Never Save a Demon

by J. . D. Brown

  “I think I should accompany you when you leave the apartment,” said Sam.

  Lyn wrinkled her nose. “What, like, when I run errands?”

  He drew a breath and watched her a moment. “I mean whenever you go anywhere. You can’t be too careful. If there is a killer targeting blonde women such as yourself—”

  Lyn’s breath hitched and she coughed through a tight grimace. “Jesus, paranoid much?”

  Sam narrowed his gaze. “You can understand my concern.”

  “Can I? Because I don’t think I do.” She grabbed some red panties and marched up to the demon. She meant to continue past him to the bathroom, but Sam stood squarely in the middle of the doorway, blocking her path.

  “Move,” she demanded.

  His expression darkened and a look of indecision passed over his gaze. He probably debated killing her. Sam was a spawn of Hell, after all, and the worst kind there was. A Greater demon. While Lesser demons had to possess a human to corrupt and consume their souls, a Greater demon could do the equivalent without ever touching their target. Greater demons seduced. Tempted. They played a much longer game than their Lesser comrades, and if that didn’t work, well, there was always the option of cutting the game short and moving on to the next victim.

  Lyn clenched her jaw and looked away as memories she buried long ago threatened to surface. She heard him swallow.

  “I should at least accompany you while we research the sigil.”

  “Yeah, duh.” Even though he was blind, she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze.

  “When do we begin?”

  “Tomorrow. Right now I need a shower and then sleep.” She pressed a hand against his firm chest and pushed.

  No amount of strength would’ve moved him. He was made of stone. So when Sam stepped aside and allowed her to pass, she was keenly aware of the conscious decision on his part. He didn’t have to play nice. He didn’t have to pretend they were roommates or even acquaintances. He could’ve locked her up in a dungeon in the deepest pits of Hell, thrown away the key, and lived the rest of his life doing whatever he pleased.

  She didn’t know why he hadn’t, or why he was biding his time humoring her, but he could change his mind at any moment, and that was what terrified her most.

  3

  Shish Kabob Demon

  L yn jolted awake. Her pulse raced as the edges of a nightmare faded into the dark, leaving her gasping and disoriented as a cold sweat drenched her shirt. Familiarity unfolded from the shadows of her surroundings; the straight lines of her dresser drawers directly across the foot of her bed, the angle of the open closet door on the right, the softness of her bedsheets tangled tightly around her legs. She ran her tongue over her chapped lips and sighed.

  Just a dream. Not real.

  Only, it had been real once, and that was so much worse. There was no waking up from the past.

  Lyn slid her hand under the sheets. Johnny rested beside her. She traced the flat surface of the blade with her fingertips, gliding her palm toward the hilt. Feeling the familiar grooves of the rayskin, she wrapped her fist around the handle, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply. The familiar weight of the sword slid over her nerves like a salve.

  I’m safe. I’m very safe.

  Except for the demon in her living room.

  Screw it. She was wide awake, her nerves fired up.

  Lyn got out of bed, taking Johnny with her. She tiptoed down the hall to the front door where she paused to make sure Sam wasn’t awake. He took over her couch, lying stretched out from one end to the other with an arm across his face. Lyn didn’t have anywhere else to put him in her little one-room poverty-stricken apartment. Watching him sleep was like watching the gentle glow of hot coals; all black shadows and Hellfire.

  Something still felt off about her living room, but she doubted she’d figure it out in the dark. Lyn slid her feet into a pair of sneakers then quietly slipped out the door.

  Once outside the building, she gazed up at the night sky and breathed in the warm summer air. The humidity clung to her skin. Mosquitos buzzed overhead, prompting her to move. With Johnny in hand, she trotted down the stoop and headed south on Main Street.

  The bars were closed and the roads were empty. Streetlamps punctured the quiet darkness along the sidewalk with pale yellow spotlights that pierced her vision as she passed beneath them. She’d kill for a drink, but short of stealing from the homeless, she was S.O.L.

  At the crosswalk, Lyn left the streetlamps behind and climbed the grassy hills of Wicker Park. Darkness engulfed her, so thick and black she had to pause to let her vision adjust. The night came alive with the songs of crickets and cicadas. The rich scent of maple trees and damp earth brought memories of summer camp with Angie. Lyn smiled to herself as she recalled the two of them sneaking off during their nature hikes. They had a special place in the woods only they knew about; a wide bank along an otherwise shallow brook where the current pooled deeply enough for them to swim. Of course, the water was muddy and Angie hated it, but to Lyn it was heaven. She named their spot Eden.

  Wicker Park was not Eden.

  The park had been nice years ago, with a jungle gym for the kids and dozens of trails for bike riders, but nowadays it was a place people went to meet their drug dealer. Then there were people like Lyn, who visited the park for an entirely different reason.

  She drew a deep breath and continued walking. A chain-link fence rose in the distance. Though it was too dark to read the sign above the gate, Lyn already knew what it said: Wicker Park Cemetery. A smaller sign wavered beneath it: No trespassing. Eyeing the lock on the gate, Lyn decided it wasn’t trespassing if she had family members inside.

  She tossed Johnny over the fence. The katana landed soundlessly in the damp grass. Lyn gripped the metal links and climbed, hauling her butt over the other side. She let go and dropped, landing on her feet. Lyn wiped her palms on her pajama pants as a cool breeze lifted the ends of her blonde locks. The chill penetrated her damp T-shirt and she shivered. Rubbing her hands over her arms to warm herself, she pressed on, approaching the third gravestone on the left.

  “Hey, Dad.” Lyn sighed. Shadow shrouded the non-descript grave, but she had been there enough times to memorize the words engraved in the stone. Franklin Conway—beloved husband, father, brother, and son. It wasn’t original, but Lyn wasn’t sure she cared.

  “So, how’s the afterlife treating you? Did the maggots finish picking your bones yet?” She kicked the toe of her shoe against the damp earth and looked to the side. She often felt the need to come here, but never knew what to say when she came. Lyn ran her fingers through her hair.

  “I really screwed up this time, Dad. I’m sure you appreciate the irony. Turns out Gran wasn’t crazy after all, though you probably did save her life.” She looked at the tombstone and scoffed. “Maybe I should move in with Gran. Would you like that, Dad? Your loser daughter in the nuthouse where she belongs?” Heat stung her vision and she blinked back the threat of tears. “Whatever. Tell Mom I love her, okay?”

  The temperature dropped as Lyn turned away. She hugged herself and wished for a sweater. The chill bit into her skin, and it didn’t help that her T-shirt was already damp from her own perspiration.

  A twig snapped in the distance, drawing her attention to the gate. Something moved in her periphery, but it was gone before she could find it. The soft creak of a swing set swaying in the wind played an eerie melody and the hairs on the back of her neck stood. Lyn kept her eyes and ears peeled as she made her way over to Johnny. She lowered slowly to the ground and gripped the hilt. From the edge of her vision, a shadow skittered out of sight. Lyn sprang to her full height and turned in the direction the shadow had gone, ready to slice whatever the Hell was toying with her, but she couldn’t see a target. Just gravestones and some trees past the cemetery fence. Darkness hid the rest.

  A few fallen leaves scattered in the breeze. Clouds drifted over the moon, and the already dark sky turned pitch. Lyn blinked, willi
ng her eyes to adjust. The temperature lowered once more and the wind grew more robust. The grass rippled and the trees shook.

  Lyn didn’t move. Her Daughter of Eve instincts jumped off the charts. There was a demon somewhere close, and it had the advantage. They were stronger and faster at night. She scoffed under her breath. What were the odds? Four demons in as little as nine days? Five, if she counted the beast that had attacked Sam. That creature had been something else, too. Gigantic. Easily the size of her apartment complex. She didn’t even know what kind of—

  There. Movement.

  Whatever-it-was darted behind the last row of trees before the cemetery. The fence stood between them, but that wouldn’t stop it from coming after her. It would, however, force the demon out into the open. Then she would know what she was dealing with.

  Lyn widened her stance, tightened her grip on Johnny, and waited. The katana was a familiar weight; an extension of her own arm. She’d spent years training with it, and now she held the blade poised, ready to slash-n-stab. Adrenaline surged through her systems, but she kept her pulse steady with a slow breath.

  An inky black shape separated from the trees. It unfolded itself and stood as tall as a semi-truck. It was insect-like, with several long stick legs and giant mandibles. Its two front legs sported hook-shaped talons, each one twice the length of Johnny.

  “Shit,” Lyn muttered.

  The demon launched full-speed toward the chain link fence. Lyn wasn’t sure if it planned on hopping over the barrier or smashing through it. She bent her knees, lifted her sword, and braced for impact.

  The scent of fire and brimstone rose in the back of her mind, but before its meaning could register the demon halted in its tracks, reared its ugly head back, and released a skull-cracking screech. The harrowing sound set her teeth on edge and her eyes watered. She dropped Johnny and covered her ears. In the distance, glass shattered and car alarms blared.

  When the demon finally stopped shrieking, Lyn fell to her knees in relief and checked her hands for any sign of her brain leaking out. The giant insect demon turned on its haunches and bolted. As soon as it reached the trees, it folded in on itself and slipped into the shadows the way a sheet of paper might slip between a crack. It disappeared.

  Lyn blinked in disbelief.

  A presence approached from behind. Without thinking, she grabbed Johnny, rolled to her feet, and stabbed.

  Sam’s unseeing blue eyes bore into hers. Gasping, she let go of the sword and took a step back, bringing her hands to her mouth. Sam’s brow pinched as he lowered his gaze to his chest. The katana had gone all the way through his solar plexus and out the other side. He stood there, a shocked demon shish kabob, and then glared at Lyn.

  “Um.” She winced. “Are you okay?”

  Sam wrapped a fist around the hilt and pulled. Liquid fire dripped from the wound as the blade slowly came away from the Greater demon’s flesh. His shirt frayed where the molten lava touched it, leaving a trail of ash and smoke halfway to the hem. He handed the katana to Lyn and her heart wilted. The blade was red-hot and warped.

  “You melted Johnny.”

  “Why did you come here alone? We just talked about this.”

  “Look at him.” Lyn shook the katana. The orange glow cooled to dull silver, and the once deadly sharp edge now resembled a sad question mark. “Just look at it.”

  “That demon could have killed you.”

  “It’s useless now. I can’t afford another one.” Not to mention, Johnny had all kinds of sentimental value. “We’ve been together for years. We were in sword love. I was going to have his sword babies. You killed him.”

  Sam narrowed his gaze. “I Googled that name.”

  “What, Johnny?”

  “Yes. And you cannot name a sword after a thespian.”

  Lyn wrinkled her nose. “Says who?”

  “Lyn?” He did that thing where he growled and sighed at the same time.

  “Yes, katana killer?”

  “Do you want to die?”

  A small jolt went through her. “Not really.”

  “Then why did you come out here by yourself?”

  Her gaze went to her father’s gravestone and she shrugged. “Believe or not, I usually go everywhere alone. I’m a strong independent woman like that.”

  “Well, you can’t anymore.”

  Lyn glared at him.

  Sam returned her look with a scowl.

  “Whatever.” She went to the metal links of the cemetery fence, dragging Johnny through the grass behind her.

  “Watch your back.” Sam was beside her, his heat a furnace that eased some of the stiffness from her shoulders, though the mere fact that he was a demon slammed the tension right back inside of her. “That Gressil demon is still out there.”

  “Gressil,” she repeated, committing the species to memory. Not that she would easily forget a demon that big. Car alarms still blared in the distance. The cops would arrive soon to investigate. Eyeing the trees where the Gressil had disappeared, Lyn gripped the chain links and prepared to climb.

  Sam went to the gate, grabbed the padlock in his palm, and melted it down to a liquid. He pushed the gate open with the tip of his shoe.

  “Showoff.” Lyn released the fence and walked out of the cemetery. Sam followed. “So, why’d the Gressil run away?”

  “Because it saw me.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, that makes sense. With your mug? You could probably scare a fish out of the water.” She was joking and expected him to laugh, but Sam was silent. Lyn bit her lip. They walked back to the apartment without saying another word to each other, though Lyn’s mind was anything but quiet. She couldn’t help thinking about Johnny. She missed him already. Probably more than a sane person should miss a stupid sword. He wasn’t gone—she held him in her hand as they walked—but he was crippled now. And it wasn’t just that Sam had melted her only sword, but the fact that he was still standing; still walking around like he hadn’t just been impaled through the torso with a goddamned katana. Lyn wasn’t sure when he stopped leaking lava, but there was no longer a wound or even a scar. The only proof it had happened was the hole burned down the front of his shirt which still smelled of smoke. The skin beneath was perfectly smooth and sinewy.

  She knew he couldn’t die that way. Still, knowing it and seeing it were two vastly different things. Lyn couldn’t live in denial anymore. They were really bound—sharing one soul. Her soul. Which meant the only way Sam could die was if Lyn died first.

  4

  Red Panties

  S omething poked Lyn’s shoulder. Repeatedly and with increasing amounts of pressure. She groaned and rolled over, refusing to open her eyes.

  “Time to wake up,” said Sam.

  “No,” she murmured.

  He jabbed a finger against her spine. “Come on, lazy bones.”

  “But it’s finally warm and comfortable and …” Lyn pulled the covers over her head and mumbled nonsense into the soft pillows. Mmm, lovely sleep.

  “We have a case to investigate.”

  “Investigate it yourself,” she grumbled.

  Sam scoffed. His footsteps stomped on the carpet, growing faint.

  She waited a moment to see what he would do next, but with her eyelids closed she dozed off.

  He prodded her again, and the heavenly aroma of coffee beans bathed her senses. Dang. He fights dirty.

  “You win this round, Gadget.” Lyn tossed the comforter aside and sat upright, rubbing sleep from her eyes. Sam handed her a mug of piping hot java. She took a sip and then smacked her lips. “This needs sugar. And milk.”

  Sam ignored her comment. “What’s first on the itinerary today?”

  Lyn stretched her arms apart and yawned. “A shower.”

  “After that.”

  “Er, clothes?”

  “I mean after you are ready.”

  Lyn blinked up at the demon. He wore a black T-shirt and acid-wash jeans that hugged his narrow hips. Damn, why did she choose his wa
rdrobe so well? Honestly, she hadn’t put much thought into it. Sam was just one of those guys that could make a tutu look sexy. She glanced around the room, if only to keep the silence between them from getting awkward. Her stomach growled. “Oh, breakfast! Food good. Preferably pancakes.”

  “I meant where are we going today, Lyn?”

  “IHOP?”

  His lip curled. “The sigil. Where are we going to investigate the sigil?”

  Right. That. She was so slow in the morning. Lyn checked the clock on her nightstand and gasped.

  “What the Hell, demon? I’ve only had five hours of sleep!”

  “You knew we had work to do today. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before going for a stroll at three in the morning.”

  Lyn rolled her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been awake before noon. Sam really was evil. She took a long swig of coffee and winced at the non-sweetened, non-creamed bitterness. What kind of heathen drank coffee black? “Actually,” she said once she managed to swallow, “I’m going to visit my Gran about the sigil and you can’t come with.”

  “Why not?” Sam crossed his arms, stretching the black cotton taut over his biceps.

  Lyn lowered her gaze to the dark liquid in her mug. The java matched the color of his demon eyes beneath the flecks of silver and blue cataracts.

  “She’s my great-grandmother,” said Lyn. “Think about it.”

  Sam’s brow dipped as he scanned the room. She could tell the exact moment when he understood what she meant by the slow sideways glance he gave her.