ARC: Crushed (12 page)

I study his perfect features, the bad boy hair, the dark lashed eyes, the too-full lips. The sharp cheekbones and straight nose. The perfectly cut body. I have no doubt he’s very good at his job – and a suspicion bubbles to the surface. “That’s not how you really look, is it?”

His eyes widen a millimeter. “Why would you say that?” The fake innocence is back.

“Because no one looks like that.” I look him up and down.

“What, this old thing?” He pulls up his shirt to show off his abs. “Like what you see?”

I narrow my eyes.

“No,” he admits, dropping his shirt. “This isn’t how I really look. I imagine I’m much plainer.”

“Imagine?”

He laughs. “I grew up with demons – I was the ultimate dress-up doll as a child. I haven’t looked like myself… ever, possibly. They’ve been messing with my appearance as long as I can remember.” He says it lightly, but I detect an edge.

“So you can’t change your own appearance?”

“Only full demons can, and they can only make the changes while in Hell, where their abilities are amplified,” he explains. “Or in the Acheron.” He catches my curious expression. “What you Crusaders call the demon headquarters.” He waves his hand casually like he’s stating the obvious. “But enough about me.” He rocks his head toward me. “Your turn.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I don’t think so.” I’m learning more on this roof than I ever learned in Demonology.

“That’s not very polite.”

I shrug. “I’m not polite.”

He laughs again. “Well, if you keep your secrets, I’ll keep mine.” He rolls his lips together and lies back on the roof.

Can’t have that, it completely ruins my justification – err, I mean, legitimate reason – for fraternizing with the enemy. “Fine,” I say. “What do you want to know?”

His eyes brighten, but he doesn’t answer right away. Finally he asks. “Why did you punch that boy?”

He must have listened to my argument with Jo. Remembering the fight ruins my mood. “The other kids are pissed at Jo for letting Chi partner with her, when her leg is a liability. It’s honorable for Chi to sacrifice himself to be with her, but not honorable for her to let him.” I sneer. “Isaiah took it a step further and said Jo was sleeping with Chi to trap him. So, I punched him.”

Armand’s smile fades, and he tips his head, perplexed. “Wait, so you were fighting for her?”

“Yes.”

“Then why not tell her? She can’t get pissed about that. And the guilt…” he lets out a happy sigh, like he smells something delicious.

“Because not knowing everything totally pisses her off,” I say grumpily.

An approving grin stretches his face.

But it’s not true. And why am I lying? Not that I have any compunction about lying, but I usually have a reason. Never say it’s to impress this boy-man-monster? That’s both embarrassing and probably pointless, as I’ll most likely kill him before morning.

“That’s not really it, just a side benefit. She’s my best friend,” I say simply. “And that’s her worst fear: that Chi will die because of her. I won’t throw that at her.” My mouth twists. “A chair maybe, if she keeps it up, but not that.”

He doesn’t laugh. Instead he tips his head again, and studies me. A wrinkle puckers his forehead.

“What?” I ask, irritated.

“Nothing.” He flops back down. “Your turn,” he says, but his tone is thoughtful.

“If incubi aren’t allowed to impregnate humans, how do you exist?”

He snorts. “I guess I should have figured holier-than-thou Crusader school wouldn’t teach sex-ed.”

They actually do, but I don’t get the joke.

He takes on a patronizing tone. “We aren’t allowed to impregnate
humans
…”

Ah, I get it. “Your mother was a demon?”

“…I’d be willing to show you the mechanics if you’re interested.”

“You wish.”

“I do,” he agrees, shamelessly. “But yes,
Maman
is a demon. It’s rare. Being a mom requires a certain amount of… sacrifice that most demons aren’t interested in.”

I think of the sacrifices my own mother made and wince.

“Plus the whole half-dead thing makes them tough to – how did you say?” He looks at me, “
Knock up
to begin with. But it does happen occasionally.”

“So how many Halflings are there?”

He thinks about it. “A hundred or so.”

“Have you met any?”

“Many.”

“What are they like?”

He thinks about that. “Like me, I suppose.” He smiles. “Hopeless reprobates, the lot of them.”

Not what I want to hear. He seems to guess that. “Not like you,” he says thoughtfully. “You’re different.” He pauses. “More human.” His eyes fix on me.

I snort. “Let me guess, you like that about me, eh, incubi?”

He laughs. “Nah. Probably not.”

I hit him. “Ass.”

“All right, all right. Maybe I do for one night, but not in the long run. Humans can be so preachy, and
boring.
They waste shadow-filled nights on rooftops
talking
,” he says with exaggerated disgust. I take another swing at him, but this time he catches my arm with a grin. Then the grin fades. “But it does make you interesting. Just because I can’t share those softer traits, doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate them. Like a hunter who admires the beauty of the deer.”

“Right before he takes it down,” I say dryly.

He doesn’t deny it. “Yes. But it doesn’t make my envy any less real.”

“Envy?”

“It’s the nature of a demon, I suppose, to want what we can’t have.” His tone lightens. “Why do you think I find you so irresistible?” His eyes latch on my face.

“Oh, incubi, take an ‘A’ for effort.” I laugh. “At this rate, you’ll have me charmed into betrayal in no time.”

He laughs, but his eyes stay on my face longer than is comfortable. He’s still holding on to my arm, and he runs his thumb lightly over my wrist. I force back a shiver and tug it away. Breaking eye contact, I lie down on the roof, the grit that has flecked off the shingles rolling under me. A second later, he lies down next to me, resting his hands on his stomach.

“So what was it like, growing up with a demon as a mother?” I ask.

“Nope, it’s my turn.”

I sigh, but wave a hand for him to ask away.

“Why do you stay here? With them?”

Isn’t that the million-dollar question? “The free food.”

He gives me a look.

“Just kidding. The food’s terrible. Oh, who wouldn’t I kill for some Cheetos?”

“Be serious,” he says, but he shakes with quiet laughter.

“I
was
being serious. The Crusaders completely ignore the neon-orange food group.”

“A travesty. How can you live under these barbaric conditions?”

“Because I’m one of the good guys, obviously.” My tone implies a “duh” at the end, and he snorts. “Besides, I couldn’t leave if I wanted to.” There’s an edge of bitterness I can’t quite hide.

“Oh?”

“Team demon wants me dead.” For starters. I’m not about to tell him the whole I’m-a-Beacon thing.

“Present company excluded.”

I send him a side-glance. “Maybe,” I allow.

“I don’t think the demons want you dead,” he says, thoughtful.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Well, they do, if you don’t join them,” he clarifies. “But it doesn’t fit their style. Demons almost always have an agenda, you just have to figure out how to use it to your advantage. Yours is easy. They wouldn’t waste a weapon like you out of spite. If you joined them, they’d probably let you live.”

“Probably? That’s reassuring.”

“I’m serious. They would take you in and protect you from the Crusaders.” He rolls up on an elbow, leaning over me, and smiles mischievously. “Let me tell you, it’s a lot more fun to play for the bad guys.”

“I’m not going to sell my soul for a little fun.” But after the last few months I can’t say the idea isn’t a little appealing.

“You don’t have to. I haven’t. You just have to work for them.”

I eye him skeptically.

“Oh, they’ll try to get your soul, believe me. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we can be very persuasive,” he says seductively, and then ruins it with a shrug. “But it has to be willingly.” He regards me. “And you don’t seem like the kind of girl who lets other people make up her mind.”

“Then why are you trying to?”

He laughs. “Fair enough. I just want you to know you have options.”

“They’d kill me before I got a chance to explain anyway.”

He’s quiet. Then, “Not if someone explains for you, first.”

I look at him sharply, then away, hoping he didn’t catch the rotten excitement I shouldn’t feel.

I feign mild curiosity. “What happens when you sell your soul? The Crusaders say it erases your humanity, that you become just a beast, a being of evil.”

He pauses, thinking it over. “It doesn’t really erase your humanity. It’s still there – whatever was there to begin with. It’s just stripped of its pretences.”

“What do you mean?”

He pauses, as if thinking of the best way to explain. “Did you know that most people consider themselves to be good?” He looks at me and I shrug. “Well, they do,” he confirms. “Studies have shown–”

“Studies? The demon boy is quoting studies at me?”

He laughs. “It’s not all fun and games in hell. We study humans. Psychology, sociology, anthropology – the behavioural sciences. What makes them tick, what influences their decisions.” His mouth twists. “How to make them do what we want.

“Anyway, there was a study that showed that people, given a scale from 1-10, rank themselves at about a seven – at everything. IQ, work ethic, driving ability. People like to see themselves as ‘good’, no matter how messed up they are. That includes murderers, child molesters, rapists, robbers. It’s amazing the way people can justify anything: ‘It was just a mistake, it was the situation, my mommy didn’t love me enough.’ And those are
actions
that are explained away, it doesn’t begin to cover the depraved
thoughts
people have, the horrible things they want to do, but don’t. The terrible things they think.” He shakes his head.

“Anyway, when you sell your soul, all that ends. The pretences are stripped away and you see yourself for what you are. You meet
Him
.” The creeptastic way he says it needs no clarification; he’s talking about the devil. “He can see into your soul, see every filthy thing you ever did, every thought you ever had. You can’t hide what you are, you can’t lie to yourself, you see what you really are. What you deserve.” He turns dark, dark eyes on me. “And the people who sell their souls are not sevens. Not even close.”

He takes a deep breath. “So to answer your question, the humanity is still there, whatever there ever was. But they’re free from it.”

“Have you met Him?”

Armand shudders. “He doesn’t exactly hang around. Only demons who sell their souls see Him.”

It’s obvious he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. “So what was it like growing up with a demon as a mother?”

He settles back and describes a childhood spent in the Acheron that could have taken place in a freshman dorm at a party school – all sin and fun. “There are very few rules in Hell,” he wraps up. “We aren’t allowed to kill each other, but short of that, the sky – or maybe I should say, the Pit – is the limit.” He chuckles. “My every wicked whim was satisfied. No, not just satisfied, encouraged. I learned from the best. It’s a kind of art there, pain, murder, seduction.” He smiles at some memory. A dark smile filled with happiness only a monster could understand. I can’t help but feel envious.

“Your turn. What was it like growing up among humans?”

“Ha. For every rule you didn’t have, I had ten. I was hardly allowed to do anything, and ohhhhh, how I hated it.” I let out a sharp laugh. “I don’t think we could have more opposite upbringings. The fights I had with my mother.” I shake my head.

“What was she like?” His question is soft.

“She was… patient. Kind. Usually exasperated,” I smile at the memory. “Occasionally angry,” I rock my head and give him a naughty smile, “but always with provocation.” He grins back. It occurs to me now that, despite his funny, happy descriptions of growing among the demons, he didn’t mention his mom very often. At all, really. I think about my mom, an activity that’s always a bit like licking sugar off asphalt – bitter, sweet, and rough. I picture her sunshine smile, her golden-brown, fly-away hair – not entirely unlike Jo’s, actually. My creaky heart thuds the painful way it does. “She… loved easily, I think. She loved me in any case, and I was rarely easy.”

“No wonder you seem so human, raised by someone like that.” He doesn’t look at me as he says it.

We’re completely sprawled out on the roof now, and I feel relaxed for the first time in weeks. Maybe months. I make a mental note to grab the pillows and blankets from the attic cubby for next time.