Demons

by Heather Frost

  The words were out before I could think to stop them. “One might think you're trying a little too hard, Selena. Are you feeling your age today?”

  The Demons were in front of the car parked next to us, and Selena stopped her advance. Her retinue paused with her, and she gave me an icy smile. “Hmm, the dog still lacks training, I see. Oh well—I love breaking in new pets.”

  She suddenly gestured to the Hispanic Demon standing directly beside her, her flair for dramatics far from flagging. “You know Jose, of course. You met just a few weeks ago.”

  She waved at the Demons on her other side—two thickly built men, both with blond hair. They looked almost identical, and I don't know if I would have been able to tell them apart but for their hair—the first had a long ponytail at the back of his head; the other had a short and spiky cut. They looked to be in their early thirties, their faces hard and decidedly terrorist-looking. “This is Viktor, and Yuri—the Dmitriev brothers.”

  Selena then tossed a nod to the last man, the one with the colorful aura. Actually, it wasn't all that colorful. It was the most grayish-blue thing I'd ever seen. He was in his late twenties, Asian, and he had knife scars all over his face—shallow and deep alike. “And this is Takao Kiyota. He is the Demon Lord's personal Seer. His favorite.”

  She focused back on Patrick, her cold eyes shining. “Well, we shouldn't keep the Demon Lord waiting. He's been expecting you all morning.” She stretched out a hand. “Need any help, love? You look a little tipsy.”

  “I'll manage, thank you,” Patrick said flatly, not even sparing a single glance on her perfectly sculpted hand.

  Her arm sank and she smiled. “Very well. But first things first—Viktor, would you please shake the Seer's hand?”

  The Russian with the ponytail stepped forward, unhurried, holding out a large hand toward me. I wondered how many bones those iron fingers had crushed before, but that didn't stop me from lifting my own hand to deliver the first touch.

  Though a handshake wasn't necessary, since I'd already broken the shield that was designed to protect humans from a Demon's touch, Viktor still pressed our palms together. I got the distinct impression that he was measuring me up with a single handclasp, as if that could tell him everything about me. My strength, my fears, my tolerance for pain… everything he would need to know.

  After a few tense seconds he released me, and as he stepped back I knew he was satisfied I wasn't a threat.

  Without beckoning, Yuri stepped forward next, his light spiky hair glowing in the sunlight. His eyes were calculating, and his muscles were like steel cords running all through his body. He was wearing an expensive suit, like his brother, and I imagined they made quite the intimidating hotel security.

  When Yuri shook my hand, I didn't get the feeling that he was searching me for weaknesses. No, it was more like he was trying to assert his authority over me. It was working. I was duly humbled by the time he dropped my limp fingers.

  Jose and Selena had already broken the shield around me on our last meeting, so it wasn't necessary for me to touch them. Takao Kiyota was mostly human, so he didn't have to shake my hand either—but he stepped forward anyway. He didn't reach for my fingers, though; only came to stand right in front of me. His dark, shaggy hair fell over his face, covering large sections of his heavily scarred skin. He was also wearing a suit, which didn't seem to fit him well. It was obvious that he would rather be in street clothes. He stared at me through veiled eyes, and I realized distantly that we were about the same height—I might have been slightly taller. That didn't make me feel any less intimidated, though.

  “I See your fear,” he whispered at last, breaking the tense silence. His voice was airy—a wheeze, essentially. I found my eyes darting to his throat, where sure enough there was a ragged scar. His windpipe must have been badly damaged during a knife fight. The injury didn't make him appear impaired—it made him terrifying.

  “You worry that you've made a wrong choice in coming.” He continued, before pausing cryptically to looked up at Patrick's drawn face. His eyes tightened at whatever he saw there, and then he turned back to me. “And indeed you have.”

  Selena chuckled as Takao stepped back, and I realized belatedly that she was laughing at me. “Don't feel bad. Takao does that to everyone.”

  She then clapped her hands sharply together. “Well then! I hope you don't think us rude, but I think it would be best to take you in through the back. No offense, dear, but we do set a certain standard here at the Illusion—one you just don't reach.” She leaned in closer, and I could smell her heavy perfume. She cringed at my face, primarily the pimple near my eyebrow. “Oh dear. I could recommend something for that, if you'd like. And I know an excellent moisturizer, not that I suffer from such trivial things anymore.”

  She turned suddenly on her heel—Jose sticking to her side as if he were chained there—and they started to walk back toward the huge hotel.

  I knew without waiting for an invitation that Patrick and I were supposed to go next. I held onto his arm tightly, and though he moved stiffly, his head was held high. The Dmitriev brothers fell into step behind us—following a little too closely for me to relax—and Takao came up behind them.

  We crossed the parking lot, none of us speaking. I tried to pay attention to Patrick's breathing, since it had worked so well on me last night. But I wasn't calming down. My heart continued to pound, and I hated the fact that Takao would be able to read my every rush of fear and doubt.

  Patrick reached over with his free hand and laid it over one of my own, trying to offer silent comfort. It helped, but only a little.

  We followed a sidewalk to a side entrance, which was guarded by a bulky Demon. Selena didn't even acknowledge the guard, who used a key-card to unlock the door before he pulled it open and held it for us. We all filed into the building, the interior looking very dim compared to the sunlight outside.

  I pushed closer to Patrick as we both stepped through the doorway together, and I couldn't help but wonder if either of us were going to see the sun again.

  The Illusion Hotel and Casino was spectacular. There really wasn't another word for it. Even here, in a remote corridor, everything was immaculate and undeniably expensive. The carpet, the heavily detailed paneling, the chandeliers and other decor—the effect was breathtaking. The Demon Lord had excellent taste, not that I was going to admit it out loud.

  As our eyes gradually adjusted to the change in lighting, Selena tossed us a look over her shoulder. Still walking, she addressed Patrick. “I didn't bother to check, because I know you weren't foolish enough to bring weapons. But I'm afraid the Demon Lord does have certain rules. Before we reach his suite, you will both be searched.” Her eyes narrowed, making them appear smoldering and innocent at the same time. I don't know how she did it, but I was sure that many women would kill for such a gift. “If you'd like,” she whispered flirtatiously. “I could search you myself. I promise to be very thorough.”

  My voice was even and surprisingly strong. “Getting a little bored after you killed your last boyfriend?”

  She blinked and cast me a pitying look. “Dear, dear. Have I made you feel jealous? Don't worry, pet—I have that effect on most women.” She turned back around, and the conversation ended.

  We didn't run into anyone else—a few maids, who didn't even bother to look at us. I had a feeling that they'd seen this sort of thing before and that they knew better than to comment or draw attention to themselves. There were a few doors, but mostly the hallway just stretched to an elevator waiting at the end.

  Jose pushed the up arrow, but before the doors could chime open, a Demon wearing the uniform and tag marking him as the hotel manager emerged from one of the rooms. He was just closing his phone, and he stepped right up to Selena—completely ignoring the rest of us.

  “Miss Avalos, the senator would like you to come to his rooms for a private luncheon.”

  The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. Selena sighed deeply. “Very
well. Tell him I'll be right up.”

  The Demon manager nodded and then moved to turn.

  Her fast words made him hesitate. “Derek, when does he checkout?”

  “This afternoon, I believe.”

  She cursed. “Fine. But I hate to miss this…” She turned to Patrick. “You behave, now. And don't do anything too exciting while I'm gone. I'll hurry back. But, obviously, I can't keep a senator waiting.”

  Just what our government needed. More Demon influence.

  Selena turned us over to Jose, who motioned us to enter the elevator. Patrick and I stepped inside, moving to the back corner while the other Demons silently followed us. Takao Kiyota was the last to enter. He pressed the button for the penthouse, and as the elevator doors slid closed, he turned and focused his dark eyes on me. I felt my body tense under his open gaze, but I was sure my aura revealed the full force of my anxiety. The spike in my emotions seemed to please him, and he slowly grinned, the scars on his face stretching luridly.

  Patrick must have felt my grip on his right arm tighten, because he glanced away from the menacing Dmitriev brothers and caught sight of Takao staring at me with his triumphant smile. Patrick's body stiffened, and he shifted protectively. But before he could get fully in between us, Yuri was stepping forward, latching onto Patrick's left shoulder.

  Even though he was weak, hopelessly outnumbered and had no logical reason to resist, Patrick attempted to shrug out of Yuri's bracing hold. When that didn't work, Patrick tore his arm free of my grip and slammed his fist into Yuri's gut. I was surprised at the sudden jump in his strength and desire to resist, but Yuri didn't even grimace at the blow. The giant Russian merely snatched Patrick's retreating wrist and—in a move too fast for me to fully understand—he'd twisted Patrick's right arm behind his back and jerked his solid knee into Patrick's unprotected stomach, using his leverage on Patrick's shoulder to drive in the greatest pain possible.

  Choking and shaking, Patrick crumpled to the floor as soon as Yuri dropped his supporting knee.

  “Stop it!” I gasped too late, tearfully sinking to my knees in an attempt to reach Patrick's side. Takao caught my descending elbow, though, and jerked me stumblingly toward him. His arm snagged around my waist, and he dragged me up against his body, my back tight against his chest.

  Yuri stooped over Patrick (who was curling up on his side in anguish) and grabbed his throat, pinching off his ragged breathing while lifting Patrick's squirming body with one massive arm.

  Viktor and Jose hung back as silent observers.

  “Stop it!” I repeated desperately, straining against Takao's hold as Patrick was slammed into the back wall of the leisurely gliding elevator, feet twitching inches above the carpet. Patrick's eyes were bulging, his nose was bleeding, and his hands tugged uselessly against Yuri's fingers. Strangely, his aura had never looked brighter than now as he was being suffocated.

  “No—let him down—please!” My cries had no effect on Patrick's captive, but Takao's aura blossomed with contentment at the sound. Before I could reopen my mouth, a switchblade was pressed to my throat, just below the left side of my jaw. I stopped wriggling abruptly, instantly chilled by the horrible sensation.

  Viktor spoke in a deep voice from the sidelines. “Guardian, would you like to see Takao's art? He's very talented with that blade—lots of experience…”

  Patrick's aura seemed to be rippling with adrenaline, and his face was turning blue. I didn't think he'd even heard Viktor's words, but then his wide eyes rolled, and he saw me over Yuri's shoulder. His kicks became impossibly more frantic and wild.

  Viktor chuckled, amused.

  Jose's voice was clipped. “Enough. Yuri, just search him already. Kiyota, put that away. The king will be upset if you damage her.”

  Yuri took orders well. He obediently lowered Patrick back onto trembling legs, removing his stranglehold only when his other hand was securely wrapped around one of Patrick's arms. Once freed, his head ducked, and terrible rasping filled the confined space. He instinctively reached to soothe the bright-red handprint around his neck with one quivering hand, even as he strained to look up at me around Yuri's hulking shoulder.

  Takao obviously didn't appreciate Jose taking command. The knife remained against my skin, making me terrified to even breathe. My heart was pounding erratically, and tears stung my eyes.

  Patrick swayed dangerously on his feet, but rage-filled eyes focused past me, on Takao. He struggled to speak but couldn't form the words because he'd dissolved to further coughing.

  Takao's wheezing voice was just behind my ear. “No, no, no. After Yuri's done with you, Guardian. Let's see how long she can stand on her toes, hey?” The knife pressed carefully against my jaw, and I had no choice but to rise with it, leg muscles flexing tightly. “Be good and quick,” Takao taunted. “The clock's ticking.”

  Patrick was seething, his aura a tumultuous tangle of anger, pain, and fear. He swiped his sleeve over his slowly bleeding nose, but he obeyed Takao without further hesitation, holding his arms out to his sides, prepared to be searched for weapons he didn't have.

  Yuri took his time patting Patrick down, brushing his hands over each arm, over his chest, and down his sides. My toes were aching when the elevator skimmed to a stop, and the doors opened. But Yuri wasn't finished. He forced Patrick to turn around, and, though he was reluctant to look away from me, Patrick was still quick to respond and lay his palms against the wall—anything to get this over with. Yuri kicked Patrick's legs further apart, hands sliding rigorously over his shoulders and back, eventually sinking to search the back of his legs, down to his ankles.

  By the time he'd finished, Patrick's breathing was low and measured, if a little shallow. Yuri stepped back and Patrick twisted around, his eyes leveled warningly at Takao.

  My legs wavered, and it was a good thing Takao's arm was around me, offering some semblance of balance. I could practically feel Takao's grin behind me.

  Patrick opened his mouth, aura flashing, but Jose's words came faster.

  “Enough, Kiyota. Put it away.”

  I felt the ghostly pressure of the knife disappear, and I pinched my eyes closed with relief as my feet fell flat against the floor.

  “Viktor, search her,” Jose commanded impatiently.

  Takao released me, and Viktor grasped my elbow, pulling me aside. I offered no resistance as Viktor pushed my arms up and proceeded to pat me down, just like his brother had done to Patrick—only he moved more swiftly.

  It was uncomfortable and invasive. His hard fingers were bruising—but despite the discomfort, I definitely preferred this to Takao's knife.

  Patrick stood behind Viktor with his arms dangling at his sides, Yuri's hand possessively on his shoulder. Patrick wouldn't meet my gaze. He was watching Victor closely, the colors in his aura squirming heatedly.

  I was really beginning to second-guess the brilliance of my plan.

  Jose and Takao stepped out of the elevator calmly, as if nothing had happened, and as soon as Viktor was done, he prodded me forcefully after them, Yuri pushing Patrick similarly. I got the feeling they preferred this hands-on approach over the lofty, ostentatious way Selena handled things.

  The top floor of the hotel was more homey-looking than the downstairs hallway had been. This corridor was more like an inviting entry-way, the carpet ivory colored with bits of gold stitching. There were some plush couches and expensive wooden tables. The flower arrangements were exotic and bright. I realized this served as a lobby of sorts; aside from the elevator behind us, there was only one other place to go. A pair of white double doors stood across from us, and they seemed to dominate the small lobby area. That might have been partially because of the four guards who stood shoulder to shoulder in front of them.

  Two guards were Demons—a large African American man and a thin but dangerous-looking Chinese woman. Just looking at her exquisite posture and severe face had me sure she knew kung fu. Standing on either side of them were two human-looking thugs, but
I was pretty sure they were Seers. They were all wearing black suits, except for the woman—she was wearing long, gray dress pants and a loose off-white blouse. She had raven-black hair gathered into a thick braid that trailed down her back.

  Jose stepped up to the woman. “Selena had to tend to other business. I am to present this Seer and her Guardian to the Demon Lord.”

  The Chinese woman glanced over at us, looking bored. “I will see if he's ready for them. Wait here.” She turned, opened one of the thick white doors, and disappeared inside, closing the door after her.

  They obviously didn't think she was going to be gone long, because no one took a seat. Yuri pushed Patrick to stand beside me, but we couldn't touch—the Dmitriev twins were standing directly behind us, fists wrapped tightly around each of our arms, keeping us rooted in place. Takao was standing behind us, which made my skin crawl. I could hear him pulling at his sleeves, trying to straighten them I guess.

  Jose stood in front of us, waiting straight-backed for the woman to return.

  It wasn't a long wait.

  The door opened, and the Demon woman focused on Jose. “You will take my post.” He bowed humbly, but she was already looking past him. “Yuri, Viktor—bring them. Takao, you may join us.”

  She waited until the Dmitriev brothers started to push us forward, and then she turned and led us into the Demon Lord's rooms.

  It wasn't what I'd expected. At all.

  His living room was as big as a ballroom—there were marble columns lining the gaping, spacious room. The ivory carpet lasted only a few steps into the enormous room, and then it gave way to polished stone, the color a grayish white.

  The room was almost blindingly bright—not the dank, depressing lair I'd been imagining to find. The whole left wall was covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, letting in an overabundance of light. A huge, ornate fireplace was set against the back of the room, and low white couches stretched along virtually every wall. The right side of the room was decorated with large mirrors, more couches, and a couple bookcases. There were also more sets of double doors, leading to who knew where.