A Demon Made Me Do It(19)
Chapter 4. Lucky
Oh sweet hell this place smells like shit. Where am I? I can’t see anything. I have the money bag in one hand, but the other is touching something squishy. And runny.
I lean back on my arm and oozy goo slimes through my fingers. I react instinctively, unleashing the rain of fire coursing through my veins. Metal crashes against pavement in a thunderous explosion, and I tumble to the ground amidst a heap of refuge.
From the pale glow of the street lamps, I assess my surroundings—I’m in the alley beside the bank. Okay, that much I understand. What I don’t get is why I was in with all the garbage.
Lovely. Just freakin’ lovely. “Dumpster diving now, are we, you disgusting pig?!” I say aloud, hoping somewhere deep inside she hears me. I don’t even care if she has a good reason for leaving me in that filthy place. This is unforgivable and she’s just really flippin’ lucky she ruined her own clothes instead of mine.
I’m busy cursing Liora’s name and shaking particulates from my hair when I hear a man’s concerned voice. “Excuse me, Miss, are you okay?”
A small group of Sapies gather near the end of the alley, watching me. They must’ve been attracted to the loud noise. Great. Rolling my eyes I swish my hands, still dripping with goo, and mutter, “Alieno. Leave.” They instantly shuffle away, already forgetting what drew them here in the first place. All except for the one who continues to watch me with an amused grin.
Fan-freakin-tastic.
“What are you looking at?” I ask, scowling in his direction. Of all the witnesses to my mortal humiliation he has to be here?
“You have pepperoni in your hair.” He points helpfully to my head.
I fight back the urge to vomit and carefully pick out the moldy red disk. Could this night start off any crappier? Mustering any dignity is impossible at this point, so I wipe my hands on my pants, grab the money bag, and stalk past him. He tenses as I brush by. I’m half-tempted to blow off the banking entirely, seeing as how it’s more for Liora’s benefit than mine. I don’t care a whit about money; I don’t care if it’s for some homeless, snot-nosed brats. And since Liora has no problem leaving me in a dumpster like a piece of trash…
But I know if I don’t get the checks, Tatiana will be mad. And I make it a point never to get Tatiana mad—at least not on purpose. But Liora will pay dearly for her utter lack of respect of me, that’s for damn sure.
******
I throw open the door, nearly taking it off its hinges. Tatiana is sitting on the couch waiting for me. I angrily toss the bank checks on the table and storm into my bedroom.
“Do not be mad at her, dear,” Tatiana calls to me. “She was afraid of exposure and had to conceal herself to avoid a problem. She felt she had no choice. I’m sure she is very sorry to do that to you.”
“Whatever.”
Fifteen minutes later I emerge from the shower. I run my hands through my wet hair, and the heat emanating from my palms rapidly dries the long locks. I pull them back in a low ponytail and my fingers briefly touch my Mark. To Liora and other Sapies, the Mark burns hot to the touch. For me, it feels cool…like ice.
This Mark on the back of our neck is the reason Liora won’t ever wear her hair up; she doesn’t want anyone to see it. Personally I don’t see what the big deal is. It just looks like an ordinary tattoo—a simple red star. Something anyone could get at any tattoo parlor. It’s not like it spells out, “I am half-demon,” or anything. I swear, she’s such a demon bigot.
After changing into an all-black leather outfit—perfectly suited for my all-black mood—I charge into Tatiana’s room. She’s stirring her cauldron, the cool steam curling ghostly ribbons around her serene visage.
“Find me some demons to slay. Tormenting won’t cut it tonight.”
Since I’m forbidden to kill Sapies, and fighting with other demons in Thiberoux is outlawed by Demonic Decree, I have to find my fun elsewhere: The world of Man.
Naturally, I never fight with any from my own tribe, but there are others…many others who encroach on the surrounding towns and use the Sapies as playthings. It’s these creatures that provide me with an outlet for my natural desires. And right now—with the Amazèa out of reach again—I have a very big itch to scratch. And long, perfectly-manicured black nails to scratch it with.
“I feel your fire and know you must hunt. If you want to stay close by, in Richmond there are two Paraste demons working out of the Galaxy Nightclub. Or, you could go back to New York, where there are several—”
“I’ll take the Parastes,” I say. I’d just been to New York last night to collect the tributes, and besides, I detest these particular demons. They aren’t good for anything useful. Unless you consider easing my itch useful. Which I do. Once they attach themselves to a human body, they assume total control and force their victims to do harmful things to themselves and others. The host never survives for very long.