Page 17 of Higher Demon

He’s right, and reluctantly I tackle my meal. The food’s just as amazing as always, and I wish I could appreciate it more, but my mind is too busy spinning through the logistics of what happens next.

By the time my plate is clean and I’m halfway through my second margarita, I still have no clue what to do.

“Is there any way for me to know for sure what you’re saying is true?” I ask. “Not that I doubt you, but others will. I need to be able to give proof that’s not just ‘Marc said so.’”

“You could ask her to try her skills out on me,” he suggests. “She doesn’t have any, so I won’t even have to swat her down.”

It’s not a terrible idea, except, “She’s seventeen. There’s no scenario in the world where I can suggest a minor go up against a higher demon, even one who’s on our side.”

“What about her dad?” Matt suggests. “If this is a generational thing, he shouldn’t have any skills either.” He pauses. “How has he existed as a hunter all these years if he was going on jobs completely undefended? Same with all his ancestors.”

“They have a higher demon behind them,” Marc reminds us. “That gives them options. If you look, however, you’ll probably find they have a preference for working alone. And perhaps a habit of moving into administrative jobs as soon as possible.”

My head throbs with the thought of dealing with this. At least my access to the archives is going to make finding answers relatively easy.

“Is there any way you can find out who the higher demon is and what their objectives might be?” Are we dealing with another wants-to-destroy-the-world type, or someone like Marc, only gossipy? Because, not gonna lie, if there’s a demon somewhere whose only interest in Earth is that it’s their version ofBelow Decks, I’m okay with it. I’ll take some quiet steps to make sure nobody in the Highett family has access to anything highly classified, and then we can all get on with our lives.

Marc gives a one-shoulder, disinterested shrug. “I could make inquiries.”

“Do it,” I order.

He raises a brow.

“Please,” I add, trying not to grit my teeth. He’s gotta know how important this is, yet he still feels the need to nitpick over something as stupid as my tone?

Diplomacy, I remind myself. “If you don’t mind, could you also see if there’s anyone other than the Highetts?”

He looks aghast. “Any otherhuman? I can assure you, there is. Many. Despite all your pontificating about religion, humans seem to have a vast disregard for their own souls.”

“Hey,” Matt complains. “I’ve never pontificated about religion. Neither has Ian.” His gaze flicks to me. “Have you?”

I shake my head and drink some more margarita.

“It was a collective ‘your,’” Marc informs him. “I’m sure all your gods, if they exist, find the obsession with religion amusing. Though they might wonder why you bothered to make up the concept of hell, when life on Earth is the worst punishment any deity could devise.”

Matt’s eyes narrow, and I interrupt before he can say something undiplomatic. Plus, Marc might be kind of on our side, but heisstill a higher demon, and I like my bestie-brother alive.

“We get it: you don’t like Earth. How’s the whole plan to get transferred home going?” I try to make it sound casual and not like it’s a subject that deeply interests and concerns me. If Marc gets transferred home, it means a new ambassador, someone I don’t know, who might not be as… forgiving as Marc. He’s got a sharp tongue, and nobody really likes him, but he’s put up with a lot of shit since moving here. Notgracefullyor anything—we’ve all heard exactly what he thinks of us—but there’s been no killing. No maiming. No taking over of anyone’s mind.

Well… not that I know of, anyway.

“You’re getting transferred home?” Matt asks, perking up. “When?”

I kick him under the table.

“I mean, oh no. We’ll miss you. We should throw a party—agoodbyeparty,” he adds hastily when he sees my face.

Marc sniffs. “Sadly, I’m not getting transferred home. That’s the other thing I needed to speak with you about. It seems you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”

There’s a weird feeling in my gut, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t just scarfed dinner and two margaritas. “How foreseeable?”

He sighs. “Let’s just say that I’d appreciate if you’d call your children and grandchildren Ian and Matt so I don’t have to learn any new names.”

Chapter8

Marc

The consternationand horror on Matt’s face would be amusing if this subject weren’t so distressing to me. I turn to Ian to see how he’s taking it. His expression is somewhat more circumspect—even thoughtful.

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