by S. M. Reine
A lifetime of killing demons could never have prepared her for the ugly reality of being unable to pay her bills. It seemed cruel that she could be a skilled accountant creeping toward debt, but she didn’t think many demons would be impressed by phone calls from debt collectors.
Elise’s gaze wandered to the drawer with her knives again. Demons only responded to violence.
Screw discretion. Maybe it really was time to start speaking their language.
Click . The sign outside Motion and Dance Studio flickered and turned off. Rain tapped against the control box on its side, dripping onto the brown grass and running off into the gutter.
Elise locked the door on the control box and headed inside. Her footsteps echoed through the main hall as she moved from window to window to shut them. Elise’s reflection on the mirrored wall behind her mimicked her actions, a dark silhouette of a long-haired young woman in an open blazer and low heels.
She peeked into the second, smaller dance hall. It wasn’t quite as nice as the main one, since it had recently been converted from a garage. The studs were exposed on one side and boxes with branded t-shirts were stacked against the wall.
The windows were already locked, so Elise turned to leave again. Her own motion in the mirror caught her eye. She hesitated in the center of the dance hall.
A scar on her left breast peeked over the neck of her blouse, glowing pale white in the light from the street lamps. That injury had been delivered by a stone knife in the hands of a woman claiming to be a death goddess. She tortured Elise for hours by chaining her to a wall and drawing lines in her flesh. Most of them healed cleanly, but the one over her heart had been deep enough to scrape bone.
It was the last time Elise hunted a demon. She prevented apocalypse that day, but the costs had been too high.
She clicked off the flood lights before locking the front door, wiggling the handle to make sure it was secure. She hugged the side of the building to avoid the rain as she took the stairs to the second floor.
The door upstairs was ajar. She hung her coat on the hook beside James’s jacket and shook out her hair.
“James?” she called, stepping into the kitchen.
All of the lights in the apartment were off. Elise flipped the switch to the stove’s overhead light. Golden potatoes simmered under a glass lid, and two wine glasses were waiting nearby on the counter. The wine itself was still on the rack.
Her eyes scanned the arrangement of the furniture, the appliances. The table had been moved from the informal dining area to the living room. Half-melted candles marked with pentagrams and anointed with oil were arranged on low stands around the edges of the room. A large crystal had been set on a velvet cloth in the center of the table, and the last edition of the Sierra Witch’s Almanac lay by its side.
It looked like James had been preparing for a ritual, but she heard no sounds in the house beyond the occasional hiss of steam and clicking as the stove’s temperature shifted. He would never leave dinner unattended.
Where was he?
Elise slipped off her shoes, a thread of adrenaline thrilling through her stomach. She turned off the light again and approached the hallway. Lifting her skirt over her knees to free her legs, she lowered into a half-crouch.
“James?” she called again, softer this time.
Creak.
Danger.
Elise spun too late. The closet door slammed open, and a tall, dark form flew at her from its depths. Her hip hit the arm of the couch and sent the side table crashing to the ground. She let herself roll over the side, and the assailant flew past her.
She was on her feet again in a heartbeat, sweeping her leg high to strike his back. He cried out, stumbling forward, and Elise kicked again, lower this time. Her foot connected with a muffled thump .
He lost balance, barely catching himself on the half wall. He threw his arms up to block Elise’s next kick, catching her ankle. She jerked and broke his grip.
Her attacker’s fist flashed through the darkness. Elise twisted away. The blow landed on her right shoulder instead, and her arm numbed.
The blows between them were fast, smooth, like a choreographed dance. He swung at her, and she blocked him with her forearms to strike low, seeking a hole in his defense. Kick, kick, punch—Elise caught his arm and threw him against the opposite wall.
She grabbed him by the throat and pushed his head back. She tightened her fingers around his esophagus. It didn’t take much force to hold him in place, even though he was nearly a foot taller than she was; one wrong move and his airway would collapse.
“Got you,” she growled.
A frozen moment hung between them, his struggling breath hot on her face. He smelled of breath mints and aftershave, and a little bit like summer grass, and he all but radiated heat. He had been inside—waiting—for quite awhile.
Her assailant gurgled. Elise relaxed her hands.
“Oh, sorry. Are you okay?”
He coughed once and cleared his throat. “Yes...I think so. You haven’t lost your touch, have you?”
“There’s no chance of that happening with your help.” Elise backed off, allowing her aspis to step away from the wall. She flicked on the living room light, and James rubbed his neck.
“You could have pulled your punches,” he said. “Didn’t you recognize me?”
Elise smiled. She would have recognized him in total darkness. “It would be insulting to go gentle on you. What’s that I smell in the oven?”
“Prime rib roast with red wine sauce.”
She picked the side table back up. “Sounds great. What would I do without you?”
“Starve, I imagine,” he said as he pulled an apron that said Kiss the Crone over his head.
James returned to his cooking while Elise fixed the mess she made in the living room.
The apartment was small, but he made good use of the space; James’s sense of aesthetics was far superior to hers. All his furniture matched in a Pottery Barn kind of way, his walls were decorated with fine photography, and he even had some kind of fancy throw rug. Elise’s idea of decorating was putting up movie posters with thumb tacks.
“It took you a long time to get up here,” he remarked from the stove. “I hid for ages. What were you doing downstairs?”
“Locking up. Someone forgot to shut all the windows.”
“I was busy making dinner.” James turned on the oven light and peeked through the window. “Just a few more minutes, I think. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He gave her the kind of look that said he knew she wasn’t, but didn’t feel like arguing it. “Did you see the Ramirezes today?”
“Yeah. That was fun. They’re a mess.”
James uncorked a bottle of wine and poured it into the waiting glasses. “Is it possession?”
“Maybe. Lucinde didn’t like having St. Benedict flashed at her. She also kicked me in the face.”
Elise picked up the Sierra Witch’s Almanac and peered at the bookmarked page. James’s coven published a new almanac every year with lunar correspondences and seasonal spells, and they always included an excerpt from their Book of Shadows in the back. The spell he was looking at seemed complicated.
He handed her one of the glasses. She dropped the book. “Your bruises look painful.”
“She’s got a nasty kick for a five-year-old. Nastier than yours, anyway,” she said. He opened his mouth to protest, but she went on. “Marisa mentioned she was having nightmares. It’s possible Lucinde was attacked by a mara or an incubus instead.”
“But you don’t think it’s possession?” he asked, serving dinner using puffy blue pot holders.
“Probably not.”
“Good. That will make it easier.”
Elise shrugged. “It’s not my problem. I’m not an exorcist anymore.”
He turned on the radio on the windowsill.
“—other spooky news, a temp guard by the name of Richard Czynski disappeared from a cemeter
y in the north side of town,” the DJ said in a voice far too perky to be discussing a missing persons case. “Curiouser and curiouser, he’s not the only thing that’s disappeared. The grave of notorious Amber Hackman, one of the only people to escape this black hole of a town, has also been raided. Obviously she didn’t like having to spend her death here anymore than she did her life. Zombie attack? Your run-of-the-mill grave rob gone wrong? You ring in and let us know on Spooky News, your favorite—”
“What trash,” he muttered, switching it over to a classic rock station.
She felt the motion before she saw it. James’s hand whipped toward Elise.
Side-stepping his reach, she jerked his wrist forward and trapped his arm under hers. A twist, a hard shove, and she had him against the wall.
Elise grinned at him, and his returning smile was softer, but no less affectionate. It softened the coldness of his eyes. Ten years, and he hadn’t won a fight against her once.
“Damn, you’re fast,” he said when she dropped him. He rubbed his elbow. “I’ll get you someday.”
“Sure you will,” Elise said, mostly to be nice.
They sat down together at the table. James hesitated over a piece of potato, pushing it through the prime rib’s juices with his fork. “I think you should keep working with the Ramirezes.”
“Why? The coven can handle it, and I have too much work to do. Real work. The kind of stuff that pays the bills.” Elise smiled over her wine glass. “Unless you think the Ramirezes would pay me a consultation fee?”
“You can’t charge them money.”
“And I can’t pay the rent with gratitude.” She tried to ignore his disapproving stare, but she could feel its weight as she picked at her salad. “I’ll investigate. Maybe I’ll find out something helpful.”
“Thank you.”
She grunted. “Do you still have my falchion?”
“It’s in the locked case where you left it. Why? Did you want it back?”
“Not really. I was just thinking about it earlier.”
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, too,” he murmured over his glass of wine. He didn’t mean the sword.
The sounds of classic rock intermingled with the soft pattering of rain on glass, making for a peaceful meal. Elise made a good show of picking at her dinner to appease James, but as good as it tasted, she left her plate half-full. She cleaned up her place at the table, shoveling her barely-touched potatoes into a container.
James wasn’t finished, but stood to help her anyway. “Eager to escape?”
“No, I just have to follow up on some clients that aren’t paying.”
He touched Elise’s chin, his thumb hesitating over the gash. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
Elise gazed up at him, momentarily breathless. James was a handsome man. He also had absolutely no interest in her romantically, which he had made very clear over the years.
“Yeah.” She turned from him to put the leftovers in the refrigerator. “I’m fine.”
He caught her elbow—a less violent gesture than their earlier fighting. “Let me take care of you,” he said.
All she had to do was nod, and James ran his knuckles down her cheek, and his power flowed around them, gentle and warm. It breathed through Elise, and she felt as though she was sinking into the sky.
An instant later, it was over. Elise touched her lip. The wound was gone.
James held up a yellowed note card with a single, prominent rune inscribed on the blank side—an old healing spell.
“Found this in my fire safe yesterday. Might as well get some use out of my old paper spells. I don’t plan on using them ever again. This, on the other hand...” He took a knife of the cabinet and handed it to Elise. It was as long as his forearm and intended to be worn in a spine sheath.
The corner of Elise’s mouth twitched. “Hiding weapons in your kitchen? I’m visiting a client, not going on safari.” She jabbed the dagger into an invisible enemy, and the muscles in her arm rippled.
“Yes, but between Lucinde’s demon problem, and some of the other news I’ve been hearing...” He trailed off. “I would appreciate it if you humor me.”
Elise led him to the entryway and showed him the throwing knives hidden in her blazer pocket. “I’m miles ahead of you.”
James’s smile was sad. “Be careful.”
“Always,” she promised.
3
Elise didn’t deal with many local clients, and of those nearby, only one would provide information as well as a paycheck: Craven’s, a small demon-owned casino with six months of outstanding debt to their accountant.
Craven’s wasn’t one of those big hotel casinos that booked Cirque-style shows and courted high-rollers. It was a little dive a few blocks off downtown with boarded windows and no flashy lights. Elise only discovered it wasn’t condemned when one of her oldest clients, a cambion that could barely stand, informed her that their racks of ribs were the best kept secret in the city. And they did have great ribs—but it wasn’t always from the kind of animal Elise was willing to eat.
Her contacts worked in the basement nightclub beneath Craven’s. It was the kind of place a kopis couldn’t visit unless she wanted a fight, and it wasn’t much safer for someone in a business suit, either. Instead, she went home to change into something club-appropriate. Elise didn’t go anywhere except work and the gym, so all she had was a black halter top and Lycra pants left over from Halloween. The pants were skin-tight, with nowhere to hide a weapon, but she fit an ankle rig under her right boot and a small knife under her belt. It wasn’t a fast draw, but it would have to do.
Elise was doing her makeup in the mirror when Betty got home.
“You look like you’re ready for a hot date,” she said, invading their shared bathroom without knocking. Betty was still in her barely-decent skirt, but her lip gloss was a pink stain at the corner of her mouth.
“How was dinner with your mentor? I take it your hunt was successful.” Elise gestured at her own mouth. “You’re messy.”
Betty wiped what little lip gloss remained off on her finger and laughed. “Successful? Yeah, right. He only wanted to discuss biomedical sciences, and not the naked kind. You using the sink?” Elise stepped aside to give her room, and Betty bent to wash her hands. “You didn’t answer when I asked about the hot date, I noticed.”
“My mission for the night is far more innocent than yours. I’m going to drop in on a client.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. Why?”
Betty folded her arms. “How often do you visit your clients wearing skin-tight Lycra?”
“Any time my client happens to work at a casino nightclub and it’s a Friday night,” Elise said, tossing her sponge in the trash. “I can’t show up in business casual. I’d get laughed out of the place.”
“That might happen if you try to seduce the money out of your client, too. I’ve seen the way you dance.”
Elise pushed Betty away from the sink with her hip. “Out of my way. I’m an accountant on a mission.”
“Uh huh. Sure. I’ll keep my phone on me tonight, so give me a call when you’re too drunk to drive yourself home.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m taking the bus.” She applied eye shadow with her fingers.
“Taking the bus and not planning on getting drunk? A likely story.”
“The casino is downtown, Betty,” Elise said. “There’s no free parking.”
Betty snorted. “Okay, have fun with your ‘client.’ I’m going to collect the withered scraps of my dignity and read research papers on the couch.”
She left. Elise ran her fingers through her thick hair to detangle it and appraised her looks. The look wasn’t “accountant,” but she wasn’t sure she would pass as an ordinary clubber, either. Elise didn’t feel convincing.
Elise grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair. “See you in the morning,” she called as she passed through the living room. Betty waved a hand over the
couch.
She passed Betty’s cousin on the way down the sidewalk. Anthony occupied the other half of their duplex, and he worked multiple jobs, so he was always coming and going at weird times. It looked like he had just left his job at the car shop. His jeans were covered in oil.
“Hey, Elise,” Anthony greeted, pausing on the sidewalk. “How are you? Did you—”
“Have to catch the bus. See you later,” she said, brushing past him without stopping.
She jogged down the street and around the corner. A breeze moist with distant rain washed into her face and down her shirt. The storm had passed, but the weight of the air promised more to come. A man in a bulky coat was slumped over the bus stop bench, holding the schedule over his head as though it was still pouring.
Right on time, the bus groaned up the street and paused at her curb. Elise took a seat near the back door. No amount of fresh, rainy wind could make the inside of the bus smell good—despite being cleaned frequently, it still smelled of sweat and the hundreds of people who rode it every day.
The lights turned off and the bus rumbled down the street again. It jerked and swayed with every bump in the road. The city quickly began to transition from small businesses into casinos, bars, and strip clubs. The change was abrupt—one second, Elise was staring at peaceful storefronts and the occasional tattoo parlor, and the next, she was surrounded by flashing neon lights and towering hotels.
The sign on an adult store displayed a woman wearing only a thong and a suggestive smile, its mannequins decked out in boas and corsets. The Wild Orchid’s sign flaunted its topless dancers across the street from the city courthouse. The bus hung a right, and tall signs over what had once been a casino advertised an off-Broadway show and a car event, both of which had left over a year ago.
People crossed from sidewalk to sidewalk amongst slow traffic, ignoring the buses and cars as they lurched from a bar to a pawn shop to get money for one more pull on the slot machine. A woman with overdone curls and skin hanging limply from her bones almost got struck by the bus as it turned onto Center Street. She didn’t notice. She wobbled on, disappearing into the maw of a casino and out of sight.