Speak of the Demon by Stacia Stark
1
Danica
“Ididn’t do it, I swear!”
The lesser demon’s voice turned into a high-pitched whine. He inched his black, clawed hand toward the long knife I’d dropped on the ground.
I slammed my foot down on his hand. Hard. “Uh-huh. Must’ve been some other demon who looked just like you, right?”
His feet dug into the ground in an effort to escape, the muscles of his legs straining. But he wasn’t going anywhere.
I’d found him with his claws sunk deep into a goblin’s neck, ten minutes after he’d attacked a group of humans. He’d obviously been summoned, and if he was free of his bonds, he’d managed to kill his human summoner.
High demons could feed off a number of things– lust, greed, lies, and– it was rumored– fear. But most lesser demons preferred pain. Unfortunately for them, there were rules involving a little thing called consent.
That was where I came in.
“The Mage Council will be pleased to finally have you in their hands, Asparas.”
The demon shrieked, screaming denials, even as his claws dripped goblin blood on the pavement. That pavement– and everything else in Durham— was covered in a layer of yellow pollen. Spring had reached North Carolina and my allergy spell was barely holding strong this year. Another few days of this and I’d need to buy yet another charm.
“Okay,” I said. “Onto our next order of business. I’m going to ask you a question, and I’ll know if you lie.”
Six months of this. Six months with the dagger I now clutched in my fist and I was still no closer to learning the truth.
Asparas froze, his eyes widening as I rolled him over with my foot. He bared his fangs at me as his tail whipped out, aiming for my leg. I sidestepped and gave him a disappointed shake of my head as I reached into the pocket of my jeans for the picture I carried everywhere.
“Have you ever seen this woman before?”
“No.”
The Mistilteinn Dagger began to glow a dull red, and I gaped at it. The demon was lying. For a moment, I stood frozen as I attempted to come to terms with it. After two and a half years of searching, Asparas was the first creature I’d ever interrogated who had recognized the picture of my mother.
“Who killed her?”
“I don’t know.”
Truth. “But you know something. When did you see her?”
Little known fact about lesser demons: They have photographic memories. It helps them break out of contracts when they’re summoned by idiots who want a demon on a leash but have no idea how to phrase their orders in a way that the demon can’t escape.
“December 18th, 72AP.” Asparas’s voice was sulky and he beat his wings again. Unfortunately for him, one of my throwing knives had cut through the membrane of his wing when I found him crouched over the goblin.
It took me a moment to connect the date. December 18th, 72 AP was the day my mother died. Seventy-two years after the first portals were opened on earth, my mother was murdered— likely by one of the creatures who’d originally streamed through, making this world their home.
“Who did you see with her? Who killed her?” I knew better than to ask multiple questions at once, but I was officially flustered.
“She was already dead,” the demon snarled. “Just another witch corpse, and no way for me to feed. Why would I care?”
I took a step closer to the demon and tilted my head. He froze. I kept my voice very quiet, and he began to tremble.
My voice was very quiet. “Was there anyone else near her?”
Asparas stayed stubbornly silent and I crouched next to him, keeping one eye on his sharp teeth. “Answer me and I’ll put in a good word with the Mage Council.”
The dagger glowed red and I sighed. Unfortunately, it was an equal-opportunity artifact, and it reacted to my lies as well. “I’ll tell the Council you cooperated,” I amended, and the red disappeared.
The demon cursed in a language I didn’t recognize, but his eyes darted as he weighed the pros and cons. Finally, he snarled at me.
“There was a high demon examining her body,” he said sulkily, glowering at the picture in my hand.
My pulse beat faster and I fought to keep my voice steady as I stood straighter.
“Who?”
“Ver–”
The demon suddenly gaped, blood pouring from his throat and I froze, staring down at him for a shocked moment.
I whirled and crouched, dropping my shields long enough to send out a tendril of power in an attempt to track the owner of the arrow.
Nothing. They were gone.
I glanced back down at the demon. Dead. An arrow stuck out from his throat, and I twisted until it came free, careful not to make contact with the tip, in case it was poisoned. The arrow was matte black, which explained why I hadn’t seen it coming— it hadn’t caught the light. Even the feathers were black, and I stared at them consideringly. I knew the types of bolts most of the bounty hunters in the Triangle used, and I’d never seen one like this before.
Someone hadn’t wanted me to hear what the demon had to say. The only lead I’d ever gotten, and he was dead.
But I now had half a name. I could use that.
I dragged the demon the twenty feet to my Toyota, hauling his body into the trunk. The Mage Council wouldn’t be happy— they’d wanted him alive— but I’d still get half the bounty. The sooner I wrapped this job up, the sooner I could figure out who ‘Ver’ was. I grunted as I shoved the demon’s limbs into the trunk. I kept an old tarp handy for moments like these, and I adjusted it to prevent the blood from soaking my trunk. With a last glance around the vicinity, I slammed the lid and headed for the Mage Council’s local offices.
The lives of humans on Earth all changed within a single moment just over seventy years ago– the moment the portals opened and paranormals streamed through in droves.
The ten years following the opening of the portals were known as the Decade of Despair. While the name still made me roll my eyes, there were few other ways to describe the years where close to a billion people had died. The Mage Council had fought the good fight, and it still focused on recruiting the kind of humans who wanted to make a difference… and those who longed for power of their own. I didn’t fit either category.
Before the Decade of Despair, the Mage Council’s Durham facility was the Durham County Human Services building. I’d seen pictures of the original building in a book somewhere, and it had been designed with plenty of windows in an attempt to make it more welcoming.
The Human Services had been mostly rubble after the Decade of Despair, and the Mage Council had snapped it up. The new facility was designed to withstand anything paranormals threw at it– the walls were made of colossal stone slabs, and the lower floors had bars on the windows. Most of the glass was long gone since the mages considered it a security risk, and it was now an unimaginative gray block of a building with some of the strictest security measures in the city.
The facility spanned a city block and towered over the smaller apartment buildings in the area. Along with floors of offices, a library, and the mysterious, ultra-secure upper floors, the facility had been expanded to include a judicial floor, a basement prison, and an execution chamber.
Ben was leaning against the side of the building when I arrived, and I silently cursed. He looked like one of those guys who’d peaked in high school, and was reliving his glory days over and over. His hair was thinning, but he’d occasionally spring for a glamor-charm, giving him a luscious head of hair for a few weeks before the spell faded. Most of his muscle was slowly turning to flab, and he spent the majority of his time off attempting to get laid.
Ben’s smile widened and he wandered after me as I dragged the body around to the back entrance so it could be checked in. He watched me silently and I refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence.
The mage working behind the check-in counter gave me a dark look as he processed the body. I shrugged and stared mournfully at the cash he’d slid under the glass screen. I’d counted on twice the bounty. This week was going to be tight.
I ground my teeth as I shoved the cash into my pocket and took the paperwork from the mage. Whoever thought they could get away with killing my mark in front of me would have another thing coming, oh yes they would.
I had half a name, and it wouldn’t take me long to research exactly who that name belonged to. For the first time, I had a solid lead— someone who’d been seen near my mother’s body. That was cause for celebration.
“So, how exactly did you fuck that up so bad?”
Ben hadn’t taken the hint. Maybe if I pretended he was invisible, he’d leave me alone. The mage still hadn’t forgiven me for plying him with drinks six months ago and making him spill everything he knew about the dagger currently sheathed on my belt. He’d been snooping around the restricted section of the Mage Council’s library, and if the council found out, he was in big trouble.
The Mistilteinn Dagger was also known as the Dagger of Truth. The moment I’d heard of it, I was determined to make it mine. With the dagger in my hand, I’d be able to interrogate suspects without needing a truth spell.
Of course, if the council discovered exactly where I’d found my dagger, I’d be in much deeper shit than Ben. The Mage Council had to cooperate with the high demons, because if it came down to a war, the demons would wipe them all out without blinking. Stealing ancient artifacts from the demons wasn’t conducive to a good working relationship.
Both Ben and I had kept our mouths shut, but that didn’t mean we were buddies. He thought the dagger should’ve been his, even though he hadn’t had the ovaries to go after it. Me? I’d never forget the first time I worked with him after joining the Mage Council and he double-crossed me, stealing the mark and leaving me stranded, deep in red cap territory after dark. Turns out, vicious, murderous goblins don’t listen to reason. I still had a scar on my thigh as a reminder of that night.
He was still staring at me. I scowled. “Mind your business,” I advised him, and he lifted his lip at me before turning and stalking away.
I headed back around the front of the building, scanned in at the desk in the lobby, and took one of the elevators up to Cara’s office. The apprentice mage specialized in weapons and, if I slipped her a fifty, she’d likely examine the arrow for me. The fact that someone had killed Asparas before he could tell me who was seen near my mom’s body could be coincidence, sure. He could’ve pissed off any number of people during his rampage across Durham.
But I’d been doing this job for long enough that I didn’t believe in coincidences.
I knocked on her open door, my eyes scanning her office. A collection of swords leaned against the wall in one corner, a tiny window offered a small glimpse of the city below, and her floor, desk, and guest chair were littered with books and weapons.
“Shit.” I’d been hoping she’d be here, but she must be out in the field. While I really needed to get the arrow analyzed, I didn’t have time to wait around. I made a mental note to text Cara later and took the elevator back down to my car where I Googled, enjoying the breeze coming through the open windows. Within a few weeks the North Carolinian heat would be brutal.
The page loaded and I scanned the results. The search term demon + Ver gave me a few options. There was Verrier, known as the demon of disobedience, or Verrin, the demon of impatience. I scrolled, occasionally lifting my head to keep an eye on my surroundings. Few people would start shit this close to the Mage Council’s facility, but it paid to be careful.
Neither of those demons had been seen on Earth during the past fifty years. That didn’t mean they weren’t going by different names. Maybe they’d just been careful not to draw attention to themselves. I blew out a breath, running my thumb down the list.
There.
Vercan. His social media listed his home as Raleigh, and once I searched his name directly, it was evident that he’d been here when my mother died. Turns out, he was a proponent of ‘demon’s rights,’ and he’d been one of the first demons to champion cross-species relationships several decades ago.
I raised an eyebrow at that. Even fifty years ago, those kinds of relationships could get you killed. Now things were changing, and there was even a dating app devoted to paranormals.
I did a little more online stalking, my anticipation making it difficult to focus. Vercan was my best lead, so I’d start with him and check out the other demons if he proved to be a bust. I went still as I found a Facebook post he’d been tagged in. He was on the guest list for one of Samael’s parties tonight. One of his private parties. My mouth went dry at the memory of the last party I’d attended.
Samael was the biggest, baddest demon on the East Coast– and likely the country. Nothing happened in his territory without his express permission, and he played nice with the Mage Council because he chose to— not because he had to.
It was his obsidian tower that loomed over Durham, sticking out like a sore thumb. And while the mages liked to pretend they were in charge, everyone knew they bowed to the high demons.
Samael’s masquerade parties were legendary. Humans, mages, witches, fae, even— I’d heard— the occasional werewolf would attend, although the latter never stayed long— their alpha didn’t approve. The parties allowed the demons present to feed off the attendees' lust, lies, and greed, while the attendees got to brag about partying with the demons. A win-win for assholes.
Unfortunately, it seemed as if tonight was one of Samael’s exclusive, invite-only kind of parties. I scanned the tower’s website and grimaced. Samael had just held a masquerade party for the public a few nights ago, which meant the next one could be weeks away. And Vercan was due to fly to Europe in a few days.
This was my best chance.
I chewed on my lower lip. When my sister and I were growing up, my mom had one rule. One instruction that she repeated ad nauseum: stay away from the demons.
But what if the demons could help me find out who killed her?
I started my car and pulled away from the curb. As long as I could get into the party, I could stay out of Samael’s way and have a quick chat with Vercan. Unfortunately, my dagger would have to stay behind.
Since high demons can smell— and feed off— lies, I’d figured it wouldn’t do any harm if I “borrowed” the Mistilteinn Dagger. Even learning it was Samael’s dagger, and that it was guarded by a dragon hadn’t been enough to deter me.
The scariest part hadn’t been the dragon. The scariest part of my shenanigans had been dancing with Samael so I could get close enough to steal a single hair from him, allowing me to break his wards without him noticing. The thought of revisiting the demon’s tower made me tremble.
If he recognized me as the woman responsible for stealing his dagger, I was worse than dead. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. As long as I didn’t rouse suspicion, I’d be okay. And I wasn’t losing this lead.
Decision made. I was going to the party, and I knew just who could help me get in. I turned the car around. My day-drinking friend wouldn’t be hard to find.
The sun was already beginning to set as I parked my car on Main Street. Meredith’s Bar was a squat, brick building that had seen better days. It had an outdoor seating area in the back, but most people chose to stay inside, where they could keep an eye on everyone who walked through the front door.
Steve was slumped on his usual stool at the bar, staring into his drink.
There weren’t many places in the city where paranormals could let their guard down and have a drink without watching their backs. Steve was a human, but working for paranormals didn’t usually make humans popular amongst their own kind. I’d made sure to keep an eye on his schedule, and today was Steve’s day off.
Steve always looked slightly disheveled, as if he’d just gotten out of bed, and today was no different. He needed a shave, his glasses were smudged, and there was a yellow stain on his shirt. Behind his glasses, his grey eyes were slightly blurry— but they sharpened on my face as I sat down next to him.
“What do you want?”
“Can’t I just want the pleasure of your company?”
Steve’s brow furrowed, and he pushed his dirty blond hair out of his eyes. “The fact that you’re using that tone with your ‘I need something’ smile tells me everything I need to know.”
I dropped the smile and replaced it with a scowl. “I was trying to be charming.”
“Try harder.”
“Fine. I need a favor.”
He slid me a suspicious look. “What kind of favor?”
“I need to get into Samael’s party tonight.”
“You’re not on the list.”
“That’s kind of the point of this conversation.” I waved a hand between us and he instantly shook his head.
“Uh-uh. No way. You’re dreaming.”
I tilted my head, staring Steve down. “I need this. I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s too dangerous. For both of us.”
“Come on Steve, you know how it goes. I help you out, you help me out, everyone wins.”
“No.” He lifted his hand for another drink and I ran my finger along one of the deep scratches in the wooden bar while we waited. Mere was busy pouring whiskey for a group of werewolves, and one of them was watching her intently, his yellow eyes almost glowing. From the twitch of her lips, Mere was well aware of him checking her out.
Above the bar hung a sign that had once read “Tom’s Bar.” Sometime between now and when I’d been here last, the “Tom’s” had been crossed out and replaced by “Meredith’s”.
Tom disappeared a few years ago. And he hadn’t been missed. The old curmudgeon had been a bigot, ensuring paranormals felt so unwelcome that they chose to drink almost anywhere else.
Never mind the fact that his daughter was a witch.
Meredith had run the bar for months after he disappeared, finally throwing up her hands and advertising drink specials to lure in both humans and paranormals. Mere didn’t care who her clientele was, as long as they drank enough to pay her bills.
Meredith’s was now neutral territory– one of the few bars in Durham where paranormals could rub shoulders, mages could make deals, and witches could scheme without drawing attention. It was an unwritten rule, but starting a fight in Meredith’s would have every creature in the bar on your ass within moments.
Mere wore her long, black hair in a thick braid, hazel eyes dancing as she grinned at a gnome who stood up on a bar stool and slid a few bucks into her tip jar. She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded at him, glancing at the young fae bartender she’d recently hired. He waved his hand and the cap flew off a bottle of beer, which lifted into the air and poured a thimble-sized glass of beer for a pixie who was fluttering drunkenly across the bar.
The bartender said something to Mere and she moved toward us.
“Danica,” she greeted me, leaning against the bar. “What hell are you raising now?”
I couldn’t help the smile that curled my lips. Meredith was good people.
“The bad kind,” Steve said sourly as she slid another whiskey his way. “The demon kind.”
I sighed as Mere raised her eyebrow at me. “Why am I not surprised,” she said. Her gaze dropped to the dagger on my hip, obviously remembering the night I’d plied Ben with alcohol.
“It’ll be an easy in-and-out,” I promised Steve. “You get me in, I’ll talk to the guy, and then I’ll disappear. No one will even know I wasn’t on the list.”
Steve sighed, but I could tell I almost had him. “Why is it so important you talk to this demon?”
I told him about the lesser demon and the arrow. Steve raised a brow as he sipped at his whiskey. Behind us, a group of goblins burst into laughter, and Steve hunched his shoulders, shooting a look toward the crowd. He may work in the tower, but that didn’t mean Steve was fond of paranormals.
I followed his gaze. The goblins were leaning toward each other, their red eyes intent as they talked in hushed voices. One of them glanced our way and bared his pointed teeth, the malevolent expression on his green face warning us to mind our own business.
Steve shook his head morosely and twisted in his seat toward me. “So you think this guy knows something about who killed your mom?”
I nodded. “This is my best chance to question him before he flies to Europe.”
According to my research, Vercan had a security team who’d been working with him for decades. But he’d have to leave them at the door to get into Samael’s party.
Steve sighed. “In and out?”
“In and out,” I promised, and he closed his eyes briefly.
“Fine.”
I grinned at him. “You’re amazing.”
“You’ll owe me.”
“You know I’m good for it.”
“I don’t want your money. I want a favor. To use when I need it.”
“Done. You know, you could really use a haircut.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Don’t make me regret helping you out.”
I glanced outside. The sun would be setting soon and I needed to get ready for the party. With a final ‘thank you’ to Steve, I waved at Mere and she nodded at me from across the bar.
Sneak into the party, talk to a demon, and get out again. How hard could it be?
