Dream Eater (m|m)

Chapter 6

I gape, speechless.

The only demon I've seen do something like that was a Jinn called Hadji, and all he could do was light matches with his mind. Which was cool but, I mean, is it that much harder to just swipe it against the box?

Damien waves his hand and the blue fire goes out.

"Well?" he demands.

"Well, what?" I return, confused.

"Am I a demon?" he leans forward, dark eyes intent.

I bite my lip. "Maybe? Probably?"

He frowns.

What does he want? Taxonomy? It's not like there's a Peterson's Field Guide to Demons I can consult.

"When did you figure out you could do that?" I ask.

He pulls absently at his stylishly cut hair. "After I looked you up, after I found out about Derek, it just occurred to me. If demons are real, maybe Hell is real. Maybe my dreams are real. So I tried it."

"Jesus Christ."

"Can you say that?" he asks.

I look at him, exasperated. "Look, Damien, I'm only a dream-eater, and I've only been a demon for like, eighty-years, which is nothing. I only know what I've picked up along the way. This life--or existence, or whatever--is lonelier than you think. All I can tell is that there are ranks. I'm nowhere near the bottom--that would be like, sludge entities and shit--but I'm also not far above the bottom-feeders either. Whatever you are...I think you're way up there. I think you're Fallen."

"What's that?" he asks.

"Okay like...was Derek religious at all? If you possessed his body shortly after he died, and picked up his basic memories, maybe you have some of his knowledge too."

His eyes get a faraway look as he searches his mind--or Derek's. "I think he was Jewish or something," he says at last.

"Fine. Then he knew about concepts like angels, demons, stuff like that?"

Damien nods.

I search my mind for something I can use for comparison.

"Okay, so like with international borders and shit for humans. If you're a U.S. citizen, you can't just wander over to Mexico or Canada without going through the proper checkpoints, right?"

He nods.

"But if you're, say, a coyote or a jackrabbit, no one's gonna stop you. I mean, some asshole might shoot you for fun, but they're not gonna stop you and ask for documents."

He nods again.

"Okay, so in this scenario, you're a citizen. But not just a citizen--you're like, a governor, or a senator, or something. People notice when you cross borders. It's a big deal. I'm a coyote. No one care where I am, because I'm not important enough to be worthy of notice.

He frowns. "But humans and coyotes aren't even the same species," he says.

"Exactly. Whatever you are, it's not what I am."

He looks thoughtful.

"Do you think the dreams are real?"

His eyes are bleak, and I wish more than anything I could tell him something other than the truth, but I can't.

"Yes," I say. "I can tell when a dream is either a real memory or based on one. Yours are real. I'm sorry."

"Why didn't you tell me?" his voice is quiet, and he sounds lost.