Slayer(81)

There’s a demon with only the thinnest layer of skin. I can see its muscles, veins, tendons, all showing through the translucent outer layer. I tug on Leo’s arm. “Is that—”

“An unpellis demon.”

“The one that jumps out of its skin! No way!”

“I’ve heard the skin can be used to seal wounds and heal scars.”

“Eew.” I can’t imagine wanting to use a demon’s discarded skin as my own. But also . . . if it’s in a cage, and it looks like it’s recently been de-skinned . . . how often has that happened?

The demon blinks at me, and it looks less horrifying and more unimaginably weary. Its eyes are set far back on either side of its head, like a rabbit’s. Which, according to biology, hints that this isn’t a predatory species. Unlike humans. I want to set it free. Which surprises me, because I’d almost gotten used to my instincts to punch first, ask questions later. Either my Slayerness is broken or this demon is so pathetic even a Chosen One can’t feel like it deserves any more pain.

Leo moves on, but I pause again in front of a pale demon, humanoid in form but with no mouth. It stares at me with mournful eyes. Across the aisle is an identical demon. It lifts its hand, reaching out to me. It needs my help. I lift my own hand, and—

“Wouldn’t touch them,” says a cheerful voice that I last heard announcing odds on my death. “Unless you fancy telepathy so powerful you’ll go mad within two days. Good in small doses, though, innit? Provided you also purchase the antidote.” The man—Sean, I assume—is in another sleek, expensive-looking suit, his hair pulled back into a ponytail.

He waggles a radio at us. “Security’s on hold, but I’d rather not call them. I suppose you two are the source of my cleanup on aisle four?”

“Surprise?” I’m glad he isn’t armed.

“Not really. I’ve been expecting you after your performance the other night. Is Cosmina here too?”

“Nooo.” I draw the word out, watching him. There’s no indication he knows she’s dead, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t behind it. He could have a great poker face beneath his excellent exfoliation and artful stubble. Leo, master of his own poker face, is silent and still. But I know he’s ready to spring into action the second Sean does anything threatening. Leo neither provokes reactions nor reveals anything. Ever. No wonder he stayed alive so long. He has a way of blending into the background until he needs to act. Gods, he’s an amazing Watcher.

“Come into my office,” Sean says. “You could have asked for me, you know. You wasted a lot of coffee.”

I feel sheepish now that he’s being so reasonable. “Can you sort it and, uh, wash it? Put it back?”

He laughs. “I’ll refill the bins with the same cheap, manky coffee beans they held before. It’s all the same, innit? These stooks’ll buy anything if you put a fancy label on it. Especially if the label says ‘Organic.’ Technically everything is organic.”

“Charming business ethics,” Leo mutters.

Sean leads us to a portion of the giant cellar in the opposite direction Artemis had run. Unlike the rest of the stone-and-brick space, his office is boxed in and finished. It’s brightly lit, all clean modern lines, with a fish tank that takes up an entire wall.

“No way!” I lean close to the tank. What some might take for an eel turns in a lazy circle to reveal a human eye watching us all with disturbing awareness. “That’s a remora demon, isn’t it?”

“You know your stuff.” Sean sits at his desk, leaning back.

I point to it, looking at Leo, more excited than I should be. “In the open air, they grow to fit whatever container they’re in. Water pressure keeps them from expanding in aquariums, though. Otherwise they just keep going. And they eat lead and turn it into gold! It was actually a Watcher way back in the Middle Ages who used one to turn lead into gold to fund our whole operation. It started all the rumors that caused alchemists to try and re-create turning lead into gold. But they never could, because hello, demon. They’re super rare!”

“And picky eaters.” Sean frowns. “I’m lucky to get a nugget a month from the damn thing. Hasn’t even paid itself off yet. Now. To the point. What do you want? I’d apologize for the other night, but to be fair, you were the one who jumped in the pit. And you killed all my best hellhounds and several of my highest betters. So you really ought to apologize to me.”

“I didn’t kill anything except the hellhounds and the zompires!” I say defensively. “Serves you right, throwing a Slayer in the pit!”

“She was in on it.”

“She was not!”

“Okay, maybe not in on it. She’s done jobs for me, here and there. But she got rid of a zompire nest I had quarantined and marked for the fights, and then she ran afoul of one of my vampire allies. She knows how things go—she cost me money, so I used her to make more. If she has a problem with it, she can come talk to me herself. I would have cut her in on the profits if she had won fairly. She’s even fought willingly a few times before.”

She participated? Willingly? Then why did I have the dream about her in trouble? Maybe because that was her first unwilling event. Or maybe because I was supposed to bring her back with us. To save her from what was coming after the fights. I slump in one of the chairs facing Sean. It’s a beautiful chair, all clean lines and utterly rigid bottomly discomfort. No matter how I shift, I’m sure my entire butt will be asleep within seconds. “I’m actually not here about Cosmina. I’m here about Doug.”