“Then she’s being coerced.”
“Yeah, at a patio restaurant with a good view and a fancy-ass bottle of wine. Scary.”
Gelman slammed her hand on the arm of the chair. “She hates the Brotherhood.”
“You sure? Love makes people do stupid things.”
“Yes, I’m sure, you insolent girl. Who do you think I got the Vashar from?”
“Whoa. Hang on,” I said. “She made the Vashar? Is that not a case for her being involved in black magic?”
“That magic was gray at best.”
“Tomato, tohmahto. How can you defend her when she sicced the gogota on you? Those demons may have been modified by the Brotherhood, but Tessa was the only one who could have forced them to attack us. Bad enough the demon came after me for the Vashar, it came after you, period.”
Gelman crossed her arms, jutted her chin out, and looked pointedly away.
“This is your last warning. Quit upsetting her,” Sienna said, entering the room.
I glared at her. She had bags under her eyes and her cartoony penguin scrubs were a glaring contrast to her listless shuffle. Even her dreads hung limply.
“Do you have an APB out for my visits?” I said.
“Yes. The nurses on this ward call me when you show up. Did you pack your toiletries?” Sienna went into the bathroom.
“I already checked,” Gelman said.
“Uh-huh.” Sienna returned, holding up a toothbrush. She hipchecked me off the hospital bed to toss the toothbrush into Gelman’s open suitcase.
“You’re a total witch,” I said.
Sienna raised her eyebrows. “And?”
Grr. I pulled up a chair. “Lure kids to your gingerbread house, much?”
“Nah. I have celiac. It’s straight up puppies and candy out the back of vans.”
“Your patients must love you.”
“They do.” She rubbed her temples.
“Pulling overtime again?” Dr. Gelman said.
Sienna blinked at her confused for a second, before nodding. “Yeah. Rough night.” She pointed at me. “I don’t like you and I certainly don’t trust you.”
“Sienna, enough. Nava is annoying, but her intentions are good.”
I pressed my hand to my heart and fell back in the chair. “Such praise. I’m verklempt.”
Sienna picked up the photo. “Since when is that Tessa’s type?”
“It’s not,” Gelman said. “He’s Rasha.”
The room went absolutely, eerily still. Sienna’s lip curled and any trace of tiredness vanished. “Who is he?” she growled.
“Since you both seem to be so chummy with her, how about one of you call her and find out what the deal with this guy is?” Suddenly, I was levitated horizontally, then crashed onto the ground. Hard. On my tailbone. Bypassing the nice chair I’d been sitting in altogether.
I rubbed my butt, letting Sienna see the magic crackling over my hands. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“You want to earn a drop of trust with any witch who isn’t Esther? Give me his name.”
If Sienna went after Ferdinand, I suspected it wouldn’t go well for him. I shut down my magic and hauled myself back into the chair. “Ferdinand Alves. I don’t know where he is but he attacked me and he has ice magic, so if you want to rip his balls off for taking advantage of your friend or whatever? Go nuts.”
Sienna dropped the photo in my lap. “Bloodthirsty. There may be hope for you yet.” She scanned the empty closet and closed up Gelman’s suitcase. “Call me if you aren’t feeling well tonight.”
I didn’t rate a goodbye.
“Will I be able to levitate someone like Sienna did? Or wait.” I slid the photo into my pocket. “Fly?”
“Levitating, even a split-second elimination of gravity, takes years to master. So I’m going to go with no. You want to fly? Book a plane ticket.” Gelman rummaged through her purse for her phone, scrolled through her contacts, and called Tessa. She left a message saying it was urgent. “We’ll be lucky if she gets this any time soon. This week was solstice. She’s probably at the Santa Barbara celebration.”
“There are witchy vacation destinations?”
“There are places of interest for our community, but Tessa lives in Los Angeles. It’s not far.”
“Is Tessa powerful enough to wield black magic?” I said.
“Possibly, but she wouldn’t do it for the Brotherhood. Tessa’s a very talented witch who fervently believes that organization is to blame for our community losing strength.”
“How so?”
“What do you know of the Laws of Thermodynamics?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
She muttered a few choice words about the dumbing down of humanity. “First Law. Energy can’t be created or destroyed. Same with magic. Think of all magic as a cup of rice. The number of grains are finite. They can be divided into piles but to do so you must take from one pile and give to another. No adding in new grains.”
My stomach growled. “Hold that thought. I’m just gonna run to the vending machine.” I’d forgotten to restock my purse stash of snacks in all the excitement of the past couple days.
Gelman rolled her eyes, reached into her bag and tossed me a granola bar.
“Aw, thanks, Mom.” It even had chunks of dark chocolate in it. Sweet!
“Feel free to chew before swallowing.”
“I’m channeling my inner anaconda. So what you’re saying is the more Rasha, the smaller the witches’ pile?”
“Yes.” She unwrapped her own granola bar, eating it with pointed slowness. “Tessa figured she could reverse the problem. Magically castrate the Brotherhood and all would be replenished.”
“Hence the Vashar.”
Gelman smiled.
I gasped. “You cold-hearted snake.” I tipped my head in acknowledgement. “You stole the amulet from her so she couldn’t use it and then handed it over to the Brotherhood. Why would you do that? If not having Rasha means witches get stronger, don’t you want the same end goal?”
“Take away the hunters, do you take away the demons?”
“No.”
“Precisely. So we stop future Rasha from being made and in, what, thirty years? Fifty? Demons run wild over the earth. We witches are not trained to handle it anymore, and most in my community have other concerns. We need hunters. Also.” She waved a hand dismissively. “The amulet was a crude solution. Stopping Rasha one at a time would be futile.”
I made puppy dog eyes at her purse but no more treats were forthcoming. “Is it less magic or weaker magic as well?”
“I suspect both. Historical records report witches’ magic had once been strong, come easily, and incurred less of a personal cost. That’s changed.” She cleared her throat. “We seem to succumb to disease faster these days.”
I closed my eyes briefly. Was it her magic, not her smoking that had caused the cancer? On the surface, magic seemed so cool. It was necessary; I just wasn’t sure it was worth it. And from the wistful expression on Gelman’s face, I couldn’t tell if she did either.
Chapter 20
Armed with Tessa’s full name and place of residence, I went to an internet café and Googled the shit out of her. What I found floored me.
I leadfooted it back to Demon Club, parking the car practically sideways in my haste to get inside.
Rohan and Drio were clipping their Brotherhood-crafted employee passes on beige overalls. A set of work boots and a hard hat sat on the table for each of us.
I waved the record I’d found and printed at the café, mouthing the word “Phones?”
“All clear.” Ro tossed me my overalls.
“They’re married. Ferdinand and Tessa. I don’t think her friends knew about this.” I stripped off my sweats to step into my uniform. Changing backstage or in coed dressing rooms all those years for dance meant I didn’t give a crap about stripping down to my underwear in front of people.
Rohan smacked Drio across the top of his head when he sta
red at my boobs more than listening to me.
Drio shrugged. “Leo’s are better.”
I plumped up my girls. “You wish. Pay attention. Even if Ferdinand charmed Tessa into marriage, convincing her to use her talents to bind demons, why would she go along with it if she hates the Brotherhood?”
“Table it.” Ro zipped up my overalls and I smirked at him. “We gotta get to the docks.” Ro left the room but before I could stop him, Drio stepped in front of me.
“Wanting a peek for the road?” I said. “Smart to wait for Ro to leave, but still not happening.”
He scowled at me, rubbed his neck, and then scowled again. “I want to do something nice for Leo. Take her out. The two of us.” He jabbed my shoulder. “Why aren’t you making one of those little comments you think are so funny? You don’t think I’m good enough for her?”
“This isn’t just hooking up. You want a serious relationship with her?”
“Forget it.”
“No.” I grabbed his arm. “You just caught me off-guard.” To say the least. I wasn’t going to out Leo and I wasn’t going to cast aspersions on their relationship, but I was going to have a very serious talk with my bestie very, very soon. “Take her to a Whitecaps game. Our soccer team,” I clarified.
His face lit up. “She likes football?”
“European football, she’s nuts about. North American football, not so much.”
“Who would be?” he said.
“That’s cute. Your confusion does double duty as Italian condescension.”
Rohan popped his head back in. “You two planning on coming?”
“Grazie.” Drio gave me another chin chuck and bounded out of the room.
From the road, the sugar refinery was confined to a series of connected, six-story brick warehouses with arched windows that were over a hundred years old, but once we got through port security with our passes and identification very thoroughly checked and onto the site itself, we saw how large the property actually was.
Fellow workers in white or beige overalls, all with hard hats and work boots milled about, going between the different buildings that facilitated the various aspects of the sugar refining process.
After careful study of the map, we’d pinpointed the most probable area for Candyman to show himself. He wouldn’t be in any of the packaging centers, nor did the buildings for storing or melting sugar seem likely.
“This way.” Drio led us to our destination along the waterfront like he’d been here a million times before. There were so many employees that no one glanced twice at us, plus if we’d cleared port security, we’d obviously been vetted. We kept our stride purposeful and not hurried, despite the fact the brilliant gleam of pink and gold sky was already shot through with inky purple, the sun starting its descent, and Candyman needing to feed for his next twenty-four hour cycle.
The shed where they stored the raw sugar looked like it had been built for a giant. The huge bay doors were open, revealing massive piles of sugar the color of wet sand. I could easily picture some baby cyclops sitting in here building sandcastles, spinning turrets stretching up to the slanted ceiling.
A group of workers were busy using the crane to transport the raw grains. We bypassed them and stepped inside the shed, only to be immediately hit with the smell of molasses that was so pungent, I tasted it at the back of my throat. The air was so thick with sugar that even this short exposure left my skin skim-coated in it.
Steel beams ran the length of the ceiling, illuminated in pools of light. There were plenty of shadows for the hoc demon to portal in up there and never be seen.
First rule of monster hunting? Always look up.
We climbed the metal staircase to the catwalk, talking quietly, occasionally pointing at the sugar like we had some logistical problem to solve, scanning for any hint of movement.
“There.” Rohan tilted his chin the tiniest bit to indicate the shadowy creature sitting at the juncture of two beams overhead.
The hoc scrubbed at its mottled gray skin with its front paws, a long pink tongue lolling out between two very sharp fangs. Hairless cats were fugly. Demon hairless cats that were the size of a cougar with gremlin ears and wrinkles I could count like tree rings were profoundly disturbing.
“Where’s the mate?” I asked. “Is this Candyman or the other one?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Drio said. “We tag this one, we follow it back to the other one. Va bene.”
I leaned over the catwalk. “Clear.”
Drio flash stepped the length of the catwalk. Our only sign that he’d jumped onto the railing and pulled himself up onto the beam with the hoc was when the demon swatted his ear with a heavy paw. Drio had tagged the hoc with a subdermal tracker.
A sharp whistle sounded from down below. Drio stood at the bottom of the stairs, throwing a thumbs up.
Ro and I kept our attention on the sugar, bodies relaxed as we clomped down the stairs, pretending we couldn’t feel the weight of the demon’s tawny-eyed stare on our backs.
As soon as we hit the street, I pulled off my hard hat, scratching the top of my head in relief. According to the tracker, the hoc was still in the sugar shack, completing its sugar synthesis process, so we waited in my car.
Drio sprawled in the back seat, fidgeting and tapping his feet. Every few seconds he let out an annoyed huff.
“Quit it before I fry you,” I said.
Another huff. “Your witch friend going to train you to fully use your magic?” he said.
“I hope so, but I’m not sure when that’s going to happen.” I twisted around and ruffled his hair. “Worried about me?”
He pushed my hand off his head and sank back against the seat. “Leonie is worried. Call her.”
I hid my smile because that wasn’t actually a denial on his part.
“You’re growing on him,” Ro said, his eyes trained on the tracking screen in his hand.
Drio kicked the back of his seat.
Ro shot him the finger, then held up the tracker. “Brace yourself, kids. It’s recalibrating.”
The screen buffered for a second and redrew the map. We hightailed it to the next location. The hoc had set up shop in an empty storefront a few blocks away, its windows papered over, and a faded To Let sign on the outside wall.
We parked in the alley around back, next to a stack of pallets, and exchanged our cloth employee overalls for brand new chemical protective suits and facemasks in case the oshk showed up, wriggling into them as best we could in the car.
Ro picked the lock on the back door and I stepped through, magic on, ready to short-circuit any alarm panel. Good thing there wasn’t one, because in light of what I found in this back room, disarming any system went clear out of my head.
One of the matryoshka, this one with a blood-encrusted female human torso, was bound to a metal folding chair with thick iron chains. The fat iron vise gripping her chest was overkill.
Oozing sores dotted the raw red skin along the top of the chains and her tiny head was missing a chunk, like it had been bitten off. The demon had lost all blobbiness, her body more a teardrop than a water balloon. Ribs protruded from her human torso and she’d shrunk to about a third of her size, though slumped over unconscious as she was, her exact height was hard to determine.
Clear plastic tubing was attached to her nipples with metal clamps. The other ends of the tube fastened on to a still, like the one we’d found at Candyman’s previous residence. That still was some kind of fucked-up mad science, with a humming box dispensing corn starch into the glass beaker collecting the oshk’s dripped secretions.
The person-sized cartoon cake doughnut painted on the wall from the previous tenant, smiling merrily at us with the words “Add some YUM to your day!” floating in the clouds around it, really added that je ne sais quoi to the tableau.
With a mechanical rumble, the vise clamped down, squeezing the oshk. Bloody liquid glugged out of her nipples and into the plastic tubing. The oshk was being milked, emitting
a hot gush of cotton candy-scented stank with each spasm.
I gagged, covering my own boobs in sympathy. Rohan put his hand on my shoulder to steady me.
Wind whispered against my face. Drio was gone.
Whistling in the front of the store cut off with a strangled shriek. Drio dragged Candyman through the doorway, into the back room. The hoc flickered between his human glamor of unremarkable brown-haired, white guy and his wrinkly hairless cat form. He fought hard, but Drio had skewered him through the shoulder on the end of a short iron spear. With the iron coursing through his system, the hoc was unable to portal.
The hoc finally managed to lock into his demon form, sinking his fangs into Drio’s arm. Trying, anyway. His teeth snapped together with a sharp click, closing on thin air.
I backed up against the wall, one eye on the back door and one on the exit to the front office. Chances were if the mate showed up, she’d portal in, but I didn’t want to be taken off guard because she used a door.
“Here kitty, kitty.” Drio crooked a finger at him.
The hoc leaped for Drio. Another miss. He bellowed a roar and pounced on me, knocking me to the ground with all four paws, but immediately bounced off with a yelp when he got the electric shock of his life.
Snarling, the cat swung his head at Snowflake.
“Where’s your mate?” Rohan casually flicked out all his blades.
The hoc growled and charged him, knocking Ro off his feet. My idiot boyfriend was grinning as he wrestled with the demon cat. The hoc snapped his fangs at him, barely missing Ro’s nose.
Ro sliced the demon’s belly open. Liquid gooshed over his gloved hand and when Ro jerked away, it glistened, stretching like taffy.
Candyman was coated in a fine sheen of sweat, his skin streaked with black from the iron now poisoning his system thanks to both Ro’s blades and the spear. Leaping away from Rohan, the demon changed back to his human form and tore the spear out with a wet plop. The iron tip splintered, leaving part of it embedded in him. It was designed to do that, but the demon didn’t know it.
The sugar syrup that made up his blood streamed from both his shoulder and his gut. He was grayer as a human than his natural demon skin color.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 109