This is the opening to my novel Demon’s Grin. I’m not crazy about the title, but I’ve been working on this for almost three years and haven’t come up with anything better. For a while, the working title was Love and Destroy, after the Franz Ferdinand song, which is about the book The Master and Margarita by Mikhail Bulgakov. Because of that song, I read that book, and certain things from it inspired my story. But the title didn’t fit.
If all goes as planned, I will publish this novel next month, but I don’t want to announce a date for sure because I am a procrastinator and might not have it ready. Basically all I have left to do is name the bands in the book, name their songs, and name a few businesses. See a pattern? As I’ve said before, names are hard for me. You can check out this page to read a description of what the story’s about. This scene introduces the demon lord Anzelm, his servant Gilpin, and the Spector.
Two men appeared at the counter moments after the doors were unlocked at six a.m. The barista jumped when he turned to find them in the cafe that had been empty seconds earlier. The familiar creak of the door’s hinges hadn’t warned him of their arrival, and the men’s appearance set his nerves on edge. They were both dressed in the style of well-to-do gentlemen who had stepped out to the opera a century ago and had been wandering cobblestone streets since then.
One must have been almost seven feet tall. He held a polished black walking stick with a silver snake’s head affixed to the top. As he flexed his wrist back and forth, the stick swung gently, clearly not long enough to touch the ground and therefore of dubious purpose. His black tuxedo jacket had tails, and he wore a pair of cardboard 3D glasses, the kind with one red lens and one blue.
The tall one stood in deference to the other, about half a step behind and to the side. The shorter one’s black hair was slicked back with a single lock hanging loose over his forehead. He also wore a tuxedo, with a red cape over his shoulders, held in place by what looked like a medal of honor, conceivably presented by a foreign dignitary of a country that had ceased to exist several wars ago.
They both smiled with bright, vampiric teeth.
Regaining his composure, the barista swallowed and forced a smile in return to their silent greeting. “Good morning. How can I help you?” His eyes shifted toward the kitchen door, the closest escape.
“We’ll have two cinnamon macchiatos,” the shorter one said. “For the patio.”
The barista glanced out the front window. “It’s raining.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
The wind plastered a soggy newspaper against the window for a few seconds until another gust blew it away. The men’s shiny grins never wavered.
“Anything else for you?”
Their eyes traveled to the menu board. “I’ll have a ham and egg croissant.” The shorter one turned to the one with the 3D glasses. “And you, Gilpin?”
“A blueberry scone, sir.”
“A blueberry scone.” He repeated the order to make it official.
They took their food and drinks to a round metal table outside. Rain pattered on the large black umbrella stuck through the center of the table. Gilpin straightened the edges of the stacked napkins. A crumpled paper bag whipped down the street in the wind. The men’s breakfast remained undisturbed.
Lord Anzelm removed the clasp of his red cloak, which loosened itself from his shoulders and reformed itself in a third chair.
“After all this time, I don’t see why I can’t travel by my own power.” A gravelly voice growled from the cape.
“My darling, it’s nothing personal,” Anzelm said to the dark opening in the hood where a face should have been. “The mortals don’t know how to react to you because you haven’t the ability to smile as Gilpin and I have.”
On cue, they both flashed their blindingly white teeth at her. The cloak sunk lower in the chair.
“Smiling shows them you mean no harm. At least not yet.”
Michelle Wicklow 