Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four by Linda Welch Page B

their destination? Maybe demon speed was not used
habitually. Perhaps it would result in mass confusion, accidents,
injuries when demons slammed into one another.
    I walked to the crosswalk and to the other
side of the road, marveling when autos stopped for me. I couldn’t
adjust to the fact that a demon city seemed little different from
one back home.
    Gelpha at the bus stop watched me coming,
but I detected no hostility in their eyes. Curiosity, perhaps?
Adults looked away when I joined them, although children peered at
me curiously.
    People were being well-mannered, even the
guy I knocked over. He didn’t used the term “lady” as in What
the hell do you think you’re doing, lady? but as a polite form
of address. Once he got past his ire at being knocked on his tush,
he didn’t seem astonished to see me. They must be used to
humans.
    Were human beings here commonplace, regular
people, or like me see demons as they actually are? Did they have
demon friends or loved-ones? Did any live here? Demons live in my
world; they have friends, families, businesses and I thought nobody
was any the wiser, but maybe some are.
    How many human beings knew about Bel-Athaer
and kept the secret?
    How bizarre, to see a small host of demons
patiently waiting at a bus stop. They wore a strange miscellany of
attire. One man’s long, carrot-colored hair stuck in all directions
from beneath a brown porkpie hat. His black suit was too tight, the
sleeves and pants too short. He nonchalantly leaned on a
silver-topped walking cane. A woman with smoldering saffron hair in
an intricate braid and loop design wore a short crinoline skirt in
glowing autumn colors and a black waistcoat, and nothing on her
feet. The child who held her hand wore pink velvet PJs. Others wore
attire I see in Clarion: T-shirts, jeans, modern suits, dresses,
skirts, etcetera.
    Their clothing was a lighter weight than
mine. The temperature was milder here. Heat built beneath my down
coat.
    I arrived at the back of the queue. A small
boy said, “Mumma, why doesn’t - ?”
    She bent over, her long, waving cinnamon and
steel hair washing over her cheek. “Hush, Simmy, we’ll talk about
it later.”
    I tried to pretend I stood at a bus stop in
downtown Clarion, although I rarely use a bus. I felt conspicuous
and nervous down to my toes. With a show of nonchalance, I watched
traffic cruise past as if standing with a crowd of demons at a bus
stop was nothing out of the ordinary. Cars, trucks, minivans were
similar to those back home, with small differences. They rose
higher off the ground, the wheels were a fraction out of proportion
to their size; they had fat buttons on the doors instead of handles
and no license plates. They sure didn’t sport emblems or insignia
which read Ford, Dodge, or Toyota. I did spot odd symbols in
metallic colors on the hoods. The buildings across the road bore
something similar above the doors or stenciled on the windows.
Gelpha writing?
    Funny, it looked familiar. I could swear I
saw it before.
    A smallish blue bus chugged to a stop, the
doors concertinaed open, but nobody got off or on. I craned to look
over the people in front of me.
    They parted like the Red Sea. One by one,
they turned to me.
    My eyes edged right to left. I didn’t know
what to do. Then a demon with glittering brown hair done up in a
topknot turned remarkable peridot eyes to me, smiled, and gestured
at the bus.
    I poked my chest with an index finger, a
question in my eyes because I couldn’t force the words out. Me?
I should get on first?
    He nodded. I cleared my throat, gave him a
wavering smile in return, walked to the bus and climbed in.
    What in God’s name was going on?
    All seats were occupied, so I moved along
the aisle to the back, pretending not to see how passengers looked
me over. Straps hung from the ceiling, so I grabbed one. My need to
hang onto something had little to do with the way the bus lurched
as it drove off. I was in Bel-Athaer, using Gelpha