Page 114 of Demon’s Snack
I catch it by the back of the vest and pin it against the stones with one forearm across its chest. The hunger wakes at once, insultingly eager. Courier demon is still demon, and the infernal part of me does not care that this one is more messenger than menace.
The creature writhes. “No eat, no eat, no eat. Official seal. Official seal!”
“Relax,” I say, prying the satchel open with my free hand. “I’m trying a new diet.”
It blinks all six eyes. “What?”
“Less screaming.”
“Please no drain.”
“Then hold still.”
It goes rigid.
I strip the sealed packet from the satchel and replace it with a folded scrap of blank rag paper weighted with a pebble. The demon watches me with mounting confusion.
“You are bad thief,” it whispers.
“I’m an excellent thief. You’re alive.”
“This is strange definition.”
“I get that a lot.”
The seal on the packet bears Vaerith’s crest in black wax. I tuck it into my coat and lift my arm from the courier’s chest.
It does not move.
I stare at it. “Go.”
“You no eat?”
“I’m beginning to reconsider.”
It vanishes up the wall with a terrified flap of torn-paper wings, moving fast enough that Vaerith should believe it merely suffered a scare and kept its errand intact. With any luck, the pebble will waste several useful minutes once delivered.
I retreat into the blind place I made near the second ward anchor and break the seal with careful fingers.
The orders are concise.
That makes them worse.
Confine ward Isolde Dareth to east tower suite pending permanent invocation review. Restrict archive access immediately. Clean-up protocol for ledger chambers before midnight: remove shell vendor references, intake comparisons, unauthorized copies, and all ritual supply ledgers from public-facing records. Detain any servant courier attached to west laundry route. Question discreetly.
My vision goes gold.
The paper blackens at one corner before I smother the heat in my palm.
He is moving tonight.
Of course he is moving tonight.
Permanent binding by dawn if grounds manufactured, she wrote, and Vaerith has decided to manufacture faster.
I fold the orders and tuck them away. Proof. Bloodless and useful. Sable was right. Rhazek was right. Isolde was right, which she will be unbearable about if we both live long enough for her to find out.
The thought steadies me more than rage does.
