Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

Guy hit him with a knockback. "I know she is lovely, but we must ask you to admire the performers from afar, for their safety...and yours."

I lifted the bowl. Jaz fell into step behind me. That wasn't part of the plan, but Guy's expression didn't change.

A buzz of unease rippled through the guests now. I caught the odd half-formed thought, weak and disjointed, the negativity too low for me to pick up more than snippets of "Is this...? Shouldn't someone...? What's going...?"

Guy took the bowl in one hand and offered me the other, helping me onto the car.

"Money." Guy's voice echoed through the hall as he lifted the bowl. "It makes the world go round. Or so they say. For folks like you, this--" he ripped open an envelope and pulled out a handful of hundreds, "--is the source of your power. Your only power."

A buzz of discomfort as some people glanced at their purses and pockets, thinking not of money, but of cell phones. No one took them out--they were just reassuring themselves that they were there, like sidearms, protecting them if this turned out to be more than a show.

"Where's our birthday girl?" Guy called.

Her friends parted around her.

"This is a lovely party, sweetheart. But if your daddy really loved you, he'd be giving you self-defense lessons instead of sports cars. Because this--" he flung the bills, "--doesn't protect you nearly as well as you think."

Now the phones came out. Guy wheeled on the closest woman to us, as she lifted one to her ear.

"Have a call to make? That's rather rude, but go ahead."

She pulled the phone from her ear and frowned at it.

"No signal? Handy things, reception blockers. Good for ensuring no annoying ring-tones interrupt a show. I'm afraid you'd need to step outside to use that, though I wouldn't recommend it. My performers hate to lose their audience."

One man strode toward the closest door. Guy waited until he was two steps from it, then hit him with an energy bolt that knocked him to his knees, gasping, as sparks flew.

When a group of teenage boys ran for the front door, a cloud of red smoke appeared in their path, twisting and writhing. A demon's head shot from the smoke. The boys fell back, screaming. A brave one raced for the next exit. Another red cloud. Then a huge dog's head lunged from it, snarling and slavering. Trip-wire illusions--sorcerer spells that activated when someone drew near.

Guy leaned down to me. "Cry havoc."

"And let loose the dogs of war," I murmured.

"And war it is, Faith," he said, barely audible over the screaming and shouting, as illusions sprang from every exit. "Never forget that. It's us versus them. They tell us not to make waves, to stay quiet, to buy peace by hiding." He met my gaze. "Do you like hiding, Faith?"

Without waiting for an answer, he spun and waved his hands, not murmuring his spell but shouting it. Sparks arced from his fingertips. Below us, Max cast and fog swirled through the room.

A vision flashed. A gun pulled from a pocket.

"Watch out!" I shouted to Guy as I spun, pinpointing the source. "There!"

The man didn't finish pulling out the gun before Guy hit him with an energy bolt. As he went down, Jaz tackled him. Another flash. This one auditory, little more than a snarl of rage. I yelled and pointed. Max flung a knockback spell at a woman as she ran for the buffet table, probably hoping to find a weapon there. Sonny took her down before the fog swallowed them.

Streamers started going up in flames as Bianca--dressed in black and nearly invisible--circled the room, setting them alight with her fingers. Guy and Max kept casting. Nothing more than special effects-

-fog and sparks and colored lights--but from the screams that filled the room, they thought the building was on fire, and ready to collapse around them.

I drank it all in--the horror, the panic, the terror. Chaos, sweeter and purer than any I'd ever known. For once, even the deepest part of me felt no guilt. As I watched the partygoers racing about, I saw the friends who'd abandoned me after my breakdown, when I'd first started seeing visions. In their screams, I heard adults who'd known me from childhood, whispering behind their hands "She was never quite right after that. Her poor mother..."

Guy tapped my arm, telling me it was time to move to the next phase. I stepped to the edge of the hood, ready to jump. Jaz swung over and extended a hand to help me.

"Like mice," Jaz whispered in my ear, gesturing at the partygoers. "See how they run. And for what? Fog and illusions and sparkly lights. Can you imagine what they'd do if we used real magic?"

His gaze met mine, sharp and hungry despite the lighthearted lilt in his words. Behind the mask, his pupils dilated and I could hear his breath quick and shallow as my own. Excitement. No, more than excitement. Arousal.

I looked up into those glittering eyes. Jaz stepped closer. His hand slid to the back of my head as he bent down, our masks rustling as they brushed, our lips--

A jolt and Jaz stumbled as Guy slapped his back.