Page 6 of Higher Demon

“No, dude, you’re regressing. Come on, you’ve been here long enough to know that modern humans don’t do that shit.” I think about what I’ve seen on the news this week and add, “Much. Not on reality TV, anyway. Too much liability for the networks.”

He sighs. “I hate this place.”

Aww. Poor Marc, so disappointed that humans won’t bloody each other in the pursuit of love. “I know, buddy. But think how much fun you’ll have telling my students how stupid they are.”

He nods slowly. “That would be a nice change from keeping my true feelings all bottled up.”

I say nothing, but my eyelid starts to twitch. I know for a fact that he made one of the visitors from the compound in Norway cry last week. Have you ever seen a seventy-year-old, six-foot-four man bawl like a baby and beg to go home? I have, and it wasn’t fun.

Not to mention I got a lecture on “better managing relations with the ambassador,” like I have any official duties when it comes to Marc. Or any sway over him.

“Do you just need me to call them idiots, or did you want me to teach them something too?”

“Yeah,” I manage. “Teaching them would be good. But let me send you the curriculum,” I add quickly, before he decides to teach them something their parents wouldreallyget upset about.

He thinks about it for a few seconds, then nods. “You’ll be there the whole time, of course,” he orders. “I want a witness.”

The blood drains from my head so fast, I’m glad I’m sitting down. “Witness? Why do you need a witness? No maiming, remember? Just yelling.”

He shrugs and flicks lint off his sleeve. Or at least, I’m guessing it was lint. Microscopic lint that’s only visible to him. He does that a lot. “I’m a higher demon, Ian, and your people aren’t fond of mine. Diplomatic relations between us are still new, and a lot of people here don’t like me. I refuse to give them the opportunity to trump up an excuse to upset the peace between our worlds.”

That’s reasonable. But… “Maybe people would like you more if you weren’t so…” I trail off, trying to think of a nice way to call him a dickhead.

His brow slowly rises. “If I weren’t so obviously superior to them?” he suggests. “Are you trying to say they’re jealous of me?”

Uh… “Sure. Let’s go with that. They’re jealous. So, you know, maybe try to make yourself a little more approachable sometimes?”

It’s not often I see that expression of perplexed confusion on Marc’s face. The last time was when I tried to explain to him why the Skittles slogan is “Taste the Rainbow.” That was a painful time for both of us. “Approachable?” he asks. “Why would I want to be approached by humans?”

“Wrong choice of word. Relatable, maybe.” From the look on his face, he doesn’t like that either, so I hurry on. “For example, you dress so formally, and we’re a lot more casual around here. The difference makes people believe you think you’re better than them.” I wince, already knowing what he’s going to say.

“Iambetter than them.” Yep, there it is. “And if you think I’m going to dress like that”—he gestures disdainfully at my jeans and T-shirt—“you’re sorely mistaken.”

I look down at my clothes. Sure, I’m not wearing a suit like he is—a suit! To sit around at home!—but they’re not bad. They fit a certain style. And considering I spend the better part of most days trawling through dusty archive files, super trendy clothes would be wasted. “It does take a lot of flair to be able to pull something like this off,” I say, straight-faced, and have the pleasure of seeing his aghast expression. “Nobody’s expecting you to be at this level. But—and this is just an example—you don’t have to wear a suit to class next week. Maybe just pants and a shirt? No tie,” I add.

His lips lift in a sneer. “Is this a requirement?”

I’m really tempted to say yes, but what if he decides he’d rather not yell at my students if he can’t wear a suit to do so? Then I’ll be stuck answering their questions on my own. “Nope. Just a suggestion.” Though I can’t resist saying, “You don’t want to seem out of place or anything, do you?”

The level look he gives me suggests he’s known my game this whole time. “Ian, Iamout of place here. And I’m glad of it. The last thing I want is to fit in with all you grubby humans.”

“Enough with the comments about us being grubby.” I’m starting to get a complex. I shower every day, thank you very much.

Well… most days.

“Anyway,” I rush on. Time to get back to the important stuff. “I get what you mean about needing a witness. I’ll definitely be there for the whole class. Officially, you’ll be a guest speaker. I won’t let anyone turn what you say into a diplomatic issue.” I hesitate. “But I only have so much influence, so there can absolutely not be any maiming.” Not that I could stop him if he wanted to. I try not to think about the amount of power higher demons have—thatMarchas—and how easily he could kill me and everyone in the compound. It would take about a dozen hunters working together to stop him,ifthey were good hunters and not caught by surprise. Worse than killing us, though, he could take over our minds and turn us into puppets to his will.

So yeah, thinking about that doesn’t make it easy to kick back in his living room and shoot the breeze.

“No maiming,” he agrees regretfully, and I remind myself that in the six years he’s been on Earth, living practically next door to a compound of demon hunters, there’s been no sign of him fucking with anyone’s mind. In fact, according to him, he rarely even came to Earth before he was sent here to represent demonkind. He doesn’t like humans, so why would he want to, and I quote, “sully myself by poking around in your grotty little brains if I don’t have to?”

I make myself relax into the chair—which is so much more comfortable than it looks—and put my hands behind my head. “So… how’s your day been?”

He narrows his eyes at me and then looks pointedly toward the door. “Itwaslovely andsolitary.” The pointed emphasis on the last word isn’t lost on me, but I take it as a challenge. Now I have to stay a little longer, just to prove my point.

Whatever that might be.

“Oh yeah? What were you doing? Plotting to eat the livers of your enemies?”

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