Personal Demons

  She nodded.

  "Money is important and skills are important. But we all, well, collect souls too. Not the way you're thinking, but we do like to ... control people. At least, our power as a Meegra tends to be measured by how many humans we have."

  "Have?” The cold was back. Did he view people as ... as creatures, as things put on earth to do his bidding?

  "Say you're the head of a large company. Your worth is judged not only by how much money you make, but how large your empire is, all over the world, right? It's the same thing. And if we can manage to make humans’ lives a little less, ah, boring, we get some credit for it. Some power. Respect ... Don't look at me like that. Megan. What did you expect demons to do, teach baking classes and have sewing circles? Fucking with humans is our purpose in life."

  She shook her head. “I try to help them, and you try to harm them."

  "Our side is much more fun."

  "Why are you helping me, then?"

  He paused. “Because you've gotten yourself involved in something you shouldn't be involved in and I don't think you should get further involved."

  "That's it?” There had to be more. He'd just finished explaining that demons collected people, hadn't he? Tera had called her a weapon. Greyson said someone with her abilities would be seen as a threat. Could he be trying to recruit her?

  "Plus you gave your word to us in the beginning, remember? You promised not to accept other offers. We have a vested interest in making sure you don't end up with Bellingham. It would make us look bad."

  "But I won't end up with Bellingham."

  "We need it to look like you're with us. Part of my job is to make sure it looks that way."

  She'd been pulling blades of grass up as he spoke, shredding the thin dying leaves between her fingers. Now her fingertips touched bare, hard earth. She fisted her hands and crossed her arms instead. “I see.” This was just business, demon business. Fine. Lots of people kissed their business acquaintances so hard their bodies throbbed. “Am I going to owe you a favor? What if I say no?"

  "Maybe you will. Maybe it will be something you want to do."

  "I won't join your family or become a demon, you know."

  "I don't remember asking you to.” The firelight danced over his scowl.

  An awkward silence settled between them. No, he hadn't asked her to join his family. He hadn't even asked her on a real date and here she was refusing to marry him. And she wondered sometimes why she was still alone.

  "I have a question,” she said, hoping to change the subject. “What does mine look like?"

  "What?"

  "My demon."

  Now it was his turn to pick at the grass. “Didn't I tell you?” The studied casualness of his voice might have fooled her two days ago. Not now.

  "No, you didn't tell me."

  "I thought I had."

  "Stop dawdling. What are you hiding?"

  "You don't have one."

  "Excuse me?"

  "You don't have one. You're the only person in the world without one. Strange. We're not sure how it happened. But there it is. You're without a personal demon."

  "But I—” She almost bit her tongue. “I don't believe you."

  "One thing I'm not,” he said, in a voice cold enough to make her shiver, “is a liar."

  She stared at him. He relented. “Not about stuff like this, anyway."

  "But you didn't tell me this before."

  "You didn't ask before."

  "That's a lie by omission."

  "Megan,” he said. “What difference does it make?"

  "You should have told me.” She stood up, not wanting to be with him anymore, not even wanting to look at him. Away from his fire the cold wind cut through her again. “You shouldn't have waited for me to ask."

  "I hoped you wouldn't ask."

  He reached for her, but she pulled away. “Is this why you can't tell them I'm not a threat to them? Because they don't have any connection with me?"

  He nodded. “It makes you pretty powerful. Anything rare becomes valuable, doesn't it?"

  "And I'm rare enough to be valuable to you?"

  He opened his mouth, closed it again. This time he managed to grip her shoulders before she tore herself away and headed back towards the house. Whatever he had to say, or whatever he wanted to do, she wasn't ready.

  * * * *

  When she was in college she'd hidden another girl's class notes as a joke. The girl had been mean to her, but without her notes she'd almost failed. Nobody made Megan do that. She'd done it herself.

  Once, while shopping, she had seen another woman take the last copy of a DVD Megan wanted off the rack and place it in her cart. When the woman turned her back, Megan grabbed the DVD and rushed to the counter to buy it herself. Her own choice.

  Just like all the other petty meannesses and minor transgressions of day-to-day life. The parking spaces taken, the five dollar bills found on the ground and pocketed instead of being turned in, the dirty looks given to people driving too slow.

  Most of these choices hadn't bothered her more than the occasional twinge of conscience. Now ... now she knew everyone else had a demon who ordered or encouraged them to do those things. Was everyone else good, and only she truly bad? Was that why she didn't have a personal demon?

  Greyson, damn him, seemed to know the track of her thoughts. He caught up with her, stopped her with his hand on her arm. “You're not a bad person, Meg."

  "How the hell do you know?” She wanted to believe him so badly it hurt, but she couldn't. He'd lied to her, he hadn't told her about this, and she felt like she was swimming in the middle of a lake too large and deep for her to ever reach the shore. “How would you know anything about people? And why would your good opinion mean anything, anyway? You're a demon. You do evil shit for fun, for a living. You use people up and throw them out, you just admitted it. How are you qualified to judge me in any way?"

  The moment the words left her mouth she regretted them, but she couldn't seem to find her tongue to apologize. They just stood there, the wind blowing between them like an invisible, angry barrier.

  Finally he spoke. “Do you want me to take the boys with me when I go?"

  "No."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "I'm independent, not stupid. Obviously I need some physical protection.” Although why, she couldn't be sure. Was a petty, mean-minded soul like hers even worth saving?

  Well, yes, it was. No matter how she felt, she didn't want to die. She would just have to make more of an effort. She'd have to be better, nicer.

  She sighed. “Look, I'm sorry. I guess I overreacted a little bit. This is stressful, you know, and I'm not sure how I should be responding to it all."

  "Sure."

  They stood awkwardly for another minute, the voices of the brothers singing a rousing rendition of “Knees Up, Mother Brown” forming a surreal soundtrack to their isolation. “Do you want to have another drink? Might warm us up,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I should get going. I have to meet with Tera tomorrow morning and I'm pretty tired after last night."

  "Sure."

  His goodbyes to Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud were just as smooth as ever, but Megan noticed their curious looks. She decided to ignore them. Screw Greyson Dante. She didn't particularly like him anyway, cool bastard of a demon that he was.

  He wasn't even human. What had she been thinking? Just because his appearance rang every bell she had and his kiss made her feel like she'd found something long lost did not mean they were suited for each other or that she was interested in him. Well, interested in him in a way that didn't begin and end in bed. She was human, after all, and it had been some time since she'd ... been with someone.

  Not that he deserved the pleasure, but she did. Either way, it wasn't going to happen. Not now, not ever, and next time he decided to plant an arrogant kiss on her she'd be ready with her fists clenched. Or, at least, prepared to pull away and say “no."

&n
bsp; Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud were watching her, and she realized she was staring at the closed front door as if she could will it to open again. She shook her head and turned to them. “Where do you guys want to sleep? I can make up the bed in the guest room, I think two of you can fit there if you don't mind sharing, and...” She'd never had this many guests before. Come to think of it, she'd never had any guests before. “I can make up the couch, too."

  "No need, m'lady,” Malleus replied. “On'y one of us sleeps at a time. The guest bed's all we needs. T'other two'll be on duty, right?"

  Visions of them hovering over her bed watching her sleep danced in Megan's head like beer-filled sugarplums. “On duty where?"

  "One of us in ‘ere, one in your room. We'll take turns."

  How to put this delicately? “I get a little, ah, nervous at the thought of people watching me sleep."

  Surprise was not a flattering emotion on their crinkly, pug-nosed faces. “We can't let you sleep alone, m'lady,” Maleficarum said. “Mr. Dante wouldn’ like that at all."

  "Maybe I could just leave the door open?” Even as she suggested that, she knew it was no good. Her shoulders sagged. “Okay, but please let me at least use the bathroom and change by myself."

  They relented and, after searching the rooms, allowed her to brush her teeth. She put on her oldest, most modest nightgown, a flannel monstrosity with a high collar and a hem that almost reached her ankles. The last time she'd let anyone see it was her last boyfriend; he'd thought it was hysterical and had insisted on calling her “Miss Eyre” every time she put it on, which wasn't often...

  Even covered as she was, the boys averted their eyes until she finally threw on her bathrobe, too. It wasn't cold enough yet for such clothing, and she was sweating by the time she'd finally had enough bland late-night television and gone to bed.

  Sleep refused to come. One of the demons moved around in the room and she pulled the sweltering covers closer around her sweaty head. She had no doubt he was being as respectful as possible and not staring at her, but it was still disconcerting.

  All things considered, though, what was one more discomfort? In the past few days she'd made her radio debut, been attacked by zombies, met several demons and a witch, seen quite a few more demons, been suspended, and had her psychic defenses breached by someone—or something—who felt like pure, cold evil crawling up her spine.

  She'd just been informed that the entire rest of the human population had something that she didn't and her head ached every time she tried to figure out what that meant about her.

  Worst of all was the email Brian Stone received. After all these years ... she'd thought she would never hear the name Harlan Trooper again, would never have to see his face or hear his voice in her mind. Even now some part of her brain refused to let her remember what had happened. It was a blur, just as it had been for years before she'd finally managed to banish the memory completely. The prospect of telling it again, of dredging it all back up, made her chest hollow and cold.

  And what about Brian? Was he friend or foe? She had no idea. Even less did she know for sure which side Greyson Dante fell on. All she knew about him was that her lips still tingled.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "No, it's not for my home! It's for my office. I don't see why you need my home—” Megan broke off while the man on the other end of the line, obviously a native speaker of English but one who behaved as if he didn't understand a word, interrupted her with yet another request for her address.

  "Give me the phone."

  Megan jumped. One of the boys must have let Greyson in, she hadn't even heard him knock. If he had knocked. He might have called them on one of the sleek black cellphones they all carried. The brothers found her lack of cell intensely amusing.

  She glared at him and turned her back. “Look, if you can just have someone meet me later today, I'll show them exactly where we need the soundproofing and what—no! Why aren't you listening to me?"

  "Give me the phone."

  Fine. If Greyson wanted to play Mr. Hero, he could. She put the receiver in his hand.

  He hung it up.

  "Hey! I was on hold there for—"

  "I don't know why you're bothering with all of this. We can take care of it for you."

  "Take care of what?” She tried not to envision the partners dancing on strings like vacant, demonically-possessed puppets.

  He raised an eyebrow. “We'll have your co-workers killed, of course. What did you think I meant? The Meegra has all sorts of employees. I'll send one of our people over to do the soundproofing. I can find you a receptionist, too."

  It was tempting. So tempting Megan had to bite her tongue to keep from thanking him. The problem was ... well, she wasn't exactly sure what the problem was. She just knew she didn't want Greyson and his demon family taking charge of too much of her life.

  She didn't want to be in his debt.

  As much as she would have loved to hand this tedious business over to someone who had the juice to fix it with a wave of his aristocratic hand, she couldn't do it. Who knew what he might expect in return?

  She snatched the phone back from the cradle, turned her back on him, and started dialing the number of the next company listed in the Yellow Pages.

  They seemed to at least understand what she needed and agreed to meet her at her office on Friday. With a sigh, Megan agreed. Better than nothing.

  "You let us replace your windows,” Greyson said when she hung up.

  "That was different."

  "Oh? In what way?"

  "Because my windows were—oh, never mind. It just is. I had to have the windows right away. The soundproofing can wait a few days."

  "Suit yourself."

  "I will.” She gave him a tentative smile, hoping maybe he'd decided, as she had, to let bygones be bygones.

  He returned it. “I can't stay. I just wanted to stop by and see how you got on last night."

  The words made her feel even worse, or at least they would have if she'd believed them. Something told her he wasn't being completely honest and it wasn't her psychic abilities because he was impossible to read.

  If he wouldn't come out with it, she'd find a way to dig it out. “How did your meeting go this morning?"

  "With Tera? Fine. I owe her a couple of favors, it seems, which is always a pleasure.” He scowled. “She'd like to meet with you as soon as possible. I think, and she agrees, that we don't have much time. We'd both like you to have as much training as we can stuff into you."

  "What do you mean, not much time? I—"

  "I can't stay,” he repeated. “We'll discuss it later. Tera will be by at about four, and I'll take you to dinner afterwards. Maybe we can elude Stone for a couple of hours?"

  "I'm cooking, anyway. I promised the boys I would make them a steak pie."

  "You haven't offered to cook for me."

  "You haven't re-grouted my tub, washed my car, and shampooed my upholstery while I slept. I figured it was the least I could do."

  "I cleaned up while you were at the hospital."

  "True, and you did a fantastic job, but you also drank quite a bit of my Scotch."

  "Now, now,” he said. His voice was serious but his smile was still genuine. “Polite hostesses don't berate their guests in such a manner."

  "Polite guests don't complain that they're not being given enough."

  "Hmmm.” He stepped closer to her, close enough that she could smell the wonderful cologne he wore. His dark eyes gave off sparks when they met her blue ones. “I won't complain, but there's certainly something else I'd like to have."

  Her stomach did a flip, but she stepped back. “You're welcome to come to dinner with us if you want."

  The gleam in his eyes told her he wasn't fooled. He'd seen her reaction and knew what it meant.

  He let her get away with it. “Sure. Just tell me what time to be here."

  "Around seven-thirty, I guess.” She ignored the pang of disappointment in her chest that
he hadn't pressed the issue. She didn't want to kiss him again. She didn't want things to go any further than they had. She didn't trust him, pointblank, right?

  "See you then,” he said, and was off to talk to the boys before she'd finished reminding herself that she wasn't interested.

  * * * *

  Brian switched on his little tape recorder and set it between them on the park bench. She'd refused to meet him at a restaurant, finding that taking meals in public, while imagining or even seeing, if they chose to show themselves, the demons sitting on the shoulders of the other diners was no longer appealing. And who knew what the chefs’ personal demons were convincing them to do to the food? She shuddered. Bad enough thinking of Brian's demon, without worrying about everyone else's.

  "I know you don't want to talk about this,” Brian said, noting her distaste but mistaking the reason. “But we agreed on this the other night. You're the only one who can tell me what happened."

  Megan nodded. “I know."

  The strained atmosphere between them set her teeth on edge. Where was the cheerful, interesting Brian, the one with whom she'd had such fun at lunch just a few days before?

  Now a stranger sat beside her on the bench. He'd apologized—they both had—but Megan still doubted they would find themselves chatting easily again. Disappointing. It would have been nice to have a friend who knew her secret and understood.

  "Look, Megan. I'm sorry about yesterday. But you have to look at my side. I'm trying to give you every benefit of the doubt because—well, because I think you're a good person."

  "I appreciate that."

  "But I've been wrong before. I have to be a reporter here, you know? It's my job."

  "Sure."

  "You still sound kind of cold."

  The weakening autumn sunlight fell on his light brown hair, bleaching it the color of ripe wheat. It made him look somehow innocent, noble, like a man with a child's idealism.

  She shook her head. However apologetic he might be, however honorable he might act, he was still a reporter, a man who was essentially blackmailing her into talking about the worst thing that had ever happened to her, and a man whose presence in her life she decidedly did not need. She'd spent the entire morning terrified he would start questioning Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud—or worse, wanting to know more about Art Bellingham.