“Dahganul,” he snarled.
I had a moment to be irritated by the new insult—it was most definitely an insult, even if I didn’t know what it meant—before I heard the distinct sound of high heels clacking against tiles. I lunged for Zylas as though I could forcefully mash him back into the infernus—except the bright glow of his power would be a beacon for the approaching librarian.
He shot me a withering look, then dropped into a crouch and slipped between two chairs. He disappeared under the table.
As the authoritative snap of heels grew louder, I lost my head entirely and dove after him. With the chairs jutting under the table and the wall behind it, only a narrow rectangle was free, and Zylas took up most of it. Too late to go back, I squeezed in beside him.
Not that hiding from the librarian was necessary. She was a librarian. I needed to work on my irrational fear of confrontation.
The librarian’s steps drew closer, then hesitated a few tables away. I held my breath.
Eyes gleaming in the shadows, Zylas leaned toward me and whispered, “Move.”
I shied away from the closeness of his face. “Huh?”
“Move, payilas.”
“Why? We need to—”
“You are on my tail.”
Belatedly, I realized the floor under my butt was uneven, and on my right, I spotted the rest of his tail coiled across the floor. My face heated.
“There’s nowhere to move. Can you just wait?” When he glared in answer, I hissed, “This is your fault, you know. Why are you wandering around where anyone can see you?”
“I would not be seen. You made noise, not me.”
The librarian clacked closer and I bit back my retort. A pair of black pumps and gray dress pants appeared. The woman walked past the table, and her footsteps grew muffled as she continued to the library’s farthest corner.
“You are useless,” Zylas added pitilessly. “You walk loud and talk loud and breathe loud—”
“I do not breathe loud.” I sat forward, getting off his stupid tail, and crawled for the gap between chairs.
He seized the hem of my sweater and yanked. I flopped backward and landed in his lap with a muffled thump. He clamped a warm hand over my mouth.
A pair of men’s leather shoes came into view, near silent on the tile floor compared to the woman’s clicking heels. The man strode past our hiding spot and disappeared into an aisle.
Zylas exhaled against my cheek—then pushed his nose into the spot under my ear. I squealed into his hand and twisted away from his face. His husky laugh was more vibration than sound. He shoved me off his lap, crawled over my legs with more grace than should’ve been possible, and slipped between the chairs.
Muttering nasty things under my breath, I rushed out after him. As I wobbled to my feet, he was already ghosting down the aisle—not back into the Demonica corner, but toward the front of the library.
“Zylas!” I hurried to his side, quietly this time. “Where are you going?”
He paused, crimson gaze sweeping the aisles. “This way.”
“Which way? What are you—”
Feet silent on the floor, he entered a short hall. A door marked with a bathroom sign waited at the end, but Zylas was interested in a door with a Guild Members Only plaque on it.
“We’re not allowed in there,” I told him.
He grasped the handle. White light sparked across it—some kind of Arcane spell. The pale sizzle ran over his knuckles and up his wrist. He narrowed his eyes, then rammed his shoulder into the door. The frame split and the door swung open, the sorcery imbued into the handle useless.
Crap, he’d broken the door. How would I explain that?
“Zylas, we can’t—”
He ignored me and walked in. Why was I not surprised?
The interior was dark, the air heavy with dust. I felt along the wall, found a light switch, and pressed it. Fluorescent bulbs buzzed awake.
Familiarity hit me in the gut. A long table was stacked with books in various states of disassembly. Tools I’d seen my mother use daily lay across the work surface—blades and cutting tools, glue, string, leather presses, pens and ink. A large magnifying glass on an adjustable arm was positioned above the book restorer’s current project.
Zylas glided toward the table, paused to inhale, then angled toward the cabinets along the wall. He homed in on the corner one, the metal doors secured with a heavy padlock.
I minced to his side. The lock had no keyhole and its face was marked with a set of runes. “What is it?”
He sniffed the air. “I smell blood.”
My stomach performed an adrenaline-fueled flip. “Blood” wasn’t even on the list of answers I’d expected.
“Old. Faint.” His tail snapped sideways. “The scent of demon blood and magic.”
He reached for the padlock but I grabbed his wrist. I didn’t doubt he could break it with either pure strength or magic, but that was the problem.
“Don’t,” I whispered urgently.
His jaw tightened with stubbornness. I knew that look—the “I’m about to do the opposite of what you want just to prove I can” look.
If he broke that lock, I’d be in so much trouble.
I pulled on his arm, straining to bring up that page of commands in my mind’s eye. His mouth twisted and he again reached for the padlock, dragging me across the floor.
With a shot of panic, the Ancient Greek popped into my head. “Daimon, hesychaze!”
Crimson power lit up his extremities. I caught a glimpse of his glowing eyes, wide and furious, just before his body dissolved into light and streaked back into my infernus. I shoved the pendant under my jacket, breathing faster than the situation warranted.
I’d forced Zylas into the infernus. It was the first time I’d ever forced him to do anything.
Heels clacked in the hallway outside. I spun around, my elation shriveling into dread. The footsteps snapped loudly, then the librarian stepped into the open doorway, shock and anger stamped across her face.
Damn that demon.
Chapter Two
Sometimes, being a shrimpy waif of a twenty-year-old girl came in handy. My acting skills weren’t great, but I hadn’t needed to fake my tearful, hand-wringing apologies to the librarian. Nor had it been much of a stretch to insist that I hadn’t broken the door. I’d been on my way to the bathroom when I noticed it was open. That’s all.
Deciding I was too young, innocent, and wimpy to break through magically locked doors, she’d sighed, told me to leave, and started inspecting the restoration room for anything missing. Thank goodness I’d stopped Zylas from breaking the cabinet’s padlock.
Thirty minutes later, I was getting off a bus in the shabby Downtown Eastside. The chill air threatened rain and I pulled my jacket tighter against the December wind. With no desire to linger, I hurried past a rundown bike repair shop and a tattoo parlor with barred windows.
Twenty yards ahead, a three-story, cube-shaped building squatted between a small parking lot and a construction site, its shadowed doorway almost lost in its blank façade. Pulling out my phone, I checked for messages—none—then sent a quick text to Amalia, reminding her not to be late.
Steeling myself—this was my guild and I shouldn’t be afraid of it—I approached the door, a faded crow and mallet painted on the black wood. Above it, Old English lettering spelled out, “The Crow and Hammer.” It’d been over a month since I’d first set foot inside, and I’d only been back a few times. Partly because I’d caught the worst flu of my life—probably a result of all the preceding stress—and partly because … well …
With an unsteady breath, I reminded myself I was a badass demon contractor and pushed the door open. Sound rolled out, chattering voices welcoming me into the warmth and light. I slipped inside.
The pub was both cozy and spacious. Wooden chairs surrounded the polished tables, and dark beams crossed the ceiling. Opposite the door, a bar stretched across the pub’s back wall, stools lined up in
front of it. A huge steel war hammer was affixed to the wall above the liquor cabinets.
I moved toward the nearest table, keeping well away from the small groups of mythics around the bar. Everyone was busy catching up, laughter peppering the exuberant conversations. Tonight was the guild’s monthly meeting, and every member was gathering for a solid hour of updates, presentations, and group training.
Rubbing my hands together to warm them, I allowed myself to relax. This wasn’t so bad. The atmosphere was a thousand times better than at my last guild. I even dared to unzip my coat and hang it on the back of a chair.
No one had noticed me, and I was perfectly okay with that. Being noticed was one of my least favorite things, especially when everyone here knew everyone else—and I knew no one.
The guild door swung open with the cheerful jingle of a bell. A tall, willowy woman a bit older than me and an even taller, ruggedly built man waltzed in. Her dark hair hung loose around her, and his was pulled into a shaggy topknot.
“We’re here!” the guy called. “Not even late this time!”
Chuckles ran through the guild, faces turning toward them and hands waving in greeting.
“Kier, Kaveri!”
“Whoa, they’re on time!”
The couple swept toward the group. The newcomers hadn’t spotted me, but with their entrance, others had. I couldn’t lurk in the corner any longer, not without looking like a total weirdo. Gulping, I trailed after the couple, each step carrying me closer to the terrifying prospect of social interaction.
I scanned the Crow and Hammer mythics. Ranging from eighteen to middle-aged, many of them exuded an air of toughness. Instinctively, I veered toward a group closer to my age, but when I met their eyes, hostility hit me like an icy wave.
That was the other reason I hadn’t spent any time at the guild.
“Well, well,” drawled a large man with brown hair and a thick beard that made his age difficult to guess. “If it isn’t the little contractor.”
Beside him, a guy with a rangy build and a wide smirk scanned me from head to toe as though debating whether he could pick me up with one hand.
A woman in her mid-twenties pushed between them, her pale blond hair damp as though she’d just showered. “We were wagering on whether you’d show. You haven’t turned up for anything else.”
Had I missed guild events while I’d been sick? No one had contacted me about anything.
Fighting not to hyperventilate, I dragged my gaze upward. “I didn’t mean to miss anything, but I was—”
“I didn’t hear a word of that,” she interrupted loudly. “Speak up.”
My face burned and I couldn’t stop my hunch. Gripping the hem of my black sweater, I tried to respond but my mind had gone blank. I wanted to sink into the floor and disappear.
“You’re a mysterious one,” the rangy guy said. “We haven’t heard a thing about you. How did you get into Demonica?”
I peered up through my bangs, squeezing my sweater tighter as I tried to determine if he was genuinely curious or about to humiliate me.
“Well?” the big guy demanded, stepping closer. “What’s your training background? How long have you been contracting?”
Those questions were definitely not friendly.
“You killed the unbound demon, didn’t you?” The blond woman sniffed dismissively. “How did you manage it?”
By letting my illegally contracted demon do all the work. But I couldn’t say that. They were waiting expectantly so I muttered, “The unbound demon was already injured.”
My response did not impress them.
The big guy sneered. “Why are you a contractor, anyway? What use does a little girl like you have for a demon?”
I flinched, wondering if I should make an excuse to leave. But where would I go? Attendance was mandatory.
“Who ordered the Moscow Mules?” The female voice rang out over the chatter. “Come get ’em before I throw them at you!”
Jolting, I peeked toward the bar, my view blocked by mingling guild members. Was that the bartender shouting? Was she allowed to threaten people like that?
The large man stepped closer, towering more than a foot over me. The handful of mythics looking our way wore neutral expressions, and no one was jumping to my defense. I could hear it in the undertone of conversations around me, in their aggressive questions: Outsider. I was an intruder in their guild.
Tears stung the corners of my eyes and I pressed my lips together before their trembling betrayed me.
“Hey, new girl!”
I started a second time. Was that voice calling to me? My gaze slid past unfamiliar faces and found one I actually knew. Sort of. Not really.
“Over here,” the red-haired bartender ordered imperiously.
I blinked in confusion—but I wasn’t about to argue. Ducking around the large man, I hurried past another group and stopped uncertainly at the bar. The woman pointed at the stool across from her, so I climbed onto the seat and braced my toes on the footrest.
She assessed me with sharp hazel eyes, her nose and cheeks dusted with freckles. Her wild curls were damp and shiny—why did half the mythics look like they’d just left a swimming pool?—and hung past her shoulders. Six weeks ago, I’d seen this woman during a demon attack. After Zylas had killed Tahēsh, she’d jumped into a car with three men and fled the scene.
As far as I was concerned, she was the suspicious one, but she was peering at me as though she could peel back my skin with the force of her gaze. Her eyes narrowed to amber-green slits.
Then, to my shock, she offered her hand. “I’m Tori.”
She was the first person to introduce herself.
I took her hand and gingerly shook it. “Robin.”
“Want something to drink?”
An actual polite question? “Um—”
“Hey!” The big, aggressive man shouldered a small guy with round sunglasses out of his way. His glower said all too clearly that I wasn’t getting out of our “conversation” that easily. “Where’s your infernus? Are you even a contractor or just a wannabe pretending—”
“Darren, shut your hole before you contaminate my bar with your stupidity.”
My jaw fell open, and my gaze swung to Tori.
The big guy whirled on her. “I’m just asking what everyone else is think—”
“No one asked you, dipshit.”
My eyes popped wider.
Tori glared at Darren, then leaned toward me. “Don’t let him push you around.”
Push me around? My gaze darted to him, then to the cold blond woman, the smirking guy, and the others who hadn’t made a single move to defend their new member. Again, I was struck by their understated toughness, the rough edge hidden under unassuming exteriors. I’d thought this guild was far softer than the Grand Grimoire, but maybe I was wrong.
Zylas, are you paying attention? I silently asked as I cautiously reached under the neck of my sweater and closed my fingers around the cool silver pendant. Withdrawing the infernus, I settled it on my chest. Darren’s gaze followed it, his expression torn between curiosity and derision.
“Would you like to see my demon?” I asked him. “Right now?”
He crossed his arms over his thick chest. “Yeah, let’s see it.”
I ran my thumb across the infernus. Let’s play the game, Zylas.
The pendant blazed with crimson light. Power spilled down, hit the floor, then pooled upward into my demon’s shape. The glow flared into solidity, then faded. Zylas stood still and silent, staring blankly at nothing in a flawless imitation of an enslaved demon with no autonomy.
Despite his ornery defiance, Zylas was nothing if not intelligent. He knew this moment was too crucial for disobedience. Both our lives depended on his acting skills.
At his appearance, gasps flew through the pub and I resisted the urge to shrink. We had everyone’s attention now. They were staring at Zylas, measuring him, judging him, and all he could do was stand there and endure it. At
least no one laughed this time.
“Seriously?”
Or maybe the laughter hadn’t begun yet.
“This is your demon?” Darren planted his feet almost on Zylas’s toes, smirking into the demon’s face. “I’ve never seen such a small, pathetic demon in my life!”
The blond woman mock-whispered to the rangy guy, “Do you think she got it for cheap because it’s a runt?”
When Darius, the Crow and Hammer’s GM, had allowed me to join, I’d hoped this guild would be different from the Grand Grimoire, but maybe all guilds were the same. Maybe Zylas and I were too small and weak for anyone to respect.
The barbed tip of his tail gave the tiniest twitch, unnoticed by the watching mythics.
“Forgetting something, dumbasses?” Tori’s acidic snap cut into my thoughts. “Robin and her demon killed the unbound one on Halloween. Obviously they’re not weak.”
She was defending us?
“Not weak?” Darren scoffed. His hand rose toward Zylas. “This thing couldn’t—”
Uh-oh, not good. “Don’t touch him.”
Darren’s reach stuttered, then he boldly rammed his palm into Zylas. The demon didn’t move and Darren stumbled backward, thrown off balance. He shook his head and glanced at his hand, as though confused about how his powerful muscles had failed to affect the shorter, lighter demon.
He thought we were weak. No one here respected us. Unwelcome and disregarded … but what had Tori said? Don’t let him push you around.
I pressed my thumb against the sigil at the center of the infernus. Zylas?
I didn’t need to finish the thought—his hand was already closing around Darren’s throat. With strength the mythic could only dream of, Zylas swung him off his feet and slammed him down on the bar.
Not too rough, I warned.
He bent Darren backward over the bar. The mythic spluttered and flailed helplessly. Everyone else had withdrawn, shock and fear on their faces. I hated that we had to prove our strength, but this was much better than last time. Zylas was making the proper impression without having to pound half the guild into the floor.
Slaying Monsters for the Feeble: The Guild Codex: Demonized / Two Page 2
