by E J Frost
I wave my spoon in a circle. I know. It just didn’t occur to me. Do you speak Japanese?
Nihongo hanasemasen.
I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.
The demon chuckles and scrapes green sludge out of the bottom of his cup. That was, ‘I can’t speak Japanese,’ in Japanese.
I throw my spoon at him and the demon roars with laughter.
Whether it’s the real ice cream experience or the Pillar of Fire or killing the smoke demon, Jou’s in an exceptionally good mood as we stroll back down Huntington Avenue. He drapes an arm around my shoulders and shortens his stride so we can walk side-by-side. As we walk, he looks up at the tall buildings of the Back Bay with something like wonder. A nethanc surfing the updrafts off the skyscrapers catches his attention and he points it out to me with a grin. When we reach the Shops at the Pru, he stops to stare at the glass bullet of 111 Huntington Avenue for several minutes.
When he doesn’t seem inclined to move, I shift so I can lean back against him and look up at the skyscraper.
There are tall buildings in Japan.
Weren’t when I was there. He’s silent for a moment, tilting his head to take in the skyscraper from a different angle. There were in New York, but I didn’t get out much.
Why not? I ask before I think it through. The answer’s obvious. He’s been a battery, and batteries do not go sight-seeing.
He rests his chin on top of my head. Exactly.
Hasn’t anyone let you out before?
Not like this. Caught a couple of glimpses out of windows. Seen some more in people’s memories.
I turn so I can look up into his face. The idea of his captivity – at the hands of humans like me – bothers me more and more all the time. I’m sorry, Jou.
S’okay. He smiles lazily, eyes glinting in the sunset. Gimme a kiss.
I glance at the pedestrians flowing around us. No, we’re in public.
Who gives a fuck? You don’t know any of these people.
It doesn’t matter. I know what they’re thinking.
They’re thinking, ‘I wish I could get me some of that.’ ‘Specially if you gimme some tongue.
I shiver, because the part of me that’s not cringing at the idea has gone hot and wanting. Schizophrenic hormones.
C’mon, if you’re shy, step sideways.
What?
Step sideways. Like we did up there. He nods at the Pru.
I don’t know how . . .
Put your arms around my neck. When I do, slowly and suspiciously, he grins, pulls me tight to him and kisses me.
I should pull away, and be annoyed. But that would require thought, and thought’s fleeing fast. It’s lost in the press of his hard chest and the hungry movement of his mouth on mine. Lost in the tingling, exhilarating rush of power that rises between us as soon as skin touches skin. So lost that when he licks at my lips, I open them for him, touch my tongue to his. Barely even murmur in protest when his hand closes on my butt and pulls me so close that I can feel the hard press of his erection through the denim that separates us.
Mmm. Now that ain’t shy.
Thought floods back on a hot rush of embarrassment. I pull back and glance around guiltily.
The street and sidewalk are laced with ribbons of color. The same as up in the Prudential Tower when he confronted the other demons.
How do you do this?
He chuckles and slides one hand up to cup my face. He holds me still for another deep kiss. Told you, just step sideways.
I would try to figure out what he means. But I’m lost again. He’s sucking at my lower lip and power’s flaring between us. His big hands hold me to him, press me tight against his chest, crushing my breasts exactly the way I like. We kiss for long moments, while the power builds and builds until I can feel it spilling off my skin. He lifts me, so I can wrap my legs around his hips. So we can kiss without either of us straining, like we did last night when he was inside me.
His chuckle fills my head like dark water. Sliding through the recesses of my mind. Touching me everywhere. Mmm, sweet meat. Could it be that sex with me ain’t so bad? He rocks his hips, grinding his erection against me. I can feel my own wetness soaking into my jeans. I tighten my legs around his hips.
He pulls his mouth away from mine and looks at me. He’s grinning, but his eyes are dark and serious. Tempting. Very tempting, sweet meat. But I don’t want to do this here.
What?! You started it . . .
He nods. Kisses me again. I know I did. An’ you let me take it further than I thought you would. But now I want to stop.
What? I disentangle myself from him. Step back. Why? What did I do wrong?
He holds his hand out to me. Nothin’.
Then why are you stopping? You’re a lust demon . . .
He lets his hand drop. So that means I’m ready anytime anywhere, right?
You told me you were always ready, I think resentfully. I can’t believe he’s gotten me this hot and then stopped and left me feeling . . . guilty.
That was before last night.
I cross my arms under my breasts, trying to remember what about last night might have caused such a sea change. I don’t understand.
Last night was the first time I got to do it with a human on my terms. How and where and when I wanted.
Shocked, I drop my arms. Move a little closer. It was? The first time, ever?
Yup. Warlocks don’t ask for approval. They just force you to do what they want. You saw it with the dead bitch. You think I wanted to jump you like that? C’mon, sweetness, even I like a little foreplay.
I try to get my head around that. To understand what it must have been like for him, to have the choice always taken away. To be forced – even though it was what he wanted and needed – to always have sex on someone else’s terms. It’s not rape, but it’s a kind of violation.
I touch his arms tentatively, and when he doesn’t move, hug him, giving him time to draw away if he doesn’t want the embrace. I’m sorry, Jou. I didn’t realize.
He slides his arms around me. That’s okay, sweet meat. I’m the one who can read your mind, not the other way around.
But you’ve told me what it’s been like for you . . . I should have guessed.
You’re such a fuckin’ softie. He kisses my forehead. I want it the way it was last night. Slow an’ sweet an’ no interruptions. An’ I want to be able to say ‘no’ when I don’t want it.
Of course. Of course you can.
Then let’s go see these inedible ducks. Then we’ll go back to your place and roll around in your bed where I don’t have to worry about another demon or elemental rainin’ all over my parade.
I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, okay.
We are gonna roll around in your bed all night. So don’t worry about that.
I shake my head ruefully. No, of all the things I’m worried about, that’s not one them.
My immortal soul. His propensity for killing everything we meet. The fact that I like him more and more all the time, and that I don’t know what I’ll do if I figure out a way to send him back to Hell . . . those I worry about. Whether we’re going to have sex tonight, well, I guess that’s one thing in my life that’s a certainty.
The duck tour’s nearly a disaster.
Everything’s fine at first. The demon’s good mood continues as we board the amphibious craft, find our seats and begin rolling through the city. He drapes his arm around my shoulders, points out sights that particularly impress him. The gold dome of the State House captures his attention for a while and I wonder what it reminds him of. He doesn’t tell me, just nuzzles my ear when I fail to show the required enthusiasm. He joins the other tourists in quacking at the pedestrians whenever prompted by the ConDUCKtor, his deep voice booming over the others. He’s grinning all the way to the point when we make a sharp turn at the Charles River Dam and splash down into the murky river.
He rises half out of his seat, and I don’t think it’s from the impact of the boa
t in the river.
We’re in the water. His mental voice drops to a growl.
Of course we are. It’s a duck tour.
I thought we were goin’ to meet the fuckin’ ducks, not bathe with ‘em. He rises all the way out of his seat, dragging me up with him.
I try to push him back down. Relax. It’s perfectly safe. We’re supposed to go in the water. Didn’t you hear the ConDUCKtor at the beginning?
He turns toward me and I see the shimmer of horns above his head. Feel the lick of heat across my cheeks. He didn’t say anything about being surrounded by water. C’mon, we’re offa this thing.
I glance at the receding dock. We can’t just get off now. How do you plan to get back to shore?
His eyes ignite, burn blue. Make that quacking fuck turn this thing around. Or I will. The shadow of his scythe appears in his hand, grows more solid as I watch.
Stop, Jou! Anyone with the Sight will see. Tell me what’s going on. I can’t just stop the tour. Not without a good reason.
I’m fuckin’ surrounded by water. That’s a good reason.
You’ve been in water before. I hold my hands out to him, trying to understand. You took a shower just a few hours ago.
I wasn’t immersed. He glances over the side and a shudder runs through him.
It’s okay. We’re not going to sink. I’ve never heard of one of these things capsizing.
He grabs me, fingers digging into my upper arms. Bruising-hard. I try to control a flinch. Fail. He eases off and pulls me tight against him. I can feel tiny tremors running through him.
I get a hand free and work it under his jacket. Stroke his back. Lean into him. Make soft, soothing noises. Nothing helps. He’s shivering harder. The scythe keeps flickering in the edge of my vision. It’s only a matter of time before he uses it on the hapless ConDUCKtor. Or me.
He’s staring past me, at the shore. Longing fiercer than when he watched the jet climb through the blue sky burns in his eyes.
Jou, what do you need? I ask in desperation. It hurts to see him like this. Even if he is a demon.
Contact with the Earth.
Well that, at least, I can give him.
I close my eyes and reach, pulling familiar sensations to me. The hard-packed dirt floor of my hearth-room, the crumbling black soil of my flower-beds, the gritty roll of dust across my skin when I call the corners.
Earth flows across and through me. Swirls around the demon. Its touch does what mine didn’t; it grounds him. I feel the fire spirit in him leap in response. Under my hands, the rigid muscles of his back relax. He sinks back into the padded seat. When I open my eyes, he meets my gaze with eyes gone dark and calm.
Better? I ask, blinking and muzzy from calling power.
Yeah. He settles in the seat. Stretches out his legs. Tucks me against his side. You really are somethin’.
I watch Harvard’s stately buildings slide by beyond the boat’s railing. Keep my connection with the Earth open and flowing into him. How’s that?
For a moment, I thought you’d done it on purpose.
I look up into his face. Done what on purpose? I had no idea you were afraid of the water.
Immersing a demon in running water’s one way to . . . you know.
It takes me a moment to follow what he’s saying. Can you be killed that way?
Maybe, maybe not, but it’d send me back, and it’d hurt a fuck of a lot. Worse’n dying. I’d be vulnerable for a long time.
A dim hope flickers and dies. I want to send him back, but not in any way that’s worse than dying. I won’t become of the ones who have entrapped and tortured him. I’m not damned and I’m not a monster, and I’m not going to let dealing with him make me into one.
He drives smoothly and surely back across the Charles River. Being so close to something I feared so much would bother me. But if it affects him, he gives no sign. He’s as calm and relaxed as he’s been since I grounded him.
While I’ve become increasingly tense.
My body’s still, but my mind is circling. Thoughts blowing round and round like a dust devil. Seeing him lose control on the duck boat was an unwelcome reminder. He’s a demon. He’ll always be a demon. No matter how good the sex is, no matter how much I’m coming to like him, he’s still a demon. He can’t stay; I don’t know how to send him back. Everyone I could ask is dead.
I huddle in the leather seat, listening to the Rolling Stones’s “Sympathy for the Devil,” which is all the radio will play no matter what station I change it to, and watch the lights of Cambridge ripple across the water.
“I can tell you’re dying to ask,” he says, his voice thick with amusement.
I glance at him. His eyes are on the road, but a toned-down version of his wicked grin is twitching around the corners of his mouth.
“Ask what?”
“What else’ll send me back.”
I stare back out the window. “Why would you say that?”
“Your mind keeps circlin’ back to it. You really that desperate to get rid of me?”
I hug the leather jacket he made my fall coat into around me. He’s reading me more and more easily. Pretty soon nothing in my head will be my own. “What do you think?”
His dark chocolate chuckle. “I think you’re conflicted, sweet meat. You were pretty clear on what you wanted before last night. Now you’re not so sure. Another night or two, whaddo you think? Think you might get used to me bein’ around? Give up on tryin’ to get rid of me?”
I start to snap a retort, but he’s right. I am conflicted. I know what he is, what he wants from me. I know he can’t stay. I can’t let him stay. It’s suicide for my soul. And death for anyone who gets in his way. But one of the leaves that keeps swirling through my head, one that doesn’t blow away with the other dead-end ideas, is, what if he didn’t have to go?
“You said it,” I say finally. It comes out bitter, and I can’t help it. “You’re all demon. There’s no humanity in you. Letting you stay would be declaring open season on my soul. Whatever you think of me, I’m not that stupid.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid.” He says it soft and dark, like the chuckle. And I know he’s playing with me. Using that gentleness to mess with my head. To make me think that there’s something in him I can reach. Just like he keeps using sex to create a connection between us that shouldn’t exist. Doesn’t exist. I know it, and it still gets to me. “Conflicted. Confused. But not stupid,” he says.
“Oh, thanks.”
“I misread you, sweet meat. When I first got into your head and felt how much untapped power you got in there, I thought it was just that you didn’t know how to use it. And, yeah, maybe I thought that made you stupid. But it ain’t that simple, is it? Somewhere along the line you got told power’s a bad thing.” He accelerates up the O’Brien Highway, shifting gears smoothly. “And you believed that bullshit. It might not have been a conscious decision, but it’s not just that you don’t know how to use what you got. You’re hiding from it, ain’t you?”
Possibly. Power frightens me at a very deep level.
“It’s never helped me,” I say slowly. “It’s never saved anyone I’ve cared about. My parents. My Dala. They’re still dead. Rowena’s damned.” I look up at the streetlights as they flash by overhead. The directional sign to Medford catches my eye and I think of Peter. Of what might have been. My bitterness intensifies. “People fear me when they find out what I am. My own family’s afraid of me. What do you think people would do if they found out I can call lightning?”
The demon chuckles. “If they thought you’d call it down on them, they’d probably leave you the fuck alone.”
I rest my forehead against the cool glass of the car’s window. More isolation; more loneliness. “Great.”
He shifts gears again and reaches over to wrap his fingers around my wrist. He strokes the soft underside with his fingertips the way he did with the tip of his tail when we were facing the two demons in the Pru. His touch makes me shiver. “W
ho told you power’s a bad thing?”
I shake my head. I can’t remember anyone telling me. It’s just something I know. My talent’s always something I’ve struggled to control. Since that tent came down. And maybe further back than that. Since the car crash that killed my parents. A car crash that happened on an otherwise-empty highway. On a dry, sunny afternoon in May.
“It just is,” I say, more to the streetlights than to him.
He squeezes my wrist gently. “Sometimes power’s the only thing that can keep you safe.”
I glance at him. “Safe?”
He slides his hand away to downshift as we near the turn into Union Square. In the rear-view, his eyes glow brighter than the sign for the Mexican restaurant we’re passing. “Yeah, safe.”
That’s rich, coming from him. “Not to be insulting or anything, but you’re the thing that’s making me feel least safe these days.”
He chuckles.
I turn in the seat to face him. “Seriously, Jou. And yes, maybe I am conflicted. Maybe you’re working hard on making me conflicted. But I’m not so conflicted that I don’t know that the biggest threat to my safety right now is you.”
A neon glimmer between his dark eyelashes. “Think so?”
“I know so,” I snap.
“Mmm.”
I hold up my hands in exasperation. “What? Now you’re going to tell me you’re not a threat?”
“No, I was thinkin’ that maybe I need to introduce you to somethin’ bigger an’ scarier than me.”
I twist back around in my seat and bang my forehead against the window. “Oh, yes, that’s going to make me feel so much better.”
Chapter 23
At the restaurant, he orders a sushi boat, which is kind of cool, because the sushi really does come served on a miniature wooden boat, but which is also kind of obscene, because it’s more sushi than ten people should eat, let alone two. And it takes the poor sushi chef ages to make it.
Watching the sushi chef labor doesn’t seem to bother anyone but me. The restaurant’s empty this early in the evening and the sushi chef seems glad to be occupied. The demon’s happy to wait. He orders saki and placidly sips the hot wine while we sit at the counter and watch the shokunin roll and wrap the rice and fish into neat, colorful parcels.
