"Nick!" I cried, stumbling back. The demon grinned. It looked like an aristocratic Brit, except that I recognized it as the one who put on Ivy's face and tore out my throat that spring.
My back found the counter. I had to run. I had to get out of here! It would kill me! Flailing to put the counter between us, I hit the spell pot.
"Watch the brew!" Nick shouted, reaching out even as the bowl tipped.
I gasped, tearing my gaze from the demon long enough to see Bob's bowl spill. Aura-laced water spilled over the counter in an amber wash. Bob slid out, flopping.
"Rachel!" Nick exclaimed. "Get the fish! He has your aura. He can break the circle!"
I'm in a circle, I thought, strangling my panic. The demon isn't. It can't hurt me.
"Rachel!"
Nick's shout tore my eyes from the grinning demon. Nick was desperately trying to catch Bob, flopping on the counter, and keep the spilled water from reaching the edge. My face went cold. I was willing to bet just the aura-laced water would be enough to break the circle.
I lunged for the paper towels. As Nick fumbled for Bob, I made a mad dash around the counter, laying squares of white to sop up rivulets before they could make puddles on the floor that would run to the circle. My heart pounded and I frantically alternated my attention from the water to the demon standing with a bewildered, amused expression in the archway to the hall.
"Gotcha," Nick whispered, his breath exploding from him in a ragged sound as he finally gained control of the fish.
"Not the saltwater!" I warned as Nick held him over my dissolution pot. "Here." I shoved Bob's original bowl at Nick. Ordinary water sloshed out, and I blotted it up as Nick dropped Bob in. The fish shuddered, sinking to the bottom with his gills pumping.
Silence descended, framed by the heavy rasping of our breathing and the ticking of the clock above the sink. Nick's and my eyes met over the bowl. As one, we turned to the demon.
It looked pleasant enough, having taken the shape of a young man with a mustache, elegant and polished. It was dressed as an eighteenth century businessman in a suit of green velvet with lace trim and long tails. Round glasses were perched atop its thin nose. They were smoked to hide its red eyes. Though able to shift its form and shape at will - becoming everything from my roommate to a punk rocker - its eyes stayed the same unless it made the effort to take on all the abilities of whomever it was mimicking. Hence, my demon bite laced with vamp saliva. A tremor shook me as I recalled that its pupils were slitted like a goat's.
Fear tightened my stomach, and I hated being afraid. I forced my hands to unclench their grip on my elbows, pulled myself straight and tossed my head. "Ever think of updating your wardrobe?" I mocked. I was safe in a circle. I was safe in a circle.
My breath caught as a red mist of ever-after hazed it. The demon's clothes molded to a modern-day business suit I'd expect to see on a Fortune-twenty executive. "This is so... common," it said, its resonate, British-laden accent perfect for the stage. "But I wouldn't want it said that I wasn't accommodating." It took its glasses off, and my breath hissed in. I stared at the alienness of its eyes, jerking as Nick touched my arm.
Nick looked wary - not nearly scared enough to please me - and I felt a flush of embarrassment at my earlier panic. But damn it, demons scared the crap out of me. No one risked calling up demons since the Turn. Except for whoever called this one up to maul me last spring. And then there had been the one that attacked Trent Kalamack. Maybe demon summoning was more common than I wanted to admit.
I hated that Nick's respect for them stopped short of terror. They fascinated him, and I was afraid his search for knowledge would someday lead him to make a foolish decision, letting the tiger turn and eat him.
The demon smiled to show thick flat teeth as it glanced over its attire. It made a deep-in-thought sound and the wool disappeared, to become a black T-shirt tucked into leather pants with a gold chain belted around narrow hips. A black leather jacket appeared, and the demon stretched in a cloud of sensuality, showing every curve of the new, attractive muscle pulling its T-shirt tight across its chest. Blond hair cut short grew as it shook its head, and its height lengthened.
I felt myself pale. It had become Kist, pulling my old fear of him right out of my head. The demon seemed to take great delight in changing into whatever frightened me the most. I wouldn't let it shake me. I wouldn't.
"Oh, this is nice," the demon said, its accent shifting to a sultry, bad-boy drawl to match its new look. "You're afraid of the prettiest people, Rachel Mariana Morgan. I rather like being this one." Licking its lips suggestively, it sent its gaze across my neck, lingering on the scar it had given me while I was sprawled on the floor of the university library's basement, lost in a haze of vamp-saliva-induced ecstasy as it killed me.
The memory sent my heart pounding. My hand rose to cover my neck. The pressure from its gaze pushed on my skin, making it tingle. "Stop it," I demanded, frightened as it sent the scar into play and tendrils of feeling ran like molten metal from my neck to my groin. My breath hissed in through my nose. "I said stop it!"
The blue of Kist's eyes went wide and flashed to red. Seeing my resolve, the demon's outlines blurred. "You aren't afraid of this one anymore," it said, its voice shifting to become lower and laden with a proper British accent again. "Pity. I do so like to be young and testosterone laden. But I know what frightens you. Let's keep that a secret, hum? No need to let Nick Sparagmos know. Not yet. He may want to buy the information."
Nick's breathing sounded harsh beside me as the demon doffed the biker's hat - which promptly vanished in a haze of ever-after red - and shifted, returning to its previous form of British nobility in lace and green velvet. It smiled at me over its round smoked glasses. "This will do, in the meantime," it said.
I jumped as Nick touched me. "Why are you here?" he asked. "No one called you."
The demon said nothing, glancing over the kitchen with undisguised curiosity. Showing a predatorial grace, it began to circle the bright room, its shiny buckled boots silent on the linoleum. "I know you are new to all of this," it mused aloud as it tapped at Mr. Fish's brandy snifter on the windowsill and the fish quivered, "but generally the summoner is outside the circle, and the summoned is on the inside." It turned on a heel to send its long coattails furling. "I'll give you that for free, Rachel Mariana Morgan. Because you made me laugh. I haven't laughed since the Turn. We all laughed at that."
My pulse had slowed but my knees felt watery. I wanted to sit down but didn't dare. "How can you be here?" I asked. "This is holy ground."
The vision of British grace opened my fridge. Making a tsk-tsk sound, it shuffled through the leftovers, coming out with a half-empty container of fudge frosting. "Oh yes, I do like this arrangement. Being on the outside is ever so much more interesting. I think I'll answer that query for free as well."
Oozing old world charm, it pulled the top of the frosting off. The blue plastic disappeared in a smear of ever-after, and the demon dipped the gold spoon that had taken its place into the container. "This isn't holy ground," it said as it stood in my kitchen in a gentleman's frock and ate frosting. "The kitchen was added after the sanctuary was blessed. You could have the entire grounds sanctified, but then you'd connect your bedroom to the ley line in the graveyard. Ooooh, and wouldn't that be delightful."
A sick feeling twisted my stomach at what that might mean. Eyebrows raised, it looked at me over its smoked glasses, its red eyes showing a shocking amount of sudden ire. "You had better have something worth hearing, or I'm going to be royally buggered."
I straightened in understanding. It thought I had summoned it with an offer of information to pay off my IOU. My pulse jackhammered back into full throttle as the container of frosting vanished from the demon's hand and it came close to the circle.
"Don't!" I blurted as it tapped the sheet of ever-after between us. The demon's face lost its amusement and, expression deadly serious, it ran its attention over the seam with the floor. I gripped Nick's arm as it mumbled about tearing summoners limb from limb, interrupted teas, and how inconsiderate it was to pull someone from their dinner or Wednesday night telly. Adrenaline shook me as the demon dissolved to a red mist and sank through the floorboards.
I clutched at Nick, my knees threatening to give way. "He's checking for pipes," I said. "There are no pipes. I looked." Fear made my shoulders hurt as I waited for the demon to rise through the floor at my feet and kill me. "I looked!" I asserted, trying to convince myself.
I knew the circle bisected rocks and roots, and the top of it went into the attic, but as long as there wasn't an open path like a phone or gas line, the circle was secure. Even a laptop could break a circle if it was connected to the net and an e-mail came in.
"Oh good. He's back," Nick breathed as the demon reappeared outside the circle, and I stifled a laugh, knowing it would sound hysterical. What kind of a life did I have when seeing a demon was a good thing?
The demon stood before us, taking a tin of what probably wasn't snuff out of a tiny vest pocket and sniffing a pinch of black powder into both nostrils. "You cast a well-built circle," it said between cultured sneezes. "As good as your father's."
My eyes widened and I stepped to the circle's edge. "What do you know of my dad?"
"Reputation, Rachel Mariana Morgan," it simpered. "Strictly reputation. He was not in my realm of expertise when he was alive. Now that he's dead, I'm interested. I specialize in secrets. As does Nick Sparagmos, it seems." It put the tin away and pulled Ivy's chair out from before her computer. "Now," it said idly as it shook the mouse and brought up the Internet, "as amusing as this is, can we get on with it? Your circle is tight. I won't be killing you now." Its red eyes went sly. "Later, perhaps."
I followed its gaze to the clock over the sink. It was one-forty. I hoped Ivy didn't walk in on this. An undead vamp might survive a demon attack, but a live one would stand as much of a chance as me.
I took a breath to tell it to go away because I didn't call it, but a thought stopped me cold. It knew Nick's last name. It had said it twice.
"It knows your last name," I said, turning to Nick. "Why does it know your name?"
Nick's mouth opened and his eyes slid to the demon. "Ah..."
"Why does it know your name?" I demanded, my hands on my hips. I was tired of being afraid, and Nick was a convenient outlet. "You've been calling it up, haven't you!"
"Well..." he said, his long face reddening.
"You idiot!" I shouted. "I told you not to call it. You promised you wouldn't!"
"No," he said, his hands taking a grip on my shoulders. "I didn't. You said I wouldn't. And it just sort of happened. I didn't even mean to call him the first time."
"The first?" I exclaimed. "How many times have there been?"
Nick scratched the bristles on his cheek. "See, I was sketching pentagrams - for practice. I wasn't going to do anything. He appeared, thinking I was trying to call him with some information to pay off my debt. Thank God I was in a circle." Nick glanced at the soggy papers with their silver chalk lines. "Just like he showed up tonight."
Together we turned to the demon, and it sent its shoulders to rise and fall in a shrug. It seemed more than willing to wait out our argument, more interested in Ivy's favorites list than us at the moment.
"It's an it, not a him," I said. "And I'm not going to let you blame this on the demon."
"How very kind of you, Rachel Mariana Morgan," the demon said, and I scowled.
Nick was starting to look angry. On sudden impulse I pushed the hair from his left temple. My breath caught as I saw two lines bisecting his demon scar instead of one. "Nick!" I wailed. "You know what happens when you get too many of those?"
He took a bothered step back, and his brown hair fell to hide it.
"It can pull you into the ever-after!" I shouted, wanting to smack him a good one. I had only one line through my demon scar, and the worry still kept me up at night.
Nick said nothing, watching me with unrepentant eyes. Damn it all to hell, he wasn't even trying to explain himself. "Talk to me!" I exclaimed.
"Rachel," he said. "Nothing is going to happen. I'm being careful."
"But you have two IOUs," I protested. "If you don't make good, you belong to it."
He smiled confidently, and I cursed his belief that the printed word held all the answers and he would be safe if he followed the rules. "It's okay," he said as he took my shoulders again. "I've only entered into a trial contract."
"Trial contract..." I stammered, floored. "Nick, this isn't twenty CDs for a penny with only three more to buy. It's trying to take your soul!"
The demon chuckled, and I flicked a glance at it.
"That's not going to happen," Nick soothed. "I can call on him whenever I want, same as if I gave him my soul. And at the end of three years I walk away with no ties or commitments."
"If it sounds like too good a deal, you aren't looking at the fine print."
Still he smiled, his face showing confidence instead of the terror he should have been feeling. "I read the fine print." His finger rose to touch my lips and stop my outburst. "All of it. I get minor questions answered for free, and I can put larger questions to him on credit."
My eyes closed. "Nick. Did you know your aura is rimmed in black? You look like a wraith in my mind's eye."
"So do you, love," Nick whispered, pulling me close.
Shocked, I did nothing as his arms went about me. My aura was as tainted as his? I hadn't done anything but let it save my life.
"He has all the answers, Rachel," Nick whispered, and I felt my hair move with his breath. "I can't help it."
The demon cleared its throat, and I pulled away from Nick.
"Nick Sparagmos is my best student since Benjamin Franklin," the demon said, its accent making it sound completely reasonable as it touched Ivy's screen to make it go blue. It didn't fool me, though. The thing couldn't be swayed by pity, guilt, or remorse. If it had found a way past my circle, it would have killed us both for the audacity of calling it from the ever-after - whether it had been intentional or not.
"Though Attila could have gone far if he had been able to look past the military applications," it continued, looking at its nails. "And it is hard to best Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci for outright cleverness."
"Name dropper," I muttered, and the demon inclined its head graciously. It was more obvious than words that if Nick had the demon at his beck and call for three years, he would agree to anything to keep it there. Which was exactly what the demon was counting on.
"Um, Rachel," Nick said as he took my elbow. "Since he's here, you might want to arrange for a summoning name from him so he doesn't show up every time you close a circle and draw a pentagram. That's how he got my name. I gave it to him for his summoning name."
"I know your names, Rachel Mariana Morgan," the demon said. "I want a secret."
My stomach clenched. "Sure," I said tiredly, scrambling for something. I had a few of those. My eyes fell on the photo of my dad and Trent's father, and I silently held it up to the transparent sheet of ever-after.
"Where's the secret in that?" the demon mocked. "Two men standing before a bus." Then it blinked. I watched, fascinated, as the horizontal slits went wide until its eyes were almost black. It stood, reaching out for it. A muttered curse slipped past its lips as its fingers smacked into the barrier. I smelled burnt amber.
My pulse leapt at its sudden interest. Maybe it was enough to completely pay off my debt. "Interested?" I taunted. "Clear my debt, and I'll tell you who they both are."
The demon fell back, chuckling. "Oh, you think it's that important?" it mocked. But its eyes tracked the photo as I set it on the counter behind me. Without warning, it shifted forms. The red blur of ever-after melted and flowed. I stared, appalled, as it took on my face. It even had freckles. It was like staring into a mirror, and my skin crawled as my image moved without my volition. Nick went ashen, his long face slack as he stared from me to it.
"I know who both men are," the demon said in my voice. "The one is your father, the other is Trenton Aloysius Kalamack's father. But the camp bus?" Its eyes fastened on me in a devious delight. "Rachel Mariana Morgan, you have indeed given me a secret."
It knew Trent's middle name? Then the same demon attacked us both. Someone had wanted us both dead. For an instant I was tempted to ask the demon who, then dropped my eyes. I could find that out on my own, and it wouldn't cost me my soul.
"Call us even for you having taken me through the ley lines and leave me forever," I said, and the demon laughed. I wondered if my teeth were really that big when I opened my mouth.
"Oh, you are a love," it said in my voice and its accent. "Seeing that picture is enough to buy a summoning name, perhaps, but if you want to absolve your debt, I need something more. Something that could mean your death if it was whispered into the right ear."
The thought that I might be rid of it completely filled me with a reckless daring. "What if I told you why I was there? At that camp?" Nick moved nervously beside me, but if I got rid of the demon forever, it would be worth it.
The demon snickered. "You flatter yourself. That can't be worth your soul."
"Then I'll tell you why I was there if I can summon you safely even without a circle," I blurted, thinking it didn't want to clear my debt simply so it would have a chance at me later.
At that, the demon laughed, turning my stomach as its appearance grotesquely shifted back to the British gentleman even as it roared in mirth. "A promise of safety without a circle?" it said, wiping its eyes when it could speak again. "There's nothing on this God-stinking earth that's worth that."
I swallowed hard. My secret was good - and all I wanted was to be free of it - but it wouldn't believe it was worth it unless I told it first. "I had a rare blood disease," I said before I could change my mind. "I think Trent's father fixed it with his illegal genetic therapy."
The demon chortled. "You and several thousand other brats." Coattails furling, it strode to the edge of the circle. I backpedaled to the counter, heart pounding. "You had better start taking this seriously, or I will lose my good..." It jerked as it caught sight of my book, open to the charm for binding a familiar. "...temper," it finished, the word trailing to nothing.
"Where did you - " it stammered, then it blinked, sending its goat-slitted eyes over me, then Nick. I couldn't have been more surprised when a small sound of disbelief escaped it. "Oh," it said, sounding shocked. "Damn me thrice."
Nick reached behind me, closing the book and covering it with my sheets of black paper. Suddenly I felt ten times more nervous. My gaze roved over the transparent candles and the pentagram made out of salt. What in hell was I doing?
The demon backed away with a deep-in-thought, toe-to-heel motion. White-gloved hand to its chin, it eyed me with a new intentness, giving me the sensation that it could see through me as easily as I could see through those green candles I had lit, not knowing what they were for. Its quick shift from anger to surprise to an insidious contriving went right to my core, shaking me.
"Well now, let's not be hasty," it amended, its brow furrowed as it glanced at the gadget-strewn watch that appeared on its wrist the instant it looked down. The watch was a twin to Nick's. "What to do, what to do. Kill you or keep you? Hold to tradition or bow to progress? I do believe the only thing that will stand up in court is to let you decide." It smiled, and an unstoppable shiver shook me. "And we do want this to be legal. Very, very legal."
Frightened, I slid down the counter to tuck into Nick. When did what was legal mean anything to a demon?
"I will not kill you if you summon me without a circle," the demon said abruptly, its heels making a sharp tap on the linoleum as it backed up, excitement showing in its jerky motions. "If I'm right, I will be giving you this anyway. We'll know soon." It grinned wickedly. "I can hardly wait. Either way, you're mine."
I jumped as Nick took my elbow. "I've never heard of a promise of safety without a circle," he whispered, his gaze pinched. "Ever."
"That's because it's only given to the walking dead, Nick Sparagmos."
The bad feeling in the pit of my stomach started working its way upward, tightening every muscle on the way. There was nothing on this God-stinking earth worth a risk-free summoning, but it gave me that instead of absolving me from my debt? Oh, that had to be good.
I had overlooked something. I knew it. Resolute, I pushed the feeling aside. I'd made bad deals before and survived them. "Fine," I said, my voice quavering. "I'm done with you. I want you to go directly back to the ever-after with no deviations along the way."
The demon glanced at its wrist again. "Such a harsh mistress," it said elegantly, in a grand mood as it opened the freezer and took out a frozen box of microwave fries. "But as you're in the circle and I'm out here, I'll leave when I damn well please." Its white-gloved hand was enveloped in a red smear, clearing to show the fries steaming. Opening the fridge, it frowned. "No ketchup?"
Two p.m., I thought, glancing at the clock. Why was that important? "Nick," I whispered, going cold. "Take the batteries out of your watch. Now."
"What?"
The clock above the sink said five minutes to two. I wasn't sure how accurate it was. "Just do it!" I shouted. "It's connected to Colorado's atomic clock. It sends out a pulse at midnight their time to reset everything. The pulse will break the circle, just like an active phone line or gas pipe."
"Oh... shit," Nick said, his slack face going white.
"Damn you witch!" the demon shouted, furious. "I almost had you both!"
Nick was frantically working at his watch, his long fingers prying at the back. "Do you have a coin? I need a dime to get the back off." His eyes were frightened as they jerked to the clock above the sink. His hand went into a pocket, searching.
"Give it here!" I exclaimed, snatching the watch. I threw it on the counter. Plucking the meat-tenderizing hammer from the rack above me, I swung.
"No!" Nick cried as pieces of watch went everywhere. "We had three minutes yet!"
I shrugged off his grip and beat at it. "You see!" I exclaimed, bringing the hammer down again and again. "You see how clever it is?" Adrenaline made my motions jerky as I brandished the wooden hammer at him. "It knew you had that watch. It was just waiting! That's why it agreed to giving me a safe summoning!" With a cry of frustration, I threw the hammer at the demon. It hit the unseen wall of the circle and bounced back to clatter at my feet. There wasn't much left of Nick's watch but a bent back and shards of quartz.
Nick slumped against the counter, the fingers of one hand pressing into his forehead as he bowed his head. "I thought he wanted to teach me," Nick whispered. "All those times, he was just trying to get me to keep him with me until the circle broke."
He jumped as I touched his shoulder, staring at me with frightened eyes. Finally he was frightened. "Do you understand now?" I said bitterly. "It's going to kill you. It's going to kill you and take your soul. Tell me you won't call it again. Please?"
Nick took a quick breath. He met my eyes, shaking his head. "I'll be more careful," he whispered.
Frustrated, I spun to the demon. "Get out of here like I told you to!" I shouted.
With an unearthly grace, the demon stood. The vision of a British gentleman took a moment to adjust the lace about its throat and then its cuffs. Motions slow and deliberate, it pushed the chair back under the table. It inclined its head to me, its red eyes watching from over its glasses. "Congratulations on binding your familiar, Rachel Mariana Morgan," it said. "Summon me with the name Algaliarept. Tell anyone my name, and you're mine by default. And don't think that because you don't have to be in a circle to summon me that you're safe. You are mine. Not even your soul is worth your freedom."
And with that it vanished in a smear of red ever-after, leaving the scent of grease and fried potatoes.