Chaos Falls

by Pippa Dacosta

  “Do you know anything about this demon?”

  “Why would I?”

  “That photo was taken near here.”

  “Was it?”

  “And emailed to us and the press shortly after we discovered a young man apparently killed by demons.”

  “Terrible. I thought all the demons were gone.”

  “The email contained this image and the name of this restaurant, Decadent-I Taverna.” She paused, either waiting for me to talk my way into being guilty or considering how far she could push without giving away how much she thought she knew.

  “I see. That must have taken some stellar detecting to arrive on my doorstep.”

  She ignored my dry tone. “You run an upstanding business here.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her lips twisted around a sour taste. “And you said you’re from Europe?”

  “No.” My smile grew. “My name is. I’m from somewhere much hotter.” Europe. Netherworld. Hell. All of the above.

  “It’s strange. A socialite of your reputation leaves quite a paper trail, and you have, but there’s nothing from you directly until a few months ago. Before that, you could have been a ghost. No photos. No social network presence. Nothing.”

  “I was on a journey. Call it a sabbatical…” Before a few months ago, I’d been resting in a cage, guarded by an ambitious demon who thought he could create a new demon Court, and before that, I’d been a prince among the Dark Court of the Eleven Princes of Hell. Catherine didn’t want the truth because, once she had it, the genie would be out of the bottle, and it wouldn’t go back in without a fight. I had earned my right to live in LA. I’d fought demons just as she had. It didn’t matter that I was one. This city was as much my home as hers. LA had been my territory long before the veil fell, before the settlers arrived in their wagons to stake their claims.

  “No photos of this journey?”

  “I’m camera shy.”

  She smiled a smooth, slippery smile. “You’re something, Mister Leel, but shy isn’t it.”

  This time, I didn’t bother to correct her on my name.

  She placed her card on the bar. “In case you remember something.”

  Then she left through the open front doors. I was beginning to think, as strange as the thought was, that Catherine Styles didn’t like me much.

  I spent the rest of the day and into the early evening fulfilling business obligations and fielding various invites to make sure I was seen in public doing all the things expected of a human male of my social standing. Los Angeles and its cliques weren’t my first foray into pretending to be human. I’d perfected the act over the centuries. Admittedly, in the beginning, I may have pushed too hard and asked too much of humans. They had worshipped me as their god, and why not? Had I been clever, I would have kept my presence in the human world subtle. But subtle wasn’t me. My exploits hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other princes. When Mammon, the Prince of Greed, saw what I’d created in this realm, in this world, he’d wanted it all for himself.

  Greed.

  The demon prince had barred me from this realm, burned my wings, and scarred my chin. He’d had no right to take from me. No right to stop my escapades—

  But I’d been… different then. I was not the same demon people had once called Lightbringer and the religious had named the devil. Recent events had me questioning whether I was demon at all.

  The restaurant was in full swing when I returned. I slipped into my role of successful charmer. The music beat hard enough to drown out my unending ache of loss, and the people who found my bed, men and women, helped distract my thoughts. I pleasured many in my bed, and they pleasured me. But lately, pleasure wasn’t enough. I had seen the veil fall, and I’d waited, biding my time and rebuilding my strength, for the right moment to break out and create a new Court. But something had changed in me during those months locked away from the world, severed from my pride. An icy half-blood girl had reminded me that life on this side of the veil wasn’t like the one I’d left behind in the netherworld. I didn’t have to be demon here. There was another way.

  If only it were that simple.

  In the early hours, just past three a.m. when the air was cooler and LA pretended to sleep, I peeled myself from the tangle of warm, satisfied human bodies and took to the roof of my building. My human vessel and all its earthly illusion fell away, and I became my element, air. I drifted far, stretched wide, splintered into countless tendrils and reached through the city’s veins—the streets, the wide alleys, the almost-empty parking lots, the beaches. I listened to whispers, to the couple pressed against a wall, to a father comforting his daughter, to someone crying alone and others cheering together. I absorbed the quiet nightlife of my city and touched the lives of those I passed.

  “I am air and everywhere.”

  Some were afraid. Some were joyful. All were a wonder.

  I found the newest victim by the void her cooling body left behind in a beachside parking lot. A living, breathing person should have been occupying the air around the parked Jeep, but the remains were too still, the warmth leaving the skin, the presence already fading.

  In moments, I was solid again and a few strides from the Jeep. The streetlight above the vehicle was out—an unlikely coincidence. Just a few cars occupied sand-covered spaces. Tire tracks left zip-like marks in fresh sand. The woman’s footprints scuffed the sand around the Jeep’s front tires. Smaller circular depressions also dotted the area—claws. Demon.

  I turned away from the body and scanned the parking lot and the street beyond. Palm trees gently swayed, and air hissed through their fronds. I reached out with my element and became that air. With it, I could feel the space every item in the area occupied. There, hunched behind a dumpster, was a pulsing taint. The stench of hot rubber permeated the air around it.

  “Get down on the ground!”

  “Get down now!”

  Two cops. They charged in from behind the Jeep, and behind them, the demon emerged from the shadows. I ignored the human police, reached out a hand, and yanked the air from the demon’s lungs. It wasn’t as easy here as in the netherworld. The air in this world was thinner, weaker, but demons still needed to breathe to live. The demon clawed at its throat, trying to open its airways. It would do it no good.

  “Get down, now!”

  Ramírez. It was no coincidence she and her partner had arrived seconds after me. I would have to deal with those implications later.

  “Get down or we open fire!”

  Their little bullets couldn’t do much damage, but the demon at their backs would tear into them if left unchecked.

  I had it in my grip. It writhed and bucked against the invisible hold choking the life from its body. In seconds, it would be dead.

  “Don’t move!” Ramírez ordered.

  This again? Get down. Don’t move. She needed to work on her orders. “If you would just wait—”

  One of them fired. The round bore down on me, cutting through the air, charged with anti-elemental markings. Demon-killing bullets. The LAPD had upgraded. The bullet grazed my side and would have hit home had I not twisted away.

  I might have laughed if my grip on the lesser hadn’t slipped. Like an enraged animal, it sprang out from behind the dumpster and galloped across the parking lot. Ramírez’s partner had the misfortune of standing in its way. The lesser vaulted over the hood of a car and launched itself onto the officer’s back. Claws raked deep into the officer’s chest. Blood arced across the asphalt.

  I collapsed into air, crossed the distance in a second, and tore the demon off the teetering male. Ramírez’s scream accompanied the beast’s grunt as I slammed it into the ground. The skull caved in under my fist, in a satisfyingly gory pop.

  Ramírez fired again, and this time the bullet punched into my back. Agony blasted up my spine. My wings sprang free, both for protection and as a reflex. The little cop let out a cry somewhere between shock and awe. She and I would have words once I’d saved her partn
er’s life. I scooped up the fallen male to a hail of more gunfire—Don’t these fools recognize when they’re being saved?—and beat my wings, taking to the air. The ER was only a few blocks away. The officer in my arms would die if left on the street, waiting for backup to arrive.

  With every beat of my wings, fiery agony flooded my veins. Just pain. I knew it well.

  I gained enough altitude to soar over the squat building and dive toward the hospital. I came in hot and landed in a run that almost sent me sprawling through the glass doors. Screams erupted around me. People lifted their phones, cameras flashing. The old me, the part that would have seen these fools on their knees, sent an internal snarl their way, but I kept it off my face and delivered the officer through the hospital doors and onto an empty gurney.

  He caught my arm as I pulled away. “Thank… you,” he wheezed. Pain tightened his eyes, but didn’t mask his compassion. Compassion… for me?

  I nodded and lifted my gaze. Doctors, patients, and EMTs had gathered around. They saw my wings and my ghostly outline.

  “Someone shoot it—”

  “—help that man.”

  “Call the Institute!”

  “Kill it!”

  I turned away and shoved through the people who didn’t scurry away quick enough. Once through the doors, I became air, vanishing from their sights and their hissed accusations. Their hatred burned as much as the gunshot wound.

  Chapter 3

  “Everyone out.”

  I leaned against the bar in my apartment living room, fighting the shudders trying to undo me. In my absence, an all-night party had moved upstairs to my place, as it often did, and stretched on into the morning, but I was in no mood to entertain.

  “Out!”

  My “guests” scurried out, some half-dressed, some high or drunk or both. I only recognized a handful of them. Several steered my way but quickly reconsidered when they caught my expression.

  The elevator doors had barely closed when I fell against the bar, using it to prop myself up.

  “Damned Institute bullets.”

  Simply turning my clothes to air would expend too much energy, so I carefully eased the jacket off, letting it fall where I stood. The shirt went next, dripping blood. The bullet had sailed through cleanly. The exit wound low on my back throbbed, and the entry wound tingled above my hip. I’d heal, but it would take energy I sorely lacked.

  I called Noah, told him I wasn’t to be disturbed, and sought refuge in the wet room. Standing under the shower’s hot jets, I pulled my focus in and concentrated on rebuilding my vessel. Muscle, bone, veins, skin—I stitched it all back together and smoothed it over, almost to perfection. A stubborn dimple remained. Some wounds never healed, like the scar on my chin. It would have to stay. I didn’t have the energy to banish it.

  I freed my wings and hugged them close against my back. Water pattered against my face and chest. Turning, I dropped to my knees, bowing my wings over me, and let the water pound against the feathers. Heat against heat helped.

  “Kill it.”

  “Shoot it.”

  I couldn’t blame humans for their disgust, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. I was meant to be admired and loved. Their hatred would stalk my dreams.

  Black feathers circled the drain.

  Shutting off the water, I scraped the feathers off the shower floor and gathered them into my arms.

  So many…

  My flight had cost me. Too much? No, the male officer was alive. A life was worth a handful of feathers, wasn’t it?

  Yes, I had done the right thing. Human life was precious, just like my feathers. Helping them was better than the alternative. Helping them was good. Even if they despised me.

  I sat back, drew a knee up, and pulled the feathers close. I was a good demon. The first. That meant something, no matter the cost. Didn’t it?

  Later that day, rested and healed, I stepped out of the elevator, eyebrow raised. The restaurant’s thirty staff members were gathered with Noah at their head. This would be interesting.

  They looked at one another, waiting for someone brave enough to speak up.

  “We can’t open today,” Noah said.

  “And why is that?” I headed behind the bar, grabbed a glass and a bottle of bourbon, and poured myself a drink. A chill skittered across my skin. “Is it cold?”

  Nobody replied.

  Outside, sunlight flooded the streets, slicing through sections of the drawn blinds.

  Noah leaned against the bar and murmured, “It would be dangerous to open.”

  “Dangerous?” I laughed, picked up my drink, and downed it. The warmth soothed the strange disconnected feeling left over from the night’s events. Dangerous was facing a demon horde. Dangerous was dancing with the Princes of Hell. Dangerous was me on a red carpet during opening night.

  “You need to see something,” he added.

  Clearly, this something had unnerved the staff, but I wasn’t sure I could rouse the energy to care. Noah’s determined glare wouldn’t go away until I saw whatever he seemed so desperate for me to witness.

  “All right.” After refilling my glass, I followed Noah through the back doors and kitchen, and out the rear exit onto the street. Walking to the front of the restaurant, traffic buzz filled the air around us. Cars rumbled by. A few early bus tours rumbled down the boulevard toward the part of Hollywood where you couldn’t move for tripping over Elvis clones.

  I sipped my bourbon and rolled some liquid around my tongue as Noah revealed the artwork plastered across the front of Decadent-I in fat red letters.

  DEMON GO HOME

  Noah sighed and looked at me. “Some of the staff are talking.”

  “Naturally.”

  His lips ticked at the corners. “Not in a good way. Rosa said you weren’t here last night, and then there’s this…” He dug out his cell phone and handed it to me.

  Among reports of the small tremors and unseasonable rain, there was a photo of me carrying the bleeding police officer into the hospital. Instead of the headline reading, “Handsome Demon Saves Cop,” it read, “Killer Demon Strikes Again.” The picture was as crisp as daylight. I couldn’t deny the winged Adonis was me, and why should I have to?

  I handed the phone back and took a drink, squinting at the graffiti. Noah had worked in my restaurant for years, longer than I had been on site. Back when, I was merely a name on the accounting statements. He’d joined the staff right out of college as a bartender and worked his way into management. When I’d returned from my “extended sabbatical” away from human life, he had brought me up to date on how things worked in Hollywood. I could have slipped back into the role I’d left decades before without him, but it would have taken longer and more effort. He knew how my life worked. He knew how I got around without the use of a car or public transport. He knew I kept unusual hours and had interesting associates, like the icy half-blood girl. Noah was no fool.

  “Who takes portrait shots in that light?” I scoffed.

  He smiled. It was a good sign. “I figured you were different.” The shrug sealed it. “I get it, man. But some of the others, they don’t know you like I do. They see demon, and they just see the bad stuff.”

  “As long as their opinions don’t interfere with their work, it doesn’t matter.” Echoes of last night muscled their way back into my thoughts. Kill it! “This…” I gestured at the paint job. “Get this cleaned up and the restaurant open for business. It will take more than some paint and poorly framed shots to ruffle my feathers.”

  “I just…” Noah ran his fingers through his hair. “All the demons, I mean. Those that weren’t killed, they left. They’re all supposed to be gone. Why did you stay?”

  Where would I go? “LA is my home. It has been for a very, very long time.”

  He nodded and offered an understanding smile, but a touch of fear dampened its edges. It was one thing to suspect your employer was a demon, but quite another to have it confirmed.

  I smiled and
lifted my glass. “I have everything under control.”

  Chapter 4

  Officer Ramírez’s little bungalow was tucked in among its neighbors along the Venice canals. A small dog yapped somewhere, and a TV chatted from across the narrow waterway, but most homes were empty. Rentals. LA’s tourism industry had a long way to go before they recovered from the Fall.

  I knocked on Ramírez’s door and waited. The calming energies of the home kept me from forcing my element inside. Homes were one of the only safe-havens humans had from higher demons. Homes tended to be “controlled and calm” spaces. Being a creature of chaos at my roots, I couldn’t breach her walls unless invited.

  The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. The door swung open. Ramírez held a can of pepper spray angled at my face. “How did you find me?”

  “I am air and everywhere.”

  “I’m not inviting you in. That means you can’t come in.” Her tone held the hint of doubt. She had likely learned these facts in various Demon 101 classes. I briefly wondered if I was mentioned in those classes.

  “Correct. I may only enter public spaces uninvited. But your doorstep is as good a place as any for me to be right now.”

  She lowered the can, more confident behind her threshold. “If you threaten me in any way—”

  “I have no intention of hurting you or anyone. I came to talk.”

  “Talk?” She swallowed and hooked the pepper spray onto the waistband of her leggings. A pink and gray sports top snugly embraced her breasts, leaving little to the imagination. Earbuds hung from their cord around her neck. I had seen Ramírez twice before, but each time she had been on duty, wearing the black and white law enforcement uniform like armor. Out of uniform, she was all feminine curves, but in a way that proclaimed strength, unlike the lightweight ultra-thin examples often found crowding red carpets.

  “Talk, then,” she prompted after I’d spent too much time admiring her physique.

  “How is your partner?”

  “Alive.” She crossed her arms and pressed her lips into a sharp line. “If you hadn’t been there, that thing would have killed us both.”