1
Danica
“Ididn’t do it, I swear!”
The lesser demon’s voice turned into a high-pitched whine. He inched his black, clawed hand toward the long knife I’d dropped on the ground.
I slammed my foot down on his hand. Hard. “Uh-huh. Must’ve been some other demon who looked just like you, right?”
His feet dug into the ground in an effort to escape, the muscles of his legs straining. But he wasn’t going anywhere.
I’d found him with his claws sunk deep into a goblin’s neck, ten minutes after he’d attacked a group of humans. He’d obviously been summoned, and if he was free of his bonds, he’d managed to kill his human summoner.
High demons could feed off a number of things– lust, greed, lies, and– it was rumored– fear. But most lesser demons preferred pain. Unfortunately for them, there were rules involving a little thing called consent.
That was where I came in.
“The Mage Council will be pleased to finally have you in their hands, Asparas.”
The demon shrieked, screaming denials, even as his claws dripped goblin blood on the pavement. That pavement– and everything else in Durham— was covered in a layer of yellow pollen. Spring had reached North Carolina and my allergy spell was barely holding strong this year. Another few days of this and I’d need to buy yet another charm.
“Okay,” I said. “Onto our next order of business. I’m going to ask you a question, and I’ll know if you lie.”
Six months of this. Six months with the dagger I now clutched in my fist and I was still no closer to learning the truth.
Asparas froze, his eyes widening as I rolled him over with my foot. He bared his fangs at me as his tail whipped out, aiming for my leg. I sidestepped and gave him a disappointed shake of my head as I reached into the pocket of my jeans for the picture I carried everywhere.
“Have you ever seen this woman before?”
“No.”
The Mistilteinn Dagger began to glow a dull red, and I gaped at it. The demon was lying. For a moment, I stood frozen as I attempted to come to terms with it. After two and a half years of searching, Asparas was the first creature I’d ever interrogated who had recognized the picture of my mother.
“Who killed her?”
“I don’t know.”
Truth. “But you know something. When did you see her?”
Little known fact about lesser demons: They have photographic memories. It helps them break out of contracts when they’re summoned by idiots who want a demon on a leash but have no idea how to phrase their orders in a way that the demon can’t escape.
“December 18th, 72AP.” Asparas’s voice was sulky and he beat his wings again. Unfortunately for him, one of my throwing knives had cut through the membrane of his wing when I found him crouched over the goblin.
It took me a moment to connect the date. December 18th, 72 AP was the day my mother died. Seventy-two years after the first portals were opened on earth, my mother was murdered— likely by one of the creatures who’d originally streamed through, making this world their home.
“Who did you see with her? Who killed her?” I knew better than to ask multiple questions at once, but I was officially flustered.
“She was already dead,” the demon snarled. “Just another witch corpse, and no way for me to feed. Why would I care?”
I took a step closer to the demon and tilted my head. He froze. I kept my voice very quiet, and he began to tremble.
My voice was very quiet. “Was there anyone else near her?”
Asparas stayed stubbornly silent and I crouched next to him, keeping one eye on his sharp teeth. “Answer me and I’ll put in a good word with the Mage Council.”
The dagger glowed red and I sighed. Unfortunately, it was an equal-opportunity artifact, and it reacted to my lies as well. “I’ll tell the Council you cooperated,” I amended, and the red disappeared.
The demon cursed in a language I didn’t recognize, but his eyes darted as he weighed the pros and cons. Finally, he snarled at me.
