Page 3 of Eat, Slay, Love

He keeps giving me space.

The realization that he’s telling the truth is irritating. It’s throwing off the rhythm of the fight. He should be pressing in, testing my guard, forcing me back. Instead, he continues to yield ground as though this is some sort of game.

I surge forward again, pushing doubt aside, channeling more magic through the blade. The symbol etched into the silver flare brighter, eager to complete what I have begun. When I strike this time, he lifts his forearm to block rather than dodge, and the blade bites deep enough to draw another line of blood. Real blood. It spills over his skin in dark rivulets, and he winces, cradling his arm.

“Stop,” he says, sharper now, urgency threading through the word. “Please. Look at him. Please.”

Please, echoes through my mind, words from ten years ago and replayed in my nightmares. Listen to me! Please!

The memory hits like a slap, and forces me to follow the demon’s gaze.

The man who had been slumped on the pavement is sitting upright, bracing himself with one hand on the ground. His breathing is ragged but steady. His eyes are unfocused and confused, yes, but… not hollow or empty. Not gone.

Alive.

The certainty in my magic flickers, destabilized, a compass briefly spun off true north. That hesitation is microscopic, a single faltering beat, but it is enough. I lose spatial awareness, and as I shift my weight to reposition, my heel drags across the salt line behind me, smearing what had been a clean boundary line.

Fuck.

The circle fractures with a sharp crack, the contained pressure releasing in a rush of displaced air that whips past us both.

Jonah huffs a surprised noise of pure disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he half-laughs.

The barrier collapses entirely, dissolving into nothing more than scattered salt at our feet. I move instinctively to redraw it, but Jonah is already gone, suit coat flaring behind him as he sprints down the block.

He doesn’t look back at first.

Eventually, he does. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, Nightmare,” he calls lightly, lifting a hand in a half-wave. “For what it’s worth? I’m happy it was you. You’re not a very efficient slayer. You’re terrible at this.”

He pauses, just long enough for something sharper to edge into his voice. “My wife would have appreciated your hesitation.” Then he’s gone.

What?

I remain where I am, largely humiliated, dagger still humming faintly in my hand, my magic unsettled and wrong beneath my skin, staring at the man on the ground who is very much alive. I sheathe my dagger and kneel beside him, placing a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”

He coughs once, patting himself down. “I… yeah, I think so. What happened?”

I sigh. “Your worst nightmare.”

2

By the time I get home, my adrenaline has nowhere to go, which means it reroutes directly into spite. And cheese.

I kick off my boots, drop my coat on the chair I never sit in because it’s for coats only, and pull my laptop onto the kitchen counter. Midnight online rabbit-holes are my specialty. Midnight cheese, too. Demon slaying, less so.

I peel open the wrapper covering the brie and take a bite right out of the wheel as I pull up a map of the side street where the demon—where Jonah—slipped away from me. I zoom out and in, taking note of cross streets and foot traffic patterns, proximity to bars, clubs, and bodegas.

Meow.

The hair on the back of my neck stands up, the way it always does when my giant black cat pads into the room. She fixes me with a look that suggests she is my landlord and I am several months behind on rent. This is ironic, considering she appeared in my apartment one day under circumstances I refuse to examine too closely—somehow entering the building, operating the elevator, and unlocking my door and breaking through my wards while I slept. All without opposable thumbs or any sort of visible agility. She weighs twenty-five pounds and moves like a creature who resents gravity. Less lithe panther, more furious, sentient ottoman.

She’s terrifying.

“What do you want, Batibat?”

Her gaze drops pointedly to my cheese.

“The vet said no more human food for you,” I remind her. “Only your special diet.”