Page 3 of Prince of Demons
Both her mother and Mike were asleep when the demon entered Larry’s hospital room, sometime in the early hours of the morning. They sat by his bed, in the hospital's uncomfortable chairs, heads twisted uncomfortably to the side and their features drawn in troubled lines even after exhaustion had claimed them.
The night gave no respite when the person she loved the most in the world was drawing his last breaths.
Georgia forced her gaze from Larry’s pale face as the door cracked open, revealing the demon. His black eyes immediately flicked to her brother, hunger evident in their depths.
“Don’t even think about it,” Georgia hissed, getting up and out of the chair as quietly as she could. They’d all earned their rest—and she didn’t particularly want anyone to see whatever was about to happen.
The demon sighed impatiently, rolling his eyes as he dragged them from Larry to her. “Fine. Guess you’ll have to do. Tastes so much better from the sick, though.”
She grimaced, not willing to think too hard on the implications of what he’d said. “Be quiet—I don’t want them waking up. Let’s go into the hall.”
The demon waved his hand, and dark… something left his fingertips, floating toward the sleeping trio. It swept around them like a thick fog, tendrils slipping into their nostrils, mouths and ears before it finally evaporated.
“There,” the demon said, sending her horrified grimace a smirk. “They’ll have a headache in the morning, but you and I can discuss our business undisturbed.” He pulled up a piece of paper and presented it to her. “The contract.”
She reached out and gingerly took the single sheet. The lettering was handwritten, with swoops and swirls that could have made any calligrapher green with envy. Georgia raised her eyebrows as she scanned over the words. The greasy demon didn’t look like the kind of guy to care much for penmanship, but apparently he was.
“It says in exchange for my brother getting brought back to health, I will give ownership of my body, including but not limited to, my blood and vaginal secretions, to the demon Lewin?” she read from the page, grimacing at the mental pictures that painted.
“That would be me,” the demon—Lewin—said, bowing his head in mock civility.
“I thought you just wanted my blood?” she said. “Why does it say you get ownership of my body?” And vaginal secretions. Ugh.
“Because, when you eventually die, I’m going to suck all that delicious bile straight from your gall bladder, rip open your stomach and lick the juices from your intestines,” he said, slurping for emphasis. “Mmm-mh! Plus, nothing’s quite as delicious as menstrual blood straight from the source. I do hope yours is chunky. Wait—don’t tell me. It’ll be a nice surprise.”
Georgia choked back the nausea rising rapidly in her throat. “Ew, maybe learn to sugarcoat things. Jesus Christ.”
“I would,” he hummed, “but you’re going to sign that piece of paper no matter what I tell ya. No human desperate enough to come to me offering her soul as the first bargaining chip has any other options left.” He produced a pen and handed it to her. “You can sign on the dotted line.”
He was right. If this had been for anything other than Larry’s life, she’d have never talked to any of them, let alone revealed that she saw them for what they were. It didn’t matter what he wanted to do to her—even if he decided to murder her the moment she signed, to drink the bile he was so enraptured by. Not so long as Larry lived.
Numbly, Georgia took the pen from his outstretched hand. It was an old-fashioned fountain pen, the kind you dip in ink. Only there wasn’t any.
One glance at Lewin, and a particular aspect of the research she’d done on demons as a teenager, back when she finally realized she wasn’t crazy, sprung to the forefront of her mind. A contract with a demon was always signed in blood.
Georgia poked the pointed tip of the fountain pen to her fingertip, breaking through the skin with a quick jab. Crimson blood pooled from the wound in a single droplet, only to be funneled up into the metal tip of the pen.
Breathing out quietly, she turned the now red tip to the paper.
Don’t.
The word rang in her ears as clearly, as if someone had spoken it directly by her side. She startled, dropping the pen as she whipped around to see who’d snuck into the room without her noticing. But there was no one conscious but her and the demon.
Warily, Georgia bent to pick up the pen from the floor as she kept an eye on the demon. He was watching her intently, with bated breath, and she knew…
That voice, she’d heard that before. Warning her as a kid when she was about to scream at the horned creatures no one else seemed to be worried about.
Always it said the same: Don’t.
Don’t draw their attention.
Don’t go near them.
Don’t look them in the eye.
Don’t.
Don’t.
