Personal Demons

by Stacia Kane

  "Power.” She barely recognized Greyson's voice. Only her fear of what they would do to him kept her from running to him.

  "But I wasn't powerful, I couldn't even get a Ouija board to work. I only had hunches, feelings. Nothing like what I have now. He gave me this power."

  Greyson cleared his throat. “You had it. Without him."

  "But—"

  "We can discuss it later,” Templeton said. “Grey needs to save his breath. How did he do it, Megan? How did he invade your head?"

  "He made me say something.” The words were there, in her head, just out of reach.

  "Don't repeat it.” Something like fear colored Templeton's words. “Don't even think it."

  "I can't remember anyway."

  The demons exchanged glances, but didn't speak.

  "What happened next?"

  She bit her lip. “Just give me a minute, okay? Just wait a minute, let me—"

  The whip cracked again. Greyson grunted.

  "I'm telling you! I'm telling you what I know! Leave him alone!"

  "But this seems to be working so well to jog your memory.” He nodded at the man holding the whip. Another line of blood. Another soft grunt. The flames in Greyson's hands leapt.

  "What did he want, Megan? What did he want you to do?"

  "He ... he wanted me to find..."

  The hospital. The one in their town had what was still called, even in those days, a mental ward. At least, that's what the hospital called it. The citizens of the town had worse names, names that used to hurt Megan when she heard them. The people living there were less than human in the eyes of her neighbors, her teachers. They laughed and made jokes, especially when the nurses would take their patients out for the day. Megan hated that. She'd see them, these people just like her—better than her, at least these people seemed to like each other—smiling as they bought themselves a Coke or a movie ticket, and she'd remember the jokes and taunts. Her eyes would fill and she had to look away.

  The thing in her head—the Accuser—made her go there. Every night. They would stand outside the hospital. Megan hated it. The Accuser was always eager to go. It made her skin crawl, feeling his longing, his desire. Afterwards his satisfaction would come through to her too, the sensation of fullness.

  She stopped eating. She barely slept. She'd go to bed in the middle of the night and wake up a few hours later, exhausted but full of queer, swimming energy. She didn't shower, she didn't brush her teeth. Now she saw how she gave up, how she'd screamed deep inside at the horror of her guest, but then ... she was too happy. The kids were scared of her, genuinely scared, and she swallowed their fear and their secrets, feeling like the most powerful girl on the planet.

  The doctor came and she attacked him, while the voice in her head cheered her on and praised her.

  Then they sent her to the hospital. To the mental ward. And the Accuser took over.

  "He fed on despair,” she muttered. “Their unhappiness, their confusion and anger ... it's what he needed. It's why he came to me. Not just power. Sadness."

  "We're so close, Megan,” Templeton said. “I think we almost have what we need."

  The whip struck again. Greyson's ruined back was covered in blood, red as a nightmare, red as a child's finger-painting.

  Red as Harlan Trooper's face as something sliced at him, as he sat up from the bench where he'd died to curse her. More than the invisible foe he battled, the thing Megan had never seen, the sight of the blood made her sick. The sight of his body destroyed on the bench and the tiny figures flitting around just out of her conscious vision, the personal demons that in her demon-possessed state she'd been able to see, racked her body with cold, nauseating chills. The hospital food she'd eaten just before her escape came up, both from the horrible faces staring at her and the sight and smell of the blood. He'd died to save her, to help her. He'd asked her if he could help and the thing had leapt from her to kill him, so full of power was it.

  "It feeds on despair,” she gasped, swallowing hard as Greyson screamed. The tortured sound echoed through the room. One of the other Meegra heads smiled and licked his lips, and if Megan hadn't been so sick and miserable and terrified she would have leapt across the table to scratch his piercing blue eyes out.

  "What?"

  "Despair.” She folded her upper body over her legs, staring down at her feet. Her stomach felt better pressed into her thighs this way, and she could control the shivering better. “It's what he feeds on. It's where he gets his power. Despair and fear. He needs them.” He'd certainly picked the perfect job. Through the haze of sweat, blood, and tears, Megan thought of the poor people at Fearbusters. How much of their energy had Art stolen so far?

  And the personal demons worked for him. They created the despair he needed to live...

  Templeton nodded. “You believe the Accuser is controlling the Yezer Ha-Ra? An interesting idea, Megan. Greyson was right to say you're smart."

  "Isn't that enough? Can't you stop hurting him?"

  "Almost.” Templeton checked his watch. The bastard. “I have another appointment in an hour or so."

  How he thought Greyson could take this for another hour she had no idea, unless he intended Greyson to die. Which was entirely possible, wasn't it?

  She couldn't let that happen. Greyson's back looked like so much meat when she dared to glance at it, the kilt soaked red all the way down his thighs.

  "But I don't know anything else,” she managed. “I don't know how I got him out of me. We were in the park and I wanted him to go, to leave me alone, and Harlan Trooper was there, and I saw them, the personal demons I guess, and ... I was so angry, and I don't know how it happened but I kicked him out. And he killed Harlan, and he was in Harlan's body, and he wanted back into mine but I..."

  Something flashed in front of her eyes, something tall and dark and covered with blood, a face that wouldn't come into focus. Its mouth opened, and she fell into it, and all she saw was blackness as its teeth closed around her.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The room was so dark that for a moment Megan thought she was still in the horrible mouth, and she sat up with a smothered half-scream. As her eyes adjusted, though, she realized light came through heavy-curtained windows, and beneath her the sheets were soft and smelled of lavender. Not the mouth, not home, and not at Greyson's place either. So where—

  Ah. She must still be at Templeton's house, at Iureanlier Sorithell. She crawled out from under the covers, ignoring the pain in her head, and crept over to the window.

  The moon hovered cold overhead, its glow lost in the floodlights illuminating the house and grounds. It looked as if Templeton was preparing for an enemy invasion.

  Or like he thought the enemy was already within his walls and he was lighting the prison yard to prevent their escape.

  She had no idea where Greyson was or if he was even alive. She assumed so. She had a vague memory of hearing his voice again after she'd passed out.

  Someone walked across the lawn below. Megan shrank back behind the curtains to watch, but she didn't recognize that face. A guard, probably. She was right. It would be almost impossible for her to get out of the house without being seen.

  She had to try, though, didn't she? She couldn't stay here and let Templeton force her to finish the story, to fill in the gaps. He had the highlights. She hoped he choked on them.

  Not wanting to turn on a light, she used the bathroom, then hunted for her shoes. Those damn boots the brothers picked were not appropriate for sneaking out of a fortress, but if she got out and back onto the street she would need them.

  There was no phone in the room, of course. No phone, no matches or candles, no weapons of any kind, not even a heavy vase. Except for the little pepper-spray can she didn't carry anything weapon-like in her purse, either. She didn't even have a cell phone like everyone else in the world. Why bother? Nobody ever called her.

  She picked the purse up and swung it over her shoulder, then tried the door of the room. It
opened with a faint click. They hadn't locked her in. Should she be pleased or worried by that? She was worried enough already—her muscles refused to relax—so she decided to take it as luck and keep moving.

  The hall was dark. Worse, Megan had no idea where in the house she stood. Looking out the window had told her she was upstairs and in the back, but how did she get to the front? Did she dare try the front door anyway?

  There had to be servants’ quarters of some kind somewhere. Maybe a back staircase, or even a servant's entrance. She'd keep an eye out for it.

  She headed off to her left, her feet silent on the carpeted floor. She could barely see, so she pressed her shoulder against the wall and tiptoed along.

  Voices echoed behind her, and a light switched on. Someone was coming up the stairs.

  Megan grabbed the nearest door handle. It opened, and she flung herself into the room, pulling the door shut as quietly as she could. If someone slept in here ... well, she would be caught anyway.

  The room had the unused feel of a guest bedroom. The dim light through the windows outlined a bed, a desk, a table with a lamp. Generic furniture. The voices outside grew louder, and she tensed, crouching to the floor with her side hugging the wall. If they opened the door they wouldn't see her right away.

  They didn't, though. They continued walking. She recognized Templeton Black's voice, but not the other. He'd mentioned an appointment, was this his guest? Or simply one of his employees?

  To her left stood another door. A bathroom? Still clutching her purse and boots, she sneaked over and opened it.

  No bathroom. Just another bedroom. Megan wondered if it was possible to get to the end of the hall without ever venturing into it. Worth a try, anyway.

  She listened carefully at each door, but her luck ran out just the same. The last room was occupied, and the figure huddled under the covers on the bed saw her before she could close the door. This room did have a bathroom; the light coming from it seemed brighter than it should have to her dilated eyes.

  "Meg?” His voice was gravelly, either from sleep or from earlier, but it still sounded wonderful.

  "Greyson."

  He struggled to sit, his chest wrapped in bandages. “Come to kiss me better?"

  She didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or hit him. “Do you honestly think it would help?"

  "It might. Let's try."

  His skin was still too cool, and it was awkward to kiss him without touching his back, but that didn't stop her from thoroughly enjoying herself. He pulled away too soon.

  "Hmmm,” he said. “Why don't you come up here on the bed with me? I have a few other places you could kiss. I'm sure that's all I need to be back on the road to perfect health."

  "I think you should save your energy,” she replied with a shaky laugh.

  "Oh, no. I've been in bed all evening. I have plenty of energy, see?” He pulled her onto the bed and grabbed her hand, sliding it along his bare skin under the sheets so she could feel his arousal. His kiss cut off her protest.

  The need to escape warred with the needs of her body as he stroked her thigh, his hand rising a little higher each time.

  "Take off these stockings,” he murmured. “And everything else. We've time before they'll want us again. I want you now."

  It took her a minute to register his words through the thick syrupy lust making her body heavy and warm, but when she did, she pulled back so fast she almost fell off the bed. “What? What do you mean, before they want us again?"

  "They haven't finished questioning you. Or punishing me."

  "Oh, god.” She reached for the light, then thought better of it. “You mean ... they're going to do that to you again?"

  "Probably for days, off and on. So it's even more important that you get those clothes off. You don't want to send me back down there without some lovely new memories, do you?"

  The tone was teasing, but Megan couldn't focus on it. The thought of watching that disgusting performance again ... she shuddered.

  "I can't,” she whispered. “I can't go through that again."

  "No offence, bryaela, but I think my part is a bit more difficult than yours, don't you? Come help me build up my strength."

  "You are the most single-minded man I've ever met."

  "It's going to happen, whether we like it or not, so there's no point worrying about it."

  "I can't help worrying about it."

  "Then let me distract you.” His hand slid back up her thigh, all the way up to press between her legs. Her eyes closed.

  "See,” he said, moving his fingers slightly, “there are much nicer things to think about, aren't there? Let's take off these clothes, and I'll tell you a lovely story about exactly what I'm going to do to you, and how much you're going to enjoy it. It has a very satisfying ending, I promise."

  "Doesn't your back hurt?"

  "It's not too bad. They basically healed me up before they brought me in here, the bandages are just to keep the ointment on. They don't want to kill me, just hurt me.” His thumb zeroed in on the spot he knew would be the most effective. “You could make me feel even better."

  She shivered. If she didn't put a stop to this now, she never would, and they'd still be here when Templeton came back for them later. “Greyson, I want to escape, I want us to get out of here, not sink ourselves in."

  "Meg ... there's no way out of here. Every exit is guarded. The gates are guarded. The fence is patrolled. I've been here more times than I can remember since childhood and nobody has ever left without permission from the Gretneg. Not ever."

  "Then we can be the first."

  He removed his hands from her body and sat still for a minute. “Where do you plan to go?"

  She hadn't thought of that, and she guessed it was plain on her face.

  "Uh-huh. You can't escape here and go home, they'll be waiting. We can't go back to my place, they'll watch there, too. In fact, I can't think of a single place in this city or in the state where they won't be watching."

  "Then we'll leave the state."

  "I didn't think running away was quite your style."

  "I can't do it again. I just can't."

  "Sooner or later you're going to have to, you know."

  "What, watch you get whipped?"

  "No.” He slid an arm around her shoulders and she leaned over, snuggling into his chest. The bandages were soft under her cheek, and beneath them his heart thumped reassuringly. “You're going to have to remember the Accuser. How you got rid of him. How you got rid of your personal demons. You know that."

  "I don't want to."

  "If we all only did what we wanted to do, the world would be a very inefficient and scary place. I thought you were braver than this. Don't tell me my faith was unfounded."

  She pulled away, wanting to argue with him, but she couldn't find the words. Not because there were none to speak, but because he was right. And he knew it.

  "Okay,” she said finally, with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. “Okay. But please ... please don't ask me to remember it here, while they beat you. Let's go, let's get out of here, and—we'll go to Tera. The Vergadering can keep us safe, right?"

  "They might,” he said. “But for how long? And what would they want from you in exchange?"

  "It can't be worse."

  "You don't know that."

  "Look, I know you guys have a lot of problems with them, but that doesn't mean—"

  The knock at the door interrupted her. Megan hopped off the bed, looking desperately for a place to hide, but Greyson grabbed her wrist. “Come in."

  She didn't recognize the man standing in the doorway. “Mr. Dante, is Miss Chase—oh. You're both wanted in the dining room in fifteen minutes."

  "Thank you.” Greyson turned to her. “Why did you leap off the bed like that?"

  "I didn't think I was supposed to be in here."

  "They left your door unlocked, bryaela. Oh.” His lips twitched. “You thought you'd done something daring, di
dn't you?"

  She snatched her hand away. “Don't make fun of me,” she said.

  "Sorry. An honest mistake."

  "What does that mean, anyway? Bryaela?"

  He checked the clock by the bed. “Just a casual endearment. You'd better go get ready. I need to get dressed myself."

  "Do you need help?"

  "Not unless you want to help me with something else first.” He raised his eyebrows.

  "I don't."

  "You're no fun at all sometimes. Go get dressed, then, and I'll be at your room shortly. And Meg?"

  "Yes?"

  "Don't be scared."

  * * * *

  He must have kept some clothes at the house, because the suit he wore when he arrived at her room was not the same one he'd worn earlier. She, of course, had to make do with the same outfit, one she was rapidly beginning to loathe. The colors had to be significant, and she couldn't help thinking Greyson was keeping something from her.

  Candles burned in metal sconces all along the hall, their glow warming her. Fire was Greyson now, his quick smile and the confident tone of his voice, the smoky scent of his skin and his strong arms around her. She wondered if she'd ever be able to see it another way, and drew strength from the flames as they walked past them to the wide staircase.

  Her boots clicked on the wide marble stairs as they descended into the empty cavern of the main hall. Greyson must have felt her tense, because he squeezed her hand.

  "It will all be over soon,” he said.

  "That's comforting."

  "Take it as you will."

  "How can you be so calm?"

  He stopped. Megan would have stumbled if his grip on her hadn't been so tight. “I'm calm because I have to be,” he said. “I'm calm because I've done everything I can do."

  She stood on the step beside him. Now he stepped down one, so their faces were level. “You won't fail me.” His dark eyes stared into hers, stripping her bare. “I know you won't."

  "That's gre—"

  His power poured over her as their lips met, filling her, but there was nowhere for it to go, no release she could find. So she just let it grow and throb within her as his hands tangled her hair and his tongue slipped into her mouth. They were both gasping when he pulled away. “Time for the fun to start."