Dream Eater (m|m)

Chapter 3

On the street, I take stock.

I've got a thousand dollars cash in my pocket, I'm full up on energy but I feel awful, and my physical body is hungry and tired.

That's right. Even though I'm a badass immortal demon, if I want my physical body to survive I still have to take care of it.

And I do want it to survive.

Most demons are Incorporeals, or Shadow People--especially the low-level ones like me. Having a body is a privilege, and I don't intend to give it up.

The rarest thing is that this body was always mine, which means no one else can claim it.

If it dies, I might be able to repossess it as long as it's not too damaged, like I did when I first became a dream-eater; but if it's hurt beyond repair or destroyed, I'd have to look for another, and the competition is fierce.

A lot of demons end up having to share, like flat-mates, or a bunch of people in a van taking turns at the wheel.

No thanks. I have a hard enough time getting along with myself.

There's a bank on the corner and I go in to see if they'll give me change for one of the hundreds.

The teller looks at me with open suspicion and takes a long time checking the bill with her special blue-light thing.

She finally decides it isn't lying to her and counts out a hundred in small bills.

On my way out I catch sight of my reflection in the glass door and understand her misgivings.

My hair's a mess, my shirt is stained with sweat, and my face has the drawn, haunted look of someone who's recently experienced being cut up into little pieces and disemboweled.

She probably thinks I'm on drugs, and I don't blame her. I'm lucky she didn't call the cops.

Outside, I consider my options. Honestly, they're a little limited. The money in my pocket is all I have, and while I left a few things at Max's, it's nothing worth going back for.

You know how in movies and stuff the immortal people are all wealthy and shit, because they've had all that time to invest in the right things and become super powerful and rich?

Well, that didn't happen to me. Becoming a demon did nothing for my financial sense.

It was actually easier in the beginning.

With the advance of technology, it's become harder and harder to have a legitimate place in the world. Fingerprints, background checks, digital ID verification--all that crap makes it really hard for a guy whose last official record is a death certificate get by above-board.

Fortunately, even I've managed to make a few connections over the years.

I make my way across town to the Riverfront District. There's an old warehouse that a bunch of artsy-types have converted into apartments and studios. My best friend lives in the nicest one.

Dante answers the door, looking divine as usual--all high-cheekbones and flawless dark-chocolate skin. Dante is a sex-demon--the high-level type.

They prefer 'sex-demon' because 'incubus' and 'succubus' are gendered terms, and Dante is non-binary and fluid.

Their amethyst eyes widen as they take in my appearance.

"Alex? Honey, what in Hell happened to you?"

I don't know why--maybe I'm feeling vulnerable--but those words and the fact that I know Dante cares is all it takes to make me cry.

"Hey now!" Dante pulls me into a hug. They're taller than me by half a foot, long-boned and graceful.