by E J Frost
“He’s too clouded to feel anything.” The pixie glances around. “I feel something, though.”
The hair on the back of my neck rises. Is the demon en route? I don’t know how he’ll react to finding Wen and Justinian here. I reach in my mind.
Where are you?
Men’s room. You missin’ me?
I control a mental snort. No.
You sure?
Definitely.
What were you sayin’? Hope springs eternal. You know what I’ve been thinkin’ about?
The girl in the miniskirt? I snap back before I can stop myself.
Naw, she sucks like she’s drinkin’ medicine. She’s all but holding her nose. I’ve been thinkin’ about ice cream. Last time I had ice cream . . . fuck, I can’t remember when. You got any?
A freezer full. It’s one of my secret vices. Maybe. What kind do you want?
That one you were talkin’ about earlier. Mint . . . mint something.
Mint chocolate chip. My favorite. I have that.
The demon sighs into my mind. Yeah . . . Ow! Watch the teeth, girl. It’s not a kebab.
What are you . . . ? I wince. No, I don’t want to know. Are you coming back soon?
Mmm. Gimme a little while. We’re still negotiating.
Negotiating? Is that what you call it?
I call it a blow-job at the moment—
Stop!
He chuckles darkly, a sound that resounds through my head. I’m gonna need a little while longer here to seal the deal. You still waitin’ up for me?
I guess so.
Naked?
No, the entrée is still fully clothed.
He breaks contact, but not before I feel him smile.
“He’s at a safe distance,” I say to Lilliwhite, rolling my coffee-cup between my palms. It only occurs to me after I say it that there’s no such thing. “Well, he’s not about to come back, at any rate.”
“You’ve never hosted . . . his kind before.”
“He’s an unwelcome guest.”
The pixie bows her head over the blue thing she holds in her hands. “I don’t think the Squire will want to share your favor.”
“My what?”
The pixie carefully places what she’s holding on the kitchen table. Once she releases it, it expands into a large, shallow bowl. Enameled ivy vines twine around the rim; green gems wink between the leaves. The bottom is lined with silver. It reflects my face as I stare into it. Up out of my reflection swims an image of the Squire’s helmeted head.
“Oh,” I say, stepping back in surprise. “What is this?”
“Whenever you have need of him, you only have to look in the bowl and he will come. He asks for your favor in return.”
I look at the pixie, who is wringing her tiny hands. “My favor. What does that mean?”
“When a lady plights herself to a knight, she gives him a token, a symbol, that he can carry with him. A favor.”
Very traditional. “Sounds like we’re getting engaged.”
I mean it as a joke, but the pixie’s wings buzz furiously, which I’ve learned is a sign of embarrassment.
“Lilliwhite—” I begin, to smooth over my gaffe.
“The Squire has never asked for any lady’s favor before,” she says stiffly.
“Lilliwhite, I’m honored. I just want to make sure I know where I stand.” I rub my hand wearily over my face. The whole fairy-lover thing still sounds like a bad idea. On top of the whole demon-lover thing, which also sounds like a bad idea, but I can’t seem to find a way out of that—
The slam of the front door interrupts my train of thought. Startled, I glance over my shoulder, towards the open door into the hallway.
Then I feel him. The hot rush of his presence. His growing fury. It burns through me like a fever. Sparks fly from my hair and fingertips to sizzle on the linoleum. I reach and close my fingers around my kama. My coffee cup hits the floor with a clatter. I stretch out my other hand.
At the flick of my fingers, the pocket door to the dining room flies open. Revealing the demon in all his dark glory storming towards Justinian. His horns scrape a cloud of plaster off the ceiling. He roars something wordless, eyes blazing with blue flame. The huge scythe appears in one of his hands.
“No!” I yell.
I’m too far away to do anything. The demon doesn’t even glance at me as he brings the scythe down. There’s a meaty tearing noise. The scythe finishes its arc. Blood spatters through the pocket door, spraying across the kitchen floor. Two halves of Justinian fall out of the chair.
“No! Dear God, no!”
The demon glances at me, a neon flash, before turning for Wen.
The necromancer’s up off the floor. The dead swirl around him like a cloak. He has his hands up in a martial-arts stance. But there’s no way he can fend off that scythe.
“Wen!” I’m too far away. The demon will cut Wen in half long before I can reach him. Lin’s little brother. Who came all the way to Boston to help me.
Desperate, I reach, pulling on every energy I can summon. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The house shivers on its foundations. A leathery flapping fills my ears. The lights wink out, but I can still see the terrible scene unfolding in the glow of the demon’s eyes. He begins to bring the scythe down.
Three nethancs burst over my shoulders, arrowing towards the demon. The first lowers its serpentine head and rams into the demon’s broad shoulder. The demon staggers and the scythe cuts wide, the point slamming into the floorboards at Wen’s feet. Wen waves his arms and the dead swirl around the demon, howling, teeth tearing, hands clawing. The demon’s leather jacket shreds under their onslaught. Dark lines score his golden skin. He roars, yanks the scythe out of the woodwork and slashes at his attackers. There’s a high, shrill howl as he cuts a nethanc out of the air. It crashes into my dining room table in a tumble of leathery wings. The scythe carves glittering arcs in the darkness, through the swirling stream of the dead. Wen screams and his tattoos explode in a bloody wash, spattering the walls.
Stop it! Stop it, Jou!
The demon ignores me and cuts down the last nethanc. Then he lifts his scythe and advances on Wen again.
“Wen!” I scream and feel energy burst out of me. The room shudders and heaves. The windows blow outward. With a howl of warping wood, a gaping mouth opens in the floor, surges upward, and swallows Wen whole.
The scythe splinters the floorboards just as the hole closes with a snap.
“Wen! Wen! Oh, my God!” I fall to my knees in horror. My dining-room floor just ate Linnie’s little brother. What have I done?
The demon turns and stalks toward me out of the ruin of my dining room, scythe raised.
I reach. Above me, the ceiling disappears. The air thickens, fills with the scent of ozone. A storm wind whips my hair around my face. Thunder rumbles directly overhead. The first finger of lightning stabs downward, striking between me and the demon, blinding me. The linoleum smokes and the stink of burning rubber replaces the smell of ozone.
The demon eyes the black mark on the floor. That a threat?
Yes.
I stay on my knees, one arm stretched to the sky, ready to call lightning again. I don’t know what skyfire will do to hellfire, but I’m willing to put it to the test.
The demon crosses his arms over his chest and watches me. Scythe and horns have disappeared, but his eyes still blaze blue. His blood-spattered skin glows with that unholy light.
He still scares the shit out of me.
“No one as clueless as you should have that much power, witchy-poo,” he says. He sounds tired. Irritated. But not murderous.
I climb slowly to my feet and let my arm drop. The ceiling reforms over my head. “I really hate it when you call me that.”
“I’m not feeling all that friendly toward you right now.” The demon cocks his head to one side and watches me. “I could be callin’ you a lot worse.”
“You storm into my house and murder my guest and you’re no
t feeling too friendly towards me?”
“Guest? That what you call that piece of entrapping shit?”
I swallow hard. I knew the demon wouldn’t like finding Justinian and Wen here, but it didn’t occur to me that he’d be able to sense what Justinian was. “I—”
The phone rings, making me nearly jump out of my skin.
“I’ll get it,” the demon snarls.
“This is my house and my phone!” I protest and beat him to the handset. “Hello?”
“Ni meí shì bà? Hello? Hello?” says a familiar voice, fast and frantic. A voice I last heard in my dining room.
“Wen?! Wen, is that you? Thank God! Where are you?”
“Wŏ de mā hé tā de fēngkuáng de wàisheng dōu. Fuck! Fuck! I’m home, my place . . .” He begins to slow down, calm down, words becoming more recognizable. “I didn’t know you could Earth-walk.”
I can’t. Or at least, I couldn’t. Not until a demon threatened my best-friend’s little brother. “I’m so glad you’re safe. Are you all right?”
“Nothing a shower and a shitload of valium won’t fix. What about you?”
“I’m okay. He’s, uh, things are calmer.” I turn slightly so I don’t have to look at the wreck of my dining room. And so I can keep an eye on the demon, who has walked over to the fridge. He takes out a bottle of Cape Cod Pale Ale, flips off the lid with his thumb-claw and chugs it, his head thrown back, blood-spattered throat working.
“Listen, what do you want me to do? Can you bring me back through the Earth or do you want me to get the bus?”
“No, no.” I shake my head even though I know he can’t see it. “You’ve done enough.”
“You sure? I’ll come back if you want me to. I’m not leaving you to face that tāmāde húndàn on your own.”
I sigh and sag against the edge of the kitchen table. I don’t want to face the demon on my own, either. But it’s better than the alternative. I don’t know how many more deaths my conscience can stand.
“No, it’s okay, Wen. I’ll be okay.”
“You sure? What are you going to do? Are you going to try to make the doppelganger? It’s a good idea. Don’t give up on it.”
“I won’t.”
“What are you going to do . . . you know . . . about Jus?”
I avoid looking at my dining room with an effort and focus on the demon leaning against my sink. He made the mess; he can clean it up. “I’ll deal with it. He has his uses.”
If you think I’m cleaning that up, you can fucking think again.
Fine. I’ll go to jail for murder and you can find someone else to torment.
He reaches into the fridge for another beer. You owe me.
I’ve already agreed to have sex with you and my soul’s off-limits. What more do you want?
The demon puts down the half-empty beer and pushes away from the sink. He brushes past me on his way into the dining room, rubbing his bloody knuckles down my cheek, leaving a tacky smear. As I cringe away from him he thinks, I want you to lick me clean.
I whimper.
“You there?” Wen’s voice in my ear brings me back to his end of the conversation.
“It’s okay.” It’s not. It’s very far from okay, but I can’t think of anything else to say. “Take care of yourself, and thanks. Thanks for everything.”
“I hate leaving you like this.”
“No, it’s okay.” Behind me, wet, snapping noises begin. It sounds like someone deboning a chicken. I’m going to be sick. I cup my hand over the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, Wen.”
“Yeah, okay. Bye.”
“Bye.”
I hang up and huddle against the wall for a moment, listening to the noises behind me. Trying desperately not to hear them.
I’m going upstairs. I can’t stay here and listen.
You do that. I’m going to be a while. And leave out that fucking ice cream. I’m gonna need something to clear my palate after this. Warlock tastes like three day-old ghoul.
Shuddering, I do as he asks. I have to step over the shattered fragments of the Squire’s bowl to get to the fridge.
When I reach my bedroom, a trio of ghosts are sitting on my neatly-made bed.
I begin shrugging out of my sweat-soaked clothes. They’ve all seen me naked before. Two of them changed my diapers. As they remind me with monotonous regularity. And I’m too numb to care if I shock them.
“Beti—” Dala begins.
“How are you feeling about the idea of a substitute now?” I ask heavily. I’m not sure what’s more repugnant: the demon eating Justinian’s remains in my dining room, or my family’s suggestion of throwing him some unsuspecting soul.
“You really think he’s going to be fooled by a double?” the Billigoat asks.
I yank off my socks and toss them into the clothes hamper. “Say it a little louder. He might not have heard you.”
A gust of cold air flutters my hair around my face. The bedroom door slams shut and the ghost of my uncle glowers at me.
“Beti, we don’t think the idea of a doppelganger is a good one. Giving the beng a piece of your soul, even a small piece . . . ”
“It’s the best idea I’ve got.” I take off my protective bracelets and rings and set them in a bowl on my dresser with a sigh. They haven’t been much use lately.
“A substitute—”
“Give it a rest, Dala,” I snap. “He’s not going to accept a substitute. Not now. He’s seen me call lightning . . . speaking of which, has anyone in the family been able to Earth-walk?”
The three ghosts look at each other and shake their heads.
“Your great-grand-uncle Yak could fly,” Rupa says slowly.
I frown at her. “I’ve never heard of Uncle Yak before.”
Rupa grimaces and Dala rubs her forehead. “We don’t speak of him.”
“You don’t speak of him,” the Billigoat snorts.
I toss my cargo pants into the hamper after my socks. “Do I want to know?”
“He got his nick-name because of his affection for livestock—” Rupa begins.
“Please!” I hold up my hands. “This is the last thing I want to hear right now. I have a demon in my dining room who is eating the warlock he just killed. A demon who is going to demand that I lick him clean after he’s done. And you’re telling me about a family propensity for farm animals—”
“Yaks are only semi-domesticated,” the Billigoat says.
“I don’t care!” I shout at him. “I don’t want to know about my great-grand-uncle having sex with yaks!”
The Billigoat takes a drag on his cigarette. “Thought it might make you feel better.”
“To know that a member of my family sexually assaulted yaks?!”
“To know that there are worse things than lying with demons.” With another long drag on his cigarette, the Billigoat rolls up like a window shade.
I ball up my shirt and throw it at the space where he was sitting. “I hate it when you do that! Why can’t you just disappear like normal ghosts?!”
“Beti—”
I put my hands over my face. “Dala, please go. I just – I can’t – I’m going to take a shower.” My mind shies away from what I’m going to do afterwards. “Please, don’t come back tonight. And don’t watch.”
“No, beti.”
I feel the ice-cold brush of her fingers on my bare shoulder. Then my bedroom’s empty.
Wearily, I make my way into the bathroom, turn on the shower and stand under the hottest water I can endure, wishing it could burn tonight out of my mind.
Chapter 20
I’m still awake when the demon comes upstairs. It’s after midnight. My eyes are burning with fatigue. But I can’t seem to close them. Images of the demon tearing off pieces of Justinian and gulping them down the way he gulped down the beer play behind my eyelids every time I try.
I lie and stare at the ceiling and listen to the demon moving around in the bathroom. I hear him brushing his teeth and try very hard
not to think about what he’s brushing off. With my toothbrush. Ick. When the shower goes on, relief floods through me. He wasn’t serious about having me lick him clean.
I roll to my side, pull the covers up to my chin and have just managed to close my eyes without the internal horrorshow when I hear him pad into the room.
“You’d better not be asleep,” he says.
“I said I’d wait up,” I respond, hearing the thickness of exhaustion in my own voice.
“You got an interesting definition of waitin’ up.” The bed creaks as he sits down on the edge. I hear a crinkle of foil as he picks up the strip of condoms I’ve left out on the bedside table. He snorts. “So what was all this? Payback?”
I roll over and blink at him curiously. “What?”
“For last night.” He tilts his head at the wall separating my bedroom from the guest bedroom. “You checkin’ on when I was coming back so you could time me walkin’ in on the three of you?”
I gape at him, then begin to giggle. The idea of a ménage a trois with Wen and Justinian is ludicrous, and so very, very far from the truth. I giggle, laugh, and finally howl so hard I have to wipe my eyes.
The demon leans on one arm, his huge shoulder muscles knotted and gleaming in the light filtering in through the curtains. His bare chest is dotted with water, striped with dark gashes. One of my guest towels is knotted around his hips. A small smile tilts one corner of his mouth as he watches me.
When my laughter finally subsides, he says, “So what were they doin’ here?”
I can’t think of anything but the truth. “Trying to help me figure out how to send you back. What do you think?”
He lifts one dark eyebrow. “That’s bold, witchy-poo.”
“You killed a man just for sitting in my dining room and then you ate him. What do I possibly have to lose?”
“Way I remember it, you asked me to eat him.” The demon’s voice drops, darkens. “An’ he had it comin’.”
“Because he was sitting in my dining room,” I say caustically.
The demon slides down onto his elbows. “What exactly was he helpin’ you with? You ask him how to destroy me?”
I shake my head. “I just want you to go. I don’t want to . . . ” I wave a hand vaguely. “Hurt you.”
