Taming Demons for Beginners (The Guild Codex: Demonized #1)(11)

Honestly, I’d rather talk to the red-eyed demon than confront my uncle.

Why was I so lame? Why couldn’t I be more like the famous mythics from my history readings? If I were cunning like the famous druidess Branwen, who’d saved a fourteenth-century town from a powerful wyldfae, I could easily outwit Uncle Jack. Or if I were an insanely powerful tempemage like Clementine Abram, who’d singlehandedly flooded a British town in 1952—a disaster blamed on military experiments—I could intimidate my uncle into cooperating. Or if I were a genius inventor like the sorceress Aurelia Metellus, the true creator of Archimedes’s infamous death ray, I could … um … actually, a death ray would be overkill in this situation.

The point was, I couldn’t even work up the nerve to tell a store clerk if they scanned an item twice. How was I supposed to strong-arm my uncle into cooperating? I didn’t know, but I had to try anyway.

Ducking into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom attached to my bedroom, I checked myself in the mirror. My dark brown hair fell almost to my shoulders in untidy waves, but it looked respectable enough. I adjusted my glasses, straightened my baby blue sweater, and tugged my snug jeans over my socks. Was baby blue too soft a color? Maybe I should change into something red. My current self-help book claimed red was a “power color.” Did I even own a red top?

Since I only had six shirts to choose from anyway, I discarded the idea of a wardrobe adjustment. Outside the bathroom, I hurried past Travis’s rattling door—did he ever turn his music off?—and down the stairs. The late afternoon sun blazed through the windows as I cut across the formal living room toward my uncle’s office.

“… get you anything to drink?”

I slid to a stop as Uncle Jack’s voice reached me.

“Coffee? Wine? I have an exceptionally fine brandy—”

“We aren’t here to socialize, Mr. Harper,” a male voice cut in.

I smiled. Hearing someone else interrupt my uncle was so gratifying. I poked my head around the corner.

Uncle Jack was ushering three men across the grand front entrance and into the hall that led to his office. Claude, his business partner, walked beside him, but the other two were strangers. One man was tall and bulky like a WWE wrestler, while the other was shorter than Uncle Jack and moved with jerky, bird-like movements.

“Our patience for delays is dwindling,” the short man continued with distinct hostility. “We’re reconsidering the wisdom of our generous down payment.”

Uncle Jack muttered a response as they disappeared down the hall. A door clacked shut and the sound of their voices quieted. Heart galloping across my ribs, I crept to the office door and pressed my ear against it.

“… demon has proved exceptionally willful,” Uncle Jack was saying in a greasy, soothing tone, “but we’re confident we can bring it under control in time for a contract. And, as I mentioned, the other demon is ready. We can complete the ritual as soon as you select a contractor.”

“Our top contractor is waiting to see the new demon before deciding,” Birdman replied, his words fast and clipped. “You’ve told us nothing about it.”

“The new demon is an unknown entity.” That was Claude’s voice. Instead of cringey persuasiveness, he sounded mild-mannered and confident. “It could be the most powerful demon ever summoned, or it could be the weakest. We’re just as eager to uncover its secrets, but we can’t rush the delicate negotiation process.”

No one spoke for a long moment.

“Demon contracts are expensive,” Birdman said. “Demon names are even more valuable. If you’ve discovered an unknown name—well, I’ve already made my offer. All you need to do is prove the name is worth it.”

“We will,” Uncle Jack assured him. “We’ll have the demon ready for a contract in two weeks or less.”

“I should hope, or you will begin again—without our funding.”

“Of—of course,” Uncle Jack stammered. “But would you like to proceed with the other demon?”

“We’ll determine that in two weeks, Mr. Harper.” An ominous pause, then Birdman continued in a more normal tone. “What of the paperwork? I want this contractor to be fully registered.”

“We have a secure system in place.” A clatter, like a drawer opening, followed by the rustle of paper. “When you’re ready, you can add your contractor’s registration information to this form and I’ll forward it to my contact at the MPD, who will insert the documents into their database without—”

High heels clacked against the hardwood, and I jerked back from the door. I got three hasty steps away before Kathy rounded the corner, the skirt of her striped A-line dress fluttering around her calves.

“What are you doing?” she asked sharply, tucking a strand of perfectly curled, fake-red hair behind her ear.

Shriveling with apprehension, I counted the knots in the hardwood between my toes. “I want to speak with Uncle Jack, but he has people in his office.”

“He’s entertaining clients tonight. Don’t bother him.”

“Okay.”

“And don’t pester him about your parents’ will. He’s got enough to work on already.”

“Yes, Aunt Kathy.”

“Get moving, then.”