Free The Demon's Deadline (Demon's Assistant Book 1) by Tori Centanni

of the secrets I’ve kept. “Are you on drugs?”
    “No, god. I’m not on drugs.” The question shouldn’t surprise me, because thinking back on it, it’s the most logical conclusion, what with the mysterious people showing up and my tendency to disappear at odd times. But it does surprise me, because I hadn’t even considered it might look that way.
    Melissa’s hard look makes it clear she doesn’t believe me, and I can’t blame her. If our positions were reversed, I’d probably be in the middle of planning an intervention. It doesn’t matter how many horror movies you watch, a drug problem will always seem more likely than a demon problem. I toy with the idea of admitting to a drug problem as a cover, but immediately dismiss it. Too many complications could arise, like Melissa telling my dad and actually staging an intervention.
    “It’s not drugs,” I assert. “But I meant it. You won’t believe the truth.”
    “We’ve been friends since preschool. Why can’t you trust me?” Her eyes glisten. My stomach does flip-flops around the guilt that radiates through me. I almost wish she was mad, because seeing her hurt—seeing how I’ve hurt her—is worse.
    “Fine. I’ll spill. Let’s walk.”
    We walk up Capitol Hill and all the way to Volunteer Park. By the time we reach the empty koi ponds in front of the Asian Art Museum, I’ve told her the whole story. The hazy memories of Azmos after the accident, the way I thought I’d dreamt him up while on hospital drugs. How he turned up on my sixteenth birthday with a contract and a delivery. I tell her about the more colorful errands—the woman who chased me with a knife, the man who tried to sic his dog on me, Heather Bancroft’s salt-and-holy-water defense system. I explain how I was fired and how oddly crappy it makes me feel. She listens. She doesn’t ask questions. She hardly reacts. But I know what she’s thinking. That it sounds like the plot of one of those anime shows she’s always watching.
    “So,” I finish. “I bet you think I’m totally mental.”
    “It is a little hard to swallow,” Melissa says slowly. “You’re saying that hot guy at the coffee shop was a demon?”
    “He’s not hot.” Of course, from her perspective, Xanan is totally her type: Aloof and goth. I thank my lucky stars he doesn’t seem to have any interest in people and barely looked at her. I don’t want her getting mixed up with demons, whether she believes in them or not. Besides, Xanan creeps me out. “And, yes, he’s a demon, which means he’s not good date material. Only, Azmos said they’re not demons the way we think of them. It’s just the best word.”
    “Right. I’m sure this ‘demon’ friend of yours is completely trustworthy.”
    “He wouldn’t lie about that.”
    Melissa quirks an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what demons do?”
    “Not Azmos. It’s complicated. He’s not a bad guy.”
    “Look, Nicki, this is a lot to take.”
    “Tell me about it,” I say, mostly under my breath.
    There’s a very long gap in our conversation. I stare at the waterless rock bed where koi used to swim. Melissa picks at a loose thread in the hem of her skirt. Finally, she speaks quietly, without looking up. “You really believe this? That a demon visits you?”
    The disappointment hits hard. I knew she wouldn’t believe it. It’s why I haven’t told her yet. Cam is practical. He believes when there’s evidence. But I have no evidence to present to Mel right now, and even if I did, I strongly suspect she’d still think I was making it up or exaggerating or something.
    “I know he does. Or did. Like Xanan said, he ended the contract.”
    Melissa chews her lip, which she never does consciously, because it ruins her lipstick.
    “You don’t have to say anything. I know how it sounds, okay?”
    She shakes her head and the mint green ribbons in her hair bounce around. “It sounds like you’re overwhelmed and stressed out and involved in something