Demon Inside (12 page)

She kept that image in her mind, focused on it, and held it there while she put on her dress and shoes, while she sat on the edge of the bed and watched Greyson shave, while they drove to the church, the brothers following in her car.

The white cross reaching into the winter-gray sky reminded her, with a sharp stab of humiliation, of her adventure at Holy Innocents the night before. It felt as if years had passed since then, but she didn’t think she would ever forget the image of the priest turning his back on her. Just as well, really. In the hard light of day she couldn’t imagine what she’d thought she would gain from it. If God really had power over demons, her escorts wouldn’t be preparing to walk into United Methodist with her.

If God really had power over demons, she wouldn’t be able to walk in herself. It had been foolish, really, one last momentary childish desire for reassurance, and if life had taught her anything it was that looking for others to help her gained her nothing.

She looked around for her mother and brother, but didn’t see them. Instead she saw what looked like hundreds of pairs of eyes, drawn to her like iron filings to a magnet. Vaguely familiar faces frowned in disapproval. She clutched Greyson’s hand more tightly and leaned back against the car, letting Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud close in a tight little half circle around them.

“Do you want to go in now, or wait?” Greyson’s lips brushed the top of her head. “Get in the car and go home?”

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied shakily. “Let’s wait a couple of minutes, okay? I want Brian and Tera to come with us.”

He gave her hand a quick squeeze and she went back to watching the crowd, a familiar anger rising in her chest. Who the hell were they to stare at her in disapproval? To pass judgment on her? This was her father’s funeral, damn it. She had a right to be here. Every right in the world.

The sun broke through the clouds, weak but welcome just the same. Megan rummaged in her purse for her sunglasses, and slipped them on just as Brian’s car pulled into the crowded lot.

It took only a moment for him to park and another few for him and Tera to get out and head for them, but even at this distance Megan saw Tera’s face set in tense, angry lines. Tera was her friend, but Tera was about as empathetic as a spider; what on earth about this funeral angered her?

Witches were almost as difficult to read as demons, but Megan didn’t need her abilities—as little used as they were these days—to feel Tera’s anger. It expressed itself in every stiff muscle in her body as she hugged Megan and nodded to everyone else. It wasn’t until Brian’s lips brushed Megan’s cheek that Tera spoke.

“Two of my witches died the other night, Greyson. What do you know about it?”

“Don’t ‘excuse me’ me, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“What makes you think—”

“They were Templeton Black’s nighttime guards, Grey. Now they’re dead, and it looks like a demon killing. Their…” Tera swallowed. “Their bodies were mutilated.”

Greyson shrugged. “What a great loss to the world.”

“Wait a minute. Templeton Black’s guards? But they—”

She didn’t need Greyson’s hand to tighten painfully on hers to stop talking. The church and the funeral about to begin inside had disappeared. Instead she was back on the cold city street while Ktana Leyak reached into one man’s chest and ripped out his heart; she and Brian exchanged worried glances.

“M’lady, we oughter get inside,” Maleficarum said, shifting on his feet and nodding toward the church. The parking lot was almost empty of people now.

Tera glanced at the church, then back at all of them. “We’re not done talking about this.”

“Of course not. That would imply sensitivity to Megan’s loss,” Greyson said.

Tera ignored him. “But we should go in.”

Together they made their way up the sidewalk and through the wide, polished double doors of the church, closed to the winter air. Megan gasped.

About half the pews were full of mourners, their backs in dark clothing looking like fat crows perched on planks, but she barely saw them. Her gaze was drawn upward instead, to the railings of the choir loft, to the ornate pillars in lengthwise rows up the sides of the building.

Every one of them was covered with demons. Her demons, crouching on rails, clinging to ornate stone, with multicolored light from the stained-glass windows playing across their slick skin. They’d come to support her at her father’s funeral.

Tears stung her eyes. Feeling a little childish, she ducked her head, pressed it against Greyson’s sleeve so she wouldn’t start sobbing. Yezer didn’t feel love, as far as she knew; their anger at the recent losses of life had more to do with fear it might happen to them than any sense of sadness. So they weren’t here out of caring, but out of respect. Somehow it meant just as much. Somehow it meant more.

Unless they were just here because funerals offered excellent feeding. Which was entirely possible. She preferred to think of it as respect.

“We need to sit down,” Brian murmured beside her, and she realized people were starting to turn and look at them—exactly what she’d been warned not to allow to happen.

Safely sandwiched on the bench between the two men, she was able to look up at the little demons again, and nod slightly, hoping they could see her gratitude. She thought they could. They nodded back, almost as one, a choreographed routine nobody else could see.

“Don’t you want to sit up front?” Brian whispered. Funny, of all of her escorts he looked the most uncomfortable. The demons and the witch all sat calmly, staring obediently ahead as if they were in a very grandiose schoolroom, but Brian fidgeted and glanced around. Of course. Not a religion thing; he felt her demons.

“My mother told me to be unobtrusive,” she said, not bothering to hide her bitterness. “Oh, and my demons are here.”

He visibly relaxed. “Thanks for telling me. I wondered why I felt kind of weird.”

“You didn’t think it was the blasphemy of being in a Protestant church?”

“I figured if I made it through the door without being smited, I had a chance.”

If the officiating pastor hadn’t stepped up to the podium at that moment, Megan probably would have laughed. As it was she just smiled softly and settled back in her seat, her right hand firmly in Greyson’s. Brian reached over to take her left, a gesture that touched her.

“…David was an accountant, known to most everybody. A family man, survived by his beloved wife Diane and his son David Junior, who will be taking over his firm and his place on the town council. You all know the good works that his company has done for the town—donating new benches for the park, sponsoring school fund-raisers, helping to keep our streets clean.

“David also had a daughter named Megan. I knew David as a good man, one who always wanted to help others…”

Megan knew she shouldn’t have expected anything else, but she still felt like someone had hit her in the chest. Her eyes stung. Brian’s hand convulsed on hers, but Greyson didn’t move. She glanced over at him. His face was impassive. Was he even listening?

She turned around, checking to see how clear the path to the door was. Not so clear. The church wasn’t crowded, but just inside the doors stood Orion Maldon, staring right at her. Their eyes met and he grinned.

She turned away quickly, to where the pastor was now giving the lectern to her brother. Great. If there was anything she didn’t need right now, it was to listen to anything Dave had to say.

“Those witches were Templeton’s guards?” she whispered to Greyson.

“Hmm? Yes. I assume they came after you on Monday while you were messing around with their car?”

“We weren’t messing around, but yes. And K—she killed them.” Megan glanced past Brian to Tera, whose eyes were focused straight ahead.

“…the best father anyone could ever ask for. Dad was always there for me…”

Greyson nodded and put his arm around her, pulling her closer so they could continue their barely audible discussion. “Don’t worry about it.”

“How can I not worry about it? Tera thinks you did it.”

“Tera can think whatever she likes, but without proof it won’t do her much good. I wasn’t even in town that night, remember? Besides, I have more sense than to go after witches and she knows it.”

“Should I tell her what happened? Brian can back—”

“Good God no, are you insane? It’s none of her business. Eventually she’ll get tired of poking around and go back to whatever else it is she does all day.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Don’t you have other things to think about just now?”

“…when I was eleven, and he helped me build a soapbox derby racer for Boy Scouts…”

She tried to tune out Dave’s speech. “Like what, how everyone is embarrassed to even say my name?”

“Did you expect anything else?”
Ouch.
“No, I mean Maldon over there in the corner.”

She shifted in her seat, refusing to look at Maldon again but feeling his gaze on her, while her brother continued droning in the front of the church. “He came just to get at me—at us?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“Then why?”

Greyson paused. “I don’t think he was lying about your father. I think they did know each other.”

“Apparently most people did, right? The town council, the accountancy firm…” Another surge of bitterness, cold and sharp in her chest.

“…when I finally got it together to go to college, and he and Mom supported me every step of the way…”

“Doesn’t that strike you as odd? They’ll barely look at you, but your father went on to become a pillar of the community, such as it is.
You
went to a bar last night and got threatened, but he bought benches and led parades.”

“He’s not the one who—”

“Stop playing the martyr and think, darling. What could have happened, who could have been powerful enough to make sure your father stayed in business, stayed everybody’s friend, while you twisted in the wind? Whose influence could have been brought in to play here?”

Duh.
“My dad made a deal with Maldon?”

“Looks like it to me.”

“…the position in the firm was just waiting for me. He had my name put on the door before I even got there—a gift to me…”

“I suppose we need to go over there later and find out.”

“That’s my girl.” He kissed the back of her hand and looked toward the front of the church. “Does your brother ever shut up?”

She laughed before she could help herself, a quick nervous bark. Heads turned, and she quickly looked down. “Shit.”

“What?”

“What do you think? Here I am, Megan the murderous ghoul, giggling at my father’s funeral?”

Now he laughed, thankfully much more softly than she had. “What do you care what they think?”

“My mother—”

“Is a bitch. You don’t need these people,
bryaela,
not for anything. They can think whatever they want.”

The words sank into her, through her, a spark of truth she didn’t yet know that she could fully accept. He was right, absolutely. The thoughts and opinions of the residents of GrantFalls should be no more important to her than the results of
American Idol.

Shouldn’t be, but still were. Was she that much of a wimp? Anger rose in her chest, insinuating itself through her brain, but she couldn’t tell if she was mad at them or herself. Or mad, again, at her father, who certainly had not been “the best father any girl could ever ask for.”

Dave finally ceded the floor to someone else, a face vaguely familiar to Megan and a voice more so. Bill Ryan, a golfing buddy of her father’s. She had a few dim memories of the two men drinking and talking about sports in the backyard, before she reached her teens and they did their drinking elsewhere. Bill was followed by a few other speakers, then the pastor again. Megan wanted to listen. She felt like she was at the funeral of a stranger, someone she’d never really known, and wondered if perhaps somewhere in their words she would find him.

But a small voice in her head refused to let her, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Greyson’s. What did it matter? The man was dead. He’d never really been much of a father and now he was gone. Why should she try to know him when he’d never tried to know her?

The man they buried today had died to her thirteen years ago when she’d gone to college. Before that, even. This was just the final period on a sentence that ended long before, so what did it matter?

That wasn’t right. She should care. She should be sad.

Instead she was bored. And that thought, more than any other, brought tears to her eyes.

Beside her Greyson turned and murmured something to Malleus, who got up and crossed behind them. Going to set things up with Orion, she guessed.

Rustlings and gentle scrapings indicated that everyone else in the church was getting up too. Was the service over?

No. The mourners were lining up in the center aisle, getting ready to go say their good-byes.

Megan tensed in her seat. Should she go up? If she did everyone would watch, but if she didn’t they would all wonder why she wasn’t going, and would stare even more.

“Are you actually supposed to get up and just stare at his dead body?” Tera whispered, leaning across Brian. “I mean, isn’t that a little weird?”

“It’s…you’re supposed to say a prayer, or something,” Megan said.

“But you don’t put anything in the casket with him, or touch him or anything?”

“Well, not as a rule, I guess.”

Tera rolled her eyes. “Regulars are so confusing.”

Several people glanced at her as she said it; Megan bit her lip to keep from laughing while a rush of affection for her friend flowed through her. The combination of Tera’s comment and Greyson’s earlier about not needing these people seemed to coalesce in her head in that moment and a weight she hadn’t really known was there lifted. She was no less hurt, no less angry or scared, but she had people who cared about her.

It wasn’t only that either. The service was over, she’d made it through the worst of it, her last public appearance in GrantFalls. Relief made her giddy. Her chest swelled with warmth, her vision seemed sharper.

The church emptied around them while Megan sat and enjoyed, for the first time in days, the feeling of being absolutely in control, absolutely safe. Her demons still crowded the ceiling, there for her. Six people flanked her sides, there for her. It felt good. She smiled to herself and squeezed Greyson’s hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine.” She didn’t look at him, though. She was too busy looking around, thinking about how she’d never have to see this place again, about all those people with their petty worries and miseries, the blackness in their tiny hearts, how insignificant they were compared to her.

“I’m ready.” She stood up and smoothed her skirt.

“Meg, maybe—”

“I’m fine,” she said again. “Just need to pay my respects, right?”

Greyson’s hand tightened on hers, but she shook it off and squeezed her way past Brian and Tera into the aisle. Her mother and Dave stood there; Dave’s arm was around Diane’s shoulders and her head was bent, her handkerchief pressed to her face.

“Megan,” Dave said. “I, uh…”

“Sure, Dave. Excuse me.” She brushed past them, lowering her shields a tad as she did so she could feel their shock and pain. Ha, served them right. Silly little things, so worried about their stupid miserable lives, about the opinions of others and their social standing in this piss-ant town…just like her father had been. Just like they all were.

It seemed to take no time at all to reach the front of the church, as if she had glided up the aisle rather than walked. Behind her she heard her friends talking to each other in low urgent whispers, but she ignored them.