“He wasn’t there for the sword.”
I was beginning to realize the same. “He was testing me. I thought it was odd at the time. He deliberately pissed me off to get a reaction.” I frowned. “Why?”
“It’s obvious.” Akil’s smile was one I recognized well. He was waiting for me to catch up. “It wasn’t about the sword. You weren’t meant to leave that workshop. He wanted you dead.”
But that didn’t make sense. “He had plenty of easier chances.” A gunshot to the head would have done it.
Akil inhaled, leaning back and rolling his shoulders. “When have you known our kind to do anything the easy way? If he’s any kind of demon at all, he’s not going to execute you without having his fun. It makes perfect sense to me. He went there to kill you, but he wanted to get his kicks. Maybe he’d heard of you. Did he call you by name?”
“Muse? Yeah.”
“Then he knows who you are. Someone hired him.”
Akil’s words rang true. How else would Mr. A have known my demon name? Only those from my past knew I’d been given the name Muse by my former owner as a cruel joke.
“Shit,” I hissed.
“Indeed.” Akil licked his lips. “You should stay with me.”
Hell, no. I immediately looked away, smiling awkwardly. I felt his gaze on me, roaming where it shouldn’t. This was not why I was here. I couldn’t do this, not again. I owed Akil everything, but I was just a half-blood demon. His world had nearly killed me before. I couldn’t go back to that.
“Muse.” He sounded apologetic until I saw his smile.
I pushed away from the couch—away from him. “You know what, don’t call me that.” I tried to make it sound like an order, but the nervous tremble in my voice undermined my intentions, reducing the words to a request. “I left for a reason, and I’m not coming back.”
“You think your assassin won’t try again?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
He winced a little, his smile twisting into something darker. “How long do you think you’ll survive out there, Charlie? You’ve got power, but not nearly enough to stop them all.”
“I did it before. Five years, Akil. I had five years without you—without them.” It had felt good. The freedom. The life. The normality of it all. I paid bills. I drank coffee. I even had a cat. Life. It was real. A tangible dream, one I’d worked hard to hold on to. He wasn’t going to take it from me, and neither was Mr. A. I was sick of running because they deemed me some half-baked mistake, and tired of fighting those who thought me an abomination.
“He’s out there, you know,” Akil said.
When I looked at Akil, watched him walk slowly toward me, I knew he wasn’t talking about the assassin. My heart sank, and my dream of normality slipped away. I lifted the glass to my lips and finished off the potent whisky, wincing as it burned a path down my throat.
Akil stood a little too close. The proximity of him stole my breath away. A trickling current of power stirred within me, my demon half recognizing him as her savior. He tipped my chin up, perhaps sensing my reluctant defeat, and brushed the back of his fingers down my face. “Your brother sent that assassin. You know he did. Stop fooling yourself. It was never going to last. Your workshop is gone. Don’t let him take your life as well.”
Mention of my brother wasn’t going to scare me into staying, although it probably should have. Akil was right, but he was also plucking at my weaknesses, reminding me why I needed him. Not so long ago, I’d have let Akil lure me back in. It seemed like an easy decision to make. He’d protect me, give me everything he thought I needed, but it wasn’t as simple as that. For much of my life, I’d been someone’s property, pushed from pillar to post, toyed with and exploited. Akil could disguise it behind an offer of kindness, but he was no different.
I turned my head away. “No. I’m sorry.” I wasn’t. “I’m going home, Akil. Don’t try to stop me.”
Chapter 3
I twisted the key in the lock and shoved the door open, sweeping back the mound of mail that had gathered on the floor behind it. Depositing my keys and mail on the kitchen countertop, I swept a hand back through my hair, holding it there as I scanned my tiny apartment. Everything looked as it should: a few faux suede cushions strategically scattered on the couch, a collection of generic canvas prints on the wall, but it felt different. Or perhaps it was me. I felt different.
I flicked on the LCD TV, letting the comforting murmur of background voices fill my apartment, and largely ignored its chatter until a news reporter caught my eye as she challenged a stiffly poised official. “…how do you explain these freakish events, such as the flooding near Beacon Hill in July? We’re hearing reports of demons. Is this true? Are there demons in Boston?” I reached for the remote and turned off the TV. I’d had about all I could stomach of demons for one day.
It was only in the last few years that the word “demon” had become headline news. No longer content to hide in the shadows, they hid in plain sight, walking among us. I’m proof of that. The public were largely misinformed, perhaps deliberately so. For most, demons were a curiosity. A mild annoyance. Unless cornered, they looked human, and talk of their “powers” had been toned down, made to look like bizarre coincidences or blamed on climate change. Snow in summer is a dead giveaway. While their numbers were scarce, the government had a hope of controlling the rumors, but they had no idea that for every demon caught, another ten successfully infiltrated daily life.
Demons were just the beginning. Existence of the veil—the invisible barrier between our world and the demon realm—was not public knowledge. The government was keeping a lid on that particular bag of snakes. Demons were one thing; another world neighboring ours? A netherworld where the sky broils and the air flows with the elements of chaos? People weren’t ready for that.
I shrugged off a creeping weariness, rolling my shoulders and dragging my hand down my neck, trying to ease the stiffness in my muscles. I ached in places I didn’t know could ache. Shock and physical damage had taken their toll, as had the meeting with Akil. At least he’d let me leave; he had even offered to throw some feelers out to see if my assassin could be identified. Going to Akil had been a risk. I’d turned my back on him, and he wasn’t someone who took that sort of denial lightly. I’d pay in some way for asking for his help. He’d make sure of that.
I flicked my gaze to the bunch of flowers in the lounge window. The heads drooped. A few brittle leaves rested on the sill beside the vase, a sure sign I’d spent too much time at the workshop lately. I retrieved the flowers and dumped them in the trash, rinsing out the vase and upending it on the drainer.
I leaned back against the sink. Everything was so quiet. The double-glazed windows stifled the constant drone of the city, but today, I almost felt as though I needed the noise. The city lived. It breathed—the blaring car horns, the rapid shrill of the pedestrian crossings. Walk, don’t walk. I didn’t want to walk. My apartment, as small and insignificant as it was, felt like a real home. I’d never had that before, and I wasn’t about to walk away from it.
I opened the window, breathing in the South Boston air. The sounds of children playing drifted from nearby Buckley Playground. I caught snippets of a conversation from a couple passing beneath my window. A car rumbled by, and I soaked up the familiar sounds of life. The cacophony of human activity grounded me firmly in normality.
The meeting with Akil, although brief, had rekindled an ache I thought I’d long ago cured. He exuded power, wore it like cologne, and the primal creature curled at my core refused to ignore the attraction. My demon, she’s all about need, and she’d made it clear she needed Akil. It didn’t help that Akil was one of the Seven Princes of Hell—demon catnip to the likes of me.
Flicking on the coffee machine, I grumbled a few choice words. They could all go to hell, or the netherworld, to give it its proper name. I wasn’t giving up my life, not for anyone. It might seem quaint to the many varieties of demons who stalked me, but it was min
e.
Opening the fridge, I took out the milk and closed the door. A creased photo caught my eye, the corner trapped against the fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Sam and me. I smiled. He had his arm around me, his broad grin genuine. The picture had been taken a few months ago, in the summer. We’d hiked up a woodland trail and found a small waterfall off the beaten track. Water rushed just out of the shot. Sam’s jeans were wet with the spray. His salt-and-pepper hair had a damp and ruffled chaos about it. How I loved to run my fingers through his hair.
The flowers I’d just thrown away had been from him. An apology for something he didn’t need to apologize for. I’d lied to him. A lot. Especially about why it was never going to work between us.
While pouring the milk into my coffee, I caught a glimpse of a blinking light from my antiquated answering machine. Six messages, more than I usually get in a month, I thought, taking a sip of coffee. The machine wasn’t the most reliable at the best of times and had a tendency to delete or overwrite messages.
I jabbed PLAY on the machine.
“New message received Sunday, eleven fifteen p.m.,” an automated female voice said. “Hi, Charlie.” Sam’s deliciously smooth tones instantly soothed my strung-out nerves. “You really need to get a phone at the workshop or get a cell phone. Everyone has a cell these days. Even my aunt—and she’s nearly eighty.” He talks too much, always has. “Anyway. Look, I can’t make Tuesday. A potential contract has come up…you know how it is. I can’t say no. I’m really sorry.” He paused, his silence weighted with unspoken words. “I want to see you. Miss you.” He hung up.
I groaned. Breakups are never easy, especially when neither party really wants to separate. I shouldn’t have agreed to meet him, even though our planned “date” was a friendly one, no strings attached.
Tuesday? Today was Tuesday. I clasped my hands around the hot mug of coffee. My slouch deepened. Now that he’d cancelled, I realized how much I needed to talk to him. Sam made me forget myself, who and what I was. He had such a lighthearted outlook. So quick to smile. He loved his work as an architect, and his enthusiasm for life was infectious. It was one of the reasons I’d let our relationship go on for as long as it had.
“New message received Monday, nine-oh-nine a.m.” Silence followed.
Strange.
“New message received Monday, nine-oh-eleven a.m.” Silence, then static and a click. “New message received Monday, nine-oh-fifteen a.m.” More static.
I frowned into my coffee and glared at the answering machine. Its digital display blinked PLAY back at me. The messages continued to play their static nonsense until I reached the sixth message, received an hour before I arrived home, a message from the police asking me to visit them at the station. Non urgent.
I stopped the machine, my finger hovering over DELETE ALL, when something possessed me to listen again. It was the third message I was interested in. I set my coffee down on the countertop and listened. It wasn’t silence. There was something in the background. Muffled noises, static, then a click as the caller hung up.
I hit REPLAY. There was someone there. I could hear scuffles, like the sounds you hear when a caller hasn’t hung up properly and he’s dumped the phone in his pocket. With a shrug, I picked up my phone and coffee and walked into the bedroom, tapping out Sam’s number.
“Hey, this is Sam Harwood, Architect. Leave a message and I’ll call you back between the hours of nine and seven.” His voicemail beeped and waited for me to speak.
“It’s Charlie. I got your message.” I sat on the edge of the bed, cradling the phone between my chin and shoulder, and placed the coffee on the bedside table. “Sorry I didn’t call sooner…” The seconds ticked by, and the silence urged me to speak. “Something happened at the workshop and… it’s all gone.” A knot twisted in my throat. A swell of emotion choked me. “I haven’t been exactly honest with you. Can you call me?” The phone beeped, cutting me off.
I couldn’t tell him everything, but he deserved to know the breakup hadn’t been his fault. Humans cannot date demons, even half-demons like me. The history I carried—my family, my past—was too dangerous. If he knew what I was, had any inkling of what lay at my core, it would destroy him. Like most people, he knew about demons. He tolerated their presence, but to be sleeping with one? He’d never look at me the same again. It would ruin what was left of our friendship, and I’d be alone again.
I lay back on the bed, resting the phone beside me on the pillow, and closed my eyes. Sam had been a mistake, one of many I’d racked up over the years, but at least I’d have the memory of our relationship: the dinner dates, the movie nights, the simplicity of it all. That had to be worth something.
I fell asleep with the comforting thoughts of Sam in my head and the warmth of my normal life around me.
Jonesy nudged my cheek, purred, then sniffed my lips in that irritating way cats do. I swatted him away, only for him to dive back in and nuzzle my chin. His purrs vibrated through his furry little feline body.
I dragged my eyes open. The gloom around me came as a surprise. My digital clock read 9:20 p.m. I’d slept all afternoon and into the evening. Jonesy continued to pester me as I rose from the bed like the walking dead. He darted around my feet, weaving around my legs and mewing softly.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah cat. I get it.”
The phone on my pillow rang, its screen glowing green in the dark, and one name flashed on the display.
Akil.
I picked it up. My thumb hovered over the answer button. Just seeing Akil’s name sprinkled traitorous shivers through me. It hadn’t been a day since I’d left his offices and already my body felt the effects of demon-withdrawal. The damn darkness inside wouldn’t let me deny what I’d experienced from seeing him again. They do that to you, demons. They know your intentions, your needs, your desires, and they play them like musicians play their instruments. The demon inside me—she knew I wanted Akil on a level I didn’t dare admit. But thankfully, I wasn’t all demon; I still had a measure of self-control.
I answered the call.
“Muse.” His voice teased through my sleep-addled mind, rekindling sparks of desire. “Are you all right?”
Was that something like concern in his voice? Surely the all-powerful demon property developer wasn’t worried about little ol’ me.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I croaked, the remnants of a deep sleep clawing at my voice. “Why? Shouldn’t I be?”
Jonesy weaved about my feet as I headed for the bedroom door. Some part of him arcing back to his big-cat origins, he tried to playfully lunge at my boots.
“Your assassin … did he carry a gun with a scorpion motif on the grip?”
“Yes.” My heart thudded a little faster.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
“I’ll tell you in person. Will you invite me in?” The way he asked, slipping it so easily into the conversation, you’d have thought it was a flippant request. It wasn’t. Akil was full demon. A Prince of Hell, no less. Without an invite, he couldn’t physically enter my apartment, but only idiots and mad men invited demons into their homes, and I was neither.
I couldn’t invite him in and was about to say as much, when I stood on Jonesy’s tail. He yowled and shot through my bedroom door in a blur of black fur. I stumbled after him, falling against the doorframe, and froze.
“Muse?” I heard Akil’s voice from the phone at my side, but dared not lift it to my ear.
Sprawled on my couch, an arm draped along the back, boots propped up on my coffee table, sat Mr. A. The pale glow pooling through the window bathed him in a cool, crisp light, casting shadows across his face that darkened his arctic-blue eyes. That same light played across his hair like water shivering over ice.
“Muse?” Akil growled. His distant voice at the end of the phone snapped me out of my reverie.
I lifted the phone to my ear, my unblinking stare never leaving my uninvited guest. “Yes,” I hissed.
“What’s
going on?” Akil demanded.
“Nothing. I’m fine,” I replied, each word hollow.
Akil fell quiet. “Goodnight, Muse.”
“Goodnight.” The forced nature of our farewell was a clear indication that not all was well.
I hung up the call. It wouldn’t take Akil long to arrive. I just needed to buy time.
Mr. A hadn’t moved. No human could sit as still as that. He might as well have been carved from stone. But there was definite amusement glinting in his otherwise frosty glare. His lips ticked into a crooked smile.
Jonesy, my traitorous cat, leaped onto the couch beside him and then proceeded to nudge Mr. A’s hand, purring like a V8.
“Your cat has taste.” The velvet tone of his voice crept through my defenses, stirring my reservoir of energy. He had power in his voice, but the sense of power didn’t stop there. Like an iceberg, the man I saw was just a fraction of his true self. I felt his restrained energy prickling my skin, but what the hell was he?
“It’s widely known that cats are half-demon. So what are you?” I asked, pleasantly surprised by my casual tone. The fact that he was in my apartment, sitting very comfortably on my couch, meant he wasn’t full-demon. No invite—no entry. He was something else or a half-blood, like me.
I snaked my arms across my chest and leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe as though I hadn’t practically fallen over my own feet a few moments before.
Mr. A. dropped his hand and gave Jonesy an obliging tickle behind the ear. My cat fell over himself, soaking up the attention, utterly oblivious to the rising tension in the room. Mr. A fought a smile before he planted his boots on the floor and leaned forward. “Can I trust you, Muse?”
I almost laughed. “Trust me?” I shoved away from the door, feeling his eyes lingering on me with every step. “No. You can’t trust me.”
[The Veil 01.0] Beyond the Veil Page 2
