Demon's Plaything

by Lydia Rowan

After a moment, Ian broke his gaze, and Demon relented, reluctantly dropping his arms from Shayla’s waist. Disappointment filled him when she instantly stepped away.

  “Guy needs a couple of stitches,” Ian finally said. “Can you take a look?”

  “Sure. Of course,” Shayla said.

  She didn’t look at Demon, not once, as she walked away, so when she reached the door, he said, voice husky and full of undisguised suggestion, “See you around.”

  “Hope not,” she responded as she had after their first meeting, but this time, the words were harsh, sounded like she really meant them.

  But then she looked at him, and the heat in her eyes told a different story. Despite what she may have said, the good doctor definitely wanted to see him again, and Demon would happily oblige.

  Chapter Five

  The next day, Shayla spotted Ian’s car, or rather, the car that Ian had been driving, as she pulled up to Nana’s house. It seemed to Shayla that this was a very long test drive, but a car was really the least of her concerns when it came to Ian. She pushed those thoughts away as she got out of her vehicle. She had been looking forward to this breakfast for a couple days, and knew Nana had been too since she’d mentioned it during every conversation they’d had recently. She’d considered canceling, unsure whether she was up to seeing Ian at the moment. But she didn’t want to disrupt the meal, and some small voice in the back of her mind whispered that this could be one of the last they would all share, at least with Nana in reasonably good health. She tried to be optimistic, hated to be anything else, but the illness wasn’t going anywhere, and she knew better than to take the time with Nana for granted.

  “Nana,” she called as she unlocked the door with the key she’d had since childhood.

  There was no response, but she heard Ian’s baritone laugh and Nana’s throaty, reedy imitation of a laugh and she smiled and headed toward the kitchen.

  “The bottoms were so burned, I had to throw away the pots!” Nana said, her voice sounding stronger, despite the earlier weakness, warming Shayla’s heart.

  “It wasn’t that bad, Nana,” Shayla said as she walked into the kitchen and leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek.

  “Hey, baby. And yes it was.”

  “It was, Shay. That’s why I had to cook and you had to do the dishes,” Ian added as he stood over the stove.

  He turned, revealing the “Kiss the Cook” apron that was wrapped around his waist and showcasing the muscular physique girls had gone gaga over since his last years in high school. His face was covered by a bright, languid smile, and she found herself relaxing, retreating into the warmth of her family, imagining that this healthy Nana, this fun, happy Ian weren’t mirages that she knew would soon be ripped away. But the insanity of yesterday, of the days before, of what she knew was to come hovered at the back of her mind. Still, she refocused her thoughts, tried to seize this moment, as fleeting as it was.

  “I got better, ya’ll,” Shayla said as she settled at the kitchen table, her back to the window, facing in as she always did. “And I’m a damn good cook. When I have time.”

  “But you can’t touch me, sis.”

  Ian spun with a flourish and produced a sizzling frying pan off the stove. “Whole-wheat pancake,” he said as he slid one out of the pan.

  Then he retrieved the serving dish.

  “Fried egg whites with a hint of butter, and the best turkey bacon you’ve ever had. Your mama, or your grandma”—he winked at Nana—“couldn’t make it better.”

  “Watch out now, son. Don’t forget I taught you everything you know.”

  Nana smiled and then laughed out loud when Ian kissed her on the cheek.

  “And I’ll tell you this,” Nana said, “ain’t no way I’d serve turkey bacon to people I love.”

  “It’s good, Nana, and it’s good for you.” Ian grabbed her hand. “We gotta keep you around, old girl. I still gotta teach you how to make pork chops.”

  “Oh hush, boy.” Nana smacked his hand away, her smile so brilliant, eyes so bright that the disease ravaging her seemed to have receded until only the Nana that she knew, loved, and had missed, remained.

  God! Why couldn’t this last? Why couldn’t Nana be well? Why couldn’t this loving, attentive Ian, and not the one who asked so much and gave so little, be the real him?

  “Sit down, Ian. And bless the food, Shayla.”

  Ian complied and Shayla began her absolute favorite prayer. “Good bread, good meat—”

  “Shayla, you’re so silly. I’ll do it. Lord,” Nana started, “I thank you for the food we are about to receive, and I want to thank you for bringing my grands here today. May we enjoy many more good times together in fellowship and may the bonds that have held them and this family together through thick and thin stay strong no matter what any one of us may face.”

  After a collective “Amen,” they began eating.

  “How’s work going, Shayla?” Nana asked.

  “Oh you know, never a dull moment.”

  “Any new crazy stories?” Ian asked eagerly.

  Nana’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, those are the best.”

  “Hmm…” Shayla considered a moment but nothing came to mind. “Sorry to disappoint, guys. Everything’s been pretty calm, but there’s a full moon around the corner, so I’m sure that’ll soon change.”

  She cleared her throat. “Speaking of the hospital…”

  Nana, who, despite her illness, still had the same sharp mind that had thwarted a thousand of Shayla’s and Ian’s childhood—and adult—machinations, picked up the direction of the conversation immediately, and the brightness in her eyes dimmed considerably, the light replaced with suspicion.

  “What of it?” she asked, narrowing her gaze on Shayla.

  “Well, we know you don’t want us at the appointment, but can we meet later? I’ll be there, and maybe we can get together after.”

  Nana began to protest, but before she could get started, Shayla quickly interjected.

  “No pressure,” she said, raising her hands.

  “Yeah, Nana,” Ian added, “we just want to be there for you if you need us, like you have always been for us.”

  Nana’s expression softened, and she relented. “Okay.”

  A wave of relief washed over Shayla, but with it came a pang of envy. She and Ian had planned this, but it still stung. It was petty, she knew, but Nana’s immediate acquiescence to Ian was a jab; it made her feel inadequate. Then she looked at Nana, remembered what this was about, and felt incrementally better.

  “What do you think about the bacon, Nana?” Ian asked, guiding the conversation.

  “I don’t know if we should call this bacon, son,” Nana said to laughs all around.

  The tense moment broken, they finished the meal in peace. Later, after Nana had lain down to rest, Shayla stood at the sink washing dishes as she had a thousand times before. Ian sat at the kitchen table, and when she finished, she sat next to him, trying to hold at least some of the harmony they’d shared during breakfast.

  “Good work today,” she said on an exhale.

  “Thanks, Shay. I just hope everything works out. Can’t lose her yet,” he said, the apprehension and fear on his face no doubt mirrored on her own.

  “Nope. Not yet,” she said, sounding as afraid as she felt.

  “So…” Ian began tentatively.

  The other shoe had dropped, dissipating the peace of the morning in an instant. Shayla glanced toward the bedroom and with silent agreement, they stood and walked to the porch.

  “I don’t like it, Ian. I can’t be a part of it,” Shayla said without preamble, hoping that she could make her stand before Ian even stated his request, though she was certain that Ian would not be so easily deterred.

  “Just for a while longer. Pretty soon, we’re going to be all we have. I need you, Shay.”

  Shayla saw the earnestness and sincerity in his eyes, along with the imploring request underneath, and wanted to give in, fix the problem,
fix Ian.

  But she knew she couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry, Ian. I can’t,” she said quietly, still looking up at him.

  The disappointment, anger, maybe even hate in his eyes burned bright for an instant but then faded.

  “Fine, but remember that you’re leaving me to the less than tender mercies of people like Elah Avakian,” he said and went back into the kitchen.

  ••••

  The whirl of machines greeted Demon as he pulled up to the metal-recycling plant and parked. The trucks usually began rolling in around seven in the morning and kept coming well into the evening. The small crew of employees was charged with weighing, sorting, and paying for the metal, as well as evaluating the people who brought it in. It wasn’t uncommon for stolen goods to show up, particularly when drug addicts or people who just desperately needed money stripped houses, their own sometimes, but most often those of others, of valuable metal and tried to resell it. The owner of the plant was vehemently opposed to those transactions, and Demon had seen many would-be partners turned away. A lot of money was left on the table because those sellers were notorious for ridiculously underpricing the goods, but Demon appreciated the policy. He didn’t consider himself particularly moral, but preying on people who were desperate or benefiting from the robbery of innocents didn’t sit well with him.

  He headed across the yard and building and back to his office, sparing a moment to consider how the place just wasn’t the same without Devil. But at least his informal role at the facility gave him something to do every day. Otherwise, he’d be completely at loose ends. He settled behind the desk he’d claimed as his own and began reading the facility’s input and output reports, comparing them to the previous month’s. Things were looking good. Productivity was up and after the implementation of some of the operational modifications he’d suggested, the facility was running fifteen percent more efficiently than it had the previous year, and profits were up as.

  “Something of interest you’d like to share?”

  Demon recognized the voice instantaneously and looked up to acknowledge the speaker.

  “Elah, hello. I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  “Didn’t know I needed an invitation to visit my own property.”

  “Of course not,” Demon said. “I just would have cleaned up the place a bit. Have a seat.”

  Demon gestured to one of the vacant chairs, but Elah shook his head.

  “You seem to be a lot more involved in the plant than I’d anticipated.”

  Demon took a moment to consider the unspoken question. Elah Avakian owned the facility and half of the commercial and residential real estate in the city if stories were to be believed. Those same stories alleged he was a mastermind who single-handedly managed the city’s underworld, from the lowest petty street crime to the highest reaches of organized crime. But there were other stories that claimed Elah was an upstanding citizen, one who looked out for the common man and never forgot his own humble beginnings. Demon hadn’t been able to separate fact from rumor, hadn’t really tried very hard, either. So long as Devil had had a place to train and he had a place to use as an office, it hadn’t made a difference to him. But he did know Elah was not a man to be trifled with, so Demon made sure to stay on his good side.

  “I don’t mean to intrude. I just find it interesting.”

  Elah looked at him, stony expression revealing nothing. After a pause, he finally said, “No intrusion. Curiosity can be an admirable trait.”

  Demon nodded and waited. Elah hadn’t just dropped in for a social visit.

  “The fights have restarted.”

  It was a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “And you’ve been in attendance.”

  Another statement.

  “Yes.”

  “How are they going?”

  “Fine. I mean, with the main attraction gone, it’s a little stale, but people seem to be enjoying themselves.”

  “And everyone is getting paid?”

  “I haven’t heard anything, but there’d be hell if they weren’t.”

  “True. If you find yourself at another event, keep your eyes open. I may have further questions. And you have the run of this place, so look at whatever you’d like.” Elah looked at his watch. “I have another engagement. You’ll contact me if anything comes up,” he said.

  Demon nodded, and the other man turned and left.

  Alone again, Demon considered the conversation. He couldn’t begin to guess what Elah was looking for and also couldn’t imagine what he would know that Elah didn’t. But one thing was clear: Elah wanted him at the fights. It was just the excuse he needed. He leaned back in his chair and smiled, excited at the prospect of seeing the good doctor again.

  Chapter Six

  The next day came way too soon, and Shayla was almost a zombie as she moved through the morning. He had been on her mind half the night, and Nana’s doctor appointment had taken up the other half, leaving sleep out in the cold. So she definitely wasn’t at her best, a thought that nagged at her as she walked the halls. The hospital was dedicating a new wing, and her attendance was an unspoken requirement, but Shayla was so not up to this. But she had donned her nice scrubs and freshest white coat, and now she headed toward the atrium, trying to get into the schmoozing frame of mind. The ER was slow this morning so she wasn’t concerned about the patients, but Nana should be at her appointment by now or would be arriving shortly, so she was more distracted than the lack of sleep and seemingly uncontrollable images of him that floated through her brain would dictate. But, on the plus side, maybe the event would help distract her for the next couple hours.

  As she got closer to the hospital’s atrium, the soft strains of orchestral music floated at her, and when she turned the corner, she was greeted with the sight of the city’s moneyed elite come to celebrate their generosity. The room was bright with natural light, the four-piece string group off to one side, a spread of hors d’oeuvres laid out, along with champagne. At ten thirty in the morning. She mentally shrugged and headed to the bar for a glass of seltzer. It seemed an incongruously extravagant display for a public hospital, but if this was what it took to get the donations that built new facilities and bridged the gap between state and federal funding, insurance, and what the patients could afford to pay, then so be it.

  She looked around and spotted Charlotte Trufant chatting with a well-dressed man and walked in the woman’s direction. Lottie’s father was the president of the city council, and Lottie worked with him in a variety of capacities. In addition to helping her father with his campaigns and the day-to-day running of his office, she devoted a massive amount of time and energy to a variety of causes. Shayla knew her from hospital and other charitable events, and had always found her to be incredibly warm and genuine, a kind acquaintance who would have been a friend if either woman had the time to invest in building a relationship.

  “Hi, Lottie,” Shayla said, using her nickname when she reached her, smiling up at the much-taller woman.

  Charlotte turned and faced Shayla and leaned in to hug her, a pleasant, welcoming smile on her face. Lottie was extremely tall, full-figured, and the very picture of understated elegance. Shayla had never seen a hair out of place, and today was no exception. She wore black wool pants, a cream silk cowl-neck shirt, simple gold hoop earrings that emphasized her face without being overpowering, and her hair was smoothed into a neat bun. The outfit was the perfect mix of day and evening and managed to be both flawless and effortless. Lottie always was though, be it a softball game, a reception like this, or a high-dollar fund-raiser. Shayla had no idea how the other woman managed. It had to be her superpower or something.

  “Shayla. Great to see you! I’m glad you made it.”

  “Yeah, I stole a few minutes to share my gratitude or whatever.”

  Lottie laughed. “The midmorning cocktail party is not your cup of tea, eh?”

  Shayla shrugged noncommittally. “Not partic
ularly, but the company’s good.”

  “Thank you. Have you met Gregory Williams, my father’s chief aide?” She gestured to the man standing beside her.

  “No, I haven’t had the pleasure. Nice to meet you, Mr. Williams. I’m Shayla Rodgers.” She extended a hand, which the man accepted.

  “Please, call me Greg, and the pleasure is all mine.” He finished with a large, toothy smile and pumped Shayla’s hand eagerly.

  “Shayla’s one of the hospital’s esteemed emergency-room physicians,” Lottie said, giving Shayla a welcome opportunity to retrieve her hand, which Greg had seemed in no hurry to relinquish.

  “I don’t know that I would go so far as to say esteemed, but the flattery is appreciated,” she said.

  “Well, it’s great to make your acquaintance, Dr. Rodgers. Do you have a card? I’d love to get an insider’s perspective on the hospital’s operations, and I have no doubt that you’d provide a wealth of information,” Greg said, flashing that toothy grin again.

  “Oh, apologies, Greg. I don’t, but Lottie has my information, and I’m sure she’d be happy to pass along any questions.”

  The toothy grin dropped, and Shayla knew the message had been delivered. She looked at Greg again, noted that he was tall, nicely built but not imposing. He was a couple inches shorter than Charlotte, very sharply dressed, clean-shaven, both head and face. In short, exactly her type. Well, the card line was a touch corny, but still, she should have been all over him. Would have been if not for the owner of the teasing green eyes and the heated, knee-weakening kiss she’d shared with him flashing through her mind.

  “Of course,” Lottie said, rescuing Shayla again after a millisecond of discomfort. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Well, ladies, I’ll let you two catch up.”

  Greg shook Shayla’s hand again, nodded at Charlotte, and walked off, seeming nonplussed by the brush-off. Shayla breathed a quiet sigh of relief at the potentially awkward situation being avoided.

  “Sorry about that,” the other woman said, mirth in her eyes. “That’s not like Greg; he’s generally much more smooth and appropriate, though apparently you flustered him so much that he couldn’t muster his usual aplomb. I guess he just couldn’t pass up the chance.”