The Demon's Half

Chapter 11

It was kind of sad, honestly, that this was where everyone gathered. To shop, to talk, to kill time. Even the homeless came by, drawn in by the occasional government-sponsored freebies and the free entertainment that the TVs gave them.

The air buzzed with chatter, punctuated by the occasional screech of cart wheels and the robotic drone of the checkout scanner.
If David saw me—
No. Cállate el perro hocico.
I forced myself to keep moving, to pretend I was just another shopper. Maybe he'd be buried in his office, stinking the place with his stinky armpits.

"What are you doing here? You're not allowed to come here."

David's voice stopped me cold.
He looked the same.
Bloated. Greasy. His sweat-stained shirt clung to his body, and the ever-present stench of rot was all I could think of when he opened his mouth.

"I understand," I said. "I just need to—"

His hand shot out, fingers latching onto my arm.
And it shouldn't have felt familiar but it did. I hated that it felt familiar.

"Morgan, wait outside." Elena's voice sounded behind me. Thank all thirteen Gods.

David's hand dropped away, as if being caught stealing. Before he could change his mind, I slipped through the automatic doors, the rush of cold air hitting my face as I stumbled onto the pavement. Two agonizing hours passed. When Elena finally emerged, I pushed myself upright, legs stiff from the cold.
She just watched me.
First there was shock.
Then embarrassment.
And finally—
Pity.

"You made a deal with the demon," she said.

For a second, the world felt like a cruel joke. My ears rang, all sound muffling beneath the dull roar of my pulse. I felt like something filthy had seeped into my skin, staining me in ways no soap could fix.

"Why? What did he offer?"

I parted my lips, ready to explain, to defend myself—

"Not here." She glanced over her shoulder. "It's not safe. Let's go."

I followed her.
Her car, a beat-up red small thing, was exactly what I expected. Until I opened the door.
The smell hit first.
The heavy sweetness of incense was so strong it made me dizzy. It stuck to my skin, my tongue, clogging my throat. The rearview mirror sagged with rosaries. And the dashboard was a complete mess. Cracked dolls, some handmade, some missing limbs, their painted faces frozen in eerie half-smiles. Pinche miedo. I tore my gaze away, staring out the window instead, but the feeling wouldn't leave. The drive was in complete silence, except for the hum of the engine, the soft clink of the rosaries and the faint creak as the dolls shifted with the motion. By the time we pulled up, my stomach had twisted into knots.

Elena turned to me. "Leave your phone in the car."

I obeyed, and stepped outside and saw her... house? No—her mansion.
¿Qué carajos?

This mansion wasn't just a home; I knew it was the last one. The final habitable mansion in a city where every other had been turned into a public plaza, a library, or a half-collapsed ruin for the homeless. People not having homes was normal, an accepted tragedy, yet she had a freaking mansion?
A sinking feeling slid up my throat. I knew Elena's last name: Parker. That was it. I knew absolutely nothing else about her. How the hell did she manage to own something like this? Especially with the taxes? It didn't make sense.

I looked around, followed her inside, and immediately regretted it. The smell from the car was nothing compared to this. How she didn't gag was beyond me. The interior was huge. With. Freaking. Dolls. Everywhere. Perched on shelves, slumped over tables, staring from the furniture. Some were delicate. Others were cracked, their expressions grotesque. Their glassy eyes followed me. Or maybe that was just my nerves playing tricks on me. The walls weren't any better. Crosses. Rosaries. All around.
They overlapped so that the white paint of the wall underneath was lost.