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Authors: Pippa DaCosta
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claws would be sharp.
Things were still at the light-hearted let’s-check-each-other-out stage, but I knew they could turn sour at the wrong word or gesture. My human senses were beginning to sound all sorts of alarm bells. I knew demons. I’d spent the majority of my life among them. Something about her felt different and not in a good way.
I held her gaze, watching a smile writhe across her lips. To her, I was little more than a bug. She might even have been considering squishing me, but she probably also mulled over the chances of the Enforcers finding out.
“Are you a cop?” She leaned closer.
“Not exactly. I don’t want any trouble. I just need some help.”
“How about you tell me your name?” The tip of her tongue slid across her lips.
A lie could get me killed as quickly as fear. My intentions here were amiable, and intentions are key when negotiating with demons. “My name is Muse.”
A single eyebrow jumped, and the corner of her lips hooked up. “Oh.” She threw a glance over my shoulder before dragging her attention back to me. “I can help you.”
I didn’t dare turn around to see what or who she’d been looking at. This was between me and her. “What’s your name?”
“Carol-Anne.” She extended her delicate hand. I took it in mine and winced as she clamped her fingers closed. “Nice to meet you, Muse.” She grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth behind blood-red lips.
I followed her through the crowd, acutely aware of eyes turning on me as we walked. So far, so good. I was still alive and hadn’t yet had to prove I could cut it among the killers. Had this been the netherworld, I’d have been fighting for my life from the start. Thankfully, things are done a little differently on this side of the veil.
Carol-Anne invited me to sit in a mezzanine lounge suspended above the crowd. It was no coincidence that we looked down on the heaving throng of customers. Intention, remember. Demons have a purpose for everything. This balcony view was a declaration of status on her part. She either owned this club or was among the higher echelons of those who did.
Draping her body in the corner of a plush couch, she patted the cushion beside her and crossed her legs. “Sit.”
We were alone and tucked out of sight. She could quite easily dispatch of me without anyone ever knowing. I’d disappear. No family for the Institute to send a note to thanking them for their sacrifice. Just poof. Gone.
“Sit,” she said again, this time more forcefully.
I perched on the edge of the couch cushion, angled so I could leap up and dash down the stairs. Maybe I was being paranoid, but half demons who weren’t paranoid were already dead.
As satisfied as a cat curled on its favorite cushion, she blinked slowly. “I know who you are, Muse . Nobody forgets a name like that. Named by your old owner, I hear. As though you inspired him. Is that right?”
Not many demons knew that. “It’s true.”
“What is it about you that could inspire, I wonder?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised.”
Her laughter trickled through the air like water in a brook. “I’m sure I would be. Tell me, Muse, why are you here?”
“There’s a demon doctor around here, goes by the name of Jeremiah, or Jerry. I need to speak with him.”
“Why?”
The music and the noise from the crowd rose and fell below us like the sound of waves crashing on a beach, but they could have been a million miles away. Our little suspended corner of the club felt comfortable, close, and homey, the sort of place you’d curl up with a good book. Whatever power she had, it worked on me, easing beneath my mental armor and evicting my concerns.
“That’s between Jerry and me.”
She grinned. “Jerry answers to me. If you want something from him, you come through me. He’s also very precious. Demons are often mistreated at hospitals. They don’t know whether to patch us up or call a priest. Plus, our kind has a tendency
Things were still at the light-hearted let’s-check-each-other-out stage, but I knew they could turn sour at the wrong word or gesture. My human senses were beginning to sound all sorts of alarm bells. I knew demons. I’d spent the majority of my life among them. Something about her felt different and not in a good way.
I held her gaze, watching a smile writhe across her lips. To her, I was little more than a bug. She might even have been considering squishing me, but she probably also mulled over the chances of the Enforcers finding out.
“Are you a cop?” She leaned closer.
“Not exactly. I don’t want any trouble. I just need some help.”
“How about you tell me your name?” The tip of her tongue slid across her lips.
A lie could get me killed as quickly as fear. My intentions here were amiable, and intentions are key when negotiating with demons. “My name is Muse.”
A single eyebrow jumped, and the corner of her lips hooked up. “Oh.” She threw a glance over my shoulder before dragging her attention back to me. “I can help you.”
I didn’t dare turn around to see what or who she’d been looking at. This was between me and her. “What’s your name?”
“Carol-Anne.” She extended her delicate hand. I took it in mine and winced as she clamped her fingers closed. “Nice to meet you, Muse.” She grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth behind blood-red lips.
I followed her through the crowd, acutely aware of eyes turning on me as we walked. So far, so good. I was still alive and hadn’t yet had to prove I could cut it among the killers. Had this been the netherworld, I’d have been fighting for my life from the start. Thankfully, things are done a little differently on this side of the veil.
Carol-Anne invited me to sit in a mezzanine lounge suspended above the crowd. It was no coincidence that we looked down on the heaving throng of customers. Intention, remember. Demons have a purpose for everything. This balcony view was a declaration of status on her part. She either owned this club or was among the higher echelons of those who did.
Draping her body in the corner of a plush couch, she patted the cushion beside her and crossed her legs. “Sit.”
We were alone and tucked out of sight. She could quite easily dispatch of me without anyone ever knowing. I’d disappear. No family for the Institute to send a note to thanking them for their sacrifice. Just poof. Gone.
“Sit,” she said again, this time more forcefully.
I perched on the edge of the couch cushion, angled so I could leap up and dash down the stairs. Maybe I was being paranoid, but half demons who weren’t paranoid were already dead.
As satisfied as a cat curled on its favorite cushion, she blinked slowly. “I know who you are, Muse . Nobody forgets a name like that. Named by your old owner, I hear. As though you inspired him. Is that right?”
Not many demons knew that. “It’s true.”
“What is it about you that could inspire, I wonder?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’d be surprised.”
Her laughter trickled through the air like water in a brook. “I’m sure I would be. Tell me, Muse, why are you here?”
“There’s a demon doctor around here, goes by the name of Jeremiah, or Jerry. I need to speak with him.”
“Why?”
The music and the noise from the crowd rose and fell below us like the sound of waves crashing on a beach, but they could have been a million miles away. Our little suspended corner of the club felt comfortable, close, and homey, the sort of place you’d curl up with a good book. Whatever power she had, it worked on me, easing beneath my mental armor and evicting my concerns.
“That’s between Jerry and me.”
She grinned. “Jerry answers to me. If you want something from him, you come through me. He’s also very precious. Demons are often mistreated at hospitals. They don’t know whether to patch us up or call a priest. Plus, our kind has a tendency
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