Esmeralda's POV. 

"Want one?" 
Sasha slips a cigarette box out of her black purse. A blue flame flickers on her fingertip and she lights one for herself and then for me. I take it, and place it in my mouth. My throat tastes like dirt and grit, my eye lids heavy with sleep from this quiet music. I don't know the song, but it seems to crawl underneath my skin and rest in my bones. I want to lie down, instead I smoke with this girl on the roof. 

"Anyone you're going to take home tonight?" 

"Not tonight," I breath out a smoke ring. 

"That's no fun, I'm eyeing the wicca in the blue vest," she smirks at a man with a lean figure and hair cut messily to his ears. He's gorgeous, green eyes with cat like pupils clouded in black eye shadow. Silver glitter rubbed onto his skin, outlining his cheekbones and rubbed into his hair. In the soft blue lights the glitter almost looks like scales. 

The Wicca has a silver choker lined with tiny emeralds to match his eyes and earrings with obsidian snakes. His wrists in simple silver bracelets that dig into his skin. 

"He's too good to be true, most likely a rich wicca that bought those eyes you're staring into. I mean look at that vest, it's probably more expensive than my whole wardrobe," I scoff. I hate it when I run into rich wiccas, idiots and frauds. These days weaklings, who inherit old money from the family, can buy anything with the right hard cash. They buy spells to make them beautiful; spells to give them powerful auroras; spells to attract familiars when they can't summon their own. "Your awfully quiet," I look over at her. 

"He's not a wicca," her eyes are wide. Now he's smirking at us, his eyes meet mine from across the room. Sweat seeps the back of my dress, my blood running ice cold. Who is this guy? 

"What do you mean he's not a wicca?" 

"Look," Sasha doesn't take her eyes off him. "Look, that's not glitter, those are scales. Real scales. He's a demon." 

"What's a demon doing in a wicca club?" 

"That's not all, look at the bracelets." 

"Someone owns him, someone must've captured him then." These days it's a fad for people to capture demons. They keep them around like pets and show them off. They shower them in jewelry and nice clothes. To keep them from acting out, they buy these silver bracelets for them that keep them weak, each bracelet lined with spells that are the equivalent to demon poison. I, personally, think it's stupid to have a demon in a wicca club or a demon in public at all. If others start to notice, this could be trouble. And he has his bracelets on display, anyone could see them and put two and two together. 

 "It should've been obvious, he has the bracelets," Sasha moans. Of course, she's only worried about bringing a guy home with her. Great. 

"Sasha, don't say that too loudly," I roll my eyes at her. 

"What?" She keeps on moaning. "Admit that he's cute and if he was wicca you would've wanted to bang him too." 

"Sasha, you are so drunk," I snap my fingers to put out our cigarettes. "Let's get home." 

"What about the demon?" 

"That's not our problem today. We have to stay safe." 

"Fine," she says bitterly. I grab her, leading her out of the club. I feel the demon's cold eyes on my back; hungry.

... 

I have the distinct feeling it wants to eat me alive.