Personal Demon

HOPE: CRY HAVOC

The appearance of waitstaff in masks had caused little stir, even among the servers themselves. All were contract employees, and probably didn’t even notice their coworkers had changed. The girls noticed, though.

Soon each of the guys was surrounded by a coterie of admirers, cajoling them to take off their masks. Even Sonny was playing it up, making motions toward his shirt and, I guessed, offering the teens the choice between having him remove that or the mask.

Jaz had the birthday girl in his circle and was doing an impromptu magic show complete with sexy smiles aimed her way. Her parents watched indulgently, whispering to each other, probably trying to decide what kind of tip the catering service should get for this unexpected extra.

“Stay close,” Guy murmured as we headed for the front of the room, where the hood of the Jag protruded through the doors. A man stepped in front of us and fixed me with a sloppy grin.

“Did they save you for the second shift, cutie?” He waved his glass my way. “I’ll take another Scotch. And there’s a twenty in it if you just bring the bottle.”

Guy flicked his fingers in a knockback spell and the man stumbled.

“Hey,” he said, but it was halfhearted, as if he wasn’t sure whether the booze or Guy was to blame.

We were hailed several more times as we crossed the room, but we ignored the summons and the huffs of outrage when we didn’t stop. As we drew close to the car, Guy took a running leap and landed on the hood with a crack.

The room went silent as everyone stared at the masked server standing on the Jag’s hood. Yet scarcely a chaos vibe rippled from the crowd, the guests certain there was a logical explanation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Guy called. “I know some of you have already been enjoying the magic of our friends, but let me assure you, that’s only a taste of what’s to come.”

Guy shifted and the car’s hood cracked again under his weight. The general swirl of confusion swelled into anger. The birthday girl’s father strode forward.

“Young man, get off that-”

Guy’s fingers flew out in a knockback spell and the man staggered.

“I’m sorry,” Guy said. “We must ask that there be no interruptions during tonight’s performance.”

Not a single cry of horror or disbelief greeted Guy’s display. Instead, the anger wave subsided into murmurs and nervous giggles, as if the spell proved this was indeed a performance. The girl’s father started forward again, face mottled with anger.

“I don’t know what kind of stunt-”

He flew clear off his feet, sailing backward into the crowd. Now came the gasps, but scattered, most still convinced this was part of the show. What else could it be?

“And now, if my lovely assistant will help me get started…”

I walked toward the silver money bowl, aware of every eye on me. I concentrated on the vibes flowing past, searching for a clear, negative impulse directed my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaz step away from his admirers, ready to jump in if anyone tried to stop me. No one did.

I reached the bowl.

One man strode forward. “What are you-?”

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.

“Save it,” Guy said.

Jaz’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing, lip curling as if ready to spit something at the interruption. Then he went still, his eyes half closing, the look fading.

“Yes, boss.” He lowered his lips to my ear. “What a spoilsport, huh? Expects us to work.” His finger slid up my jawline and tickled my earlobe. “Later?”

I twisted to look up at him and our gazes locked.

“Please,” I said.

A sharp intake of breath and a final glimmer of frustrated lust. Then he dodged a second smack. We started forward, following Guy.

We found our target by the punch fountain. Cleo’s father stood there, alone, fists clenched, glaring around the room, as if that could fix matters, too enraged to even think of protecting his daughter.

Jaz’s hand slid from my waist and he was gone, circling wide around the man.

Guy stopped in front of the girl’s father. Not so much as a glance around to make sure Jaz was in position, trusting he’d be there when needed.

“You!” The father waved a hand, as if clearing the fog. “You won’t-”

“Get away with this?” Guy sighed. “So unoriginal. And, sadly, so wrong.”

“The police are probably on the way right now.”

Guy cocked his head. “I don’t hear any sirens.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “Do you know why? Because we’re using the best soundproofing money can’t buy.”

A thought flew from the father, as fast and sharp as a knife blade, and I only had time to start a warning, but Guy was ready and grabbed the man’s hand as he went to throw a punch.

The man stiffened as the barrel of a gun dug into his lower back. He glanced over his shoulder at Jaz.

“So you know what that is?” Guy said. “We normally avoid guns. Too easy to misuse. But this one came courtesy of your guests. You really should have tighter security. These days, you can’t be too careful.”

“What do you want?” the man asked through gritted teeth.

“We already have what we want.” Guy lifted the bowl he’d been casually toting in one hand. “Before we go, though, I wanted to congratulate you on raising such a philanthropic daughter.”

The man’s face screwed up. “What?”

“Philanthropic. It means-”

“I know what it means.”

“Do you? That’s not what I hear. Your family isn’t known for sharing with the less fortunate, but that’s about to change.”

“What the hell are you-?”

“Tomorrow, in the Miami Herald, you’ll find a small piece announcing your daughter’s decision to donate half her sweet-sixteen party money to women’s education in third-world countries.”

“You’re crazy. My daughter isn’t going to-”

“Oh, but she is.” He hefted the bowl. “You have my word that the charity will receive half the money in this bowl come morning…unless it’s reported stolen.”

“What?”

“If you report the robbery, I can’t donate the money, can I? But that article will still run, saying your daughter intended to make the donation. That won’t look good to the police-you saying someone ‘stole’ the money that your daughter promised to charity. They’re going to think you took it, especially if they get an anonymous tip claiming you weren’t happy with your daughter’s plan.”

“You-you can’t-” he sputtered. “Everyone saw you take that bowl. I have over a hundred witnesses-”

“-to performance art gone horribly awry. You will apologize profusely to your guests and swear to put this troupe of actors out of business. Then you’ll give your daughter her half of the money-from your wallet-and have a heart-to-heart with her on the obligations the wealthy have to support the less fortunate, which is why you contributed half the gift money in her name.”

“That’s crazy. I won’t-”

Guy leaned forward as Jaz dug the gun in. “Oh, I think you will. You’ve seen what we can do, and that’s only a taste. Trust me, you don’t want the full lesson.”

He cast two fog spells in quick succession, then strode toward the Jag, Jaz and me following. Another jump onto the hood, a quick walk over the roof and we were outside.

Guy called Bianca and told her to meet us back at the Rider. Then Jaz held the knapsack while Guy dumped in the envelopes.

“Party time, boss?” Jaz asked. He plucked out a handful of envelopes. Guy smacked his hand, and Jaz dropped all but one and stuffed it into his pocket.

Guy only laughed. “Yeah, it’s party time.”