Stacia Kane - Demon Inside

He didn’t move, didn’t change his position at all, which in itself told her the question had thrown him. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me.”

“You mean vregonis in general, or me specifically?”

“Both.”

“A lot of us smoke.”

“But you don’t. Not often.” She knew he did sometimes—though not generally around her—but she’d never really thought of it as something he would do for…well, for his health. The thought would have amused her if she wasn’t so nervous.

“Not as a rule, no. Too obvious.”

“But, I mean, how does it…work?”

“It’s energy.” He shifted position, leaning back a little to glance at the brothers. They hadn’t moved. “Some things have more than others, but we all need to consume some of it. Like calories, but power instead.”

“So earlier, with Maldon…it was energy he wanted or just blood? I mean, do blood demons just feed on blood, or do they get energy from other places too?”

“He wanted blood.”

“Because he’s a blood demon or because—”

“Blood demons like blood.”

She ignored the flatness of his tone. “But the other night when you got shot…is one of your demons a blood demon? Because he wanted your blood, remember?”

He paused. “Some demons consider it a…an honor, to be allowed blood. An intimacy.”

It fell into place then. His refusal to look at her, his tension, his anger—it had seemed excessive, hadn’t it, over something that hadn’t appealed to her but hadn’t seemed like such a huge thing, especially not in the demon world.

“He took something intimate from me,” she whispered, turning so she could look at him. When he didn’t reply, she continued. “Something you’ve never had.”

Silence stretched between them, prickly and rough, before he spoke. “Yes.”

“Do you, I mean—”

“Why Miss Chase, are you trying to seduce me?” He smiled, but she hadn’t missed the quick gleam of red in his eyes before he blinked. “Don’t worry about it, Meg. It’s not a necessity. It’s not something I think about.”

He’d never really lied to her before. She had no idea if he’d just started.

The lukewarm water in the shower did nothing to improve her mood in the morning, nor did Greyson’s snide comments about the quality of the room or the stagnant sodium odor of the boys’ fast-food breakfasts. She just wanted to get the day over with so the next day would end too and she could go home.

At least she’d remembered her own toiletries and, even better, at least Spud was waiting with hair dryer and brush when she stepped out of the dingy bathroom. She might be a pariah, but she didn’t have to look like one.

Megan had never considered herself a vain person, or one for whom appearances were that important. But she couldn’t help feeling a little smug. With the exception of Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud, who always looked like they were about to start cleaning their fingernails with knives, everyone she was bringing to this funeral was eminently presentable. She was the least attractive of the bunch.

The thought might have made her smile on any other day, when the memories of last night and her own confusion didn’t hang over her like carcasses in a butcher-shop window. Instead she watched herself solemnly in the mirror while Spud fixed her hair, and wished she was somewhere else, anywhere else. That it was this time next week—which she realized with a shock would be the day after Christmas—and she was alone in the woods with Greyson, drinking cocktails and watching the fire with his head in her lap.

She kept that image in her mind, focused on it, and held it there while she put on her dress and shoes, while she sat on the edge of the bed and watched Greyson shave, while they drove to the church, the brothers following in her car.

The white cross reaching into the winter-gray sky reminded her, with a sharp stab of humiliation, of her adventure at Holy Innocents the night before. It felt as if years had passed since then, but she didn’t think she would ever forget the image of the priest turning his back on her. Just as well, really. In the hard light of day she couldn’t imagine what she’d thought she would gain from it. If God really had power over demons, her escorts wouldn’t be preparing to walk into United Methodist with her.

If God really had power over demons, she wouldn’t be able to walk in herself. It had been foolish, really, one last momentary childish desire for reassurance, and if life had taught her anything it was that looking for others to help her gained her nothing.

She looked around for her mother and brother, but didn’t see them. Instead she saw what looked like hundreds of pairs of eyes, drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet. Vaguely familiar faces frowned in disapproval. She clutched Greyson’s hand more tightly and leaned back against the car, letting Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud close in a tight little half circle around them.

“Do you want to go in now, or wait?” Greyson’s lips brushed the top of her head. “Get in the car and go home?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied shakily. “Let’s wait a couple of minutes, okay? I want Brian and Tera to come with us.”

He gave her hand a quick squeeze and she went back to watching the crowd, a familiar anger rising in her chest. Who the hell were they to stare at her in disapproval? To pass judgment on her? This was her father’s funeral, damn it. She had a right to be here. Every right in the world.

The sun broke through the clouds, weak but welcome just the same. Megan rummaged in her purse for her sunglasses, and slipped them on just as Brian’s car pulled into the crowded lot.

It took only a moment for him to park and another few for him and Tera to get out and head for them, but even at this distance Megan saw Tera’s face set in tense, angry lines. Tera was her friend, but Tera was about as empathetic as a spider; what on earth about this funeral angered her?

Witches were almost as difficult to read as demons, but Megan didn’t need her abilities—as little used as they were these days—to feel Tera’s anger. It expressed itself in every stiff muscle in her body as she hugged Megan and nodded to everyone else. It wasn’t until Brian’s lips brushed Megan’s cheek that Tera spoke.

“Two of my witches died the other night, Greyson. What do you know about it?”

Excuse me?”

“Don’t ‘excuse me’ me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What makes you think—”

“They were Templeton Black’s nighttime guards, Grey. Now they’re dead, and it looks like a demon killing. Their…” Tera swallowed. “Their bodies were mutilated.”

Greyson shrugged. “What a great loss to the world.”

“Wait a minute. Templeton Black’s guards? But they—”

She didn’t need Greyson’s hand to tighten painfully on hers to stop talking. The church and the funeral about to begin inside had disappeared. Instead she was back on the cold city street while Ktana Leyak reached into one man’s chest and ripped out his heart; she and Brian exchanged worried glances.

“M’lady, we oughter get inside,” Maleficarum said, shifting on his feet and nodding toward the church. The parking lot was almost empty of people now.

Tera glanced at the church, then back at all of them. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“Of course not. That would imply sensitivity to Megan’s loss,” Greyson said.

Tera ignored him. “But we should go in.”

Together they made their way up the sidewalk and through the wide, polished double doors of the church, closed to the winter air. Megan gasped.

About half the pews were full of mourners, their backs in dark clothing looking like fat crows perched on planks, but she barely saw them. Her gaze was drawn upward instead, to the railings of the choir loft, to the ornate pillars in lengthwise rows up the sides of the building.