Marked By A Demon

Hell was busy this time of night.

Tucked away in a dark corner of Downtown Reviant City, the bar came alive after the sun went down. Dim lights and plush seats might suggest refinement, but Hell attracted a much stranger breed, mavericks and outliers who didn’t quite fit the social norms. Amber sconces flickered like candle flames, making the bottles along the back wall glitter like jewels. Laughter burst through the din, glasses clinked, and subtle music from an old jukebox provided the perfect soundtrack.

And in the thick of it all, at Hell’s peak hour, Danny Brooks manned the bar, fingers slick with condensation as he rattled a shaker. Urged on by the patrons pressing in at the counter, he sent a bottle sailing skyward, let it drop, then snapped it back up with a quick bump of his elbow. Gasps rippled through the crowd as he caught it clean and dipped the spout into a tumbler.

“Flip mine too!” someone hollered.

Danny grinned, scooped up a second bottle, and tossed them upward in a crisscross arc. Glass flashed in the light before he caught them both by the neck, tilting them into a perfect pour. Cheers erupted. He slid the drinks across the counter with a wink, already calling out for the next order.

The tricks were second nature, little flourishes he taught himself over the years to keep the restless energy from eating him alive. Turned out people loved it, egging him on every chance they got. The attention wasn’t bad, either. More attention meant more customers, and more customers meant more tips.

Positive energy rippled through the lounge. Regulars leaned over the counter with warm greetings and inside jokes. His coworkers teased as they hustled past, amped up by the busy night. Even the notoriously rowdy folks kept their cheer good-natured, laughter rolling easily through the room.

And yet… something about tonight felt wrong.

The hairs on Danny’s arms had been standing on end since the doors opened. Sure, people looked at him from every angle—he was flipping bottles through the air, after all—but this differed from the usual attention. These particular eyes were sharp and heavy, weighing down his every step. Each time he turned to greet the next customer, he scanned the room, hunting for the source of his unease. But only familiar faces occupied the lounge. The same crowd as always, no one looking at him twice.

He tried to shake it off and let himself soak in the hectic atmosphere. The scent of warm wood laced with whiskey and beer kept him grounded, and the simple repetition of mixing drinks occupied his mind enough to hold his smile in place.

And as long as he kept moving, he could pretend the hallucinations didn’t exist.

More tails had cropped up tonight, and in a wider variety than usual. Thin, whip-like ones swayed lazily in booths, while thick, heavy ones dragged across the floor behind their owners. Clawed feet clacked against the wood, hooked toes darting in and out of sight beneath tables. As odd as they were, the extra appendages didn’t faze him. He’d been seeing those since childhood. They were normal, relatively speaking.

It was the new visions that made his skin prickle and sweat slide down the back of his neck: the clouds.

They hovered over people’s heads, dense and shifting, seething with colors that tugged at his focus until he felt sick. Each one carried with it emotions that didn’t belong to him, emotions that tangled with his own so tightly he couldn’t separate them out. Staring at them only made it worse.

After a few hours of trying and failing to ignore them, his mind needed a break and the bar needed napkins. Danny handed off the bartending to Will and jogged through the back hallway toward the storage room. The hum of conversation faded behind him, leaving him alone with the throb in his temples.

The back door screeched open, making him jump.

“Daniel!”

In stalked Darla, his boss and the owner of Hell, zeroing in with a finger aimed straight at his chest.

Holding up his hands, he braced for the incoming heat.

“What the hell are you doing here?” She smacked his arm, then immediately soothed the assaulted bicep with a gentle touch. “Sorry. But you should be home resting!”

“I’m fine,” he said with a chuckle. “Promise.”

Darla planted her hands on her hips and leaned in. A deep furrow marred her forehead.

“You were discharged this morning,” she pressed.

Danny’s eyes flicked up. A cloud swirled above her head too, warm amber shot through with a muddy reddish-brown. Worry.

How he knew that, he didn’t have a fucking clue.

“You know me,” he said, swallowing the queasiness down. “I heal fast.”

“I know that, but—” Darla blinked and looked away, but not before he noticed the shimmer in her eyes.

“Hey.” He pulled her into a tight hug. “I’m sorry. I’m okay, really. Don’t worry about me.”

Her body jerked with a sob. “They said your skull was… Danny, how?”

She pushed away and caught his face in both hands, turning him side to side, fingers probing the back of his head. A tear slid down her cheek before she threw her arms wide in frustration.

“Seriously, how?” she demanded again.

“Been asking myself the same thing for years.” Danny shrugged. He didn’t understand it any more than she did, and neither did his doctors.

Truthfully, he probably should have been home in bed. But the thought of just lying there trapped with nothing but his own thoughts terrified him far more than a fatal head injury ever could.

After a long stretch of scrutiny, Darla wiped her cheeks.

“Fine.” She whirled and marched away, calling over her shoulder. “Fine. But you so much as wince, you’re going home.”

“Thank you,” he said, the quiet sincerity in his voice enough to make her pause.

Darla stood in the doorway, one hand propped against the frame. At last she gave a small nod, a faint smile touching her red lips, before she disappeared around the corner.

Gratitude warmed his chest. She could’ve just sent him home. Probably should have, in fact. But Darla knew how much he needed to be here. The work steadied his mind. This place gave him something he’d never had before: belonging.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried too. He thought his luck had finally run out when his mountain bike skidded off-trail and sent him careening into a valley. By all rights, he shouldn’t have survived.

Then again, he’d been cheating death as long as he could remember. Broken bones, concussions, lacerations—injuries that should’ve at least left scars, a handful of which had been declared fatal. Yet by the next day, he’d be good as new.

Even as a kid, he’d been reckless, a walking magnet for danger. As he grew older, it morphed into an obsessive need to test the healing, to push the limits. Mountain biking, parkour, base jumping… almost like he dared the world to kill him.

“You shouldn’t be alive” was a phrase he’d heard quite a few times in his life.

Danny sighed and rolled his neck to ease the tension. His head hurt, though he didn’t dare let Darla see it. She’d kick his ass, then kick him out the door. The ache didn’t stem from the crash, though. It came from the newest colorful addition to his hallucinatory entourage.

Headache aside, the bar still needed napkins. He grabbed the box and slipped back into the chaos. As soon as he circled the counter, the sensation of being watched staggered him. Only this time, he couldn’t blame it on bottle tricks.

His gaze swept the room again, met with the same regulars, the same chatter. Nothing was out of place, other than the clouds. He turned away from the shifting colors and focused on restocking behind the counter. They’d started after the accident, floating above the nurses from the moment he woke up in the hospital. He couldn’t make any sense of them. Odd visions had dogged him his whole life, his mind adding tails, claws, and wings to random people he encountered.

But the clouds? They made his brain hurt.

Maybe that last injury had been too much. He was done with the danger. Time to tone it down, give his body—and his mind—a well-needed break.

“Yo.” Darla bobbed into view and snapped her fingers an inch from his nose.

Danny jerked, realizing then that he’d been standing there holding a stack of napkins for who the fuck knew how long.

Concern shadowed her warm brown eyes.

“You okay, Danny? Really?”

He bent and kissed her forehead. “Mm-hmm, really.”

Her frown softened and she let it drop, but kept him in her sights all night.

By the time the evening died down, Danny’s head pounded and nausea roiled in his gut. The clouds were insistent, demanding his attention. Emotions crashed into him from all sides. Add in the constant prickle of being watched, and he was more than ready to call it a night.

Just after ten, Darla reappeared, even more serious than before. “I’m gonna ask you one more time, and if you lie to me I’ll beat the shit out of you. Are you sure you’re all right? I can postpone my vacation. I don’t mind.”

“No,” he said, adamant.

She arched a brow.

Cracking a grin, he clarified, “No, don’t postpone your vacation. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.” She squeezed him in a hug, arms reaching only halfway around his back. “I’m choosing to trust you. I gotta go home and pack.”

“Good. When you coming back?”

“Few days. Remember, kick ass running things while I’m gone and you’re my new manager.”

“It’s in the bag.” He leaned back and stretched his arms wide.

Darla flung a rag at his face. “Smartass. Walk me out.”

She grabbed her purse from behind the counter and Danny escorted her into the back. Opening the heavy metal door produced a god-awful screech that stabbed straight into his skull.

In the doorway, Darla paused, her forehead creasing just slightly.

“A friend of mine is coming by tonight to pick something up,” she said, drawing it out carefully, as if considering her words. “There’s a big yellow envelope on my desk. Just give that to him.”

“Will do.”

She lingered, nails clicking softly against the doorframe. “He’s… a little strange.”

Danny smirked. “I work here.”

“Fair point. But still, cut him some slack. He’s got the social skills of a brick wall, but he’s good.”

“Stop worrying and go,” he said. “Enjoy your vacation.”

For a moment, she stared at him, something indefinable passing over her face. Then it was gone as soon as it appeared.

“Okay, okay.” She stepped out, shouting over her shoulder, “Take care of my baby!”

The door closed behind her, a loud clang that made him wince, leaving him trying to decipher that look she gave him. Likely she was still hesitant to leave him alone so soon after his accident. He really was fine though. Probably. Maybe. The x-rays were clear, at least.

But x-rays couldn’t see inside his mind.

Danny took a few deep breaths before returning to the lounge. In Darla’s absence, the bar settled into its late-evening rhythm. This time of night, his role shifted from bartender to bouncer, surveying the room, ready to step in if tempers rose. Alcohol could flip the switch from lively to unruly in an instant, and after a few too many scuffles Darla had started relying on him to double as security.

The clientele, however, remained on their best behavior. Overall, the night ran smooth as brandy. If you didn’t count painful emotion-clouds and the relentless feeling of being observed.

When the last patrons finally trickled out, he and the crew kicked into closing mode. Already manager in everything but name, he’d run the bar plenty of times before. He’d worked there for just over ten years, ever since he was seventeen. Hell was his home.

Darla had saved him back then. There was no other way to look at it. He’d been living on the streets, booted from his foster home after being expelled from school. She’d offered him a job cleaning tables and washing dishes, provided him stability, and helped him get his shit together. Darla was more than a boss. She was his friend, and the closest thing he had to family. The fact that she trusted him enough to take over when she was gone filled him with pride.

As much as he loved the place though, he couldn’t stop glancing at the clock. All he wanted was to go home and collapse into bed, if he even made it that far. His head fucking hurt.

Around one in the morning, he walked the last employee, Jen, out to her car. Back inside, the blissful silence wrapped around him like a warm blanket, soothing his nerves. He locked the front door and pressed his palms into his temples, letting out a long breath. No more noise, no more people. No more eyes boring into him.

No more of those damned clouds.

Danny cracked open a bottle of water, sipping as he moved through the motions of closing, tidying the lounge a bit more and checking that the tables remained spotless. As he turned to wipe down the counter, he stopped cold, the rag hovering above the lacquered surface.

A tall figure stood motionless at the end of the bar, silent and menacing.

Author’s Note:

Welcome, and thank you for reading!

Season One of Marked By A Demon is always free to read here and on my other platforms. To stay caught up, my newest chapters are always waiting at The Hearth on Ream: reamstories.com/remygarrett