Page 29 of Higher Demon

“Well, as pleasant as it’s been to spend the evening with laughing dogs, it’s getting late, and I know you humans need your sleep.” I shoo them toward the door into the bedroom.

They don’t move.

“Nice try.” Ian gives me the fakest smile I’ve ever seen, and humans like to be fake. It’s the only thing about them that I find charming. Except the backstabbing—that’s rather sweet, as well. “We’re not going anywhere until we’ve got your new image.”

“What he was wearing before wasn’t… terrible,” Matt says. “The stuck-up stockbroker on the weekend look.”

“Also known as the trust fund baby traveling through Europe look,” Ian muses, nodding.

“You’re very fixated on Europe. Maybe you should go there. Now,” I suggest. Although I’m deeply relieved they’ve abandoned the idea of sweatpants and jeans. I could… tolerate… barely… having to wear clothing like today’s more often.

“Shh,” Ian says absently, his eyes on my clothes. “Could we maybe repurpose some of his suit pants?”

“Get. Out.”

He blinks at me. “What? Relax, I’m not going to cut them up or anything. It just might be a good way to keep getting use out of your existing clothes without having to wear a whole suit.”

If I were capable of having headaches, I’m sure I’d have one now. As it is, my power is seething restlessly.

Ian must notice, because he says, “What if we agree on the clothing strategy and leave the execution of it up to you?”

“What an excellent idea. Well done.”

He takes a step back. “But, uhh… Don’t get mad.”

I don’t say a word, simply look at him.

He cringes. “Yeah. So… you gotta do something about the whole…” Again, he waves his hand as if to encompass me. “You’re not that approachable. Me and Matt can do some groundwork, talk you up, but no one’s going to believe it if you’re still… you.”

“Uh-huh,” Matt agrees. “They’ll start thinking you’ve taken over our brains or something, and that’s going to have the exact opposite effect to what we want.”

“I don’t know how to not be me,” I say acidly.

Norval nods sagely. “Nobody ever does. This is a very nice suit, demon. I think it would look good on me.” His clothes change a heartbeat later, going from old-English-tweed à la Sherlock Holmes to my very stylish Italian-tailored charcoal pinstripe. Even though I know he can’t wear actual physical clothes, I still glance at the hanger to make sure my suit is untouched.

“There,” he says with satisfaction, looking down at himself. “That’s very dapper.”

He’s paired my perfect suit with a garishly yellow shirt, open at the collar, that has awful plastic button cuffs… and scuffed-up combat boots. There’s even a pocket square in the same garish yellow.

I take a deep breath. “You are a crime. Leave before I make you.”

Matt makes a musing sound and circles his uncle. “I don’t know… the boots really give it a ‘down for action’ vibe. Like, ‘I’m the ambassador and I have to be professional, but I’m just a regular guy on the inside.’”

“No.”

“He might have a point,” Ian says, pursing his lips as he looks at the ridiculous ensemble. “And it would mean you could keep wearing your suits.”

“No.”

“Too bad we can’t take a pic of Uncle,” Matt tells Ian. “We could send it to Charlie and see what he thinks. He’s weirdly into clothes, just like Marc.”

Ian snaps his fingers. “That’s a great idea. Marc, put the suit on, and we’ll take a photo of…” He sees my face. “On second thought, why don’t I just send him a picture of the suit on the hanger? And ask him what he thinks about combat boots with it.”

“Wise decision.” I don’t know who this Charlie person is, but if they don’t tell Ian combat boots are a terrible idea, we’ll be meeting. Very, very soon.

Ian pulls out his phone and snaps a picture of my suit on its hanger, then types something. “There. Hopefully he’ll see that tonight and—” His phone dings. “Uh… Charlie says great suit, but hard pass.” There’s a swooshing sound. “He says if we want to wear combat boots with a suit, we need a less formal one.” Another swoosh. “With a skinny leg.” Another swoosh. “He thinks a mid-blue or dark green would look good.” He lifts his gaze and looks at me hopefully.

I shake my head. “No.” I am not a skinny-leg-informal-suit person. And I am definitely not a mid-blue or dark green suit person.

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