Page 25 of Higher Demon

The good of Crmærdinesgh had better be worth the sacrifices I’m making.

Inside, Ian makes a beeline for my parlor, and when I get there, he’s settling himself in my favorite armchair, his dirty shoes on the ottoman—because where else would they be? I can’t bring myself to look at them for a second longer than I have to, so I go down the hallway to my bedroom and change into a suit. Someone knocks on the front door while I’m putting my cuff links in, but I ignore it. If Ian wants Matt to join us, he can get out of my chair and let him in.

Once I’m fully dressed and feeling much more like myself, I make sure the room is in its usual immaculate state—one of the benefits of not actually being human is that I only have to sleep if I want to, so the bed is always showroom-perfect—and reluctantly return to the parlor.

Ian’s back in my chair, and for a moment I contemplate removing him from it. That’s the kind of things friends do, correct? But I doubt he’d appreciate a demonstration of my power—it always seems to dismay him.

Before I can put too much more thought into it, Matt’s exclamation catches my attention.

“Touch that and die, human,” I warn. He’s over by the bookshelf, grotty hand reaching toward one of my medieval texts. It was actually the diary of a friend of mine who was summoned back then and kept captive for over three decades. The so-called monk who’d orchestrated that atrocity didn’t realize how much influence my friend still had, and so the manuscript he was copying at the time—some dreadfully dull religious treatise—is interrupted frequently with passages of demonic fables and my friend’s thoughts.

My friend did manage to escape, but he was never the same and ultimately chose to return to Earth and kill the monk, resulting in his being hunted by the Collective and destroyed. I liberated the book sometime after, when a connection of mine heard about the “demonic text written by a possessed monk.”

“That should be in a museum,” Matt accuses. “Ian, have you seen this? It can’t be good for these books to be on a random shelf like this.”

“Since when do you care about books?” Ian asks, not opening his eyes.

“Since a demon is desecrating a religious text,” he retorts, and I laugh.

“The title on the binding is deceiving.” Feeling whimsical, I stroll over and pull the book from the shelf, ignoring his yelp. I leaf through the pages, then turn it so he can see.

He squints at the ancient lettering, his lips moving as he reads.Howdid the Collective survive this long?

“My Latin’s only mediocre,” he admits finally, “but this doesn’t seem right.”

“I’d weep for humanity, but what would be the point?”

“We can do without your tears, demon,” a sharp voice snaps, and Norval appears beside me.

“Oh, how delightful. You’re back.”

He ignores me, leaning in to see the book, and then his eyes widen. “Cover your eyes, Matthias! Ian, get your kit!”

Sighing, I return the book to the shelf. This evening can’t be over fast enough.

Chapter11

Ian

“Ian, get your kit!”Uncle Norval’s shout cuts through my brain, and I force myself to open my eyes and get up. Whatever crisis he’s dreamed up has to be easier to deal with than the memory of Marc’s fucking perfect ass and the way I reacted to it.

Jesus. I can’t be attracted to him—I just can’t. He’s ademon. He’s just got a great ass. That’s it.

And he reallydoes. Those suits he wears look amazing on him, but they hide his best asset. Holy fuck, if my ass looked that good, I’d be walking around in a thong and nothing else, screw the risk of arrest.

So… it’s completely normal for me to see a great specimen of asshood and be turned on by that. It doesn’t mean I’ve got a thing for Marc… just his body.

I’m not letting myself think about it too much.

“What’s going on?” I ask instead, rounding the armchair to see Uncle Norval holding one hand over Matt’s eyes and brandishing the other toward Marc in a “get back” gesture, while Marc calmly puts a book on the shelf.

“This demon is trying to corrupt Matt!”

“Uncle Norval,” Matt complains, tugging at the hand. “I couldn’t even read it properly. And I was the one who wanted to see it in the first place.”

“See! He even has you thinking it was your idea. He’s trying to steal your soul.”

Marc yawns. I look at the spine of the book—the one Matt was babbling needed to be in a museum. Clearly it’s not what he thought it was.

---