She squeezed the wood, suddenly terrified. This wasn’t her, having these thoughts, standing over the dead body of her father and wanting to laugh. This was someone else, someone cold who lurked inside her, someone who’d taken advantage of her relaxed and wandering mind to lower her shields and open herself to the energy of her demons.
She’d sat in that pew and fed on the mourners. It was their sadness, their pain, making her high.
Footsteps beat a muffled, quick tempo on the floor of the aisle behind her. Her knees gave out, and she fell into Maleficarum’s arms just a second before the world disappeared.
“It was tribute, Megan. They didn’t know it would upset you,” Rocturnus said again. Megan turned around to look at him, perched on the backseat of Greyson’s car. “They were trying to make you feel better, to pay you for letting them be there.”
“Yeah, I feel great now.”
“They thought you might punish them for staying through the whole service if they didn’t.”
“They know I’m not going to punish them,” she snapped. “Why can’t they just get—”
“They don’t know that, and even if they did they would still wish it wasn’t so, and you know it. They need their lives to be run in a certain way.”
“Then maybe we should just let them. Let them go be with someone who’ll beat them regularly, and leave me alone.”
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Greyson said, speaking for the first time since he’d put her in the car. She cringed, thinking of it. Everyone gathered outside, waiting for the casket to be loaded into the hearse for its trip to the cemetery…Just as well she hadn’t planned on going.
“Why not? I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired of it, the misery being pushed on me and I’m supposed to be pleased, and the crazy urges—”
“Urges?”
Shit, she hadn’t told him about any of the other stuff, had she? One more thing she was hiding from him. “Their crazy urges to have me punish them. What did you think I meant?”
He shrugged, but she didn’t like the quick sidelong glance he gave her. “Just asking.”
“So why isn’t it a good idea?”
“Well, aside from the very real possibility that you could die, there’s a distinct chance you’ll die.”
“Why?”
“Because, and I thought we all understood this, they’re connected to you. Physically connected. They’re part of your body. Remove them, remove that piece of demon inside you, and you remove your heart. Aside from the metaphysical issues—you could conceivably lose your soul—the physical effects would be devastating.”
Fuck. “But some of them have been leaving, right? And a few have died themselves. So I don’t get it.”
“They’re connected to you as a whole, not individually. Think of it as—as a flower, for lack of a more manly example. A few petals can fall off and it still looks like a flower, but if too many petals go, it’s nothing.”
“So without them, I’ll be nothing.”
“Yes.”
Roc shifted in his seat, breaking the gloomy silence. “Megan, they’ll be waiting. Can I give them your thanks?”
“What? Shit. You might as well. Tell them it was great to see them there, and, um, I’m pleased they came.” She was, even though she felt like someone had just slapped her. They really were trying to help.
Roc nodded and disappeared again.
“Greyson…what happens to a flower when a few of the petals fall off?”
“The other petals have to work harder to get sunlight, I think. Why?”
“Just wondering.” Maybe that was why her unusual desires had been stronger lately. Four of her demons had died. Several more—she wasn’t sure exactly how many—had gone to Ktana Leyak. So if she’d somehow been getting strength, or whatever it was, from them since September, and she needed that now to live…
That might explain why the experience in the church had been so different from the other ones too. Not a sudden, violent craving or aversion, but more like the few occasions in college when she’d smoked a joint. That light, floaty feeling, stealing through her body…it had been excessively pleasant.
Which made it even scarier.
Chapter 13
No, no,” Greyson said into the phone. “Kadagia. Yes. Goraner lisket ti bressma, okay?”
Megan stepped in front of him, her back to him so he could unzip her dress. This he did, giving her bra strap a tiny tug when he was done—a habitual gesture that made her smile.
They had about forty minutes before they would meet Brian and Tera for lunch. Just enough time for him to make some calls and her to—well, to flip through a magazine or watch lame daytime television.
Maybe she should get used to it, get herself hooked on a soap. She had nothing else to do during the day, after all. When Megan was little her mother had followed Guiding Light—she still remembered sitting next to her, watching. One of the only memories she had of feeling close to her mother.
Damn it! Why were these memories still hurtful?
“I need hin beranto etcha bayena, and sint restor. By tonight, escazer.”
She opened her suitcase and grabbed a black sweater and jeans, while Greyson kept ordering around his minions or whatever it was he was doing. The demon language flowed through the motel room like water, soothing and oddly comforting at the same time, a backdrop for her thoughts that was better than the talk show set to low volume.
Once she’d gotten past the initial terror at the thought of feeding from her demons, it didn’t seem so unmanageable. Creepy, yes. But she didn’t eat much as a rule. She could handle this. None of the urges she’d had so far had come to fruition, after all, which meant they didn’t have to.
Today it had been forced on her. It wouldn’t be again.
Fooling herself? Very possibly. But it made her feel a little better, and right now she would grasp at just about anything that would make her feel better. It was easier too, in the unreality of Grant Falls, so far away from her real life. Here the fact that she’d lost her practice didn’t seem as important. The worries plaguing her receded.
The Christmas season always had an air of time suspended anyway, especially at the Serenity Partners office, where they tried to give their patients a sense of family and celebration. There, and at every other job Megan had ever worked, the last couple of days before the holiday were spent eating rumballs and doing shots—which were basically the same thing, if Megan was doing the cooking—opening presents, running into other offices in the building with cookies and snacks…it was as if a bubble existed, and in that bubble responsibilities disappeared.
Death was kind of the same way, although with far less tinsel and photocopying of private parts.
Speaking of which…
Greyson hung up, then immediately started dialing again. He glanced back at her, still standing in her bra and panties, and raised his eyebrows, but lifted the phone to his ear just the same.
She could have blamed it on her fear, and the need to be held and comforted. She could have blamed it on her sadness and the need to forget. She could even have blamed it on that strange biological urge to reproduce that takes over so many people when a death occurs.
But those were all excuses, and she knew it. And she didn’t care.
Her bare feet made no sound as she crept up to him, circling his waist with her arms. He kept talking, but his free arm stole around her, his palm resting possessively on the small of her back as she stood on tiptoe to nibble at the smooth, smoky-scented skin of his throat. His fingers found the top of her panties and insinuated themselves underneath. She felt goose bumps rise on her back.
“What? No, tell them no. Not until they hear from me.”
Good, but not quite good enough. One by one she undid the buttons of his white shirt, then lifted his T-shirt to expose a slice of hard, flat stomach. She scratched it lightly. His breath hitched in his chest. Megan slid her hand down far enough to know his mind wasn’t entirely on his conversation anymore.