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Authors: Tori Centanni

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In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) (19 page)

BOOK: In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2)
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Metal crunches. Bones snaps. Metal scrapes against pavement.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER NINETEEN

 

 

I open my mouth but only a sob comes out. Someone else screams and I realize it’s the driver of the car. People are staring out their windows, running out of their houses and apartments. I turn away, unable to look at the blood smearing the pavement, the mess of limbs and metal. I move into the shadows of another alley, to work my way down the hill and avoid the firetrucks and ambulances that people are calling. I pause at the corner, trying to catch my breath. I feel like the wind was knocked out of me. My cells vibrate and my blood thrums through my body.

My mind can push out thoughts of my mom’s fatal accident but the visceral, physical memory is in my bones. They ache with it.

My heart is going a million miles an hour. Gabriel had a vision of the crash which brought me here. But then I distracted the first cyclist in an attempt to stop them. I caused it. Did it happen because I tried to stop it or did it happen despite me? Then again, if Gabriel’s vision had included me, wouldn’t he have known? Or did he know and just didn’t bother to tell me, because he was resigned to things happening as he’d pictured?

My head hurts. I need a giant can of something caffeinated and a week in bed under the blankets.

The rag comes over my mouth and nose before I realize anyone is behind me. A hand presses it to my face. The smell of something acrid curls into my nostrils, my mouth. I struggle, but it’s no use. I inhale noxious fumes and everything goes black.

 

 

I jolt back to awareness. The sinking feeling that something is horribly wrong crawls around in my gut. It’s like waking up after a nightmare, until memories flood back. I’m groggy and my chin hurts.

I’m sitting upright and I can’t move my arms, which are restrained behind my back. I open my eyes. I’m in an apartment, and not one someone currently lives in from the look of things. There’s no furniture besides the metal chair I’m tied to and the air is choked with dust. The light in the apartment is on in the kitchen portion of the room and it spills over the invisible boundaries into the main room where I am. With the open floor plan, the kitchen and living room are part of the same square of floor, a common layout from what I’ve seen delivering letters.

My legs are zip-tied to the legs of the chair. I rock a little but the chair doesn’t budge, and I get the impression it’s nailed to the floor.

There are four other people in the room: one next to me, two near the window across from me but in opposite corners, and another leaning on the kitchen counter. None of them are talking but at least one of them shifts when they notice I’m awake. Curtains are drawn over the large window. A small gap in the center allows dim light to pour in but I can’t tell if it’s late evening or just cloudy. That, along with the low watt bulb overhead, is the only light.

I roll my shoulders. My neck is kinked and turning my head is painful. My chin feels bruised from where the rag was held against my mouth. The people in the room wear a hodgepodge of outfits. If this was a movie, they’d be in matching uniforms, something to identify them as a team, not this combination of t-shirts and blazers, jeans and slacks.

But they all have guns. At least two of them look like they aren’t sure how to hold them. That’s scarier than anything else.

My mouth tastes like it took a chemical bath. “Where I am?” I croak. The words scrape against my dry throat and I cough. The man leaning on the counter straightens and points his pistol at me. I know very little about guns but I know that if it’s loaded, I don’t want it aimed at my head. “Please don’t,” I say, the words like gravel in my throat.

“Kai,” the woman on my other side says sternly. “She’s tied up, man.”

He hesitates and then lowers the weapon. I glance over at her. She’s probably in her twenties with dark skin and short black hair in braids against her scalp. She’s holding a rifle like she knows how to use it, down at her side but ready to bring up and fire. When she sees me looking, she turns her face away.

The guy named Kai is middle-aged, one of my dad’s contemporaries. The woman against the window is pale with dyed red hair, also middle-aged. The woman on the other side of her has paint-splattered clothes and tan skin, with graying brown hair.

The women by the window don’t look at me. They stare straight ahead.

“Can I get some water?” I ask. It can only help to make them see me as a person, and anyhow, I’m parched.

All of the guards—which is a bad name for this mismatched group but the best my addled brain can do—exchange glances. No one speaks, which tells me none of them are calling the shots. Finally, the woman with the rifle speaks up. “Just get it. What can it hurt?”

“She’s not a houseguest, Rayna,” the woman with red hair spits.

“She’s still a person,” Rayna insists. I shoot her a grateful look. She refuses to meet my eyes and studies her nails, which are painted a bright shade of pink.

Muttering to himself, Kai puts his gun on the counter and pulls a bottle of water out of the fridge. He walks over to me and then seems to realize my hands aren’t free to take it. He sighs and unscrews the cap, putting it to my lips. He won’t meet my eyes either, but I’m grateful to have the water, and I swallow a few mouthfuls before I indicate he should stop. He ignores me at first and water spills down my t-shirt. It’s only then I realize my jacket and bag are no where to be seen.

“Thanks,” I say, my voice less hoarse. He grunts, puts the bottle on the counter, and picks up his gun, but at least he doesn’t aim it at me again.

My mind races in time with my frantic heartbeats. These people may not be ready to put a dozen bullets in me—yet—but someone wants me tied up and secured. That can’t be good.

“What’s going on? Why am I here?” I don’t expect coherent answers but I’m a little disappointed to be met with resounding silence. A few of the guards shift uncomfortably.

I make two more attempts to get information. The third time I ask why I’m here, Rayna says, “Obviously no one is going to tell you until the Boss Lady gets here, so just stop, okay?”

“Vessa?” I ask, as if there’s any question.

Rayna grunts in confirmation. I knew it already but ice washes over me at the memory of the murderous demon.

Time passes. I can’t say how much but the guards who stood at attention when I awoke relax, leaning against walls or checking their cell phones, paying only slight attention when I tug at my bonds. They’re plastic zipties—I can see them around my ankles—and struggling does no good to loosen them.

I can’t move my hands or legs, and shifting in the chair doesn’t help. My only recourse is to create dissent in the ranks and hope I can convince one of them to betray Vessa and let me go.

I turn as far toward Rayna as I can. She’s the only one who hasn’t slumped against some wall to bide their time. I’d bet money she has military training. She’s also the only one who’s really spoken to me, and therefore my best bet.

“How many years did she give you?” I ask.

Rayna finally looks at me. Here’s a tiny furrow in her brow but otherwise, her expression is neutral. “What?”

“I asked how many years you got when you made the deal with the demon.” I scan the room to gauge the reaction. More than one guard looks surprised. “You know. She lets you live for a set amount of years.”

Rayna just smiles sadly. “You’re smart, for a kid,” she says. “Though I guess when you work for a demon, you’d have to have some brains in order to survive.”

Working for Azmos is not exactly rocket science but I decide not to say so. “So, how long do you have?” I ask, ignoring the fact that she called me a kid. I
am
only sixteen and maybe that will help garner sympathy. “Because my boss could probably cut you a better deal.”

She frowns. “As long as I want, provided I don’t piss off the Boss.”

I shake my head. My tweaked neck protests but I ignore it. “Doubtful. She can’t offer you more than ten years and even that’s rare. That’s the limit.”

The two guards near the window exchange worried glances. The red head says, “Bullshit.”

“It’s true,” I say. Granted, I don’t know for sure that it is. Azmos said he can’t keep people alive any longer than that but maybe his sister’s magic is stronger. But I’m not as worried about the truth as I am about planting seeds of doubt. I need to sway someone to my side, convince them Azmos can offer them a better deal or at least that they’re not being told the truth. Anything that might convince them to mutiny and let me go. Because it’s not hard to guess what Vessa wants with me. The same thing she wants with everyone: to make me her helpless slave, which she’ll do by nearly killing me and then graciously letting me live as long as I follow her orders. And then I’ll die anyhow as soon as Xanan finds me or Vessa is stopped, which is inevitable assuming reality doesn’t collapse on top of us first. Or I’ll be stuck here until Xanan’s people find their way to me and dispatch me because they think I’m part of the problem.

“Ten years is the most their magic can manage. And,” I pause for dramatic effect, “they can’t even do that if they have more than a few people to keep alive. I’d say you’ve all got a year. Two, tops.”

“She’s lying,” says the woman with the paint-splattered clothes. She looks like an art teacher, not a soldier. “You know what Vessa said. As long as we follow her instructions, we’ll live until old age.” There’s a desperation in her voice that reminds me of Heather Bancroft. I feel sorry for her, for all of them.

“She can’t do that,” I say, keeping my voice level instead of argumentative. I am just stating facts. “Her magic isn’t that strong.”

“Shut up!” Kai says. He points his pistol at me again. His hands are shaking. I swallow a gasp, acid boiling in my gut. I want the gun off me. “I say we shoot her. It’ll take her a while to bleed out. She’ll still be alive enough when Vessa arrives.”

Any confidence I’ve gained that I could sway these people to my side crashes to the ground when I see the hateful look in his eyes. He’s more than willing to shoot me in the gut and watch me bleed until Vessa gets here to “save” me. My heart pounds and I stare down the barrel of the gun, terrified that this is really going to be the way I die. Tied up and helpless, without anyone knowing where I am, like some distressed damsel in a horror movie.

“Kai, put your gun down,” Rayna says.

Kai sneers.

“You can’t shoot her,” Red-Hair says calmly. “But I bet she’ll let you do the honors when she gets here.” She smiles and it’s full of malice. I shiver. I think any of these people will hurt me if they feel it’s necessary but I get the impression Red-Hair
wants
to.

“I don’t think she cares, so long as she’s alive enough to revive,” Kai says.

“Don’t!” Paint-Splatter screams. She sounds desperate and terrified, her own gun shaking in her hand. “If we don’t obey, we’ll die.” Her eyes are wide and wild, and they plead with Kai, who finally lowers his gun.

“We don’t know that’s how it works,” Kai says. “I doubt we just drop dead the second we disobey.” But he doesn’t sound so sure.

I don’t think it’s true either but if that’s what they’ve been told, there’s no way they’ll let me go before she gets here. My hope, small as it is, deflates. Exhaustion slams into me. My shoulders slump. I don’t want to die like this. I don’t want to die at all. And I’m sure as heck not doing Vessa’s bidding. I serve a demon, but not a monster, and there’s a difference.

“Kai, please,” Rayna says, her voice low and commanding. “Your temper is going to get us all killed.”

He hesitates but finally lowers the gun. “Fine,” he says. “But I’m not listening to her. She speaks again, we tape up her mouth.”

I clamp my mouth shut.

More time passes. When Kai goes into the next room—presumably a bedroom with a bathroom attached, I say, “You don’t have to obey her.”

Red glares. Paint Lady shivers. “Shut up!” she yells.

“Calm down, Moira,” Rayna says.

“She’s the bad guy,” I say. “She doesn’t care about any of you.”

Kai comes back into the room. “I told you to shut up,” he hisses. Paint-splattered lady is shaking so hard I’m afraid she’s going to put a bullet in her own foot. A dark part of me thinks better her than me. Who taught this crazy demon lady about zip ties, anyhow? I want to sucker punch whoever it was. Rope might have given me a fighting chance but I can’t begin to get the hard plastic loose.

BOOK: In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2)
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