Iron beams reached up to the ceiling; a hostess stood at the door, wearing a plain white shift, crotch skimming, with embellishments along the collar. Her hair was slicked back, with horns above her perfectly arched brows and the crimson irises. Red eyes traditionally meant that a Demon had killed an innocent at some point in their life.
I reached into my pocket and produced my invitation. The hostess plucked it from my fingers without a word, smiling to herself as she read the words.
“The Council are waiting for you.” She said, handing back the thick parchment. “Come with me.”
I brushed my hands down the lapels of my tailored suit, but it was more from nerves than a desire to be presentable.
I spent the majority of my time around humans. A big fish in a tiny pond.
Demons were unpredictable.
The hostess led us through a door, tucked away by the side of the polished bar. It’s location implying that it was supposed to be staff only.
The bare concrete and red brick walls continued. The hostess’s black patent heels clicked with every step.
Soon enough, we reached a door, not unlike a vault. The hostess knocked once before stepping back.
“Good luck.” She smiled, flashing her canines. I caught a whiff of mischief amongst her magical scent and realised that she was a Puka—a First Circle Demon that fed on chaos and trouble. She must have been able to sense something because her eyes glowed as she tottered away.
The vault edged open, just enough for a person to slip through. I did not reach out and touch the door, the sound of people shuffling about on the other side gave me pause.
Whatever you do, don’t let them get between you and the door. Mary, one of my more cautious souls, warned. My Hound agreed wholeheartedly.
The door opened wider, revealing a crescent table on the head of the bare room. The air was cold enough to fog my breath. A single chair faced the Council, it’s back to the door.
“Mr Ramirez.” One of the Demons at the table sniffed. “Please have a seat.”
I stepped up to the single wooden chair facing the council of Demons. I did not recognise almost all of them. The incubus that had delivered my invitation leant against the wall, next to the vault door.
“Clerk.” The grey-haired man at the centre of the table called over to the incubus. He held up a manila folder. “Please give this to Mr Ramirez.”
Seconds later, a file appeared in my hands as I sat down in the uncomfortable chair.
I brushed my hand on the outside of the folder as I looked over the Council. I recognised one face out of eight.
Charon. The ferryman.
The rest of the Council were strangers, though the majority seemed uncomfortable in human form, implying that they were Higher Demons. Members of various Courts and Circles. One of the women shifted in her seat, rolling her shoulders as if feeling the absence of wings. I'd bet my Gaggia barista-grade coffee machine that she was a Valkyrie.
I nicknamed her Wiggles, because she wouldn’t stop moving.
Sensing that I was being studied in return, I turned my attention to the file in front of me.
“What’s this?” I asked, keeping all emotion from my voice.
“Esther Duke's file.” The leader of the Council explained, without any further explanation.
I searched my mind for the name but came up empty. Opening the folder, the sight of milky lifeless eyes greeted me.
A dead Hound.
“This body was found behind your office.” Charon sat forward. His flannel shirt was wrinkled, and the man bun on his head surrounded by a halo of flyaways. He looked stressed as Hell.
I flipped through the photos, handling them with care as to not leave fingerprints on the glossy images. I searched until I reached the hand, manicured, with chipped red nails. I set the image aside and searched for the brand on the back of the victim’s neck. A rose.
“I think so.” I closed the folder. “The hand matches.”
The Council exchanged looks that I did not like.
“I didn’t kill her,” I added unnecessarily, folding my hands onto my lap.
Charon snorted, putting his hand over his face to cover his expression.
The grey-haired man in the central chair turned slowly until his eyes met mine. “We know you didn’t.”
My brow furrowed before I could ask them how they knew that, Charon cleared his throat.
“You're sat in the middle of a circle, Luiz.” Charon rubbed his bearded chin before jabbed a finger down towards the floor. “Can’t tell a lie.”
It was a struggle to keep my fear from showing. Their magic made anything that I could do look like parlour tricks.
The Council turned to each other and continued conversing wordlessly—something that I had seen Dahlia and Lucifer do often. Their faces creased and changed with each thought as if they were talking. Their hands twitching and gesturing only minutely.
Why had they called me to a meeting, if they were just going to sit and ignore me?
In unison, the members of the Council turned and placed their hands on the table in front of them. All except Charon, who leant back and smiled to himself.
“You have come highly recommended to us,” Wiggles said, licking her bottom lip. “As a person that can get things done.”
My hand gripped the folder. “Who told you that.”
“Your employer. Dahlia Clark.” The grey-haired man answered, waving his hand vaguely. “She gave only the highest praise.”
One of the silent Demons, a man with skin as dark as the heart of the universe and white sclera, leant forward. “We cannot allow this slight to continue.”
Every gaze felt like a searing brand between my eyes, but I forced myself to look forward. “Have there been others?”
“Several.” Wiggle’s lip twitched. “Some Hounds. Some others. All the signs are the same.”
“What do you want me to do?” I asked. I did not mean to sound callous, but I honestly did not know.
I cared about the Dead Hound, in the abstract and somewhat morbid way that I had seen Humans slow down to view remains smeared on the street after a car crash.
“We need someone to look into this. This many Demons dying in the Human Realities is suspect.” Charon informed me. Gesturing down to the folder on my lap. “The most recent body holds the brand for the Rose Family.”
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. Dry and inflated. “I have questioned Vincent Rose. He denied his involvement.”
Wiggles hummed, rolling her shoulders again. “We believe that you are in a unique position to find the culprit and put this entire issue to bed—before the Kings and Queens of Hell find out that their Hounds have been murdered.”
I inhaled sharply. “Because I'm a Hound?”
“One of many reasons.” The grey-haired man smiled, showing every one of his teeth.
“We have a contact at Scotland Yard.” The dark man said. His voice a low rumble. “Reed Harrison. A detective. He will hand over whatever files that he has on the recent victims. You will investigate from there.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but their magic pressed down on me—like a butterfly, crushed against a wheel. “Humans aren’t meant to know about us.”
“Reed Harrison is a rare exception.” Charon shuffled the papers in front of him but did not look up. “Discretion, however, is advised.”