Page 30 of Demon with Benefits
All in all, he looked way too put together to be living in this apartment building or even this neighborhood. He looked like he ought to live in Griffintown or Westmount or anywhere but the funky artist’s district. Where would he park his BMW? Because there sure weren’t any private covered parking garages on this block.
“Yesterday.” He blinked, a frown appearing between his elegant brows. “Is that a dog in your coat?”
“What? Oh, yeah, this is Faust.” She turned a little to give him a better view of Faust’s little black head peeking out of her partly unzipped coat. Faust proceeded to wiggle frantically, to the point where Iris could barely keep a hold on him.
“Faust?” The man chuckled, and even that sounded polished. “What an interesting name.”
“Yeah.”
“He’s very cute.”
“Thanks.”
He was giving Iris an unreadable look that made her vaguely uncomfortable, and she started wondering how long this awkward conversation was going to last.
“Your accent,” he said. “Where is it from?”
Her lips pressed together. She went to great lengths to hide her accent and blend in for her and Lily’s protection. And, when they’d first moved here, some dickhead had told her to say “Irish Iris” three times fast, which provided further motivation.
That her new neighbor had picked out she had one so quickly annoyed her. They lived in a multicultural city full of people with different accents—Anglophones speaking French, Francophones speaking English, and people from all over the world. Why fixate on hers?
“Australia,” she replied, just to fuck with him.
His brows briefly pinched together, and then he shrugged as if deciding not to inquire further. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too. Enjoy the neighborhood.”
“Have a pleasant day.”
She almost snorted. It seemed odd to wish someone a pleasant day before stepping into a blizzard.
After he’d descended the stairs to the street, she waited a minute or two to make sure he was gone before locking her own door and heading down. It was awkward enough meeting him; the last thing she wanted was to get stuck walking beside him if they were heading in the same direction.
Le Repaire des Sorcières was only a five-minute walk from Iris’s place (part of the reason she’d chosen the flat), so she didn’t have to fight the blizzard for long. She entered the front of the shop with her key and locked up behind her since they were always closed for business during meetings.
Heading past the dusty shelves of incense, semiprecious stones, and other occultist knickknacks, Iris ducked through the beaded curtain into the back room. There, messy piles of stock had been cleared out of the way of the hidden door—which wasn’t so hidden tonight, since the ward had been deactivated for the meeting—and she descended the narrow, creaking stairs to the expansive cellar.
The Montreal coven numbered about two dozen witches. Only three of them—Iris, Lily, and Suyin—were blood-born. The rest were practitioners—regular humans born without any natural gifts who voluntarily chose to immerse themselves in the supernatural world, giving up Heaven’s protection in favor of learning witchcraft.
Because they were born with their gifts, blood-borns were naturally more powerful and practicing came easier to them. They were also forsaken by Heaven’s protection from birth. Demons were not allowed to kill humans, and the consequences of breaking those rules were severe. But humans that dabbled in the supernatural were free game.
Iris had used to commend practitioners for refusing to live in ignorance—normal humans had to train vigorously to develop the Sight. To her, being unaware of the monsters lurking in the shadows, disguised by glamor, sounded horrible.
But since she’d met Meph and the other rogues, her whole perspective had changed.
Now, she couldn’t help thinking practitioners were foolish. She’d realized that, even with all their training, if any of them ever faced a truly powerful demon, they would die. Not one of them was equipped to combat a real threat, and that terrified her most of all.
“Iris, glad you could join us,” Suyin said from her place in the large circle of chairs. Her eyes narrowed at the fluffy wriggling hound in Iris’s arms. “And I see you brought a pet.” She did not look impressed.
Seated a few chairs over from Suyin, Lily was also glaring at Iris, evidently not happy that she’d arrived at the meeting before her.
With a sheepish smile at her sister and best friend, Iris skirted around the edge of the large cloaking sigil on the floor and approached the circle. She barely glanced at the sigil, but she felt its presence glaringly nonetheless.
That simple yet powerful spell—created by her brilliant mam—had saved her and Lily’s lives, but it was also the reason their parents were dead.
The night of the twins’ eighteenth birthday, at the moment they had come fully into their magic, the cloaking had fallen for a brief instant—just long enough for Valefor’s tracking spells to discover their location. By the time he’d arrived, it had already been repaired. When Valefor had burned down the building with the coven inside it, Iris had been mere meters away, and he’d never known she was there.
After Iris and Lily moved to Canada, the Montreal coven had recreated the cloaking spell and maintained it ever since. Lily hadn’t had a clue until a few months ago when she’d discovered the truth of why their parents died from Mist. Before then, she’d believed what the police report had said—that they’d died in an arson fire. Iris had been complicit in that lie, knowing the truth but never telling Lily, and the guilt still made her feel sick when she thought about it.
