When Demons Walk by Patricia Briggs

man’s hand onto the smooth granite floor, making a dark viscous puddle. This one had been very satisfactory; his surprise, his terror was sweetening for the meal he’d so generously provided. The demon smiled as it contemplated its handiwork.
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    T HE PLAIN - FACED maid who entered the room the next morning and began to light the candles never saw the knife Sham reflexively seized at the sound of the door opening.
    â€œGood morning, Lady Shamera. My name is Jenli and my Uncle Dickon told me you would need a maid. If I am not satisfactory, you are to let him know and he will find someone else.” This speech was said to the bed tick as the girl folded it neatly back; it was also said in Southern that was so thickly accented as to be virtually indecipherable.
    Sham belatedly remembered her role as the Reeve’s mistress and responded accordingly—in accented Cybellian. “As long as you keep your tongue still about my personal business and listen to what I say, a replacement will not be necessary.”
    â€œNo, Lady . . . I mean, yes, Lady.”
    Sham gave the maid an assessing glance. Jenli didn’t resemble Lord Kerim’s personal servant in the slightest. Where he was tall and spare, she was short and round. Every thought that crossed her mind crossed her face first. It would be a long time, if ever, before she matched the perfect-servant expression favored by Dickon—thank the tides.
    Sham palmed her knife to keep it out of the maid’s sight and got out of bed, wandering languidly to the trunk at the foot. When she casually dropped the soft lace nightdress on the floor, Jenli blushed and paid even closer attention to the bed tick.
    Sham opened the trunk, newly purchased to hold Lady Shamera’s necessities and inspected its contents—the few items of clothing the dressmaker could make ready immediately, her bundle of Purgatory garb, the flute she’d taken the night the Old Man died, and several canvas bags full of sand to make the trunk weigh what it should. She supposed that she really should have stored the flute in her cave, but it was tied to Maur and she hadn’t had the will to set it aside.
    When Jenli stepped forward to help, Sham tossed a neatly folded dress across the room where it graced the floor like a dying butterfly. Jenli brought her hands to her cheeks and rushed to save the expensive material.
    â€œOh, Lady, these should have been hung up and. . . here, let me take that.”
    The shy, soft-spoken maid snatched the cloth-of-gold overdress out of her hands with the swiftness of a pickpocket. When the maid turned her back to hang the garment the wardrobe, Sham took the dress she wanted out of the trunk, closing and locking the lid with a touch of magic.
    The gown she chose was a blue so deep it was almostblack, complementing her eyes perfectly, and trimmed in a light yellow the same color as her hair. The sleeves covered her arms and shoulders entirely. The back was high cut and the collar fastened tightly around her throat. Jenli stood behind her and fastened the myriad of buttons that ran up the back of the dress. When Sham turned around the maid’s eyes widened a little.
    â€œWhere is the underdress, Lady?” questioned the maid uncertainly.
    â€œWhat underdress?”
    Jenli cleared her throat. “Some packages arrived from the dressmakers this morning, madam; shall I have them brought up?”
    Sham nodded absently, adjusting the gown for maximum effect. “Thank you. Where is the Reeve this morning?”
    â€œI don’t know, Lady, I am sorry. Would you like me to do your hair this morning?”
    â€œJust brush it out,” said Sham, then added in a fretful tone, “I need to find Kerim.”
    The maid led her over to the delicate bench that sat in front of a small bronze mirror. While she brushed the heavy blond mane, Shamera examined the dress with satisfaction.
    It had been intended to be worn