Chapter 17
Chapter
Seventeen
Iarrived at Forsyth Park armed with more weapons than I’d allowed myself to carry in five years.
Our weapons were useless for killing these fae, but they weren’t useless for forcing them out of Vale’s territory.
It was more than likely the Coranians would return another day, but at least it would give us time to formulate a better plan than “fight like hell and hope we don’t die. ”
The temperature was comfortable, which meant there were more people roaming the thirty-acre park than I would’ve preferred. Any ensuing violence endangered innocent bystanders.
Stepping out of the shadows, I unsheathed my sword and flicked my wrist from side to side as a warm-up.
There was no sign of Vale’s team. He’d instructed them to stay hidden, but I hadn’t expected them to be so good at it.
He may be the eighth son of a dubious god, but Vale was a natural leader.
I had trouble getting Jinx to use the litter box.
Then again, she was a cat. Only a fool would expect a cat to listen.
“I thought you said you had contacts in the sheriff’s office,” I said.
“What makes you think I don’t?”
I waved a hand at the dozens of people milling around. “No one is clearing the area.”
“My insider has a new supervisor.” Vale’s face flickered with annoyance. “He doesn’t seem to hold my position in as high regard as his predecessor.”
“Does he know who you are?”
“I’m under the impression he thinks I’m a lunatic and that his predecessor merely humored me.”
“His mistake.” The lack of a relationship with human law enforcement would impede Vale’s ability to keep his territory safe from supernatural threats.
There were already instances of fae breaking ranks within the city limits.
If I were Vale, I’d want to do everything in my power to get them on my side.
Thunder rolled.
“Remember, we can’t kill them with weapons,” I said.
“Which is why I gave the order to contain them,” Vale replied.
The ground thrummed with the beat of many footsteps.
Vale tensed. “Are you sure there are only seven of them?” Vale asked. “Sounds like an army.”
I tightened my grip on the handle. A fae army would be an even bigger problem.
Vale cut me a sidelong glance. “You look nervous.”
“There are people.”
“We’ll protect them.”
“I know, but they’ll see us.” They’d see me. Vale could blend. With my snake hair and wings, I was a monster in their midst. They’d be frightened. And if they knew my past, they’d have even more reason to fear me.
“It’ll be fine,” Vale said. “I see…” He trailed off, the tension easing from his broad shoulders. “What exactly do I see?”
Hefting my sword, I followed his gaze to the corner where the first visitor bobbed into view. Mine was a proper blade—old steel, warded hilt, hungry edge—and there I was, standing on a side street that smelled like pot and spilled beer, braced for carnage.
Instead, a living lantern waddled toward us on wooden sandals.
It had eyes. They blinked. The umbrella tipped itself politely as it passed, then scuttled along, humming off-key.
The sword suddenly felt ridiculous in my hand.
More demons trailed behind the lantern. “I don’t believe it,” I said in a hushed tone.
“It’s some kind of demonic Mardi Gras,” Vale said.
A demon with a tiger-skin loincloth strutted by, chest puffed out like he was on a runway.
He had coarse, pebbled skin the color of old stone, and a broken horn that had been snapped off at a crooked angle, like someone had taken a bite out of it.
He caught me staring and shot friendly finger guns at me.
“Pew, pew,” he said, his voice unexpectedly high-pitched.
Another demon followed, limping proudly on a single disproportionately long leg, the other tucked up like an afterthought.
Every step made a hollow thunk. Its foot was hairy, ending in three thick claws that clicked on the pavement.
It dragged a wagon behind it filled with spinning tops, all laughing.
I lowered the sword an inch.
“This is…not what I expected,” Vale said. “You?”
“I feel embarrassingly overprepared.”
People migrated toward the park, phones raised, grinning. Someone shouted, “Yo, this parade is sick!” A woman in a witch hat clapped and yelled, “Happy Halloween!” even though it was seventy degrees and nowhere near October.
No one screamed. No one ran.
The parade kept coming. A pogo stick with a cracked grin hopped on one foot.
A teakettle with arms puffed steam and argued loudly with a rolling stack of plates.
A lacquered chest sprouted legs and chased a yapping sandal with its tongue hanging out.
It was like the enchanted objects from Beauty and the Beast had come to life and marched all the way from their castle.
Then the fire demon showed up.
I stiffened despite the upbeat environment. Old instincts died hard.
Its body was entirely flame, not illusion or glamour—real fire, folding and unfolding like muscle. A segmented skull floated within the blaze, plates clicking softly as it turned its head. Its eyes bulged, bloodshot and furious looking, like it had just lost an argument with the universe.
It leaned down toward a group of onlookers.
And sneezed.
A burst of sparks sprayed out, spelling something that looked suspiciously like “sorry” before fading. The tourists applauded. Someone tossed it a glow stick, which the demon caught, stared at, and tucked behind its misshapen ear.
Okay. Definitely not carnage.
“This is the reason for the oni?” Vale asked, as perplexed as I was.
“I was told they were harbingers. Maybe we inserted the doom part.” I exhaled and finally sheathed the sword.
The parade flowed past me, a river of the absurd.
Music drifted through it—off-tempo drums, a flute that sounded like it was being played underwater, something that might have been a shamisen if the shamisen was drunk.
This was wrong, but not bad wrong.
“Beans!” someone yelled behind me.
I turned to see a woman clutching a grocery bag like it was a holy relic. “You scatter beans and chant,” she said, very serious. “That’s how you get rid of them.”
“She’s right,” I said automatically. Folklore reflex. “But only on the last night of the year.” Which this wasn’t. On the last night of the year, when boundaries thin and endings matter. Tonight was just a casual stroll. A chance to stretch their legs and be themselves in public.
“Why would we want to get rid of them?” a young man asked. “They’re awesome.”
Beans flew like Mardi Gras beads in New Orleans.
Then they bounced.
A handful of dried soybeans pattered harmlessly off the tiger-skin demon’s back. Another handful pinged off the long-legged one’s skull. An umbrella demon squeaked indignantly as beans ricocheted off its canopy like hail.
The fire demon looked down as a bean passed straight through its calf and clattered on the pavement. It blinked, offended, then bent down and roasted the bean midair into a perfect little snack. It offered it to a kid holding a dripping ice cream cone.
Chanting began. Off-key, uncertain, ripped from half-remembered diaries of their grandparents. Nothing happened. The parade didn’t even slow.
An old memory surfaced, and I realized what this was.
“It’s the Night Parade of One Hundred Demons,” I said.
Not a metaphor. Not a cult name. The real thing—Hyakki Yagyō—spilling out of the shadows, like someone had torn a seam between worlds and shaken out a junk drawer full of funky folklore.
I couldn’t believe it. As a teenager, I’d heard rumors of the parade and begged to see one. The Fates had refused. I wasn’t allowed simple pleasures. I wasn’t allowed to want anything at all.
“Everything okay over there?” Vale asked, a note of teasing in his voice.
“I’ll be better when I’m back home in my pajamas eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon.” My acerbic response was instinctual. How could I tell Vale the truth when I rarely told it to myself?
A demon shaped like a walking mortar and pestle rolled past me and said, “Excuse us,” very politely.
The long-legged demon tripped, caught itself, and bowed to a fire hydrant. The broken-horned one adjusted his tiger-skin loincloth and flexed for a group of college students, who screamed appreciatively and demanded selfies.
I caught my reflection in a darkened window—me, sweaty, sword strapped across my back, face set for a war that wasn’t happening.
I started laughing. Couldn’t help it.
The parade stretched on until the street was nothing but color and noise and the soft thud of paws on asphalt. When the last demon passed—a squat thing with moss growing in its beard and a stop sign for a shell—it tipped its cap to me.
“Lovely night,” it said.
“Yes,” I replied. “It really is. Thanks for coming.”
“Thanks for having us.”
Then they turned a corner and were gone, like they’d never been there at all. No scorch marks. No slime. Just a few dropped beans and a lingering smell of smoke and old wood.
People drifted away from the park, arguing about costumes and special effects. Someone swore it had to be guerrilla art courtesy of SCAD students. Someone else compared it to Austin’s version of staying weird.
I stood there a moment longer, listening to the steady beat of the city’s pulse. Not every monster came to hurt you.
Some of them just wanted to enjoy a pleasant evening walk.
Vale gestured to the retreating college students. “Maybe we should follow their lead and grab a drink.”
“I should grab the next boat to Evermore.” I’d been on the mainland longer than I should have. I started to text Justine, but I only managed to type a single word before the ground erupted.
“Coranians!” Gage shouted, running toward us.
As I drew my sword for the second time tonight, I thought of the dueling seers’ visions. The oni were the harbingers of the demon parade, which overlapped with the arrival of the Coranians. The sisters had told me as much, but I’d misunderstood their revelations.