Dime a Demon

by Devon Monk

  He let that comment fall into the evening air, and I wished I hadn’t said anything. I really didn’t have a close relationship with Rossi, or at least not as close as the one Delaney and he had. Delaney had taken him a stuffed, blue llama toy a few months back, and told him to stop being such a baby about his injuries.

  A stuffed llama. For one of the most powerful supernatural beings in town.

  From what I could get out of Ben, Rossi’s actual blood son, Rossi sort of loved the little toy. Ben swore me to secrecy and told me Rossi had taken it into his private chambers where he kept all his favorite things.

  So Delaney clearly knew him better than I did. The closest Rossi and I had been in recent years was when I ticketed him for streaking.

  But still, he’d been a fixture in town, and I liked steady things. I liked it when the world remained the same, predictable. Safe.

  My gaze roamed over to Bathin, who lounged among the werewolves like he was one of them. I was surprised they’d let him join them. I was also surprised he had a cat in his lap. Not the same stray, but maybe another one, that kneaded the fabric of his jeans as he ran his hand gently over her back.

  Huh.

  Delaney was curled up against Ryder at the fire. He was reenacting what appeared to be a very active chase scene, his arm snug around her, half-empty beer in his hand.

  She laughed and shook her head, then took a drink of his beer. He didn’t miss a beat, just kept telling the story to the people next to him, who were wiping tears from their faces.

  “What do you know about souls, Rossi?” I stared at my smiling sister. Had her smile changed? Was it less bright? Were her eyes going distant, even there in the middle of all that life, all that laughter and camaraderie? Did she look tired? Worn down? Damaged?

  Or was it just a long day and a retiring friend that made her look so sad?

  “Is that the question you want to ask me, Myra?”

  “What other question would help me get her soul back?”

  “Ask me what I know about demons.”

  I shifted so I could look at him. He gazed placidly at the beach and bonfires, waiting.

  “All right. What do you know about demons?”

  “Demons do not lose.”

  I scoffed. “You’re going to have to tell an awful lot of religions they got it wrong.”

  “Demons,” he went on, even softer, which made me lean in to listen, “do not lose. Whatever they do, they win. No matter how many ages it takes, no matter how many stars rise, catch fire, and burn to ash.”

  “So they’re competitive. Noted.”

  “Once they take a soul, they will forever possess it.”

  I rolled the beer bottle between my palms. That didn’t sound good.

  “If we take that as a known fact, which it is,” he said, “then we must ask ourselves something about Bathin.”

  “Why he’s such an ass?”

  “Why he gave up your father’s soul.”

  “He wanted into Ordinary.”

  “I agree. Why?”

  “I have no idea. Do you?”

  Rossi made another dismissive motion with his fingers, and the vampires who had been slowly creeping across the sand toward us stopped, hung their heads and went back to the party. They chose positions close enough they could reach Rossi in a split second. Vampires are fast. They were totally keeping an eye on him.

  “They like you,” I noted.

  “They fear me.”

  “Fear for you, maybe,” I said, calling his bluff. “You’ve made a family and they like you.”

  “Have I, now?”

  I knew the vampires could hear him. Even over the roar of the ocean. Even over the crackle of the fire. Even over the laughter and singing and general pulse beat of the living.

  I knew they were listening to my answer. Listening to him.

  “Yes. There wouldn’t be room for many vampires in Ordinary if you hadn’t made a family here. Made peace here. I know you wouldn’t offer this kind of shelter and community if you didn’t like it. You’re a good man, Rossi. Even when you’re moping over old injuries.”

  He made a tsking sound. “Injuries. These are nothing but a scratch. I’ve had worse opening envelopes.” He waved one hand toward his face and his chest.

  “Those almost ended you,” I said softly.

  “You underestimate the danger of the envelopes I’ve opened, Myra.”

  I chuckled. “Just admit it.”

  “What?”

  “You aren’t going anywhere. You aren’t going to let someone challenge you, and you aren’t going to give up being the head of the clan.”

  The vampires on the beach seemed keenly interested in his answer, if their total faked lack of interest indicated anything.

  “Of course I’m not going anywhere,” he said so softly only the vampires and I could hear him. “If there is a challenge, I will meet it. And win. I am a very old vampire. I don’t just stop existing so very easily.”

  If they could have breathed, every one of those fangers on the beach would have exhaled as one.

  “I know.” And I did. I had read everything there was to read about vampires. But more than that, I had known Rossi since I was a child. I knew what kind of vampire he was, what kind of man.

  “Vampires and demons have one thing in common,” he said. “We don’t lose well.”

  “So why did he give up Dad’s soul?” I asked, bringing us back to that conversation.

  “Because he saw something he wanted more.”

  “We went over that. He wanted to get into Ordinary.”

  Rossi turned his head, just a fraction. Enough that the shadows dug beneath his sharp cheek and jaw. Enough that I could see the unholy fire of the undead in his eye. “He didn’t want Ordinary, Myra. Not exactly.”

  “All right. I give up. You tell me what he wanted when he traded my Dad’s soul so he could possess Delaney’s and become the only demon ever allowed in Ordinary.”

  “Love.”

  I laughed. “Of course! That’s exactly what the demon was after. That’s why he tricked my sister out of her soul and hasn’t given it back while he makes her miserable and probably does irreversible damage to it. He decided he wanted to fall in love.”

  “How did you get so much more cynical than your sisters?”

  “Practice.”

  “Bathin spent years with your father trapped as they were together between life and death.”

  “And?”

  “Your father was a very convincing person. Strong. He had an almost unlimited capacity to love and forgive.”

  “I know how to forgive.”

  He smiled. It was the look someone who was very, very ancient might give a very young girl. “I know you do. I wouldn’t be in this town if you and your sisters couldn’t see beyond a person’s flaws.”

  Delaney temporarily dying had been very much his fault, but he had been trapped in circumstances beyond his control. We knew that. I’d been angry at him for months, but Delaney had sought him out, stuffed the blue llama of penance in his hands and, with that, made it square between them.

  “She’s better at forgiving than I am,” I said. “Delaney. Jean too. Delaney isn’t even angry about Bathin taking her soul.”

  “And you are?”

  “Furious.”

  “Ah. That’s going to make what you have to do more difficult.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Maybe you should try yoga. I’m thinking of reopening the studio soon. Having a Reed there always attracts an interesting crowd.”

  “I have to do yoga?”

  “No, I said you could try yoga. What you have to do is forgive the demon.”

  “I don’t forgive assholes who hurt my family and break rules to get what they want.”

  He cleared his throat. “You might want to remember who you’re sitting next to.”

  “You’re…well, basically family. You’ve earned forgiveness. He hasn’t.”

  “If he
gave Delaney back her soul, would you forgive him?”

  There it was. The question I didn’t want to face. The possibility I was fighting for, with the outcome I didn’t know how to navigate. What if Bathin gave her soul back? What if he apologized? What if he signed a contract and agreed to follow Ordinary’s rules?

  What if there was no reason for me to tell him to leave?

  The wind shifted, bringing with it a lick of heat from the fire, followed by the cool exhalation of the ocean. I shivered, unmoored from the safety and order of the world.

  “I hate change,” I grumbled.

  And Rossi, that ancient vampire, laughed.

  Chapter 10

  The unicorn did not sleep in the garage because, “Really, Myra. I am not a beast of burden like you.”

  Instead, she took over my guest room, pulling the handmade doilies and lace curtains down with her teeth and trotting them into my laundry room where “they can be washed, but never improved.”

  When she complained about the color scheme being “too English-rose-meets-clown-school,” I told her it was my guest room, and I’d be happy to consider her a responsibility instead of a guest and leave her out in the garage with the car and a pile of hay.

  Since it was closing in on two in the morning, I pointed at the bed. Told her to use it or lose it.

  I’d never seen a unicorn (because here, where no one could see her, she said she preferred to let her horn fly free) look so sullen. She slunk up onto the bed like she was made of liquid pout and ennui and sighed loud enough I could hear it from the hallway.

  “Don’t care,” I called back.

  I shut my door, decided at the last minute to lock it, just in case Miss Horn Flying Free decided to level a complaint in the middle of the hours I had left to grab some sleep.

  I kicked off my shoes, shucked out of my pants, dragged my bra off from under my T-shirt, and fell into bed.

  ~~~

  Something soft and fuzzy pressed down on my face, heavy as a cat sitting on my head.

  I didn’t own a cat.

  I jerked awake, shoving away the intruder. A wide, fuzzy muzzle, round nostrils, and long horse face filled my vision.

  “You’re awake!” Xtelle declared. “Good. Make me breakfast.”

  “I’m not awake.”

  “Ah-ah. Lying isn’t allowed here in Ordinary.”

  “I’m not lying,” I rubbed at my eyes and scrubbed my face, “and of course lying is allowed.”

  “Oh? Well, isn’t that interesting? Not that I would ever lie. A lying unicorn! Can you imagine such a thing? I can’t imagine such a thing, no, not at all. But you shouldn’t lie, Myra, because you’re just so…so…that.”

  “That?”

  She waved a hoof at me. “Reed-ish. It’s…unavoidable.”

  I had no idea what she was talking about. “Go away.”

  “You said I’m your guest. I demand you make me feel welcome. I shall have breakfast!”

  She jumped down off my bed, trotted across the room, hooves ringing like wind chimes in a hurricane as they struck the hardwood floor. “Hurry, Myra. I can’t wait to try omelettes for the first time.”

  “I’m not making you omelettes!” I pulled the pillow over my head and locked it down with my arm.

  “You can’t expect me to eat a scramble. Peasant food.”

  I dragged the second pillow over my head and scrunched down deeper into the covers.

  Something crashed in the kitchen, and the “Oops! Was that an heirloom?” was loud enough to stab through my down-enforced trenches.

  I pushed the pillows off my head just in time for my alarm to go off.

  Five o’clock. Time to get ready for work.

  I groaned and slogged to the bathroom for a shower. Let the unicorn mess up my kitchen. Let her break my heirlooms (not that I had any). All I wanted was hot water, soft soap, and for the stupid unicorn to figure out how to start the coffee pot.

  By the time I dressed and put on my makeup, I was in a slightly better mood.

  I made my bed, straightened my room, and gave myself a little pep talk while staring in the mirror above my dresser. “Don’t kill the unicorn.”

  “Myra, why aren’t you making my meal?” Xtelle kicked at the frame of my door. “I am hungry and I’ve been waiting for you to…oh, what are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for the day.”

  “By smothering your face in wax and dye?”

  “It’s called makeup.”

  “Well, it doesn’t suit you at all.”

  “I like it, and I didn’t ask for your opinion.” I pushed past her, turning sideways to get through the door.

  “Why are you even wearing it? Oh, I know! You’re trying to attract a mate.”

  She sounded gleeful. And evil. Which was a weird mix on a pink unicorn.

  “I’m not attracting a mate. I wear this for me.”

  “To signal you’re available for a mate.” She flounced into the kitchen and plopped down in the armchair she must have dragged in there, crossing all four of her legs neatly. “Who is it? I will help you.”

  “No, you very much won’t help me.” I opened the refrigerator, glanced at options for breakfast. I had eggs, and an omelette would not only be quick, it was actually what I was hungry for.

  “Then why wear something to bring so much attention to your…well, I’m sure it’s at least an average face.”

  “I’m not trying to attract people. I’m warning them.” I retrieved the egg carton, located a bowl, and started cracking eggs into it.

  “Warning them of what?”

  “I’m ready to go to war.”

  She was silent as I cracked the rest of the eggs and whisked them. I heated the pan, added butter, poured in the eggs, and shot her a look over my shoulder. “Speechless?”

  “No.” Her eyes were suspicious little slits. “Who do you expect to go to war with?”

  “Anyone who breaks Ordinary’s laws. Including, but not limited to, pushy pink unicorns.”

  She made a short, offended noise. “Rude. But because I am a creature of magical pureness, I will not rise to your hateful, stupid comments. Even though that shade of lipstick makes your crooked teeth look like orange slices.”

  I stared at her a second, then burst out laughing. She was just so put out and pouty and…I had a pink unicorn in the middle of my kitchen trying to domineer my dating life.

  “Nice of you to hold yourself above petty insults.” I went back to the omelette, adding the vegetables in the fridge I had pre-prepared two days ago, and sprinkling in some sharp cheddar. “Because if I thought you were being mean to me, I might not make you an omelette.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Are you? Making me omelettes?”

  “What does this look like?” I waved the spatula over the pan.

  “Food.”

  “Omelettes. Enough for two and some left over for your lunch if you want.”

  “Why would I want leftover eggs for lunch? I’ll be dining with you today. Out on the town, perhaps? Your finest establishment.”

  “Nope. I work.”

  “So will I. Right beside you. Learning the ways of Ordinary.”

  “Nope again.” I cut the omelette cleanly in half then slid each half onto a plate. “You are not a part of the police force. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “But how can I learn about Ordinary if I’m cooped up here in your house?”

  “You aren’t even supposed to be in my house.”

  I put the plate down on the kitchen table and pushed a chair out for her, then sat in front of my own plate. “The house is full of books you can read, a television you can watch, a computer to browse. There are some horse videos online you might want to check out so you can learn how to act like a horse. Or you can spend time in the yard watching the neighbors. You’ll need to…” I waved one finger at her, “get back into horse form. You should probably do that now before you forget.”

  “As if I would.”

  She hopp
ed out of the armchair and scrabbled up to sit across from me, her back legs stuck straight out under the table, her front legs bent on either side of the plate. “Is this an omelette? Just…eggs?”

  “You don’t know what an omelette is?”

  “I’m a mythical creature. I don’t do brunch.”

  “But you wanted me to cook…okay, right. Unicorns eat hay and oats and grass.”

  “I’m not a horse.”

  “Fine. What do unicorns eat?”

  “We’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

  She picked up the fork next to the plate and poked at the eggs. I stared at her, still thrown by her un-horselike movements. It must be her magic that allowed a hooved creature to manipulate an eating utensil. She neatly cut a bite of the pillowy eggs and forked them into her mouth.

  “Nice trick with the fork,” I said. “Subtle magic. Impressive.”

  She raised an eye ridge as she chewed once. “Unlike your breakfast skills.” She opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue, dribbling the eggs back to the plate. “These are terrible. They taste like eggs and cheese and vegetables.”

  “Imagine that.” I finished the last of mine and took both our plates to the sink.

  “Here. Try this.” I offered her a homemade oat and honey bar I’d made in the middle of the night about a week ago.

  She sniffed it then took a tiny nibble. “That’s…different.” She shoved the entire thing in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “What is that called?”

  “It’s a breakfast bar. So now you can apologize about the omelette.”

  I handed her a second bar, then rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.

  “Why would I apologize?” she asked with her mouth full. “I wasn’t the one who made it.”

  “You are a terrible unicorn. Go be a horse.”

  Her mouth fell open and I waited, my arms crossed.

  Then she laughed. It was a weird cross between a clown horn and a squeaky toy.

  “Is that my laugh?” she asked wide-eyed. She giggled, all horn and squeak and ridiculousness. “That’s my laugh! Listen, Myra, listen to me!”

  I couldn’t help it. I laughed too, because she was absurd. “You don’t know what your own laugh sounds like?”