Page 17 of The Morning Star
“No one.” There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I’m a Low. No one wants a Low in their household, unless it’s to torture and torment. So it’s just me. I’m on my own. I’ve always been on my own.”
Huh. “Well, you’re in my household whether you like it or not.” I reached out to grab hold of his shoulder.
He scowled. “Only for tonight. And only if there’s salmon and beer in it for me. And cookies. I like cookies.”
“Deal.” Cookies. That shouldn’t be a problem.
The Low’s bulging eyes wandered to somewhere off the edge of my left shoulder and widened with alarm. I instinctively ducked, hitting the ground as a burst of fire took off the top half of the coin machine as well as three rows of Seattle-themed shot glasses and beer mugs. Gimlet had ducked as I had and landed somewhat on top of me. Which meant the blobs of hot molten glass and splinters of burning wood were landing on him and not me.
The Low let out a stream of curses and rolled, his clothing burnt, his skin blistered and blackened. I winced, knowing how difficult it was for these little demons to repair injury. But instead of flailing about in agony, Gimlet jumped to his feet, and with a snarl took off out the door.
I tucked the salmon in my waistband like some fishy-smelling pistol, and ran after him, not sure whether the attack that had come from behind had been meant for me or for him. I assumed me. Being the Iblis did put a big target on my back, but honestly I’d had that target as an imp too. I’d pissed a lot of demons off in my short life. No surprise that there was an occasional attack on my life.
But if that were the case, I would have expected Gimlet to hide behind the rack of Space-Needle-emblazoned trucker hats and let whatever demon was behind me burn me to a crisp while he stayed safely out of the way.
But why would a demon try to incinerate a Low? And what Low in his right mind would go taking off after the attacker who had enough power to kill him with a snap of his claws? So I chased Gimlet who was chasing a tall, leathery-skinned, snake-faced demon, not because I particularly cared whether the Low lived or died, but because I really wanted to see this uneven, and probably short, fight.
I caught up with Gimlet just as the fire demon rounded a corner. By the time we’d rounded the same corner, the demon was nowhere to be seen.
“You go left and I’ll go right,” Gimlet told me, taking off before I could reply.
I headed left, figuring that the demon hadn’t gone straight ahead or we would have seen him. Unless he had an invisibility spell or something. In that case, Gimlet and I would dash around like idiots for the next ten or fifteen minutes then return empty-handed.
I caught sight of a tail ahead and put on a burst of speed, pulling my sword from the ether. Good thing it was me catching this guy. As much as I distrusted Gimlet, I really didn’t want to see him burned to a crisp and dead because he’d rashly taken on a demon far above his skill level.
The fire demon rounded another corner and finding himself in a dead-end alley, jumped to climb the back fence. I jumped as well, dismissing my sword so I could wrap both hands around his scaled tail and pull with every bit of my weight. He scrabbled onto the fence with his back legs, his front claws digging frantically into the top. I hung like dead weight, as he stretched downward, his claws splintering the wood as he slowly lost the battle to get over the top. His body trembled, then suddenly he let go. We both plunged downward, me hitting the blacktop first with him a heavy heap on top.
My breath left my lungs in a whoosh, and my vision blurred from the back of my head slamming onto the pavement, but I still managed to hold on to the demon’s tail, even when he got to his feet and tried to run for it. He dragged me along for about ten feet while I caught my breath, then tried to pull his tail free. Finally, he spun around and opened his jaws wide, spewing a stream of fire toward me. Obviously the guy didn’t want to burn himself, so he aimed his blast at my legs, away from his tail.
I squawked and drew my legs up, but I wasn’t fast enough to avoid the fire that burned my jeans off from the knees down and boiled the flesh right off my bones. My boots and feet didn’t fare any better.
“Fuck!” I screamed, still holding onto his tail with a death grip. “You fucking motherfucker!” It hurt. And I really liked those jeans and boots. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I manifested a set of claws on one hand and jabbed them clear through the demon’s tail and three inches into the pavement below, pinning him in place. That gave me a free hand to summon my sword just in time to deflect a second blast of fire.
This one was aimed at my upper body. Guess the demon had decided he’d sacrifice his tail to burn me completely. Rather than absorb the fire with my sword, or convert it into something else, like dandelion fluff, I bounced the blast off my blade and back into the demon’s wide-open mouth.
The look of shock on his face made me laugh. The demon drew in a raspy breath full of his own fire, then began to cough and sputter, black smoke puffing in small clouds from his mouth. I took the opportunity to recreate my legs and feet, well aware that I was now wearing a pair of singed jeans Bermuda shorts and was barefoot.
Jabbing my sword through his tail, I pulled my claws free and stood, confident that my sword would hold the demon in place during my interrogation. He continued to cough, giving up on escape after a few futile attempts to yank free from my sword.
“Who do you work for?” I demanded, not bothering with any of the lesser questions like why was he trying to kill me, or why had he returned to Seattle. This had to have been the demon who’d blown up two cars and a building next to the gate, as well as lured Humiel to his death. He fit the gate guardian’s description to a “T” and I doubted there were two mid-level demons with snakelike forms and an affinity for fire running around the Pacific Northwest.
Just to make sure I reached out with my spirit-self, amused by his wide-eyed look of alarm as I felt him up. Yep. Same demon energy as that burnt patch by the gateway. I would have recognized the guy by that alone.
“Fuck you,” he snarled, recovering from his shock at being felt up by an imp. Then he coughed some more.
I wiggled the sword impaling his tail and heard him yelp between coughs. “Who do you work for?”
“Nobody.”
“Whose household are you in?”
He hesitated and I gave the sword another wiggle.
“Caramort’s.”
I searched my memory and in the recesses found a Caramort who was a mid-level warmonger up in Eresh. No big deal. Not much higher than this guy in the hierarchy. Which meant this was either a merging of households, such as for a breeding contract, or a temporary arrangement in return for a favor. Either way, the Caramort I remember couldn’t be turning seven enforcers to sand.
And he sure as fuck was no Samael.
