Page 15 of Higher Demon

I stare glumly through the windshield as my imaginary friends scatter. “Can’t wait.”

Chapter7

Ian

I’ve gotno idea what bug crawled up Marc’s ass, but I hope he gets over it real quick. I have this sneaking suspicion that whatever he’s got to tell us is bad enough without his rotten mood making it worse.

At least there’s margaritas here. And my bestie.

I lead the way into the restaurant and instantly spot Matt. He’s already in a booth, margarita in one hand, hoeing into chips and salsa with the other. “We’re with him,” I tell the hostess, pointing, and she waves us through.

Matt looks up when we’re still a few feet away. “Finally!”

“We had to drive here, dickhead.” Without thinking, I plop down on the other side of the booth and slide over. Fuck. I should have sat next to Matt so Marc could have this side to himself. Now he’s going to sit with one of us.

Sure enough, he slides into the booth beside me. “Hello, Matt,” he says smoothly. “How was Oregon?” His inflection makes it perfectly clear that Oregon is yet another part of Earth that he never wants to go to… just like all the other places on Earth.

“Meh. Pretty, I guess. Cultists suck ass, though.”

Marc nods. “That’s a universal truth.”

I don’t even want to think about what that might mean. I hand him a menu. “Here. Dinner’s on me.”

He opens it and begins to scan. “Yes, I know.”

Matt gives me an eyebrow-scrunched questioning look, and I roll my eyes and shake my head, reaching for the chips. “Have you heard yet about your next assignment?”

“Nah. I told them I probably wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Hopefully that means they won’t wake me at five with a job in Canada or somewhere.”

The server comes over to take our drink order, and we end up ordering our meal too. It smells so good in here that I’m suddenly ravenous. Marc, to my—and Matt’s—surprise, isn’t fussy about his order. I expected him to ask for some changes, but he doesn’t. The only thing he asks for is alotof food. That I’m paying for. Meh. I’ll just expense it, since he’s the ambassador and this is a working dinner.

Technically.

Kind of.

“Okay,” Matt says when we’ve all got drinks. “What’s going on that you need my brain for?”

I turn to look at Marc. “The floor’s yours.”

He turns his glass on the tabletop before lifting it to lick the salty rim and take a sip. It’s a grim reminder that salt, one of the few defenses we have against demons, doesn’t work on the most dangerous of them. I try not to shudder. Across the table, Matt rubs his forearms.

Marc sets his glass down precisely. “I assume you checked her after what I said?”

“What did you say?” Matt demands before I can reply. He’s not going to shut up until I explain.

“He said one of my students isn’t a hunter.”

My bestie’s eyes widen. “That’s impossible. At that age? We’d know. Well, not me, I have nothing to do with trainees, but someone would know.”

I shrug. “That’s exactly what I was thinking. And yes,” I tell Marc, “I checked. She’s underpowered but still a hunter.”

“Who is it?” Matt butts in again.

“Jolynn Highett.”

He pulls a face. “Cal Highett’s kid? I hate him.”

I don’t like him all that much, either. We’ve never had a lot to do with him, since he’s fifteen years older than us, but that doesn’t mean we can’t tell he’s an ass.

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