Free Night of the Demon: Paranormal Romance (Devon Slaughter Book 2) by Alice Bell Page A

glad. My sickness is great. Oh my lady, help me
find the ones I seek, and keep them safe, until we meet again.”
    She went back to where she felt most at home—Coffeen
Sanitarium, that glittering castle of madness, where she fed on the potent
dreams of insane humans.   

13. Devon
    MUSCLES HAD a name—Jep. He was my roommate, and he was from
L.A. At least, that’s where he’d been made. He’d escaped once, did his time,
and slowly worked his way up to military police, the highest a demon could go
in the current regime. He aspired to be a soldier in the New Army, a
progressive experiment currently underway.
    “Why’d they pick you?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. We’d had this conversation before. 
     I was headed for the New Army, after assimilation, as the
first (ever) demon recruit. Even in the days when demons aided in missions,
they’d never fought side by side with angels.
    The progressives hoped I would pave the way for other demons
to join the New Army. I was supposed prove demon soldiers could be a valuable
asset in the quest to capture wayward demons in the human world. The philosophy
behind the experiment was: It takes one to know one; a two-fold plan. By
raising the standard of life for demons in the realm, escape and recidivism
rates would drop. It was a win win, the progressives argued, sure to tip the
scales in their favor, in the upcoming election.
    Conservatives thought handling the demon problem was a lot
simpler. Just clamp down harder. Currently, they held the majority four to
three.
    Jep had been appointed my assimilation guide. For him, I was
both an opportunity to earn points, and a sore reminder of what the crime of
his escape had cost him. 
    “You really have no idea who sired you?” he said, in a
musing tone.
    I lay on my back in my narrow bed.
    I had an idea. I didn’t feel like talking about it.
    It was after lights out. The rules on the ninth floor
reminded me of camp.
    “I heard about it happening,” Jep went on. “But shit. You
figure it’s just urban myth. Don’t you think they know who your sire is? The
archangels? And that’s why they picked you?”
    Jep was one of those rare conspiracy theorists who believed
those conspiring knew best.
    “Maybe,” I said.
    I’d spent the day pretending to study the political history
of the realm, but since I’d come through the portal with my eidetic memory
intact, I didn’t really have to study. The information was all stored away,
ready to be accessed, as needed. 
    I wanted to sleep.
    I needed to sleep.
    I felt on the verge of sleep deprivation, something we’d
been warned about on the first day of assimilation. The signs were hunger (I
couldn’t get enough of the rations), constant fatigue (I slogged around after
Jep who bored me senseless), extreme irritability (I wanted to strangle him)
and, in severe cases, hallucinations (I felt my hands squeezing Jep’s meaty
neck).
    The glowing numerals above our door said it was half past
midnight. But the angels controlled daylight and nightfall, so it wasn’t real.
The realm wasn’t the earth, rotating around the sun. It was a giant machine.
    Still, time marched on, somehow. You saw it in the stooped
bodies and time-worn faces of the demons. This mystery, the incomprehensible
passing of time, posed a quandary. If I managed to escape, how could I be sure
to get to the 21 st century? I figured it was a technology trick. Or
maybe magic.
    It bothered me to think of screwing up history by going back
in time. Maybe I’d seen too many episodes of Dr. Who. But not knowing the
future, I wasn’t eager to go there, either.
    I just wanted to go home. Fucking Sarah. 
    My mind roved.
    Jep had gone quiet. I figured he’d talked himself to sleep.
    I nodded off, until his voice roused me. “They don’t want a
real soldier,” he said.
    Christ.
    Was he doing it on purpose? Those deprived of sleep
performed poorly on tests. If I didn’t pass assimilation, he could recommend
himself to take