In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) (14 page)

I look up the address. It’s a theater in Fremont, a playhouse, but there’s no current show listed on the site. Nothing is going on there. So whoever shoved the letter under my door wants me to meet them at an empty theater.

I wish I had Gabriel’s phone number so I could drag him along, but it’s already seven-thirty and if I want to make this meeting I don’t have time to go try and find him
and
get to Fremont on time. And if it’s Az who summoned me, I need to be there.

I shove the letter into my bag. I put on a belt over black pants and clip the leather sheath to it so I have the dagger within reach. I glance in the mirror. My brown hair is in a messy, stubby ponytail and I haven’t bothered with makeup. My eyes have smudges beneath them that are from lack of sleep rather than cosmetics.

I grab my messenger bag and head to the bus stop, hoping I’m not walking into a trap.

Through the window, I can see that the theater is dark inside, so it’s no surprise that the door is locked. It’s five minutes after nine o’clock but there’s no sign of anyone waiting to meet me. Fear that whoever it is already left rushes over me, but anyone who’d sneak into my building to shove a note under my door would probably give me more than a few minutes of leeway. Besides, if it’s Az (and it has to be, I tell myself), he’s not
that
impatient.

Plastered all over the glass doors are posters for a play called “Dead Men on Bicycles,” a one-man show about the “perils, wonders and adventures of urban bike riding.” The poster has a neat illustration of a skeleton on a bike surrounded by cars, and in the bottom corner there’s a photo of a goofy looking man, grinning and wearing a bike helmet. Its run ended three nights ago, as the website stated. The next poster in their window advertises a play that doesn’t start until after the New Year.

I peer through the window again. It doesn’t look like anyone’s inside. The building is attached to the two buildings next to it, and I really don’t want to go all the way around the block to the back, so I wait, glancing at my phone as if I’m getting directions or stopping to text, rather than lurking in the shadows.

A minute later, the door swings open. I jump, startled, and my heart starts a drum march through my chest. Xanan is standing there, holding the door open. “You’re late,” he says.

I’m so relieved the letter was from Az after all that I want to hug him, but Xanan doesn’t strike me as the sort of guy who likes hugs. I go inside and ignore the ominous sound of the door being locked behind me. Being alone with Xanan in the dark lobby is ten kinds of terrifying. I don’t know if he can kill anyone with a touch or if it’s only people who’ve made deals, and I really don’t know which group I’m in.

“What’s going on?” I ask, a bit sharply. I’m eager to get to Azmos.

“A demonstration,” Xanan says. Somehow, I don’t find that reassuring.

“Of what?”

The lobby is cold, no doubt in part thanks to Xanan’s presence. He carries a chill with him like some demonic Jack Frost.

Instead of answering, he opens the door to the theater proper and gestures for me to go in.

Against my better judgment, I do, and immediately wish I hadn’t. The stage lights blare down, casting purple light into the black box that acts as the stage. Five people are splayed out on the stage, side by side. At first I think there’s some secret meeting and they’re lying around waiting. But they’re too still, too quiet. Living people make noise. Living people have to breathe.

My mouth feels dry and the hair on my body stands to attention. I look around for Azmos, willing him to be there with some reasonable explanation. I stop walking midway down the aisle and shiver. Xanan, who’s right behind me, bumps into me.

I squeak. It’s a little embarrassing, actually. “Where’s Azmos?” I ask.

“He’s not here,” Xanan says. He sounds as irritated with me as he always does, and the fact that I’m alone in a theater with him and there are dead people in front of me chills every cell in my body. Warning bells sound in the back of my mind. He could be working with this other demon. He could be some kind of traitor. He could kill me with a touch of his hand.

His hand clamps down on my shoulder and I scream. The sound echoes through the theater. The icy hand drops away.

“Calm down,” he says evenly. “You’ve seen bodies before.”

It’s not the bodies I’m terrified of. Disturbed by, sure, but it’s the demon behind me that makes my blood freeze.

“What’s going on?” I ask, failing to keep my voice level.

Xanan pushes past me and marches up the stage steps. He’s skinny and pale, with a skintight black t-shirt and floppy black hair. The lights glint off his lip ring. He looks like the lead singer of a punk band. I step forward, nearly to the foot of the stage. He ushers me up.

I don’t want to go up there. I have to go up there.

The bodies at my feet are definitely dead. There’s no stench of decay but their eyes stare blankly up at nothing. They wear casual clothes, jeans and sweaters. They’re completely unremarkable except for the fact that they’re dead. Tears well in my eyes. I look away.

“Who are they?”

“These people were all stagehands. There was an accident. One of the catwalks came loose with two of them on it and fell on the other three. They all should have died.”

“So, Vessa made them a deal,” I say.

Xanan nods, slowly, his glare exuding impatience, like he’s waiting for me to catch up. Never mind that he could fix that by just telling me what he wants me to know.

“So you had to kill them.” I swallow. My throat is raw but the rest of me just feels numb.

He nods again. He doesn’t look impressed that I’ve managed to sort this out. My eyes linger on the body of a young woman. Her long hair has pink streaks in it. She is—was—pretty. “Can we go somewhere else?”

“No.”

“Okay. Then can you tell me exactly why it was so urgent that I come here? It’s not like I haven’t seen what you do.” Although last time he invited me to a house with a body, Xanan had the decency to cover the deceased with a sheet. I guess I no longer warrant such considerations, given that I’ve seen him in action. Or the goal now is to freak me out. “I already know that when the balance is out of whack, you have to cut people’s deals short or the world will explode or something.”

“That,” he says, pointing to me with a long finger, “is exactly why you’re here.”

“It is?” I stammer. Not my best moment but I can’t figure out how I can help keep things in check.

“You’re mortal and you’re young. Azmos needs an apprentice like an ocean needs water, but for some reason, he’s decided that you’re worth mentoring. I want you to know exactly what the consequences of a fuck up can be.”

I flinch. It’s not the swearing on its own. I hear and say worse daily. It’s that it’s coming from Xanan, whose icy glare is boring into me like a drill. My feet are glued in place and my heart is trying to flee without me. I shouldn’t have come. If I’d known the urgent matter was a lecture from Xanan, I wouldn’t have.

“I know. People die. Trust me, I’ve got that part down.”

“That’s not all. Come on.” He tilts his head toward the wing on the side of the stage. If coming here in the first place was idiotic, I’m not sure where following a hostile demon into the dark falls on the stupidity scale. But in for a penny…

Backstage, Xanan turns the lights on, revealing the chipped black paint on the walls and scuff marks on the floor. He stops in front of a dressing room and points at nothing. “Do you see that?”

I hesitate, squinting as I try to find what the heck he’s pointing at. Finally, I give up. “No. What?”

Xanan lets out a long sigh. He grabs my hand and tugs me forward, my sneakers skidding on dust as I shuffle along. He moves behind me and puts his icy hands on my shoulders. I swallow back another scream. If he wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. Besides, the last scream proved it won’t do me any good. The cold seeps in through my coat. He shifts me a few inches to the right.

“There,” he says, dropping his hands.

Right in front of me is a hole in the wall, about the size of a quarter, maybe a little smaller. All I see is the color gray, like there’s a silver wall behind it. As I stare at it, my focus readjusts and I realize the hole isn’t in the wall.

It’s several feet in front of wall. The hole is hovering in midair. I lean closer and then peer around it. The hole is the same from the backside. Beyond the hole there’s definitely movement. Running water, maybe, but it’s gray and slow, like lava. I shake my head, close my eyes, and look again. This time it looks like silver ooze. It’s not moving in one direction, like a river, but sort of oozing all over the place. It’s not coming through the small hole in the air, though.

I lift my finger to poke it through and touch the stuff. Xanan catches my wrist. His grip is a vice. “If you want to keep your finger, don’t.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s what happens when the balance is upset. There are always holes forming in the barrier to the Spirit Realm—natural imbalances, the chaos between life and death—but when the balance is upset, they start popping up all over the place. It weakens the barrier itself and worse, it alerts others like me that something is wrong.”

All I see in the so-called Spirit Realm is the silver goop but Xanan’s voice is grave.

“The only feasible way to seal them up is to restore the balance. I’ve already taken care of some of the problem.” I think of the corpses on the other side of the curtain. I shiver, pulling my coat tighter. “It was a centimeter larger when I arrived.”

“A whole centimeter?” I regret the sarcasm when he freezes me with a withering look.

“If it gets much larger, things might begin to pass through.”

“Things?” I’m not actually sure I want to know. I stare at the tiny hole in the fabric of reality, feeling cold and raw. There’s one question I haven’t let myself ask, one thought I hadn’t dared to give voice to. But it tumbles out of my mouth without permission from my brain. “If the holes get large enough to let things pass through, would that mean spirits would be accessible?”

Xanan glowers like no one else I’ve ever met so I brace myself for a glare filled with hatred and annoyance at my mortal idiocy. But instead, there’s something burning in his eyes, a quiet intensity. It might be pity, but from him, I’ll take it. “Don’t be stupid.” The words aren’t as biting as usual. I’ll take that, too. “The Spirit Realm is not like your realm or the Vacuus Realm. Anything that got through would be anathema to this world. Whatever becomes of the spirits on the other side, they are no longer of this world. They cannot exist in this realm, just as the living cannot exist in the Spirit Realm.”

I consider. “Like oil and water?”

“Like pouring acid on glass and then setting it on fire.”

I picture glass melting under corrosive neon goop. All thoughts of wading through a sea of spirits to find my mother evaporate. “Yeah, we can’t let that happen.”

“No, we can’t. And that’s why I summoned you here.”

The hole shifts. At first I think I’m seeing things but it definitely grows. By very little, maybe a couple of millimeters, but it does. I gasp. Xanan swears in a language I don’t recognize. “The other problem is my people, the Moritas. The more holes that pop open, the more obvious that something is disrupting the balance. They will eventually pinpoint the place that’s causing it and they will send someone to investigate. We do not want that.”

“Why not?” I ask. “If anything, it seems like we could use the help.”

He shakes his head, flicking his lip ring with his tongue. “They would not help, Nicolette. Azmos fled to this realm when his sister was captured. They will happily destroy him and those helping him. Including both of us.”

The cold seeps into my bones. The thought of others like Xanan coming to kill me is probably the most terrifying thing I can think of.

“How do we stop her?” I finally ask, eyes fixed on the shimmering hole in the fabric of reality.

Xanan huffs out a breath so heavy the air in the room drops at least five degrees. “Find her and destroy her power. Kill her if necessary. If she dies, so do all of the people she’s brought back from the brink.” It’s harsh but I expect nothing less honest from the frigid demon. “Azmos wants to reason with her. We cannot allow him to waste the time trying.”

I gape at Xanan, surprised to find myself in total agreement with him. Xanan may be harsh and more than a little bit creepy, but he’s also not wrong. I’ve looked into Vessa’s eyes and if she has any reason in her, it’s buried very deep.

“Did you tell him that?” I ask, because it seems like Az listens to Xanan.

“He’s a bit…overly optimistic about the situation.”

“Because he’s her brother?”

“Because he’s a sentimental idiot. He used to be careless. I was sent to hunt him down and stop him.”

My heart hammers but curiosity compels me to ask: “Why didn’t you?”

“He made a very good case.” Xanan shifts, staring at the hole. “If there’s a hole here and it’s growing, it means she’s overusing her magic. She won’t stop until it’s too late for both her and Azmos.” And us, I think, with a shudder. “I have to go try to take care of it. But at this rate, it’s becoming more and more noticeable. And once it’s noticed—”