In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) (24 page)

“Boston?”

“I knew little of your realm at the time. As humans tell stories about the Underworld, we told stories about the Overworld. I didn’t know what to expect but I feared I would never adjust. Boston was dirty and covered in soot. It was during the Industrial Revolution, but I didn’t know that. I only knew I loathed this realm and wanted to go home.”

“But you couldn’t… So you decided to help people?”

Azmos rubs his eyes. “Back then I had no desire to help. Only to hide. But then I met James.”

“Do I dare ask?”

Azmos leans back and looks up at the granite ceiling. “I was under the impression you wanted to know everything. Isn’t that why you asked for this job?”

“I’m starting to doubt the safety of hands-on learning,” I say. “But yes.”

“James Crosby. He worked in a steel mill until there was an accident and he nearly died.”

“And you saved him?”

Azmos shook his head. “No. I arrived a year or so after the accident. He lived because he lived. Luck, really, though he called it a miracle. But he came close to death and was burdened with these terrible visions.”

“Like Gabriel,” I say, the realization dawning over me.

Azmos nods. “They would strike him and he’d fall, writhing on the ground, in terrible pain. I happened to be nearby when one struck him and witnessed it. He tried to keep them concealed, since back then the extent of medical intervention for such things was to lock people up in an asylum. They thought they were seizures, you see, some kind of hysterical madness. So James tried to avoid people, lest he be hauled off to an asylum. I was also trying to avoid people, given that my eyes tended to make people yell ‘devil!’ and chase me with pointy sticks.”

I snort in amusement at the image of villagers chasing Az through a field with pitchforks. It’s probably not an accurate picture but it’s funny nonetheless. Azmos smiles, and continues. “He was walking through the woods where I was building a small cabin. He collapsed with the vision and I saw the whole thing. I didn’t truly know what it was—I have visions from time to time, and they never cause me that much pain. But James…They cost him, as they cost young Gabriel. And yet when he came to, he looked into my eyes and he didn’t see a monster.”

I make a small noise. I remember the first time I saw Azmos’ eyes. By then, I knew him well enough to know he wasn’t some serpent trying to suck out my soul but it was still shocking.

“Oh, James was frightened of me at first, but it was a fear tempered by curiosity. He told me of his visions, how they plagued him and he felt helpless. So, the next time he had one, we went and saved the girl whose death he’d envisioned. She nearly died after being thrown from a horse in his vision, and we were there to temper the horse and catch her.

“I didn’t do it for the girl. I didn’t do it for some noble cause. I did it for James. Helping some of them eased his suffering and made the psychic attacks worthwhile.” Azmos turns away but I swear I see the hint of a tear at the corner of his eye. “So you see, I am no better than her. Selfish to the last.”

I blink at him, stunned. “Come on, Az, yes, you are. By miles.” He lifts his shoulders in a half-shrug. “You are. Because you still do it. I assume James is—“ I stop, trying to think of a less tactless way to say ‘long dead.’—“No longer here.”

Azmos nods. “He lived a long life, for back then. But yes, James is gone.”

“But you still help people. And more, you find others like him, like Gabriel, and help make their suffering worth it.” There’s a long silence.

“Can I tell you a secret, Nicolette?”

I nod. I’m already keeping so many secrets. What’s one more?

“I still do it for James. Because I want to be the person he knew. A good person.”

“You are,” I assure him. “And that’s why we’re going to win. We’re the good guys. That’s how this works.”

Azmos’ smile is wry, darkly amused. And a little more fatalistic than I’m comfortable with. “I don’t think that is how it works.”

“It’s called optimism. I’m trying here.”

Gabriel and Myron get up an hour later. Myron hops in the shower. I pull on my coat and go into the antechamber to check my phone.

There’s one message, a text from an unknown number. My nerves are on edge and my hands shake. I click the message. It reads: “Bainbridge Ferry, 1:10 pm. Today.” That’s it. I text back demanding to know who it is.

Cam still hasn’t replied to my message and his phone goes straight to voicemail when I call. It’s only five in the morning so I tell myself that he’s probably not up yet. His alarm is set for 5:30 on school days, unless he has to get to school for zero period.

Another message comes in from the unknown number. This one has a photo attached. My heart skips. My stomach caves in on itself. It’s a photo of Cam, bruised and wide-eyed, his glasses crooked on his nose. It’s a close-up of his face and nothing else, so I can’t tell where he is, whether he’s on a boat or not. I can’t tell if he’s tied up. He’s awake and looks as wrecked as I feel, anger burning in his eyes even in the photo.

A torrent of swear words escapes me before I even realize I’m making noise. I race back inside and shove the phone at Azmos, whose snake eyes widen as he stares at the image. “She’s baiting us,” he says. He swears in his demon language.

“I know,” I say, and then I’m sobbing. Gabriel puts his arms around my shoulders and squeezes. I let him steady me and then pull away. I go to the kitchen and get a glass of water. I force myself to take small sips, to drown the lump in my throat. It’s all too much.

“Didn’t your vision take place on a ferry boat?” Myron asks Gabriel.

“Yeah, but none of us were in the vision. At least not that I could see.” He growls in frustration, running his palm over his head. “This is obviously a trap.” He’s right, of course.

“We still have to go,” I say. My face hurts, my eyes hurt. All of me hurts. “We have to save him.” I don’t add “if we can,” but it hangs in the air like fog.

“If she has him—” Gabriel starts. I shoot him a look and he clamps his mouth shut. Myron gives me a sympathetic expression, the kind you get at a funeral when your loved one is lying in the coffin. I hate that it’s a look I know well.

“We don’t know anything,” I say. “Not for sure. She didn’t… do that to me. It’s probably the same for Cam. She’s using him as bait, and she’ll keep him alive to impress Azmos with her self-restraint so he’ll kneel before her and kiss her feet.”

The others all look doubtful, even Myron, who looks at me with such a palpable amount of pity that I have to turn away. Vessa thinks he works for Az, just like she thought when she grabbed me. She or her lackeys no doubt found him at the warehouse last night and now they’re holding him to lure Azmos out. She won’t mess with Az’s mortal assistants if she can avoid it because she’s trying to stay in his good graces, prove that she can stay her hand and be a good leader. Cam is fine. Cam is not under her power.

I repeat those words like a mantra in my head as if saying it enough times can make it true.

The ferry to Bainbridge Island is filled with tourists and people returning from their errands and meetings downtown. It’s not packed like it must be during rush hour, but it’s a far cry from empty.

Xanan and I walk circles around the boat. We go from the car bay to the first deck, and then circle around the outside as the boat cuts through the choppy waters of Puget Sound. The cold December wind slices through my coat and chills me to the bone. My cheeks burn with the cold and my eyes ache from it. We climb stairs to the second deck and go inside the sitting area. The shift to dry, heated air makes me sneeze.

We repeat the circle twice but find no one under Vessa’s power, none of her guards. If this is a trap, the spring is at the other end of the ride. There’s no sign of Cam.

We join Gabriel and Azmos at a booth. Gabriel has a cup of coffee. Azmos sits with his hands folded on the table. He’s wearing a collared shirt and suit jacket, his hair spiked with gel from Myron’s hair product collection. He’s nursing his right arm, where he was shot, but it’s hard to tell if you don’t already know he’s injured. His suit is slightly rumpled but he looks more put together than most of us.

They’ve both been watching for anything suspicious but everything is normal. Almost too normal. It makes my skin crawl.

“None of Vessa’s people are on board,” I say.

This is definitely the ferry I was texted about. We know the massacre Gabriel saw is on a different boat, or at least a different trip. But I still expected some of her people to be on this ferry, waiting to ambush us.

At Gabriel’s insistence that I eat something, I buy a soft pretzel and a Sprite despite my lack of appetite. Neither tastes like much but I do feel slightly better after I consume them. Until I think of Cam and then I feel nauseated all over again. The movement of the boat doesn’t help, even though it doesn’t rock back and forth like a smaller sailboat might.

A mom holds her toddler up to the window to watch a freight ship go by. I seriously hope they’re not in immediate danger. The mother catches me looking and smiles. I force a smile back, wondering if ignorance really is bliss. To think, less than a year ago, I didn’t know demons existed. Azmos was a figment of my injured brain. It’s so hard to remember what it was like, not knowing that demons were out there. And it’s been little more than a month since I realized how much magic there is in the world. How many strange things. As I watch the choppy gray water, I try to imagine a world where I’m ignorant once again. A normal, less-than-average high school student with boring ambitions. I don’t think I’d go back if I could, but there is part of me that envies that version of Nicki. Of course, she was heading for mediocrity. Now she might get to the save the world.

Now she might die trying.

By the time the ferry pulls into the dock, I’m restless and itchy, buzzing with fear and lack of sleep. I keep my hand on my dagger in my bag as we disembark with the other walk-on passengers.

I don’t know what I expect as we enter the ferry terminal: an explosion, gunfire. Soldiers coming to drag us off. But there’s nothing. No sign of Vessa. No traps.

“Maybe she just wanted us out of Seattle,” Gabriel says bleakly.

“She wouldn’t plan in such an abstract way,” Azmos says. I resist the urge to point out that he hasn’t seen or heard from her in over a hundred years, so he doesn’t really have any idea what she would do. But then again, this is the woman who had her people organize a frontal assault on a giant warehouse and didn’t keep people at the backdoor.

After assessing the area, we start heading out to the parking lot outside the ferry terminal. Xanan stops dead in his tracks. I follow his gaze and my heart expands like a balloon inside my chest. Cam is walking toward us.

He’s flanked by two people, a middle-aged woman in sweatpants and a man about the same age wearing cargo shorts despite the cold. Both wear big coats that probably conceal guns.

None of that matters. Cam is alive. He’s okay and he’s here, living and breathing.

I run toward him. His expression remains grim. His bruise has faded to an ugly brown and yellow on his cheek. His clothes are the same ones he wore to school yesterday, jeans and a bright green band t-shirt beneath his jacket. School feels like it happened a million years ago. His hair is sticking up in a thousand directions, uncombed, and his cheeks are dusted with light stubble. He wears his spare glasses, rimmed in thick black plastic.

I wrap my arms around him, ignoring the looks from the guards. They can’t shoot me in the middle of a busy parking lot. Or at least, I don’t think they’d risk it. I don’t see Vessa and her electric blue hair anywhere, and if she went to the trouble of springing a trap, I doubt her plan is to mow us all down upon arrival. She could have done that without getting us across the water.

I kiss him, a desperate, needy kiss, to assure myself that he’s real. He kisses me back but it’s stiff, uncomfortable.

“Are you okay?” I ask him quietly.

“No,” he says. I flinch. I don’t know what I expected him to say but the word slices into me. Of course he’s not. I squeeze his hand.