Trisk glanced at the clock humming on the wall. “I need help keeping what’s mine.”
“Where am I?” The demon smoothly stood, her circle humming a warning when his softly curling black hair neared the top. “Fractured lines, faint quakes. I smell fires, mudslides, and an asto-o-o-ounding number of vain egos.” His smile brightened to show thick, blocky teeth. “West Coast?”
Trisk pulled her lab coat tighter about her shoulders, uneasy with how good he was at guessing. But then her nose wrinkled as a wash of black haze seemed to raise itself from his skin, coating him for an instant in the scent of burnt amber before it soaked in again.
He’d changed. The Victorian dandy was gone. Rope-and-wood sandals now poked out from under a loosely made pair of brown trousers embroidered with thin ribbons. The trousers were held up by a wide black sash, tattered tassels on the ends. A bright red long-sleeved shirt and a baggy vest had replaced the crushed green velvet and lace. His soft curls were now long black waves held back with a metal clip. A thin, silver-streaked beard went down to his chest. His eyes, though, were the same, watching her from over his round, blue-tinted glasses. They glinted at her reaction as she relaxed at the less imposing image, his smile going even wider to show drug-stained teeth.
“Do you like my Jesus boots?” he said coyly, showing her his sandals. “I stole them. Right off his feet before they nailed him up.”
Trisk frowned, her dislike growing. This vision was probably closer to his true self than the other. He looked harmless—just another hippie, until you realized that like the worst, the most dangerous beach guru, he lived solely for sensation, taking without thought as if it was his right, taking in order to feel, whether it be a mind-altering drug or a willing or unwilling woman to relieve his baser urges with. In his eyes, she saw that manipulation was his weapon only because brute strength had lost its flavor until whim and fancy drew him that way again. She was something to be experienced, and he would use and discard her on his way to his next fix, never finding enough to be satisfied.
“We’re in a lab,” Algaliarept said confidently, looking at his knobby hands as if he missed his gloves. “A human lab,” he added disparagingly. “The science here may as well be in the Middle Ages. Daughter of Cambri, my love, have they trodden you so low?”
“I’m working two jobs.”
“No doubt.” He ran his hand across the inside of her circle. A crackle of burning flesh hissed, and he rubbed his thumb against his index finger, rolling the blackened skin off. Under it was new. “You’d have to in order to maintain an elven lifestyle with a human’s wages.”
“I meant I’m working a human lab position so I can fulfill my real job for enclave security.”
His eyes rose to hers, mocking. “Come with me. Right now. Drop your circle and let me take you. You’d be a slave, but you’d probably be working fewer hours.”
Frustrated, she put her hands in her pockets and leaned against the desk until it scooted back a noisy, grinding inch.
“Ooooh, now I see what scares you!” he said brightly, and he vanished in a swirl of black-tinted smoke. His wide shoulders slimmed down to a pleasant span, and his waist shrank. With a shake of his head, the black waves vanished to a closer cut, the white strands almost not there. His ruddy complexion cleared to a light tan, and his face became angular with a narrow chin and small nose.
Trisk felt her expression go blank. He’d become the image of Kal, dressed in a business suit with a vibrant red tie that matched the demon’s eyes. Only the glasses remained.
“I like the hippie better,” she suggested, and he laughed, low and long, running a hand suggestively down his new lanky height.
“No, this is nice,” he said. “Who is this, little bird, and why are you afraid of him?” The demon smiled at her with Kal’s face. “Nasty dark elf shouldn’t be afraid of the light. He’s pretty, though.” He posed, shifting his hips suggestively. “He’d fetch a fair price on the block. You’d probably bring more, despite your dark hair, having dared to summon me. Tell me now. Would you like me to make it fair for you? I’d only ask for one year of service. This pretty man would die for you. I promise.”
Trisk grimaced, wishing he wouldn’t prattle so. “His name is Kal,” she said impatiently. “He’s trying to steal my research. That’s why I summoned you. And I’m not afraid of him.”
Glancing at the humming power over his head, Algaliarept sat back down, his smaller guise of Kal looking odd on the floor in his suit and tie. “You are, or I wouldn’t be here. He wants your research? Is it that good?”
A flash of affront quashed her nervousness. “I found a way to fix the damage you inflicted on us before we left the ever-after,” she said, and the demon cocked his head, a mocking slant to his eyebrows. He looked so much like Kal—apart from the red eyes and blue-tinted glasses—that it scared her. “A donor virus. With it, I can insert healthy code into somatic cells to repair existing damage, or possibly the germ cells to improve the next generation even before they’re born.”
“Why would I help you with this, love?” the demon said, the image of Kal making talking-hand motions. “I would just as soon see you all dead. I am curious, though. Why did you let him do that to you? You are a dark elf. You are a warrior.”
“I’m not letting him,” she said, offended. “Did you not hear me say he was going to steal it? Did I not just summon you to be my sword and shield?”