by E J Frost
Noisy little fucker, isn’t he?
I press the quilt tight against my ears. Please, I don’t want to hear this.
Why? It’s just sex. A pause during which the man screams ecstatically. That’s it. He’s coming. Want a taste?
God, no.
The demon’s presence in my mind suddenly swells. Larger, warmer, somehow more defined. More him. The weight on me grows, too, becoming more real, more solid. I can smell him. Sweat and leather and that hint of hot ginger. I feel the brush of his mouth across mine, very warm, very real. An electric tingle runs through me.
My wrist stops hurting for the first time since he broke it.
Mmm, tasty. Not as tasty as you’ll be. But pretty tasty. A nine volt, I’d say. The demon’s wicked chuckle fills my head.
I curl into a ball around my healed wrist. Please stop this.
Go back to sleep, witchy-poo. I’ll keep the kid quiet for the next round. Give him something to choke on.
I squeeze my eyes shut. There’s no way I’m going to get back to sleep, even if it’s as silent as a tomb next door.
The demon’s lips brush my cheek. Nighty-night.
Sleep crashes down like a curtain falling.
I wake to golden light and the sounds of traffic.
Nine-something, my bedside clock reads, the red digits partially obscured by the petals of the blue rose that’s somehow made it to my bedside table.
I throw myself out of bed. Shit, I’ve overslept. Again. And in a foolish fit of optimism, I actually scheduled a ten o’clock appointment today. New clients, too. Being late never makes a good impression.
I rush through showering. In the bathroom mirror, my face looks less damaged than last night. I guess even a broken night’s sleep is nature’s best medicine. While I brush my teeth, I glare at my newly monotone hair. I hate my flat, brown, peasant hair. I’ll have to remember to pick up another highlighting kit from CVS today.
As I hurry from bathroom to bedroom, I glance down the hallway. The door to my guest bedroom is open. The bed’s empty. Neatly made.
I grind my teeth. One less thing to hate him for. Why couldn’t he be a messy demon? It’s easier to hate him for small things than the big things. Invading my house. Having sex with a strange man in my guest bedroom. Angling for my soul.
I throw on the first clothes to hand. Cargo pants, a tee, a sweater. All in shades of blue. That counts as matching in my book. They’ll be mostly covered by my work smock anyway, so if the sweater’s getting a little ragged at the hem, no one will notice.
I run downstairs, pulling on my socks as I go.
“Eggs, witchy-poo,” the demon calls from the kitchen.
His voice stops me in mid-step. I thought he’d be gone. No such luck, obviously.
“I’m late. No time.”
“I already called your office. Lin’s taking your ten o’clock.” His wicked chuckle. “Your receptionist has a thing for me. Think she’d be interested in a deal? What’s she want? Health, wealth and happiness?”
I storm into the kitchen. “Leave Evonne alone!”
The demon looks up from where he’s scooping scrambled eggs out of a pan onto two plates. “It was a joke, witchy-poo. Your receptionist’s cute, but she doesn’t have enough juice to light a five-watt bulb. Not my type.”
I cross my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the good smells of scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee. Oh, God, he made coffee. “What is your type—?” I begin acidly.
The demon lifts a dark eyebrow. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
“You!” I spit. “You and your rudeness and your presumption—”
“Presumption?” He tilts his head and considers me for a moment. “Presumption, huh.”
“This is my house.”
“No question. If it was my place, I’da never picked those blinds.” He nods at the kitchen blinds, which I inherited from the previous owners.
I grind my teeth and glare at him.
He balances the two plates in one hand and strolls over to the kitchen table. He moves like a cat, all slow-rolling muscles and the sense of strength lazily contained. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black jeans, unbuttoned, and my tooth around his neck. His skin gleams in the morning light. There’s a huge hickey on his right shoulder. He looks disgustingly pleased with himself. “Huevos rancheros,” he says, putting the plates down. “Eat up.”
“Fuck you!”
He leans against the table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Right now? Mind if we eat first? I’m kinda hungry. Long night.”
I glare at him, my jaw working. “I want you out.”
“This ain’t about me bein’ here. This is about last night.”
“I don’t give a shit about last night,” I spit.
“You’re a lousy fucking liar. It bugged you that I got laid, didn’t it? What’s wrong, witchy-poo? You feelin’ lonely? Did listening to me fuck that kid make you itchy?” He runs his hand along the open vee of his jeans, dipping his fingers down beneath the denim. “’Cause I can help you scratch that itch.”
“As if I’d let that anywhere near me after where it’s been! I want you out of my house!”
He watches me for a moment, his eyes glowing. Then he slides around the table and sits down in front of one plate. He picks up a fork – a silver fork from my Dala’s wedding set – and begins eating lazily.
“Get out!” I scream at him.
“No,” he says quietly. “An’ screamin’ at me ain’t gonna make any difference.”
I hate him in that moment. I’ve never hated anyone or anything. Except maybe Republicans. But I hate him.
Hate me all you want. Hate tastes almost as good as lust.
I stagger. His voice in my head is a shock. As is the sense of him licking his mental lips.
Sit down and eat your eggs.
I glare at them. I don’t want anything he’s made. “They’ll be cold,” I say grudgingly.
He reaches out and holds his hand above the plate. Steam rises from the pile of eggs to curl around his fingers. He glances up at me.
Grimacing, I sit down and pick up my fork.
“So, a real live homophobe,” the demon says.
“I’m not homophobic.” I spear a bite of eggs. Taste them reluctantly. God, they’re good. The eggs are creamy. The salsa adds bite. A dollop of sour cream smoothes away the heat. He can really cook.
“Coulda fooled me.” He picks up a piece of bacon. Crunches it thoughtfully.
“I have lots of gay friends.” Well, one gay friend. But that’s not the point. “I’m not homophobic. I am against you having sex with strange men in my guest bedroom.”
He shrugs. “I told you I was gonna get laid. Since I don’t know anyone except you and you won’t gimme any, yet.” He leers around the bacon. “That pretty much means I’d be fucking a stranger, don’t it?”
I shake my head in disgust. “What did you do, pick him up in a bar in Harvard Square?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“That’s an excellent way to get a sexually-transmitted disease. I hope you practiced safe sex.”
The demon finally bristles. “I don’t get human diseases. Are you always this much of a fucking prude?”
“I’m not a prude,” I snap back.
“You’re doin’ a good imitation of one.”
“Oh, excuse me if I’m offended by what you did last night. You preyed on that boy—”
The demon throws his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “He sought me out. Asked to come home with me. An’ he had the night of his life. What’s so wrong with that? What offends your delicate sensibilities?”
“What offends me,” I grit. “Is that you did it in my house. And that that boy—”
“He was twenty-fuckin’-three—”
I ignore him. College kids lie about their age all the time. “Is now damned because of a one-night stand.”
The demon rises and growls across the table at me. “What do you know abou
t damnation? I gave him what he wanted. He wanted a wild night. He got one. He wants to graduate at the top of his class. He will. He’ll be everything he wants. Successful. Rich. And, yeah, I get his soul. You know what? He’ll never miss it. He’ll always figure he got the best end of the deal. You make me sick. Sittin’ there, bottling up all that power. Starin’ down your nose at everyone. Thinkin’ you know everything. Well, I got news for you, witchy-poo, you don’t know fuck-all.”
He picks up his empty plate and stalks to the sink.
I glare at his back, furious, but also, smarting. He’s struck a nerve. Left my lower lip trembling and my eyes stinging with tears. I take a few more bites of the eggs, but they’re tasteless now. I push the plate away and rise from my chair.
“I’m going to work,” I say, swallowing hard to keep my voice even.
The demon turns off the water, but remains standing at the sink with his broad back to me. “You do that.”
“Are you, uh—” I really don’t want to leave him in my house, but I don’t know how to get him to go.
“Dinner’s at six-thirty. Don’t be late.”
His presumption firms my chin. I put my hands on my hips and glare at his back. “You don’t dictate my—”
“Fuck off, witchy-poo. Before you succeed in pissing me off.”
A gout of steam rises from the sink. I’m pretty sure that it has nothing to do with the heat from the tap. I swallow hard and back towards the door. “Okay. Bye.”
“Have a nice day,” the demon says darkly.
I edge out of the kitchen, and, when my nerve breaks at the thought of what he might do if I really have pushed him too far, grab my Keds from the shoe pile beside the door and run for the train.
Lin’s busy when I finally get to the office. Other than the ten o’clock she’s covered for me, my day’s clear until five, when I have a particularly tricky case coming in for a second consultation. Since we’re running low on magic milk, and since I didn’t get to have any of the demon’s coffee, I head straight for my hearth room after checking in with Evonne.
No messages. Guess Wen-Long didn’t manage to reach his friend.
In my hearth room, I spend a long time setting up. Making a new besom out of oak and hazel twigs. Walking the pentacle and circles. I don’t usually call the corners when I’m brewing, but today I feel the need for reassurance. I dance the last circle and feel the elements swirl around me. I don’t need any extra protection when I’m brewing – my hearth room is heavily warded and the three circles would keep out anything that got through the wards – so I don’t summon any elementals.
I’m more than a little surprised when a salamander appears anyway. It blinks its tiny snake eyes at me and coils itself over the point of the pentacle closest to the door.
I bow to it. “I’m honored, but I didn’t call. I don’t have anything for you.” I don’t keep any gifts for Elementals at the office, since I never call them here. And I’m too afraid of accidentally touching the demon’s mind if I reach for any of the things I have at home. “I can share power with you, if you’d like.”
The salamander flicks out a black tongue and blinks placidly. I take that as a ‘yes’ and light the burner under my cauldron.
The salamander has fallen asleep, its reptilian head resting on its crossed claws, by the time Lin comes in. It flicks its tail in its sleep when the door opens, but doesn’t lift its head. “Some protector,” I whisper, bemused.
Lin edges toward my worktable, keeping a respectful distance from the little Elemental. “I’ve only seen pictures of those,” she whispers.
“They’re cute. Until they spit fire at you.”
“Not housetrained?”
“No. This one seems pretty docile, though.”
“So docile it’s asleep. Why’s it here?”
I’m not clear on that myself. I shrug one shoulder as I stir the cauldron. A lie’s the better course, to avoid worrying Lin. “When I called the corners, it showed up. I get them at home a lot. When I finish, it’ll go. No big deal.”
She watches me brew for a while in silence. I shake in a bag of dried blood, grimacing at the smell that rises out of the cauldron. Lin puts a hand over her nose.
“That stinks,” she whispers.
“Tell me about it. Sometimes I think I should brew wearing a gas mask.”
She shifts against the worktable and I brace myself. She always does that little, uncomfortable shift right before she says something she knows I’m going to take badly. “Zee, is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie.
“You seem wicked stressed.”
I acknowledge it with a nod. No point lying about that. “Did you see that thing on the news? About the fire on Newbury Street?”
She nods, ponytail bobbing.
“Remember the friend I went to see the other day? My friend from college? That was her place.”
“Oh, shit.” Lin spreads her hand over her mouth. “People died . . . ?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay? I mean, is everything okay? Do you need to take some time . . . ?”
I shake my head. Being at the office – away from the demon and doing something to keep my mind off him – is the only thing that’s keeping me together. Every time I think about going home tonight, every time I glance up and see that the clock has moved a little closer to six-thirty, the screaming starts again in the back of my head.
“I’m so sorry about your friend.”
“Me, too.” In so many ways. If I’d been a better friend to Ro, if I’d kept in touch, if I’d tried to understand her instead of condemning her, would it have made a difference? I’ll never know. It’s too late.
“Look,” Lin whispers. “I know I’ve been a little out-of-pocket the last couple of days, hooking up with Matty and everything. But you know I’m always there if you need to talk, right?”
I smile through the wreath of stinking steam that rises out of my cauldron. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Linnie. How is it going with the new beau anyway?”
Lin blushes, golden rose in the witchlight. “Good. Better than good, actually. We have a lot in common.” She scratches the back of her neck. “We’re, um, we’re going away for the weekend. Up to Vermont. Apple-picking.” She laughs to excuse such a touristy activity.
Then I remember. Shit. Maine. I should have called Peter yesterday. Come up with another lie. Another reason I can’t be with him. There’s a demon in my house. That’s a pretty good reason, although not one I can share with him. I blow out a breath through the rank steam.
“That sounds great,” I tell her. “Have a wonderful time.”
Lin shifts against my workbench. “Speaking of which, who was that guy that came in yesterday? You know, the really—”
I don’t want to hear which of the demon’s attributes caught Lin’s eye. “Yeah, I know.”
“God, he’s hot.”
So much for not hearing it. I sigh into the steam again. “Uh-huh.”
“So what’s going on?”
“Nothing.” How do I begin to explain? “He’s, um, a friend of a friend.”
“A friend of a friend who called in for you this morning because you’d overslept.” She brackets the word with her fingers. “Come on. There’s no reason to be embarrassed. So you two hooked up. So what? The important question is, was it good?”
It certainly sounded good. My face prickles with a heat that has nothing to do with standing over the steaming cauldron. “I wouldn’t know. I’m not sleeping with him.” At Lin’s disbelieving raised eyebrow, I say, “Really.”
“Why not?”
I switch hands on the paddle and rub my eyes. “It’s complicated.”
“Complicated,” she says flatly.
“Yes, complicated. Can we not get into this right now?”
She shrugs. “Okay.”
One thing I’ve always appreciated about Lin. She knows when to back off and give me space. I smile at her. “Thanks.”
&nb
sp; I expect her to leave after the rebuff, but she doesn’t. She settles in, propping her elbows on my worktable, and watches me brew. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you make the magic milk,” she says. “It’s more involved than I remembered.”
I nod. “I’ve been tinkering with the recipe. Trying to improve the taste.” We’ve had a few complaints.
“Mmm. It’s always tasted like boiled cabbage to me.”
I sputter. “Boiled cabbage? Could you have said something before now?”
“Sorry.” She shrugs. “I assumed it had to taste like that.”
“No, it does not have to taste like that. God, now I’ll really have to work on it.”
“Uh-huh. So, are you ready to talk about it now?”
“What?” I look at her, non-plussed.
“Why it’s complicated.”
So much for giving me some space. “Lin,” I whine. Sometimes whining puts her off.
“Oh, come on. It’s been months since Saul. You haven’t even been out on a real date since you two split. And then Mister Sex On Legs walks in – and calls from your house the next morning – and it’s too complicated? What’s wrong with this picture?”
I sigh. Nothing’s working today. I’m going to have to tell her something. Unless I can figure out a way to get rid of the demon in short order.
Movement on the floor distracts me; I glance down. The salamander’s opened one eye and is watching me speculatively. When I grimace at it, it closes the eye and blows out a puff of steam.
“Did that thing just move?” Lin asks warily.
“Possibly.” I switch hands on the paddle again. Now both of them are aching. “Anyway, about, um, Jou—”
“What a great name,” Lin sighs. “Is he European?”
Older, I’d guess. Egyptian? Babylonian? “I don’t know. Anyway, I think he might be gay.”
“Gay?” Lin pushes back from the workbench in surprise. “Are you sure? He didn’t seem gay.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure he’s interested in men.” He’d probably be interested in orangutans, if they had souls he could steal.
“Maybe he swings both ways.” Lin flaps her hand. “But I can’t believe he’s gay. No, definitely not. Way too, you know, über-male.”