It’s a losing battle, though.Especiallysince the demon who delivered said message somehow got into JJ’s bedroom again. There’s clearly a hole in the Sanctum’s anti-rifting spell work that needs to be patched, but JJ can’t exactly tell the Council about it without admitting the full story—and treason likethatwould probably get him stripped of his powers and burned alive as a dissident.
And, in any case, the demon himself luckily wasn’t waiting for JJ when he got back from training yesterday. Instead, there was just a note resting mockingly on his pillow, written in a bloodred marker that sent chills down JJ’s spine.
Do you want to see the kid again?
Underneath the ominous message was a date, time, and address. The address, infuriatingly enough, was to DJ Ice Cream, a little family-owned storefront wedged into a strip mall. The demon wants to discuss ransom demands overice cream?JJ has to admit that it’s a smart tactical move—it’s public enough that neither of them can afford to cause a scene, but removed enough to give them privacy—but the setup still rubs him the wrong way.
Namely because it leaves him feeling annoyingly like a high schooler waiting for his first date. It’s not a scenario he personally experienced—he was homeschooled by the Sanctum, and the idea of dating anyone insideoroutside its walls was laughable—but he’s rapidly growing to appreciate the struggle.
JJ’s unease steadily increases as the minutes tick closer to noon. He didn’t notice anyone suspicious around the perimeter of the strip mall, and a few quick spells didn’t reveal any demonic interference, but?—
But what is he evendoinghere? If this is all a trick devised by the Sanctum to test his loyalty, then he’s currently failing with flying colors and will probably be thrown in the prison by nightfall. And if this reallyisa demonic ransom demand, then what is he supposed to trade? He doesn’t have much money; the Sanctum handles all of his living expenses and only gives him a limited amount of discretionary cash. And as far as Sanctum secrets, he’s not giving those up, not even for Desi. The thought makes his heart twist, but the Sanctum has had his back for twelve years.
Desi has only had his heart for about a week.
Finally, at exactly one minute to noon, there’s a faint ripple in the air—not the usual purple-gold of a rift, but the subtle spacetime warping of aninvisiblerift. JJ snaps to attention when the demon steps into the daylight, sporting the same fathomless eyes and humorless smile from two days ago.
His smirk widens when he sees JJ’s glare. “Jackson,” he says casually, and to JJ’s indignation, he breezes straight past JJ like he’s not even there. “Get us a table, would you?”
JJ gapes as the demon saunters into the ice cream parlor and makes a beeline for the counter, the bell over the door jingling cheerfully in his wake. “Good afternoon,” he says politely, sounding unaccountablynormalfor being the same demon who kidnapped JJ’s sort-of kid and is now ordering ice cream at a ransom negotiation. “Can I get two scoops of coffee flavor with hot fudge and whipped cream? Thanks.”
Gritting his teeth, JJ slips into the shop after him, his eyes sweeping around. Besides him and the demon, there are only three other people inside—the owner and two patrons—and JJ quickly maps out all of their positions, deducing the best spot to keep the civilians safely out of range. Eventually, he approaches a table in the corner nearest the door and sits with his back to the wall, giving him an unobstructed view of the room.
And a direct line of sight to the demon, who’s making small talk with the owner while she retrieves his ice cream. Within minutes, she’s handing his bowl over the counter, and he hums out his thanks, shoves what looks like a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar, and strolls over to JJ’s table. Pulling out the seat opposite JJ, he slides his lithe body into the chair, digs his spoon into the ice cream?—
And pauses, the scoop already halfway to his mouth. “Oh, where are my manners? Did you want anything?”
JJ’s hackles rise. “Where’s Desi?”
The demon carefully piles extra hot fudge onto his spoon before answering. “Back at my place.”
“Fine. What do you want in exchange?”
He stops mid-bite. “What?”
JJ glares at him.
The demon raises his eyebrows back. “Use your words, Jackson. I can’t read minds.”
“Do you want to see the kid again?”JJ quotes in a hiss. His escrima sticks are in the same invisible fold in spacetime where he always stores them, ready to be summoned at a moment’s notice, but right now, he really wishes they were already in his hands. “The answer is yes, okay?Yes.So what do you want in exchange?”
Warily, the demon lowers his spoon. “Oh.Oh.Right. I can, ah, see how that message might have been misinterpreted. Perhaps Icould’vemade it somewhat less threatening, but?—”
“Stop playing games and get to the point, demon,” JJ snaps.
His jaw tightens. “My name is Cassius, lackey. Not ‘demon.’”
Abruptly, JJ’s stomach lurches. “Cassius? Like, Cassius Chin?Battle of SaratogaCassius Chin?”
He smiles thinly. “Aw, you’ve heard of me? That’s cute.”
“Yeah,” JJ says slowly, his mind racing. Cassius Chin?TheCassius Chin? One of the most famous demon warriors in North America, instrumental in winning the American Revolution, present at every major national and international conflict for the past two hundred fifty years?—
That’swho has Desi? This is worse than JJ thought. “Yeah,” he repeats, and he leans forward. “You follow warfare like a shark follows the taste of blood. Just out of curiosity, did you and your two cronies actually start the War of 1812? Or is that just a myth?”
Cassius’s smirk suddenly looks more like a snarl. “Hate is learned, hunter,” he says, leaning forward to match JJ’s pose. “And I see you were averygood student.”
JJ smiles back with all his teeth. “Thanks. I try.”
