Mark of the Harbinger (Book 1)

27 - A Bomb and a Firestorm

I peeked over the top of the block I hid behind and really wished I hadn't.

The bodies of the two gunmen were scattered in pieces like torn paper puppets and everything was...well, frankly, red. However, when I fought my initial urge to vomit all over the demon and myself, I realized there were only two dead men in the warehouse with us.

The magi was gone.

"Oh, no...." I muttered as I levered myself upright. "No, no, no! Why are there only two?!"

He must have run for it. Had he seen too much of my nature? Was he on his way to Ishcer? Did he know what Maligaphrius was? And, if he did, who was he going to tell about my involvement with the demon?!

Mal frowned, slouching his shoulders as he observed his handiwork and picked his way through the mess. He found a dripping wallet and scavenged it clean, stuffing stray bills into his pockets along with a watch and a class ring.

Great. The demon also robbed the dead. Great.

"It's not all fun and mayhem on this side," Mal commented as he noted my clear distaste. "Sometimes a poor demon just wants to buy himself dinner." 

I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. This isn't happening. "Does one of them have a phone?" I asked before I could catch myself. "Preferably one that isn't...gross." 

Mal found what I asked for and presented me with a mostly clean smartphone. I took it from him and held it against my chest, glaring. "You can leave now."

He laughed, unperturbed by the sticky crimson splotches on his hands and face. "But we have a debt to discuss and for you to pay, my fair mistress. Oh, and you will pay." 

I scoffed, feigning bravery I didn't have as the demon's voice dipped into a menacing baritone. "I don't owe you anything." 

He paused. "How do you suppose?"

"There were three Fae outside the diner who tried to kill you. I saved your life from all three of them. As I see it, you only killed two men for me. You still owe me a life, buddy."

Mal's face took on a sincerer—and severer—expression. His body was young, but there were markers of exhaustion about his person, especially in the slight, dark depressions under his strange eyes. When he blinked it was slow, contemplative.

"How did you know there were three?" 

"What?"

"How did you know there were three Fae?"

Crap. I floundered for an answer as the demon loomed and refused to let myself be cowed. "B-because!" I retorted as I squared my shoulders and clutched the phone until my hands trembled. I was suddenly reminded of Xerex Darhan, who was—as impossible as it seemed—more unnerving than the creature before me. Mal was honest with his thoughts, while I never knew what Xerex was thinking. That aloofness gave the Fae power I'd never have, and I tried to channel his trickiness. "Because that information costs! D-do you want to owe me more, Mal?!"

He leaned on the block of machinery separating us, tongue lingering on a bloody nail. "You almost sound Fae," he chuckled—then suddenly snarled. "I hate Fae."

I was so lightheaded with fear and blood loss, it was a wonder I didn't faint. A burdensome silence stretched between us, and in that silence I heard the distant wail of encroaching sirens. The magi's fire must have ignited enough material to attract human attention.

Mal could hear the sirens, too. "We must discuss my rendered services later, it appears. Maybe when you are not so...vulnerable." 

He reached out to point one finger between my brows, hovering close to my skin. I couldn't taste any emotion coming off the creature, as if he felt nothing, as if this whole scene were just another day in the office for a demon. Mal flicked me and I flinched.