Personal Demons

  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.

  Chapter Twelve

  The wind made her eyes water, but she didn't care. The cool, damp air felt wonderful against her heated skin.

  "Just relax ... just be still and relax.” Greyson's voice seemed to come from very far away, though he stood right next to her with his hands hard on her upper arms. “Deep breaths ... deep breaths..."

  "He was in my mind,” she whispered. “He invaded my mind."

  "I know."

  "I had my shields up, I don't know how he managed to do that, why is he able to do that, I don't—"

  "Come on.” Greyson released her arms and took her left hand in his, leading her off her little patio and out into the yard. The stiff grass whispered under her shoes. September had changed from Indian summer to autumn in a day, and winter's approach was fragrant in the air. She shivered.

  From inside the house came the low voices of Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud as they watched television. Apparently they were big fans of the evening soaps. That normalcy only a few dozen feet away helped calm her, as did the motion of walking and the presence of someone at her side.

  Megan and Greyson stopped just before the small patch of trees—nowhere near large enough to be called a forest or even a wood—that separated her property from the next neighborhood over. The trees, and the privacy they afforded, had been one of the things that most attracted Megan to the house when she'd bought it late the year before. Now she wished she'd bought a condo somewhere instead, in one of those horrible gated communities with a pool always surrounded by sullen teenagers and retirees, barely tolerating each other on the patio.

  To her right, at the opposite corner, was the shed. Where Greyson had burned the zombies.

  Greyson followed her gaze. “There's nothing over there,” he said. “I swear."

  "I believe you."

  She hugged herself more closely and looked up at the dusky clouds in the dark sky overhead. What she wanted to do was cry. To curl up under the covers and make everything disappear.

  She wanted to go home, but there was no home to go to. It had been made clear to Megan years ago that the only place in the world for her was a place she made herself. Now even that didn't feel safe anymore.

  "You know, Meg,” he said. “It's okay to be scared about all of this."

  "What?” Her fingernails dug into her upper arms she was gripping them so tightly in an effort not to slap him. “What? Was that supposed to be helpful? Do you really think I'm standing here all worried that you might think I'm scared?"

  Even as she said the words, she realized that was exactly what she was worried about, that no matter how scared she felt, she didn't want to admit it to him. The knowledge made her even angrier.

  "No, I just thought maybe—"

  "Maybe what? Maybe you can get me so worried about being afraid that I won't notice you haven't answered any of my questions? You still haven't even told me everything about the personal demons. Did you think I wouldn't notice?” Her shouts roused some birds in one of the nearby trees; they took off in a flurry of wings, sending leaves dancing down to the earth behind them.

  "Lower your voice—"

  "Not to mention what you hope to get out of this. I'm not stupid; I know there must be something you expect to accomplish. Are you going to explain that?"

  "I've been trying—"

  "Don't give me trying, you haven't been trying, you've just been smirking and acting superior and enjoying all of this, haven't you?"

  "If you would—"

  "I don't have to do anything, I'm not going to be all meek and let you—"

  His lips stopped her words, warm and firm on hers as he pulled her to him.

  The first thing she noticed was how hot his hands were on her face, how hard his body felt pressed against her. The second thing was how he tasted faintly of Scotch and smelled like vanilla and wood smoke.

  There was no third thing. She was lost, lost in the sensations his lips evoked from every nerve ending, the way her entire body caught fire just as if he'd set her ablaze with a snap of his fingers.

  He pulled her closer, pressing his left hand into the small of her back, switching his hold on her so his right hand tangled in her hair.

  Her arms were around him without her realizing she'd put them there, her fingertips brushing against the tips of the sgaegas between his shoulder blades.

  His tongue darted between her teeth and she met it with her own, surprised at the surge of power that flooded through her when they touched. It sizzled through her veins, white-hot, filling her body with light and pooling between her legs. She wouldn't have been surprised to see them both glowing, to see the trees around them lit up like daytime if she opened her eyes.

  Which she did, as soon as Dante pulled away from her.

  "May I speak now?” His voice was normal, but his breathing wasn't.

  Megan straightened her spine and lifted her chin. “I'm not stopping you."

  He stood there for a minute, watching her.

  "I'm listening."

  "Yes, yes, I'm just—just trying to think of where to start.” He shoved his hands into his pockets again and started pacing. Without the heat of his body, she was cold again. The breeze swirled around her, finding the tiny holes in the weave of the clothing and caressing her rapidly cooling skin.

  He sighed. “Okay. Here's the thing. Demons ... we're not like humans."

  "Oh, gee, you don't say."

  "Don't be sarcastic. I've never had to explain this before—well, I've never been allowed to explain this before. You heard Tera earlier. This is the kind of thing that could get me in big trouble with a number of people."

  "Like the verga—vergera—"

  "Vergadering. Yes. They're the ruling body for supernatural beings and they don't like it when they catch us telling tales. Neither do my employers. Or any other demons, or witches, or the Fae—although they have nothing to do with this and they're not under Vergadering rules—or the weres, the vampires, or anyone else."

  "Weres and vampires? You're telling me vampires are real?"

  He stopped short. “Demons and witches you'll believe, but vampires I'm making up?"

  "Point taken."

  "The Vergadering aren't too crazy about demons. They're all wizards and witches and they view us as secondary beings, beneath them. They attempted to erase us from the planet a few hundred years ago—you heard me mention it with Tera just now—"

  "You guys were arguing about something that happened that long ago? You made it sound like it was last month."

  "Do you want me to explain this or not?"

  "Yes."

  "Then be quiet. Time moves a little slower for us and, anyway, it isn't like you people don't carry prejudices from your own history. The point is, since the Vergadering is intent on keeping demons and our activities firmly under their fat little magical thumbs, we've built our own set of rules and standards. Ways to get around things a little. Back in the early nineteenth century, by your reckoning, the Meegras came into being. The Families."

  "Then you are like the Mafia."

  "No, no, no.” He shook his head. “It's not ... well, okay. Yes. It's kind of like that. But it's not a criminal enterprise per se. It's just a way to keep track of thin
gs and to police ourselves so the Vergadering will stay as far away as possible.

  "Are you cold?” It took her a second to catch the question and realize he expected an answer. She nodded.

  He made a scooping motion with his hands. Flames rolled off his fingers, flaring orange in the darkness, and hovered a few inches above the ground.

  Another move of his hand and the flames leapt higher. It was like a real campfire—only without logs—and warmth caressed her legs.

  They sat down. The icy ground froze her skin, but the heat from Greyson's little fire more than made up for it. Megan felt like they were sitting around a campfire telling ghost stories and the dancing flames soothed her. Something deep inside her relaxed as Megan peacefully watched the shapes and colors change. Even the shadows the fire cast on the trees nearby weren't as threatening as they might once have been.

  Megan understood now why her prehistoric ancestors had been eager to harness fire. Fire was safety. A precarious safety, yes, for it was still dangerous, still terrifying. But the act of sitting by a small, controlled fire such as this made one feel as though the element had been conquered, even if only for a short while.

  She looked at Dante with something akin to awe. Not just because of the way he'd kissed her earlier—her stomach gave a distinct flip at the memory—but because he could do something no human had ever managed to do. He could command an element, bend energy to his will. It hadn't struck her with the same force in her cheery, well-lit house. Out here ... out here fire was life.

  "You're staring at me.” His voice sounded as if it were made of smoke itself, husky and low. She wondered if he could see her interest, her attraction, as plainly as she could see the flames reflected in his eyes. Somehow she thought he could.

  "Sorry.” She looked away.

  He paused, but when she didn't speak he continued. “So we have our Meegras. And yes, we do fight for power, but it's not the way you think of power. Remember when you asked me yesterday about gods and souls?"