Lisa Shearin: The Trouble With Demons

Then there was Mychael and Tam-and me with Mychael and Tam. So far I hadn’t had any time to really consider the consequences of our predicament, and I’d been avoiding to the point of denial the fact that a large segment of goblin society considered me married to both of them. Part of me rather liked the idea and felt deliciously naughty about the whole arrangement. The other part of me went with a time-honored Benares solution-if I drank enough, my problems would go away, probably along with my consciousness, but I’d deal with that when I found myself facedown on the deck.

And all of my problems and predicaments were courtesy of a fist-sized, soul-sucking rock.

Where I was sitting, anyone who wanted to spy on me-or take their best shot-could do so to their heart’s content. I didn’t care about that, either, and cared less after each tankard. Vegard and Arlyn had strongly suggested that the safe place for me to do my drinking would be belowdecks. I strongly refused, and in emphatic and colorful terms told them that I was staying precisely where I was and that I wanted to be left alone. They were still on deck with me, but guarding me from a respectful distance. If I fell over-either from ale or a crossbow bolt-I was sure they’d pick me up. I took another long drink. I knew I was behaving like an ass, and I’d have to apologize to them later, but for now I wanted sun on my face and a keg by my side.

I’d never been good with feelings. Don’t get me wrong; I was on a first-name basis with fear and anger, but feelings of the romantic kind… Well, let’s just say our paths hadn’t crossed that often. I’ve never been what you’d call datable. When a man found out my last name was Benares, all I had to do was watch his face and know how that relationship was going to go-or not go. It was all in the eyes; they either bugged out in sheer terror, or narrowed in anticipatory greed. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a middle ground.

Mychael and Tam were two notable exceptions.

So far all my romantic encounters with Mychael had been for diverting enemy attention, for healing, or for relief that I wasn’t dead-at least those were his excuses. But after what he’d said, not said, and implied in his office a few hours ago, I had the feeling that Mychael’s excuses were turning into intentions. And regardless of what Vegard said, or Mychael might think, or I might want, the top lawman in the seven kingdoms could hardly get involved with a member of the top criminal family. Talk about a career-destroying move. Though with the Saghred involved, career-destroying was also life-threatening. But that hadn’t stopped me from pondering some intentions of my own. What had happened when he’d touched me wasn’t a feeling or a sensation; it was an experience of the once-in-a-lifetime kind. And I’d already been treated to it twice in two days.

Then there was Tam. I knew what Tam wanted from me-the same thing he’d wanted since the night we’d met. And during the time that I’d known him, those black, bedroom eyes of his made sure I didn’t forget it. I was pretty sure his feelings for me went beyond what would no doubt be an amazing time in bed-or on the floor, in the tub, or against the wall-I just didn’t know how far those feelings went, and Tam hadn’t seen fit to tell me. And in any romantic encounters with Tam, my good sense had left the room. Tam could do that to a woman, and he certainly did that to me. Then there was Tam’s past. Normally a man’s past wouldn’t bother me, as long as it stayed in the past where it belonged. But Tam’s notoriety, indiscretions, sins, and assorted crimes weren’t just chasing him, they were catching up.

Two gorgeous, sexy, dangerous, and downright delicious men. And now the Saghred was playing matchmaker for me with both of them, making it a bad situation with even worse timing, and I didn’t even want to think about the ending. But what if we got rid of the rock, and the bonds, and no one was trying to arrest and/or kill us anymore? What if it was just Tam and me, or Mychael and me? What would I do then? And who would I want to be doing it with?

I drained my tankard and reached for the keg’s tap.

“You might want to rethink that,” Sora Niabi suggested. “Or at least admit the reason for it.”

The demonologist was standing close enough to talk, but far enough away not to get hit with anything I might possibly throw in her direction. Apparently she’d seen her share of mean drunks in her time.

I bristled. “Why?”

“Draining that keg isn’t going to make whatever’s wrong any better, and pickling your brain never helps anything.”

“So you’ve never gotten pickled?”

She let out a snort of a laugh. “Plenty of times. I hunt demons for a living.”

“Since you’re here, does that mean the demon hunt’s over?”

“It does.”

“Wanna join me?”

“Love to.”

I looked around, seeing nothing but my tankard and one keg. “We’ll have to get-”

Sora flashed a grin and pulled a dinted metal mug from her robes. “I always carry my own.”

“That’s convenient.”

“And ensures I never go thirsty.”

Sora sat down on the deck next to the keg, filled her mug, and with a sore and weary sigh, slowly eased back against the mainmast.

“There’s plenty of room on the bench,” I told her.

“I’m good right where I am.” Sora took a long drink and nodded appreciatively. “A fine brew. My compliments to your cousin.”

I pushed on the tap and started refilling my tankard. “Phaelan thinks a happy crew is a loyal crew.”

“This would certainly help. And you’re sitting here getting yourself happy because…?”

“I’m scared and I’m confused, and I’m overwhelmed by what I’m scared of and confused about.”

Sora’s brow creased in concentration. “That almost made sense.”

“Thank you.”

“And will emptying that keg make you any less confused, scared, and overwhelmed?”

“No, but-”

“Let’s see… One, you’re alive. And considering present circumstances, you used up half a dozen miracles making that one happen. Two, so you’ve got people after you.” She dismissively waved her hand. “They’re all assholes.”

“Powerful assholes,” I reminded her. I think my words were starting to slur.

Sora took another healthy swig. “All that means is they can blow more gas.”

I had to laugh, even though it hurt my head. “I don’t think Carnades blows gas.”

“You’re right. Too tight-assed.” She paused with a knowing grin. “Third, and the main reason you’re trying to drown yourself in a keg, you’ve got man problems.”

I saw no reason to deny it. “On top of all my others. And it’s not a man problem-it’s a men problem.”

Sora nodded. “Ah. Let me guess-two men, one you, and a lot of confusion in between. Seen it before.”

“Not like this, you haven’t. And it’s not like I’ve had time to sit around and make a list of pros and cons.”

“You don’t need a list. What’s your gut tell you?”

I grimaced and burped. “That I should have stopped two tankards ago.” I leaned forward and dropped my face into the hand not holding the ale. “And being anywhere near me is going to get them both killed.”

“Both meaning Mychael Eiliesor and Tamnais Nathrach?”

“That would be them.” My words were muffled against my hand.

“First of all, I’d like to congratulate you on some damn fine taste in men.”

“Thank you.”

“So you’re saying that you’re not interested in either one of them?”

I lifted my head and regretted it. “I’m saying that I can’t be .”

“You can tell yourself that until you’re blue in the face.” She indicated my ale mug. “Or in your case, throbbing in the head. All the ale on this island isn’t going to change how you feel here.” She took the hand that wasn’t holding her mug and poked herself twice in the center of her chest. I think she was swaying, or maybe it was me. “I take it that’s the source of your confusion?”