Demon’s Test (Demon Mates #4)

Chapter Nine

Milo was in his lab thinking about the test the SBW wanted him to do when he heard the door opening. He turned to see who it was, his heart sinking when he spotted Devon. He so didn’t have the nerve to deal with him at the moment. Unfortunately, Devon thrived on making others miserable, especially Milo, it seemed, so he outright ignored the subtle signs Milo was giving him, like rolling his eyes, staring very pointedly at the door, then stating in a frosty tone, “Merrybone, this is not a good time.”

“Oh, but I think it’s the best time, Abber. You see, I couldn’t get your additional funding out of my mind and as it turns out, you’re not entitled to it when you’re cheating.” Devon smiled maliciously, the gleam in his eyes that of a dog who had just found an extra juicy bone. Milo refused to be baited.

“And you must know all about cheating since without it, you wouldn’t get any funding at all.”

The jibe hit the mark. Milo could see Devon’s eyes darkening for a moment before he caught himself.

“It’s sad what a sore loser you are, Abber. Admit it, your research is a dead end. Not worth the paper it’s written on. While trying to save the world’s coral reefs is a worthy endeavor.”

Milo sighed. “And if you would take it seriously and truly work toward that goal, I would even cheer you on. Though since everybody on campus knows you’re just aiming for a paid holiday someplace warm, forgive me that my enthusiasm is easily tampered.”

“Well, the offer still stands. I can take you with me.”

“And why would you do that?” Milo was truly curious.

Devon seemed to be taken aback for a moment, as if he’d never imagined Milo would even consider his offer. He wouldn’t, but to satisfy his curiosity regarding the matter, he was willing to fake it until Devon showed his true colors.

“Because even though you’ve been quite horrible, I’m able to be the bigger man and let you have a glimpse of what research can be like when the funding is there.”

“In other words, you want to gloat. I’m sorry, but first of all, coral reefs are not my area of expertise, neither are they yours, just saying, and second, the question about my funding isn’t decided yet.”

“What do you mean, not decided?” Devon outright ignored the comment about areas of expertise, probably because he couldn’t think of a witty comeback to this very true statement.

“I mean it just as I said. I received an email from SBW where they told me I was still in the running to get the funding as long as I did a test to see if I’m a good fit. And as you know, I’m rather apt at passing tests.”

It warmed Milo’s heart to see the smug self-satisfaction drain from Devon’s face like poop being flushed in the toilet.

“That can’t be! Cheating isn’t allowed!” He sounded desperate.

“First of all, I did not cheat. The help I received was within the permitted parameters.” Milo didn’t know that for sure but what he did know, from the bottom of his heart, was that Quirion would never endanger his success neither recklessly nor deliberately nor knowingly. “Second, what does it matter to you? You have your funding, why can’t you let me have mine?”

“Because he’s a small-minded, sniveling caricature of a scientist who has to bring greater minds down in order to make himself look taller. Isn’t that right, Mr. Merrybone?” Quirion’s voice was all smooth, predatory ire. Milo saw him stepping out of the shadows at the back of his lab and was glad he hadn’t popped through a rip directly in front of Devon. That would have been inconvenient to say the least. Not to mention hard to explain.

As it was, Devon was stumbling backward, staring at Quirion with a slack jaw. “W-where did you come from?”

Quirion shrugged. “The back door, where else?”

Devon’s gaze flickered to the back of Milo’s lab, to the second door that was usually locked and only there for safety reasons. It looked very closed, what with the two crates standing in front of it. Milo could see Devon’s mind running a mile a minute and then he got that glazed-over look people showed when the glamour protecting demons from detection did its work. Quirion had obviously come through that door, because that was what doors were for, and since Devon was standing right in front of the other one, Quirion couldn’t have come through there, now could he?

Devon shook his head like a cat that had gotten wet. “Of course. Stupid of me to not see it,” he murmured, then turned and left. Another perk of the glamour. It made people leave, slightly dazed, wondering what they’d been doing in the first place. In Devon’s case, it was such a huge improvement in manners, Milo was tempted to ask Quirion if the glamour could be used on him indefinitely. After the door had closed behind Devon, Quirion took Milo’s arm. “We need to go.”

“Uh, where and why?” Several years of working for Quirion had taught Milo to just go with the flow. When his demon said they had to go, they would go, no matter what other, maybe urgent business Milo might have. It couldn’t be that urgent, because Quirion was there and needed him, usually to rescue precious books from undeserving owners. What he could ask were place and reason. These were like to-go questions while anything else was just stalling, leading to a grumpy demon and endless bickering.

“To my library. To make you fit for that damn test so that Beverly and Rasputin can shove it where the sun doesn’t shine.” Quirion was already opening a rift and Milo hurried to lock the lab door, shut his laptop and PC down, and cast one glance around to make sure nothing was too untidy before he stepped under Quirion’s arm.

“I’m sure you’re going to explain to me in more detail once we’re there.”

“Of course.”

They came through in Quirion’s study and the first thing Milo saw was Mildred shuffling slick in the moat with her gigantic hindlegs.

“Are you sure she’s okay, Qui?”

The demon stepped behind Milo, his huge figure dwarfing him, enveloping him in a cocoon of safety, warmth and strength. Stop thinking that! Next thing you throw yourself into his arms. Not what you should be doing right now. Or ever.

His inner voice was such a party pooper.

“I’m reasonably sure she’s fine. Granted, she’s never shown this kind of behavior before, but she’s not wounded, her skin color hasn’t changed, she doesn’t appear to be ill.”

“Behavioral changes can be a sign for something terrible, as you well know. Just think of those ants when they get infected by the fungus. That’s The Last of Us right there in the world of arthropods.”

Quirion’s hands landed on Milo’s shoulders, kneading softly. It was an unconscious gesture, as Milo well knew, none that had any meaning. His stupid body enjoyed it nevertheless, and his even stupider heart soared even though there was no reason. “You are right in that behavioral changes can indicate internal problems with an organism, but your comparison with that dreadfully inaccurate series has a few flaws. Firstly, all the fungus in the ant does is force it to climb as high as possible so it can burst free and release its spores to find the next victim. No active chasing of non-infected potential hosts. Second, I’ve never seen ants with firearms before. And third, there’s no immunity from that fungus as far as science knows.”

And that was the thing with Quirion. Two of his arguments were absolutely valid while one could be seen as a joke—ants with firearms, perhaps fire ants? That would be hilarious, at least for scientists. And Quirion was a scientist. He was also a demon who regularly hopped across all possible and some impossible dimensions and he had seen it all. As far as Milo knew, ants with firearms were a possibility, somewhere.

“I note that you’re not laughing about the clever little joke in my reasoning, Milo.”

Or he could be making a joke and Milo was too in awe of his demon’s vast knowledge and experience to recognize it. Another reason why a relationship with Quirion would never work. He was way out of Milo’s league.

“Sorry, Qui, with you, I’m never sure.”

“It’s fine. Part of my charm, to keep you guessing. It also keeps up your interest.”

Milo could have sworn Quirion was flirting. But he didn’t, because, obviously, that was his wishful thinking grabbing the reins. He did lean back into Quirion’s huge body, though. Just because he had no chance with the demon didn’t mean he wouldn’t take advantage where he could.

“So you don’t think she’s sick?” Changing the topic back to Mildred seemed to be the safest option.

“I honestly don’t think so and even if she was, there’s little we can do. We have to wait and see, at least with her. Regarding this stupid test, we have to start acting immediately.”

“You seem very angry.”

For a moment, Quirion went very still. Since he couldn’t see his face to search for clues as to why, Milo waited. He didn’t want to give up his comfortable position against Quirion’s warm belly—yes, Milo didn’t even come up to his pecs, and no, that wasn’t a problem at all —and letting the demon get his thoughts in order was always a wise course of action.

“As you already know, the SBW and I have…history.”

“You explained that.”

“After you got this email about the test, I went to Barion to find out what had happened. Usually, they don’t do tests. You’re accepted for your research or not. Turns out, somebody we both know and detest complained, which led to Rasputin doing some research—research, I might add, they should have been doing before offering the funding in the first place, but things went downhill quickly after I left—and through his research he realized that you are closer connected to Sammy than your CV had made them believe.”

“And through Sammy, to you.” Milo was no idiot. He might not be part of the book club, despite Sammy’s repeated invitation, because non-scientific books held little appeal to him, but he was a part of the group, mainly because Sammy had adopted him and the sway he held over his paranormal friends was mind-boggling. It became even more astounding when one realized how powerful these paranormals were. Each of them was a force to be reckoned with, together, they were the culmination of power in the supernatural world. And because power always made people wary, especially those who thought themselves to be powerful as well, Milo could see the problem. It was university politics all over again, which only showed that certain things never changed, no matter the species.

“I’m very sorry, Milo, but it seems my acquaintance to you is the reason they don’t want to give you the funding.” Quirion sounded so apologetic, but it wasn’t the prospect of losing the funding—that would be a bummer, no doubt, but not the end of the world—that made Milo’s heart clench. It was one simple word. Acquaintance. That’s what they were. Acquaintances. He hated that word.

“I thought I had to do the test and then get it?” Focus on other things despite your crushed hopes.

“Well, they will give you the money when you pass.”

“Which means they don’t think I will.”

“Oh, they very much count you not passing, which is why, for the next two weeks, until you have to take the test, we will be studying like never before. You will show them.”

Quirion was in full-on battle mode, ready to take on the evil SBW, and Milo was grateful for his help and devastated because nothing more than the funding would come of it. He was quite sure he would pass, because once Quirion set his eyes on something, he delivered. He was also happy because he would spend two weeks, fourteen days, nonstop with his demon, which was Milo’s version of heaven and hell all in one and he was so messed up, he didn’t even know where he would begin should he ever find the courage to visit a therapist.

“I take you are familiar with the books I need to read?”

“I am. History of the Elves on the Irish Isles is not the best of its kind, though decent. There are some flaws, a bit of wrong information, but I will point those out to you and teach you exactly what to say to get the points but not repeat the wrongness. Now come on, there’s a lot to do.”

“Of course. Just let me put a notice in that I will be absent for the next two weeks for research.” Usually such a leave of absence had to be requested at least four weeks prior, especially during the semester. Milo knew, though, that the dean would greenlight it because the man had been upset about the lost funding. He hadn’t outright said that he didn’t like Devon getting the money, though it had been clear in the undertones of the carefully delivered speech he had held for Milo. And even if there were trouble, if Milo got the funding from SBW, he could technically go solo, without a university backing him. His assistant teachers, all of them graduate students, were more than capable of taking over his courses until he was back. When the email was sent, Milo was ready to tackle whatever Quirion had in store for him. Which turned out to be heaps of books. The History of Elves on the Irish Isles was a mind-numbing six volume monstrosity full of superfluous—and, according to Quirion—partly wrong information he nevertheless had to ingest. When Quirion saw his long face, he smiled.

“Don’t worry, Milo. I have the important bits boiled down to a few hundred pages. The author, Professor Celandra Greenleaf, loves to elaborate and digress, which is why the work is so long. Nobody ever told her how terrible her writing is.”

If Quirion ever met her, he would. Milo just knew it.

“Then hit me.” Milo opened a new document on his laptop, the one he had at Quirion’s library because as they had learned the hard way, technical equipment didn’t like jumping from dimension to dimension too often. It was one of the problems Barion and Jon had to battle when filming in different dimensions. They had the most breathtaking special effects—reality, just not from Earth—but the average life span of one of their cameras was under six months. Less for the bodycams the demons used for close-ups during the battle scenes, though that was more because a hard-working demon couldn’t be bothered being mindful of equipment when he was busy showing off his or her newest fight moves. Priorities and all that. It also meant Quirion had a stack of cell phones in his desk for when the one he was currently using inevitably breathed its last. For the same reason Milo had two additional cells for swapping, courtesy of Sammy, who had insisted on buying them for him. As vehemently as Quirion had protested getting a smart phone in the first place, he was now adamant about keeping it.

Quirion started talking and Milo felt himself drifting into this special mental state where he absorbed new information while simultaneously basking in the soothing cadence of his demon’s voice.

“As I said, Professor Greenleaf is horrible at writing. Her introduction to her own books is tiring at best, though abominable is the word I would go for. That woman has absolutely no sense of writing style. Anyway, thanks to that, you can happily forget about the first hundred pages of the first volume. It all starts with the first elves arriving on the Green Isles, and of course…”