Chaos Falls

by Pippa Dacosta

  Another question disguised as a statement. “Probably, although you were equipped with specialized bullets, I noticed.”

  “With demons, we’re taught to shoot first.”

  I had noticed that too. “You were facing two dangerous creatures. Once they were done fighting, the winner would have likely attacked you. You fired to protect yourself and your partner. I understand. No apology necessary.”

  “I wasn’t apologizing.” She hesitated, mulling over my words. “The rounds didn’t work.”

  Her attention dropped to where her bullet had punched through. I wasn’t about to tell her that her shot had found its mark, rendering my evening into a spectacular disappointment. Besides, she could have filled the awkward silence with a thank you, considering what rescuing her partner had cost me. That apology would surely happen any time now.

  “Did you see the pictures of my gallant rescue in the press?” I asked.

  “No… I… Hold on.” She disappeared inside her house. Through the gap in the doorway, I spotted a cluttered kitchen counter, a handbag, two used coffee cups, fresh-cut flowers, and a bundle of mail. She didn’t wear a ring, as was the human custom when two people were in a relationship, but some chose not to. Did she live alone? Where was her family? Did she often have friends around?

  “I see…” She reappeared, phone clutched at her side. “That’s not fair—what it says online. That’s not how it happened.”

  “But it makes for a good story.” Was she troubled by the lies on my behalf or something else?

  Opening the door wider, she leaned against its edge and asked, “Why were you there?”

  “The same reason as you. To find out who is killing people.”

  “Who? Not what?”

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed the bodies were all left within a block of my building?”

  She nodded. “That’s how I got there so fast. I’ve been patrolling the area, looking for demon activity.”

  “Lessers can’t plan their attacks or, for that matter, take photographs. After the Santa Monica event, they’re also exceedingly rare.”

  “Lessers…? Like the thing in the parking lot that got Jimmy?”

  “Yes. They’re tools, little more than wild animals. Dangerous when provoked, but otherwise incapable of premeditated murder.”

  “Unlike you.”

  “I am more than capable, but I’m not your killer. If I was going to kill, I certainly wouldn’t leave the remains out in the open. There’s an art to everything I do.”

  “An art in killing?” she asked, eyes hardening. “You crushed that demon’s skull. I spent time with the remains while I waited for backup to arrive. Was that your so-called art?” Her tone held an odd edge.

  “What would you have had me do? Let it eat your partner?”

  She studied my face, searching for something. A lie, perhaps, or the truth. Had I been lying, she wouldn’t find any trace of it. I doubted Officer Ramírez fully understood what was standing on her doorstep. She attempted to use her training to read my expression and my body language, analyzing the way I leaned a shoulder against her doorframe as though we were just two people discussing trivial things. But while she examined me, I admired the proud tilt of her head and the fierce strength in her stance. She was not a woman easily manipulated. Nor was she like those who waited in line every evening hoping to catch my eye. Physical attraction was simple to pin down, but I wanted to go deeper, to know her sharp mind, to know her.

  She pulled back, realizing how close we were standing. “Did you save Jimmy to make me think good of you?”

  “No. I saved him because it was the right thing to do.”

  “You must think I’m some naive cop you can twist around your demon finger?”

  “Not at all—”

  “Your kind nearly decimated the LAPD when the veil fell. Most of this city is still uninhabitable. Hundreds of thousands of people died. I found you in that alley, hunched over a body.” I considered telling her I didn’t hunch, but her glare made it clear that while she spoke I was to listen. “I didn’t know what you are, but the wings… and then, last night, there you were again. The bodies were shredded. Clearly demons killed them. And there you are.” She tossed a disgusted gesture at me. “Clearly demon. I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”

  “You believe I had nothing to do with those killings.” Not a question. I knew her thoughts better than she did. “That’s why you’re talking with me.”

  “You saved Jimmy. I was right there. I saw it. Saw you…” She wet her lips and failed to find the right words to describe me. “Our training says not to trust higher demons, that everything you do is a game to manipulate those around you. What you did, killing that demon and saving Jimmy, was that a game, Mister Li’el Shahar?”

  “No.” She knew my name. That hadn’t been in the news article. Ramírez had looked me up. “Lives aren’t games to me, Officer Ramírez.”

  Her training was right. Everything about me was designed to manipulate her. I crafted myself that way on purpose and had for millennia. I could lie effortlessly and seduce just as easily. If I wanted, I could charm her into inviting me in. Not so long ago, I would have. Manipulation was a difficult habit to break. Her heart rate hadn’t increased by chance. She stood inches from a Prince of Hell. Her mind didn’t know exactly what I was, but her body did. Increased heart rate, flushed skin, dilated pupils, a shot of adrenaline to the veins. Fight or flight, or something else entirely. She had seen all of me last night.She would remember the wings above everything else. Humans always did. If her upbringing had included religion, those wings might have told her another tale, the tale of the angel who had saved her partner. There were no angels. Only demons. But I could be her angel. I could show her what it meant to be in my presence. Yes, this was a dangerous game, and I could feel myself falling into its dance with her.

  But these games never ended well.

  “I’ll let you return to your run.” I turned away and walked a ways down the path.

  She called out, “You’re the department’s prime suspect, yah know. They just don’t know how to handle you.”

  I paused and turned. She was leaning beyond the safety of her doorway but had one hand on the frame, ready to duck back inside.

  “The lead detectives called in the Institute to consult on the case.”

  Of course they had. The Institute was supposedly a highly trained group of demon specialists, but in my experience, they had more questionable morals than most demons.

  “Are you concerned for my safety, officer?”

  “I believe in justice.”

  “Even for demons?”

  With an uncertain glance, she stepped back inside her bungalow.

  When I returned to Decadent-I, the line outside reached all the way down to the first star in the Walk of Fame. Music spilled from inside, into the street, washing over the glitzy crowd. Considering my recent notoriety, I’d expected a cooler turnout.

  “Li’el!”

  “Li’el, c’mon man, can you get me inside?”

  “We’ve been in line for hours!”

  I plucked a few people I recognized from the line and, to the dejected groans of those left behind, had the bouncer lift the rope for us. The man and woman I’d let in were quick to sample my hospitality. The crowd soon swallowed us as I cruised through the number. Decadent-I hadn’t been this busy in weeks. Seeing the smiling, joyful people warmed the part of me I had yet to fully understand. What did it matter that these people were happy? It shouldn’t, but it did.

  A drink already awaited me at the bar. I settled into the role I knew so well of the charming, smooth-talking Hollywood elite everyone wanted to be seen with. Whispers spilled into my ear, and promises were made. Fingers trailed over my shoulders and down my arms with the thrill and desire to touch.

  “Is it true?”

  “You’re demon?”

  I neither confirmed nor denied it, but it didn’t matter. The mystique was real, and I played
it effortlessly to my advantage. There had been another time when my people had admired and worshipped me. This time would be different. The veil was sealed and all the demons but me were gone. I could have the pleasures of human company again. Why should I hide my nature? Why should I pretend to be something I was not?

  The elevator delivered me to my apartment, and a party ignited in my wake, but this was different. These people suspected I was demon. I didn’t need to hide my gloriousness like I had before.

  “Show me your wings.”

  “Let me touch you.”

  They begged.

  I unfurled my wings, revealing half of my wonder while containing enough of me not to terrify my rapt crowd. A woman fell to her knees and sobbed. Another laughed in wonder. I embraced them, held them close, let their hands touch and their mouths caress. And I pleasured them in return. Men and women. Beautiful. Adoring. I had forgotten what it meant to be Pride, but I remembered it now. Why had I concealed the wonder of me?

  With my crowd spent, I left them sprawled in my bed, grossly satisfied, and returned to the restaurant in search of more to join me. And they came, one by one by one. So eager. So willing.

  I was about to steer my new admirers to the elevator, when I recognized the bouncing blond hair and brilliant smile of Hollywood Now magazine’s lead reporter cutting through the crowd.

  “Li’el, how does it feel to be outed as demon?” she squawked, blocking my path. “It hasn’t affected your business.” She grinned her dazzling, shallow smile. This woman and I had past grievances. She had tried, on more than one occasion, to get into my infamous after-parties. My refusals often resulted in negative articles.

  The crowd around me gave a collective chuckle at the reporter’s gall.

  “Jenny… It is, Jenny?” I asked, pouring liquid seduction into my voice.

  Her smile faltered. “Jacqueline.”

  I extricated myself from a few arms and met her in the center of our rapidly growing circle. If only her desperation hadn’t shown, I might have invited her along.

  “If I were demon,” I began, loud enough for all to hear, “do you think I would waste a second of my very long life caring about what you or your small readership think of me?”

  She stepped in closer, and her smile fell away like discarded paper. A blankness passed over her expression and hollowed her gaze as though someone had flicked a switch, turning her off from the inside.

  She lifted a gun—people squealed—pressed the barrel to her temple, giggled, and pulled the trigger. The entire left side of her face blasted over the people unfortunate enough to be standing in the wrong place. Blood and brain matter painted the rack of bottles behind the bar.

  Screams erupted. The crowd boiled and heaved, dashing for the doors. Jacqueline’s body collapsed at my feet.

  A second, that’s all it had taken. A blink, then a gunshot. Gone.

  I… hadn’t expected it.

  It didn’t make sense. Why?

  The screams dulled behind my racing thoughts. Soon, there would be sirens and questions.

  I scanned the fleeing crowd for anything out of place, for any human or demon not running for the door. Camera flashes from outside the windows scorched my eyes.

  I looked down and saw Jacqueline’s fingers twitching beside the fallen gun. This changed everything.

  Chapter 5

  A police officer stood guard at the one door in and out of the interview room, thumbs tucked into his gun belt. Buckles and buttons gleamed against the black of his uniform. The lines around his eyes told me he’d seen things, some of them likely bad, many of them probably in the last year, and a few of those probably demon-related. A snarl threatened. Months had passed since the Fall, since he’d defended his species, his country, his city, his home. I wondered how many demons he’d killed.

  Leaning back in the plastic chair, I stretched out a leg beneath the table. The officer’s right hand shifted toward his holstered gun.

  The Institute could have equipped the LAPD with etched bullets, but I doubted it. They kept demon-killing ammunition for themselves. Still, Officer Twitchy couldn’t wait to turn my handsome self into a pepper mill.

  “Can I get a glass of water?” I wasn’t thirsty, but I was interminably bored.

  He jerked his chin toward the water cooler in the corner.

  I showed him the cuffs locked around my wrists.

  He shrugged.

  If I moved, he’d go for his gun, claiming self-defense.

  The camera’s red eye winked in a corner. The only reason he and I hadn’t already gotten personal.

  Ramírez entered the room. “What is this? Is Shahar under arrest?”

  The uniformed cop shrugged. “Above my pay grade.”

  She was shorter than her colleague, but her tone commanded more authority. She glanced at me, saw my cuffed wrists resting on the table, scowled like it was all my fault, and left the room. I smiled at Twitchy.

  Ramírez returned moments later. “Uncuff him,” she barked.

  Twitchy—back straight, face blank—approached. He plucked a set of keys from his belt and tossed them onto the table, making sure I had to reach to collect them.

  “Get out,” Ramírez snapped, “before I tell the sergeant what happened here.”

  With a grunt, Twitchy left the room. Ramírez scooped up the keys and perched on the side of the table. She leaned over and slipped the key into the cuffs. They fell away with metallic clunks.

  I rubbed my wrists. “A black man in cuffs. What could possibly go wrong?”

  She bristled, either pissed at me or pissed at Twitchy. “It’s not that you’re black…”

  “Ah, demon, then.”

  Her braided hair slipped over her shoulder. She flicked it back angrily and tucked a few loose strands of her dark hair behind her ear. “You’re not under arrest, but Styles wants to ask you some questions. I suggest you cooperate. They’re looking for any excuse to put those cuffs back on.”

  After that, it would be a private firing squad out back. Ramírez didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. The injustice of it blazed in her eyes. She wasn’t the best at hiding her thoughts.

  “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”

  “I’m not worried.” Her gaze bounced around the room, looking anywhere but at me, and she pushed off the table. “We have a dozen witness statements confirming Jacqueline died by suicide. We also have footage from your security cameras. This interview is just routine. You’re not under arrest, and they haven’t charged you with anything.”

  What had happened wasn’t routine. I’d seen death, seen fields of rotting carcasses stretching to the horizon. I’d killed countless people and demons. But I’d always had a reason. For power or to bargain, manipulate, threaten, or inspire fear. The reporter’s death had been different. She hadn’t visited my restaurant intending to commit suicide. She had been there for the story like everyone else in my restaurant. The exposé on Li’el. Something else had triggered her devastating last moments.

  “Did you know her well?” Ramírez asked, her voice softer. She had mistaken my silence for grief.

  “No. A little. Was the gun hers?”

  “Registered to her, yes—”

  Catherine Styles breezed into the room in a storm of beige and cream work attire with a file tucked under her arm. “That will be all, Officer.” She set a small recording device on the table and pulled out her chair. “Interview with Mister Leel Shahar. Present are Detective Styles and Officer Ramírez.” She rattled off the date and time. “I apologize for making you wait, Mister Shahar.”

  I smiled at her insincerity.

  “What did Jacqueline Evans say before she took her own life?”

  “She asked me what it was like to be outed as demon.”

  One of the detective’s eyebrows arched high. “Are you demon?”

  “Is that relevant?”

  Unfazed, Styles continued. “How did her question make you feel?”

  I
rested an arm on the table and drew in a long breath. “I felt nothing.”

  “Angry? Frustrated? Miss Evans interrupting your evening must have been inconvenient?”

  I waved a hand and relaxed back in the chair. “I’m used to the attention.”

  The detective opened her file and flicked through the pages. “Your restaurant was the scene of a fatal demon attack several months ago…”

  “Regrettably.”

  She didn’t look up and seemed more engrossed in her paperwork than our discussion.

  Ramírez watched the exchange near the water cooler. She caught my eye but didn’t glance away as I’d expected. She held my gaze for a few heartbeats, trying again to read me. I could have let her admire me all day.

  “There was a string of gruesome murders close to your business. We presume the attacks were the work of a rogue demon. Demon activity is unusually high around you. Does that concern you, Mister Shahar?”

  “No.” Because I am the apex predator, and everything exists to serve me. I smiled again, and eased some of the predator through my act. The stillness came first, a prelude to an attack. I wouldn’t go that far, but the detective could use a lesson in respect.

  “You don’t worry about it affecting your business, considering there are few demons left in LA and you appear to be one of them?”

  My smile grew lighter. Without moving or changing my expression, I eased some of my elemental control into the room. It wasn’t visible, bur rather a feeling that the room had shrunk around us or that the air had thinned. “It’ll take more than a few rogue demons and a detective looking for a new demon-notch in her belt to worry me.” I tightened the air and watched Catherine’s throat bob as she swallowed. The pulse beneath the thin skin of her neck fluttered. So easy to cut there or kiss. “Is that all, Ms. Styles?”

  The detective loosened the top button of her blouse. “What were you doing in the hour leading up to Miss Evans’s death?”

  “Three men and four women, most explicitly.”