Page 28 of Higher Demon

He can’t be serious.No, really. They can’t truly mean…

But as I watch, aghast, they stand in the middle of my closet and critique my clothes.Myclothes. They, who between the three of them possess not one atom of style, are criticizingmyclothing.

I only showed them the closet because I thought they were joking. Or that they were secretly hoping for some advice on how to dress better. It wouldn’t be difficult—their current standards are appallingly low.

“There’s not one thing here that he could wear to destroy a demon in,” Matt says, turning in a circle. “Not one thing that’s ratty enough to sacrifice to demon goop.”

Demon… goop.

“I can destroy demons wearing a suit,” I inform him. “In fact, Ihave. And humans.” Not that I’ve ever destroyed a human before—what would be the point? It’s not like they pose a threat to me. But I could swat them down like the little insects they are and not break a sweat.

They’re not listening to me.

“That’s not important,” Ian tells Matt. “If we change his look that much, people will think he’s trying too hard. Sweats and jeans are out.”

I exhale in relief.

“For now,” he adds, and a new fear grips me. Surely he doesn’t mean that? He can’t think I’d ever willingly wear… sweatpants?

The mere thought makes me shudder.

“Maybe,” Matt concedes. “We can work our way up to jeans.”

“He’s still the ambassador,” Norval reminds them. “Jeans on appropriate occasions only, and none of those ripped ones. If we want this truce to work, he needs to look like he’s taking it seriously.”

“That’s what a suit shows,” I interject. Because it does. “A suit makes me look like I’m taking the truce seriously.”

“A suit makes you look like you have a stick up your ass,” Ian tells me solemnly. “We need to find some middle ground. Not casual, because…” He waves a hand at me, as if that’s answer enough. “But something that’s not billionaire mafia kingpin prince of a European nation.”

“I don’t think that exists.” I may not know everything about Earth, but I’m fairly certain he’s just saying words now.

“Are your cuffs monogrammed?” he demands.

“Wait, that’s a thing?” Matt spins around andgrabs my wrist. It’s only sheer force of will that keeps me from turning his brain—such as it is—into jelly. Not that he’d likely notice the difference. “Holy fuck, it is. You have monogrammed shirts!”

“Let. Go.”

His eyes go wide, and he releases me, stumbling back. “F-Friends don’t kill friends and eat their souls.”

“Friends don’t put their grubby fingerprints on friends’ perfectly tailored clothing,” I retort, then take a breath. “Ian, if you can’t control him, he’ll have to sit outside in the courtyard.”

“Oh my god, again with the dog thing,” Ian mutters.

“What dog thing?” Norval scowls at me. “Donotturn my nephews into dogs!”

“Believe me, that’s the last thing I’d do,” I say honestly. At least humans use the bathroom on their own. Having to shovel up Matt’s waste would just make him more annoying.

“Marc thinks of us as a step below dogs on the pet scale.” Matt seems to have regained his confidence now that there’s a few feet between us.

“Not just one step.”

Norval cocks his head and studies Matt, then Ian. “He might have a point.”

I laugh victoriously as both of them shout, “Uncle!” Who knew the ghost was that intelligent?

Ian shakes a finger at me. “You can laugh now, but just remember, he who laughs last… something. And I’m going to be the last laugher.”

“Dude.” Matt stares at him and slowly shakes his head. “No. That was… just no.”

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