Speak of the Demon by Stacia Stark
2
Danica
Ismoothed my hands down the little black dress I was wearing. The dress had strategic cut outs, which should hopefully draw attention away from the thicker material and the drape of the fabric in other, much more strategic places.
I slid my Benchmade Nimravus Cub II into the knife sheath around my neck. The Nim Cub was one of my favorite knives— lightweight, tough, and with a three-and-a-half-inch blade that made it easy to hide. My knife sheath was attached to a sparkly lanyard, which would look like a necklace caught beneath my dress, and I could reach the knife even if my stupid heels made it difficult to balance.
Samael had no rules about guests being armed at his parties. But, like Meredith’s, his tower was neutral territory. You could carry, but if you used those weapons, you were in deep shit.
I placed the Mistilteinn Dagger on the nightstand beside my bed. There was no way I could risk taking it into Samael’s territory, which sucked, since it meant I’d have to rely on good, old-fashioned intuition to tell if Vercan was lying.
Nothing I could do about that.
Outside, the sun was setting, the light streaming in through the huge windows. I’d fallen in love with the apartment for many reasons. It was in Southeast Durham, in a neighborhood that was still mostly human. It was once a renovated textile mill, and it had escaped the decade of despair mostly unscathed, apart from a few cosmetic issues which had been fixed long before I moved in.
Most importantly, my apartment faced west— with no view of the tower that dominated the city. In fact, a few streets further west, the neighborhood was mostly made up of humans, and if I focused hard enough, I could pretend the demons didn’t exist.
The apartment was well out of my price range, but the owner’s daughter had a little problem with a stalker ex-husband and I’d helped her when I’d first arrived in Durham. One glance at my butterfly knives, and he’d decided he no longer needed to show up at her workplace or call her sixty times a day. Interesting how that worked.
The owner had ignored me when I said I didn’t need to be paid. Finally, he’d mentioned that he had an empty apartment. It was a security risk to leave it empty these days, and I’d be doing him a favor if I moved in and paid reduced rent.
I was weak. I’d moved in a few days later.
I pushed my hair off my face and frowned. Put it up and make it more difficult for someone to grab, or put it down and use it to shield my face?
Down. Chances were beyond slim that I’d have to fight tonight. Samael didn’t tolerate any disturbances.
The woman in the mirror had haunted green eyes and a pale face. She did not look like a woman who had her shit together. I turned away and blew out a deep breath. I’d been so focused on getting into the party, I hadn’t given much thought to the reality of it. Getting caught sneaking into Samael’s tower was suicide.
I crossed the room, my eyes dropping to the pictures on my cluttered desk. On them, my mom lay dead, her eyes blank and staring, the bracelet I’d made her still on her outstretched arm. Both the stricken expression on her face and the blood surrounding her body had made it obvious that she’d died alone and in pain.
These were the photos I’d been sent two years after my mom had died. I’d been told it was an accident, and I’d truly believed it, until someone had slid the evidence of her murder under my door in Austin.
I’d returned to Durham two days later.
My kitten weaved in and out of my feet, her purr a comforting motor. I’d rescued Lia from a flooding gutter eight months ago, and she rewarded me by jumping out at me and wrapping her paws around my ankle whenever she got the chance.
“Can’t hang around, cat. I’ve got a demon to track down.”
I ordered a Lyft before I could back out. No need to advertise my presence near the tower by using my own car. The Lyft was only a few minutes away, so I gave my feet a break and took the elevator. I slid straight into the car and smiled at the driver.
“Danica?” the fae asked and I nodded.
He pulled away without a word and I studied the back of his elegantly pointed ear. It wasn’t often that I interacted with the fae. The high fae preferred to stay in their own realms, and it was well known that the seelie and unseelie kings couldn’t stand each other.
But the fae also adored human technology, investing in some of the biggest tech companies on earth. To them, our phones were magic, and many of the fae had attempted to integrate with humans— with varying levels of success.
This fae appeared almost human, with white-blonde hair and unearthly pale skin. But when I dropped my shields, I could barely feel any power from him. A member of the seelie or ‘light’ court then. But not high fae. If he was high fae, he would’ve seethed with power. And he wouldn’t be driving a Lyft.
His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror as we pulled up to the tower.
“Stay safe,” he said, and I nodded, closing the door behind me. I tipped him and then slid my phone into my purse as I gazed up at the obsidian tower.
A healthy percentage of Durham residents had protested when Samael began building this tower several years ago. To make way for the obsidian monstrosity, he’d demolished some of the last standing reminders of life before the portals opened— the Lucky Strike water tower and neighboring smokestack.
The protests had made no difference. In a city where the tallest building had been under 400 feet, the colossal, 2000-foot tower was a huge ‘fuck you’ to anyone who had a problem with it.
It was also a warning. The Mage Council may be in charge, but they ruled only with the demons’ permission, and that could all change in an instant. Samael began construction six months after a rogue mage let a spell loose. The mage was retaliating against the council after he failed testing to move up the ranks. Four thousand people had died, and the ballpark was nothing but a crater.
Weirdly enough, since the demons had moved downtown, things had been quiet. Funny that.
I forced my shoulders to relax, pasting a smile on my face as I handed the gold invitation to the demon on the door. He ran his scanner over it and gave it back to me with a nod. My heels clicked as I crossed the dark marble floor to the elevators. Unlike last time, I didn’t need to join a line of humans and paranormals waiting for the elevator. I slid inside with a couple of demons, watching careful as they shifted around each other, hunching their shoulders awkwardly.
I couldn’t see their wings, but I knew they were there. Unlike lesser demons, high demons automatically kept their wings hidden carefully away from prying eyes. I wasn’t sure if it was because humans would be terrified if they could see the wings that made them so different, or if it was because their wings represented a vulnerability.
I was guessing both.
The elevator was still the most spacious I’d ever seen. From what I’d heard, Samael had a short list of people he allowed to land on his roof and balconies, and I wondered if his insistence on making sure creatures with wings ended up cramped and uncomfortable in his elevator was a strategic move. From the little I knew about him, I was guessing he’d enjoy putting visitors to his territory on the back foot.
While I’d never seen a high demon’s wings, I’d briefly brushed my hand over Samael’s when we’d danced. I’d expected them to be leathery membrane— similar to the lesser demons I hunted almost daily. But they’d been downy and soft and my hands had itched to explore more.
I shivered at the memory and one of the demons glanced at me, his eyes darkening. I forced my thoughts elsewhere. No need to provide the demons with a snack.
Last time I’d come here, the elevator had stopped at the 70th floor. I’d seen the ballroom, with its expansive white marble floors, French windows, and orchestra. That room was a farce, created for the humans and anyone else stupid enough to offer themselves up for the demons’ consumption. Today, the elevator stopped on the 51st floor. This, this was the truth.
I followed the demons out of the elevator and my head immediately began to spin. Something magical was being pumped through the vents. It made me dizzy, and far too relaxed. I was tempted to lower my shields a little and clear my head. But using magic here would get me noticed. And if I got noticed, I’d get dead.
Blinking a few times, I attempted to clear my vision and moved away from the elevator, leaning against one of the dark walls as I surveyed the huge club.
Music pounded, the base rattling my bones as strobe lights danced amongst the gyrating bodies. A few feet away, a werewolf laughed, eyes yellow as a witch beckoned him closer, her face carved out of lust. Here and there, I caught glimpses of dark feathers, but they were always gone the moment I turned my head. Demons danced with high fae, witches grinded on werewolves, and humans joined the debauchery with wide eyes and faces twisted with feral hunger.
The walls were a deep black which matched the gleam of the floors. But one entire side of the club was open, the huge doors pushed back, revealing an expansive balcony where people were enjoying the fresh air. To the left, a long, dark bar gleamed, and six human bartenders poured drinks.
The skin along my spine prickled in awareness. There were eyes on me, and standing here would only draw more attention. I strode forward, disappearing into the crowd, where I began searching faces. A demon grabbed for me, and I ducked away with a teasing smile. “Later,” I mouthed, and he nodded, his eyes hungry as his gaze slid over my skin. I ducked around a couple of fae who were making out so heavily they’d drawn a crowd of demons who inhaled their lust, eyes flaring.
The music changed, and the crowd howled as the DJ yelled something I couldn’t catch. Okay. I could do this. From the little research I’d done, I found it difficult to believe Vercan would be grinding against a stranger on the dance floor.
There. Those guys looked important. They were walking through the club with the purposefulness of traveling businessmen who needed to get to their gate before a flight. I shoved my way through the crowd after them, catching a glimpse of their wide shoulders as I squirmed between a couple of demon women.
“Watch it, witch,” one of them snapped, slamming her invisible wing into me. I stumbled, cursing as I lost sight of the men. They hadn’t looked like they were here to feed or dance. They’d looked like they were about to attend a business meeting.
I scowled and headed in the direction I’d seen them walking, aiming for the wall, where I leaned a hand out to take some of the weight off my aching feet. The wall disappeared, and I stumbled as it spat me out, sliding shut behind me. I caught my balance and gaped at the huge, elegant room. This was where the real business was done. I forced myself to keep walking as if I belonged in the pristine space.
Thankfully, most of the creatures here seemed too busy to pay me much attention. The marble floor gleamed with veins of gold, reflecting the light from the ornate chandeliers. Leather sofas and armchairs were scattered across the vast space, and another bar— this one much smaller— covered one of the walls, and scantily-dressed waitresses carried drinks on trays and took orders from the paranormals gathered in groups around the room.
I drew in a deep breath and my head was immediately clearer. Whatever magic had been pumped through the vents in the main club had disappeared. For the first time, I could think properly, and I forced myself to keep moving toward the end of the room, where the bathrooms beckoned me.
There were a few more dimly lit alcoves on the way to the bathroom, some of them with their thick, blood-red curtains pushed back, and others with them closed.
In the first alcove I passed, two demons sat, their voices a low hiss as they argued. I averted my gaze and kept walking. I gaped as I made my way past the next alcove. A female demon was riding a werewolf, and he had his head thrown back, his claws digging into the table in front of him.
Do you, boo.
I picked up speed, my shoulders slumping as I made my way to the bathroom where I splashed water on my wrists and rolled my neck.
My stomach roiled. If my mother knew I was here, she’d stir in her grave. If there was one thing she’d taught me, it was that demons were the most serious threat to my safety. I didn’t know why she’d taken me and run— or why she’d left my sister behind with the coven— but the fact that a demon’s magical imprint had been found near her body was suspicious as hell to say the least.
I pushed that thought away. I didn’t know if demons could smell fear, but it seemed likely. Either way, walking around with my heart thumping in terror would mark me as a victim to every paranormal here. I’d do a loop of the room, paying careful attention to the alcoves, and if I didn’t find Vercan… maybe I could pretend to be a waitress.
I snorted, ignoring the glance a light fae woman shot me as she approached the sinks, pulling a tube of lipstick out of her purse. She wore a dress that looked painted on, with diamonds glittering from her pointed ears. Her long, blonde hair almost touched her butt, and she gave her reflection a satisfied nod before she strode out.
I’d be satisfied too if I looked like that.
Drying my wrists, I pushed my hair back and firmed my shoulders. Time to get it done.
I pushed the bathroom door open before I could change my mind, ignoring the little voice in my head that urged me to haul-ass out of here, order a Lyft, and crawl under my favorite blanket with my cat.
I canted my head, using my hair as a shield as I swayed my hips, heading toward the area with the darkened alcoves.
Nothing.
My steps faltered as I glanced away from the alcoves, toward a table where a demon sat alone at a table on the outskirts of the room. My pulse raced as my vision narrowed until all I could see was him.
Gotcha.
Vercan was staring into his drink, his face set in a scowl. The demon was handsome, but unlike most demons, who practically radiated sin, Vercan looked like a banker.
His blonde hair was cut short, his face clean-shaven, and his mouth was pinched in what either disapproval or contempt. He pushed his drink away as he got to his feet, and I forced myself to keep moving. Leaning against the nearest wall in an effort to appear nonchalant, I watched beneath my lashes as he headed toward the bathroom.
Vercan stopped at one of the curtained alcoves and glanced at his watch. He was obviously waiting for someone, and he stared out the open, floor-to-ceiling window across from the alcove as he waited. With most of his visitors either winged or powerful enough to fly, Samael obviously wasn’t concerned about health and safety.
I jolted into motion as Vercan stepped into the small space and pulled one of the curtains shut behind him. He was clearly meeting someone here, but until that person showed up, this was my chance.
I strode after him, pushed the curtain back open and waltzed inside like I owned the place. Vercan frowned at me, nonplussed, but from the disdain in his eyes, he obviously didn’t see me as a threat.
Good.
I got straight to business.
“December 18h, 72AP,” I rattled off. “Almost two and a half years ago.” I pulled the picture out of my pocket and held it up in front of his face. “You were seen near this woman. Did you kill her?”
Surprise flashed across his face, but I was focusing on his eyes. And I saw the recognition.
“You know who she is.”
“Leave, witch, or die.” His dismissal grated, and he glanced past me impatiently, obviously still waiting for whoever he was meeting.
I didn’t have time for this. I glanced around, but we were hidden from view of everyone else in the main room, so I reached for my Nim Cub. It was nestled against the demon’s throat before he could move.
Something rustled behind him. Something I was pretty certain were his wings. For the first time, he tensed.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s the problem with having a security team. You get lazy. You don’t recognize a threat when you see one.”
“You’re waving a weapon around in Samael’s territory? You’re either suicidal or insane.”
I gave him a wide smile. “Neither. I’m desperate. And since you’re rather long-lived, you’ll know that my desperation makes me dangerous to you.”
Vercan stayed silent and I pressed the knife closer to his throat. He tensed, and I drew blood. He didn’t need a weapon. According to my research, Vercan wasn’t high on the power scale, but he was still bigger than me, stronger than me, and if I couldn’t anticipate his moves, I was dead. Samael probably wouldn’t even punish the demon, since I’d threatened him first.
“Uh-uh,” I crooned. “The woman. Tell me what you know and I’ll get out of here.”
He didn’t take his eyes off me. “You’re writing your own death sentence over a witch who has been dead for this long?”
“That witch is my mother. What do you know?”
Vercan didn’t quite roll his eyes, but from the sneer on his face, it was close. I shrugged like I had all the time in the world, but my pulse pounded a dull thump in my ears.
“Since you’ve gone to all this trouble, maybe I’ll tell you.” He smiled viciously. “The witch–”
He gurgled and blood sprayed my dress. I stared at him, uncomprehending, and he slumped to the ground.
I attempted to crouch, but it was too late. Samael’s wards had caught me— attuned to violence in his territory. I was trapped like a bug in amber, the ward keeping me frozen and awaiting my fate.
I couldn’t move, couldn’t talk, could barely breathe. That meant that I couldn’t draw blood in an attempt to break the ward. It was one of the strongest I’d ever seen.
And if I stayed here, I was dead.
Panic rose, sharp and nauseating. From where I stood, I could see the arrow sticking out of the demon’s throat. Vercan shouldn’t have been dead— it took much more than an arrow to kill a high demon. And yet he was slowly turning to ash, his extremities blackening even as I watched. Someone had killed my lead. Again.
My evidence was disappearing.
I struggled, claustrophobia making my head spin. If I didn’t get a handle on my breathing, I’d pass out, and whoever had killed the demon could decide to kill me too.
Why kill me when they can frame me and have Samael kill me instead?
I swallowed back bile and forced myself to count to ten. All I had to do was draw some blood and I could likely break the ward. It would hurt like a bitch, but I could do it.
My lungs functioned, my eyes blinked, but my hand was still frozen in the air, the knife making it clear I’d been threatening the demon. I stared at my hand, willing it to twitch. If I could just move the knife, just curl it back until it sliced into my palm, I could attempt to break the ward and get out of here.
Time crawled by as I strained. It felt like I’d been standing in the alcove for twenty minutes, but it had likely only been a few seconds. Samael’s security would be here any moment. I needed to get gone.
Okay, the knife was a no go.
My mouth was slightly open, frozen on my last word. I dropped my shields and focused every ounce of my will on my teeth. Maybe I could bite my tongue.
Move. Move damn you.
This was my own fault. I’d let my magic languish, buried it deep and ignored it, and that decision was going to kill me. No. I wasn’t going out like this. I refused to die until I found the creature who killed my mother and made them pay.
Black spots formed in front of my eyes as I strained. My teeth moved a fraction of an inch and I poured more of my will into making them move.
Something wet slid from my nose and into my open mouth. I must’ve given myself a nose bleed from the strain.
The sharp taste of copper was a gift.
I was sure there was a much more elegant way to break wards that didn’t involve blood, but I’d use what I had. I concentrated, drawing every last ember of my magic into me, and for a single moment, I could see the ward around me— a deep, midnight blue, shimmering silver in places.
How something so deadly could be so beautiful was beyond me.
I strained further, tasting more blood, and with a ‘pop’ the ward broke. I stumbled forward, narrowly missing Vercan’s body as I twisted in the air, panting. I turned just as a shadow approached. I was out of time.
A high demon blocked my only exit. A high demon who burned with power and fury.
