Page 14 of Spit

My null abilities meant that I registered as less than human to those of demonic ilk. Something the eyes skipped over.

I saw someone approach out of the corner of my eye. A stench that made my eyes water and my throat suck closed. A demon with skin flaking away from his face approached. There was nothing reptilian about the shedding skin—it was like flaking sunburn peeling away from the demon’s face. His eyes were round and milky white with cataracts. If I had seen him on the street and couldn’t feel the press of his magic against my brain like a hammer, I would probably think he was human.

The stink told me one thing.

Shax demon.

A few patrons at the bar moved out of the demon’s way, their noses wrinkling in a way that suggested even demons were offended by his smell.

The Shax demon grinned, showing every one of his teeth. They were yellow and pitted black. “Can I buy you a drink?” He asked. His words were coated in a lisp—his tongue was split in two.

I quirked a brow as if to ask if he was serious.

“The name’s Barry.” The demon jabbed a thumb toward his chest. “What’s yours?”

My nostrils flared at his smell as I leaned back to try and get away from the stench.

Undeterred, the demon moved closer, making me gag. I waved my hand away as if I could evoke an invisible force field.

“Have you tried Vinum?” He crooned. “Demon wine is known as a delicacy in all of the realms. Grown from grapes of Second Circle. Its taste is as bitter as it is sweet. A perfect balance.”

“I’m not here to drink,” I said. “You should really step back?”

“Why?” The Shax demon cocked his head to the side. “Is my pheromone lure too much for your human sensitivities?” He asked the question without a hint of sarcasm, as if he genuinely wanted to know.

Before I could answer, my hunger reached out like a claw, swiping across his belly and taking a sip. His magic tasted like sewage on a hot day, but my shadow licked its fingers clean and readied itself to return for more.

I tried to rein my shadow in, but it had been confined for too long. The Shax demon’s eyes crossed, and he dropped as if all of the bones in his body had left at once.

I looked up, my eyes darting to my surroundings, just realizing that maybe the demons wouldn’t take too kindly to me dropping one of their own, but none of them even glanced at the Shax demon in a pile on the floor.

The bartender returned, gesturing over his shoulder. “You can go on back.” He said.

I looked down at the Shax demon. “What about him?”

The bartender waved away my question. “Don’t worry about them. Shax demons faint all the time.”

I had nothing to say to that, so I simply followed the bartender's directions until I was confronted by a steel door with large rivets that looked more at home at a bank than in the bar's back room.

I lifted my hand to knock on the door, shifting my weight from one foot to the other to feel my weapons without giving away their position. I was as armed as I had been going in, but it never hurt to be paranoid around demons.

I had no idea what I was walking into, and Mr. Bub wasn’t known for letting me swim in the kiddie pool when it came to errands.

The door swung open without anyone touching the handle, and the smell of fried chicken hit me like a wave of hot summer air.

I could pretend that seeing Mr. Bub was something I was used to, but the sight of the demon king of Gluttony always made my stomach turn. My shadow, a being that Mr. Bub had imbued with his Sin, entered the room before I did, sniffing the air before settling in the corner like a spider on the wall.

I stepped over the threshold, schooling my face into an expression of impassive boredom. I told myself that his presence didn’t bother me, though inside, I was seething. My teeth creaked with how hard my jaw clenched.

“Where’s my cat?” The words came out harsher than intended, though he deserved my scorn.

Mr. Bub’s bulbous eyes blinked as he looked up from his bucket of fried chicken. His frame was so slight that his bones jutted, and I saw the tendons of his wrists as his sleeves hung loose. His suit was tailored, but it didn’t hide his skeletal form. With rotting brown teeth and bushy dark eyebrows studded with silver hairs, Beelzebub was an oddity—even before his magic entered the equation.

Mr. Bub lifted a chicken wing and placed it in his mouth, stripping the meat and gristle from the bone with one swift movement. He reached for a moist towelette and took his time cleaning his bony fingers. “Don’t avoid me again.” He warned, studying his hands, fully invested in his task. “We made a bargain, you and I. I can strip you of your magic and take your shadow if you fail to live up to your end.”

“You took my cat.” My nostrils flared.

“He was returned to your home by one of my colleagues when you entered this office.” Mr. Bub waved a hand dismissively. “I had to get your attention.”

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