Chapter Five

If the cut on my arm was really as bad as Seir said, surely Stolas would have taken me to a hospital instead of a ‘Tailor.’ My arm had gone numb, but I’d long since learned to ignore things that wouldn’t kill me.

Being sent to the med-ward in prison was next to impossible unless you were bleeding to death.

The decor shifted as we stepped into the next room of the store. My stomach flipped, even if the ground under my feet remained steady.

The dust was replaced by black and white checkered tiles and a leather couch. A reception desk sat on the other side of the room, and a female demon with golden skin filed her nails—not bothering to look up as we approached.

“Appointment?” She drawled, her ice-blue eyes flicking to Stolas in irritation.

“Seir referred us,” Stolas said impassively.

“Hmm.” A lot of judgment was loaded into the sound. She put down her nail file and whirled around on her chair, knocking on the door behind her. “Tailor?”

“Yeah?” A grumpy voice called from behind the door.

“Seir sent a referral.” She drawled.

“For fuck sake!” The Tailor barked back. A moment later, a bulbous head poked around the door, hidden behind strange glasses—a dozen lenses stacked around a lollipop human face. The Tailor’s eyes narrowed, visible through each of the magnifying lenses. He frowned at Stolas, and his nose twitched.

“The fallen prince.” The Tailor regarded him with mild curiosity. “Come in, I don’t have all day.”

Stolas shrugged as we skirted around the reception desk, following the demon into his office.

Though Stolas had told me he had an errand in Lust to run, and clothes were a pitstop, I felt like an accessory. A backpack Stolas was carrying around for the day.

The Tailor rushed around the room, patting the exam chair as he brushed past. The large apparatus sat in the center of the room, made of black leather and tilted back like a dentist's chair. There weren’t any sewing machines or fabric. Maybe a Tailor was a special demon word for doctor.

“ Strip .” The Tailor didn’t look up as he barked the command.

Stolas turned away, his gaze fixed on a fascinating spot on the plain wall.

I had no such modesty. I’d spent a decade showering in front of fifty other women. Shitting with the door open and bending and coughing during every room search. I cared about my rolls of fat in an abstract way, wishing I didn’t have the shelf under my belly button that made my pants size larger than my top half, but there was nothing I could do about it. Not in the next ten seconds

If Stolas found my pudge a turn-off, he was welcome to feel all the buyer remorse he wanted.

I took off the shapeless polyester dress, leaving me in the tent-like prison-issue panties. Grey and unappealing. The Tailor waved a hand to the chair, and I sat down. The room was cold, and I wanted the appointment over as quickly as possible.

“How did you injure yourself?” The Tailor flicked a magnifying lens over his glasses. Staring at me with bug-like eyes. When I didn’t answer, he raised a thin brow and agitatedly glanced at Stolas. “Give your human leave to speak.”

“She can’t speak.” Stolas didn’t look up.

“She can.” The Tailor sniffed, turning back to me with curiosity. He lifted a hand, his finger brushed against my arm. My bicep was swollen. A small nick from the barbed wire at the gauntlet, nothing significant enough to make a fuss about.

“But you don’t like to speak, do you, Bean Sídhe ?” The Tailor continued in a dreamlike voice. “Too much death.”

The Tailor looked me in the eye, and I froze. My scream echoed in my throat, and my teeth ground together to hold it inside.

He knew what I was.

Bean Sídhe.

Stolas’s muscles locked, but he kept his gaze on the wall.

The Tailor snapped out of whatever trance had come to him. “Saltwater.” He clicked his fingers. “Dilutes the iron.”

I didn’t dare move. Not even to look at the Tailor. His glasses were not ornamental—he had seen right through me in moments. I could only hope Stolas had no idea what a Bean Sídhe was.

The pink sector of Lust reminded me of birds of paradise. A world away from the shininess of Pride, but warm and inviting—and colorful too. The buildings were painted in an array of jewel tones. The decorative windows showed the silhouettes of the occupants, with a rainbow of different colored lights ranging from blue to red and even purple. It brought to mind Amsterdam's red light district, but I had no idea what each color meant.

The demon in the Tailor’s office had been gold . Her skin color was easily mistaken for a tan under fluorescent lights. As we drove further into the Lust district, it became clear that incubi and succubae had a strange glow from within, like bottled sunlight. At least, I guessed they were sex demons on account of the hordes of adoring fans.

We pulled up outside of a building that straddled the line between religious and obscene. The round tops of each tower looked suspiciously like breasts facing the sky. Despite its location amid the Red City, surrounded by the busy metropolis, it boasted an expansive garden at the front with a fountain.

Stolas parked the SUV outside the iron gate and sighed deeply as he looked up at the palace in the middle of the city.

I had no idea what to expect, and Stolas’s reaction gave me no hint. If anything, he seemed vaguely irritated rather than fearful. After a moment, he left the car and walked to the passenger side, opening the door for me before I had a chance.

As a prisoner, I was used to doors being opened, mainly because I was usually in handcuffs at the time. As a woman, I didn’t know what to think.

Stolas kept his distance though we walked side by side through the iron gate. I knew it was iron because the black-painted metal turned my stomach and made the cut on my arm itch.

The moment we stepped into the garden, the magic hit me in the face like a wave of heat. My clothes felt too tight, and my skin itched with need.

Lust.

I glanced at Stolas, and he seemed unaffected. His face was set in an impassive mask, and his gaze was intent as he stared at the building—daring it to get out of his way.

As we approached the fountain, the subtle shapes I’d seen from the road appeared to be several sets of genitalia. I rolled my eyes. Cliche, but I supposed that was to be expected.

The door opened before we could knock, revealing a golden-skinned demon in a uniform. He tipped his head and gestured for us to enter, disappearing as we entered the foyer.

Everything was covered in blush velvet.

It was a sensory nightmare.

The walls, the ceiling, and the carpet. Like I’d stepped inside of a vagina.

Stolas flicked the tails of his long jacket behind his arms, jamming his hands into his pockets. He rocked on his heels as if he wanted nothing more than to run for the door.

I tried to mirror his stance, but everything was just too interesting —plus, the lust magic in the air made everything feel warm and sparkly.

I was officially drunk on sex magic.

A door opened on the other side of the room, revealing a golden-skinned woman wearing a red pantsuit and matching lipstick.

“Are you here for Murmur?” She asked, her voice husky and inviting.

Stolas pinched the bridge of his nose. “He’s here. Again?” He growled.

The succubus offered a disarming shrug. “I can go get him.”

“I’m here to speak to Asmodeus,” Stolas growled.

The succubus glanced at me. “She has to stay here.”

Stolas glanced at me, narrowing his eyes as he debated arguing. I shook my head. I was fine waiting. Maybe it was the lust magic talking, but I didn’t feel threatened.

“We’ll keep her company.” The succubus purred. “She can wait with Murmur in the parlor if that makes you feel better.”

“Sure.” Stolas shrugged, affecting disinterest.

The succubus stepped aside, gesturing to the open door.

“Go with her,” Stolas told me. “I’ll come get you when I’m done.”

I nodded, knitting my fingers together as I walked towards the golden woman. My steps felt too light, and my head swam. The further I got into the house, the less in control I felt.

I locked my teeth together, knowing that I couldn’t slip up. I couldn’t speak, not like this.

I had to hold it together.

The succubus led us away from the vagina room down a corridor that looked suspiciously like a hotel with numbered doors.

She chose a door, seemingly at random, and the noise rushed me as the lust magic increased tenfold.

The air smelled metallic, like burning copper. The lights were dim, without a window in sight, and smoke hung just above head level like an ominous fog. The music was low, enough to allow for conversation, but the bass echoed through my bones with every step.

I spotted him on the cushions in the corner, with a long pipe in his fingers, as he relaxed amidst a sea of red-tinged smoke.

Murmur.

I’d only seen him once. His hair was close-cropped, and his high cheekbones and regal bearing gave me the impression of a fox studying their prey. His eyes were bleary as he sucked on the pipe and reclined back on the velour cushions. Sprawled out and drunk.

I really hope I hadn’t walked into an opium den.

I approached Murmur, the only demon I knew, hoping he wouldn’t recognize me despite only meeting once. He was a member of Stolas’s ‘flock’ and one of my purchasers, after all.

But with every step, I felt less confident in my safety.

The warm and inviting glances from the golden-skinned lust demons seemed predatory, like coyotes stalking their prey from a distance.

I kept my shoulders squared and my eyes fixed on Murmur as I walked stiffly across the room, plonking down on the cushion next to the demon.

I tucked my knees to my chest and stared forward, hoping I’d be safe until Stolas returned.

“Did Stolas send you to reign me in?” Murmur exhaled a puff of smoke, laughing sardonically. “Perhaps he hoped I would no longer come here if I had a woman at home.”

I shrugged. Honestly? What he did was his business, not mine. People did a lot of weird and desperate things to satiate urges.

I knew more than one married woman in prison who also had a girlfriend behind bars. Receiving letters from their husband and bragging to all that would listen while getting railed by another inmate the moment they found a moment of privacy.

“I see the truth of everything.” He slurred. “But not you. I have to hear someone’s voice to know them. But you haven’t made a peep.”

The word ‘ know’ was loaded with meaning. I wondered what he meant. Did hearing someone’s voice let him see into their soul?

I wasn’t fool enough to let him look inside me. I was rotten to the core.

I hadn’t killed my foster family, but I might as well have. I was the reason they were dead. If I hadn’t snuck out that night, I could have called the police. To do something .

Instead, they had died in a horribly human way. Gunshot. For absolutely no reason. I’d been found in a pool of their blood, and the rest was history.

I reached out and patted Murmur’s knee with sympathy.

I could understand why he smoked. Why he needed to escape. To know the truth inside of people, inside everyone? I couldn’t imagine a worse torture.

Murmur inhaled a drag from his pipe, falling back on the cushion and staring at the ceiling. “I’m dying.” Murmur lamented.

Could demons die? I wondered, or perhaps he was being dramatic. I sniffed the air, wondering what drug he was smoking to be so melancholy.

The parlor looked like a rich person’s smoking lounge despite the beanbags on the floor. I spotted the sex demons, shimmering with lust magic as they drifted about the room. I had never seen so many demons in one place.

Incubi and succubae were easy enough to identify, but I had yet to find out what Stolas and the others were. And what sin they belonged to.

Murmur let out a low groan, his eyes fluttering closed as he slumped back and fell asleep. The pipe fell from his hands, and I snatched it up before it burnt the expensive carpet.

I sniffed the lip of the pipe. It smelled like blood.

A tinkling giggle sounded from behind me. I glanced over, meeting the gaze of one of the golden succubae. She held out her hand.

“My name is Amethyst.” She declared, “And he’s smoking demon blood.”

My brows arched in surprise as I looked down at the pipe in my hand.

“It’s more common amongst humans,” She rubbed her thumb against her bottom lip. “But all things considered, it probably makes him feel better.”

I wanted to ask why, but I remained silent.

“Have you heard of a Daemon ?” Amethyst stood up, drifting from her chair, to sit on the floor beside me. She took my hand and turned it over, brushing her fingers against my palm. She was beautiful, but I wasn’t interested. Still, she kept her lust magic in check. There was no outside force battering my inhibitions as she spoke. It seemed she was just a naturally touchy-feely person.

“A Daemon is a human, tainted by demonic magic. It is a gift we can give to those we wish to remain with us. To live forever.” Amethyst sighed, glancing at Murmur with pity. “We would offer such a gift to Stolas and his Flock, but no one wants to step on Lucifer’s toes. Even if he’s dead, now, there’s every chance he might return. One day.” Amethyst glanced over her shoulder. “You came here with Stolas, right? I heard Asmodeus made a deal. Her heart is too big. It’s going to get her in trouble.”

Asmodeus ? There was that name again. I recognized it but couldn’t place it.

Someone waved at Amethyst, calling her over. She smiled apologeticly before drifting away.

I sat, bored, with an unconscious Murmur while the demons surrounding us smoked blood and drank themselves silly before pairing off and leaving the room.

Less than an hour passed before Stolas entered the room, his lip pursed and his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Murmur without sympathy.

Stolas clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth before he remembered I was there. “Murmur didn’t spill any of our secrets, did he?” He asked, but based on the glint in his dark eyes, Stolas wasn’t joking.

I hadn’t understood much of what Murmur had said and had attributed most of that to his addled state. I hadn’t understood half of his mumblings.

My mind swam with sensory overload. My skin prickled from the residual lust magic, and I was more than ready to go home.

Stolas heaved Murmur over his shoulder, carrying him to the car.

Not a single demon paid us any mind as we left.

Stolas dropped Murmur into the backseat, and the drunk demon didn’t twitch.

Stolas didn’t bother conversing, though I wanted to ask about Behem and the party invitation. I wanted to ask him about the Tailor and Seir or his meeting with Asmodeus—whoever that was. Instead, I sat silently in the passenger seat as we drove through the city.

We parked up by the dumpster, and Stolas pulled Murmur from the backseat by his feet, slinging his over his shoulder as he carried the unconscious man into the house. I followed on his heels, wondering if the neighbors were used to this kind of thing. It was the Red City, so I guessed they were.

I didn’t even realize I hadn’t eaten all day until we walked through the front door.

Malphas was nowhere to be seen, but Caim stood at the counter drinking espresso from a tiny mug. He flashed us both a grin as if he hadn’t hurt my feelings the night before.

Caim glanced at Murmur’s unconscious form. A dark look clouded his expression. “He went to Lust, huh?”

Stolas shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ll put him in his room to sober up.”

“How did the meeting with Asmodeus go?” Caim sipped his coffee.

Stolas’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Caim. “Two more missing.”

Caim’s lips rounded to an O.

Clearly not part of the conversation, I sauntered past the two men, dropping my paper shopping bags as I made my way to the fridge. I grabbed a bottle of OJ and drank from the carton as I thought of Malphas’s pretty boy face creased in anger.

I tried not to look at Caim as I drank from a glass. I felt his eyes on mine as a curious hush stole all conversation.

I was trying hard not to be angry at Caim—the one demon I could actually speak to in the house—but I was .

He was a hypocrite.

I’d wager that Caim had killed more people than I had.

I’d killed zero people, so it wasn’t a hard record to beat.

“I see Seir worked his magic.” Caim waggled his brows. “You look almost human, Maddie.” He winked.

I raised a brow but didn’t sign a response.

Caim blinked, regarding me for a moment before turning to Stolas. “What did you have to trade for all those pretty clothes?”

“Behem is having a party.” Stolas removed his long coat and folded it over his arm. “Naturally, our attendance is required.”

Caim snorted and put down the tiny mug. He flicked his ear, revealing the curl of his horn. “Run that by me again?”

“Behem.” Stolas clipped.

“Gluttony? Since when has Seir been in with Gluttony?” Caim snorted. “You won’t catch me at that bottom-feeders mansion. I might have spent millennia as a statue for crimes against demon-kind, but I won’t go to Gluttony. I won’t do it.”

Stolas gave him a long look. “Dramatic, aren’t you?”

“Statues ?” I signed, unable to help myself.

Caim signed back. “ Curiosity outweighs your hurt feelings. Interesting.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Maddie wants to know why we were statues.” Caim lifted a shoulder and let it drop in a half-hearted shrug. “Maybe she can tell us why she killed her foster family at the same time? We could light a bonfire by the dumpster and make an evening of it.”

I narrowed my eyes, seeing through his act immediately. Caim liked to attack as a form of defense. If I asked a question he didn’t like, he circled right back to my past—trying to hide his.

I shrugged, letting it go. It didn’t matter to me.

“Where is Malphas?” Stolas asked, hanging his jacket on the hook on the back of the door.

“There was a lead.” Caim shrugged. “A doctor from one of the prisons has a bee in their bonnet about an inmate. Apparently, there was a clerical error, and two prisoners have vanished.”

“The missing two?” Stolas guessed.

I thought back to intake. To the gauntlet. Higgins and Peck. How my name had been called.

Had those two women gone missing?

Had someone smuggled them out of the Red City?

Had it been Dr Holdsworth?

Stolas’s eyes flicked to mine, but he turned away. I sensed his thoughts as if they were written on his face. He wanted to ask me about the two inmates. I knew exactly who they were talking about.

I saw the moment Stolas dismissed me, and it hurt .

People often equated silence with a lack of intelligence. Stolas had done just that, even if he hadn’t been aware of his actions.

I grabbed a bag of chips and salsa from Malphas’s stash, refusing to look either demon in the eye as I retreated to the guest room.

The Tailor’s words echoed through my mind—Bean Sídhe.

Stolas was either ignorant of what that meant or good at playing possum. I couldn’t decide which. That demon played his emotions too close to his chest.

Maybe that was what his meeting had been about? Running across the city to report me to the Big Bad.

‘ Hey! Look Asmodeus! I found a Bean Sídhe. You should put a chain on her neck and force her to use her magic!’

I felt out of place and out of my league, almost like going to prison for the first time again.

If I went back in time and told the me of a year ago, she would be sleeping on a down comforter, surrounded by demons, and she would have laughed in my face.

I was usually pretty good at rolling with the punches. I kept my nose clean in prison and didn’t mouth off (ha!), but I was in the Red City now.

The rules had changed.

I didn’t know where I stood, and that bothered me.

If they find out what a Bean Sídhe is, I’m fucked.

I had to get away. Disappear.

I’d gleaned enough from Seir that Stolas didn’t have a lot of clout in the Red City. If he let those words slip to the wrong person...

I’d always had an impulsive streak as a teenager. I’d often compared it to another set of hands grabbing the steering wheel and wrenching control away.

My body had already taken over as my mind kept turning over the pros and cons of running away. I eased open the guest room window and climbed out, dropping to the path at the side of the house without a sound.

I was in the human district, the safest part of the Red City, I hoped. I’d find somewhere to sleep. I’d done it before. Slept rough. It wasn’t the best option, but it was my only one.

I’d been called an idiot, a retard, or just plain slow more times than I could count in prison. Like rain, I’d always let it wash over me because deep down, I knew I wasn’t anything they said I was. So what if I was silent. It was for the safety of other people—not me.

It wasn’t until I was three streets away from the single-story house, surrounded by squat, ugly buildings, all colored the same drab gray—save for the graffiti—that I realized maybe I should have thought things through before I’d climbed out of the window and set out on my own like an angry child.

I hadn’t even thought to pack food, and I was always thinking about food. A side effect of having your meals provided by the state and rolling the dice on being given an edible meal versus dog food.

I kept walking as the sunset. The street lamps were few and far between. More broken than working.

After finding my mother in Portland, I’d run away.

I’d heard the creature eating her and knew deep in my bones I was next.

There was an Irish phrase my mother used to mutter, waving her hands in prayer as she spoke.

Níl luibh ná leigheas in aghaidh an bháis.

There is no remedy or cure for death.

I’d slept rough for a few weeks, only remembering the fatigue and hunger that came with the cold streets as I stood in the Human district alone.

My new clothes kept me warm, the only comfort I could find.

I had to keep moving.

Away from the train tracks and the demon part of the city. The ground grew more uneven, the asphalt cracked and in disrepair. I’d thought Stolas lived in a bad part of town, but the further I got from the tracks, the worse the human district got.

Closer to the wall surrounding the city, even the scant street lights struggled to blot out the shadows.

A single bastion of hope stood on the road to the wall. A bar with a neon sign flickering in the darkness.

Pete’s . A human name if I ever heard one.

I had credits. Mr Jingle had said so. They were attached to the sigil on my arm. I’d get a drink, Dutch courage, before I found somewhere to settle for the night once the people were off the streets. Somewhere sheltered from the rain and cold.

I pulled my jacket up to my throat as I pushed into the bar, my prison-issue sneakers stuck to the floor as I padded into the warmth.

I’d been arrested shortly after my eighteenth birthday. I’d never been in a bar before. Prison hooch didn’t count when it came to alcoholic experiences, either.

I approached the bar, giving the bartender a sheepish smile. It was loud, but not loud enough that I could disguise my silence as anything else but strange.

I pointed to the closest beer tap, and the bartender got the message—even if I wanted something more potent.

“Hey!” A female voice called out, and I turned toward the sound. My neighbor Aimee stood up from her table, waving her hands like a mad woman.

The bartender pushed my beer across the bar, gesturing for my arm. He scanned my sigil with something akin to a wand, and I went to Aimee’s table.

“Guys!” Aimee’s smile was sloppy. “This is... My neighbor.” I noticed the pause as she hesitated over my name. I had never told her.

Another woman sat next to Aimee, her hair perfectly coiffed in a style more fitting of the nineties. Opposite, two men sat, deep in conversation.

Aimee waved her hands to the blonde woman. “That’s Darla.”

Sometimes, I hated my silence, but this was not one of them.

I lifted my hand with a limp wave, excused from summoning awkward small talk.

“She doesn’t speak,” Aimee whispered to Darla, covering her mouth with her hand but not lowering her voice. She was drunk.

Darla’s lips ticked with a pleased smile.

One of the men, his hair pulled back in a ponytail and his shoulders bared in a muscle top, stood up. “Shots!” he declared.

I breathed a sigh of relief, agreeing with him. Shots, indeed.

Aimee, Darla, William, and Winston worked together on the Red City crew. Darla did hair, which I should have guessed, and the W’s (the nickname for the collective members of the gay couple) were both makeup artists.

I wasn’t updated with the Real Housewives of the Red City. There had been one television in the rec room in prison, and programming depended on who had the remote. But I managed to follow along with the conversation, nodding appropriately.

Aimee and the W’s loved to talk, which was just as well because I didn’t have much to add. Darla eyed me warily, but as the shots flowed, she relaxed slightly.

That was until the demons walked through the door.

I didn’t realize how drunk I was until I stood up, my body shifting from to the side as the world rocked like a pirate ship fairground ride.

I immediately recognized Caim with his red eyes, playful smile, and curved ram horns. The short-haired demon Murmur stood at his side like the embodiment of the Grim Reaper, with his golden retriever sidekick.

It seemed the Murmur had woken up, and he wasn’t pleased about it. I was willing to bet Stolas had sent him out after me.

Both demons zeroed in on me immediately. I would have said it was a coincidence, but they shot toward me like two bouncers, ready to kick me to the curb.

If I could speak, I would have petulantly whined: Not in front of my new friends! But I knew it was useless. The fun police had come to get me.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my wrist, tossing my hair away from my face and waving goodbye to Aimee and her entourage.

Darla spluttered when she spotted the demons, and I hid my satisfied grin behind my long hair.

Yeah, they’re with me . I snickered.

Caim sidled up to me, dipping down and heaving my swaying body against his. “We have whiskey at home, Maddie.” He winked.

“She probably wanted to get away from you, Caim,” Murmur said dryly, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected an attack from behind.

Caim blew a raspberry before he noticed the humans at the table. “Maddie, you didn’t tell me you have friends.”

“ Asshole .” I signed.

Caim gasped. “So rude.”

“What did she say?” Murmur cocked his head to the side.

“Learn ASL, Prick.” Caim’s lips ticked with a smile. “Then you’d know.”

Murmur sniffed and turned away.

“Who are you?” Darla leaned forward

“Me?” Caim shot her an innocent smile. “I’m Maddie’s roommate.”

“Can demons even live in the human district?” Aimee muttered, staring at her drink as if it had personally wronged her.

Winston shrugged.

“Who cares?” Darla licked her lips.

Caim’s eyes flashed. Either he was going to jump across the table to kill her, or he planned to fuck her. I couldn’t tell which.

Something turned sour in my belly. Which was definitely the alcohol, and not for any other reason.

“Let’s get home.” Murmur interrupted the silent standoff. “Stolas wants a house meeting.”