Page 8 of Unholy

With a sigh, he went over to the first filing cabinet, labeled helpfully with a number one, and opened the top drawer. He grabbed a big stack, carried them over to the machine, and got to work. Scanning each document and setting it aside was a monotonous task. They were all going to Etta’s email. She and a handful of other administrators organized the digital filing system.

His eyes drifted over each document as he put them into the scanner. There were old warding spells and protection sigils, not unlike the ones the guild used today, except these all invoked either a demon or a pagan god. He wondered where some of them came from and how the paladins had found them.

After a while, his eyes glazed. When he finished withone stack, he returned it to the cabinet and grabbed the next handful. He did that several times over the next couple of hours, going from drawer to drawer. And when he was debating a break for an afternoon coffee to perk him back up, his gaze fell across something interesting on the next paper he was waiting to scan.

‘To Summon a Beast.’

He shook himself, focusing on the faded words. This was a ritual for summoning a demon. Any demon, as long as the summoner had its real name.

Would this work on a halfling? If Malachi was actually his real name, could Luke… summon him wherever he wanted? That would make finding him a whole lot easier.

He laid the paper facedown in the scanner, and this time, after he pressed the button to scan it, he also made a copy. It was worth a try. The copy went into his pocket, and he went back to work, the need for caffeine forgotten.

Chapter 4

Malachi

Malachi spentthe day dreaming about his human, and when night fell, he made his way to In Extremis. It was the most popular demon club in the city, run by a halfling named Lilith.Storm, a white-haired brick shithouse, stood by the front door. His crimson eyes appraised Malachi as he approached. Malachi gave him a fist-bump as he passed.

“You look cheery,” Storm remarked.

“Life ain’t half bad, brother.”

In Extremis was a riot on the senses, as always. It was almost as black as the night behind him, save for streaks of low, multicolored lights through the smoky air. The only point of true light in the room was that of the bar. It was a beacon of white, the glass shelves and mirrored back wall gleaming. Wolf was behind the bar, as usual. Malachi made his way there, slipping through the undulating crowd like a shadow himself.

Wolf, almost as tall and broad as Storm but with ash blond hair that he kept tied back, set a glass tumbler on the bar as he approached and poured something from anunlabeled bottle. It was reddish brown, like someone had poured red food dye into whiskey.

He idly scanned the room as he handed over the appropriate amount of bills. Wolf said nothing, but then he rarely did, simply taking the money and depositing it in the register. Talon and Alex were sitting at Talon’s usual booth at the back of the room. It was fairly unusual to see them. Malachi assumed the human didn’t care much for the demon club, but that didn’t seem to be the case right now. He was leaning into Talon’s side, his head turned and moving languidly back and forth in the curve of the demon’s neck. One hand disappeared suggestively below the table, and Talon’s gaze was heavy-lidded, his head tilted back in bliss.

A burst of unfamiliar jealousy coiled in his gut. Would he ever have that with his own human? If someone as unholy as Talon could manage it, surely Malachi could. Perhaps last night’s success at the hospital was his first step toward ingratiating himself in Luke’s good graces.

He turned away to find Wolf studying him. He nodded toward the pair and asked, “What do you make of them?”

Wolf shrugged. “Not really my business.”

“Come on, Wolf, you’ve got to have an opinion somewhere behind that stony exterior of yours.” He dragged the glass closer and took a sip, leaning his forearms on the bar.

Wolf shrugged one muscled shoulder. “I think Talon’s more settled than I’ve ever seen him. He actually does shit likesmile. Alex is perky and human and everything he’s not. Somehow they work.”

Malachi hummed. Alex was dragging Talon from the booth with a cheeky smirk now, pulling Talon’s arm over his shoulder and leading him into the VIP hall. Little wonder what they were going back there to do. He wondered if theremight ever come a time when he could get Luke in one of those rooms, his naked body bathed in smoky red light.

He cheered Wolf with his glass and wandered into the middle of the crowd, moving his body to the sinuous beat of the music. He ignored the people around him who were gyrating together. Humans came here often, thinking it was just a particularly kinky club. Most of them didn’t know the people who feasted on them were demonic. It felt good, so they kept coming back. Halflings made a point not to kill anyone here. It was bad for business, and Lilith had most of the demonic population scared enough to follow her orders. It was beneficial for everyone, anyway. The halflings wanted blood and sex, and these humans often offered both.

Malachi ignored the ones who propositioned him, letting them be drawn away by others. He didn’t want anyone else. All he could think about were whiskey eyes, steely with conviction. Watching Luke for the last few weeks had been delightful. Every glimpse only fed his addiction and made him crave more. It wasn’t enough to watch anymore. He wanted Luke to seehim, too.

He wondered how Talon had done it. He’d been here when Alex first arrived on the scene. A paladin coming alone to In Extremis was unheard of. Going to a secondary location alone with a leviathan was madness. When they’d questioned Malachi about the mozgoran, Talon had looked ready to snap Malachi’s neck for interrupting whatever they’d been doing in that booth. Alex hadn’t looked entirely comfortable, but as Malachi understood it, that was still very early in their… relationship. How had Talon gone from Alex squirming with nervousness at his proximity to feeling him up under the table without a care for who was watching?

And how did Malachi replicate it with Luke?

When a sharp tugging sensation cut through him, he went still, his focus turning inward. Demons didn’t get sick, so it couldn’t be that. His breath stalled in his throat. His vision dimmed, the club disappearing before his eyes, and he saw a flash of—headstones? A cemetery?

“What?” he said to himself, inaudible over the sound of the music. He wheeled away from the dance floor. The white light of the bar was blurry, and he could barely make out Wolf frowning at him.

That sensation yanked through him again, sharper this time, like a meathook through the breastbone. His teeth snapped together on a startled snarl, and the glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor. His free hand rose to his chest as he doubled over, gasping for breath. There was no wound, but he felt like something wasripping.

Hands touched his shoulders. “Hey, Malachi, you okay?”

He straightened, grabbing Wolf’s wrist. Part of him was endeared the man had come out from behind the bar to check on him. “No, I’m not—something’s wrong.”

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