Confessions of a Demon

by S. L. Wright

  Her face crumpled, as if I had made another direct hit. “Vex is the one who made Dread let me go. Otherwise he would have forced me back. Vex knew that if I told anyone about Dread’s cage, everyone would be in an uproar. Now he’ll finally get what he deserves.”

  A flash of Dread inside his cage, shrunken, diminished, made me swallow. Yeah, he’d gotten what he deserved, all right.

  Crave waved that aside. “I want to know what happened to Vex. Dread killed him, didn’t he? The student finally bested the master.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Lash denied. “Dread is too scared of Vex.”

  I had to keep them on track and off the track of Vex’s killer. That was my prize bit of information—I was going to catch bigger game than these two with it. “With Vex dead, there’s no way to know if the strike will go on. Goad’s horde could be on its way right now.”

  “Dread will stop them,” Lash said confidently. “He won’t let them kill me. It’s probably why he turned on Vex.”

  I raised my brows. There was no way I could cut through that mess of mistaken assumptions. “Are you willing to bet your life on it? What harm would it do to prepare yourselves just in case?”

  “What harm, indeed?” Crave agreed. “We should warn Glory and the others.”

  They were still very suspicious. Lash stayed in the parlor to keep an eye on me, calling Glory to give her the news, while Crave directed the servants in locking down the house. I had no advice to offer, and I was cut out of the most important conversations, which took place in quick, whispered conferences in the hallway. A general malaise was overwhelming me, making the bustle of activity flow around me like slow syrup, easy and painless.

  But I heard reports as the Glory demons shored up in their defensive positions. Crave instructed Milo, his driver and bodyguard, to remain out of sight on the ground floor where he would have immediate access to the front and the back of the house.

  Lash took me upstairs, where she told me to sit down outside a small, interior room. It held the monitors for the cameras trained down on the street, the front stoop, the tiny front patio where the door led to the basement, along with various shots of the backyard and roof.

  I hugged my knees to my chest, desperately hoping I hadn’t set them off on a false alarm. Vex could have been lying about the strike to rile me up, or to provoke Dread. Who knew? If nothing happened, then it would make a very bad first impression.

  I may end up bargaining with Glory for my release.

  My only distraction was watching the interaction between Crave and Lash. She tried to call the shots, but Crave wouldn’t let her, countermanding some of her orders—like posting demons at the main entry points to Harlem to alert Goad that the surprise had been blown and possibly avert the strike. Lash tried to argue, but Crave insisted that they were much safer in their defensive positions.

  Crave and Dread couldn’t have been more different; Crave’s dark, dangerous vibes were nothing like Dread’s constrained coldness. Crave snapped back at her when Lash grew irritable. Finally he insisted, “Sit down, Lash. Everything is set. You’d do best to calm yourself.”

  She flounced out in a huff, but returned soon enough. She couldn’t bear to be far from his side.

  I held my breath, waiting.

  We didn’t have to wait long. We all felt it at the same time: an influx of demons too numerous to separate the signatures. They were moving in a wave up Harlem. That many signatures deafened my senses, as if we were being buried in a demon tsunami. I had to remind myself to breathe.

  I scrambled up to see the monitors behind Crave and Lash. In seconds, a long black sedan stopped in front of the house.

  Crave shot me a strangely victorious look for the start of a battle. Now he believed me. This many demons couldn’t be anything less than an invasion force.

  Stun’s ear- ringing sensation separated from the others, unmistakable. The other demon signatures clashed together, drowning out one another. With Crave and Lash so close to me, I couldn’t distinguish any of the others. But I wasn’t surprised that Vex had planned to send Stun, one of his most loyal demons, after Crave and Lash. Goad was probably at Glory’s house right now.

  I wondered if Stun could sense me inside Crave’s house. Since the Vex demons weren’t looking for me, they might not notice my subtle signature among the others. Then again, they had every reason to be cautious. I wondered if they would kill me, too, if they got inside. Or would they take me back to the cage?

  “Call 911,” Crave ordered into his walkie-talkie. A burst of static carried back the affirmative.

  “How’s that going to help?” Lash drawled scornfully.

  “I call 911 all the time,” I said. “It’s a hassle dealing with the police, whether you’re a demon or a human.” At her glare, I realized I had just sided with Crave against her. She was the kind of woman who wouldn’t forget that.

  On one of the screens, several dark figures appeared at the top of the fence and dropped down. They quickly assembled a black battering ram; then they each grabbed a handle and ran out of the frame. Crave alerted his people.

  “Two demons, two humans,” Crave muttered.

  I scanned the different screens until I found the one over the back door pointing downward. There was no sound as the men rammed the door on the basement floor, shattering the wood frame. The door slammed back, cracked nearly in half.

  Suddenly a shot rang out far down below. On the monitor, one of the men fell back, struck in the leg. The other three leaped out of range as another shot was fired from inside. There were flashes as the invaders fired back. But when the demons tried to get to their downed partner, another shot drove them off.

  “Milo’s in a good position,” Crave murmured. “He could hold them forever.”

  “Look, there’s more,” I said, pointing at another screen. It was a view of the roof.

  Crave alerted his man on the top floor to be prepared. The demons smashed the glass of the skylight, but the servants had bolted a thick Plexiglas plate underneath. Their battering ram bounced off it without making a dent. Crave smiled at their confusion when they realized they wouldn’t be able to get in that way.

  “How many people did he send to kill me?” Lash exclaimed.

  “Considering they’ve targeted all of us in Harlem, I’d say we each got a pair of demon assassins with human backup.” Crave sounded bored. “Vex couldn’t possibly round up any more loyalists than that willing to risk their own necks.”

  Lash clutched her fist to her chest, her eyes flashing. “To think Dread gave orders to kill me!”

  “Actually, it was Vex,” I reminded her.

  “Dread could have stopped it!” Her voice quavered indignantly. “He should have.”

  Crave ignored her, focusing on the efforts of his people to repel the invaders. The man down in the backyard was writhing and calling out to the others. But they couldn’t reach him with Milo keeping them pinned down. The two demons on the roof abandoned their quest to get inside and jumped down the three stories to break up the stalemate in the backyard, laying down covering fire as they retreated. They had to leave their wounded man behind or risk being shot by Milo.

  It was over soon, and the signatures of the demons receded, soon to be replaced by fleeting signatures as Vex demons fled from Harlem. Their retreat was not nearly as organized as their attack.

  Then the police arrived with blaring lights. The city’s finest were certainly quick when there were reports of shots being fired. Too bad I had learned that firsthand.

  I spent many long hours holed up in one of the rooms on the third floor. It was in the center of the house, so I couldn’t see out the front or the back, but I knew it was still dark out, the quiet before dawn with only a distant siren stirring the air. The room was decorated in red, like a bordello nightmare with tassels and fringe. The wide sofa was large enough for two people to recline easily, as if it were designed for seduction. If my experience with Revel was any guide, that made it likely
I was being recorded.

  The cops searched the entire place, of course, taking the wounded man away along with the evidence of an attempted burglary, but there were a thousand procedures that had to be followed. Crave had suggested we conceal my presence in his house—and I agreed. I’d had enough of cops this week. I could only imagine Lieutenant Markman’s reaction if my name got mixed up in yet another shooting. So I swallowed my pride and crouched in a built- in hidey hole inside the back of the closet until they were done.

  The fact that Crave was Mark Cravet, the notorious jewelry designer who had stolen the affections of the prophet’s wife, made it even more sensitive. I had already declared to the police that the prophet had kidnapped my friend.

  Lash reappeared as the sun was rising. “That man who was shot used to be Dread’s driver. The investigators think the prophet is retaliating against us because of our affair. How could he be so stupid?”

  I was tired of pointing out that Dread had nothing to do with the attack. “Are the police outside?”

  “Yes, along with the paparazzi. They started showing up as soon as it hit the police radios. Those bloodsucking vermin.”

  “Uh-oh. I’ll have to sneak out somehow.…”

  “Glory wants to speak to you first. She’s got some questions for you.”

  Of course she did. Lash must have told Glory that Vex was dead. “That’s why I came here.”

  Lash was clenching her fists and furrowing her brow as she paced back and forth in the small room. Her agitation marred her celebrity-staged appearance. I was certain she managed the effect of full makeup by sheer will alone. “I still can’t believe Dread wants me dead.”

  Since that was true, I couldn’t deny it. “You did leave him. Rather abruptly, from what I saw. He was shocked. And really put out that it was Crave you left him for.”

  “He never respected Crave. But he’s never seen in him the things I have.”

  “Crave is alluring. And very dominant. I can understand why a woman like you enjoys being with him.”

  Lash lifted her eyes to heaven. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love Crave. I’ve known him practically since he was born, right before the Civil War. It was as if my heart opened up at his first words. But I convinced myself that it was his signature, that drawing-in effect.”

  I nodded. “It is mesmerizing.”

  “I tried to ignore it, and I laughed at the women who fell for him. Sometimes I laughed about it with him. We always flirted. It was an unspoken thing between us; our eyes would meet across the room. We spoke to each other whenever we could.”

  I didn’t point out that there was a world of difference between lust and love.

  “Dread knew nothing about it—nor did anyone else. Everyone was surprised when I left. But when Crave came to Harlem with Glory, I started seeing him out every week. It was the first time we’ve lived in the same city, moved in the same social circles. He plays the games I adore, making me push against him, spar with him, that glorious struggle of wills.…”

  She was lost in the rush of new romantic energy, though she had known the man for more than a century and a half.

  “So that’s why you left Dread? Because you fell in love with Crave?”

  Lash hesitated. “I was too entwined with Dread to ever leave him. How do you throw away sixteen hundred years together?” She shook her head ruefully. “But that night I left, something happened. It wasn’t shocking or huge. Sometimes I think it’s the most trivial thing, but it was too much for me. I finally saw Dread for who he really is.”

  I was trying to win her sympathy. “What happened?”

  She frowned, turning away. “It was nothing much. What matters is that I left.”

  Disappointed, I realized I would get nothing more out of her. I reclined back on the sofa, watching Lash pace back and forth for a while. The red haze of her fury had eased, but her serious expression was far more frightening because it held less drama and more determination.

  Several hours later, I wanted desperately to talk to Shock. But after I’d seen Crave’s security system, I couldn’t tell her the most important thing—that it was Ram who had tried to kill her. I was starting to think it was my own paranoia, induced by Revel’s twisted tastes, but I had the feeling people were listening in on everything I said. I couldn’t even risk calling Michael to find out how Pepe was; the less these demons knew about my friends, the better.

  To relieve my boredom after Lash left, I opened my door to better hear the bass voices of the cops echo up the stairway. When that finally went quiet, there was an eerie silence in the house. Occasionally there were footsteps pattering up or down below, and the sound of doors closing softly.

  Then I heard Lash’s voice, rising high and strident.

  I hurried out into the hallway, leaning over the banister to hear. She was shouting about suing someone for defamation. Crave replied shortly and pointedly, sending her off on a higher tirade.

  I quietly descended two flights, staying on the inside of the steps where they wouldn’t creak. With every step, I got to hear Lash read out loud as she rattled a newspaper in anger. “It’s a two-page banner headline! THE PROPHET STRIKES BACK! What are we, aliens? This isn’t journalism; it’s not even yellow—it’s puce! How did they get this printed so fast?”

  “You really must join the computer age, darling,” Crave drawled.

  “Don’t they have laws that prevent this from happening? See, here, they say our ‘love nest was violated.’ They say the injured robber performed odd jobs for the church—odd jobs! And they’re saying you’re the one who shot him, or at least they’re implying you did it. Look at this: ‘Mark Cravet, the infamous playboy, defended his love…’!”

  “Nice shot of my house,” Crave said.

  Lash sounded angry, but she also seemed to be enjoying herself. She was the center of attention. She poured over the photographs, noting how well she looked in the one where she was snuggled under Crave’s arm. She also read the fawning description of Mark Cravet, how he was considered an artist for his fanciful pavé designs using gems he cut into extraordinary shapes.

  By crouching at the top of the stairs, I could see down into the parlor. The room was shadowed from the shutters pulled over the front windows. Lash was wearing a formal dress again, a pale blue halter with an empire waist, showing off her shoulders, long neck, and décolleté.

  She was fingering her necklace, a delicate, gem-studded chain. The studied tilt of her head, setting off her eyes and seductive mouth, showed that all the world was a stage to Lash, including her intimacies. “You are brilliant, darling. I never want to take this off.”

  Crave seemed more irritated than pleased by her flattery. “The servants are going to catch you one day,” he told her, letting his eyes linger on her flushed cheeks.

  She was looking rather youthful and vibrant with glossy blond hair and blushing skin. In public, she had to stay faithful to the persona she had created of the prophet’s aging wife. Clearly she wasn’t satisfied with that role while she was enchanting him. But Crave was right; someone was going to notice how young and dewy Lash was looking these days.

  Lash shrugged, flicking out the fingers of her hand lightly as if to toss away any concern about that. “I do it to please you, because I know you see beautiful young women every day, and I know how they tempt you.”

  “You knew who I was when you came to me. You can’t keep getting jealous every time a woman speaks to me.”

  “I know, Crave. I’ll do whatever you want. I didn’t object, did I, when you brought home those whores last week? I know what you are, and I love you for it.”

  “That’s not likely to happen now, what with the reporters camped on our sidewalk. I’ll be cast as the devil in this little drama of yours, just you see.”

  Lash took his hand, closing her eyes as she soaked up his irritation. The flashing of her aura lit up the darkened room as she pulled on him hard, as if she hadn’t fed since yesterday.

  Crave imp
atiently shoved her hand away. “You must learn to feed from others. I can’t sustain you on my own.”

  Lash was almost panting to be torn away from him as he castigated her—her favorite emotion. “It’s hard! You know how I’ve lived my life. He would only let me feed from him. It feels too… intimate to do it with someone I don’t love.”

  Crave looked away from her. But he allowed her to take hold of his hand, letting her soak up his annoyance.

  The silence roiled with tension. Then he ordered quietly, “Get down.”

  She trembled as she shed her shame and desire for him. Slowly she knelt, humbling herself to him. Her flush of embarrassment was so strong that I could see the deep teal streaks in her aura.

  She clung to his hand. He touched her hair to absorb her longing for him, her thrill at his touch, the spike in her desire. Her lips parted as if to say she would do anything he asked if he would only touch her again. Her breasts strained against the halter of her dress as she leaned closer to him.

  “Show me how much you want it,” he said.

  She kissed his hand fervently. I felt like a voyeur now, as if I should back away slowly. I didn’t want to watch them feed each other. It felt like watching them have sex.

  Crave shook his head. “That’s not good enough. I think you need to be lying on the floor while you do that.”

  Confused, she looked down, then put her hand to her mouth, realizing what he wanted.

  Nothing could have torn me away.… Did he want her to kiss his feet?

  He did! Lash slowly bent down, putting her face to the toe of his slipper. Her lips pressed in firmly so he would feel it through the leather.

  “I love you,” she murmured, pressing her lips against him again.

  “What do you want?” he asked her.

  “To touch you,” she instantly replied, her face still near his foot.

  “Then do it.”

  She hesitated, and I didn’t understand at all. But then she removed his leather slipper, pulling it from his foot.

  I wondered if Dread had ever debased her like this. Surely Dread had wanted her fear, not her humiliation. But perhaps Crave knew better that physical wounds had little effect on demon bodies, and were quickly shed and gone. The psychic barbs he struck Lash with were better aimed to cut to her heart.