The Edge Of The Cemetery by Margaret Millmore Read Free Book Online Page B

its electroplasmic juice.”
    Billy cringed. She hated that term, but it was the best one I could think of to describe the jolts of electric-like charges the demons emitted when we touched them barehanded, or when they were so powerful they torched my pencils or her chopsticks when we stabbed them.
    “As far as the other demons are concerned, I'm not sure what to make of them. But I'm pretty sure that kid deliberately lured us outside so we could get our butts kicked by his demonic friends. Did you notice that almost all the victims were healthy and well built…solid? That's not right…demons pick the weakest in the crowd. They're easier to possess and control, but last night's victims looked like they'd been in pretty good shape before they were haunted and possessed. What are the chances that a band of demons would assess the crowd and pick out the biggest and strongest? Let's not forget, the one guy tried to grab you before you kicked his ass. What was that? Was he trying to kidnap you?”
    Her voice was low, almost a whisper. “You think that kid set us up? That he wanted us there, to kill us, or….” She paused and her brow furrowed deeply. “Why would they want to kidnap me?”
    “I don't know.” I picked up my glass and drained half of my beer.
    One of the front doors opened and Phil sauntered into the bar, looked in our direction, and tipped his hat in greeting. Phil was in his early forties, tall, with large, expressive eyes that appeared to protrude from their sockets when he spoke passionately, which was often. His hair hung in frizzy curls almost to his shoulders, and his beard and mustache were neatly trimmed. His apparel consisted of a few constants; he always wore a hat of some sort, and a vest with a silver pocket watch tucked into the left pocket, with the chain attached to a button. He usually paired these items with jeans, biker boots, and if needed, a long wool topcoat. He had an energetic personality that some might mistake for hyperactive, or at the very least enthusiastic about everything—good or bad.
    Phil stopped at the bar for a beer, then strolled over to the booth and placed his glass on the table. “Hey man, how the hell are you?” He reached out to shake my hand, which was still bandaged; he grimaced and thankfully shook lightly.
    Leaning past me, he murmured something to Billy, probably a compliment. He was a bit of a suck-up when it came to her, and the only man I'd met, besides myself, that actually enjoyed her abrasive personality. Billy, although she wouldn't openly admit it, liked him quite a bit too.
    Phil got settled, took a gulp of his beer, and said, “So man, I heard that was some show in Marin.”
    Billy and I nodded at the same time. Phil leaned closer and scrutinized each of us, then said, “Man, you got the lion's share of it, didn't you? Either that or Billy really is a better fighter than you.” He winked at her and a slight smirk spread across her lips.
    “She didn't have to fight a possessed linebacker, and she didn't get thrown off a cliff,” I said defensively.
    Phil held his hands up and said, “Just teasing, man.” He smiled and winked again. “So Pete said there were about ten or twelve demons, including the kid and the demon he had with him.”
    I nodded. “Yeah, that was the largest attack so far, and the boldest. I mean, there were a lot of people there that weren't possessed and saw the whole thing. I can't imagine how Pete managed to spin it so the cops bought what he was selling.”
    Phil nodded, but before he could say anything, the doors opened again and I said, “Aris is here.”
    We waited quietly as Aris stopped at the bar and ordered his drink. As usual, he was wearing a perfectly tailored suit, a stark white shirt, and silk tie. Aris was about my height and build, but where I was just clean cut and not too hard on the eyes, he was handsome in an elegant and exotic way. He had dark, almost black eyes, olive-toned skin, and jet black hair