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Chapter Twenty-Three
Luciana
I knock on the door to Drazos’ suite and when it opens, I see there are about twice as many demons as I’d expected.
Blinking, I stare out across the room as one of them gestures for me to come in. I realize it’s not just Drazos’ groupies here. A bunch of Caspian’s entourage is hanging out, too.
“Bubbly, anyone?” I call, lifting one of the bottles I’d brought. “Courtesy of Sebastian.”
“Oh, has the bribery begun already?” calls one of the demons with a grin.
“Would you rather it be torture?” responds another.
I paste a smile on my face as I pop open the bottle and start pouring glasses. What in the holy hell are they talking about?
Apparently, my poker face isn’t as good as I think it is.
“Don’t look so shocked, new girl,” chuckles the demon standing to my right, a woman with long black hair that reminds me a bit of Violet. “Are you a demon summit virgin?”
A chorus of howls and cat-calls spins around the room.
“It’s not a summit until there’s at least one murder!” someone yells.
Two other demons start jumping on the bed, pretending to stab each other. It feels like I’ve stepped into some kind of alternate universe of uber weirdness. And I’m a witch. It’s not like I haven’t seen my fair share of crazy.
“I confess,” I say, folding at the waist into a dramatic bow. “I am a summit virgin. Hit me with your best stories.”
I finish passing out glasses as the demons start spouting their stories, polishing off three bottles. I keep the last of the third bottle for myself and take a long chug straight from it. Something tells me I’m going to need it.
“Nothing can top the great decapitation of 1870,” hollers a demon on the other side of the room, making a gesture with his finger across his throat and lolling his tongue out of his mouth to mime a dead man.
“I beg to differ,” yells another. “You weren’t alive yet during the blood boil spell of the 1600s. Someone actually exploded.”
I try not to make a face, instead guzzling more champagne. More stories fly back and forth for a few minutes.
“Aside from the summits, what’s everyone’s favorite dreadful story?” I call when the summit stories seem to be dying down. “Something in more recent history, please, for us newbies.”
I’m hoping I’ll glean more valuable information out of this rowdy bunch. And maybe, if I’m very, very lucky, someone will talk about the blood banks.
“Not everyone in this room is privy to the latest awful and terrible things Darkness had cooking before she was locked up,” one of the demons says with a coy smile, staring at a group of Caspian’s staff on the far side of the room.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” snaps one of them.
“I think you know. Your boss isn’t exactly known for his brilliant strategy. He’s the brawn, not the brains.”
“Drazos is going to crush Caspian in the leadership vote,” another demon calls.
Caspian’s group stands up in a hurry, magic sparking at their fingertips. I put down my bottle, scooting back in my chair. That got heated really fast. Talk about a backfire.
“The champagne was brought in peace,” I call in what I hope is a soothing tone. “Let’s let our bosses fight things out. We can just drink and be happy.”
One of the demons looks over at me and then down at her glass. “This is poisoned, isn’t it?” she growls.
“What? No!” I gesticulate wildly with my hands. These people are nuts. “I’m drinking it, too, see?”
“Your boss sent someone here to poison us!” shouts one of Drazos’ group to the Caspian side of the room.
Shouts ping back and forth, and magic starts to fly as well.
