Page 61 of Spit

Though the corner townhouse gave off a homely feel, the doors stood open as chattering demons streamed inside, fanning themselves with programs and pointing at various things that I couldn’t see from the street.

“What kind of items do you think they have in there?” I wondered.

Trey shrugged. “A bit of this and a bit of that.”

“You’re a font of knowledge,” I replied dryly. “Any more information, and I might just drown.”

“Ha.”

“You said Mars and Quinn were bidding on a scepter?” I tucked my hands into my pockets as we waited on the street. “Was it important, do you think?”

“Come on.” Trey urged, ignoring my question. “We should be able to catch Mr. Bellgrady before the auction starts.”

“Is there an auction every night?” I wondered as I followed on Trey’s heels.

“It depends on how much Mr. Bellgrady has managed to acquire. Sometimes the pickings are sparse but valuable. Sometimes it’s trash. Somethings he stumbles on an entire cache of treasures.”

“A man of mystery,” I mumbled.

“Sure, let's go with that.” Trey shot me a smile. “The man raids the US postal service and graves for fun,” Trey said as he used the band on his wrist to tie his shoulder-length hair back into a man bun at the nape of his neck. It kept the strands away from his face, which would be helpful in a fight—which begged the question: did Trey think we were heading into a fight?

I rubbed my wrist, trying not to let my anxiety show. My shadow was never far away, and I knew I could throat punch someone hard enough to disarm them if I wanted to—but I missed having a weapon.

Once we got inside, I took my time looking around, never leaving Trey’s side in case shit went south. If another one of Legion’s ‘facets’ went missing, he would have my throat.

The floor of the entrance hall was plush blood-red carpet with a Persian rug in the center that I suspected was authentic. Glass boxes on podiums surrounded the crowd, lining the walls. Each one was lit from within, with a treasure behind the glass and a small plaque describing what was available to the highest bidder.

“The scepter?” I pressed after a minute, wondering if I was missing something important. “Why did Mars and Quinn want it?”

Trey grimaced, eying the crowd with distaste. “It’s a long story.”

I followed his gaze to the milling demons, searching for anything that might be out of place. “It might be important.”

The demon sighed. His canary yellow eyes rounded like a wounded puppy. “You’re going to make me tell it.”

“Don’t be lazy.”

“I’m Sloth.” He griped. “Lazy is my middle name.”

“Do demons even have middle names?” I wondered.

Trey raised a brow. “Of course they do. The longer the name, the harder it is to guess. A true name can be used to summon a demon, you know.”

I knew that all too well. “The scepter?” I echoed, refusing to let him change the subject.

“You know about Lucifer and his fall from heaven?” Trey asked.

“Of course.”

“Good.” He nudged my shoulder. “I don’t like having to explain more than necessary. So, anyway. Most of the legends say that Lucifer led a war against God, and tried to get a bunch of angels on his side, so god cast him out.”

“That’s not true?” My eyes rounded.

Trey shook his head. “It’s true, though the scepter was the straw that broke the camel's back. The scepter is an artifact that allows a being to travel through the fabric of reality without the usual rules. It belonged to the Lord of the Summerland.”

“It was God’s scepter?” Oof.

“Yes. Not all demons have the ability to Lace, which is a fancy way of saying teleporting. Some have to sneak in through the fabric of the realities.” Trey explained. “Once a demon is powerful enough, they become entrenched in hell itself, the kings and queens of hell can’t actually leave hell for longer than sixty-six minutes a day, or the entire dimension reacts poorly. The scepter mitigates that kind of damage.”

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