In the Demon's Company (Demon's Assistant Book 2) by Tori Centanni

Author:Tori Centanni
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3, epub
Tags: Demon's Assistant Book 2
Publisher: Enigmatic Books
Published: 2015-08-03T06:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Downtown, the rain-slick streets glitter in the streetlights. It’s eerily quiet at this time of night. All of the businesses are closed and though people are walking around nearly every block, the sidewalks are far from crowded. Seattle’s Downtown shuts down at night, except for a few sporadic places, mostly concentrated on First Avenue. I head to the bus stop near Third to go back up the hill. I could walk but I’m jittery and uneasy, and would rather not.

I keep seeing the swirling silver in my mind and cold, unfeeling demons with frozen hands grabbing me from the shadows.

Someone grabs my shoulder. I whirl and look into the eyes of a strange man. He has dark hair and wears a sweatshirt beneath his puffy coat.

“Come with me,” he says. I shake my head, confused, and he waggles his pocket. I see a flash of metal: a gun. My heart pounds against my ribs. For a second, I think he’s one of the Moritas, like Xanan, but his face is red and puffy and his eyes are bloodshot like he’s been crying. He’s human. Besides, I doubt creatures like Xanan need guns. I swallow. “Come on,” he urges, tugging at my arm so hard he nearly pulls me over.

I dig my boots into the sidewalk. There’s no way in hell I’m going with him, but what do I do here? A dagger I don’t know how to use isn’t going to do any good against a bullet. But there are people around. Tired retail employees waiting for the bus, a guy smoking on the corner, a few drunk guys in Seahawks jerseys.

“Let go of me!” I yell, at the top of my lungs.

The guy with the gun looks startled. I duck and twist out of his grip like we were taught during a brief self-defense unit in Phys. Ed. I back up several feet, still aware of the gun trained on me. Several people are looking determinedly away, not wanting to get involved with whatever drama is playing out. Altercations at this bus stop are not unusual. But some people are watching.

“Go away!” I shout at him. One of the sports fans, a tall, dark-skinned guy who probably doesn’t realize this jerk has a gun, steps between us.

“You bothering her?” he asks.

“She—” the gun guy starts and stammers and tries to fumble for an explanation.

“Dude, back off. She doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

Silently thanking the guy for interceding, I bolt down the block and then run to a taxi parked on Fifth. I don’t hear footsteps after me and don’t see the guy in the puffy coat. I suspect that gentlemen held my attacker back. But I’m still impossibly relieved when the cab pulls away from the curb. I shove cash at the driver when we reach my building and then race inside, only stopping to breathe when the security door clicks shut behind me. Then I call Cam.

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