The Demon's Possession

by Kiersten Fay

  Her answer was decent, but poked at Marik's intuition. “That's good. The thing I value the least is sloppy work. If I don't like something you've done, I will make you do it again and again until I'm satisfied. Understood?”

  Analia gave him a stern nod, expertly avoiding his gaze.

  Marik glanced at Sebastian. His features were poised in the political arrogance he donned whenever he wanted to mask his emotions, but Marik knew Sebastian well, and the man was hanging on every word of the conversation.

  “Tell me, Analia, what kinds of foods do you like?”

  Uncomfortable again, Analia looked at her feet while she answered. “Foods? I…uh, I liked the thing Sebastian brought for me this morning”—pause—“and the food I had in sickbay was delicious.” At that, she smiled brightly, almost pulling a chuckle from him. He hadn't chuckled in years.

  “You don't have to stroke my ego. I'm already very full of myself. I mean what foods did you eat before you…came to be with us?” Was he actually being polite to her? There was something about her, the way she stood, spoke, even the way she carefully avoided his eyes while still keeping her head high. She couldn't be…

  With a blush on her cheeks and a look of pain on her face she replied, “I was only given a few things to eat, and I wouldn't know them by name.”

  Marik felt his features grow dark. Did the word “given” mean she hadn't had a choice? Noticing the change in mood, Sebastian shifted his eyes between Marik and Analia, his mask of arrogance starting to dissolve. “Marik?”

  Marik ignored him, concentrating on Analia. “Describe the food to me.”

  Once again, she looked at her feet and shrugged a shoulder. “Green, sometimes brown, mushy…or chunky on occasion.”

  Realization hit him like a smack in the face. “Were you a slave?”

  Analia's head snapped up at Marik, and then to Sebastian. Her mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out.

  Sebastian gave a slight choking sound and fixed his gaze on Analia. “Anya?” he rasped.

  Anya?

  She just shook her head. Marik knew he was correct. She had been a slave, same as he. It was written on her face, her demeanor. What remained to be seen were the variations of their scars. How long had she been enslaved?

  Obviously she had wanted to keep this a secret, he understood that, but the beans were spilled. Marik felt the need to lighten the mood. “So, you must have been a servant of some kind,” he stated.

  Her eyes bounced quickly back and forth as if she were in a panic, ready to bolt. She didn't speak, didn't raise her head.

  Marik sighed. “Analia, look at me.” She didn't. “Look at me.” His voice was firm, but the harshness was gone.

  Finally, stark eyes snapped to his. He could see the torment settled behind her eyes.

  “I was a slave too,” he admitted. He hated to talk about that time and would not reveal more than he had to, but he wanted her to feel comfortable and to know that this revelation wasn't something that would be held against her. For some reason, he wanted her to know she wasn't alone. He couldn't stand her shame, which reflected his own.

  Wide eyed, she whispered, “You were?” When he nodded, she added, “What…what did they force you to do?”

  Once again her phrasing made him uneasy. Sebastian too, he noted. “I was forced to do many things, mostly involving my strength. I was like an animal to my keepers. But I am free now, thanks to Sebastian, and I try not to think of it anymore.” He didn't want to ask her the same question. He could only imagine what someone would want from a female as beautiful as she. Marik looked to Sebastian, wondering if he was thinking the same thing. The captain looked as though he were nearing the Edge.

  For a demon, the Edge was like a dark place inside each of them, where reason was lost and rage takes over. A demon’s rage becomes overwhelming, and his strength increases tenfold. Relief comes from either lashing out violently, or sexual release.

  With training, it could be a useful tool in battle. But outside of the battle field, a demon on the Edge, with no focus to unleash his rage, was the most dangerous creature in the universe.

  Marik knew that feeling—had been to the Edge himself—and knew he needed to calm the situation.

  Moving to the food counter, he cut a slice of his most tender meat of the day and set it on a small plate in front of Analia. “Try this and tell me what you think.”

  Picking up the morsel, she smelled it first, analyzing the scent. Then she took a small bite and chewed methodically. After swallowing, her features turned delightful. “Mmm, that tastes good. But I think the thing I had this morning is still my favorite.” She smiled wide at Sebastian.

  Sebastian eased a bit, but was still close to the Edge.

  Marik chose a soup dish next and offered it to Analia. Instead of taking the spoon he held out for her, she held the bowl to her lips and took a small sip.

  “Mmm. Remarkable. What other kinds of foods are there?”

  Marik caught himself laughing. Actually laughing. Abruptly, he stopped himself. Then he got a wicked idea. He went to his storage cooler and emerged with a covered dish. “I'd like to conduct a little experiment if you don't mind.” Marik winked at Sebastian, who raised an eyebrow. He presented the dish to Analia and lifted the lid.

  Sebastian snorted, and ran a hand down his face.

  Analia was not oblivious of their exchange and warily took an item from the platter.

  * * *

  ——

  * * *

  Analia was worried. They had acted strangely about this last pile of food. Where Sebastian was brooding, he now had a slight curl to his lips. Marik too was hiding a grin.

  When Marik had admitted to being a slave, she had seen the truth of it in his eyes. She was stunned by the information, but it gave her new hope. Hope for the very real possibility of living free.

  The small, brown, pebbled mound of food didn't look appetizing or impressive in any way. But she didn't want to be rude and refuse. Plus the boys were now watching her with such interest, so she popped one piece into her mouth.

  She didn't chew at first, cautiously testing the flavor. The item began to soften to the shape of her mouth and her taste buds were inundated by rich, intense, flavor. The silky smooth texture caressed her tongue, as the sweetness rippled against her taste buds. Nothing could taste as good as this. Savoring the decedent new food she let it sit, melting and coursing through her mouth, pressing it between her tongue and roof, before finally it dissolved into a warm liquid puddle and slid down her throat. The loss of it left her craving more.

  Hearing the soft chuckles of both men, she opened her eyes. She hadn't even realized she had closed them.

  “No matter the species, every woman loves chocolate.” Marik laughed.

  Their wide grins made her smile too. Sebastian had softened completely, looking more relaxed than before, his features more handsome than ever. It made her imagine what he might taste like, she licked her lips. His gaze caught the movement and, though his smile slowly fell, his eyes became heated.

  “Your eyes are turning color,” he said.

  Turning color?

  His statement brought her back to her senses. “What do you mean?”

  He continued his intense gaze, the honey gold of his eyes melting, oozing with unspoken promises. She shivered. He shook his head. “They're normal again, but they almost looked silver a second ago.”

  “I saw it too,” Marik said. “When she was looking at you.”

  Analia didn't know what they were talking about. Her eyes don't change colors. Do they?

  “It could be a trait of her kind.” Marik turned to her. “Is that true?”

  “I don't know of my kind. As far as I know, I'm all that's left.” The thought that she might be the last of her people always saddened her. “My mother died when I was still young and after that…” she trailed off. “I was alone after that.”

  Marik gave her a look of compassion. “This is not important now.
We have work to get to, and, as it seems, I have a lot of training to do.” He nodded his dismissal to Sebastian. Analia was slightly shocked at that. The captain being dismissed by the cook? But Sebastian merely nodded in return, and turned to leave without another word or look in her direction. Her heart sank slightly as he disappeared. Why? She didn't know. What was she expecting? A, “good luck” or “don't screw this up” maybe. Was she disappointed?

  “Do you like to be called Anya or Analia?” Marik asked.

  Analia gave pause. She didn't dislike it when Sebastian called her Anya. It made her feel more connected in some way to her new life. A new name for a fresh start, perhaps. But her mother, or possibly her father, had given her the name Analia.

  “Either is fine,” she said.

  Marik started by showing her how to wash a dish. It wasn't difficult to catch on. Wash in warm water with soap, rinse, let dry. Easy.

  Leaving her to it, he walked to the other side of the galley to begin cooking. Analia washed every dish till it gleamed. The work was satisfying even though her hands were becoming pruned. As she scrubbed, she could hear people ordering through the large countertop window that connected the salon with the galley. She wanted to peek around her corner by the sink to see all the new faces, but resisted the urge.

  When she finished all the dishes, she waited for Marik's approval. Randomly, he picked up and examined many dishes—looking for mistakes, she assumed. Finally, he commended her work, and then led her around the rest of the galley.

  He showed her the walk-in cooler where the perishable foods were kept, the walk-in cupboard where canned and dried foods lined the shelves, and the cooking area where she was never to go near unless he told her otherwise. Analia clung to his every word, not wanting to make a mistake.

  Just then someone yelled across the counter for something called rake stew. Marik cringed. “The one thing I can't stand is being ordered at,” he commented for her ears only, while filling a bowl with a chunky liquid that tingled deliciously in Analia's nostrils. He handed the bowl to the man who had ordered it, and came back to her with a smile playing on his lips. “That's why you are about to start your real job.”

  Analia looked at him sideways.

  “When someone comes in, you're going to go out there and take their order, then bring it back to me. I'll cook it and plate it, and you'll bring it to them. Can you do that?”

  It sounded simple enough and the thought of being able to meet people up close, talk with them, was exhilarating. “I can do that.”

  He shooed her towards the door. “Go on then.”

  With a little too much excitement, she walked through the door that led to the salon. Most of the tables were empty. The man who had just ordered a moment ago sat alone at a table in the corner. There was one table that was occupied by three people, a woman and two males. At another table there were only two males.

  Their dress was distinctly individual and their races varied to the extreme. Neither table seemed to have placed an order yet. Analia approached the table of three.

  The female had short spiky brown hair and a small frame. Near her hairline started an intricate deep blue tattoo that swirled in a tight pattern, growing larger and gradating to green, as it traveled along her hairline and down her neck, disappearing where her clothing hugged her shoulders. Her dress was a deep blue that hugged her body past her ankles where a pair of black open-toe shoes peeked out.

  Both men were blond, handsome in different ways, and dressed in a similar type of clothes. Tan button-down shirts with dark brown pants and heavy black shoes—A uniform, perhaps, to identify their jobs.

  None of them featured the horns that Sebastian, Marik, and Sonya did. Out of habit Analia looked at their ears—constantly seeking her own kind. They were nothing like her pointed ones. She fought the usual twinge of disappointment.

  It wasn't until they noticed her approach that they stopped their conversation and looked her way. Her nerves caught up with her. She had no idea what she was doing, and almost forgot why she had approached them to begin with. Marik said to take their order, so she would start with that.

  “Hi, my name is Analia.” Her voice only slightly quivered. “May I take your orders?”

  All eyebrows rose as they gaped at her. The two men at the other table stopped talking and focused on her as well. She tried to smile, but was sure it looked forced.

  Finally, one of the males spoke. “Hi Analia, I'm Xandar. You're that girl, aren't you? That stowaway?”

  “I am.”

  “You're cute,” he stated.

  The other two let out a short laugh.

  Analia tried not to blush, and kept her face blank. “Thank you.”

  “You're working for Marik?”

  She nodded.

  “Don't let him boss you around too much. He can be a tight ass.”

  She didn't know what to say to that, so she focused on her job instead. “Are you ready to order or should I come back?”

  Xandar's gaze didn't waver; his staring started to become uncomfortable. She told herself it was because being stared at was entirely new to her.

  Xandar leaned back in his chair and openly studied her from head to toe. “Technically, you're not part of the crew are you?”

  “No,” she offered. “I'm not. I'll be leaving the ship once the current commission is completed.”

  “So, that means you're not against the rules.”

  The women snorted and spoke with a strange accent that Analia had never heard before. “As if you follow the rules, anyway. Leave the poor girl alone and just order already. Little Analia, I'll have the shroomeak salad.”

  Analia nodded and turned her attention to the other male who hadn't yet spoken.

  “Rake stew,” he said.

  She then focused on Xandar, who was still looking at her like she was on the menu.

  Finally, he spoke. “I'll do the rake stew as well.”

  She nodded and turned away, walking to the other table to take their orders. The two men were both dusted with black stains on their clothing and skin. Analia decided that, by their messed appearance, they must be mechanics or work closely with the engines of the ship.

  One man had an upturned nose and a set of long thin horns, nestled just behind ears that rose slightly above his bald head. They were nothing like Sebastian's short stubbly horns. The man's demeanor would look menacing, if it wasn't for his kind eyes. The other person seemed to be made of wrinkles. His face, arms and neck, even his eyelids had wrinkles on them, though it didn't make him look old.

  Both ordered rake stew. Analia reentered the galley to relay the orders to Marik, then asked, “What is rake stew?”

  “It's made up of whatever meats I have available when I begin to make it, combined with vegetables and my own special blend of spices. It slow-cooks for three days before it is ready to be served. It just went on the menu this morning, so you'll be getting a lot of orders for it.”

  Marik was right. Most orders throughout the day were for rake stew. With every table, she grew more and more comfortable in her new position, and began to approach each with confidence.

  The questions aimed at her were the same. Where did you come from? Why did you sneak onto the ship? Where are you headed next? What species are you? She tactfully dodged the difficult questions and really didn't know how to answer the last two.

  As she served the crew, she also observed them. They were all so contrary from one another. Completely different species sitting together, laughing and talking as though there were no disparity between them.

  A man with thin tentacles cascading from his neck sat across from a woman with four eyes. At another table, a woman with red skin shared stories with two women with larger than normal eyes that seemed to glow multicolored.

  She also noticed how happy they all seemed. Everyone smiled at her and were mostly polite. The atmosphere was easy going and relaxed. There was a comforting energy all around.

  Maybe she didn't need to
find her own kind. Maybe there was a place for her, like this, where different species lived in peace together. Perhaps there was a place for her on this very ship. What if she could stay?

  The thought was heady. After only a day of mingling with the crew, she had allowed herself to feel like one of them. Even though she knew she would never be like them, not really. Not with her ability, ever present and threatening her peace. But if she could keep it hidden, buried, there would be no reason for any of them to covet it.

  Two more females entered. They looked young. Teenagers maybe. One looked similar to the woman with the intricate tattoo. She had the same swirl pattern that framed her face, only hers varied in color from oranges to yellows and deep reds. Analia thought it looked beautiful.

  The other girl had brilliant blue hair that cut off just above the shoulders, and her skin was a silky pale color. They stood for a moment, surveying the room that had filled rapidly with patrons, until one had spotted her and pointed for the other. On the tips of their toes, they tried to get a better look at Analia, before grabbing a table near where they entered.

  Analia weaved through the crowded room to reach them. They whispered into each other's ear as she came close. “Hi,” Analia said, and introduced herself for the thousandth time that day. Then came the questions in such hurried rushes, that she didn't have time to respond.

  She looked around the room and pondered the crowd. Many faces would glance in her direction, then quickly turn away. Hushed whispers filled the room. It seemed all were focused on her in some way. She was a curiosity of sorts, Analia realized.

  She almost laughed out loud. After so many years in isolation, she felt crowded. The feeling was so foreign to her, she reveled in it.

  Turning back to the girls, she tried to answer them adequately. Nearby conversations died down to listen in. The teens’ questions continued to flow from them like water. She was beginning to enjoy the enthusiastic interrogation, while still skillfully evading certain inquiries. Then she asked a few of her own, wanting to know everything about the people on the ship.