In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) (6 page)

“Exactly.” I swallow back a lump that tries to form in my throat. “It’s like you’re thrown into another reality where they no longer exist and you’re expected to go on like it’s normal.”

“Maybe that’s why I keep company with demons. Humans make no sense.”

I lean in close. “This place… is it a…?” I don’t really know the word so I wave my hand in a circle.

“An arcane hangout? Yeah. You didn’t notice?” He smiles a little sheepishly. “Demons, witches, people like me, we cluster together. Find comfort in solidarity or whatever. There are bars and clubs around here that specifically cater to us. Including this place.” He takes off his glasses, cleans them on his sweater vest, and puts them back on. “It’s funny though. I never see Azmos at any of the regular haunts.”

Before I can ask what he thinks that means, he stands. And then he does something unexpected. He extends his hand to me. I take it and he helps me up. “Sometimes I think people like us are lucky. We’ve already learned the hardest lesson of all.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re not in control of anything.”

By the time I get back to the warehouse, I feel like a wrung out rag. My body’s sore and my eyes ache. It’s pitch black around the stone structure, save for a streetlight at the corner of the parking lot that casts a sinister yellow light over the empty pavement and the small light near the gray door.

I called on my way over here but there was no answer, so I hit the red button and wait, pulling my coat tight. The air is freezing, the chill pushing right through my clothes. My lips are chapped.

Azmos comes to the door what feels like an eternity later. I push past him, but it’s not that much warmer inside the warehouse. I dig out the small envelope. “Two names,” I say. “Is Xanan here?”

I didn’t know Az’s eyebrows could go so high. He looks utterly stunned that I would ask for the other demon. “No,” he says. “Why?”

I lean against the wall, too tired to hold myself up. It feels like this morning’s chemistry class happened days ago instead of mere hours ago. I tell him about Mrs. Crane and what Xanan said about another demon making her a deal. He frowns. Then I tell him about the demon woman who wanted names of the possibly-doomed from Gabriel.

“I don’t know if the coffee shop demon is connected to my teacher, but if not, it’s a pretty big coincidence,” I say. Azmos’ expression is unreadable, a blank canvas.

“That it is,” he agrees, voice perfectly level as though he’s trying to keep his tone even. “Xanan was sure about your teacher? That she’d made a deal for more time?”

“He seemed sure. And he doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who takes shots in the dark.”

“He’s not,” Azmos says. His folds his arms over his chest. “Describe the demon you saw.”

As I tell him about the blue-haired lady, his lips press tightly into a thin line. When I’m done, he doesn’t speak. He stands perfectly, inhumanly still.

“Az?”

“There are lots of people with blue hair, especially in this day and age,” he says quietly, as if he’s talking more to himself than to me.

My frown deepens, alarm bells ringing in the back of my mind and making the content of my stomach slosh like a ship in a storm. “Do you know her?”

That jars him and he drops his arms. “Possibly. But she—” He shakes his head once. “If it is the person I’m thinking of, she shouldn’t be here. In fact, I believed she was dead.”

Goosebumps erupt on my arms. There’s an uncomfortably long silence. I stare into the shadows of the storage space beyond, where menacing shaped sculptures loom in the shadows. Azmos stands so still he could be one of the stone statues looming in the shadows beyond.

Finally, Azmos speaks. “Nicolette, I appreciate you relaying the message and getting the names from Mr. Price. That’s all I require of you this evening. You may go.”

I furrow my brow. “Are you dismissing me? Because I have a lot of questions. My teacher is dead, Azmos. Something happened to her. And she—she had a gun.” Ice creeps down my esophagus and drops into my stomach as I picture her haunted expression and try to fit the pieces together, but there are too many missing to get a complete picture. “What’s happening? Who is this other demon like you?”

“There are many other demons. The cracks between the Demon Realm and this one are rare but they’re certainly not impossible to find. Perhaps a demon pretended to have my abilities or perhaps it’s something else entirely. It’s unlikely that it’s… anyone I know, but it if is, then they are dangerous and you should keep your distance. Whatever is happening, Xanan and I will sort it out.”

“And what about me?”

He smiles wryly. “You have school tomorrow. Good night, Nicolette.”

I leave, but only because it’s clear he’s not going to tell me anything else.

The minute I get home, Dad accosts me. He jumps up from the sofa, clicking off the television. “Where have you been?” he demands. I check my phone. It’s barely after eight, hardly late enough for him to be in full-on panic mode.

“Out,” I say. It’s flippant but I’m annoyed at the inquisition. All I want to do is take a long shower, scrub myself clean, eat something chock full of carbs, and fall into bed. I’m not used to him demanding explanations of my whereabouts. I’m not even used to him being home so often.

“Out where?” The lines around his eyes and mouth look more pronounced and his hands shake. He was worried. I ignore the spark of guilt that ignites inside me.

“I just went to grab coffee with a friend,” I say, wishing I’d held onto my cup from Stone Grounds as proof.

“What friend?” he asks. “Why would you go anywhere after you found your teacher…?” He trails off, unwilling to say the word “dead.”

“How do you know about that?” I ask. In truth, it doesn’t even feel like that happened today. So much has happened, it feels like there’s no way it could still be the same day.

“Lisa called.” Lisa Devereaux is Melissa’s mom. “She wanted to make sure you were okay, after you and Melissa—” The words catch in his throat. He can’t bring himself to say “found your teacher dead.” I wonder if he thinks we saw the body. Part of me wishes I’d gone upstairs and examined the scene myself. Not to see her corpse, but to look for clues. Although what kind of clues, I’m not really sure. “Are you okay?”

I take a deep breath and let it out so I don’t burst into tears again. “Yeah. I’m okay. Kind of freaked out,” I admit. It feels good to look my father in the face and tell him the truth for once. “That’s why I went for coffee. I needed to decompress.”

Dad hugs me, hard, and I hug him back. “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says, pulling away.

“I was worried. She was acting weird and I just wanted to check on her. But I was too late.” Tears threaten and the lump in my throat reforms. I slip into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.

“You did what you could, kiddo,” Dad says, clapping his hand on my shoulder. I nod. Sip the water. Breathe. “Just… call me next time, okay? I’ve been worried sick.”

“I will,” I say. But the words taste sour on my tongue and I know it’s a lie.

From the whispers and tears in the halls the next morning, it’s clear word about Mrs. Crane’s death has gotten around. Cam is somber. He holds my hand tightly until we get to his locker and he has to let go to unload his books. He chews his lip as he organizes his books by period so they’re in order and easy to grab. Meticulous organization is practically his middle name.

I called him last night to tell him what had happened, including the part about Xanan’s insistence Mrs. Crane was under a demon contract and the weird blue-haired demon from the coffee shop. Cam’s barely said three words today, which irritates me, but I remind myself I have to let him grieve in his own way. Which is apparently in silence. Cam is good at dealing with things when the parts are all laid out in front of him and he can see how they all fit together. But there’s nothing neat about death. There are no equations that you can solve to come to terms with it.

When the bell rings, he kisses me lightly. “Meet me at my car at lunch,” he says. His lunch plans are all over the map so I’m glad today they involve me. I really don’t want to be alone.

I pass Melissa in the hall. She pulls me into a hug, catching me off guard. She’s glassy-eyed and her eyeliner is smudged despite obvious effort to repair the damage. Her outfit is mournfully subdued: black circle skirt with a black blouse, her hair tied back with black ribbons. Mel is always dressed like life is a movie and she’s in charge of wardrobe.

As soon as the bell rings, an announcement comes over the intercom that first period is cancelled for an assembly in the gym. My stomach churns and I follow my class down the hall. I spot Cam in the bleachers, leaning back on his elbows between Brian and Katrina. Despite instructions to stay with my class, I climb up to where he is. Brian scoots over to make room for me. Cam puts his arm around my shoulders.

“This is fucked up,” Brian says.

I can’t argue with that.

“It’s so sad,” Katrina says. “I had her for Bio Sophomore year. She was such a great teacher.”

Cam nods, but doesn’t speak.

Principal Chander comes to the podium. She’s a tall woman of Indian descent. She wears a black skirt-suit and has her dark hair tied into a neat bun. Even from this far away, her eyes are bloodshot. I doubt she slept last night. That makes two of us.

“As many of you probably already know, yesterday we lost Mrs. Leslie Crane.” A few gasps prove not everyone had heard. Mrs. Chander pauses to let that sink in. “It is tragic and unfortunate to lose such a bright mind and passionate teacher. Grief counselors are on site for anyone who wants to speak to them.” She gestures to a row of chairs off to the side filled with professional-looking people. “Classes are cancelled for today. The library and study hall will remain open for students who wish to use them. This space and the cafeteria will serve as places to express your grief and feelings. Upperclassmen may leave campus if they choose. Lower classmen must get permission from a parent or guardian.”

“Oh, thank god,” Katrina says, shaking her head. “I would never be able to focus today.”

Mrs. Chander talks a bit longer, listing a time and place for a school-wide memorial this Saturday, and I tune her out. I listen to Cam’s shallow breathing beside me and focus on his arm holding me tightly. He looks over at me, his jaw tight, eyes moist with tears. Then he leans down and rests his chin on my head. I snuggle against him.