I hadn’t picked up many of the demonic words he peppered through his speech, but that one was easy: stupid humans.

“Deal,” I said. “Now would you get off me?”

“Why? I am not hurting you.” As though to prove his point, he pushed a hand into my hair, his warm palm against my cheek.

I grabbed his wrist to yank his hand away—assuming I could—and the sensation under my palm belatedly registered in my brain. My eyes popped wide and I shoved myself up.

My sudden movement startled him and he released my hair. I caught his arm and ran my palm from his elbow to the strap that crossed his right shoulder, then pressed both hands to his bare stomach below his leather-and-plate chest armor.

“You’re warm!” I exclaimed. “Even warmer than me! Your skin was so cold before. Are you sick? Do you have a fever?”

“I do not know those words.”

“Are you ill? Unwell?” Warmth radiated from his skin into my palms. His temperature had to be at least two degrees higher than mine. “Are you supposed to be this warm?”

“Yes. I recovered vīsh in the light. Outside.”

“You … you powered up your magic in the sunlight?” I realized. “That’s what you were doing after healing me … before you set that other demon loose. Why did you do that, by the way?” I added, my tone hardening.

He shrugged dismissively. The motion caused his abdomen to tense under my palms—and I realized I still had my hands pressed firmly to his bare stomach.

His bare stomach of hard, taut muscles that could put any non-demonic man to shame.

I snatched my hands away, heat flushing through my cheeks. He didn’t seem to have noticed—or didn’t care—that I’d been touching him in a way human females did not touch human males they weren’t intimately familiar with.

His face appeared in front of mine, a curious frown tweaking his lips. “What is wrong with your head? Your skin is changing color.”

“It’s nothing!” My cheeks, of course, grew even hotter. “I’m fine.”

“Na? But why—”

“It’s nothing!” I scrambled across the mattress to the bed’s farthest edge, then rolled onto my side with my back to him. “I’m tired. I need to sleep.”

Quiet spread through the room. I switched off the light, plunging us into darkness, then settled back down and forced my shoulders to relax.

“Payilas dilēran,” he muttered.

That one I couldn’t translate, but I would bet my measly savings it wasn’t complimentary.

Chapter Eighteen

I cleared my throat. “Are you sure this is the place?”

Standing beside me in the sheltered doorway, Amalia looked at her phone for the third time. “This is the address. And it says right there, ‘Grand Grimoire.’”

Across the street, a plain three-story building with a faded white exterior sat next to a narrow alleyway. The road slanted downward and the main level of the building was embedded in the hillside, giving it a weirdly crooked appearance. Steady rainfall pattered the asphalt, and muddy rivulets followed the curb as they raced down the slope.

A faded green awning boasted the guild’s name, and matching green bars covered the main-level windows. The building’s exterior had been recently painted but graffiti tags covered the glass panes.

“They might not be open,” I hedged. “It’s a holiday.”

“Halloween isn’t a real holiday.” She shot me a stern look. “Quit being a chicken. You need to act like a proper contractor.”

She marched into the rain and I reluctantly skittered after her. Regardless of how I acted, no one would believe a five-foot-one waif with glasses was a demon contractor.

The entrance was set back from the sidewalk and green gates blocked the alcove. I stubbornly hoped they’d be locked, but Amalia pulled them open with ease.

The dim interior revealed a few shelves and racks half stocked with board and card games. Guilds were required to masquerade as legitimate public or semi-public businesses—so the comings and goings of their members didn’t draw suspicion—but this was a poor effort. Dust liberally coated all surfaces.

Amalia swept to the counter and slapped the small bell beside the abandoned cash register—a model from the eighties, by the look of it. It took a solid two minutes of bell abuse before a lock clattered and a door at the back flew open. A burly man with a thick beard and shaved head scanned us, his dark eyes glaring.

“We’re closed today, girls,” he barked. “Shop somewhere else.”

“We’re not here for your shit games,” Amalia shot back. “Is your GM in? We sent an email about doing an interview this morning.”

“What hole did you two just climb out of? We ain’t doing interviews today. There’s a code-black alert in effect. The MPD shut down most of the Eastside and every combat guild has teams on a search rotation.”

The Eastside? But the demon had been blowing up Uncle Jack’s house in West Vancouver when Amalia and I had fled … to the Eastside. Had the winged demon tracked our departure? I shuddered at the thought of that thing stalking us.

“So …” Amalia drawled. “Your GM isn’t in, then?”

“Shit,” the man growled. “We’re busy, princess. Half the guild was up all night. Come back when the alert is off.”

She folded her arms. “We’re here now. If your guild wants a shot at recruiting a newly discovered, one-of-a-kind demon, you’ll make time for an interview.”

My eyes bulged. That boast was the opposite of blending in!

The man reassessed Amalia, taking in her tight black jeans and leather jacket—purchased this morning to replace her ruined dress. Her dirty blonde hair fell down her back in loose, messy waves, and makeup—borrowed from me—darkened her eyes. She looked like a total badass.

Then he shifted his appraisal to me. As his gaze traveled from my shoulder-length brown hair to my powder-blue raincoat and snug jeggings, his eyebrows bunched together. He gave my white sneakers a final disapproving grimace.

“You should’ve left your little sister at home,” he told Amalia. “Our guild isn’t kid-friendly. This way.”

Amalia followed him through the door and I trailed after them, fuming. Just because I was short didn’t mean I was a child. I adjusted my glasses, wishing I could take them off.

Beyond the dusty shop was a maze of equally neglected offices. Our guide led us up a dimly lit staircase to the second floor, where we entered a large room scattered with comfy sofas and chairs. A projector screen occupied one wall and a few tables, jumbled with computers and laptops, lined the back. Large windows let in abundant light, brightening the space despite the dark maroon walls.

A dozen people were slouched in chairs or lying across sofas. If I were stereotyping them, I’d go with “biker gang.” Leather, tattoos, beards. Big guys with big muscles. There were no women.

“Tae-min,” our burly guide called. “We’ve got visitors.”

A head appeared over the back of a sofa. Black hair poked out from beneath the man’s vivid orange beanie as he scrutinized us. He pushed off the sofa, a gray-and-white plaid shirt hanging open over his plain t-shirt. A pendant bounced against his chest but it wasn’t an infernus.

Burly waved at him. “Tae-min, our first officer.”

Guild hierarchy was straightforward. The guild master, or GM, was the ultimate authority and responsible for everyone in the guild. He was supported by one or more guild officers, who were like the shift supervisors—or camp counselors, or maybe army lieutenants. It depended on the guild.

I blinked bemusedly as Tae-min joined us. He wasn’t what I’d expected—neither bearded nor tattooed nor muscly. At maybe thirty years old, he was young for an officer.

“What’s up?” he asked.

On closer inspection, he appeared exhausted. So did Burly; he mustn’t have been exaggerating about being up all night. Every guild in the city was hunting the winged demon.

“This chick wants to interview for membership. She claims to have a newly discovered demon line on contract.”

Tae-min’s brown eyes brightened with interest. “A new lineage? There hasn’t been a new one in, what, a century? Who’s the summoner?”

“Confidential,” Amalia replied promptly. “Is your GM here?”

“No. It isn’t a great time, you know, with the alert.” He flapped his hand like it was no big deal, the unbound demon loose in the Downtown Eastside and probably slaughtering innocent people. “But I could call him—if you and your demon are legit.”

Other guild members, listening in on the conversation, wandered closer. I edged behind Amalia, my heart pounding. Things I hated: confrontation, any form of spotlight, and not knowing what I was doing in a strange place in front of strange people. This was my social-insecurities nightmare.

Amalia folded her arms, boldly staring Tae-min down. “We aren’t here to entertain you.”

“Look, we’d love to add a new contractor to our ranks, but Rocco is busy managing our teams for the demon hunt. I’m not calling him based on your claim alone. All things considered, I shouldn’t call him at all.”