Page 48
“Lost?” it asks. Its voice has a man’s shape but a pit underneath it, words echoing faintly where they should end. “No, no. Merely curious.”
“Curiosity’s a noble pursuit. Usually improved by minding your own business.”
The demon in front clicks its tongue. “Sharp mouth.”
“I’ve been told.”
“And sharp eyes.” It leans forward, sniffing the air with visible pleasure. “Gold under glamour. Heat under skin. Soul-hunger under manners.”
My stomach turns, but I keep my face still. “You rehearsed that?”
“Some of us hear rumors.”
“Some of you should get hobbies.”
The one on the balcony laughs again, claws tapping the railing. “Hybrid.”
The word lands in the lane like a dropped knife.
A few people at the far end slow, sensing trouble without understanding the shape of it. A man hauling a basket of kindling glances over, decides he has urgent business elsewhere, and keeps walking. Two girls in patched shawls tug each other toward the opposite alley, their eyes wide.
Good.
Leave.
The demon in front steps closer. Its borrowed face ripples at the edges, skin twitching as if something beneath is impatient with the disguise. “Vaerith wonders whether the hunger is rumor or function.”
Of course he does.
Anger moves through me, warming the rainwater under my boots. “Tell Vaerith he can wonder into his own hand and keep me out of it.”
The smiling demon’s face brightens. “Oh, that is lovely.”
“Glad someone’s enjoying themselves.”
“We were told you might posture.” It circles lazily to my left, trying to split my attention. “We were also told you might run.”
“I’m considering a third option.”
“Which is?”
“Being disappointed in all of you.”
That earns a hiss from the balcony.
The demon in front lunges before the sound finishes.
It comes fast, too fast for the human shape it wears, one arm unfolding into a blackened limb tipped with hooked claws. The strike is angled high toward my throat, dramatic and obvious, meant to force a visible reaction. I catch the wrist, twist, and drive my elbow into what should be its ribs.
The impact feels wrong.
The borrowed body dents around my arm, soft and brittle at once, and the demon’s face peels open into a grin that runs nearly to its ears.
“Hungry?” it whispers.
The other two move.
The one behind me shoves a passing cart into the lane, sending baskets scattering and a mule screaming. The cart driver falls hard, cursing as clay jars shatter across the stones. The rooftop demon drops toward a cluster of civilians who have not moved fast enough, landing with a wet slap of too-long feet and too-wide hands.
