Demon's Hunger Read Online Free

flickering and twitching like a poorly wired lightbulb.
    A blast of cool air swirled through the restaurant as another patron pushed open the door. Studying the new arrival, Darqun tapped his index finger once, twice, then paused. Toronto was having an unseasonably warm winter, but the guy was wearing just a T-shirt and jeans, no coat, which struck Darqun as odd. The newcomer was shaking, his skin puckered into gooseflesh.
    "Cold morning," Darqun said.
    The guy's bleary gaze roved the floor, the walls, and then locked on Darqun. He sidled closer. "Uh, yeah, it is cold. Yeah. Listen"—he swallowed—"I'm not cruising you or anything, but do you mind if I sit here? Talk a bit. I—" He paused, shook his head. "It's been a long day. I just need to talk to someone. I can't stomach being alone right now, ya know?"
    Darqun nodded. Yeah, he knew. "Stool's free. You're welcome to it."
    The guy sat, slumping forward with his elbows on the counter, the heels of his palms pressed to his forehead. Darqun tensed as the smell hit him. Demon stink. A touch of brimstone. The newcomer had no magic of his own, but he'd recently come in contact with something that did. A hybrid? A demon ?
    Darqun signaled the waitress, who brought the coffee pot and a menu, then wandered off, looking none too happy.
    Thrusting his hand at Darqun, the guy introduced himself. "Uh, John Weston. I'm… uh… I'm an intern." His palm was damp, hot, and the taste of dark magic that leached into Darqun's skin was acrid and raw.
    "Darqun Vane." Doctor John Weston. Interesting, given his dream of the caduceus. "Doctor, huh?"
    "Don't… um… call me Dr. Weston. Just call me John." He poured sugar into his coffee—one packet, two, three, four—smoothing the wrinkled paper of each one and lying them in a neat and tidy stack. Then he stirred and stirred, the metal spoon rasping faintly against ceramic. Finally, he picked up the cup, swallowed, and turned to Darqun, his expression bemused. "I don't take sugar," he said, frowning.
    Darqun called the waitress, asked for a fresh cup.
    Conversation turned to the weather, traffic, sports. Darqun guided it to easy things, nonthreatening. Patience, patience. He could simply steal John's thoughts, use one of his unique sorcerer enhancements to take the answers he wanted. But the trauma of that to a mortal mind might leave the doctor a babbling husk, and that would breach the Pact , the eternal agreement that governed the actions of all those with magical bent, an agreement so old it predated human measure of time.
    Breakfast arrived—eggs, toast, sausage, bacon. John stared at the meat for a very long time and then carefully removed the sausage and set it aside with a shudder. He lifted his fork, poked at the eggs, sighed.
    "Lousy night," he said. "Goddamned lousy night."
    "Is that right?" Darqun rested his forearm across the counter, let his weight slouch to one side, relaxed, friendly.. Every instinct screamed that he was here at Abe's Eats to learn this man's story. Dr. John Weston. The caduceus from his dream. The reason Darqun had forced himself to come to this miserable little diner before he needed to meet up with Ciarran and Dain.
    "Goddamned lousy night." John banged his forehead slowly against his upraised fist. Then he looked at Darqun, his expression stark. "You know those stories. In the paper. The ones about the… killings?"
    Darqun's attention sharpened. Yeah, he knew. He and the rest of the Compact of Sorcerers—a brotherhood of magical beings who maintained the balance between the supernatural and the natural—had been paying close attention.
    Because the killer wasn't a crazed human.
    They'd gotten close enough to the first two corpses to detect dark magic, demon magic. Problem was, it didn't read like anything they had encountered before. Not hybrid; the magic was far too powerful. Not demon, at least not any they recognized. Then, what?
    "It'll be in the papers today. Probably on the news right now." A