Roguish Demon

by Kat Cotton

  “It’s one of the weird things you’re involved in. That creepy stuff.”

  She’d talk all night if I didn’t agree to check it out, and maybe there was some demon hunting money to be made. Better to be first on the scene than to be usurped by my rival, Harry McConchie.

  Here’s the most important thing you need to know about demon fighting. It’s not a noble calling, it’s not about saving the world. It’s a job. You do the work, you get the money. People pay well to get rid of demons, just like they do termites and rats.

  I took off my sweats, put on a skirt and some warm tights. T-shirt, leather jacket and a scarf. And my big kick-ass fighting boots.

  I figured if the fuss at Soho wasn’t a drug raid, it’d be some girl who’d been lured into the back alley by a vamp or demon. I’d get down there and clean up the site, remove all traces of the paranormal, then hunt down the perp. All out of the public eye. These jobs for city hall were never that exciting, but they were my bread and butter, literally. At the moment, the fee for a job like that meant the difference between eating this month or not, and you needed a lot of carbs for demon fighting.

  If I could pick up some work and put Portia’s mind at ease, I guessed it was worth the effort.

  That girl in the alley wouldn’t be Cassie. I didn’t know her well, but she seemed too smart for that. Someone had told me recently that she’d been offered an internship with a big fashion magazine. Exciting stuff. She probably just hadn’t charged her phone, or was ignoring Portia’s calls. I’d ignore Portia’s calls if I was her. By the time I got to the club, she’d be at home in bed and this would be a wasted trip.

  On the way, one of those hipster coffee carts was just opening up, so I grabbed a cup of joe to warm me and keep me awake.

  “Kenyan or Ethiopian?” the hipster asked me.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass. I want it hot and I want it strong, that’s all that matters.”

  An ambulance screamed past as I waited for him. Damn sirens are way too noisy for this time of day.

  The early morning air chilled me. Mornings, what are they good for? Sleeping is all. Sleep would be mighty fine around about now.

  In my misspent youth, I’d have been leaving Soho around this time. Maybe alone, maybe not. This was the first time I’d arrived there at this time of day, though. Sober. With just a coffee in my hands.

  How the hell had I enjoyed all those nights in a place filled with thudding music and cheap aftershave? Twenty-six is way too old for clubbing. I hung up my dancing shoes a few years back and took up demon fighting instead. I’d much rather slink around the streets hunting for misbehaving demons than deal with sleazy douche canoes. At least you can kill demons with no repercussions. And get paid for doing it.

  When I rounded the corner, my coffee nearly fell from my hand. The street teemed with people. Ambulances. Cops crawling all over the place. Blue and red siren lights instead of the yellow neon sign flashing Club Soho. And, over it all, sobs and wails.

  Across from the club, the mayor beamed down from a billboard. “Cleaning up Melbourne,” the billboard said. Ironic, considering. This was a mess even a swell guy like the new mayor would have trouble cleaning up.

  You’ve seen those reports on the evening news of natural disasters? You know, the ones with the montage of images. Cops dragging people to safety, paramedics working to save lives, shell-shocked faces not believing this was happening to them.

  This was just the same, only this disaster sure as hell wouldn’t be natural. And it sure as hell was no drug raid.

  Shit like this didn’t happen in my town. Sure, it was a hotbed of paranormal activity, but there was a balance, an order. Sometimes vamps and other demons got out of hand and I got called in to sort things out. But they were one-off attacks, always kept on the down-low.

  I rushed over to a group of clubbers all huddling around together. When I got near, I realized they were partitioned into the area by the cops, yellow tape holding them in.

  Most of them wore skimpy outfits, bare legs on the girls, bare chests on the guys. Sometimes the other way around. Surely they’d get frostbite. Had no one had thought to open up the coat check? Why hadn’t they been sent home? Maybe they were witnesses, but having them in a place where they could watch the bodies being wheeled out on gurneys made no sense.

  I walked up to the first cop I saw.

  “I’m looking for a girl called Cassie Manchelli.”

  “Everyone’s looking for someone here. Check out this mess. It’ll be a day or two before we can release a list.”

  One girl with her arms wrapped around her called out to the cop.

  “Can we go? Why are you making us stick around?” She sounded like she could barely hold it together, her voice rising with panic.

  “Can’t. We’ve got orders.”

  The paramedics pushed past with a stretcher. The mangled body hadn’t been covered. People screamed. A couple of girls near me hugged each other, trying to hide their faces.

  It seemed as though the body was being flaunted. I’d been to some awful cleanup jobs in my time, but the MO was always to cover up. If there were witnesses, get them out of the way and convince them that they hadn’t seen the things they had.

  “Janie?” a guy yelled and tried to rush to the body. A cop stepped forward, making sure he couldn’t break out of the herding area.

  A girl clutched my arm.

  “Are you going in there? My friend, Hana... I can’t find her. She’s not here...” The girl sobbed. “Help me find her.”

  That reminded me why I was here. Cassie. Was she in the crowd?

  I pushed my way through the clubbers, looking for her. I only had a vague idea of what she looked like. I hadn’t seen her since high school. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket, checking her Facebook. Luckily she’d posted tons of selfies. Long black hair. Healthy looking, like she played tennis. That could’ve been half the girls around me.

  “Cassie?” I called out. “Cassie Manchelli?”

  Most of the people around me were so shell-shocked that they wouldn’t know their own name let alone anyone else’s. Tear-stained faces looked up at me, as though I could give them answers.

  “You’ve still got your phone? Let me use it?” some guy said.

  He tried to swipe the phone from my hand, but I swung away from him.

  Half a dozen faces turned to me, looking at me like starving men eyeing a steak. My phone. They’d had their phones taken from them? Fuuuuck. I needed to get the hell out of here before I got mobbed. I shoved the phone deep in my pocket, put my head down and rushed out.

  “We’re all going to die,” a girl wailed.

  I patted her arm. Awkwardly. Human contact like that didn’t come naturally to me.

  “You should be fine now. So long as you don’t get hypothermia. Try to keep warm.”

  I’d get no information out of any of these kids. They were too distraught. Hopefully, one of my contacts on the force was around. I climbed under the police tape. At any time, any of those clubbers could have done that. What would the cops do if they decided to leave? It’s not like the cops could control them all. Most of them were busy getting the bodies out. I guess people don’t like to defy authority.

  As I walked toward the club door, one of the cops doing crowd control put his arm out to stop me.

  “Get back over there,” he said, indicating the clubbers.

  “I’m part of the investigation.”

  He eyed me up and down, checking out my outfit. I didn’t know there was a crime scene dress code. If he had a clue, he’d realize this wasn’t club wear.

  “Yeah, sure you are, girlie.”

  I could’ve kicked his ass for that, but there were too many people around and that wouldn’t help get me inside. I’d need a distraction but, in the midst of this chaos, it’d take an almighty calamity to distract people any further.

  And, as if made to order, everyone went quiet and looked in one direction.

  A big
black car pulled up. The mayor got out. Younger than he looked on his posters, handsome in a clean-cut way. Perfect teeth, perfect wavy hair, manly square jaw and a really well-cut suit. No wonder people loved him. He shook hands with people and patted them on the arms as he walked toward the club.

  I made a run for the door, cutting through the starstruck crowd. Jeez, rein it in, people. This was a disaster area, not a fan meet.

  One cop, more on the ball than the others, stopped me as I raced up the stairs to the club door. He grabbed my shoulders and tried to push me away.

  “Get your hands off me,” I yelled.

  As he let me go, the mayor walked toward me.

  “Clementine Starr. You got my message? I’ve been meaning to call you since I came into office. We need to talk.”

  I’d gotten no message from him, but he rested his hand on my arm and it reassured me. If anyone else called me Clementine, they’d get a punch in the face, but he was the mayor and this was an emergency. The mayor would take care of things.

  Grab your copy of Demon Child to keep reading.