Taming Demons for Beginners (The Guild Codex: Demonized, #1)

by Annette Marie

“I’m talking about the heirlooms they placed in a special facility,” I clarified. “I spoke to the estate lawyer and he said—” “You spoke to the lawyer? I’m the executor. Why didn’t you ask me?” Because he ignored me, dismissed me, and interrupted me, that’s why.

Out of petty revenge, I left the door open a crack. He’d have to get up and close it himself. Oh yeah, I was so bad. Look at me, the rebel niece.

Most people couldn’t have ignored a demon sharing the library with them, but most people didn’t love books as much as I did. Thirty minutes slipped away as I browsed the shelves, finding encyclopedias, histories of every culture and country I could think of, geography and nature studies, copies of ancient classics, some modern classics, travel books, and, oddly, a single shelf in the back corner stacked with outdated romance novels, their paper covers boasting faded men with long hair and open shirts billowing in the wind.

The stack of cookies slid across the sleek ceramic surface and tumbled off. They hit the floor in a spray of crumbs, bouncing everywhere. One, rolling like a perfect little wheel, trundled across the hardwood floor. It rolled, wobbled, curved—and disappeared across the silver line. I gawked at the spot where the cookie had vanished into the black dome. Panic screeched in my head, and I jerked backward, expecting the cookie to come flying out, hurled like a doughy bullet into my eye socket. Could a demon throw a cookie hard enough to kill? At that last thought, my panic waned. A cookie would hurt, should it be whipped with inhuman force into my soft flesh, but I doubted it could do serious damage. Maybe the demon realized that too. Unmoving, I waited a full minute, but no sound came from the circle. The cookie did not reappear. Breathing out, I cautiously scooped the fallen cookies off the floor and restacked them on the plate. I pondered the crumb-strewn hardwood, then used my socked foot to sweep the crumbs under the side table. Did I care that I was befouling Uncle Jack’s mansion? Not one bit. If I was contributing to a vermin problem, all the better. Plate in hand, I crossed to the door, then looked back at the circle. Had the demon noticed the cookie enter its prison? Curiosity sparked through me. Impulsively, I picked up a cookie, took aim, and lobbed it. It flew in a beautiful arc and dropped into the black dome. I listened. No crunch or patter. No sound at all. Weir...

Two days had passed since my … adventure … in the library, and Uncle Jack hadn’t stormed into my room to demand how his demon had gotten hold of freshly baked projectiles.

At the reminder, I lifted the paper towel I held. Stacked on it were half a dozen dark brown cookies, their crispy surfaces deliciously cracked to reveal the fluffy, cake-like insides mixed with chocolate chunks. White sea salt sprinkled the tops. When I was stressed, I overindulged in my two favorite hobbies—reading and baking. I bit into a cookie and almost moaned. Perfect. Melty, chocolaty, sweet and rich, and a touch salty. Absolute perfection. Fortified by sugar, I cracked the library door open and peered inside.

the demon’s quiet voice fed my thirst for knowledge, its words tinged with an alien accent—vowels sharp and crisp, consonants heavy and deep.

Angel food cake.

“Demons never violate their contracts. The magic binds them somehow. You can violate it, though. If you do, the contract magic weakens, so make sure you bake that bastard all the cookies it wants.”

We were bound together. I had saved his life and he had saved mine. Though it was the magic that forced him to protect me, he had fought and bled to keep me safe. I would never abuse the power I had over him again. He and I were in this together, and demon or not, he deserved as much respect and consideration as I would give anyone else who’d saved my life.

As I slid my phone out of my jeans pocket, I grimaced. Between rips, stains, and water, I was running critically low on clothing. For our demon hunting excursion, I was wearing a purple zip-up sweater and jeans with a flower embroidered on one hip. On my way out, Amalia had remarked that I looked ready for a hardcore book fair.

“You’re lucky there’s no one nearby.” He was unrepentant. “Where are you going?” “To the Grand Grimoire.” I resumed walking. “The guild is a few blocks down this street. I’m supposed to see the GM.” I drew several steps ahead before Zylas caught up and matched my pace. Noticing the undemonlike bounce in his step, I had to suppress a laugh. “Still feeling good about defeating Tahēsh?” He smirked down at me. “You do not understand. He is First House. I am Twelfth House. The best I have killed before is Fifth House.”

“Zh’ūltis.” “There are! They’ll do nice things for you in return, things you might not think to ask for. It builds trust and comradery and—” “How is that useful?” As we turned the corner, I glared at him. “You, selfish demon, are completely ignorant about a whole lot of ‘stupid human’ things.” “If they’re stupid things,” he mocked, “why do I need to know them?”

I shuddered in horrified denial. Zylas had sworn to never submit to humans. He’d prefer to die than be enslaved, and he’d only agreed to a contract with me because he could retain his autonomy. But now he would lose it. Because of me, because he was bound to protect me, he would surrender his mind and body to Red Rum. The magic of the contract would force him to submit. Karlson’s murky stare found mine. “Robin Page, you will give up your contract with this demon.” I stared hard at Zylas, thinking loud and clear in my thoughts. They won’t kill me. They want you and they think I promised you my soul. His crimson eyes narrowed but he didn’t move. My assurance must not be enough. As long as the knife was at my throat, our fates were solely in my hands. Terror flooded me, weakening my legs, but I forced a single whispered word past my numb lips. “No.” Karlson rocked back on his heels. “What did you say?” I swallowed painfully. “No. I won’t give you my contract.” “You don’t have a choice.” But I did. I couldn’t surrender him to these men. I couldn’t throw him into his worst nightmare, the fate he most feared.

“Give up the demon,” Karlson commanded again, “and we’ll let you go.” “No.” When Leonard popped my middle finger out of joint, I couldn’t hold back my shaking sobs. Travis shifted the knife further from my throat before I gouged myself. “Give up the demon.” “No!” I shrieked, my breath catching on an agonized sob. I wouldn’t. Zylas had been willing to die to escape enslavement. How could I give away his autonomy? I didn’t know what would happen, what they would do to me, but I couldn’t betray him.

“Because I’m zh’ūltis,” I muttered resignedly. A corner of his mouth pulled up. “I have been telling you that.” “Yes.” “You keep disagreeing.” “I did, but you were right all along.”

“They have infrared vision as well as—” “Why are you answering?” Zylas cut in. “Zh’ūltis!” “Stop calling me stupid!” He grabbed the front of my sweater. The three men took urgent steps closer, but Zylas merely yanked me to my feet. As he wobbled unsteadily, I put my arm around his waist, bracing him. He growled at me. “I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” the volcanomage rumbled. “Me neither,” Girard muttered. Darius nodded slowly. “This is quite the conundrum, isn’t it?” This man was a guild master. He had influence and authority in the mythic community, and I had no idea what to do now that he and his two powerful teammates knew my secret. Not only was I loath to kill anyone else, let alone the men who’d saved us, but I wasn’t sure Zylas could win against them. Not in his current condition. The GM studied me for a long minute, then sighed heavily. His hands closed around the hilts of his silver daggers. “I’m sorry, Robin, but your demon is clearly a danger. We have no choice but to exterminate it for the safety of—” “No!” I leaped in front of Zylas, my arms outspread. “You can’t!” Darius frowned. “Robin—” “You’ll have to kill me too!” I raised my chin defiantly even as my stomach shriveled with despair. “He saved my life. He’s not enslaved to me, but he—he’s my partner. And I won’t—” Zylas grabbed my sweater and swung me behind him. “Stupid payilas. I will protect you.” “You can barely stand straight!” I protested as I ducked around him. He shoved me back again. “I’ll—”

“You will what? Yell at them until they die?” I gritted my teeth. “You’re such a jerk.” “You are mailēshta and nailis and taridis—” “Stop insulting me!” Darius coughed pointedly. I peered around Zylas’s arm as the GM rubbed his mouth to erase the expression off his face. “Perhaps exterminating your demon is too hasty a decision.” Girard looked at his superior in alarm. “Darius, the law is clear that—” “Second rule, my friend. Let’s not destroy something before we understand it.” He regarded me. “Robin, you said you can explain, and I’d very much like to hear your explanation—but now is not an ideal time. If you agree to meet with me as soon as possible,

“By the way, Robin,” he murmured. “The expression on your demon’s face when you called him your partner was fascinating.”

“If you’re suggesting my actions were lawfully wrong but morally right,” I mumbled, “I disagree. I put people in danger. A lot of mythics died because of me.” “They died as a result of their own actions,” Darius corrected sharply. “If you knowingly walk in front of an oncoming car, whose fault is it when the vehicle hits you? Those rogues were fully aware of what they were doing.”

“Ask me now: Will I kill Robin’s allies?” Behind my hand, my eyes flew open. Zylas hadn’t used my name since I’d told it to him. Darius was quiet for a moment. “Will you kill Robin’s allies?” “No.” “Why not?” “Because she needs them.” As Zylas spoke, I peeked over my hand. He gazed steadily at Darius. “If your guild members are her allies, I will not harm them. If they betray her, like the last ones, I will kill them.” Studying the demon, Darius sat back. “I see. And I have your word on that? Your promise?” His mouth twisted with distaste. “I will not promise you anything, hh’ainun.” “Then—” Zylas spun on his chair to face me. “Payilas. I will not harm your allies.” I resisted an unexpected sting of tears. “Thank you, Zylas.” “If you were not so weak, you would not need any allies but me.” My sappy gratitude evaporated. “Every time you say something nice, you ruin it.” “We talked about nice.” “And I told you being nice has benefits, but you’re too stubborn to—”

I wiped my hands on my apron, let out a weary breath, and picked up the platter. Balancing it carefully, I set it on the counter. Zylas, perched on the stool across from me, stared at the dish. “My best recipes,” I told him, gesturing at its contents. “Chocolate-dipped toffee butter cookies, salted caramel pretzel pecan cookies, red velvet and white chocolate cookies, raspberry almond shortbread cookies, and my personal favorite, marshmallow-stuffed s’more cookies.” He blinked slowly at the heaps of fresh-from-the-oven deliciousness. Behind me, the tiny apartment kitchen was a disaster of batter-coated dishes. Flour dusted my apron and a chocolate smear had dried on my arm. Amalia and I had moved into the small two-bedroom apartment yesterday, and my first act as a renter had been to buy all the baking ingredients I needed, plus an entire bakery’s worth of bowls, trays, utensils, and measuring cups. Our cramped kitchen could barely hold it all. “Don’t you want to try them?” I asked Zylas, uncertain why he was just sitting there. “This is part of our contract. You don’t need to trade for them.”

“This is … a lot,” he muttered. “Why did you make so much?” “Because you’ve been protecting me this whole time, and I wasn’t holding up my end of the deal. It wasn’t fair.” I twisted my hands. “I also wasn’t sure what you’d like.” Head canting, he picked up a shortbread cookie, its center packed with sugary raspberry filling and the top drizzled with sweet vanilla icing. He lifted it to his mouth, nostrils flaring to take in the aroma, then bit into it. I waited hopefully. Squinting at me, he held it in his mouth—then swallowed it whole. “Chew,” I told him in exasperation. “Ch.” He shoved the rest in his mouth, then picked up a s’more cookie with a crumbly chocolate-and-graham topping. He chomped it in half and gooey marshmallow stretched between the cookie and his teeth. He mashed the whole thing in his mouth. “Do you like them?” I asked anxiously. He selected a red velvet cookie. Ate it. Said nothing. “You were so quick to tell me my blood tasted gross, but you can’t come up with a single observation about my baking?” Smirking, he ate a fourth cookie without comment. “You’re infuriating.” His tail swished. He sampled the final cookie option, then licked a smear of sticky caramel off his finger. Grumbling under my breath, I turned to the sink heaped with dirty dishes. “In my world,” he said unexpectedly, “there is a type of … tree.”

I faced him again, my brow furrowed in puzzlement. “On the tree, it grows small …” He cupped his hands as though holding something. “… small fruits. The outside is poisonous, deadly, but inside is juicy and sweet. We fight over these trees. I have killed to take the fruit when it is ripe.” He picked up another s’more cookie. “These are better.” My heart swelled, but I waited warily. Whenever he said something nice, he always ruined it. Shoving the cookie in his mouth, he crunched it twice between his teeth, swallowed, then chose a pretzel cookie and bit it in half. No further comments. No insults or disparaging smirks. I quashed my wobbly smile and hurriedly started washing the dishes, afraid if I thanked him, he’d say something mean and ruin the moment. He thought my cookies were better than a fruit he’d killed to eat. My hands, submerged in soapy water, paused. I’d have to make sure no one ever tried to take food from him. It sounded dangerous. While I washed dishes, he devoured every last cookie, then wandered into the empty living room. A blanket was folded on the floor where I’d been reading earlier. Zylas stared around in a dazed sort of way, then sank down on the blanket....