American Demon

by Kim Harrison

  “Landon was right about the demon babies, though,” Zack said, his eyes on his as yet untasted dinner. “And how you kill people who try to stop you from repairing our genome.”

  “Well, I’m pleased to hear that.” Quen took up a wide-footed stance at the far end of the table to look dark and threatening.

  “That’s in my past.” Motions abrupt, Trent ran a soapy rag over the cheese-dusted counter. “I do not kill people anymore simply because it’s easier than dealing with them.”

  “But you did save the demons,” Zack said, still not having touched his pasta.

  “And that’s not going to change,” Trent said as he ladled out a second small bowl of mac and cheese. “Ever. And you can tell Landon that when you see him again.”

  “I’m not going to see him again,” Zack said, and I looked up, startled, when Trent put the second bowl in front of me.

  “I doubt that.” Trent put a fork beside my bowl. “You’d be smart to begin to prepare for it.”

  “Um, thanks, but I’m not hungry,” I said softly, then flushed when Trent glanced pointedly at Zack. The young elf still hadn’t taken a bite, and it suddenly hit me that he was probably worried that it might have been tampered with. “But it smells great,” I added, taking a forkful. Yes, Al was still in seclusion and my hopes of jumping the lines had been crushed under the Goddess’s uncaring heel, but Trent knew what to do with cheese and pasta.

  Grumbling something inaudible, Quen eased back.

  “This is really good,” I said as my appetite woke up, and I pulled the bowl closer. Across the table, Zack took a careful forkful, and I stifled a smile when I heard a tiny moan of appreciation. Trent grinned as he returned to the kitchen, inordinately pleased.

  For a moment there was only the sound of forks, but finally Zack began to slow down and sneak glances at me. “Did you really make the new ever-after?” he asked. I could understand why. I didn’t look like much. “I’d never seen Landon that angry as when I asked him.”

  “She did.” Quen leaned close, expression still sour. “She’s the demons’ premier tulpist.”

  “Bis helped,” I said, slumping as I imagined his conversation with his dad. It will be okay, Bis. We’ll find a way. “And it wouldn’t have held without the combined efforts of the demons.”

  “Then you did make it? The new ever-after?” Zack’s eyes went between me and Jenks, who nodded. “How about the St. Louis arch? Did you really drop it on assassins?”

  “That was Trent,” Jenks said, and Quen winced, confirming it.

  “He was trying to make a deal with Ku’Sox to get Lucy back,” I added. “Lesson one, Zack: never make deals with psychotic demons. I’ll give you that for free.” I hesitated, hoping I hadn’t just broken my own rule.

  Quen leaned in over the table. “Since you are here, tell us about the baku.”

  “Um . . .” Zack glanced at Quen before scraping the last cheese from his bowl and wedging it off his fork with his teeth. “I told you. He’s working with it to kill Trent.”

  “How?” Quen said patiently, and my eyes tracked Trent as he took off his apron and came to sit beside me at the table. “How is Landon controlling it?”

  “He isn’t.” Zack looked at the thin scrapings left in his bowl before reluctantly dropping his fork in and pushing it away. “Landon thinks he’s in charge, but he’s not. I can see a shadow of the baku in Landon’s aura even when he’s awake now. I think the baku is making all those people kill each other to waste time. Every day it’s in Landon, it’s eating away at his soul until”—Zack made the sound of a soft explosion, his hands mimicking it as well—“no more Landon.”

  “It’s going to take him over?” I said. “Can’t Landon kick it out?”

  “Sure, if he wanted to.” Zack looked longingly at the empty bowl. “But he won’t until it’s too late and he can’t. Landon really wants you dead,” he said with a low chuckle.

  He was looking at Trent, and I didn’t like it. Neither did Quen,

  “So when the baku attacks someone . . . ,” Trent prompted, and Zack shrugged.

  “The baku only leaves Landon at night to look for her.” Zack’s eyes touched on mine, then darted away. “You know what gets me? I’ve told them the baku is using him, but not one of those old farts seems to care why the baku is taking so long to find you.”

  I slumped at the table. The baku knew exactly where I was, and I pushed my half-eaten bowl of pasta away. Where are my no-doze amulets?

  “Landon says the baku is using weaker individuals to hone its skill before trying to control the dream of a demon, but I think it needs the time to acclimate to Landon before taking him completely over. His aura is looking sicker every day, and no one cares to question why.”

  It thinks, I mused silently. If it thinks, it can be reasoned with.

  “But no one is interested in my opinions,” Zack finished sourly.

  “Landon can talk to it?” Trent questioned, and Zack bobbed his head.

  “He sort of meditates.” Zack glanced at my half-eaten bowl of pasta.

  Trent nodded, his focus distant. “This makes sense. If it can push Rachel into killing me, it will be free to take Landon over and have Landon’s body and my stolen political power both.”

  “I know, right?” Zack said cheerfully, but this was bad. As soon as the baku felt it could take Landon over, it would quit messing around, attack me again, make me kill Trent, and rule the dewar as Landon.

  Quen crossed his arms over his chest, a glimmer of worry marring his pox-scarred face. “Have you searched your mother’s journals?”

  Trent glanced at Zack and sat up straighter. “The ones I found, but there are pages missing, and I got the feeling that it didn’t happen the way they wanted it to.”

  “Maybe she destroyed them so as not to incriminate herself,” I suggested.

  Trent’s brow furrowed. “You should go over them yourself, Quen. It might trigger something,” he said, and Quen nodded, not looking happy about it. “Zack,” Trent said louder, and Zack jerked, startled as he covered a yawn. “How about a room for the night? We’ll figure out what to do with you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” Zack pulled himself out of his slouch. “I’ve not had a good sleep in a week.”

  Trent smiled in understanding, but it faltered and he took my hand under the table, giving it a squeeze. I didn’t know about Trent, but I wasn’t sleeping tonight. Sure, one of us could stay awake and watch the other, but I didn’t like Hodin’s claim that every attack left more damage, making succumbing to it easier.

  “Rachel, perhaps I should take you home,” Quen said, and I froze. He was going to take me home because I couldn’t do it myself. It hadn’t seemed to matter much until Bis and I had done it.

  “Why?” Trent said, eyes wide. “I was hoping that we could keep each other awake tonight. We have a lot of research to do.”

  “I’m in,” I said, but Quen’s jaw was clenched. I didn’t care if we’d made his night more difficult. I didn’t want to go back to that empty boat.

  “As you wish it, Sa’han. If you will excuse us?” Quen said stiffly. “Zack, it’s this way.”

  “Quen, be sure to tell Zack the Wi-Fi password,” Trent said as he stood and took first my bowl, then Zack’s. “I doubt his phone will work out here.”

  “I ditched my phone last week,” Zack said sourly as he stood and scuffed his feet. “Who would I call? Everyone I know is on the other side of the continent.”

  He was alone, and something in me shifted. I knew how that was.

  Trent went into the kitchen and set the bowls in the sink. “I’m sure Landon would appreciate knowing you were okay.”

  Zack’s expression flashed to a rebellious hardness, convincing me that he really thought he’d abandoned the dewar, but I knew better. He couldn’t just leave the dewar. Not when he was being train
ed to lead it one day. I frowned as I remembered the spells he’d tried to use. And Trent wants his help to figure out how to make their magic work again?

  “This way, short stack,” Jenks said, his wings spilling a bright silver as he landed on Zack’s shoulder to make the kid jump. I wasn’t surprised that Jenks was trying to win Zack over. The kid was too much like all of us to ignore: rebellious, powerful, in search of something better . . . vulnerable. Alone . . .

  I met Trent’s eyes, totally understanding why he hadn’t turned him in to social services.

  “Relax. I won’t kill you,” Jenks said as they followed Quen to the stairs. “Unless you do something stupid like try to hurt Rachel. Or Trent. Or his kids. You can off Jon if you want.”

  “You’re . . . ,” Zack started, his words trailing off as he looked over the edge and saw Trent’s great room. “Wow. You could land a helicopter down there.”

  “I’m what?” Jenks asked, turning to give Trent a thumbs-up. “Serious? Yeah. You think I wear this sword to look butch?”

  And then they were on the stairs, their voices going faint as Quen trailed along behind.

  Sighing, I ran my hand across the table to see if it was clean.

  “I know what you’re going to say.” Trent began to rinse the bowls. “But what choice do I have? I’m not going to force him to go back to Landon, and he can’t continue eating food off your stoop and sleeping on Ivy’s couch. Quen will adapt.”

  “No, you did the right thing.” I stood, going into the kitchen to lean against the counter. “I just want to make sure you know how dangerous he is.”

  Trent ran the sink full of water and squirted in some soap. “He’s looking for something to believe in,” he said, getting it totally wrong and totally right all at the same time. “That makes him more dangerous than all the spells at his disposal, which, by the looks of it, are considerable.”

  “Don’t underestimate him,” I said as I took up a dish towel.

  Trent sank his hands into the water. “Besides, it’s really going to cheese off Landon when he finds out where he’s been staying.”

  “And there’s the real reason,” I said, and Trent grinned, but it faded fast.

  “No.” Trent dropped his eyes, his fingers amid the soap slowing. “It’s because he’s been taught and told to be this thing,” he said softly. “And it’s a really wonderful, amazing, powerful thing, something he’s already good at and he likes, but he’s not sure it’s what he wants to be. He might not even know what he wants, but to not have the chance to find out . . . ?”

  I took a slow breath, understanding. We’d both been forced into paths we were good at but didn’t necessarily want. Actually, now that I thought about it, it was that realization that had let me begin to forgive Trent for what he’d done. I found his hand, drawing his attention with a soft squeeze. “Tell me if you need help convincing Quen,” I said, and Trent nodded. Hard or not, risky or not, Zack would be given the time and space to work things out. We’d simply have to roll with it if Zack ended up screwing us over as he became himself.

  “Thanks.” Trent sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m going to ask Zack to help me explore why elven magic isn’t working,” he said. “Unless you think it’s a bad idea.”

  “No, it’s a good one.” I took the bowl he was rinsing. If someone had told me last year that I’d be standing in Trent’s kitchen doing KP duty, I’d have said they were crazy. “Just be careful,” I added as I stacked the bowl where it belonged.

  “Aren’t I always?” He smiled at me, rinsing the big cook pot and setting it to drip-dry.

  “No. What’s this about Jenks telling me about you burning your eyebrows off?”

  Trent’s lips parted, and then his brow furrowed. “What’s the point of having a curse to fix yourself if you don’t use it?”

  He was smiling, but I still didn’t like the idea of Zack inside Trent’s first defenses, down one floor. “Trent, I know I brought him over here, and I see why you’re doing it, but Quen has a point. What happens when I leave tomorrow and you’re here with the girls?”

  Mood soft, Trent laced his hands behind my back and tugged me into him. “Quen will be here, and Jon. Add Jenks to that, and I’m safer than you, half a city away. He needs to believe in something, Rachel. He wants to believe. Let me give him a choice. That’s all he wants. Who am I to deny him that?”

  “That doesn’t make him trustworthy,” I said, my hands now behind his neck. “He could be working for Landon and not even know it. Have you looked for bugs?”

  Trent’s grip on me eased. “That’s why Jenks is taking him downstairs.”

  “Okay, but—”

  I blinked, not expecting it when Trent leaned in and kissed me. For an instant, there was just him and me, and my arms around his neck, and then he drew back, his head tilted as he worked to meet my eyes. “It will be okay,” he said, but it still felt like a wish. “We’re both going to be awake all night. What could happen?”

  I sighed, feeling alone when he stepped back and my hands slipped from him. What could happen? Exactly my question.

  CHAPTER

  19

  My fingers felt slow as I set the yellowed journal on the coffee table atop the rest. After a night of dipping into Trent’s mom’s thoughts, I had a feeling that I’d have liked the woman if she still lived. Trent had once told me that my dad had been with her the night she died trying to get an ancient elven DNA sample. Honestly, it was amazing that Trent even liked me.

  It was nearing seven a.m. Seven was an ungodly time to be up if you were a witch, especially one who hadn’t slept at all. How Trent did this every day was beyond me, but I didn’t nap for four hours at noon, either.

  The entire compound was quiet with Zack at the pool and Trent in the kitchen, cheerfully making waffles. My hair was damp from the shower I’d taken to try to wake up, and I’d put on the upscale casual-professional white-and-cream outfit I’d found in the closet. Ellasbeth had probably ordered it and never come to collect. Fatigue pulled at me despite the no-doze amulet, and I slumped in the living room with my back to Trent, staring at the huge black TV.

  I hadn’t found anything new in Trisk’s journals. They made fascinating reading, though, mostly because of the weird relationship she’d had with Trent’s dad. Sort of an amorous disgust. She clearly had feelings for him even as she despised the man.

  I yawned and shut my eyes, counting on the no-doze and Trent in the kitchen to keep me awake. It was hard not to see the parallels between Kal and Trisk, and Trent and myself, though I don’t think Trisk ever lost her anger that Kal never evolved into the man she thought he could be.

  And was that his fault or hers? I wondered, my closed eyes twitching as the memory of Trent slamming my head into a tombstone and choking me swam up from nowhere. We’d narrowly escaped the ever-after, and Trent had learned not only that I was a demon, but that his father was to blame for me surviving. Killing me would’ve not only ended the demons’ rebirth, but probably started another war. He would’ve done it, too, despite the fact that I’d just saved his life and given him the DNA sample that would enable his species to again thrive.

  He tried to kill me for what I was, not who I was.

  A flash of old fear struck through me, and I pushed it down. But it kept returning, laying a heavier and heavier coat through my disjointed half-asleep thoughts. Trent had tried to kill me, I had sacrificed my freedom to save his, and he tried to choke the life out of me because of what I represented, what I was. He was more than an ass, he was repellent.

  Suddenly, his scent in the afghan over me was vile, and I threw it off me. I stood, looking at him in the kitchen, flour on his apron as he ran a finger along the inside of the bowl to taste the batter. The elf had tried to kill me, and I slept with him?

  Lip curling, I caught sight of my reflection in the black TV. My aura flared, and I wondere
d how I could see it. It wasn’t even my aura, tainted with the dusky darkness of something other than smut—as if it was lacking something.

  The sound of Trent slurping his coffee struck through me, as familiar as his voice, and with it, my aura flashed a weird purple and orange. I’d never seen its like, and as I shuddered, a wave of hatred cascaded over me. I’d say I was being possessed, but there was no one in my mind but me. He’d hunted me like an animal, put me in a cage, let Jon torment me, dumped me in a rat fight to kill for him, tried to blackmail me into being his mancipium—a virtual slave.

  My breath trembled in my chest, and I stared at my reflection, the gold of my aura was swamped by purple and orange. Kalamack’s life strewn around me seemed smothering: his rooms, his couch, his blanket, his life.

  He needs to die, I thought as silver sparkles began to dart through the alien haze lifting off my skin, sparkles of demand, of search and action.

  Resolve lifted through me, and when Trent began to run the mixer to whip up the egg whites, the urge to blast him to hell grew stronger. My hands shook, and I clenched them. He had to die before I could feel whole again. He had stolen my pride, my anonymity, and my future. I had to take it back. If I took everything he was, I’d find peace again.

  I took a step toward him, then another, then another until I came into the kitchen. His head was down over the bowl, and the mixer was loud. Buddy was at his feet, and seeing me, the dog lifted his head, his lips pulling back in a silent threat.

  It will be easy. The thought spilled through me, and I tapped a line, glorying in it as it flowed and backwashed at my theoretical extremities, tingles rising with the promise of satisfaction. He’d tried to choke me to death because of what I might do. I should choke him to death for what he had done. Feeling his struggles weaken and cease would be intimate and rewarding. His hair against my cheek would be soft and cool, his struggles violent against me. He couldn’t stop me. I was trained for this.

  But as I reached for him, still oblivious in the confidence of his security, I decided choking was too good for him. He was an elf. He should die with a curse designed for an elf—one that put him in excruciating pain and made him fully aware as he died, one that was slow enough that he would realize the depth of his folly. Smiling, I dropped into the collective to steal one. He had hurt me, and there was no forgiveness in me. None at all.