Page 1 of Prince of Demons
1
Georgia
“Your brother is dying.”
Those were the words that ended Georgia’s world.
She stared at her mom’s drawn face, the pale skin taut on her too-prominent features. She'd hardly slept, hardly eaten in the month since Larry’s hospitalization. Georgia had done her best to care for her mom while she coped with the news of Larry’s aggressive cancer, but there was only so much she could do to ease her mother’s life while her youngest child went through chemo with a less than five percent chance of survival.
And now, even that small ray of light had been extinguished.
Georgia clutched her hands in her lap as her mother sank down on the waiting-room chair next to her and buried her face in her palms. She didn’t cry—she hadn’t since the diagnosis—but Georgia knew she was quietly breaking apart from the inside.
She knew, because she was, too.
He was only nineteen years old. Nineteen, and so full of life and light. How could something so horrible as cancer take away the kindest, brightest person in a hundred mile radius?
How was that fair? How was that right?
“How long?” she asked, voice soft despite the urge to scream until she blacked out.
“They think maybe two weeks, if we’re lucky,” her mom said, voice muffled by her hands. “I need to call Mike. I just…”
“I’ll do it,” Georgia said, mostly because if she didn’t do something, she would give in to the rage and grief, and her mom didn’t need that.
Her mother's voice was a hoarse whisper of exhaustion. "Thank you."
The sunset was cruelly beautiful. It lit up the autumn sky in a tapestry of golden orange, reds and purples while Georgia walked back and forth across the small strip of grass outside the hospital’s western wing, listening to Larry’s dad go through all the stages of grief on the other end of her cellphone.
“Larry asked us not to tell you, Mike,” she said as gently as she could as he cussed and roared. “He didn’t want you to worry. He was sure he would beat it.” Her brother, an optimist until the end. Even when the doctors had given him his diagnosis and the grim chances for survival, he’d smiled at her and told her he’d beat the odds and not to worry.
“Fuck!” Mike groaned on the other end. “This is my fault. He didn’t think he could reach out to me because I’ve been so busy with Jeanette and the twins…”
“It’s no one’s fault,” she said, because despite Mike’s shortcomings as a father, he loved her brother. And right now, loving Larry hurt something fierce. “You know how he is—always expects the best outcome of everything.”
Mike coughed a broken sob. “Fuck. This can’t be happening, Georgia.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But it is, and I think you should come see him.”
“Of course. I… I’ll be there within two hours.”
The silence after he hung up echoed through the hollow place inside of her, the one that’d been empty since Larry’s first diagnosis. She’d known, from that first day, despite her brother’s complete belief he’d be all right… she’d known he wouldn’t.
Numb, Georgia stared into the sun, stung by it’s final flare as it sank below the horizon. The golden reflections on the city’s skyscrapers dimmed and vanished, as if sucked away, leaving her alone in the creeping twilight.
“Got a light?”
Georgia jolted at the unexpected voice—she’d been too lost in her own misery to hear anyone approach. When she turned toward the speaker, another shock jerked through her chest, and she automatically took a half-step back before she caught herself.
“Sorry. Don’t smoke,” she muttered, trying to keep her eyes from the horns growing out of the stranger’s pimply forehead.
“S’ok,” he said, turning back toward the hospital. “Nasty habit anyway.”
Georgia stared blindly at his tail swaying as he walked back toward the large building lit up brightly against the darkening sky. He was wearing scrubs, and she numbly wondered if he had to cut a hole in the pants for the tail to fit through. They didn’t all have tails. She knew because it wasn’t uncommon to find demons in places like hospitals or care homes. Any place with vulnerable people, really.
They’d always scared her. She’d called them trolls as a little girl as she’d screamed and pointed, but that’d only made them take notice of her. They’d stared at her, and even though she’d been young, she’d never forget that greedy look in their eyes as they watched her sob. As if her tears, her fear, excited them. It hadn’t taken long before she learned to pretend she didn’t see their horns or scales or claws.
She’d been in her late teens before she’d learned the adult word for what they were. And what they did.
