Page 7 of Higher Demon

A ghost of a smile teases his mouth, then is gone, but I saw it. He’s enjoying my company, no matter what he says. “That was yesterday. Today, I gave feedback to a human who thinks he’s an author.”

I cringe. “I’m guessing the feedback wasn’t ‘This book is amazing, can’t wait for the sequel’?”

He throws back his head and laughs like a Hollywood villain from the sixties. Or something. “Not quite. Would you like to read what I told him?”

The sensible part of my brain screams no, but let’s face it, I’ve never paid much attention to it, and the part of me that loves sensational gossip is much louder. “Sure.”

Three sheets of monogrammed notepaper appear in my lap. Like… they’re just there. I stifle the shiver that tries to overtake me. “Is this my copy?” I try to sound nonchalant, but there’s a slight tremor in my voice. I usually try not to think about the amount of sheer power Marc has.

He notices, of course. “Is that a problem?”

“Nope! Just didn’t want to, uh, crease it or something if it had to go back to the author.” Weak. Weak, weak, weak. I go for a distraction. “You know, that whole making-things-appear-out-of-thin-air thing would be more impressive if you snapped your fingers or something.”

“Snapped my fingers?” If it was anyone else, I’d say he was insulted, but Marc never shows when he’s offended. It’s one of the more annoying things about him.

“Sure. You know, so that way, people know it was you who did the magic thing.”

He makes a big show of looking around the room. “Who else could it have been?”

“Not this time, obviously.” I try to make it sound like he’s the idiot here, not me, the one burbling on about snapping fingers. “Other times. When there are more people around.”

“There still isn’t anyone else it could be,” he points out. “Not unless another higher demon is hanging around and nobody thought to mention it.”

Hard pass, thanks. One’s enough for me. I pick up the pages on my lap and start to read.

Your pride in this work is extremely evident, and you clearly believe you’ve made a great achievement. Here are all the reasons you’re wrong.

Oh boy. This is not going to be tactful, I can tell. I skim down the rest of the first page, and it makesmewant to cry. I can’t imagine how the author would feel after reading this. I glance up. “Dude, this is brutal. The book couldn’t have been that bad.”

He smirks and pointedly snaps his fingers. A stack of papers rises from the end table beside me and floats over to land in my lap. I grab for it before the individual pages can slide to the floor. “Was that the kind of finger snapping you meant?”

I grin. “Perfect! It’s like you read my mind.”

Marc shakes his head. “Read that, and tell me again that I was ‘brutal.’”

Picking up the top page, I scan the first few paragraphs and feel my brain cells beginning to die. Damn him. “Okay, so this is garbage.” There’s really no other word for it. “But your feedback is still brutal. You could have given constructive criticism. This guy trusted you with his work.” I frown. “Why did he, by the way? You’re not a literary agent.” Not unless he picked up a side hustle and never mentioned it.

The smirk returns. I used to hate that smirk so much. Now, I just mildly dislike it.

Though I’d still like to smack it off his face.

“A friend of mine asked me to read it. The author is a connection of his who’s bargained for a publishing contract, and my friend was hoping to improve the book and minimize the actual work he’d need to do.”

My whole body froze when he said “connection,” and it didn’t thaw any with the words that followed. The manuscript page drops from my fingers, and I feel suddenly dirty just having it on my lap. A “connection” is what the demons call people who trade parts of their soul for favors. They not only risk—and usually destroy—their chances at reincarnation, they also endanger every person on this planet by giving demons an open door to travel to Earth after their deaths.

Things have improved a little now that we have diplomatic relations with the demons, but there are still the rogue ones that like to wreak havoc.

“I guess brutality has its place” is all I can manage, wanting fiercely not to be here right now.

Sometimes, it’s hard to be friendly to Marc.

Chapter4

Marc

After Ian leaves,quieter than normal and missing his usual snark, I go back to the parlor. I must admit, I’m missing my own vim right now. I don’t know why I did it—I knew he’d shut down if I told him the truth about the author. Yet even though I was rather enjoying myself, I still did it.

Sighing, I settle into my armchair. It’s still warm from Ian being in it, and I stand again. This is ridiculous. No matter what Ian thinks, forming connections with humans is valid. They’re even the ones who contact us, since most demons can’t visit Earth without being summoned.

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