Christina’s mouth left my lap. The blonde stared straight ahead, her face the color of skim milk. “What the fuck was that!?”
While Christina wiped her mouth, I stuck my head out of the driver’s side window. The man still stood there, as if nothing had happened. He’d barely reacted to a near head-on collision. A thought occurred to me: was he really there? Maybe I’d reacted too quickly to another of the demons Mareth had been pointing out. But then, she’d seen it as well.
The man gave a start, like someone snapping out of a trance. His gaze followed the path of our van, lingering on the skid marks across the asphalt. A dark, angry look settled over his features, and he began to shimmer.
“Tell me that’s just another one of those oppressions you were talking about,” I yelled, jerking my chin toward Mareth.
“Um, Luke?” Mareth clung to the edge of the backseat like a gargoyle, craning her neck to see the strange man. “You might want to drive…”
Too late. The edges of the man’s body wavered, turning blurry. Within the span of a heartbeat he’d grown a foot in size. A vicious growl tore itself from his throat, deepening into a register no human could match as he continued to transform.
A demon, then. Only this one wasn’t merely a possessed human, or a devil on someone’s shoulder. This creature clearly stood a rung or two higher on the food chain.
It raced across the street with a roar, coalescing into the form of an eight-foot, musclebound demon. A single large horn extended from the center of his forehead, like a rhino’s tusk. Fangs glistened in his too-wide mouth, studded with precious metals like a rapper or an Instagram star. Torn clothing hung from his frame in tatters: apparently the transformation only affected his physical body, not his clothes.
He slammed into the side of the van, nearly flipping it over. Christina screamed, pressing the body that had been so intent on pleasing me a few moments ago against the driver’s side door in hopes of escape. Mareth leapt from the backseat, landing atop the duffle bag sitting between the seats.
“Drive, Luke,” the succubus begged, pointing at the dashboard. “Before we can’t!”
“What is that guy?” I asked, reaching for the steering wheel. Something was wrong—I gunned the gas, but the van refused to move an inch. The engine whined, turning over the way it was supposed to-
I glanced in the rear view mirror. The demon held the rear bumper of the van in one hand, lifting it far enough off the ground for the wheels to lose contact. He grinned savagely at the sight of me, then dropped the bumper and sprang forward, seizing hold of the driver’s side door.
Before I knew what was happening, my feet touched the ground. The demon hauled me bodily out of the van, its claws clutching a fistful of my computer repair uniform. It dragged me toward the rear of the vehicle, growling.
“Just what the hell are you doing, buddy?” The demon lifted me off the ground, slamming me against the same spot on the van he’d dented on his approach. “You’re driving like a fucking maniac! What, did you just get your demonic driver’s permit yesterday!?”
More like ten minutes ago, I thought weakly. Struggling in the demon’s grip, I tried to get my feet back on the ground for leverage. If I didn’t do something soon, somehow, this demonic dude was going to end my stint as potential next Archlord of Hell with one single definitive squeeze.
“Listen,” I gasped, reaching for the driver’s side door. I had to get away before this guy decided to beat the shit out of me. “There’s been a mistake!”
I looked up into the demon’s eyes. For a moment, our gazes met—then the demon reared back, confusion filling its face. It dropped me to the ground, waving its hands in front of its face as if I’d blinded it with a halogen bulb. What had I done? For just an instant, I’d felt something. Something akin to the effect I had on Christina and Mareth.
Much to my surprise, the demon dropped to one knee in the street. Even in a posture of submission, the big guy had an inch or two on me. Taller than an NBA forward, I thought, still dazed from the attack. I wonder if they hire demons to play ball?
“I apologize, Lord,” the demon said, its horrifying voice twisted into a mode of contrition. “I have laid hands on one of my betters. I will accept whatever punishment you deem necessary.”
I glanced up and down the block, a little confused by the display. No one had come out to check on the commotion at least—just the same sleepy row of houses and quiet streetlights.
“That’s, uh, really not necessary,” I said, backing away. “No harm done.” Looking behind me at the huge dent in the van, I added, “no serious harm.”
The demon seemed surprised by my response. “Are you certain, my Lord? Say the word and I will flagellate myself right here on this street.”
Wouldn’t that be a sight? “No,” I said, forcing out a laugh. “Really, you don’t have to do anything like that for me. No whippings needed today, thanks.”
Mareth hopped out of the passenger’s side door, smoothing down her skirt. I noticed the way she scanned every side of the street before joining my side, checking every possible avenue of attack for threats. I liked that about her—even as a flighty demon, she kept vigilant. Although it made me wonder why she needed to
