by S. L. Wright
It was nothing I hadn’t already figured out. But I hated to think that my human-tainted energy was why Shock kept coming back to see me. “Lucky for me, my godfather sends his finest to watch over my nonexistent soul.”
Shock was standing awkwardly in the archway. “I think it’s love. I don’t know anything about love; what demon does? But I can see it in you, how you treat people, how you care about making things right. You hug me and I want to hug you back; I want that feeling. But I don’t know how.”
My throat closed up. She was warped, vulnerable, and inhibited. But she was reaching out—trying. I appreciated that.
“You hug great.” I smiled sadly. “The more you do it, the better you get.”
Shock didn’t move. She was always hesitant to touch me because of her instinctive fear that other demons would try to steal her energy, so hugging definitely didn’t come naturally to her. I had to go to her and put my arms around her. She hugged me, surprisingly hard and long. It was the first time I tried to let go before her. I squeezed her tighter for a few moments more, sinking into that safe, familiar feeling. It had been so long since I had felt like that… the last time I’d felt so human.
2
I used to be an ordinary girl living an ordinary life in Orange County. But a month before my eighteenth birthday, I’d accidentally been possessed by a demon. It happened over spring break during my senior year. I’d lied to my parents and gone to a rented beach house with my friends in San Diego. It wasn’t the first time I had lied to them—I’d been sneaking out of my room since I bought my first junker at sixteen. I saw no harm in soothing my parents’ fears so I wouldn’t have to deal with their worry. I took care of myself.
But on the last night of my vacation, there was a pimply-faced dude at the bonfire who wouldn’t leave me alone, so I told my friends I was going back to the hotel. They were right behind me, packing up the towels and saying good-bye to everyone. But it turned out to be an important few minutes, because on the boardwalk in a vast shadowed space between the lamps, I stumbled on a man attacking a woman.
I didn’t know what was happening at first, and thought maybe they were making out. The guy had his arms wrapped tightly around her, and there wasn’t any noise—the woman didn’t call out for help or protest. That was why I didn’t see them until I was almost on top of them. I felt the impact of their feet hitting the boardwalk as they struggled, and the woman beat feebly on his back with her fist. Then her arm dropped as if she were too weak to fight back anymore.
I didn’t even think about it; I ran right into the guy, hitting him in the side as hard as I could. He spun away from the woman and slipped on the sand, hitting his back against the railing. He disappeared over the edge, falling down to the beach.
I skidded on the sandy boards, sprawling down and scraping my hands and knees. From below, not eight feet away, the would-be rapist shot me a look I could barely see in the darkness, only a wild-eyed glare of animal rage that turned my insides to mush. I thought I was a goner, but the guy was too far below to climb back up. He loped off into the shadows down the beach, probably looking for a staircase.
In a panic, I scrabbled over to the girl. She had collapsed onto her back, her arms and legs akimbo, as if she couldn’t even curl into a protective ball. I didn’t know it then, but Plea was a three-hundred-year-old demon. The guy I had pushed off the boardwalk was another demon who had drained her of all the energy she had collected from her human prey, from feeding off their emotions. Without that protective shell of energy, her essence lay exposed.
I couldn’t see the pulsing white core nestled in her belly, that magic bullet of demon immortality her attacker had tried to steal from her.
But when I touched Plea, her essence, the unending flame of life, passed into me. In that instant, my old life was over and I became the demon Allay.
My physical body was transformed into pure spirit; a replica of what I had once been, a simulation of flesh that still bled and felt pain. Yet with a thought I could change how I looked, willing myself into being. I no longer slept or ate or drank. I would never get sick and die the way other people did. I would never grow old.
It was completely disorienting. I felt the same physically, though I no longer experienced hunger in the same way—I wanted emotions instead of food for sustenance. And I couldn’t sleep, which was maddening. I felt as if I were on a constant coke binge and couldn’t stop, could never stop, and I revved myself higher and higher, compelled to touch people to suck off their feelings, surviving by instinct rather than conscious thought.
But the worst thing was the memories, those glimpses into Plea’s life, her secrets, her knowledge, her experiences. All fragmented into puzzle pieces, and I could see only a few pieces at a time, which was next to useless for helping me figure out what was going on. It was from these scant clues that I knew I was now a demon like Plea had been. I got flashes of mythology; in various times we had been considered angels, devils, vampires, ghosts, ghouls, goblins, spirits, fairies, the daevas of Zoroastrianism, the Hopi powaga, the narakas of Jainism, and the jinn or genies of Islam created out of fire two thousand years before the creation of Adam. We were the kuei that Chinese Taoism used bonfires, firecrackers, and torches to ward off; the oni and tengu the Japanese believed to possess spirits.
At first, I truly thought I had gone mad. I ran through the streets babbling about things I should know nothing about. When the authorities came and wrapped me in a straitjacket, I told them they were doing the right thing, that I was possessed by a demon named Plea that needed to be exorcised. I kept asking for a priest, though I had been born a Protestant and attended relatively few church services in my life.
When my parents arrived at the county psychiatric ward with their sad, shocked eyes, my mother’s red- rimmed from crying, they sat and spoke in hushed tones on the other side of a scarred table. It was like a slap in the face. I had never caused any trouble, always got good grades, and had good friends, as I successfully kept the more unsavory aspects of my experimentations from them. They never met my first real boyfriend because he was a senior while I was a fresh-man. They never knew about my late- night visits to parties at UC Irvine.
At that moment, knowing I had to “protect” them, I somehow managed to get hold of myself, and talked my way out of there with the help of my parents. I confessed to a drug experience gone bad, and claimed I had learned my lesson. No more acid for me, I swear! Never again. I’ll go home and be a good girl.
Then I struggled to live the lie that I was still Emma Meyers of Fountain Valley, California, celebrating my birthday with people who suddenly seemed as if they were strangers. But I was the one who was different. I was now “Allay,” because Plea’s final emotion had been relief to see a girl rather than a demon looming over her. She thought she was going to survive, but instead I took her life without meaning to. That’s why my strongest desire was to touch people who felt relieved and to absorb their emotion.
Over the years, I had tried to keep a relationship with my parents, my sister, and assorted cousins, but they were now firmly convinced I was addicted to drugs. To them, nothing else could explain my bizarre behavior. Even worse, demons were attracted to them when I visited. I finally gave up holidays at home, and having to pretend to eat and sleep. I told them I didn’t want more from my life; that I couldn’t be around them right now. I hoped it would be different someday, but it was hard to explain why I didn’t have any serious relationships and why my sister’s talk of having babies and getting promoted left me cold. I was stuck like a fly in amber.
Who was brave enough to confess to their mother that they had been transformed from a nice, God-fearing girl into a demon? No, it was better that they thought I was a loser than some unworldly creature.
No doubt Shock had had other motives when she had dropped by my bar every few days over the years. I figured she was under Vex’s orders, so what difference did it make that it was also because my hybrid energy was alluring? A rea
l bond had grown between us, and at this point in my life, she was the only family I had left.
And here I was, standing in my living room, holding a demon close.
“My sister,” I murmured as we finally separated.
Shock was nodding. “That’s why I wanted to give you my offspring, Allay, because you need it. You can’t die. I can’t lose you.”
I couldn’t argue with her now. “You should rest, Shock. You look like you’re about to fall over. I think you should stay here. It isn’t safe for you to go out again tonight.”
Shock reluctantly nodded in agreement. She preferred hiding away in her brownstone apartment in the heart of the Village when she wasn’t working the streets. Her current persona had “inherited” the place when her last persona, a butch spinster, got too old to work as an emergency room doctor. It wasn’t an easy charade to pull off, but Shock had done it for almost a hundred years. That was why most demons lived in cities; it was simpler to disappear in the crowd.
“I’m definitely feeling punky,” she admitted. “That one came too fast.”
“You should control yourself better at work.” Shock skimmed a little energy from everyone, like I did. Perhaps she’d made a mistake, gone too far without realizing it. I knew better than most how seriously she took the “Do no harm” motto of a physician. But every shift she handled people who were boiling over with pain and terror—a lot to absorb on a daily basis. She had always loved medicine, starting back when leeches were a doctor’s most reliable remedy. She was still enthusiastic about the little buggers and how they could bring down swelling and bruises better than any modern-day remedies. I thought their being slimy slugs was enough reason to move them out of the realm of medicine.
I left her lying on the sofa and made sure to lock both bolts behind me. Demons were strong, but not strong enough to rip the hinges off my door.
I took a few deep breaths before descending, firming my shields around myself. I usually didn’t bother unless I felt another demon coming. But after that blast of energy from Shock, I had to be ready to defend myself. There were a few cannibalistic demons living in the city: Bask was addicted to demon energy, and dogged me on a fairly regular basis. Goad was also known to prefer demons. They were bound to be drawn here tonight.
I also had to prepare myself to face Lolita and my patrons; it wouldn’t do to rush down looking as if I had just banished the monster my sister had spawned.
“How is she, Allay?” Carl called out as soon as I came through the inner door of the bar. The bolt clicked as it shut behind me. I shouldn’t have doubted my security system.
“She’s fine. She’s gone to bed.” I tried to smile it off. “It happens to the best of us.”
They laughed, as they wanted to. It was too late to be getting all serious. Then I noticed Savor at the bar.
It was a nasty shock, since I hadn’t sensed the demon’s arrival. But Savor had a very light signature; a slight humming in the back of my throat and a mouthwatering sensation. I hadn’t noticed it in the clash between Shock’s and Petrify’s signatures. Now Petrify’s signature was rapidly fading away.
Savor was wearing one of his male personas—a man who went by the name Sebastian. He was short and slender, in his mid-twenties with black, artfully spiked hair over his prim face. But that knowing smirk and sarcastic drawl were enough to put anyone in his place.
Savor was leaning over the bar, holding out a chocolate for Lolita. She tried to take it from him, but he pulled it back, chiding, “No, you’ll nibble at it like a squirrel, like you always do. You have to eat the whole thing to get exactly the right burst of flavor.”
Lolita opened her lips obediently, ready for anything. Savor delicately popped the chocolate onto her tongue. Her eyes widened with delight as she bit into it and chewed.
Savor stroked the back of her hand, soaking up her pleasure at the taste. Bright yellow eddies of delight swirled around their skin where he touched her. I knew it would taste as sweet as that chocolate.
I stomped over. “What kind of poison are you feeding my bartender, Sebastian?”
“It’s good.” Lolita slurped as she tried to swallow and speak at the same time.
Savor raised one brow at me. “See, she likes it.” His hand was still resting on hers, absorbing her enjoyment.
I grabbed a towel to wipe the bar, moving it between them so they had to let go. Lolita rolled her eyes at me, then grinned at Savor. She sauntered off to the other end of the bar where Boymeat was laughing at her, having watched the entire thing go down.
I was going to have to say something to her. I had tried to avoid it, knowing that Lo wouldn’t take kindly to my interference. But Savor was getting out of hand. This was my territory, my people. I didn’t like his coming in here and feeding off them.
But I had no choice. Savor worked for Vex, just as I did.
I followed Lolita to where we could speak alone. Lo’s voice lowered so no one could hear. “What’s with Jamie?”
Shock’s current persona was “Jamie Shoquille,” so her nickname could be Shock. Everyone called her that, including her workmates. But Lolita had gotten into the habit of calling her Jamie because it got Shock’s attention. Shock was so emotionally distant that Lo had made a game of trying to loosen her up.
“She’s not hurt. She was scared more than anything.” I touched Lolita’s arm to reassure her. I absorbed hardly more than the waste cast off from her radiant energy, her worry about Shock, about me, and the residual pleasure from eating the chocolate Savor had given her. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything special she was feeling for Savor.
At my reassurance, a jolt of relief quickly flowed through her. Unable to resist, I took a tiny bit, like a sip of pure delight; it satisfied me like nothing else could.
It made me feel like a filthy parasite, like Savor. He was watching us, glancing down pointedly at my hand. He probably thought I was marking my territory in front of him. I pulled away as if I’d been burned.
“Poor thing,” Lo said. “Is she staying here tonight?”
“Definitely. If you see her, don’t let her leave.”
Lolita rubbed my shoulder comfortingly. “Are you sure you don’t want to report this, Allay? This guy who did it—he could hurt someone else.”
I had to force the lie through my lips. “It was a misunderstanding with a patient at work. They’ll handle it.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
Now I was going to have to cover myself. “Don’t tell her I told you. You know how Shock is about her personal stuff.”
“It runs in the family.” Lo gave me a quick squeeze.
I refrained from soaking up more relief from my friend. It was bad enough that I was lying to her; I didn’t have to steal her emotions, too. “Sorry,” I muttered reflexively. “It’s been a rough night.”
“You can go back upstairs to your sister. I’ll take care of closing.” Lo knew I didn’t like to be pressed when I was upset, so she turned to start cleaning the shelf under the rows of liquor bottles behind the bar.
I didn’t want to go back upstairs. I was revved up on the supercharged demon energy I had taken from Petrify. “No, thanks. I should let her rest.”
I set off like a golf cart with an eight-cylinder engine, moving faster and burning brighter with power than ever before. I felt like I was high—on top of the world, and whatever I did was right and good.
It was probably mistaken for nervous energy as I wiped down tables, picking up some stray glasses and settling the chairs back in place. The bar would be clearing out soon enough. I calculated every move to bring me in contact with the patrons. I touched their arms as I bid them good night, gave them little nudges along with my quips, and was big on leaning into people as I took their order.
I didn’t really need to feed, but a surprising number weren’t happy despite their outward cheer. I lingered with them, reasoning that it was better to absorb a little bit of their negative emotions since that offered them some r
elief. Some customers came back night after night without understanding they came because I made them feel better.
Like most demons, I could feed on any emotion. For the dump truck loads of shit I had to absorb, I got to taste only a few drops of ease. But I would do anything to create those precious drops. So rather than an altruist, as too many called me, I was a hypocrite at heart, seeing only the comfort they found with me and not what I took. It was selfish in the extreme. And I could never forget it.
That was what made me a demon.
All the while, I avoided Savor. He was the only demon, other than Shock, allowed in my bar. I was Vex’s bagman, and Savor was his messenger; Savor’s job was to drop off the discreet envelopes of payola that I passed on to local, state, and sometimes even federal officials. The enormous Prophet’s Arena would never have been built in Brooklyn right on the East River if the church hadn’t paid off the commissioner of the planning and zoning board. His driver still picked up an envelope on the first of every month.
Vex’s empire was his religion, the Fellowship of Truth. He’d started it right after World War II, posing as the first and now-dead prophet of a philosophy that was more libertarian than spiritual. The current prophet was Dread, Vex’s firstborn and most loyal demon—they had been working together since the fifth century. Without the draconian personal restrictions that Vex’s older religions had tried to impose on people, the Fellowship was growing at a respectable rate. Believers emphasized personal responsibility over everything else, and judgment by none. The church’s ultimate carrot was the promise of immortality gained through individual perfection. The fact that none of their followers had attained such a state didn’t matter—the promise of it seemed enough to inspire hundreds of thousands to join the Fellowship.
