm not mistaken—and I probably am—aren't you obligated to inform us when you're giving outsiders information on our world?" She shrugged. "Just checking. I mean, I'm sure you know more about demon regulations than I do, right? Being an attorney and all."

"This is a special case, Tera..."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she replied, waving her right hand in an I-clearly-don't-believe-you manner. "I know you would never, ever do something against the rules."

"Excuse me," Megan said. "I'd appreciate not being spoken of like I'm not here, especially since this is my house. Mr. Dante has been helping me, there's—"

"Never mind." Dante downed his drink and eyed the bottle for a second before pouring another. "Tera, I assume you'll want to speak to me in your office tomorrow. I'll be there around ten, okay?"

"I have time now," Tera said. "I have to meet Lexie in an hour or so, but I can stay until then. Unless you'd like me to invite her over?"

Greyson's eyes widened. "No. No, no need for that."

"Then you'd better tell me now what's happening, before it's time for me to meet her."

"Tera works for Vergadering, Megan." Dante must have seen the confusion on Megan's face.

"We're sort of like supernatural law enforcement. But not," Tera added.

"Ah." Megan had no idea how to respond to that, which was surely the least helpful explanation she'd ever been given, including Dante's snippets of demon information.

"They make sure we stay secret," Greyson said, as he handed Tera her drink. "They're all witches."

"Ah." Her contributions to the conversation were dazzling so far. Why not continue with the same theme?

"Are you going to keep exposing us right in front of me? Is this how bad it's gotten, Grey? Give me one good reason not to cast a forgetfulness—"

Greyson glanced from Megan to Tera and back. "Maybe there is a good reason, Tera. Maybe you can help us with something."

Tera laughed. "Oh, no. You know I don't get involved with demons. Unlike my sister."

Greyson cleared his throat. "But you do get involved with witches, don't you?" He nodded towards Megan. "She needs help."

Tera looked at Megan with new interest. "She's a witch? No. She's too bland to be a witch. Look at that frizzy hair."

"I'm not a witch," Megan said. She wanted to say something about her hair, too, but decided to keep silent. Not only was it a side issue, it was true. Her hair did frizz.

"You're a psychic," Greyson said. "It's almost the same thing."

They all stared at her. Megan suppressed the urge to run into her bedroom and close the door.

"A psychic? Really? I didn't even feel it."

"She's got pretty strong shields," Greyson said.

Tera stood up. "I guess so." She looked Megan up and down, her hazel eyes bright and curious. "Why does she need help?"

"She just needs to find a way to—"

"Excuse me," Megan said. "Do I get a say in this?"

"No. She needs to learn to focus her power, Tera. Think you can teach her?"

Tera didn't take her eyes off Megan. "I'm not going to help you build your family a nice little psychic weapon, Grey. I can't believe you'd even ask."

"It's not for us." Megan could see him fighting with himself over something, before he sighed and said, "She does that radio show. The demon slaying one. The personal demons heard it and—"

"They believe it?"

He nodded.

"Of all the—can't you just tell them it isn't real?"

He made a face.

Tera sighed. "You won't even tell me if that's possible, will you? I don't understand all this damn secrecy among you demons, it's like you—"

"Don't trust the Vergadering? I can't imagine why that would be, can you?"

"That was a long time ago."

"And we still don't have a representative."

"Maybe because none of you will be honest with us and follow the damned rules."

Megan cleared her throat. "Guys? Can we get back on the subject? If you're going to treat me like a piece of meat, I'd at least appreciate not being a forgettable piece, please."

"Witches and demons have a ... history." Tera glanced at her. "Anyway. If you need help, I guess I'll help you. But you need to be committed. I'm not going to waste my time."

Feeling put on the spot, Megan nodded.

Tera turned to Greyson. "If I find out she's working for you, in any capacity, I'll have you all locked in the cellars. And you owe me a favor for this, right? That's how you guys do things?"

Greyson smiled without showing his teeth.

Tera set down her glass and picked up her purse. "Good. I'm off then," she said. "Megan, I'll call you tomorrow to set up our first lesson."

Her heels clicked along the floor as she let herself out, leaving Megan and the demons alone in her living room.

Greyson shook his head. "I hope you appreciate this, Megan," he said, "because I've just sold my soul, such as it is, to one of the Green sisters, and the last time I tangled with one of them I got—what's wrong?"

Megan shook her head. Her ears were ringing. "I don't know," she said. "I just feel ... kind of dizzy..."

Laughter filled her ears. Art Bellingham's laughter. Just stopping by to pay you a visit, he said, the words echoing in her skull and drowning out her every conscious thought. Good night, little Megan ... sweet dreams...

A vision flashed before her eyes. A room, the one she'd seen in Kevin's mind, in his dream, when he'd described it to her in his office ... the room with all the little doors in walls that stretched to the ceiling....

But now the doors were opening.

Megan screamed as Art's laughter echoed in her head.