Page 54 of Higher Demon

“If someone jumps him and he lays them out, even nonlethally, who do you think the council and the rest of the Collective will believe? All it takes is one hunter who’s not happy with the idea of the truce, and the whole thing could crumble.”

Gayle takes a deep, shaky breath. “An asshole like Cal,” she murmurs, and Marc and I exchange a glance. It wouldn’t be Cal—he has too much to lose. He already pushed his luck tonight. I can’t imagine the demon sponsoring his family would be happy about any doubt being thrown on them.

“I don’t want to make accusations,” I say instead. “I like to think everyone in the Collective is committed to the truce and to minimizing deaths. So many hunters have been sacrificed over the centuries, and we’ve finally got the chance to change that. To be more of a—a policing organization than a suicide squad.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “I see that. We’ve already had fewer losses with Marc helping to handle the worst of the demons.”

“Change won’t happen fast, but it needs to happen. If the demons can commit to this, we should be able to as well. In the end, we’re the ones with the most to lose.” I try not to wince. I sound like an after-school special.

Gayle’s amused glance confirms that, but what she says surprises me. “When did you grow up?”

“Huh?”

“I always figured you’d take forever to mature. That you’d be one of the reckless hunters we’d lose early. This”—she waves a hand at me—“adult statesman who can control a room and confidently talk about long-term diplomatic solutions… This is a surprise.”

“Shut up. I’m not astatesman, for god’s sake.” My cheeks get hot.

“Ian, you’ve been the chief liaison to the demons foryears. You’re in charge of correcting our archives, and this year you’ve pioneered an education program to foster human-demon relations and cement the truce for the future. You’re not just a reckless twentysomething hunter.”

I shrug uncomfortably. Telling her that I kind of fell into all those things would shatter her illusions, so I don’t. Plus, I don’t want her thinking too hard about how I might be “fostering human-demon relations.” Because there’s been alotof naked, sweaty “fostering” going on. “I’m just doing what I have to,” I say instead, and she smiles.

“Sure. Anyway, are you planning more of these sessions? I’ll be back with more questions, and I’ll encourage more people to come.”

Yes! Gayle’s a force to be reckoned with—if she tells people they need to be here, they will. “We’re planning more,” I assure her.

“You’re welcome to contact me with any questions,” Marc adds, and I can’t help my snort.

“You don’t answer your phone,” I remind him. “I have to come over and pound on the door to get you to let me in.” That hasn’t changed, although it weirdly gets us both hot now. I think he’s still doing it for that reason. He likes when I yell at him.

“I’ll set up an email address,” he counters, and I scoff.

“You don’t answer the one you have.”

“Perhaps it’s just you I don’t answer.”

I narrow my eyes. He’s going to pay for that later.

“I’m going to get home to my kids,” Gayle says, grinning. “Thanks for tonight.”

“Thanks, Gayle.” I tear my glare away from Marc’s unconcerned face. “I’m glad you got a chance to talk to Marc one-on-one.”

“Me too.” Her mouth quirks a little, but it’s not a smile. “Lots to think about.”

* * *

My phone ringsas I’m getting out of the car, and while I deal with an unimportant question about where I put the extra staples for the archive office—in the drawer with the stapler, Paulie, where the fuck else would they be?—Marc goes into the house.

And locks the door.

Because of course he does.

With anyone else, this might be a hint that he was mad or needed some space. That’s not how we work, though, and I grin. Marc’s feeling feisty, and I am totally DTF.

Pushing up my sleeves, I knock politely, wait two seconds, then pound on the door with the side of my fist. “Oh, Maaaaaarc,” I call, trying not to sound like I’m smiling. “Come and let me in.”

There’s no response, but to be fair, I probably wouldn’t hear one over the loud thumping sound I’m making. I pick up speed a little, then switch tactics. “Open this doorright now, or I’ll draw on your white shirts with permanent marker!” That’s a threat I never thought I’d make.

I switch hands and yell, “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to call my brother and tell him to come visit!”

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