Stacia Kane - Demon Inside

But a small voice in her head refused to let her, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Greyson’s. What did it matter? The man was dead. He’d never really been much of a father and now he was gone. Why should she try to know him when he’d never tried to know her?

The man they buried today had died to her thirteen years ago when she’d gone to college. Before that, even. This was just the final period on a sentence that ended long before, so what did it matter?

That wasn’t right. She should care. She should be sad.

Instead she was bored. And that thought, more than any other, brought tears to her eyes.

Beside her Greyson turned and murmured something to Malleus, who got up and crossed behind them. Going to set things up with Orion, she guessed.

Rustlings and gentle scrapings indicated that everyone else in the church was getting up too. Was the service over?

No. The mourners were lining up in the center aisle, getting ready to go say their good-byes.

Megan tensed in her seat. Should she go up? If she did everyone would watch, but if she didn’t they would all wonder why she wasn’t going, and would stare even more.

“Are you actually supposed to get up and just stare at his dead body?” Tera whispered, leaning across Brian. “I mean, isn’t that a little weird?”

“It’s…you’re supposed to say a prayer, or something,” Megan said.

“But you don’t put anything in the casket with him, or touch him or anything?”

“Well, not as a rule, I guess.”

Tera rolled her eyes. “Regulars are so confusing.”

Several people glanced at her as she said it; Megan bit her lip to keep from laughing while a rush of affection for her friend flowed through her. The combination of Tera’s comment and Greyson’s earlier about not needing these people seemed to coalesce in her head in that moment and a weight she hadn’t really known was there lifted. She was no less hurt, no less angry or scared, but she had people who cared about her.

It wasn’t only that either. The service was over, she’d made it through the worst of it, her last public appearance in Grant Falls. Relief made her giddy. Her chest swelled with warmth, her vision seemed sharper.

The church emptied around them while Megan sat and enjoyed, for the first time in days, the feeling of being absolutely in control, absolutely safe. Her demons still crowded the ceiling, there for her. Six people flanked her sides, there for her. It felt good. She smiled to herself and squeezed Greyson’s hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” She didn’t look at him, though. She was too busy looking around, thinking about how she’d never have to see this place again, about all those people with their petty worries and miseries, the blackness in their tiny hearts, how insignificant they were compared to her.

“I’m ready.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt.

“Meg, maybe—”

“I’m fine,” she said again. “Just need to pay my respects, right?”

Greyson’s hand tightened on hers, but she shook it off and squeezed her way past Brian and Tera into the aisle. Her mother and Dave stood there; Dave’s arm was around Diane’s shoulders and her head was bent, her handkerchief pressed to her face.

“Megan,” Dave said. “I, uh…”

“Sure, Dave. Excuse me.” She brushed past them, lowering her shields a tad as she did so she could feel their shock and pain. Ha, served them right. Silly little things, so worried about their stupid miserable lives, about the opinions of others and their social standing in this piss-ant town…just like her father had been. Just like they all were.

It seemed to take no time at all to reach the front of the church, as if she had glided up the aisle rather than walked. Behind her she heard her friends talking to each other in low urgent whispers, but she ignored them.

Smooth, cold wood pressed against her palms as she curled her fingers around the edge of the coffin. There he was. Her father.

Older than she remembered him, of course. Despite the yearly Christmas photo she still tended to think of him as he’d been when she’d last seen him. Now the years sat plainly on his still, cold face. Even plainer was the truth; this wasn’t her father. He was really gone, and in death he was no less remote to her than he’d been in life.

So sad. She started to whisper it, thinking it might be funny to hear it out loud, to let him know she was too strong for him to hurt now, when the truth of what was happening hit her.

She squeezed the wood, suddenly terrified. This wasn’t her, having these thoughts, standing over the dead body of her father and wanting to laugh. This was someone else, someone cold who lurked inside her, someone who’d taken advantage of her relaxed and wandering mind to lower her shields and open herself to the energy of her demons.

She’d sat in that pew and fed on the mourners. It was their sadness, their pain, making her high.

Footsteps beat a muffled, quick tempo on the floor of the aisle behind her. Her knees gave out, and she fell into Maleficarum’s arms just a second before the world disappeared.

“It was tribute, Megan. They didn’t know it would upset you,” Rocturnus said again. Megan turned around to look at him, perched on the backseat of Greyson’s car. “They were trying to make you feel better, to pay you for letting them be there.”

“Yeah, I feel great now.”

“They thought you might punish them for staying through the whole service if they didn’t.”

“They know I’m not going to punish them,” she snapped. “Why can’t they just get—”

“They don’t know that, and even if they did they would still wish it wasn’t so, and you know it. They need their lives to be run in a certain way.”

“Then maybe we should just let them. Let them go be with someone who’ll beat them regularly, and leave me alone.”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Greyson said, speaking for the first time since he’d put her in the car. She cringed, thinking of it. Everyone gathered outside, waiting for the casket to be loaded into the hearse for its trip to the cemetery…Just as well she hadn’t planned on going.

“Why not? I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of it, the misery being pushed on me and I’m supposed to be pleased, and the crazy urges—”

“Urges?”

Shit, she hadn’t told him about any of the other stuff, had she? One more thing she was hiding from him. “Their crazy urges to have me punish them. What did you think I meant?”

He shrugged, but she didn’t like the quick sidelong glance he gave her. “Just asking.”

“So why isn’t it a good idea?”

“Well, aside from the very real possibility that you could die, there’s a distinct chance you’ll die.”

“Why?”

“Because, and I thought we all understood this, they’re connected to you. Physically connected. They’re part of your body. Remove them, remove that piece of demon inside you, and you remove your heart. Aside from the metaphysical issues—you could conceivably lose your soul—the physical effects would be devastating.”

Fuck. “But some of them have been leaving, right? And a few have died themselves. So I don’t get it.”

“They’re connected to you as a whole, not individually. Think of it as—as a flower, for lack of a more manly example. A few petals can fall off and it still looks like a flower, but if too many petals go, it’s nothing.”

“So without them, I’ll be nothing.”

“Yes.”

Roc shifted in his seat, breaking the gloomy silence. “Megan, they’ll be waiting. Can I give them your thanks?”

“What? Shit. You might as well. Tell them it was great to see them there, and, um, I’m pleased they came.” She was, even though she felt like someone had just slapped her. They really were trying to help.