Page 18 of Demon Sworn
There are three of them. Two stand on either side of Raz, their lips pulled away from teeth so sharp, they could cut through me like butter. The third one stands a little bit away from the group, almost hiding in the doorway. Only his spindly head peeks through, his eyes widening when he sees us all.
I’m so enraptured by the creatures—the hellhounds, if I’m to believe Zolroth—that I miss the fourth figure entering the room accompanied by the steady tap of her cane against the floor.
“Hello, friend,” a familiar voice greets softly, and my head snaps up to see a woman’s figure, latching on the pair of sunglasses obscuring her eyes from view.
Her purple hair cascades around her shoulders in loose waves, and with the sunglasses on, I can only see a pert nose and bright pink lips. She’s dressed in a pair of skinny jeans and a leather jacket, the outfit conforming to her body like a second skin. Her smile widens the longer I stare at her, my mouth agape with horror.
“Lucy?” I manage to gasp out, ignoring all of the heads swiveling in my direction. Raz looks as if he’s seconds from grabbing me, throwing me over his shoulder, and hiding me underneath his bed. There’s a one hundred percent chance I’d be completely okay with that.
“Lucy?” Zolroth’s face creases as he whips his head between the two of us, his ironing forgotten as he takes a tentative step closer. Still in his tighty-whities, might I add, because apparently, my materialism demon forgot to put back on his suit. But my god—excuse me, my devil—there is nothing greater than the sight of Zolroth shirtless dressed in only tight white underwear. Though the thought of the devil seeing him like that makes me sort of stabby. Okay, a lot of stabby. But I can’t be stabby, because she’s the devil and apparently my friend, and I’m…I’m mentally rambling like a lunatic. “How do you know…?”
“What the fuck is going on here, and who do I need to stab?” Akor interrupts, and his strident voice causes Jason to whine, jumping from Kastros’s lap and diving beneath the couch, only his butt sticking out and wiggling with his anxiety.
Van’s voice is far gentler than the others’ when he speaks. “How do you know Lucillania?”
“Lucillania?” My heart is racing in my chest, and I can barely get enough air through my constricting lungs. “Her name is Lucy.”
As I stare at my newest friend, understanding begins to dawn, bringing with it a startling clarity, one that leaves me gasping and panting for breath, unable to differentiate right from wrong, left from right, up from down. The world is spinning wildly, and all I can do is pray that my grip is strong enough to withstand the journey.
“Lucy. Lucillania.” She waves one hand in the air dismissively while the other settles into the coarse fur of her hellhound’s head. She smiles sharply, and now that the rose-tinted glasses have been removed from my eyes, I see it for what it is—it’s the smile of a predator. Of a shark circling the water, eagerly anticipating blood.
The devil is…my friend? I start to giggle nervously, and that giggle spills into a laugh, which pours into a knee-slap. It’s a fucking fountain of mirth in my chest—a result of all that pent up anxiety over nothing. “They made me all scared of you.” I point around at my guys as I swipe a tear of laughter from my eye. “As if you aren’t just like…the coolest chick ever.”
The smile on Lucy’s face softens, going from predatory to something between the lines of friendly and smug.
She slowly sets her cane down and moves to perch delicately on the couch opposite us. Her two hellhounds rest on either side of her legs, rubbing against her, while the third remains in the doorframe, watching the entire exchange with indecipherable eyes.
“I suppose I don’t need my cane any longer,” she muses with a tiny giggle. “It’s a ruse I often use with humans, because otherwise, a bunch of the imbeciles on earth start thinking I’m famous rather than infamous. And evenIthink paparazzi are scum. But my glasses? I’ll still need them. Unless you want to die a painful death.” She laughs once more, but this time, the sound has no humor.
“But…blind…” I stutter. Oh yeah. Real articulate, Katrina. Way to look good in front of the motherfucking devil. My blush could paint a firetruck.
“I’m not actually blind,” Lucy—or should I start calling her Lucillania?—states simply. “But it’s necessary that no one looks into my eyes. Enough about me. I’m here to helpyou. Raz called me and explained the situation.” A darkness settles over her face like bloated storm clouds, the expression once again reminding me that she’s the freaking devil. Satan herself. Whom I met at a coffee shop. What’s next in this crazy life of mine? Meeting God at the laundromat? Just a stranger on a bus? I hope freaking not.
Lucy leans forward, ominous and badass in a way I could never hope to be as she says, “And no one, absolutely no one, hurts my friends.” As quickly as it appears, the darkness dissipates, and she flashes me a bright smile, one reminiscent of when we first met in the coffee shop and she told me a little bit about her life and her multiple boyfriends.
A shiver of excited anticipation crawls down my spine, and I shift on Van’s lap, leaning towards her. “I’m sooo so happy that you’re you. I mean. That you’re here. And you’re you. Both. Equally awesome.” Ugh. I want to smack myself in the face, but Lucy just smiles and grabs my hand. She gives me a little squeeze, accepting my awkward word-vomit compliment for what it really is—an awful attempt at expressing my gratitude.
Tears form in my eyes, and she shakes her head. “Oh no, Katrina. Girls don’t cry. We get even.”
She drops my hand and leans back on the couch, stretching her arms wide. “Let’s kill some fuckers, shall we?”
8
Raz
My mind is blownwhen Katrina and the devil start to talk in earnest and Lucillania treats my girl with kid gloves.
I mean, it’s what Katrina needs. She’s basically living out a nightmare like the ones I create in dreams, but the fact that she rushes over to Lucillania at one point and gives her a hug?
I’m gobsmacked.
No one touches the devil and lives.
My mother used to tell me stories about the Queen of the Damned, and they all involved demons who lost limbs, eyes, wings, or worse…because they crossed Lucillania or even irritated her in some way. My mother used to always warn me never to touch a demon woman’s chocolate, because that was the closest thing to a sacred idol we had in Hell. Now, I’m wondering if my mother wasn’t just trying to fill me up with nightmarish images…if so, well done, Mom. Well done.
My heart jumps into my throat, and out of the corner of my eye, I see Kastros’s hold on Jason tense up. Kastros’s huge hand goes stiff, and his eyes narrow.
When I watch Lucillania raise her hand above our Center’s head, my throat turns into the Sahara, and I suddenly don’t want to know if my mother’s tales are true or if they were just dark fairy tales. I don’t want Katrina to be the one to find out. But if I so much as step in their direction, Lucillania will blast me into nothingness faster than you can say “kaboom,” because nobody interferes with her punishment when she thinks someone’s crossed a line. Nobody.
