by Ivy Asher
I stare confused, panting through my panic as a room starts to take shape all around me. Sunlight streams through the walls of windows surrounding me, and I get the distinct impression I’m in a high-rise building. Large, framed artwork decorates the walls, but the images are demonic and gory. Large potted plants take up the corners, and I swear one of them looks like it’s eating a bird. A massive dark blue couch sits in what looks like a waiting area, the color of the sofa so rich that I feel like I’m staring into the depths of space directly. The room is frigid, luxuriously decorated, and definitely not the church that haunts me more than I wish it did.
Oh god, please don’t let this place be worse.
Muda’s mussed up black hair pops up on the other side of the secretary’s desk first. He shoots me a scathing look as he scrambles to his feet, and a sheepish realization laps at me. Out of nowhere, a large boom tears through the room, and just when I think I have a grip on my fright, a pair of arched bone-white doors are thrown open and a massive demon stomps out of them.
“What the fuck is going on out here?” it snarls, leveling the entire room with a black glare that makes my blood run cold and my skin prickle with the need to get the hell out of here. “Visha, you know I like to rest my eyes for at least twenty minutes after the masseuse has left. Are you trying to get gutted?” the demon roars, and I flinch from the overwhelming sound of it.
The demon’s eyes snap from where Muda and the secretary are scrambling to get back on their feet to me. I stare into enraged black eyes set in a blood red face. The shape of its nose and mouth are eerily animalistic, like it’s a lycan whose face is trapped mid-shift. A black crown sits on the demon’s head, but as I look at it, I realize they’re actually horns that form the shape of a crown. Shoulder-length wavy black hair touches the fabric of an ornate and over-the-top looking suit. I can’t tell if that’s a uniform of some sort or if it hired Michael Jackson’s stylist after the singer died. Four arms, each bent at the elbow, rest on its waist, the posture clearly communicating annoyance, and I try not to stare at them. I’m tempted to think of the demon as a he, but there’s an androgyny about the being, that makes me unsure either way.
Black eyes take me in with the same level of scrutiny that I was just using, and I feel my magic rise in response.
“Mmmm, as tempting as that show of power is, put your magic away, butterfly. You don’t see me walking into your place of business and whipping my dicks out for all to see,” the demon commands, its tone even and all at once unbothered.
Dicks?
I’m not at all sure how those things are the same, but I pull back on my magic anyway, surprisingly no longer feeling threatened or under attack.
“My apologies, Sire. I’ve brought Osteomancer Osseous here to lodge a formal complaint. She caught me by surprise; it won’t happen again,” Muda rushes to explain, a simpering smile on his face, while he throws me a glare that says this better not happen again.
“It sure as hell will if you think you can just yank me around without so much as a heads-up. Priggish demon or not, ask politely next time and maybe you won’t get your ass tossed across the room,” I snap at the Linker, who simply rolls his eyes like my feelings on the matter are nothing more than an inconvenience to him.
I wonder if his boss would let me get away with tossing him around just one more time.
I eye the other demon speculatively and decide against it. It’s very tempting though, but I need to ignore the two demons for a moment, now that the immediate danger has passed, and focus on my connection with Rogan and the bombardment of panic, fear, and rage flowing from him to me. I send a wave of calm, comfort, and safety, and am immediately hit with a ripple of relief and promised retribution.
Muda and the other demon are talking, and I focus on what’s being said. I catch the tail end of Muda recapping the conversation that occurred between us in his flat in Glasgow, and the other demon is watching me calculatingly. A long black tongue snakes out of his mouth and flicks in my direction, like he’s a snake that’s scenting me, either that or he’s propositioning me for other things. Either way, I fidget uncomfortably, unable to help it.
“Breaking the Accords is a very serious accusation,” the other demon points out, rolling its freakishly long tongue back into its mouth. “If you’re making a false report, there are consequences, you know.”
I look at Muda, suddenly worried that he left that part out, but I quickly shove the apprehension I feel aside. A demon did attack me, threaten me, and then try to come after me again, which according to Muda is against the laws. I square my shoulders and nod my head.
Black eyes drink me in for a beat, and I can feel the demon trying to determine something, but I have no idea what. “Follow me then. I’ll take down your statement and have the proper channels look into it.”
I’m ushered into a massive office and sat on the other side of an ornate hemlock wood desk. I feel like I’m meeting with the CEO of some massive company instead of meeting with a demon to complain about getting picked on by another demon. The whole exchange is weird, but I suppose bureaucracy prevails in every species.
I shake my head as I look around. “Here I was thinking it was weird when I learned that the High Council had their own offices and penthouses,” I mumble as I survey the trinkets displayed on a set of glass shelves. I’m too far away to tell what anything is, but it’s not family photos or diplomas at least.
“Guess it only makes sense for demons to have advanced beyond the archaic days of our ancestors’ cabins and huts,” I go on, returning my attention back to the red demon, who’s watching me intently from his leather high-backed chair.
“Not that I know much about demons, really,” I hurry to add, realizing that what I just said might’ve been offensive. “I know that you live in another realm and apparently messing with ours is frowned upon, unless in specific cases and under a clear set of guidelines. Although I just learned that last part today,” I announce, like it should be important to the demon staring at me like I’m a fly that just landed on his food. “I have to admit though, so far I find the relationship between demons and witches all a bit confusing and way more structured than I thought it would be. As anticlimactic as this whole office experience feels, real talk, I could use a bit more of that in my life, given all the crazy ass shit I’ve been dealing with lately,” I declare as an exhausted chuckle escapes before I shut my ridiculous rambling down.
Really, brain? We just real talked a four-armed demon?
Internally, I facepalm and try not to cringe at the word vomit I spewed all over. Nope, I will not let them see me sweat.
“I must say, mancer, the reek of power on you is truly tantalizing,” the red demon declares out of nowhere.
“She has a mouth on her too that I suspect you’d find amusing,” Muda states evenly, his back to us as he stands off to the side, staring out at the city skyline, like he’s already bored with whatever is about to happen even though we haven’t even begun.
Black eyes twinkle at me, and I fight the urge to panic or try to run screaming from this office and this demon. “I don’t get over to your side of things very often anymore, but if the witches are smelling like you these days, then I will endeavor to make more of an effort.”
“They don’t,” Muda monotones, and I shoot a glare at his back.
“How much for you?” the red demon asks, his face a terrifying wall of seriousness.
I choke on air, not sure what the hell to say to that. “I...um…well...”
“Call me Dyad,” the red demon offers, as though my hesitant answer is a result of not knowing his name instead of not knowing what the fuck to say to that inappropriate question.
What in the Crone is going on here?
“Uhh...okay…right…uhhhh...Dyad...” I stammer, scrambling for a way to shut whatever is happening down without creating more problems for myself with any more demons.
I have no idea how we took this turn to I think not-ville, but I need
to turn this shit around fast. I need the demon I’m already dealing with gone, not a two-for-one deal on trouble.
No. Just...so many nos.
Dyad snaps at Muda, like a douchebag in a restaurant snaps at the server. I cringe at the lack of manners. Muda turns to me, his surly silver eyes gleaming as he huffs out a resigned sigh.
“You should consider this offer carefully, as there is no guarantee that one will be made again,” Muda tells me, his tone practiced and bored. “To be in the service of a High Demon is the highest of accomplishments. You will be offered protection and power, the likes of which you’ve never even dreamed about. The contract could be platonic. Your services could be rewarded in whatever monetary ways you see fit. Or, if you prefer, your contract could encompass all of the supreme pleasures and delights that a High Demon is capable of offering. You would have a life beyond your wildest dreams.”
Muda’s eyes are flat as he does his worst to sell me on my options, but Dyad doesn’t seem to be bothered by the lack of enthusiasm in the slightest.
“Dyad is a very virile demon possessing both male and female anatomy—some in duplicate. You are guaranteed to have everything you need at your disposal to achieve the highest tier of pleasure any being is capable of reaching.”
My eyes widen at this declaration, and I suddenly don’t know where to look.
This demon is seriously packing two dicks and a vagina in those pants? Do not look, Lennox. Curiosity killed the cat, and it sure as hell might come for an Osteomancer too.
I clear my throat, waiting to see if Muda has anything else he’d like to tell me about the High Demon Dyad, or maybe an escape plan he wants to throw my way, but he stays quiet on both fronts.
Sweat breaks out on my brow as my flighty eyes finally connect with Dyad’s black gaze.
Do not gulp, Lennox. There will be no audible gulping to the offer of two dicks, a vagina, four hands, and a whole lotta enslavement.
“Riiightttt,” I start, reeling and still trying to figure out how to navigate this insanity. “See what happened was… No...I mean, the thing is...that I am spoken for and not at all for sale,” I finally manage to get out, sounding surprisingly and impressively firmly.
Maybe too firm, I suddenly worry. Perhaps it would have been better to have gone with flattered but not in a position to accept? But it’s not like this is some rando hitting on me in the grocery store or at a darkened bar somewhere. No, firm is definitely the way to go. This is a demon trying to buy me for who knows what purposes, and I should be as clear as possible that it’s not happening. You know, while trying not to get myself killed.
Fucking hell, I am soooo out of my element right now.
I hold my breath, waiting to see if my refusal is going to have repercussions, but nothing happens. Dyad nods once, shoots Muda a look that makes me think this offer might be revisited at some point in the future, and then the High Demon clicks on a wireless mouse a couple times before returning a professional gaze back to me.
“Shame,” he tells me, disappointed.
I swallow down the you’ll get over it that tries to crawl off my tongue, and stare at him, refusing to drop my gaze and leave any doubt about where I stand on being purchased.
His black eyes deepen, but I can’t decipher what that means. “In that case then, why don’t you start from the beginning of your encounter with a demon, and we’ll see if your complaint has any merit,” Dyad croons at me, but I don’t miss the hint of a threat in those instructions. “Oh and do tell us everything. We’ll discover it all when we investigate, so save yourself any trouble, butterfly, and be forthright from the beginning.”
Yep, High Demons clearly aren’t a fan of rejection, and judging by the look on this one’s face, I might have just made another enemy.
Perfect, just freakin’ perfect.
14
“He did what?” Rogan bellows, his rage bouncing around the narrow street and causing other pedestrians to look over or scamper away.
I look around, slightly embarrassed, and hold my hands up to Rogan, indicating that he can be pissed but maybe let’s not announce it to the fine residents of Fenella Street, Glasgow.
Fury floats in his green gaze, but he quiets as he tightens his hold around my shoulders. He hasn’t stopped occupying every inch of my space since Muda popped us back into his house and then promptly kicked all of us out when the guys tried to attack him. I don’t blame them though; that demon really could use a lesson or two in manners.
“I told him no, and he didn’t bring it up again, so it’s probably fine,” I tell Rogan and the others, but Rogan’s eyes narrow on me, and if I had to guess, it’s because he just felt the trickle of trepidation that I was trying really damn hard to hide from him.
“I thought I knew about demons and what to expect, but I’m starting to think that we have no idea what we’re involved in right now,” Marx confesses, and I sigh, wishing I didn’t agree with every word he just spoke.
“The crux of my demonic education was to stay the fuck away from them. I’ve never even heard of the Accords,” Elon adds.
“I’ve heard of them,” Prek declares. “I’m sure only because it was part of my first case with the Order, but when I tried to pull up any information on what was in them, I could never find anything other than a file of fully redacted text. I pulled Muda’s information from an Order sergeant’s personal notes. They were scanned into the system from a notebook he kept. They were barely legible, but after staring at them—and a ton of other random documents—trying to piece together information, I saw the name and address sort of just pop out at me.”
“You could have warned us,” Rogan snaps at Prek reprovingly, and I stiffen.
“If I had any idea that there was anything to warn you about, I would have,” Prek barks back, clearly frustrated with all the blame coming his way. “I had no idea the guy was half demon. The title Linker was written next to his name, but I never found any information in the Order’s databases explaining what that meant. The sergeant who wrote the notes is dead. I thought Muda was simply a knowledgeable mancer, not a High Demon Ambassador.”
“It’s fine,” I cut in when Elon opens his mouth probably to argue some more. “It was an honest mistake. Marx is right, none of us have any idea what we’re dealing with, and I think it’s safe to say that’s on purpose. Either way, my complaint is filed. Dyad determined it was valid, and hopefully that means one less threat breathing down our necks.”
Mumbles of agreement sound off around me, and we grow quiet as we walk steadily toward the loading docks of Tesco and the ley line that will whisk us far away from here. The sun has long gone down, and it feels much colder here than I thought it would. It’s the kind of chill that slowly gets its clutches around you, and before you know it, you feel as though you’ll never be warm again. I shiver and Rogan wraps himself around me even more. I appreciate his efforts to make sure that I’m okay, but he’s making it difficult to walk.
I chuckle as we start to trip over each other, and despite how annoyed and angry I can feel that Rogan is, his quiet, warm laughter joins mine.
“Is that it with the demons then? They investigate the demon Jamie was working with, and we’ll never have to deal with it again?” Elon asks as he wraps his light jacket even tighter around himself.
“Muda said there will be a trial and that they may or may not require my attendance,” I tell him, trying not to cringe as I prepare to tell him the rest.
Rogan stops, pulling me to a stop next to him, and bends down until our eyes are even. I take a deep breath, letting his smell wash over me and the feel of his hands ground me.
“What are you not telling me?” he asks evenly, and I close my eyes and pull in a fortifying breath.
“They gave me a mark,” I blurt and then hurry to explain when first confusion and then fury shutter down over Rogan’s face. “They said if I’m required to attend the trial, it will summon me. If not, it will simply disappear. Then I’ll receive word so
mehow of the outcome of the trial. Although Muda made it seem that the only possible outcome would be the other demon’s death. It appears he broke several laws,” I state, and I look past Rogan’s newly enraged face to find three more sets of outraged stares.
Crap.
“You have a mark. A mark that can be used to summon you anywhere...like a demon?” Rogan demands, his voice eerily calm, and the timbre of it causes goose bumps to rise on my skin and heat to pool low in my belly.
“On the top of my foot,” I concede and watch as Rogan closes his eyes and does his best to calm the storm of rage I feel building through our tether.
“What the actual fuck, Lennox!” Rogan shouts at me, making me jump.
And clearly this asshole needs better calming techniques.
I narrow my eyes at him, pissed that he’s dumping his shit on me. I get that he’s scared and worried; I know I’d feel the exact same if a demon had stolen him away from me. However, if he thinks I’m going to just stand here and take this, that it’s okay for him to behave like this toward me, all because I can feel what’s at the heart of his issues through our connection, he’s got another thing coming.
“You know what, Rogan?” I snap. “You can just fuck right off. Seriously, off you fuck, because I have hit my limit with this shit. You act like I had all these amazing choices and instead went with the most fucked up one. This is our best shot at getting one more threat off our back, a really fucking serious one at that,” I point out.
Fury boils through our connection, and we both stand there seething. Elon tries to get Rogan to leave it alone and start walking again, but Rogan ignores him. Both Marx and Prek look like they wish they had a bowl of popcorn right now.
“You want to be pissed? Go for it. You want to feel scared and helpless? Great, join the club. Rage away if it helps you process things and work through them. But don’t you dare forget who I am to you and the kind of treatment and respect that deserves,” I yell at him, my heart pounding painfully in my chest as my throat tightens and my eyes sting.