City of Demons

by Richelle Mead

  Into Beth.

  A barista gave me a startled look when I stepped out. I think he’d seen me go in in my usual shape. But a few seconds later, he shook his head, apparently deciding he’d imagined it. That’s how mortals were. They didn’t expect the fantastic in their lives, so they tended to rationalize it when it happened.

  Clad in blond, hourglass glory, I walked over to Seth’s table.

  “Hey,” I said, hoping I had her voice right. I’d only heard her a couple of times.

  There was a delay, as usual, then he looked up. “Hey,” he said, clearly surprised. But he didn’t look displeased. “What are you doing here?”

  I shrugged. “Was walking by and saw you. I need some coffee . . . mind if I join you?”

  He frowned. “I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

  Fuck.

  “Once in a while I do,” I said evasively. “The only way I can get a real caffeine kick sometimes.”

  He nodded, thankfully not questioning it too much. After getting a cup of drip, I sat down across from him.

  “So, how’s progress today?” I asked.

  “Slow,” he admitted. “It happens sometimes.”

  A lapse of silence fell. I tried to think of something that idiotic fan girl would say.

  “Slow for you is probably ten times faster than what I can write.” Recycled material, but what could you do? Praying they hadn’t had this conversation before, I asked, “How’d you get published in the first place?”

  He smiled. “Slush pile.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s where unimportant aspiring authors go when they’re trying to get published. It often gets ignored. Or sorted by interns.”

  I frowned. “Then how did you get noticed?”

  “Mmm . . . well, agents still go through it. They just take a while sometimes. Or sometimes you get a savvy intern.”

  “I thought only actors have agents.”

  “Everyone selling themselves has an agent.”

  “Is yours good?”

  He nodded. “She’s got me some great deals.” He paused. “I’m not convinced she has a soul, though. The best ones never do.”

  “You know a lot of soulless people?” I asked glibly.

  He flinched. “Um, yeah. Some.”

  Then, just like in the Robert Frost poem, two paths diverged in the woods. I could either make Beth sound completely idiotic and see if Seth would lose interest. Or, I could aim for compelling and captivating to see if he’d go for it.

  I wasn’t really good at idiotic.

  “I dated a guy once who I’m pretty sure didn’t have a soul.” Beth’s fictitious past rolled off my lips like it was my own. “He was a lawyer. I swear, I used to hear him mumble in his sleep at night. I think he was chanting Doors songs backwards.”

  “That’s evidence of being soulless?”

  “You seen Jim Morrison? That guy was so hot that there’s no way he didn’t have some deal with the devil.”

  Seth laughed genuinely, and I saw it. The interest in his eyes.

  I pushed forward, chatty and funny, trying to do it in a way that was interesting but didn’t sound like a Georgina clone. To my dismay, Seth forgot all about the laptop and displayed none of his usual reticence in conversation. He spoke to Beth as easily as if she were, well, me.

  An hour or so later, I made my move.

  “I know you’ve got a girlfriend,” I said hesitantly. “And I know you couldn’t do coffee the other day . . . but . . . I’d love to keep hanging out, and I’m really hungry. Do you think maybe you’d like to go grab some food? I’m starving, and I know a great place. And it’d be just as friends.”

  Seth’s good humor faltered. “Well . . . I would . . . but, well, I’ve got to meet her later on. I don’t have the time. I mean, but I would otherwise. It sounds fun.”

  This was true. Seth and I had made dinner plans. He had a legitimate excuse. But what if he didn’t . . . ?

  Stop this, Georgina, I told myself. This trial’s unhinging you. You’re moving into psycho territory.

  “Okay. No problem,” I said, smiling and open. I stood up. “Hey, I’ll be right back.”

  I headed into the bathroom and pulled out my cell phone. I dialed Seth’s number.

  “Hey,” he said when he answered.

  “Hey,” I returned, back to Georgina’s voice.

  “How’s the jury thing going?”

  “Ugh. It sucks,” I grumbled. “Finally wrapped up for the day.”

  “Ah, cool.”

  “But, I’ve got some bad news. I got sucked into some dinner thing. I’m not going to be able to see you until a lot later.”

  A long pause.

  “That’s okay . . . I can fend for myself.”

  “I’m really sorry . . . I feel like I’ve been neglecting you.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. Really.”

  “Cool. I’ll catch you later.”

  We disconnected, and I walked back to the table, fully in Beth mode.

  “Back,” I said, returning to my chair.

  Seth smiled. This time it was the bemused, pensive smile he got when he was thinking hard about something. Finally, I saw a decision snap into his eyes.

  “So . . . hey. Maybe we can do dinner after all . . .”

  Chapter Nine

  The weirdness of technically being out on a date with my boyfriend and another woman wasn’t lost on me. Nor was the fact that this sort of insane, paranoid behavior was typical of the kind of women you hear about on TV who drive themselves and their children into a lake.

  “Georgina” never followed up with Seth on when “she” would be back later. This gave him no immediate reason to go home, and the night turned out to be a long one. The two of us ended up walking down the street to some cute little French café. It had outdoor seating, which was absolutely perfect for the balmy evening air. The tables were tiny and round, made of patina copper. Christmas lights, strung merrily along the roof’s edge, twinkled down at us. Seeing them reminded me of my earlier metaphor about demonic power hierarchies. Kurtis only had to pull out one “light” in my string to give me a night with Seth, a night that could possibly stop insanity like this night from happening again. Pondering that brought the trial back to my mind. The thought of going back to the jury deliberation tomorrow made my brain hurt.

  Beth’s past still poured forth with ease, but then, I’d been making up identities my entire life. I also knew enough about Seth to adapt her perfectly to him. I could say exactly what he wanted to hear. Dinner flew by, the conversation fast and furious. Afterward, we wandered over to a beachside park and spent a long night continuing our conversation. A number of times, I had to remind myself to stay in character. Being with him and talking like this just felt so natural and so comfortable that it was hard to remember that he and I just weren’t out on a normal date. He was with Beth. What was disturbing was that he treated “Beth” just as sweetly and familiarly as he would have treated me.

  For all I knew, Seth might have stayed out all night, but I eventually made up some excuse about needing to go home and do homework. We didn’t touch—no kissing or hugging—but Seth regarded me with genuine pleasure.

  “This was really great,” he said. “You’re . . . very easy to talk to. Thanks for asking me out.”

  “Thanks for joining me,” I replied. “It beat doing homework.” I tilted my head curiously. “So, tell me again: how long are you in town?”

  He shrugged. “Still not entirely sure. Another few days at least.”

  “Ah. Okay.” I put on a look of demure shyness. “Well . . . I don’t suppose . . . I don’t suppose you’d want to maybe catch dinner again before you leave?”

  He turned thoughtful, conflict in his eyes. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’d like to . . . but I mean, I don’t know what my schedule’s like.” A palpably nervous pause followed. “Could . . . could I call you when I know for sure?”

  Crap. No. He couldn’t very well call
Georgina’s number.

  “I lost my cell phone,” I told him.

  “Well . . . I’ll probably be at the diner tomorrow. We could talk then.”

  Oh, yeah. Even better. The real Beth would be pretty surprised to hear about what a great night they’d had. Frantically, my mind whirled.

  “A couple other friends have been coming in lately too, and my boss is getting annoyed that I keep talking to people during my shift. Might actually be better if you work somewhere else. I need to keep this job,” I added, hoping I sounded like Pathetic Struggling Student Girl. “Why don’t you just give me your number and I’ll check in with you tomorrow?”

  He scrawled it on a scrap of paper, and we walked off in separate directions. A few minutes later, I became invisible and caught up to him, following him back to the hotel. I let him go into the room first, waited several minutes, then walked inside in my usual form.

  “Hey,” I said, smiling. He was on the bed, watching some kind of improv comedy show. “You’re still awake.”

  He smiled back. “Crazy night?”

  I rolled my eyes and flounced onto the bed beside him. “You have no idea. What’d you do today?”

  His eyes flicked back to the TV. “Wrote. Ate dinner.”

  Flirted shamelessly with another woman, I supplied.

  “Same old, same old,” I said instead. “Doesn’t it ever get boring?”

  He ran his fingers along my arm. “You’re enough excitement for both of us.”

  I snuggled against him, and we watched TV in silence. When, after a little while, I made a few amorous suggestions, he again refused.

  “No ... it’s not you. I’m just not up for it.”

  “You don’t have to do anything,” I teased. “I do all the work.”

  “I know, I know. It just doesn’t ... doesn’t hold much appeal at the moment.”

  “Me naked and getting off doesn’t hold much appeal?”

  He held up his hands in innocence. “It’s nothing personal, I swear. It’s just well . . . it’s not the same as sex, as that union, you know? Don’t get me wrong . . . I like it, and I’m not saying I don’t ever want to do it again. But . . . I mean, it’s icing. You and me . . . our connection is what matters. We know the physical doesn’t really enter into it.” His hand found mine. “It’s just enough to be with you.”

  I sighed and hoped he was right.

  * * *

  I didn’t bother asking Seth where he was going to work the next morning. I kind of wanted to forget last night; it had been stupid of me. Nothing I should repeat. I hoped he’d take “Beth’s” advice and just go somewhere else. If he planned on going back to the diner, I didn’t want to think about it and the ensuing complications when they checked their stories against each other’s.

  Besides, I had other complications to occupy me. That fucking jury. Until this deliberation process started, I’d been pretty sure there could be no professional experience more painful than the time my bookstore boss made us attend a seminar entitled How to Turn a Minimum Wage Job Into Maximum Fun. I’d left that class wanting to drill a hole in my head to end the pain. Suddenly, though, I could have sat through that whole god-awful workshop again rather than face my “jury of peers” once more.

  To my surprise, I was the last juror to arrive. I glanced at the time, wondering if I’d miscalculated and was late. Nope. I was a couple minutes early—which meant the others had arrived earlier still. Casual conversation sparkled around the room, but I saw a few sets of eyes turn toward me as I entered and sought out my corner from yesterday.

  Once I was settled, the demoness with magenta lips who’d envied Jerome’s brilliant proxy idea immediately started business. Everyone fell silent and paid attention. My apprehension grew.

  “So,” she said briskly, “let’s get this over with, shall we? Who has thoughts to share on the case?”

  My peanut butter friend spoke up right away. “Well, it seems pretty obvious to me. There’s no way Kurtis could have done this. He wouldn’t want to screw with his review, and besides, he doesn’t live anywhere near here.” I wanted to point out that a demon could transport from Belgium to L.A. in a heartbeat, but the others were nodding along eagerly, like his reasoning made perfect sense. “And anyway, it’s been a long time. I think he’s given up the grudge. I mean, Hell, if that whole thing he did to Anthony with the boars and cannibals wasn’t enough revenge for him, I don’t think obliteration would be much of an improvement.”

  The others laughed appreciatively.

  “You’re totally right,” someone piped up. “He had nothing to do with this.”

  “Agreed,” said another.

  From around the room, more confirmations of Kurtis’s innocence followed. After several minutes of this, Magenta Lips moved us on to the next stage. I could only stare, wide-eyed, astonished at this brilliant show of order.

  “Right then,” she said. “What else do we think?”

  The demon with the weak chin jumped in this time. “Well, Starla seems like the logical choice to me.”

  Starla honestly seemed like the least logical choice to me. Uneasily, I remembered her words about how she made an easy target. She had the least to offer in the way of bribes. I mustered the courage to protest her guilt but was cut off when the discussion took an even more bizarre turn.

  “I agree,” said a demon across the room. He put a lit cigarette to his lips, despite the little sign on the end table politely asking him not to smoke. “Of course, we all know she couldn’t have actually done it herself. Which leaves only one explanation.”

  “Right,” agreed Weak Chin. “Clyde.”

  “It is the only reasonable explanation,” mused Magenta Lips. “Starla decides to kill Anthony, figures out the logistics, then gets Clyde to do it.” Anthony had been incinerated. I didn’t really know how much logistical planning that took.

  “And we all know Clyde wanted to do it anyway,” added Peanut Butter. “He probably didn’t even need her provocation.”

  I looked from face to face, suddenly feeling terribly out of the loop. I felt like I was the understudy in a play. Everyone already had their lines down, and I was desperately unprepared.

  Just as with Kurtis’ acquittal, everyone in the room concurred with this theory. Immediately, twelve sets of eyes turned on me, their gazes smoldering—and not in a sexual way.

  “What about you?” asked Weak Chin. “What do you think?”

  “I . . .” I swallowed. “I think we don’t entirely have enough proof to say for sure that Clyde and Starla worked together.”

  Peanut Butter scoffed. “Who needs proof? We have deductive reasoning.”

  “We need a unanimous vote,” said the presiding demoness warningly. “We’re all in agreement. You’re the only one who isn’t.”

  The faces that I’d hitherto seen bored and playful were suddenly hard and cold. Menacing. They watched me with angry expressions, daring me to disagree.

  Something had happened last night, clearly. While I’d been out being psycho stalker girlfriend, Kurtis had apparently done some serious lobbying to get the jury to agree with this theory. The quality of the bribes had to be off the charts. It was funny, though, that he hadn’t come to me. Of course, considering the deal he’d already offered, he probably figured there was no greater reward he could give me. He was right. He also probably figured there was no point in swaying me because I wouldn’t be able to stand against all these angry demons.

  And for a moment, I thought he was right on that too. This group was scary as fuck. It would be so easy to agree with them, so easy to cast my vote for this unsubstantiated theory. I didn’t want to have twelve servants of Hell hating me. I wanted to go home and end this insanity. I wanted to take Seth away from waitresses who might lead him into temptation.

  And so, I think it was a surprise to everyone—including me—when the next words out of my mouth were, “I . . . don’t think that explanation is right.”

  The following hours were
horrible.

  They yelled at me. They raged at me. They threatened me. None of them actually hurt me—the rules of this whole operation forbid it—but they came close. And sometimes, mental abuse can be worse than the physical kind anyway. I heard more creative options than Kurtis had come up with for Anthony.

  I was almost in tears when salvation came in the form of Luis. He stuck his head in the room, having expected such a lazy jury to have recessed earlier. Seeing the demons gathered around me so threateningly, he arched an eyebrow and said, “Why don’t we call it quits for the day?”

  He escorted me downstairs, holding on to my arm. It was only when we walked into the bar that I realized I was shaking. We sat down, and he ordered me a vodka gimlet.

  “You okay?” he asked, not unkindly.

  I took a deep breath and told him what had happened. Little expression showed on his face.

  “Clever,” he finally said, once I finished the story.

  “Clever?” I exclaimed, beckoning for a second drink since I’d inhaled the first in under two minutes. “That was fucking insane! Do you have any idea what they said to me? What they said they’d do to me?”

  Luis shook his head, still looking unconcerned. “They’re trying to scare you. And yeah, it’s working, but you know they can’t hurt you. You’re protected under all the rules of this trial, and anyway, Jerome would string up any and all of them if they laid a hand on you. They’re flies compared to him.”

  “It was horrible,” I reiterated with a shudder. “I can’t believe they all latched on to this idea. It’s insane.”

  “Not really.” Luis downed his own drink, bourbon and soda. “Kurtis has the most to offer, so his bribes would be the best. And this option also curries the most favor with Noelle. She hates Starla. Noelle would be happy to see her suffer. And Clyde was uppity when he got pissed off over the promotion thing. That had to have hurt her pride too. This way, he’s taught a lesson about what happens when you talk back to your superiors.”

  I groaned. “So the jurors get their reward and earn brownie points with Noelle.”

  Luis nodded.

  “What are the odds of the jurors changing their mind?”