Page 20 of Spit

Did Mr. Bub expect me to prostitute myself?

I had signed our contract when I was ten years old, and Gluttony hadn’t let me see it since. I had no idea what was in there.

I looked to the top of the stairs as the front door to the mansion creaked open, and a man stepped out, his silhouette ringed in the glow of the light on the porch.

His head drew level with the bush at the top of the stairs, showing that he was tall but well-proportioned without being slight. His clothing cloaked his frame like a second skin, a dark suit that probably cost my entire yearly paycheck and more. It was the color of a midnight sky, almost black with a hint of blue. A single pop of bright color in the form of a blood-red pocket square.

His hair was slicked back, though longer than I would have expected. His hair was as dark as his suit, and his midnight eyes matched perfectly—tilted at the corner, making me unable to gauge his ethnicity. There was something fox-like about him. High cheekbones as he looked down his straight nose at me. Regal. I had heard that pureblooded demons could choose whatever shape they wore. This one had chosen something halfway between a K-pop star and one of those Japanese drama actors playing a mafia Don.

He walked with the confidence of someone who knew his own body inside and out and had no desire to set me at ease. The demon's dark eyes were fixed on mine as he took the stairs one by one, slowly enough to be at a leisurely pace.

His magic tasted like cotton candy, sweet and addictive and entirely at odds with his intimidating appearance.

I waved my shadow behind me, chiding it silently for tasting the demon without my permission.

People got touchy about things like that.

“Ms. Boudaire.” There was no question as he said my name, simply a greeting. “You may call me Mr. Legion. Though some refer to me as Mr. Ichi. Whatever you feel comfortable with. I have no preference.”

I nodded, unable to formulate a response, as I cleared my throat. “Mr. Bub said you needed me?”

“In time.” Mr. Legion’s voice was deep and husky, bordering on a growl. “Come, we’ll get you settled, and we can speak in the morning.”

“Sure.”

“Do you have luggage?” He cocked his head to the side.

“This was kind of last minute.” I winced.

Mr. Legion blinked as if I had taken him off guard. “Of course. You’re the null witch?”

“That’s me.” My smile felt like it would slide off my face with the slightest breeze.

“I have a few witches in my employ. You will be staying in their wing. It overlooks the garden.”

“How long do you think this is going to take?” I asked.

“It will take as long as it takes.” Mr. Legion’s voice allowed no room for argument. “Follow me.”

Ichi, aka Mr. Legion, glided up the stairs, his steps silent as he moved like a predator. I followed on his heels; my palms were itchy from being unarmed. I was on edge, but my shadow trailed after me, sticking to my heels and mimicking my frame. It was rare that my shadow tried to be inconspicuous, and even rarer, people noticed its mischief even when it was dancing at my feet. Somehow, I got the impression that Mr. Legion would notice my shadow and its strange behavior the second it stepped out of line.

He held the door open for me. The wood was thick, heavy, and dark with age. The hinges were pure iron, with a bar of iron across the front. They would discourage someone of Fae descent from entering, but iron didn’t affect witches or demons.

There was only one metal that did.

Devil’s silver.

The foyer was what I would imagine a Palace to look like, though I had never seen one. Everything was made of white marble, veined with silver and gold. The pillars from outside continued on the inside, lining the mountainous staircase at the center of the entrance hall.

The air was thick with demon magic, bordering on sickly sweet, like a teenage girl’s body spray. My nose tickled, and I rubbed it as discretely as possible.

Mr. Legion did not wait for me as he strode through the room and to one of the doors on the side of the staircase, like eyes on either side of an elephant’s trunk.

The lights flicked on, triggered by the motion, and the hallway narrowed until I could touch either side if I stretched my arms.

My shadow bristled whenever I got too close to Mr. Legion, but I tried to ignore it. I could swallow him whole if I wanted to. That was the beauty of Gluttony—a never-ending hunger.

The light grew brighter, and my eyes struggled to adjust. Deep rumbling footsteps grew louder as something drew closer. Mr. Legion held his arm straight out at chest height to stop me from going further.

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