Page 10 of Where Exorcists Cannot Lie

Having located the stables, I encountered another horse there—a beautiful bay mare. At first, the prospect of having her owner as a housemate neither excited nor displeased me. However, that changed in a flash upon noticing the state of the stall.

“Motherfucker,” I gritted under my breath.

The place hadn’t been mucked out for at least a couple of days. To make matters worse, the troughs were low on fresh water and hay. What kind of tosser would neglect their animal this way? Rage boiled the Elven part of my blood. Having grown up in a culture that revered horses, I couldn’t even begin to comprehend such despicable behaviour.

After offering much-needed care to Koryn after our trek, I sorted out his new neighbour as well, unable to leave the sweet creature untended in her own mess.

When I finished, knackered and pissed off, I picked up my saddle bags and threw them over my shoulder. The dusk long gathered as I stomped across the front yard towards the main house to tell the arse inside what I thought of them.

“Hello?” I knocked on the door to announce myself but yanked it open right away without waiting for an answer and barged inside.

The house was dark and cool. Quiet. No light, no fire, no sign of a living soul.

What the hell?

“Hello? Anyone here?” I yelled, looking around a large, open-plan kitchen combined with a sitting room. Neither the wood-burning stove nor a pair of settees answered me.

It took a chunk of time and several curse words—the inability to use Magic had me irked already—to locate and light a lamp. Armed with it, I proceeded to investigate the rest of the interior, not that I fancied playing hide and seek with some knob. And on an empty stomach, no less.

Two doors faced each other down the hall, both left ajar.

I tried the one on the right first. The room stood empty, the unslept-in bed made. Fresh linen towels were piled at the foot of the mattress, fancy inn-style. I tossed my leather sacks next to them, claiming my quarters in this fashion.

I rapped my knuckles against the door on the left next. It elicited no response, so I entered.

Three steps in, I tripped over unpacked saddle bags and a bundle of clothes strewn across the floor. It came close, but I avoided falling flat on my face and breaking my jaw. Mumbling obscenities, I shone the circle of light onto the bed.

The quilt-covered lump lying on top of it didn’t even move at the commotion.

I advanced closer and placed the lamp on the bedside table.

Even without active Magic in me, I somehow sensed a demon. A dead-to-the-world male demon, taking a nap in a sanctuarium for Mages. As if that were a normal occurrence.

Keeping my movements nice and slow, I reached out to pull the covers down a notch to have a peek.

My eyes landed on a stretch of pale, naked skin. A chiselled torso embellished with fancy anti-exorcism tattoos. An angular face with sharp contours and prominent cheekbones. Black, pointy fingernails. A small pair of cone-shaped horns, one atop either side of his head. And a tumble of inky hair splayed across the pillow.

My heart stopped.

I wasn’t staring at a stranger, but at someone I knew. Intimately. Or rather, someone I once thought I knew. The last person I expected to see ever again. Him–the Alpha Demon I’d wasted a year of my life on.

That added to my fury.

“Inuel,” I spat the word out. Without thinking, I grabbed the bastard’s shoulder to shake him the fuck awake, “Inuel Morhh, what the hell are you—”

I swallowed the rest of my question.

Inuel’s skin felt all wrong to the touch: clammy and way too warm. Under my fingers, his body—limp and lifeless—didn’t offer any resistance. He didn’t move a muscle or open his eyes.

Gentling my hand, I patted his cheek a few times. “Inuel,” I repeated, “can you hear me?”

I lowered myself to check his breathing, my thumb on his wrist to take his pulse. Both vitals were rapid. The fact I couldn’t detect the flow of his spiritual energy frustrated me to no end.

“Inuel, please. Give me a sign you can hear me, all right?” I squeezed his palm. “Try for me.”

After a moment, Inuel gave a wee moan. That weak, helpless whimper alarmed me more than his previous unresponsiveness.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Demons didn’t get sick. But I could tell Inuel was both feverish and in pain—under the influence of something. What, though? Some kind of curse? A high-level hex? Had he had a run-in with an Exorcist who’d tried to perform a rite on him? Deprived of my powers, I couldn’t confirm any of these assumptions. Just the same, only theories along those lines made any sense.

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