Confessions of a Demon

by S. L. Wright

I forced my gaze away. This isn’t the time for that.

  “I was going to the bathroom, but the front door was open,” Theo explained. “I heard voices down below. Then this guy burst in and punched me.” He gingerly touched his cheek. “That’s all I remember.”

  “Was it the same man from last night? The one you pulled off me?”

  He frowned at her. “No, this guy was darker, with black hair. Latino, maybe.”

  It could have been Pique, but in a different guise. I wasn’t used to being on full alert in my own home. I didn’t like it.

  “You didn’t see him?” Theo asked.

  “No. I was busy with the delivery guy.” I didn’t want to go into who Phil was.

  “I hope you don’t mind my saying this,” Theo said kindly, “but from the looks of things around here, you need some muscle. Don’t you have someone watching out for you?”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  His admiration was clear. “I bet you can.” He shifted his eyes down to his taped chest. “But it seems to me that people are getting hurt.”

  I swallowed. “I’m doing the best I can.”

  He touched my knee through the thin cotton of my skirt. “You can ask for help.”

  “Ask who? You?” I met his eyes. “Why—are you a part-time bodyguard?”

  He seemed surprised. “I have been. But I’m not sure if I’m what you need.…”

  It was an awkward moment, and suddenly I wasn’t comfortable with his being naked on my floor. He must have gotten the same feeling, because he gave me an apologetic grin as he got up.

  I left him to get dressed as I checked on Shock. She didn’t rouse this time. I clasped her hand and focused my fear and confusion into her. It was just the sort of feeling that Shock loved.

  I shuddered at the sight of blood under her nails. Another few minutes and Shock would have died.

  As Theo washed up in the bathroom, I fed Shock. She never opened her eyes or said another word. When Theo reappeared, I gently detached my hand from hers and met him in the kitchen.

  “How’s your sister?” he asked.

  “Not as improved as I’d like. But she’ll survive.”

  He made a faint attempt at a smile, as if he didn’t know what to say to that. The streak under his eye was darkening.

  “I’m really sorry.” I wasn’t going to lie to him and say I had no idea who hit him. Actually I had some ideas, and all of them involved demons. “Thank you for helping me last night.”

  “That sounds like good-bye.” He sounded disappointed.

  My shoulder lifted. His gaze stopped on my tattoo, but again he didn’t ask me about it. Instead, he said, “I’d like to see you again.”

  I couldn’t stop looking at his black eye and the huge cut on his forehead. It didn’t matter what I wanted; I couldn’t keep using him as a human shield against demons. “We both know, for our own reasons, why this was a one- night stand.”

  I could tell I was right because he had to look away, in a rare moment of discomfort.

  The silence stretched out until I started to feel uncomfortable. “You can always stop by and have a drink on the house,” I offered.

  “I don’t drink anymore.”

  “Ah, that’s why I’ve never seen you before.”

  It was cold, awkward, but I couldn’t help it. I was too upset by the thought of a demon sneaking past me. It was time for him to go—he was a distraction.

  Theo wasn’t being very warm and inviting, either. But on top of all of his intimacy and avoidance issues, a punch in the face could do that to a guy.

  I went to the front door. “I’ll let you out.”

  He gave one last glance around my place, then followed me into the stairwell. I pulled the door shut and listened for the bolt click. As I went down the stairs, I concentrated as hard as I could through Shock’s now-weakened signature, but I couldn’t sense any other demons.

  I opened the bottom door and stood propping it with one foot. There were a number of people sauntering past on the sidewalk, heading to Sunday brunch with friends, running errands, out for a holiday. Still no sign of any demons. I hoped Theo would get home safely.

  He paused on the stoop. “Are you going to the police station to check mug shots this morning?”

  “I’m supposed to.” I didn’t add that it wasn’t likely. I was too spooked to leave the bar. “Are you?”

  Theo nodded. He leaned over, and I tensed. But he kissed my forehead, touching mostly my tousled hair with his lips. “Take care, Allay.”

  I was surprised that he said it correctly. He must have heard Lolita last night. “You, too.”

  He gave me a shy smile, then headed off. I watched him until he turned the corner. For some reason, I didn’t want to go inside and close the door. It felt as if it would be the ending of something that had barely gotten started. Thwarted dreams—that was my life.

  That, and danger.

  I closed the door and made sure it locked. With fear skittering at my feet, I ran upstairs to my apartment. Only when the door was shut behind me did I feel safe.

  And empty.

  I rejoined Shock and sat down on the edge of the sofa. After all these years, I shouldn’t feel sad. But there was no getting around it.

  I’m not fit to love a man like him. Not fit to love a man, period.

  I laced my fingers with Shock’s. She didn’t rouse, but I felt the slight drawing sensation as she consumed my sorrow.

  I lay down on my side, facing her. Her head was propped on the same cushion. Her face and body were smoothed out, with none of the fine details she usually gave her guise. Her porcelain skin suited her apparent youth, but right now she looked unfinished, like a doll in the making.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, holding Shock close and pouring my love and concern into her.

  Eventually, I had nothing left to feed her. I sighed and gently untangled our fingers. Shock didn’t resist, but she shifted and tried to open her eyes, murmuring something. I stroked her short blond hair, bending close and whispering, “You’ll be all right, Shock. I’m going downstairs to open up the bar. I’ll be right back.”

  Shock’s aura was stronger now, and mine was much weaker. I needed to feed. And it was time to get to work. I hoped Shock would wake up soon.

  I pulled away from her reluctantly, my white-flowered skirt flaring out. Then I quickly searched my place again, being more thorough this time. Paranoid, sure, but I relied on being able to sense demons before they got close to me. I had to be more vigilant from now on.

  Pepe arrived not long after I raised the metal shutter halfway up. He ducked to get under and opened the front door of the bar. It was made of old wood that matched the cherry panels on the front, with carved leaves and flowers on the lower sections. It didn’t matter if the door was weak, because the metal shutter protected the entire front of the bar when it was down.

  “Cómo está?” I asked.

  “Bien, bien.” Pepe was a stolid, middle-aged man with four kids and a wife in Bushwick. He worked a couple hours a day doing the heavy cleaning in the bar and any odd jobs that I needed. He was also the super of his building and several others in Brooklyn. He was as reliable as a metronome, and several years ago I had given him the key to the padlock on the shutter in case he needed to come early to clean.

  On the blackboard, Boymeat had written the afternoon special—Bagel Free with Bloody Mary—and illustrated it with a grinning cartoon queen holding a bagel. Below it Lo had written, Drain in backyard clogged.

  “Pepe,” I called into the back where he was getting the broom, “do you have time to snake the drain in the backyard?”

  “Sí, no problem.” He emerged with the push broom, as I started picking up the chairs and overturning them onto the tables. We went through the ordinary morning bar prep, as I filled the ice bin and updated the inventory sheet while Pepe mopped up, then went out back and ran a metal snake through the drain. In the spring it got clogged with flowers falling from the nei
ghbor’s tree, and in the fall it got clogged with berries. The debris landed on the concrete and got washed into the drain no matter how much I kept it swept. But I loved that tree—it hung so gracefully over my yard and was the first thing I saw through my back windows.

  Everything should have felt normal, but it didn’t—not after last night. I kept running upstairs to check on Shock, but she was always fine. But despite that, the slow-burning hunger in my core was a reminder enough of everything that had happened, unsettling me.

  So when my daytime bartender came in, frowning in spite of his iPod earbuds, I was glad I wouldn’t have to try to be cheerful for him. Darryl was an intense young man who took college courses at Hunter in the mornings and worked until seven p.m. at the bar. I put on my tiny black apron and helped out with the prep work of cutting up lemons and limes.

  Darryl was quickly followed by a stream of sleepy-eyed people with laptops under their arms or in their backpacks. Almost all of them ordered the special, but a few just drank coffee. I guess they liked my bar better than the chrome-and-glass-walled Starbucks on Avenue B. Ever since I had gotten wireless Internet service, the afternoon crowd had tripled.

  I worked the room. At the back corner table, I rested my hand on the shoulder of a regular called Clem as I asked, “Another Mary?”

  He shook his head, feeling a brief flash of guilt for taking a table while he wasn’t paying for drinks. But I didn’t mind that he was one of many who nursed a drink for two hours. I needed to have lots of people around so I could feed. “In a few minutes,” he promised, absorbed in reading his e-mail. He felt excited, defensive, and aggressive. I sucked it in—not my favorite brew, but potent enough.

  I moved on to an angry college-aged girl who was so absorbed in the article she was reading online that she didn’t hear my question until I touched her. She was repulsed and fascinated, a sharp pungent mixture. I craned to see the title of the story—it had something to do with PETA.

  The two tables at the front were taken by couples reading the Sunday Times, one gay and one straight. At the straight table, the man was mulling over an article in the real estate section; his wife jealously obsessed about something while she pretended to read about Fiji in the travel section. The gay couple were tired and a little bored, trying to figure out where they were going to eat.

  Old Mrs. Marquez was in her usual spot, eating a bagel and cream cheese with her vodka on the rocks; a special—hold the tomato juice. I didn’t mind the black hairs on her lip or the way the skin on her neck waggled. She was a remarkably contented woman, and her energy was just the pick-me-up that I needed. I kept circling around to rub her rounded back, soaking up her simple pleasure.

  It was an all-you-can-eat demon buffet, and I went back for seconds.

  I worked my way through the room until I returned to Darryl, who was leaning over the bar, asking a patron with a laptop to search Craigslist for roommates-wanted posts. I went behind the bar to serve drinks while he was busy with that. I couldn’t blame him. From what I’d seen, finding a livable place was one of the hardest challenges in the city. I would rather worry about his problems than my own.

  When Darryl was done e-mailing responses to a few of the ads, I asked him to watch the bar while I went up to check on Shock. She was still out cold, but it was barely twelve hours since she had fissioned. I couldn’t remember how long the stupor was supposed to last, but it couldn’t be more than a day. Her aura looked strong, so I didn’t feed her again. I left a note by the sofa telling her to come downstairs when she woke up. I would feel much better when she was awake and able to shield herself.

  As I walked back down into the bar, I felt the first tingles in the back of my throat, announcing Savor’s approach. My hand went to my pocket as I remembered the USB device. It was still there. Savor must be coming to fetch it.

  At least I felt him coming this time.

  Darryl called me over. “Do you mind if I run down to Stanton Street to see an apartment? It’s only two blocks away. It sounds like a good one.”

  I wanted to talk to Savor without his overhearing, anyway. “Yeah, but get back here quick, okay?”

  He ran out, much more enthusiastically than when he’d come in to work. In the doorway, he paused to let Savor in. Savor was wearing yet another new guise; a woman this time, with smooth, dark skin and intricately braided hair that ended in beads swinging against her shoulders. Savor’s personas were usually skinny, almost emaciated, and this one was no different. Her clothing was basic Old Navy in subdued colors.

  Savor met my eyes with a saucy grin. I had to smile. She changed personas like some people changed their clothes.

  “You almost look glad to see me,” Savor said quietly as she sat down at the bar.

  “I’m marveling at your creativity. You reinvent yourself so much, I sometimes wonder if you know who you are.”

  Savor smiled, and in her eyes I could see Sebastian and some of her other favorite personas. Yet her flirty expression was entirely feminine. “It’s easy for me. I’m the one on the inside.”

  “You just keep the rest of us on our toes.” I broke off to fix two more Bloody Marys and open a couple of beers. Savor read her paper and sipped the shorted beer I poured for her.

  When I returned to her end of the bar, I lowered my voice. “I had trouble last night after you left. And a demon sneaked inside this morning and attacked Shock. I didn’t feel his signature. I think he came in the front door while Phil was here.”

  If I had any doubt that Savor knew about the attack on Shock, it was gone in the deeply interested flash in her eyes. “What happened to Shock?”

  “She’s okay. She’s still sleeping off the birth. The demon only got to her for a few minutes, but it was enough to make a real dent in her aura.”

  Savor pressed her lips together, humming to herself. I’d clearly given her something to think about.

  “You know something,” I realized. “If it has to do with Shock, you’d better tell me.”

  “It’s not about Shock, specifically. Everyone knows about it, including her. The only one who might not know is you, Allay. You keep yourself in such a bubble. You really should make more friends. Among demons, I mean.”

  “You mean this has happened before?”

  “Many times. Haven’t you heard about the mystery deaths? There’re more and more all the time. They say that thousands of years ago, one or two demons would disappear every century. But in the past decade alone, there have been nine unexplained disappearances. Usually it happens in a demon’s first year or even earlier. But Malaise disappeared last fall. She was more than seven hundred years old. She was living in Rikers Island, stirring up trouble among the prisoners. Then suddenly she was gone.”

  “Do you think it’s some kind of natural phenomenon? How could a demon’s energy just drain on its own?”

  Savor gave a slow shrug. “At one time, that was the general opinion. That demons can become unstable somehow and spontaneously implode. But no one’s ever seen it happen.”

  “So it must be another demon doing it. As far as I can tell, you all prey on one another like flesh-eating bacteria.”

  “Don’t be crude—”

  I turned away to serve a patron, and checked on everyone at the bar. I didn’t want to fight with Savor. I had to find out what she knew. “You were saying?” I asked when I returned to her end of the bar.

  Savor let out her breath in a huff. “Do you really want to hear this?”

  “Like my life depends on it.”

  She thought I was teasing her, but I was serious. I waited until she finally gave in. “Statistically twice as many Vex demons have disappeared, so Dread thinks Glory’s behind it.”

  “Glory? Why would she care about new demons? She’s… she’s… like Madonna. Hasn’t she got bigger things to worry about?” Glory lived for sensation, passions, and excess. She followed the peaks of society, unerringly choosing the hottest city in the most exciting country of the time, reveling in luxur
y and the arts. She had moved her entourage to Harlem right before I arrived and had profited immensely from the real estate boom in that part of the city.

  “Vex agrees with you. He thinks it’s absurd that Glory would break their détente by killing demons in his line. Much less her own. But the rising number of disappearances is becoming a problem. Especially since Malaise went poof. She was a major Glory demon, part of her inner circle.”

  “So who does Vex think it is?”

  Savor smirked. “Everyone knows, that’s the best part. Vex thinks Dread is behind the deaths. His own second-in-command. He figures Dread is killing off the competition within his own line. Vex even questioned a few of us who do odd jobs for Dread, to find out if we knew anything about it. Dread was humiliated when the word went around.” Savor broke off to laugh, a sharp bark of appreciation for the joke.

  “I’m sure Dread doesn’t think it’s funny.”

  Savor gave me the most condescending look. “Oh, my poor child. You don’t know how many of us have suffered under his hand.”

  If Dread was behind the attack on Shock, that was really bad. Pique, I could handle. But Dread was my boss, the number two demon in the Vex line. And Vex was the only thing that stood between me and a constant barrage of demon attacks.

  Shock was also under Vex’s protection. If Dread had turned on her, she was in serious trouble.

  With a sinking feeling, I remembered that Phil worked for Dread.

  “Do you think Dread is the one?” I asked.

  Savor took her time before she replied. “I don’t know. I do know Dread is seriously on edge. Last week Vex stated in front of several witnesses that Dread had convinced him that he’s not responsible. But the harm’s been done. Not to mention the blow when Lash left him. You do know about that?”

  I gestured at all the papers lying in patches of sunlight cast on the tables and bar top. “How could I not?”

  Lash was Glory’s firstborn, not much older than Dread. Lash and Dread had been a couple for almost sixteen hundred years, symbiotic in that they fed only from each other. It was one of those perfect love matches that so rarely happened among demons, their strongest desires syncing together perfectly. In their current personas, Lash’s role was the devoted wife of Prophet Thomas Anderson, active in social circles and charity causes. She had retained her blond beauty, but appeared to be in her late fifties. Then last month the headlines had blared the whole tawdry affair—the prophet’s wife had left him for a local jewelry designer, a known playboy twenty years her junior. Shock had told me that Mark Cravet was really Crave, a century- old Glory demon, known to be Glory’s special pet. The public only knew that the prophet’s wife had abandoned her holy husband and marriage for a man who would never marry her.