Page 32 of Spit

Mr. Legion glanced through the door before deciding against the argument and went through first. I followed on his heel, reaching behind my back towards my gun holster before I remembered my weapons had been taken. A flash of wariness filled my body.

My shadow was quiet, a dull thrum of hunger but not much else. He’d eaten more magic in the past twenty-four hours than the rest of the year combined.

“What is this place?” I asked, eying the damp walls and the rot as we walked down the corridor; the light overhead flickered.

“Trey’s.” Mr. Legion eyed me as if I was simple.

“Uh-huh,” I ignored his look and focused on the cracks on the floor.

Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.

My ears pricked as something shifted. The sound of concrete grinding and dry leaves skittering. My head snapped to the sound as Legion moved so quickly that my eyes couldn’t focus on him. One moment he was by my side; the next, my nose was pressed against the fabric covering his chest, smelling his expensive cologne and the sugar-sweet tang of his demon magic. Something crashed against the wall, right where my head had been. Legion had grabbed me and turned me until his back faced the threat—a movable panel in the wall and a crossbow.

I looked down at my feet and the seams in the dust. “Tripwire?” I kept my voice calm, though inside, I was shaking. I had come this close to getting an arrow in the face—from one of Legion’sfacets.

“Pressure plate,” Legion grunted as his arms loosened, slowly and almost reluctantly.

My heart was about to leave my body, and every inch of my skin burned. My face flushed, and I discretely pressed my hand to my cheek to check my temperature.

Legion turned back to the corridor; his eyes narrowed as he studied it with new respect.

I hadn’t been touched in so long, I told myself. That was why my body reacted strongly and strangely to ademon.

He tilted his head to the side, encouraging us both to keep moving. His magic smelt like candy, making me think of spun sugar they had at the carnival, at odds with the dark and dangerous man in front of me.

“Baka,” Legion whispered, cursing in Japanese. “I told him that his traps will kill someone one day.”

The sickly-sweet smell of death and meat reached my nose, gathering at the back of my throat. I bit back a gag. “What is that smell?” My words were muffled as I spoke through my hand.

Legion rolled his eyes. “Sloth.” He said as if that single word was an explanation.

We kept walking, minding the floor as we went, but there were no more pressure plates or trip wires.

When we reached the end of the corridor, a single camera looked down at us. Legion glared at the lens before opening the door.

The smell of unwashed bodies and death rose as we stepped into the warehouse proper. The concrete floor was covered in bodies, almost invisible under the flesh blanket. I couldn’t tell if they were alive. Still, the smell implied they had passed a while ago—left to bake in the Louisiana heat in an un-air-conditioned warehouse.

“Oh my god.” My eyes widened. I muttered the words repeatedly, stepping back towards the open doorway. I wanted to be sick.

Legion rolled his eyes. “Trey!”

No response. His voice echoed through the expansive warehouse. There was no staircase, just empty space and windows clouded with dust, letting in enough sunlight to cast shadows from the bodies.

My shadow was zipping around like a dog doing tippy-taps. I reached forward, feeling the air and the shimmer of magic hidden beneath the overbearing miasma of decay.

Without my permission, my shadow bit the residual magic on the air. Its taste was strange but not unpleasant, like melted ice cream.

Something cracked, and reality shattered. The corpses disappeared, revealing a warehouse loft. A wall of arcade games flashing, a massive sectional. Vending machines full of food from all over the world.

One moment I had been staring at a mass grave, and the next, I was in some bachelor pad. A television larger than an elephant covered an entire wall. But no dead bodies.

I turned to Legion, my blue eyes rounded as I tried to make sense of it. I was a witch and had grown up around magic, so reality was a loose construct at best. I had never seen an illusion so realistic that even my shadow had been fooled for a moment.

A wrought-iron spiral staircase stood in the corner of the room, leading to a platform. Legion strode forward, gripping the staircase and ascending upwards—his long legs eating up two steps at a time.

I hurried to keep up, my boots clicking against each metal step.

The bedroom was simple, without the flashing games and consoles of the first floor. A simple king-size bed with plain beige sheets.

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