Personal Demons

  "I have heard them, yes. I know what they think. I know what they do. But I guess ... I know how much they hurt, and I think if I can help someone hurt less, maybe they'll hurt others less. As for power, I didn't really think I had that much."

  He nodded. “That's what I thought you would say."

  "You don't agree?"

  He shook his head. “They amuse me at times, but in general I could do without them. I don't give a damn how they feel."

  "Good thing you don't have my job, then."

  "Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I found out who Art Bellingham is. What he is."

  She waited, but he did not continue.

  "Maybe we should go back to my house,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. The woods seemed to loom over her, full of rustlings and creatures with sharp teeth.

  "My Meegra owns this land. He can't get to us here."

  "You didn't tell me."

  "I thought you'd enjoy it more if you thought we were doing something wrong."

  She forced a smile. “And now you're avoiding the topic."

  He nodded. “Yeah, I am. Okay. Bellingham is ... he's the Accuser.” He glanced at her, but she didn't know how to respond.

  "We thought he was a myth. He's older and more powerful than you can imagine, Meg. I don't know why he's interested in you, or what he's doing with the Yezer Ha-Ra, but there's some connection and I have a feeling we're going to find out what it is."

  "But what does this—Accuser—do?"

  "Same thing any of us do. He feeds. He lives. He gains power. He used to be a bigwig down in Hell. Everyone just assumed he'd disappeared when the old order changed."

  "You said Hell didn't exist.” The lights in the city below didn't look as brave or cheery as they had a few minutes before. Now every one spoke of isolation, a life lived alone in a little box.

  "It doesn't anymore. It used to. I don't know what happened. It's not information they give out. Only the Ancient Ones know.” He looked like he was going to continue, but stopped. “There you go. Art Bellingham is the Accuser. You sure know how to pick your enemies."

  "And that's how he ... got into my head? Because he's so old and powerful."

  "Not exactly. But I think I can fix that, at least temporarily. Trust me?"

  She raised her eyebrows.

  "I can hypnotize you. He's getting through because no matter how powerful you are—and you are powerful—you can't match him on your own. You can't match any demon. I can add a little demon protection to yours. That should keep him out."

  She huddled deeper in her thin jacket. “I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

  "Suit yourself."

  "None of this suits me."

  "Then let me help you."

  "How do I know you won't plant some weird suggestion in my head—make me give you a lap dance or bark like a dog?"

  "You don't. That's what makes it exciting.” His smile faded. “You know because I give you my word, Meg."

  She stared into his eyes for a long minute. She'd never dealt with a man whose word meant so much to him, but she knew his did. Demon rules of engagement. Honor among thieves. Either way, his expression made her shiver, and not just because she was about to allow him into her head. “Okay."

  "Good. Comfortable?” He arranged her in front of the fire, his hands brisk and sure. Prickles of apprehension crawled up her spine. She ignored them. “Just relax. Look into the flames.” His breath tickled her ear, and she jumped. “Hey!"

  "Sorry. Got carried away there. Anyway. There's a door in the flames. See it? Watch it open. You can walk right through it..."

  He kept talking, his voice turning into a soft, seductive drone, mingling with the breeze through the branches. Her eyes started to drift closed. She could listen to him all night, just snuggle up here in front of the fire and let his words wash over her...

  She blinked. “What?"

  "We're done. Good job. You shouldn't have any more trouble. At least, as long as you don't try to leave your body and wander on the astral plane, or some such foolishness. He won't be able to locate you easily and he shouldn't be able to break into your head at all."

  "It seems too easy."

  "Some of the best things are,” he said. His voice didn't soothe now. A strange undertone roughened it.

  "Is something—"

  "No, nothing's wrong."

  "I see. Do you—"

  "How do you think your date with Stone will go tomorrow night?"

  Fine. He wanted to talk, they would talk. “Ha ha. If it even does go. He'll probably call me in the morning to cancel."

  "I'll take you. If he cancels."

  "Thanks."

  A companionable silence followed, as they both watched the flames dance.

  "Funny,” Megan said. “All this time I was just one of those little people out there, with no idea what was hidden beneath the lights. I feel like I spent my life standing on something I thought was solid, but it wasn't."

  "It's as solid as it ever was. It's just deeper than you thought."

  "That doesn't make much sense as analogies go."

  "I do the best I can."

  "I'm sure you do.” They were back on the old teasing footing again. It made Megan smile. “So, I don't have a demon and the Accuser is after me. Does that mean something? Am I, like, the chosen one?"

  "Oh, absolutely. When you were born the angels sang. You humans are obsessed with that concept. You haven't been chosen for anything. You're simply an anomaly and we're still trying to resolve it without any problems. We're not sending you off to Mordor just yet."

  "You read Lord of the Rings?"

  "All demons read Lord of the Rings. It's the perfect example of what not to do. Armies of mutant bad guys, shrieking entities on bloodied horses ... Sauron could have done much better for himself if he'd spent more time persuading and letting nature take its course, less time posturing and trying to look scary."

  "Is that what you do?” She knew he was trying to change the subject, but couldn't resist.

  "Of course. It's all about leading people down the path to darkness while making them think it's their own idea.” He checked his watch. “We should go."

  She let him help her up and watched while he extinguished the fire. “Thanks,” she said. “For helping me shield, and bringing me here. It was ... thanks."

  "Always happy to help."

  "My hero."

  His fingertips brushed her cheek, so softly she would have doubted the touch if she hadn't seen his hand move. “I'm not interested in being a hero,” he said.

  Chapter Seventeen

  "Naw, naw, m'lady. Not that color."

  Megan paused with the lipstick halfway to her mouth. “What's wrong with it?"

  Getting ready for this stupid party was hard enough without Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud standing behind her watching. She wished they wouldn't. The long, thick sleeves of her heavy robe kept catching on things as she tried to apply her make-up, but the brothers would not budge. After what Megan thought of as The Park Incident, they refused to let her out of their sight, or even more than a few feet out of reach. She'd had to call Dante to get them to leave her alone when she used the bathroom.

  "It's all wrong, it is,” insisted Maleficarum. “Makes you look sallow."

  "Yeh.” Spud shuffled his feet.

  "I don't have any other colors."

  "I can't believe this,” Malleus muttered. “A beautiful girl like you, and you don't even know ‘ow to do your own face."

  Megan blushed, from the compliment or the insult she wasn't sure. “Fine.” She picked up her makeup bag and handed it over. “You pick something."

  Maleficarum took it. “Roight. And Spud'll do your ‘air."

  "Wait a minute. I was joking."

  "Aw, no. We're gonna make you look pretty tonight, m'lady, don't you fret none. Sit down.” He pushed her onto the edge of the tub.

  Megan had barely arranged her robe over her thighs when Maleficarum came at he
r again with a brush tinged violet with eyeshadow. “Not that one,” she started. “It's too—"

  "Trust me.” His fingers were warm and rough on her chin as he lifted it. She closed her eyes while the brush whispered over her eyelids. It was just like being at the photo shoot earlier in the week, except instead of a professional make-up artist, she had a guard demon applying her makeup.

  She was the luckiest girl in the world.

  She did feel fairly lucky, though, all things considered. She was slowly getting better at moving things with her mind, although the sensation still bothered her and she tired quickly.

  She'd used Friday to meet with the soundproofers, who promised to have the work done at the Serenity Partners office by the end of the following week. She'd be able to go back to work soon. Luckily the extra money the radio show brought in meant her lack of salary for the month wouldn't be such a bite. It had been good to be back in the office, that was for sure. She'd been able to pretend, even if only for a few minutes, that she wasn't being chased by an army of tiny demons and one of the Legions of Hell disguised as a mild-mannered group therapy counselor.

  Tera had helped too, oddly enough. They'd only spent an hour working on strengthening Megan's shields and trying to direct her energy out instead of in, but Tera said she'd done a good job. Even Dante had commended her.

  Of course, then he'd tried to get her into bed, so she wasn't sure how honest he'd been. “You stink at this” wasn't exactly a line guaranteed to make any girl slip between the sheets.

  And Dante certainly knew what to say to get a girl between those sheets. She didn't know how much longer she would be able to resist. She didn't think she wanted to.

  Maleficarum plucked her eyebrows so savagely she winced, but that wasn't as bad as when he insisted on applying false eyelashes. They were heavy on her lids, and sticky when she blinked.

  "Just leave your eyes closed,” he said. “Let the glue dry."

  "Where did you get those things?"

  "They were in your bag."

  "I don't have any—oh, no. These aren't the ones in the pink package, are they?"

  "Aye."

  "Those were for Halloween, they're like three inches long. I can't wear these.” She reached up to peel them off, but Maleficarum's hand stopped her.

  "I'm telling you, let me finish."

  She bit back a sigh and waited while he dabbed powder over her lips, used a brush to color them in twice, then dabbed at them with a tissue. “I'm just going to lose the lipstick on glasses and stuff anyway,” she said.

  "You mean you'll chew it off,” Malleus chuckled. “We seen your nervous habits, m'lady."

  Megan opened her eyes to glare at him, only to have her chin jerked back by Maleficarum. “Keep your eyes closed,” he ordered.

  A fingertip ran over her lips, so softly she wasn't sure at first it was there. The skin beneath it tingled as it continued its journey, until her mouth was a ring of pins-and-needles tickles. “What are you doing?” It was difficult to form the words.

  "Just setting it."

  "Can I open my eyes?"

  Another tingly dab on each eyelid. “Aye. But no fair looking till your hair's done. Spud, you want ‘er on the loo?"

  "Yeh."

  Megan sat on the toilet lid while Spud jerked and twisted at her head for what felt like an hour. Pins scraped her scalp and the smell of burning hair filled the room as he plied the curling iron.

  Being Spud, he didn't speak, but Malleus and Maleficarum carried on a running commentary. “Ooh, tha's good, there.” “Aye, curl it t'other way round, so it falls to the left."

  Spud jammed something else into the hair at her crown and stepped back from her.

  "There you go,” Malleus said with satisfaction. “'ave a butcher's at that, then."

  Megan, her face feeling rubbery and as covered in paint as a prostitute's, lifted her now-stiff muscles off the toilet seat and looked in the mirror.

  She'd never looked more beautiful in her life. It took a few seconds to convince herself she wasn't looking at a picture they'd stuck in the mirror frame to fool her.

  Spud had curled and teased and twisted her usually frizzy, dirty blond hair into a high crown of smooth, shining gold. Hair wrapped around the base of a ponytail held it into itself, and a few curls escaped the bonds, making it look as though she'd just piled her hair on top of her head casually. Sparks of light twinkled from beneath it; he'd stuck a comb into her crown, at the base of the updo. It wasn't one of hers. She couldn't imagine where he'd gotten it.

  Soft bangs swept to the side and fell over her eyes, startlingly blue and deep under the soft, cool colors on her lids. It wasn't just violet, it was green and silvery, too, and it all shone with iridescence like a butterfly's wing. The false lashes framed her eyes, a thick black fringe that made her look innocent and sexy all at once, and her lips looked impossibly soft and lush, tinged with brick red.

  "How did you guys learn to do this?"

  "We been around a long time, m'lady,” Malleus said. “You picks things up, when you're as old as us."

  "How old are you?"

  They shrugged in unison. “Five hundred years, maybe?” Malleus said. “We ain't exactly sure."

  Spud wiped a tear from his eye. Maleficarum patted his arm. “She does look pretty,” he murmured. “You did a good job, you daft old sow."

  Spud blushed and ducked his head.

  Megan wanted to throw her arms around each of them, but refrained. They wouldn't be comfortable with that, especially since she was still undressed. She didn't want to spoil the moment. They watched her like three proud, horned papas seeing their daughter about to be married. Tears started in her eyes. No one had ever looked at her like that before.

  She blinked them back before they could damage Maleficarum's careful make-up. “You did a lovely job. Thank you.” They nodded and grinned.

  "Let's get me dressed, then,” she said. “If you gentlemen would turn around for a minute...?"

  They followed her into the bedroom and placed themselves one at each door and Spud at the window, all looking out. Megan opened her lingerie drawer and pulled out her garter belt and stockings. Were they too sexy?

  She was going to this thing with Brian, after all, who at this moment liked her maybe a little less than he liked barium enemas. It wasn't as if—well, it wasn't as if someone else was her date.

  But it wasn't as if she had any clean pantyhose, either. They would have to do.

  She took her new taupe dress out of the closet and stepped into it, slipping her arms into the elbow-length sleeves. It was a plain, safe kind of dress. Calf-length, slim skirt, darted high-cut bodice. “Zip me up?"

  Malleus turned around. His wrinkled face fell. “Is that the dress you bought?"

  "Yes, why?"

  "Nothin', no reason.” He came over and zipped her up. Maleficarum picked up his phone and started muttering as she looked down at herself.

  She'd lost a couple of pounds this past week, it seemed, and no wonder. She'd been nervous enough to power a small country with her energy, and there hadn't been much time or inclination to try and eat.

  The dress had been large on her to begin with, though. Now she looked a little like a girl in her mother's gown.

  She sighed. It would have to do. Nobody ever said she was the most stylish woman on the planet. In fact, if someone had said it, she would have laughed at them. Megan would have loved to recognize designer clothing at a glance and buy very expensive shoes and perfectly tailored outfits, but she had to live in the real world and support herself on a real salary, and there was no point looking at pictures of what she couldn't have so she avoided fashion magazines, too.

  She looked good enough to attend a work-related function with a reporter who thought she was trying to brainwash him, anyway.

  As she dug around in the mess at the bottom of her closet to find her shoes, Maleficarum said, “M'lady, Mr. Dante's coming by. ‘E says, he'll be ‘ere in ten minutes, so you sit a
nd wait."

  "Great,” Megan muttered. One shoe dangled from her hand. The other continued to elude her. A visit from Greyson was perfect with Brian on his way.

  * * * *

  She sat primly on the couch when he arrived, recalcitrant shoes finally located and firmly on her feet. With him he brought a breath of the cold air outside, fresh and tinged with the smoky scent of fall. Formal wear suited his tall, lean frame; he wore it comfortably and well. Megan had to fight to keep from stroking his lapels to make sure he was real.

  "Stand up,” he said.

  "Nice to see you, too."

  He rolled his eyes. “Stand up. Your date will be here in a few minutes, won't he? I don't think either of you will be happy if he finds me here."

  "My goodness,” Megan said. “I didn't know you were scared of him."

  He glared at her, his lips thinning they way they did when he was particularly annoyed. “Just stand up."

  She obeyed, irritated at herself for doing so but not seeing the point in doing otherwise. So she could argue for another ten minutes and still end up doing it? No, thanks.

  He shook his head and made a face. “Ugh. The boys were right.” He headed back to the door. “Wait here."

  Ugh? She'd never looked prettier, and she was in a new dress, and he said ugh? Arrogant son of a—

  "Here.” He held a large white box out to her. “Put it on."

  "Excuse me?"

  He waved the box. “It's a dress. Put it on. Quickly, I have to go."

  "I don't want to put it on."

  "Would you rather spend the evening looking like somebody's grandmother's couch?"

  "Hey! It's not that bad."

  "Yes it is. Now go change. Burn that thing."

  Megan took the box and set it on the couch, determined to pooh-pooh whatever was inside. The notion flew from her head when the lid came off, though, and crystal beads twinkled at her from a nest of black chiffon. A gasp of pure feminine pleasure escaped her painted lips as she lifted the gown from its bed of tissue.

  The strapless bodice glittered with jet and crystal, and the flowing layers of the skirt hung in graceful lines from the fitted waist. She'd never owned anything like it.