by Trudi Jaye
The demon stands up again, snarling. It shakes its head, like it’s clearing it, then walks toward me slowly. How many times will I be able to knock it back? My throat is already sore. I think there might come a time when the power of my screams might destroy my voice.
Does my power still work if I don’t have a voice?
The demon steps toward me, and instinctively I lurch back again. Without thinking, I tread heavily onto my freshly wounded leg, which sends an agonizing jolt of pain up my thigh. My foot catches on a tree root, my arms go out, trying unsuccessfully to keep my balance, and I fall backward onto my butt, swearing as I go down. Pain goes up my leg and all I can do is lie there wishing I was better prepared.
Suddenly the demon is looming over me, taking advantage of my mistake. It snarls and reaches out like it’s going to rip me apart, limb from limb.
I scream. This time my fear makes it louder and longer than the weak attempts I’ve been giving it.
The scream reverberates through my whole body. The demon inside me is acting like a pinball machine, bouncing around against all my insides. The demon in front of me pulls back, but it’s not fast enough. The sounds waves travel through its body, and I can feel it starting to disintegrate. Just as abruptly as I started, I stop. I can’t absorb the demon. I won’t.
The demon scurries away, clearly wounded. I manage to scramble to my feet. There’s blood seeping through my pant leg.
Blade is standing over a body on the forest floor. His jaguar form is sleek and muscular, but there are patches of blood on his shoulders and face. He looks over at me and then at the retreating demon. Without hesitation, he runs after it.
He returns moments later, and his right paw glowing. I catch a flash of the same metal of his knife on the claws of his jaguar form. Somehow, his knife transformed with him and became his front claws. I let out my breath. At least the demon didn’t get away.
He starts walking out toward the edge of the forest, his lean jaguar form almost hidden among the dark trees. I trudge heavily through the forest behind him, stumbling more than once, trying to understand what just happened. Blade had to kill the creature. Did he do it because it was possessed by a demon? Or because it thought I was evil? Or just because it tried to kill him first?
My thoughts get stuck on what the creature said before it went crazy on us. It considered itself my mortal enemy. But not because of anything I’ve done. Just because of what I am, how I was born.
Was it right? Am I evil?
20
I don’t feel evil.
I just feel the same.
Except for the demon inside my stomach, and the deadly scream I don’t want to use.
When we get to the edge of the trees, I expect Blade to turn back into his human form, but he doesn’t, just keeps walking across the grass. I hobble after him, glancing around, wondering what people will think if they see an enormous jaguar in their local park. It’s not until we arrive back at his truck that I remember the Stanford quad, how no one else seemed to notice the demon or the jaguar because of some kind of magical spell covering all supers.
When we get to the truck, Blade circles around like he’s checking the perimeter, and then stops in front of his side of the truck. I should probably look away, but I can’t help watching as he turns back into his human form. Bones crack, magic swirls around his body, and his muscles squeeze into what can only be uncomfortable shapes. Goose bumps rise up my arms, and I hold my breath. It feels very personal watching him change. He doesn’t utter a sound, and when the transformation is complete, he stands up from his crouch, stark naked. Somehow, he still looks part animal, his eyes a wild green and amber and his whole body tensed for action. His skin is golden in the sunlight, and I swallow hard, doing my best to not look down.
He turns away from me, and I get a flash of his butt before he hides it behind the door. Blade’s upper body ripples with muscle as he leans over and pulls out a bag, grabbing another T-shirt and some jeans from it. I look away, trying not to think about how sexy he is without a stitch on his glorious body. I’m staring ferociously at a tree opposite when Blade clears his throat at me.
I turn around, and he’s fully dressed again. I let out a relieved breath. “You’re awfully well prepared,” I say.
“I don’t like to be caught out,” he says with a casual shrug. He’s standing next to the open door. There’s a scratch down one side of his face, and blood is seeping out. The scratches on his arm are peeking out from the sleeve of his T-shirt. “Let’s go.”
Limping to the other side of the truck, I grab my backpack and pull out a tiny first aid kit. Blade gets into the truck, so I climb in next to him and pull out antiseptic wipes and adhesive strips.
I use the first one to clean off my hands, and then turn to Blade. “We’re not going anywhere until you let me fix you up.” I reach up and dab an antiseptic wipe on his face.
He pulls back with a wince.
“Stay still. It’ll only sting for a second or two.”
“Easy for you to say,” he growls. But he holds himself steady and allows me to apply the antiseptic wipe. When I attempt to put on a bandage, he shakes his head. “It’ll heal quickly. I don’t need it.” I only let him get away with it because he’s right. The scratch is already looking much better.
Next I pull up the sleeve of his shirt. The scratches are deeper here, and look more painful, although the blood is already drying up. The wound even looks like it’s starting to heal. I can’t get used to this fast healing thing, even though I’ve experienced it myself. My leg is already feeling much better than it should, despite the renewed pain from the self-inflicted fork wound last night. I dab the antiseptic over the slashes there as well, just in case. “I’ll put an adhesive strip on this one. I think it’ll help.”
He gives a slight nod, even as I’m pulling out a large wound bandage. I try not to linger over putting it on his arm. The skin is smooth and a golden brown that reminds me of caramel. I want to stroke my fingers across the muscles in his arm, just to see what they feel like. Glancing up at Blade, he’s watching me with his enigmatic green-eyed gaze. I swallow hard and make myself pull away.
“There. All done,” I say calmly, like I wasn’t just thinking of pawing at him like he’s a rock star and I’m a groupie. I need to keep my hands busy, so I put the first aid kit supplies tidily away in the container, not looking at Blade, just in case. He’s making no move to start up the truck, and it’s making me nervous. I pull out one of the antiseptic wipes and use it to clean the dirt from my face. I don’t have a conveniently packed second T-shirt—maybe I should start carrying one around—so I just have to wipe at the dirt and pull the twigs out of my hair.
“I honestly don’t know how I got this dirty,” I say with exasperation, trying to cover my continuing awkwardness.
“You just fought a demon. It’s normal.” There’s something about Blade’s voice that hits the perfect note. It’s rich and smooth and creamy, like the caramel I was comparing his skin to. I have to focus really hard on why I’m not just leaping into his arms and forcing him to kiss me right here.
Demons. Right. There it is. That’s the reason.
“I didn’t realize we’d be fighting demons in there,” I say, my voice going croaky in the middle. “I would have brought a few things with me.”
“Why didn’t you just absorb the demon?” asks Blade, his tone exasperated.
“Because I didn’t want you stabbing me again,” I say, just as exasperated. I’m surprised he even has to ask.
He glances down at my leg. For some reason, his gaze makes me want to cover my thigh with my hand. Instead I lean forward and put the small first aid container away in my bag.
“You’re bleeding,” he says.
“It’s fine. That wasn’t from today… it was from last night.”
He raises his eyebrows. “What happened last night?”
“I had to save myself from Connor,” I say. “It required a little creativity.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just raises his eyebrows. “You’re going to have to explain that to me later. But right now, I want to make it clear that I don’t think you’re supposed to get rid of the demons you’ve absorbed by being stabbed,” he says. “I think Damien was wrong. There must be another way.”
“But we don’t know another way. And the alternative at this point is that it overwhelms me, and I die.”
“We don’t know that.”
“We don’t know anything about who I am, or how I’m supposed to act.” This time I really am exasperated. “This whole situation is nuts.”
His green eyes flash with compassion. “We’ll figure it out, Hazel.”
I glare at him. I’m not as certain as he seems to be. “And now I’m apparently evil,” I mutter, crossing my arms over my chest.
Blade shakes his head. “That creature? He wasn’t stable. He had a connection to the darker side of magic in our world, to supers who aren’t as eager to be ruled by the SIG and other government forces. He was a useful contact. But he wasn’t sane.”
“But does that mean he was wrong?” I whisper the words, wondering how someone like me, who calls demons could possibly be a good person.
“You’re not evil, Hazel. I know that for a fact.”
I stare over at forest. “How come that thing attacked?”
“I think it sensed what you were. Or maybe the demon living inside it did, I don’t know.”
“Was it possessed?”
“Yes. That’s why I had to kill it.” Blade’s expression is grim. He wipes down his knife with a towel, then hides it back inside his holster. “The demon was making it act even more paranoid than usual.”
The tiny demon inside me starts fizzing around in alarm. I put one hand on my stomach, trying to calm it down. “But the demon came out of it. So it might not have been possessed anymore.”
Blade shakes his head. “It doesn’t work like that. Once the demon has possessed a supernatural, it has full control. It doesn’t have to stay inside all the time. The only choice is to kill the supernatural.”
His words chill my insides. Has he forgotten that I’ve got a demon inside me? What happens when Blade decides my little demon has taken over? Taking too much control?
Will he put me down as well?
Blade seems to know what I’m thinking. “Hazel, you’re different. The demons can’t control you like that one was controlling him.”
“But what if they can?”
“They can’t.” Blade’s expression is stubborn.
At least he’s not waiting for the moment he’s going to have to gut me like a fish.
“Come on, let’s go,” he says, as if he’s tired of the topic. “This was a bust. We need to get to the country club and see if we can get more information there.”
“We’re still going to visit the voodoo guy? You’re hurt.”
Blade takes a deep breath, his hands on the wheel of the truck. “It’s just a scratch. I think we should, even though it’s the last thing I feel like doing right now.”
“Maybe he’ll know something about the plague of demons.”
“Maybe he will.”
21
On the drive to the country club, I continue to pull twigs out of my hair and clean my glasses. I’m lucky they didn’t fall off and break when I was fighting the demon.
I pull at my T-shirt, wishing I’d thought to wear something nicer. Or that I didn’t just fall over in a forest. And there wasn’t blood on my pants. I don’t know what a voodoo king will be like, but I have an idea of what a country club is like. I frown and set my mouth into a thin line. It doesn’t matter what I’m wearing. I’m not trying to join the damn club; we just want information. I sneak a quick peek at Blade. He’s probably not worrying about what he’s wearing.
“Have you ever been here before?” I ask.
“No, not really my kind of place,” he says.
“What’s your kind of place? A seedy back-alley bar? A knife fight?”
Blade shakes his head and looks at me, one tiny end of his lip curled up. “You’re not funny.”
“What about a cave filled with demons? That more your kind of place?”
“I just like places with fewer people and less dressing up.”
“So empty warehouses? Abandoned mines?”
Blade shakes his head again and doesn’t answer. He’s pulling into the parking lot of the large Palo Alto Hills Country Club. On the outside, it’s an understated brick building that could house any one of a number of places, from a private hospital to a pharmaceutical company.
But once we get inside, the opulence becomes more visible. This is the first time I’ve ever been somewhere like this, and I stare around like I’m a tourist. Chandeliers for lights, wallpaper that looks like it might be hand painted—not by three-year-olds—and floor tiles that look like they’re marble. Real marble, not the fake linoleum kind.
There’s a woman at the reception desk who purses her lips and glares at us over her perfectly manicured fingers. She’s everything I was expecting from a country club. I can’t help twitching a little, everything in me wanting to turn around and walk back out again, but Blade saunters up to her and smiles.
“We’d like to see Mr. Knight please,” he says. “My mother Anna Blade is a good friend.”
“And your name is?”
“Nico Blade.”
She gives a tight smile to Blade, and openly frowns at me—she’s clearly got something against people who wear jeans and T-shirts—and dials a number on the phone. I take a step closer to Blade, who seems like my only support in this foreign environment.
The dragon at the front desk is nodding into the phone, and her smile becomes slightly less frigid when she puts it down in the cradle.
“Mr. Knight will see you in ten minutes, if you’re happy to wait? Allow me to show you to the bar, and you can have a drink on the house.”
I’m still staring around like a little kid in a Christmas shop, so I catch a few of the glances we’re getting. I’m really not dressed appropriately for this place. I pull my shirt down a little, but it doesn’t magically change it into an apricot-colored matching shirt and shorts outfit like the seriously made up woman we just passed.
Not that I want to wear that. I wouldn’t be seen dead in it. But I’d like to not stick out like a sore thumb.
I’ve never felt quite so obviously out of place before. The mean receptionist leads us through an enormous atrium, past a restaurant with chatting patrons all dressed to the nines, and finally into an elegant bar area, where she stops in front of a booth nestled at the back that has a permanent reserved sign above it. “This is Mr. Knight’s personal table. Feel free to order whatever you like from the menu. He’ll be with you shortly.”
I make a face at her retreating back, and Blade gives me a warning look. “Be careful, Hazel. There are eyes everywhere in a place like this.”
I make a face at him instead, and then I squish myself into the booth, trying to look as if this is all completely normal for me, and I’m not feeling agitated and out of place. Not to mention I’m trying to get over being called evil by the midget prune man.
I look at the drinks menu and blink. There are pages and pages of options, some weird, some even weirder.
“What’s this? A Strawberry Betty? I’ve never heard of that one.”
Blade looks up from his menu. “It’s a highly alcoholic strawberry cocktail designed especially for supers. This is a separate menu for supers.”
“What? Why?” I can’t hold in my surprise.
“Supers tend to not be as affected by alcohol as humans. If you’re someone who caters to the super community, you give them a separate menu with stronger drinks.”
I glance around us, using the menu as a shield. “So it’s likely there are supers all around us?”
“Sure.”
I can’t see anyone I think could possibly be supernatural. “Are you sure? Can you see anyon
e who’s a supernatural aside from us?”
Blade looks across the room, as if he’s just doing a casual scan of the room. “I can see at least five people who are definitely supers. There are probably more.”
“How does it work? How do they know when someone is a super, not just a human?”
“Well, in a place like this, it’s because they know their members. I told her who my grandmother is, she’s a member here, and now she knows I’m a super too.”
I nod. That makes sense. “What if you hadn’t told her?”
“There are other indicators, that only other supers would know to look out for.”
My mind is blown. For some reason, I just assumed that supers hid among the humans and lived their lives as if nothing was different. “So there are drinks and food just for supers?”
“Sure. And there are towns that are filled with supers, and places that have almost none.”
“Like Stanford?”
He nods. “Like Stanford.”
I lean back against the padded seat of the booth.
I don’t know why, but this is way more than I expected. Supers are everywhere. There’s a hidden subculture out there of people who are supers. I think back to all the years I searched for my paranormal monsters. I probably came across hundreds of supers, but they took one look at me and assumed I was human. They kept their secrets, and I went on my way, none the wiser.
Talk about annoying.
22
“So who are the supers in the room?” I can’t imagine the portly man sitting with another older guy at the table nearby as supers. “Those two men are human, aren’t they?” I make motions with my eyes. I’m feeling pretty positive about my assessment.
Blade shakes his head. “Actually, I don’t think so. That older guy looks like a shifter.”
