Page 2 of Where Exorcists Cannot Lie

“I see. What do you have in mind, Xen? Search and seizure? Slapping him with a warning?”

“Both, to start with. Take a few juniors with you, toss the place and see what merchandise you find on the premises. Take it from there. But mostly, I want you to take the measure of Morhh. We need to know exactly who we’re dealing with. As a precaution, I’ve pre-authorised a short-term power restriction. It’s up to you. Go for it, if shit goes sideways or in case you conclude that binding him for a while might teach him a lesson and prevent him from getting ideas in the future. The last thing we’d want is him peddling goods to a dodgy, organised crowd, like Magic Supremacists.”

I nodded. Most of the work we did boiled down to deterring the members of the Magic-able community from committing crimes and offences. It made sense to pull out weeds early, when they remained seedlings, rather than allowing them to establish strong roots. Sometimes, a not-so-gentle reminder the Guild kept watch sufficed to nip things in the bud.

“So, an Alpha Demon, eh? Never had the pleasure.” I rubbed my chin in thought. “The closest I got was studying the textbooks for a demonic species diversity class.”

“Be careful, Tazãr. We don’t know his intentions. Nor his temperament or the extent of his powers.” Xen tilted her head, one side of her lips curling up. “I hear he’s a looker. Something of a manwhore and a scoundrel as well. From what I can remember, he got reported by several jilted lovers—men, women, humans and demons alike. Their statements were packed so full of curse words they had to be censored. Morhh must be one hell of an Alpha to cause such emotions. So, mind yourself.” She chuckled.

I wrinkled my nose at her teasing and scoffed. “Please. I’m a professional. As if I would ever fall for—”

Then I remembered the incubus. The spellcaster. And the fire demon. My mouth closed with a soft pop.

Xen offered me a wide-eyed, pointed look, but—demonstrating a singular restraint—chose not to elaborate.

“Right,” I said, easing myself out of the chair. “Paperwork?”

“All signed and ready for collection from the clerk downstairs. I planned to invite you for a piss-up to celebrate your last evening in the city, but sadly, I’m at the Palace on a stakeout tonight. We’ve got a dream demon terrorising the emperor’s inner circle with recurring nightmares involving flatulence in public.”

“Classy.” I snorted. “Well, good luck with that. And no worries, Xen. We’ll make up for it next time.”

“I don’t doubt that. Travel safe, Tazãr. And keep me posted.” She reached for her quill and began making some notes on the parchments littering her desk.

“Yes, ma’am.” I turned on my heel and started towards the corridor.

A strange swirl of excitement stirred in my chest, accompanying me on the way out of the building and to my lodgings. Granted, going home justified that animated thrill in part. But I had to concede the prospect of encountering an Alpha Demon at last had me feeling all aflutter.

Whatever caused the shit to kick off at the Rams of Asirhwÿn, we missed the action by minutes. We did, however, arrive just in time to observe the aftermath of the brawl. As we stepped over the threshold three burly tavern attendants passed us in the doorway, dragging out a patron with a split eyebrow and a busted lip, the heels of the unconscious big’un scraping the floorboards.

Two barmaids wearing white cross-back aprons over their dresses bustled about the large space freshly turned battleground. They swept remains of broken ceramics, picked up knocked-over chairs and straightened tables. Patrons, drinks in hands, were retaking their seats, which they must have vacated to get out of the way of the altercation.

The distinct aroma of what I’d called hops and regret during my drinking days wafted through the air. Shards of earthenware crunched under my boots as I advanced further inside. I signalled to the three junior exorcists I'd taken along for the venture—a woman and a couple of men—to follow suit.

I studied the room, my eyes fixing on the person I inferred to be the one left standing post-fight. Even without a detailed physical description to go by, I recognised the horned demon as Inuel Morhh.

He faced the entrance with his back leaning against the oak bar—his tall, inky-haired presence veiled by an air of nonchalance. Having wiped a trickle of blood from the cut on his cheekbone without much care, he took an idle sip from the mead cup he nursed in his hand. Then he smirked and directed his grey, lucent gaze straight at me.

Something inside me jolted.

I wouldn’t be able to stop staring even if they paid me. A looker, Xen had said. What a wry understatement. Morhh was plain fucking gorgeous.

He sported a long, tousled braid, with a few strands that’d loosened out of the weave. The torn front of his shirt hung off him in two bits, providing a fine view of his taut stomach and sculpted chest. Both were covered in exquisite anti-exorcist tattoos. Even with a furtive glance, I could tell those had been done by a Master Mage and cost a small fortune.

Fuck. Come tomorrow I’m going to start exercising.

I tightened my jaws, desperate to clear my mind of the odd, disjointed thoughts that kept popping into it.

Morhh’s alpha quality came across despite his dishevelled state. It seeped out of him unchecked, so I deduced the aggressive incident earlier must have left him a little stirred and unregulated. I had trouble remembering the last time I perceived something as enticing. And it didn’t stop there. To make matters worse, I sensed Morhh’s spiritual energy at the same time—strong, dense in texture and surprisingly refined. My own aura longed to bask within its proximity and pressed forward to nestle and snuggle with the demonic field like a lost puppy, drawn to it to such an extent it gave me a fright. And an instant boner.

While I devoted a moment to offer a sigh of gratitude for the loose cut of my robes, Morhh’s nostrils flared. The next thing I knew, he reined in his powers and shut it all down.

The abruptness of that withdrawal had me twitching in discomfort. It fucked with my balance in the same manner as a rug ripped from under my feet would. But it also forced me to snap out of my daze and recover my wits.

It turned out Morhh possessed a sarcastic smile and snow-white teeth, which when put together made for a devastating combination.

I resisted the temptation to stomp and instead stuck my nose up in the air and made a beeline for the bar. I heard my companions at my rear mirroring my movements.

“Inuel Morhh? We’d like a word,” I said and halted opposite the demon. In the unlikely scenario he might have overlooked our official attire, I indicated the silver brooch clasp I wore clipped above my heart. The serpent, crafted in a coiled form, represented the symbol of the Exorcists.

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