Demon Inside (6 page)

My-name-is-Pat didn’t sound like a demon, and Megan couldn’t think of a single reason why a demon would call her show and pretend to be just another human seeking advice. But there was no other explanation for it. Either my-name-is-Pat was a demon, or…

Or she was possessed by one.

“Pat, this seems to be causing a lot of stress for you,” Megan said. “How have you been sleeping?”

Flying blind was definitely not her favorite thing to do, and whatever she knew about demon possession she’d learned from B movies. But she imagined it would be something like Dissociative Identity Disorder, so she came at it from that angle.

“Oh, I seem to fall asleep anywhere,” warbled my-name-is-Pat. “What difference does that make?”

“Do you think you’re sleeping too much?”

“I didn’t know you could get too much sleep. Is that, like, a medical problem?”

Just answer the damned question!
“So are you just falling asleep at odd moments or places? You said you seem to fall asleep anywhere.”

“Well, sometimes I sit down and the next thing I know it’s several hours later.” Nervous laugh. “But I’m not getting any younger, you know! We start to need more sleep as we age.”

Given that the woman was probably barely forty, Megan rolled her eyes. Still…she shifted in her seat. The woman was losing time and couldn’t be read. Something was definitely wrong here, and it was a lot more than just a disapproving mother. Hell, Megan’s own mother hadn’t spoken to her in ten years, unless you counted curt little Christmas cards printed complete with signature facsimile—Happy Holidays from Diane and Dave”—as talking. Megan didn’t.

“Have you been to a doctor? About your sleeping?” What to tell my-name-is-Pat? “You’re probably possessed by some sort of demon” just didn’t seem right, somehow. Aside from the fact that Megan had no idea how to treat it or take care of it or anything. Greyson had said all that God versus the Devil stuff ceased being relevant centuries ago, and there wasn’t even a Hell anymore.

So Megan did the cowardly thing, the only thing she could. She told my-name-is-Pat to give her mother a break and remember how hard the old woman’s life must have been. She told her to take vitamins and get some exercise and to cut down on time with her mother if it upset her so much. She told her everything she would have told any client in the same situation, and hoped for her sake this had nothing to do with the red shape behind Gerald’s eyes before he’d leaped at her Friday night.

Her cell phone rang just as she was nearing the turnoff for her neighborhood. Thankfully she was stopped at a light, because the damn thing had fallen so far into the bottom of her purse she would have run off the road while hunting for it.

“Hello?”

“It was lost in your purse, wasn’t it?” Greyson’s voice was sexy and intimate even over the phone. Megan wondered how he managed it.

She laughed. “Maybe.”

“I’d buy you a big heavy chain to attach to it, but you’d probably manage to choke yourself with it if I did.”

“Probably.”

“What are you doing now?”

“Heading home. Are you—”

“Why don’t you come here?”

“Where, the house or your apartment?” She preferred the apartment, honestly. More anonymous, less crowded, and with a much better view. But he spent so much time at the Ieureanlier these days, and with Templeton Black gone, it made sense for him to spend most nights there.

“Actually, I’m at Mitchell’s.”

“Mitchell like a guy, or Mitchell’s the—”

“Restaurant, yes. Come over. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Haven’t you eaten?”

“Earlier. Come on. I’d like to see you before I leave and this way you can have something to eat.”

If she waited she could probably get him to say please, and she did love it when he said please. But she wanted to talk to him anyway. After everything that had happened, after her visit to the Yezer and Althea’s phone call and my-name-is-Pat…

Actually, she probably didn’t want to tell him about Althea’s phone call, now that she thought about it. But everything else, she did. More than that, he should know about it. If the answers weren’t already lurking in that twisty mind of his, he’d find them somewhere else.

“Okay,” she said. “Just let me stop off and change, okay? I’m not exactly dressed for Mitchell’s.”

“I’m sure you look fine.”

“I’m wearing jeans and a big T-shirt S a you.”

“Ah. Put on the dress Mr. Santo gave you yesterday then.”

“I—how did you know—oh, of course. Malleus, right?”

His laugh caressed her. “I know everything,
bryaela.
See you soon.”

The dimly lit interior of Mitchell’s wrapped around her like the inside of a garnet, warm and filled with subtle sparkles from the candles on the tables. She’d never been there before, but she knew Greyson loved the place.

And no wonder. It smelled like every kitchen of childhood dreams and felt even more welcoming.

She stood by the door for a minute, feeling her muscles relax as heat seeped into them and enjoying the atmosphere. Movement in the corner of her eye made her turn her head in time to see a couple of little demons disappear. Good. They were keeping themselves hidden tonight. She slipped off her coat and draped it over her arm.

“Surely a lovely woman like yourself isn’t dining alone?”

Megan turned, ready to say who she was and why she was here, but the words died on her lips.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome, though he definitely was. Straight dark hair fell casually over his smooth brow, and the candlelight bronzed his tawny skin.

It was the way his eyes glowed, faintly red at first, then when he picked up her hand and bent to give it a presumptuous kiss, brighter still.

At first Megan thought it was some sort of Pavlov-ian reaction. She’d grown so accustomed to seeing a man’s eyes go red before…well, in the bedroom, or whatever place they happened to be substituting for a bedroom, that the mere sight of it often sent a shiver up her spine.

This was different. This man’s gleaming eyes caught her, held her as surely as he still held her hand in his strong grasp, and before she knew what was happening her breasts were straining against her gown and her insides were turning to molten liquid and she
wanted
him, wanted him so bad she was ready to tackle him then and there and she didn’t care about Greyson or anyone else in the restaurant—

Something slammed down hard, a shield of some kind, and another hand joined hers and the man’s in midair.

“Hey, Nick, you want to give my girl a break?”

Greyson’s tone was light, his smile easy, but the tightness of his jaw and the coldness in his eyes told her, and the man now dropping her hand as if it burned him, how far from amused he was.

My girl?

The man—Nick—glanced quickly from her, to Greyson, and back again. “This—this is
Megan?
Oh, shit, man, I’m sorry. Megan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—he didn’t tell me you were coming, so I didn’t think—”

What was she supposed to say? “That’s okay”? What was he apologizing for, anyway? What had just happened?

Nick’s embarrassed grin seemed to mollify Greyson. He shrugged. “No problem.” But he didn’t usually grip Megan’s shoulder quite so tightly, or pull her quite so close to his side. “Meg, this is Nick Xao-teng. Nick, Megan Chase.”

“Great to meet you.” Nick nodded and smiled, but didn’t touch her again.

“You too,” she managed, distressed to realize her voice was shaking a little.

“We were playing cards until you got here; you don’t mind if I finish, do you?” Greyson followed Nick toward the back of the room, then, as Nick turned down a hall, pulled her aside.

“Are you okay?” His dark gaze searched her face, his hands tight on her upper arms.

“Yeah, I just…what happened?”
My girl?

“Nick is half incubus.”

“And…” Her blush had started to fade. Now it came back with a vengeance. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have any reason to be.”

“But I—”

“It wasn’t your fault.” But his jaw was still tight. He looked away.

“I’m glad you came when you did,” she said. He might say she’d done nothing wrong and he might even believe it, but that didn’t make her feel any less guilty for her last thoughts in that dizzying minute. She had no idea if he was dating anyone else or if he cared if she did, but being absolutely ready to have sex with one man while out with another was fairly sleazy no matter how casual the relationship was or what sort of demon-sex thrall one was under. “How did you know—I mean—”

“I’ve seen that look on your face before,” he said, and then he was kissing her, pressing her back against the wall, his body looming hot in front of her.

His hands roamed from her arms to her waist and around to her back, pulling her closer, while he urged her mouth open with his lips so his tongue could slide inside. He tasted of Scotch and cigars and lust, and she wanted more.

Megan gasped and wrapped her arms around him while heat burst in her body, the flames of his desire and hers mingling in her chest to make her movements almost frantic, to make her wrap her right leg around him in a desperate attempt to bring him even closer.

It went on for only a minute, maybe two, but when he pulled away they were both panting.

“That
look,” he said with satisfaction, and took her hand to lead her down the dark hallway while she used the other to smooth her dress.

The cheery, tingly feeling lasted while they entered a dim, smoke-filled room in the back where several men sat around a table piled high with bills. It lasted while he introduced her to everyone, sat her in his lap, and picked up his cards—and faded abruptly when she saw them.

Greyson was holding aces and eights—a dead man’s hand.

The waiter set her plate in front of her and stepped smoothly away, leaving them alone again in the shadowy corner. She tried to let the fragrance of the steak soothe her, to let the excellent wine seep into her muscles and relax her, but it didn’t.

“I didn’t think you were superstitious,” he said, watching her.

She shrugged. She hadn’t thought she was either. “Just considering everything that’s been going on…”

“Stop worrying. I’m not worried.”

“How can I not be worried? The—the police are coming to my office tomorrow. To meet me. They want to see Gerald’s file. I guess they think he might have killed himself.”

“They can’t make you—”

“They’re bringing his sister. I do have to release it to her, or at least copies of it.”

“I’ll call Hunter. You should have a lawyer with you. Just in case.”

“I thought you were my lawyer.”

“Trust me, darling, the last thing you want when you’re dealing with the boys in blue is me at your side. Don’t give them more ammunition, not when you have a public image to protect.”

It was the closest he’d ever come to answering outright a question she’d asked when they first met: “Are you in the Mafia?”

Strange as it seemed, she hadn’t given the matter much thought since. She’d started compartmentalizing it, thinking of it simply as “demon business” and so not anything that involved her. Even her experience at the mall with Tera hadn’t really concerned her, aside from the embarrassment.

But she hadn’t thought about how it might affect her career. Obviously he had.

“Is that why you had Hunter come to the jail?”

“In part. But he wouldn’t have been able to convince those homeowners to drop charges as easily as I could either, and that needed to be done. Although it wasn’t exactly easy—that lady was tough. I thought for a minute I might actually have to pay her off.”

“How nice that you didn’t.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It spoils the digestion.”

She raised her eyebrows, but couldn’t help smiling. The steak was delicious too, although something seemed off about it.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s overdone.”

“Really? I told them medium.”

She cut a new piece and fed it to him off her heavy silver fork.

“Tastes like medium to me, Meg. That’s the way you usually have it, so—”

Oh God.
She did usually have her steak medium, he was right. And this was perfectly cooked.

So why then did she suddenly wish it wasn’t? That it was bloody rare and red, the way he ate his?

“Must just have been the piece I had.” She shoved another forkful into her mouth. “Yep, that’s perfect.”

“We can get you another one if—”

“No, no, it’s great. Thanks. I think I’m just tired.” Desperate to change the subject, she said, “So when will you be back?”

“Hmm? Late Wednesday, maybe, or Thursday, depending. Shall I just pick you up Saturday afternoon? Cart you off to my lair?”

“Your lair?”

“Oh, it’s a lair. It qualifies. It’s secluded, it’s secret, and I do private things there.”

She blushed. “Will you have your car back?”

“We’re taking the truck anyway. In case it snows.”

They were spending the entire week of Christmas at his Meegra’s cabin in the woods outside the city. Greyson didn’t actually celebrate Christmas, of course, but most demons treated it as a winter holiday just the same.

The first time he’d taken her onto the land she hadn’t even known the cabin was there, but it was, and she loved it. Almost as much as she loved the fact that, for the first time in years, she actually had plans at Christmas, real plans that didn’t involve her tagging along at Althea’s family celebration or watching movies by herself at home.

Althea. She didn’t want to think about that now.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I went to see my demons last night.”

“And?”

She shook her head. “I heard something. It felt like a name, but I don’t know if it was, or if it was just words.”

“What was it?”

“Ktana Leyak.”

If she hadn’t been watching so closely she wouldn’t have noticed the tiny pause as he lifted his wineglass to his lips. “Interesting. How did you hear it?”

“Are you ever going to just tell me what you’re thinking?”

“What do I get if I do?”

“Me not being mad at you. How’s that?”

He smiled. “If you put it that way. The words ring a few bells. ‘Ktana’ means ‘queen.’”

“And ‘leyak’?”

“It’s a type of demon. Not generally a very dangerous or warlike type. It poses much more of a threat to humans than other demons.”

“But I am human [But of.”

“Hmm.” She thought she saw his gaze flicker to her half-eaten steak. “How did you hear that phrase, anyway? Did Roc tell you?”

“No.” She gave him a quick rundown of what had happened, eliminating the part where she used the full strength of her power but telling him how the words had popped into her head as she returned home. “I meant to Google it but I haven’t gotten around to it.”

It was surprising how much information could be found online, how many people in the world knew the truth or brushed up against it, and how many other people didn’t believe them. Megan wondered sometimes just how unique she was after all.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll see what I can find. You done?”

It took her a minute to realize he meant her food, and she nodded. She hadn’t even eaten half of it, but she didn’t want the rest, nor did she want the potato or asparagus. The discussion about how it had been cooked and the reminder of yet another new idiosyncrasy, and what it probably meant, wasn’t something she wanted to think about.

Service at Mitchell’s was certainly fast enough. It seemed to take no time at all before the check was “taken care of”—she suspected the meal had been on the house—Greyson’s friends had been bid good-bye, and they were at her doorstep.

“Are you coming in?”

“I can’t.” He kissed her forehead. “It’s almost midnight already. I have to be up at five.”

One of the best things about dating a fire demon was how warm he always was, although she suspected that would turn into a definite downside in the summer. If they were still seeing each other then. His comment earlier about her public image…She pushed it from her mind.

One of the other best things…well, maybe they weren’t all such good kissers. She and Greyson stayed on her porch for a few more minutes, saying a leisurely and mostly silent good night, before she finally pulled away. “Have a good trip,” she said.

“I’ll call you when I get back. And if you need anything call me, or Maleficarum if I don’t answer.” He paused. “I’m leaving Malleus here. He’ll be over in the morning.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but decided against it.
Assassination attempt, remember?
“Thanks.”

One last kiss, like a faint breeze over her lips, and he stepped back to watch her slip inside the house. She wished he hadn’t decided to go. Some nights she liked having her bed all to herself, but this wasn’t one of them.

She’d just shrugged off her coat when she heard a key scraping in the lock and turned to see Greyson opening the door.

“Fuck it,” he said, striding across the room to take her in his arms. “I can sleep on the plane.”

“This is Gerald’s file.” She handed the photocopies in their new manila folder to Maureen Boehm, Gerald’s pale and pink-eyed sister. The woman’s pain colored the air and beat against Megan’s skin, even with her shields up as far as they would go.