Confessions of a Demon

by S. L. Wright

  He broke Pique’s hold on me with a savage twist. I could feel the power behind his grip. “Let go of her.”

  It sounded like both bones in Pique’s wrist broke. He screamed, more in frustration than pain.

  Released, I scrambled backward, trying to gather the shreds of my shields around me. I ended up pressed up against the worn wooden paneling on the front of the bar. Lolita was sitting dazed on the curb, her curly hair standing on end and her lipstick smudged. She looked more angry than hurt.

  A few of the patrons were hanging out the open front windows above me, shouting encouragement to our savior. The tall, dark-haired man with big muscles had managed to subdue a demon, something I’d never seen before.

  He clearly radiated possessive pride, determined to keep his neighborhood clean. I could feel it even from a few feet away. He smiled slowly, cracking his knuckles. Still, there were no sirens. “You gonna do something about it?” he asked Pique.

  Pique glanced around at the audience gathering on the street and finally came to his senses. He sniffled at the remnants of blood running out of his nose, luridly painting his mouth and chin red. Then he leaped up with surprising agility, and darted off.

  I was about to sigh in relief, but the neighborhood hero took off after him. “No, don’t,” I called after him. “Let him go!”

  At the corner, the guy grabbed Pique and they spun out of sight. Sirens finally sounded in the distance.

  I had trouble standing up, but Lolita joined me, supporting me. Her alarm and flushed feeling of victory poured into me; I was grateful for the sustenance. Pique had taken everything I had stolen from Petrify—and more.

  I rubbed my arm where it was swollen and bruised from the tightness of Pique’s grip. He had latched on so fast. He had almost killed me right there on the street in front of everyone. One mistake, and my life had almost ended.

  If that man hadn’t broken Pique’s hold, I would be dead right now.

  I swayed, pulling away from Lolita to run to the corner. What if Pique was draining him?

  Lo wasn’t the kind of girl who hung back. She caught up with me in a few steps. “Watch the bar,” I ordered.

  “Boymeat’s got it.”

  I nodded, knowing he could be trusted. So we rounded the corner together. The sirens were getting louder.

  “Where are they?” Lo asked.

  I strained to see, but in truth I dreaded what we would find. Third Street was much darker and narrower than Avenue C, with the trees blocking the intermittent streetlights. Lo squinted her eyes, searching down the sidewalk, but I could feel Pique’s signature fading away; he was near Avenue B at the other end of the block. He would soon be out of range.

  My shoulders sagged in relief. Pique was leaving.

  A slight scuffing drew my attention to the stairway down to the Chinese restaurant. The tiny window was dark, and the door was shuttered under the stoop that led to the apartments on the upper floors. I almost dismissed it as some drunk peeing down there again. But the shape was wrong.

  “Is someone there?” It definitely wasn’t a demon. There was no signature.

  “No problem,” came a deep if rather breathless voice. “Nothing to worry about.”

  My eyes widened at Lo. “That’s the guy.”

  “You think?” Lo asked.

  “That’s his voice.”

  I ran down the steps. In the shadows at the bottom was the man who had forced Pique to let go of me. He was sprawled uncomfortably in the tiny space, his head leaning back against the wall. The smell of burned peanut oil and ammonia made me wince.

  “What happened?” I touched the leg he had braced against the bottom step. Despite the canvas dungarees, his pain blossomed out at me. But he was quite good at controlling his response to it, grimacing rather than crying out loud as he shifted.

  “I fell down the steps. Like a dumbshit.” He pushed himself up. His leg moved away from my hand as he drew his feet under him.

  “Don’t stand up!” I tried to keep him down. “You must have hit your head.”

  He touched his hairline; blood glistened on his fingertips. “Yeah, once or twice.”

  “You should have let him go.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  I realized how ungrateful I sounded. “Thanks for helping me. Who are you? I haven’t seen you around here before.”

  “Theo Ram,” he said, wincing.

  The sirens were right on top of us. Lo called down helpfully, “The police are here.”

  “Great.” We sighed together, in decidedly uneager tones. I gave Theo Ram a harder look. “What? You don’t want to deal with the cops?”

  “Not particularly. I want to go home and forget about this.”

  I took hold of his arm to help him, since he was determined to stand up. He tried to shrug me off, but I needed to know what he felt. He wasn’t panicked, like a criminal would be. He was angry at himself, humiliated by his fall, and hurt far beyond what he intended to admit.

  It was a heady brew. Pique had siphoned off so much from me that I really needed the energy, but this guy was particularly tasty—irresistible. He was hurt and needed help.

  I responded like a flower to the sun; I wanted to make him feel better so that his relief poured into me, filling me as if nothing else mattered. Then I could have blessed peace, if only for a moment.

  “Thank you…” I tried to remember to breathe.

  He gave me an odd look. “Anyone would have done it.”

  My hand tightened, helping him up the steps despite his protest that he could do it. I soaked up as much of his potent emotion as I could, in all decency, allow myself to take, but it felt as if I could hardly hurt him; there were deep wells of feeling in this man. I was glad Pique hadn’t gotten hold of him.

  The police car finally pulled up, blaring with lights and noise. The cops saw the curious onlookers at the corner and the gesturing patrons leaning out the windows of the bar, and came straight to the corner to meet us.

  Theo squared his shoulders and faced the inevitable. I wasn’t scared of cops—I knew what the police wanted. As long as you were polite, cooperative, and honest, they would go away quickly. At least I had two out of three going for me. It wasn’t my fault that I would never be able to be fully honest with anyone again.

  I handed over my driver’s license and told the police that an obnoxious guy had caused a disruption last week in the Den. When I refused him entry tonight, he had grabbed my arm. I showed them, having faded the bruises thanks to my savior’s energy, leaving my arm only reddened.

  Theo patted his pockets when the cops requested his ID, but his wallet was gone, making him swear under his breath. Lots of demons were thieves, living off the spoils of their victims. I had seen Pique rifling through a backpack the other day.

  In response to their questions, Theo said he lived up on Tenth Street and Avenue D, across from the Jacob Riis Houses. He didn’t have an accent, like most people born and raised in Manhattan. He said he drove a cab, and the cops gave the first sign of interest when he said he didn’t work for a company, that he drove his dad’s car under his medallion, reciting the number absently.

  I felt bad about the grief the poor guy was going through. But I had the presence of mind to move us down the street so we stood in front of the bar. If any other demons showed up, I could get upstairs quickly.

  Lo handed over Pique’s glasses, which she’d found on the street, and confirmed what had happened; then she went in to close down the bar with Boymeat’s help. I described Pique for the cops and agreed to come to the station house and look at pictures tomorrow morning. It set a good example for the community to report crime, and it let the other demons know that I would use the legal system against them whenever I could.

  “Looks like we should call an ambulance for Mr. Ram,” one cop said.

  Theo raised his hand slightly. “Nope, I just need some shut-eye.”

  The black cop handed over a thick square of gauze to press on his bloody
forehead. “I’d drop by the emergency room if I were you. That was some set of stairs you fell down.”

  “I’m okay,” Theo insisted, holding the pad firmly to his head.

  By the light streaming out of the bar, I got my first good look at the man who had saved me. His strong-boned face and dark curling hair made him look Greek or Italian, with startling gray eyes fringed by black lashes. His hair would have been gorgeous if it was longer, flowing like the statues at the Met. He was a bit weather-beaten and worn beyond the events of the evening, as if he were used to working hard. I liked his steady gaze—as did the cops, clearly—and his frank way of speaking.

  All I could think about was touching him again.

  It was quite the surprise. It wasn’t just a desire to feed on him. I was attracted to him. I thought that part of me had dried up and blown away a long time ago.

  When the cops kept insisting despite his refusals, I offered, “Come inside. My sister is an EMT. She’ll make sure you don’t need stitches on that cut.”

  “Who’s your sister?” the black cop asked.

  “Jamie Shoquille.”

  “I know Shoquille,” the cop said. “Shorter than you, with platinum blond hair?”

  I smiled and nodded brightly. “She’s here now.”

  The cop rewarded me by urging Ram, “You should let her sister take a look. I don’t like releasing you when you’re still bleeding like that.”

  Theo tried straightening up again, but something was clearly wrong with him. The gauze pad was getting redder. Faced with a long wait at the emergency room or a quick look-see upstairs, he had little choice.

  “Sure, if that’s what it takes,” he agreed.

  The cops gave me the police report with the case number on it, reminding me to come in tomorrow to see if my assailant’s records were in their files. Theo also got a report number for his stolen wallet.

  Theo was limping as we headed into the bar. I held the door open, then shut and locked it behind him. Lolita had ushered everyone out, so there was nobody left but Boymeat. They were both out in the backyard spraying down the plastic honeycomb mats. All I could hear was Boymeat’s voice, probably bitching about some girl who had just broken up with him even though he already had another one waiting at home for him.

  “Wait.” I left Theo leaning against a table near the door to my place. Running across the room, I slid behind the bar to fetch the enormous first aid kit that Shock had given me in case one of my patrons had an accident. Unty ing my black apron, I left it folded by the cash register for tomorrow.

  Lo appeared in the doorway and saw Theo. “What’s he doing here?”

  I gestured vaguely in his direction. “He’s hurt. I’m taking him upstairs so Shock can take care of him.”

  Lo stepped closer and lowered her voice. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “You don’t trust him?” I wanted some alone time with this guy so bad that I almost didn’t care whether he was dangerous. That was one of the benefits of being possessed; no man could make me do anything I didn’t want to. I was too strong, and if worse came to worst, I could drain a man of his emotions until he could hardly move.

  Lolita was clearly swayed by his heroics, but she hesitated. “Shock may not want to see a guy right now, not after what happened tonight.”

  “Are you kidding?” I held up the big red case. “This is exactly what Shock needs to take her mind off things. Believe me, I know.”

  But I wasn’t telling the whole truth, and Lo knew something was up. I gave her a quick, one-armed hug. “Don’t worry, Lo. It will do us both some good.”

  I couldn’t tell my friend that this poor wounded man had exactly what I needed—he was in pain and I could comfort him. I longed to touch him, to take his suffering away and feel the deep peace that came when hurt and care were left behind. If I could feel that way even for an instant, then everything would be all right.

  I was a junkie in need of my fix. I had almost killed and been killed today. I deserved this midnight snack, and I was going to take it. After all, I wasn’t going to hurt the guy. He would come out of it feeling great. I could sense what a man needed, and I gave it to him. You want space; I can give you space. You want to be touched; I can touch you. Most men were fairly simple that way. If you gave them exactly what they wanted, without their having to say a word, they fell in love with you. Not that I wanted anyone to fall in love with me; I just wanted to please this succulent man for a little while so I could get what I needed.

  I’d gotten good at striking these kinds of bargains between my human and demon self. At least that was what I told myself—again and again.

  “Okay, I’ll lock up when we leave,” Lo agreed. “If he does anything, you yell for me. We’ll stay for a while and have a beer.”

  I normally would have heeded Lolita’s warning, but nothing was going to keep me from diving into these deep waters. She didn’t know that I couldn’t be hurt, not in the usual ways. “Thanks, Lo, I owe you one.”

  But as I returned to Theo’s side, the sight of the reddened gauze now self-sticking to the wound on his forehead bothered me. His steady gaze was also a bit unnerving. I was taking advantage of him, no matter how much I gave back in return. I almost repented and ordered him to leave.

  “I think I do need some help,” Theo said.

  He was sagging, so I put his arm over my shoulder and held on to him around his waist. That did it. The manly smell of him was sublime, solid, and real. In one touch, I knew he felt vulnerable in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Come on,” I murmured, unable to resist him. I was going to have this man, even if only a taste, before I let him go.

  4

  When I unlocked the door that led from the bar into my foyer, the first thing I saw was the narrow manila envelope lying on the cracked tile floor. Savor must have slipped it through the slot in the front door while he was here.

  Shit. I forgot about that.

  Well, that was what this guy was for: to make me forget about everything. Seems to be working so far.

  Steadying Theo with one hand, I swiped the envelope off the floor, tucking it into the back waistband of my jeans. He noticed, but didn’t say anything. I could have left it lying there, given the two industrial-grade steel doors on the ground floor protecting my apartment. But I wasn’t willing to take any risks with thousands of dollars. I didn’t know how much it was, and I didn’t care. I never liked being responsible for it.

  As we turned to go up the stairs, Theo tried not to lean on me too hard, but he was hobbled by his hurt leg. Clutching the first aid kit in my other hand, I slowly went step by step. He grabbed on to the railing and helped pull us up. His cheek was nearly resting on my hair, and I thought he took a deep breath of it. We were snug against each other from hip to shoulder. He had the body of a working man in his prime, lean and hard under my hands. To my surprise, that spurt of all- too-human desire hit me again. It reminded me of things I had left behind.…

  I opened the vaultlike upper door to my apartment and helped him inside. Theo gave the double steel door a surprised look.

  “Some people seem to think I’m rich,” I explained. Kicking the door closed behind me, I shot the bolts with two quick turns of my wrist. “Shock? We have company.”

  I helped him over to one of the vinyl chairs, and he leaned with a sigh against the generously curved back. Then I went to the archway that separated the two rooms. Shock was lying on the sofa, her eyes hooded.

  I ran forward. “Shock! Are you all right?”

  Shock muttered irritably, rolling away. For a second, I was afraid she was dying. But one touch revealed that she still had plenty of energy left after birthing Petrify. Shaking her gently, I tried to get a coherent word from her. But she appeared to be unconscious.

  She was in the stupor that immediately followed fissioning. I had heard of the danger—another demon could steal your essence without a struggle while you were in a stupor and your shields were dow
n.

  Yet Shock trusted me enough to stay here. I patted her hand, slipping her a bit of my love.

  “Is everything okay?” Theo called from the kitchen.

  “It’s fine. Much better now.” I quickly stashed the thick envelope in the drawer of the table at the head of the sofa. It had code words written on the front. “My sister’s had a hard night.”

  He appeared in the archway. “What happened?”

  I didn’t want to lie to him. “She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest.” I rejoined him in the kitchen and firmly led him past the bathroom to the bedroom in the back.

  A pillow was lying on the rug and the chaise was pulled into the middle of the room, where I had left it after letting Petrify out the window. I decided to pretend that was where everything belonged.

  Guiding Theo toward the chaise, I righted the lamp that had been overturned on the small table and switched it on. An overstuffed chair sat in the corner between groaning bookshelves, and a daybed lined with pillows was against the far wall. The three windows had seats built in, with more bookcases underneath.

  Theo winced as he sat down on the chaise. He pulled up one leg of his khaki pants, carefully feeling the tender area on his knee. “Not a scratch. Just strained it, I guess.” He groaned as he tried to flex it.

  “Lie back.” I opened the kit on the low table and dug about, so eager to feed off this luscious man that I didn’t even feel guilty. That would come later, in its own due time.

  I couldn’t help myself. When I was very low, it was impossible to resist the need to feed. I kept myself that way too much. Shock often complained about the feebleness of my aura. She once told me she wanted to shove a plump, angry guy at me and order, “Eat!”

  But I had no choice. I was already too tempting for hungry demons. Look what happened when I revved up my reserves—Pique went for me in my own bar. If I stuffed myself, I’d start attracting demons from the Midwest instead of from just the eastern seaboard.