Night of the Demon: Paranormal Romance (Devon Slaughter Book 2)

by Alice Bell

  I backed her against the wall and kissed her.

  I wrapped my hands in her hair and felt her weaken. She grabbed my shirt.

  Her pulse raced in my veins. She was starting to panic. Like a dam breaking, her fear burst out, and washed over me.

  I was in; her barriers collapsed and broken. She had underestimated my power, and now it was too late.

  I tasted her terror. It filled me.

  I held her tighter. She balled her hands into fists and beat against my chest. This had never happened before. I’d never been resisted. But I couldn't stop, not now, not when I was tasting the first sweet secrets of her soul.

  Three times she hit me, each time weaker, until, finally, I felt the last of her resistance go out of her. I felt her yield.

  Her hands snaked around me, her mouth opened wider. Her legs buckled and quivered. I swallowed her essence. Her hands were under my shirt, pulling me in, willing me to use her, to ravage her.

  She was mine.

  Take that, Sarah know-it-all.

  I had to hold her up.

  When she could stand, I smiled.

  She stumbled away, no different than any other victim. She was still open, still susceptible. Her confusion flowed warm inside me. She fumbled for her phone with shaky hands. There was a flush on her neck.

  I led her down the rickety stairs to the tunnel, and felt her sudden lack of confidence, her fright. Her phone light bobbed wildly against the stone wall.

  We entered a wine cellar where a few dusty bottles still hid. “Victorian vintage,” I said. “Want one for the road?”

  She didn’t answer. Her heart beat into mine; fragile, after all.

  “Come on,” I said.

  We passed between walls of stacked crates. I lifted a trap door.

  About twenty feet down was a tunnel that went beneath the city. It had been closed to the public for over a hundred years. In the mid-1800s it had been its own thriving, decadent city, complete with saloons, whore houses, opium dens and conveniently located jails. If there were ghosts, they were here.

  I jumped down, and landed silently. I looked up at Sarah. “Ready? I’ll catch you.”

  Her eyes widened. She hesitated, then slid her phone into her pocket. I watched her position herself at the opening. “We don’t have all night,” I said.

  “Shut up,” she was downright vicious. “Monster,” she whispered, like I couldn’t hear.

  I laughed. “A leap of faith is all it takes,” I held my arms up higher and wiggled my fingers. When her gaze met mine, I winked. “Come to daddy.”

  “God, I hate you,” she muttered.

  As I watched, she summoned a reserve of strength. She closed her eyes. Her walls came up. I could no longer hear her frail human pulse. She had done in minutes what would take most people days, if not months. She recovered from me, before my eyes, and locked me out.

  Touché, Sarah, I thought.

  She fell into my arms, and I pulled her against me. She moaned. “Please, Devon. Let’s get this over with.”

  I gripped her tighter and focused.

  There was no light when you traveled at inhuman speed. There was just a roaring in your ears, the rush of cold air on your skin. When we neared the end of the tunnel, I slowed. The world sharpened into focus.

  We had come past the boardwalk where I usually exited to come out on the waterfront. We were near the east end of town, directly below the grounds of Coffeen Sanitarium, on the edge of the desert.

  Sarah was limp in my arms. I gave her a little shake. “Sarah?”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  “You okay?” I said.

  She blinked and struggled, pushing against me. I set her gently on her feet. She wobbled. I caught her wrist. Her face was ashen. I stroked her palm and turned over her hand to look at her watch. Nine minutes before midnight. We were cutting it close.

  She jerked away. I stared. Once more, she gathered energy, as if from the air. It crackled around her and pricked the back of my neck. Suddenly, I wanted to kiss her again. I wanted her hungry hands feverish on my flesh. I yearned to taste her power, to feel it rushing in my own veins.

  But she squared her shoulders and leveled me with her big brown eyes.

  Her hand came up, her fingers twitched.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Slap me. I told you to drive.”

  Her hand dropped. She brushed past me, using the light on her phone.

  I followed her with my gaze.

  You can disappear, Devon. Right now. Before it’s too late.

  Who did Sarah think she was anyway? Who was she to judge me? And banish me from this realm?

  Fuck her. In fact, it was a good idea. Show her who’s boss. We both knew she couldn’t resist me.

  Could she? If kiss came to shove? Might be interesting. To see. Who is more powerful?

  She walked softly, her footsteps whispering on the stone floor. I moved up behind her, silently, intently. She stopped, unaware, shining her light at the wall. But when I breathed in her scent, she whirled around. Her mouth opened, her phone clattered on the floor. Lust burned through my blood.

  “Monster,” she had called me.

  Monster …

  I remembered Ruby’s pale skin, her listless body.

  I broke from Sarah’s gaze, and the spell of my own darkness.

  There was a dull ache behind my eyes. I picked up the phone. When I gave it to Sarah, I saw the skull and cross-bones on the wall above her. I’d seen such skulls depicted in her demonology books. It wasn’t a painting though. It was real. Human.

  She reached up and touched it. Dried rose petals fell from the eye sockets.

  A gasp cut the air. Mine or Sarah’s. Or the skull’s.

  She turned. “It’s time, Devon.”

  * * *

  We knelt on the hard floor, facing each other, holding hands. Her phone was back in her pocket. There was no light. Though I saw clear as day, Sarah couldn’t. “Don’t you need candles or something?” I said.

  “It’s not the movies. I won’t be waving incense and dancing around.”

  I was struck by how brave she was. If I made it through the gates of the demon realm, she would be alone, without me to guide her back through the tunnel. “You can get out on the boardwalk,” I said. “There are stairs.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re gonna miss me.”

  She didn’t respond, but bowed her head, as if in prayer.

  I heard it then, a distant humming. The sound was far away, maybe even in my imagination. Sarah’s hands were clammy. No, mine were. I wanted to wipe my palms on my jeans. I wanted to run.

  “Will I still be the same on the other side?” I said.

  Her fingers twitched. “I don’t know, Devon. I’m sorry I’m not the best person for this. For you.”

  In that moment, I hated her. She didn’t care what happened to me. She just wanted me as far away as possible. And yet I didn’t let go of her hands. I gripped them tighter.

  In this world, I was wrong. I’d seen it in Ruby’s pale flesh, her lifeless body, her tears.

  My bones ached. My soul, if I had one, was torn. I was tired. Exhausted.

  It was time to go, and I knew it.

  Silence engulfed us.

  Then Sarah began to chant … incomprehensible words.

  The earth trembled.

  My head throbbed, ready to crack open, like an egg.

  Sarah talked faster and faster.

  The skull fell from the wall and shattered. Rose petals and bone fragments rushed up into a dark cloud. The scent of roses and decay filled my nostrils.

  Wind picked up and gathered force. It whipped at Sarah’s hair. Her whole body shook but she never stopped chanting.

  As suddenly as it came, the wind ceased.

  Light filled the tunnel, so bright it seared my eyes.

  Pain struck at my chest, my limbs, my flesh. My body arched against it.

  Darkness enveloped us again.

  Sarah’s
fingers were still entwined with mine, though I could no longer see her, as if I had gone blind. I was afraid I would crush the tiny bones in her hands but I couldn’t let go.

  We were bound together.

  Dear God, was this how it ended? Both of us doomed to hell? Sarah didn’t deserve my fate. Or did none of it matter?

  So often, I had wracked my fevered brain trying to remember what had happened to me, thinking I must have committed some awful sin to deserve what I had become: a demonic entity stalking those I yearned to love. But maybe I was just one more victim, like Ruby.

  A crack of lightning splintered the dark.

  Needles of ice pierced my skin.

  Sarah’s relentless chants got more and more distant, and then we were spinning … around and around.

  I became aware of screaming. “Go, Devon.” It was Sarah. “Let go.”

  I felt her hands break from mine.

  3. Ruby

  “HOW ARE you feeling, Ruby?”

  “Better.”

  “Any dizziness with the new medication?”

  “I’m just a little tired.”

  “The drowsiness will go away eventually. Are you still having trouble sleeping at night?”

  “Sometimes it takes a while to fall asleep but I go to bed at ten, like I’m supposed to.” I looked past Dr. Sinclair, out the window. Her office was on the top floor and the sky was bullet gray. There was no skyline. I felt like I could step off the ledge and float away into infinity.

  “What are you thinking, Ruby?”

  “Oh … nothing.”

  Dr. Sinclair was young and pretty. Her auburn hair fell to her shoulders, and she wore incredible office suits; dusky pastel pencil skirts, polka dot blouses with long silk ties that looped around her neck. Her voice was clear, like a bell chiming through the fog. My old therapist, and the only one I’d ever known, Dr. Ess, had referred me to her. He was quasi-retiring. So he said. How did someone quasi-retire? I couldn’t help but wonder if his retirement only applied to me.

  But I liked Dr. Sinclair. I felt calmed in her presence. She inspired me to be a better person. I wanted to be just like her, honestly.

  “Are you still on probation at work?” she toyed with a pen and my eyes were drawn to her nails; French manicured, not too long, nor too short. I wanted to hide my bitten down nubs and chipped polish, so I folded my hands in my lap.

  The medication helped me hold still. I no longer counted in my mind. I no longer believed in lucky numbers. Well, not really. Occasionally, I found myself counting, but I always stopped when I realized what I was doing. Old habits die hard.

  “I’ll probably be on probation forever. My boss hates me,” I said.

  “We talked about this last time.”

  I sighed. “Right. What other people think of me is none of my business.”

  She smiled. “Do you remember what else we talked about?”

  My gaze shifted to the circle of diamonds on her ring finger. What would it be like to be so perfect?

  I glanced down at my black dress, a vintage Chanel. Today, it looked every bit the vintage part. I had a lot of black clothes. I should get rid of them and wear more pastels.

  “Ruby? You seem distracted today. Will you tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “I remember what we talked about. You said I can have a full recovery. And I’m not my mother.”

  “It doesn’t sound as if you believe it.”

  “I don’t know. Life is just—it seems so hard. How do people do it? I guess … well, I guess you’re right. I don’t believe I’ll ever be normal. I have to be medicated to sleep at night, like a normal person. That’s just one tiny normal thing and I can barely do it.”

  “What do you mean by normal?”

  “You know.”

  “I’m not sure that I do, Ruby.”

  “Like you. You’re normal.”

  “Am I? What makes me so?”

  “Look, Dr. Sinclair. I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m a teacher. I know how this game works where you ask a bunch of questions and pretend you don’t know the answers.”

  She laughed. “I’m not a teacher, Ruby. I don’t know what you think it means to be normal.”

  Wasn’t this session nearly over? I checked my watch, which of course, thanks to Dr. Sinclair, wasn’t on my wrist. “Maybe I would feel more normal,” I said. “If I could wear a watch.”

  “No one said you couldn’t.”

  “Well, you acted like it was a mortal sin.”

  Her lips curved. “I merely suggested you experiment with not wearing a watch and see how it feels. How does it feel, by the way?”

  I frowned. “I’m not sure. I don’t like it. I think it must be like not wearing underwear.”

  She cocked her head and was silent. She always wanted me to direct the conversation but I knew, if I waited long enough, she would take the helm. I tried not to squirm.

  After a while, she said, “Is there something bothering you today?”

  I uncrossed my legs and tapped my foot on the floor. Just once. Twice. She noticed and made a note on her pad, which irritated me, for some reason. I crossed my legs again and took a deep breath. “I feel like I did something bad. When I had my mini-breakdown, and—and I can’t remember. After I go to bed, I lay there imagining all kinds of terrible things I might have done.”

  She nodded. More silence. Sometimes I really hated her long meaningful pauses.

  “That’s what’s bothering me,” I said. “Since you asked.”

  “What do you mean by bad?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. There was this thing that happened at school. Right before I had that breakdown. A student in one of my writing classes dropped out. I know I offended her. We had an argument,” I rubbed my palm on my skirt. “She told me I was a terrible teacher.”

  But that wasn’t right. I’d told Miss Hartly, Georgie (the other English teacher and my nemesis) that she was a terrible teacher.

  “Wait,” I said. “The girl … Scarlet was her name … called me a liar. That’s what it was.”

  “Did you lie to her?”

  “No. God, of course not. I would never lie to a student. It was a misunderstanding.”

  “What was misunderstood?”

  I stared at her.

  “Ruby?”

  “I don’t know, Dr. Sinclair. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. It’s like a missing page in a book. And the closer I get to the end, the more missing pages there are.”

  She steepled her fingers and nodded, which was encouraging. But then she said, “You’ll remember when you’re ready, Ruby.”

  I won’t. I never have.

  She had no idea what it was like to be me, to have holes in your mind. “I want to remember what I did, Dr. Sinclair. I think I should be hypnotized. I feel very strongly about it … actually.”

  She nodded again, which, I now realized, was a bad sign. “I don’t recommend hypnosis,” she said. “Not for memory retrieval. It can cause false and distorted memories, Ruby. Not something you need right now.”

  “But—”

  She glanced at her computer screen. “That’s all the time we have for today.”

  I need a watch, I thought.

  4. Zadie

  HER LUCK ran out, as luck tends to do. The stars no longer aligned for her. Maybe they never had.

  She found Devon’s obituary on the internet and printed it out. She showed his picture around, everywhere. No one had seen him. She made her way north, to meet up with Inka but received no more messages at any of the main stops, San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico City, San Diego, L.A., San Francisco, and at last, Portland, the city of roses. Home.

  Along the way, she saw no demons. At least, none she recognized.

  She hung out in Portland for a while. Maybe she stayed too long.

  But wouldn’t Devon come home? In the end? He should be looking for her too.

  She liked to walk across the Hawthorne Bridge at night, after feedin
g downtown, always drawn to the familiar neighborhoods. Human memories licked at her mind.

  It troubled her to see her old house with strange people living in it, though she didn’t miss her family. She just felt proprietary about the house.

  She checked the cemetery for people she had known. But so many names from the past had slipped away.

  She found her own tombstone. Beloved Daughter … Rest in Peace. No rest for the wicked, she thought, running her hand over the cold marble. What did they bury down there, anyway?

  Devon’s grave wasn’t there. It was in Virginia somewhere, next to the graves of his ancestors, she assumed. It should be next to hers. His family were such snobs.

  Finally, she went east over the mountains to that desert city, a haven for demons, according to Inka.

  She took a bed in Coffeen sanitarium, and kept a calendar, marking a big X over each day. She slept with Devon’s picture under her pillow.

  Time crept slowly.

  She prowled the underground tunnels at night, looking for a sign from Inka.

  The tunnel was nothing like Inka’s stories. It appeared to have been abandoned. There were no opium dens teeming with beautiful humans and their beautiful drugged out dreams, no ceaseless parties with underground rock stars, none of the glittering revelry she’d heard about. It was damp, dreary … dead.

  The boardwalk had a string of bars to sustain her but she couldn’t help thinking Inka and the others had moved on to the next immortal scene, leaving her far behind.

  She wondered if Devon was with them by now. Jealousy flared in her veins.

  She wondered if angels had captured him. Rage came like white heat.

  When she was so lonely, she began to miss the realm, she headed back down south, to California and the bigger cities, leaving no trace of her existence, except for a pink lunchbox with her few belongings inside … and a slew of victims in her wake.

  5. Ruby

  I WENT to China Town, driving through the rain soaked streets, looking for the address of a hypnotherapist I found in the yellow pages. My hands sweated on the steering wheel. I didn’t want to go against Dr. Sinclair’s advice. I worshipped her.

  But I had to know what I did to Scarlet Rose. Her sudden absence from my student roster chastised me. The memory of what we’d argued about was tangled up in my mind, lost in the haze of confusion preceding my downward spiral.