Personal Demons (9 page)

“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.”

 

H
ER 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.”

 

T
HE 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.