The Demon's Librarian

by Lilith Saintcrow

  “No.” Ryan’s tone was soft but utterly inflexible. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Paul. I just broke Rule Number Two for a Drakulein. They’ll retire me, and I might as well be dead. I’ll be shunned, and I’ll die. Separated from the woman I’ve tied my instincts to, I’ll die. I’ve seen it happen, two Drakul who got too close to Malik researchers. They faded.” He finished loading the clip and examined it, racked it into another gun, chambered a round “Unless she makes a point of retaining me as her bodyguard, I’m doomed.”

  If my jaw drops any further, it’s going to fall off. Doomed? Fade? Die? When was I asked about this? “You’re kidding me,” Chess began.

  “Stop it,” Paul interrupted. “Just stop. They’re not going to retire you. Not if I have anything to say about it.” He stared out the window, still running with stray rivulets of rain; it was one of the patented Jericho City slushers, the beginning of two days of steady, drenching, persistent rain. “You could give me a little credit, goddammit. I know I’m not the best Malik in the world, but you trained me and I’m not going to watch you fade.”

  He doesn’t even sound like he’s convinced himself. “Fade? What the hell are we talking about?” Chess’s heart gave a strangled thump. “Ryan?”

  “He’s become attached to you,” Paul snapped. “If they separate him from you, he’ll start to fade. You need to learn how to deal with him, Ms. Barnes, or he’s going to—”

  “Leave her alone.” Ryan’s voice, still very soft, sliced through his; the air seemed to chill a whole five degrees. He slid the gun into a holster. “She doesn’t understand. The important thing right now is getting her through the next week or so.”

  A very nasty thought began to worm its way up through Chess’s head. “Protective instincts,” she said flatly, raising one eyebrow and fixing Paul with a glare he could probably feel even with his back to her. Shoving me up against the wall and kissing me is not protective behavior. I am sensing a very big problem rearing its ugly head right about now.

  “Possessive instincts,” Paul supplied, turning away from the window. “Mating instincts. The Drakulein—”

  “Whoa. Hold on. Wait a minute.” Her cheeks certainly couldn’t get any hotter. I’m blushing like a teenager. Dammit. “So you’re saying . . . oh. Oh, wow.” That put an entirely new shine on things. “Wow. That’s . . . wow.” Oh, I’m an idiot. Can’t I ever say anything right? “Does . . . I mean, do you have any control over . . . this sort of thing, Ryan?”

  “Enough control.” Ryan’s tone was still soft, but it was less scary than it had been. “I’m not all animal, Chess. Your sister’s listening behind the door, by the way.”

  The bedroom door opened and Charlie appeared, wearing Chess’s coveted Buddy Holly silkscreened T-shirt. She’d also resurrected a pair of her old jeans, kept at Chess’s in case of emergency or sleepover, and had stuffed her feet into a pair of Chess’s old Nikes. Thank God we’re the same size in shoes, Chess thought. Then her brain ran up against the last few minutes again and stuck like an engine without oil.

  “Thai,” Charlie said grimly, with a fierce look that suggested she’d heard all of the last few minutes and had a few problems of her own. “You coming, Chess?”

  She nodded, mute. Her cheeks were on fire, and the blush spread its way down her neck. Wow. I’m going to have to think about this one.

  Ryan gained his feet in a single movement. “We’ll go with you.”

  “No way,” Charlie said firmly. “She’s coming with me, and spending the night at my place. Pack your bag, Chess. We’re leaving.”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed, his shoulders squaring. “You don’t understand. The Inkani are out there, and they know she’s a potential. Not only that, but they know she’s being guarded by a Drakul. They will find her, and when they do you’d better hope I’m there to protect her, goddammit.”

  Charlie folded her arms, her chin coming up. Her hair was on fire under the lights, and Chess suddenly felt very glad her sister was here. “Listen, mister. I don’t know who you think you are, but my sister doesn’t need weirdos like you running her life. You haven’t done anything but get her in over her head with this demon crap, and it stops here. By the time she comes back you’d better be out of her apartment and observing a respectable distance, or I’ll get a restraining order against both you and your collection of playmates. Is that clear enough for you?”

  I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen Ryan speechless. Chess took a deep breath. “Let’s just calm down, all right? Charlie, I can’t just throw them out, they don’t have anywhere to go. I’ll head out for a spot of Thai with you, and they can stay here and rest up. When I come back we’ll hash everything out. Okay?”

  Nobody looked mollified in the slightest. Paul, who had turned away from the window, exchanged a long meaningful look with Ryan, who simply started stuffing items into his bag as if they had personally offended them. The silence stretched, became brittle, and Chess sighed, stalking across the apartment to the table to open her demon-hunting bag, since it had her ID in it. She slipped her knife and her ID into her purse, wincing as she contemplated how cluttered her table was. “Good,” she said. “I’m glad we have this all—”

  Ryan’s hand closed around her wrist. “Don’t go alone. Not after dark, Chess. Please.” He said the last word as if it choked him.

  “Get your goddamn hand off her!” Charlie’s voice hit a pitch close to Mom’s during the great Soccer Leg Break of Chess’s seventh-grade year. Ryan simply glanced at her, as if she was a persistent but not terribly noteworthy insect.

  Chess studied his face. He dropped his chin, looking down at her, his eyebrows drawn together and his mouth a tight line. She could feel the tension return, thrumming through him like the sonic massage of the trolls in their stone underground. “You want me to trust you, right?” she reminded him softly. “I need to get away from this. I need to be normal for a little while.”

  His jaw turned to stone.

  I wonder if he’s going to grit his teeth down to nubs. Or shatter them. Christ, my imagination just works too damn well. Chess tried again. “I’ll come back tomorrow night. We’ll talk.”

  “They will find you, Chess. It’s only a matter of time.” His thumb brushed the underside of her wrist, a slow, even movement that made her breath catch. “I’m not going to let you do this. I can’t.”

  She felt her eyebrows raise, couldn’t stop herself. “Let me? I don’t think so. You’ve been shoving me around ever since you showed up, and I’ve had enough of it.” One step back, her wrist twisting and breaking free of his grip. “You want me to trust you? Back off. I know what I’m doing. I took out a skornac without your help, mister. And I’ve managed to stay alive so far. I’m going with my sister, and you’re going to stay here and wait for me. I’ll be back tomorrow night, and if you want anything to do with me at all, you’ll sit your silly ass right here and wait for me. You got it?” She hitched her purse up on her shoulder. Screw packing. I’m leaving. I can use Charlie’s toothbrush.

  “Don’t do this.” Did he actually sound pleading? “Don’t make me force you.”

  She turned on her heel, wondering if he’d explode into action. She’d seen just how fast he was, if he was going to try to stop her from leaving it would probably get nasty very quickly, and no amount of Al’s kickboxing would stop him. “Charlie? We’re leaving.”

  Charlie’s eyes flicked over Chess’s shoulder. She steeled herself, but nothing happened. Charlie edged for the door.

  “When the Inkani come for you, they won’t care who’s with you,” Paul said quietly. The words hung in the room. “You’re putting your family at risk.”

  Why do you think I kept all this a secret? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that any demon with enough brains might try to take my family hostage. “If you guys don’t shout it to the heavens that I’m your new best friend, I don’t think it will be a problem,” Chess lied, and pushed Charlie into the entry hall. “Let’s go. I want a nice c
old beer when we get to the restaurant.”

  “Good thing I’m driving.” Her sister sounded strained. “I think I’ll order curry tonight. You?”

  “You know my heart belongs to phad Thai. Goodnight, Ryan. See you tomorrow.”

  He didn’t respond. She heaved a sigh of relief as her door closed behind her, and she locked it, including the two deadbolts.

  “Are you sure it’s safe to leave them in there?” Charlie whispered.

  “If they wanted my TV they would have taken it before I got home tonight.” Chess replied grimly. “Let’s get out of here before anything else happens.”

  Fourteen

  The sister lived in a tony high-rise on Vaskell Street, on the fringe of downtown, an apartment that probably cost more a month than Chess made in two. She was a real barracuda; she’d nailed Paul in the nuts and held a gun on him. For a Malik to be held down by a female skin was embarrassing, to say the least, even if Paul had been trying to be careful and not kill anyone. Even if Paul had been wounded and tired, too. Ryan was beginning to think that toughness ran in Chess’s family.

  The older sister drove her silver BMW like a bat out of hell, and they stopped at a hole-in-the-wall that apparently produced good Thai food, from the smell and the steady stream of customers. Emerging with takeout cartons, they had piled back into the BMW—and it had been a load of fun keeping up with them and dealing with a Malik’s speed constraints at the same time. If he hadn’t taken the precaution of checking Chess’s address book, he might have had to track them on the ground, and that wouldn’t have been pleasant. As it was, he’d barely managed to keep the silver car in sensing range as it sped through the streets and disappeared into the parking level of the Vaskell Arms.

  Ryan hunched next to the HVAC unit, on the roof of a Chinese restaurant across the street from the sister’s apartment building. All looked calm, except for the persistent rain—and Paul, huddled in the lee of the unit, with a turn-aside charm carefully applied to keep him dry. They were in their fourth hour of watching, and Paul was starting to get the fidgets. As usual.

  Ryan’s shoulders were wet, and rain dripped in his eyes. It took effort to keep his voice low. “I don’t know. I don’t think she understands. I tried.”

  “Christ. A potential, and she doesn’t have the sense to stay where a Drakul can keep an eye on her.” Paul was on his fifth repetition. “Women, eh? Nothin’ like ‘em. Little spitfire, isn’t she? And her sister. Both pretty. What a pair.”

  I didn’t notice her sister, Paul. I was too busy being glad she was alive and unharmed. Ryan ignored the persistent drip of rain down the back of his neck, soaking into his scalp. There was only so much a turn-aside charm could do if you were right in the path of the wind. He’d given his Malik the sheltered place, as usual. Just leave it alone, Paul. Let me brood in peace, dammit.

  He could see her even now, standing with her chin tilted just so and her hair lying wet against her shoulders, the vulnerable pulse beating in her throat. He should have argued harder, done something, distracted her . . . but he’d been fighting the damnable need to grab her shoulders and shake her, not to mention kiss her forehead and her cheeks and a few other places, just to prove how happy he was to see her.

  I need to get away from this. I need to be normal for a little while. Her lower lip had trembled just a little, the circles under her beautiful eyes taunting him. She probably didn’t know how her hands shook just a little, and how the persistent iron-copper smell of adrenaline and fear hung on her.

  That was the exact point Ryan had realized he was in deeper trouble than he’d ever thought possible. Because he’d realized, as she twisted her wrist free of his hand, that he would rather stand guard on a rooftop or in a dingy alley than destroy her peace of mind any further. And if he couldn’t do what was necessary to protect her, what use was he to anyone?

  “Women.” Paul shook his head, a slight movement Ryan could sense even in this darkness. It was the long, deep time of early-morning dark, when old people succumbed and the streets seemed bare and empty of all but the homeless and the criminal.

  And, of course, the demonic.

  “I thought she was an ice-queen.” Paul’s voice was a bare murmur. He still smelled of fear, but not so badly. Ryan didn’t blame him, this was one fucked-up situation. “She played it really well, acted like she didn’t even know who Delmonico was. Goddamn.”

  If he says that again, I am seriously contemplating throwing him off this roof. Ryan filled his lungs. Her scent still clung to him, a faint soothing reminder. She was beginning to smell like sunlight, and he was beginning to feel faintly nervous when she wasn’t in sight. Faintly nervous? No, really nervous.

  When I come back we’ll hash everything out. As if she was really coming back. As if she thought he would let her spend the night unguarded anywhere.

  Her sister apparently had no trouble believing that demons were after Chess. That was odd; most skins literally wouldn’t believe the proof of their own eyes when it came to sorcery. He wondered what she’d done to convince such a hardheaded left-brain type of the existence of demons. Then again, the sister was by all appearances very close to her. The Barnes were probably a hell of a family.

  I don’t think she’d take me to meet her parents. He sounded bitter even to himself, but he wasn’t the type of guy a girl brought home. Just a big, dumb, brainless Drakul, and he’d scared her just when he was doing so well. She trusted him, she wanted to be partners . . . and Paul had to open his big mouth. It was the wrong time to tell her.

  Christ, you mean there could be a right time? The thought was amused and sour in equal proportion. He was in a hopeless situation, and the sooner he learned to live with it, the better. If the Malik didn’t tear him away from Chess and sentence him to a slow, lingering fade, the Inkani would get him—and while he might die defending her, he might also die without being able to do even a quarter of what he wanted to do to her.

  The demon part of him fixed its gaze unblinkingly on the building. Go find her, it whispered. Find her. Touch her. Make her see.

  He wasn’t an animal. He was human, as she had reminded him. What would a human man do?

  I don’t have a goddamn clue. And who am I going to ask, Paul? Yeah. Right. Like he can keep a woman around for more than a night.

  The rain kept coming down, smacking and dripping, a hundred cold, wet kisses. He scanned the dark empty streets, listening with half an ear as Paul began again. “Can’t ever predict what the female species will do. And a potential too. You certainly know how to pick ‘em. Hey, Ryan?”

  Oh, for Christ’s sake. “What?” He pitched his voice loud enough for human hearing.

  “Can I ask you something?” Paul shifted his weight, maybe glancing uneasily at the corner of the HVAC unit. He was thankfully out of the wind. If the Malik caught a cold, there would be no end of bitching.

  “Ask away.” You will anyway. At least Chess knows when to shut up. Or maybe I just don’t mind hearing her voice.

  “Was it my fault? I mean, I should have known she was a potential, then I ran across the Inkani. I’m goddamn sorry, Ryan.” And he did sound sorry, for once. The Malik might have been hidebound and anachronistic, but they were fighting the good fight. And while some Malik were actively sadistic to their Drakul, the majority of them were decent guys. And the nasty Malik were generally eased out into research instead of on the front lines—any Malik who lost a few Drakul due to stupidity was investigated. They weren’t all bad. And the rules were there for a reason, they were good rules and had stood the Order in good stead.

  “It wasn’t you, Paul.” Again, he pitched the words loud enough for the other man’s hearing. I saw her sitting at her kitchen table crying and that was it. I fell in love peering through her window. Like a goddamn voyeur. “Really, it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Then what was it? She’s a librarian, for Chrissake. I mean, she stacks books for a living and probably hasn’t had a date since the last presidential admi
nistration. She’s a brainy type. I would have figured you for someone a little earthier, you know.” Paul warmed to his theme. “She doesn’t seem too well equipped to handle demons. Probably break a nail or something and start screaming. You know how women are.”

  I can’t believe I’m standing here in the rain with my Malik giving me dating advice. The image of Chess mourning a broken nail made an unfamiliar smile pull on the corners of his mouth. I can’t wait to see Paul’s face the first time he sees her on a heavy bag. He scanned the street again. “I like her,” he said, his eyes moving from streetlight to streetlight, each with a circle of wet orange light underneath. “She’s got good taste in music.”

  “You fell in love with a librarian because of her taste in music?” There was a strangled sound, and Ryan realized his Malik was laughing. It did sound funny when he put it that way.

  “She likes Buster Keaton, too.” This is no time for levity, dammit. Keep watch.

  “Ryan?”

  “What?” I feel like the parent of a five-year-old. But he’s probably talking to keep himself awake.

  “Why’d you let her go? You could have kept her there. I could have brought her sister home.” He sounded genuinely curious. “Or we could’ve kept them both there.”

  Because I can’t stand the thought of her unhappiness, Paul. I’m an idiot. “Best to keep on a potential’s good side, Paul. Besides, she needed a little rest.” I need to be normal for a little while, Chess’s voice floated through his head.

  Normal. Yeah. He didn’t have the heart to tell her it wasn’t going to be “normal” for her ever again.

  “Um, Ryan?”

  He brought himself back to full awareness with a start. Cursed himself for letting his attention wander. “I see it.” Down on the street, moving from patch to patch of darkness, a shape too quick and light to be human fluttered in and out of existence.

  Ryan’s skin went cold and prickled with gooseflesh. His pupils dilated, and the demon in him rose in a single snap of red flame. Soldier demon, without a host. Looks like one, anyway; the rain’s damping the smell. What’s it doing out here?