Rescuing demons is more difficult than murdering them, I thought.
And definitely not as rewarding.
SUNSET was on my heels. I told Grant that if he didn’t come back to the house for dinner, I would let the boys cook for him.
He had some experience with that. The last time hadn’t sent him to the hospital, but he’d lived in the bathroom for an entire day, making sounds that made me wonder if a bobcat was coming out both ends.
Grant sat beside me in the passenger seat. I didn’t say a word when the giggling Shurik came along for the ride. Some perched on his shoulders, while others were tucked inside his shirt, stuck to his ribs. I pretended not to notice, but it wasn’t easy. I remembered their former lord, who had taken near-sexual delight in inhabiting the bodies of humans, slowly eating them from the inside out until there was nothing left but loose skin, and viscous bone.
The six-wheeler bumped and rattled us across the grassy, rut-scarred pasture that separated the farmhouse from the wooded area of my land. Birds scattered before us, and several rabbits darted away, startled. I was surprised the smell of predators hadn’t already motivated them to get clear of this place. Or that the Osul hadn’t hunted them all dead.
A golden glow made the warm air shimmer; everywhere, a lush glint, a hush in the light itself as the day softened into that last evening gleam. My favorite time of day—though it was ruined by the feeling of something’s watching me. I glanced sideways at the Shurik on Grant’s shoulder. It didn’t have eyes, but its sharp little mole mouth was pointed in my direction. I stared past it at my husband’s strong, jagged profile.
“I’m sorry,” he said, breaking the silence between us. “I shouldn’t have said those things. Earlier, I mean.”
My hands tightened around the wheel. “How long have you felt this way?”
“I don’t,” he said flatly. “I’ve never felt that way about you.”
“That, I know.” I suddenly felt nauseous, warm. “What I meant is . . . how long have you felt like a killer?”
Grant remained silent for the rest of the ride. It wasn’t until I had parked in front of the porch and was ready to slide out that he grabbed my wrist. It was my right wrist, and when his hand touched the armor, I felt a spark flash through me, followed by an oozing heat. He didn’t seem to feel it on his end—his hand remained where it was, and his fingers squeezed once, gently.
“I didn’t notice it at first.” A faint sheen of sweat touched his brow; and the bright flush was back, like a fever. “It started in my dreams. Nightmares that I was hurting people, nightmares that were so real that I was half-convinced I’d done those things.”
“Memories. Not yours.”
“I started feeling that same hunger while I was awake. Not to eat anyone,” he added quickly. “But thinking about people as food isn’t much different from looking at them as something disposable, that can be controlled, manipulated. The impulse is the same.”
I sat on that for a moment, unsurprised. “I feel like there’s more you’re not telling me.”
Grant pulled his cane from the seat behind us. “I don’t know how to fix this, Maxine. Using my gift to hurt others has always been my nightmare. What happened with the demon in Taiwan . . . I didn’t even think. It felt natural.”
He was still hiding something from me, but I played along. “It felt righteous.”
“Yes,” he said quietly.
“Have you spoken to the demons?”
“The Shurik aren’t the problem,” he replied, as the fat little worm on his shoulder exhaled a rather pleased-sounding squeak and wriggled out of sight beneath his shirt. “They’re very . . . receptive. It’s the Yorana.”
“They can go fuck themselves,” I muttered, feeling the sun begin to set behind me. “Come on. I need pie.”
Mary was already in the kitchen when we walked inside. Television on, playing a Hallmark movie, one of those Westerns starring an unconvincingly grim and battle-hardened Kevin Sorbo.
“Where’s Jack?” I asked her. The boys were tugging hard on my skin, ready to wake. Soon, any minute now.
She made a face and dug into a little plastic bag of weed. Which had taken on a whole new meaning for me. When she offered some to Grant, he hesitated—and then took a pinch to chew. Made him grimace, but he didn’t spit it out. I wondered if his physiology was just different enough to keep him from getting high on the stuff.
Mary also stuffed a pinch of that shit into her mouth. “Wolf is cutting off dirt.”
So, he was finally taking a bath. Hallelujah.