Page 13 of Higher Demon

Ah, his codependent brother-friend. “I’m sure. Ask him if he wants to join us for dinner.”

“Dinner? But?—”

I make a shooing motion. “You’d better answer before he gives up.”

Looking confused, Ian obeys like the good little herd human he is. “Hey, Matt? Oh, you’re back? Finally. Damn cultists.”

Oh good. I can cross that off my list, then. Even I, with an absurdly low opinion of humans, wouldn’t have thought they’d go to all the effort of summoning demons just to put them to work doing farm chores.

“Nah, listen, I’m with Marc and we’re about to go get a drink. Come and join us. I might need your brain.”

Always good to see a human admit his brain isn’t up to a task. Though it’s just drinking… I would have thought he could manage that.

Maybe I’ve been overestimating him.

On the other end of the line, Matt’s complaining about me having to be there, but he agrees to meet us. I keep my face carefully blank, not letting on that I can hear both sides of the conversation. It’s something that humans know I can do, but if I don’t make it obvious, they… forget. They really are simple creatures.

Ian ends the call. “Matt’s going to meet us. Are you sure that’s okay?”

I shrug. “Anybody who knows you both knows you don’t keep secrets from each other. I may as well tell both of you at once and save you the effort of retelling it.”

“Tell me what?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes like one of his students. “If I’m going to save you the effort of retelling it, I certainly don’t want to tell it twice myself. Shall we go?” I start toward the door.

He catches up to me in the hallway. “Dude, do you deliberately try to drive me fucking nuts?”

I smile but say nothing. The noise that bursts from him is a gratifying indication of success.

“Like that! When someone calls you fucking annoying, you’re not supposed to smile at them!”

“But you didn’t call me ‘fucking annoying,’” I point out calmly. This is fun.

“You’re fucking annoying,” he snaps, then stomps away down the hall. “Come on. I’ll drive.”

I don’t bother to remind him that I have no need to be driven anywhere. If he wants to drive, he can drive. I know how to drive—it seemed like it might be interesting, so I learned—but cars are a lot slower than my preferred form of transportation, and with humans being idiots, it seems counterintuitive to get on the roads with them if I don’t have to.

But I doubt Ian would be okay with it if I suggested I transport us to where we’re going, so instead, I follow him outside to his car. The Collective gives every hunter, even those like Ian who primarily work in the compounds, a stipend for vehicles. It was explained to me when I commented on how boring hunters’ cars were—usually the same dependable-model SUV in black, white, or some shade of gray. Apparently that’s deliberate, to prevent anyone from becoming too interested and discovering the gear they keep in the back—sword, an array of knives, and tackle boxes full of herbs, powders, and potions. Not to mention the salt.

I control my instinctive shudder at the thought of all that salt. The Collective seems to believe that salt doesn’t affect higher demons, but that’s not true. We don’t react to it as strongly as lesser demons do, and sure, sometimes if I’m eating with hunters I like to put salt on my food just to mess with their heads, but enough salt would definitely hurt me.

That’s not something any of these humans need to know.

But a roomy, dependable vehicle with space for a dozen bags of salt that won’t break down when a hunter is haring off to “banish” a demon is apparently a must, and so the Collective makes sure every hunter has one.

I pause beside Ian’s and eye it distastefully. It’s generic dark gray, dirty, and doesn’t look like a luxury traveling experience.

“It’s unlocked,” he says as he opens the driver door. With barely any hesitation, I take hold of the handle on the passenger side and do the same.

“At least it has leather seats,” I murmur as I get in. I was right about it not being a luxury experience, though. Utilitarian at best.

“That’s to make it easier to clean up blood and demon gunk,” he tells me cheerfully. “Upholstery seats absorb everything, and the smell gets really bad after a while.”

Charming.

“Where are we going?” I ask as he starts the engine. An obnoxious dinging noise begins to sound. “Is your car broken?”

“No, it wants you to put your seat belt on.”

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