Midlife Demon Hunter: The Forty Proof Series, Book 3
Page 4
I wanted to wrinkle my nose and tell him off, but he wasn’t wrong. It was part of the deal that had allowed me to reclaim the book. I did owe him a favor. “Are you cashing it in now?”
“No, no,” he waved his hands in the air, “I just wanted to remind you. That’s all. Oh, and you should take that book.”
He tipped himself forward in something that resembled a bow at the waist before he turned and strode away. Just a reminder, my ass. How had he known where to find me?
But he’d just told me to take the book of Black Spells of Savannah and the Undead, and I’d barely opened it. Had he put it there? I hurried to catch up to him, but he was already gone, the slippery little leprechaun.
I turned and stared at the aisle I’d hurried through. Putting my hand back on the shelves of books, I let my fingers trail along the spines again. Because maybe he was wrong and maybe . . . the same sticky hot feeling rushed through my fingers and I jerked my hand back.
Damn book was apparently coming home with me. I grimaced and pulled it out, stacking it on top of the book on editing so I didn’t have to touch it.
Muttering under my breath about how stupid this was and how I didn’t want a stupid spell book that felt like death incarnate, I made my way to the front counter and put the two books on the table. Feish hurried up beside me. “They had two of Swank’s books. I can’t wait!” She set them on top of my two and the shopkeeper rung them up, giving me the stink eye the whole time.
I paid the bill with a twenty, took my change, and said nothing else. Feish quickly noticed I was quieter than usual.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oster Boon was in there. He reminded me that I owed him a favor.” I held up the mid-sized, deceptively simple-looking book. “This was in there, too, and he thought I should take it since it stuck to my damn finger.”
Feish took it and flipped it over in her hand. “A blank notebook?”
“Open it. Read the title page,” I said.
She did as I asked and all but threw the book at me, her face paling around the gills to an even paler yellow-green. “That is . . . that is bad. Maybe the worst kind. Could be how to raise a demon in there.”
“Yeah. I figured it was something bad like that.” I made myself open it again. Scratched under the title was a very faint signature. So shadowy, I couldn’t make it out. I closed it and put it into my hip bag.
“Agreed, agreed. But bad. So bad.” Feish shuddered and made a burbling sound as if she were underwater. “Keep it safe, maybe.”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I said.
We made our way back to where Jinx waited. I held up the book on editing which she plucked from my fingers. “It looks well used, which made me think it would have a lot of good suggestions . . .” I trailed off as she began yanking pages out and eating them. “Well, whatever. Tell us about this goblin who needs help.”
Please gawd don’t let him be in the wildlife preserve. We’d already had two major cases out that way, and I’d had enough of trees and marshy water for a good long while.
“West of the city is the goblins’ territory unless you go through Faerie land to get there,” Jinx said around a mouthful of paper, “but this goblin is hiding in the Marshall House downtown. Away from his people. Says someone is trying to steal a family heirloom. Wants to talk to you.”
I wanted to smack my hand against my forehead. That hotel was seriously haunted. I’d walked by it a few days ago, the first time since my return to Savannah, and I’d felt the malevolence from a simple walk on the other side of the street.
Likely because of the same reason I felt the house next to Gran’s had amped up its “freak out Breena” vibe. Something had changed in me, making me more susceptible to the undead.
“Are you sure?” Please, please be wrong. And then the rest of what she’d said clicked. “Wait, he wants to talk to me?”
“He said that’s where he’s hiding. He asked me to find out if you would help him, but not Crash. He doesn’t want Crash to know.”
Feish bobbed her head along with Jinx. What the hell? Had these two had a prior discussion about this? I was betting every dollar I’d stashed away that they had. They were up to something.
That thought had me frowning. “Why would he not want Crash to help him in the first place?”
Feish tapped my shoulder. “Goblins are Unseelie. Darker fae, but not darkest fae. Boss is Unseelie too. But there is a rift between him and the one who says he is king of goblins. So goblins don’t always trust the Boss because the king kills those who go to Crash.”
I muttered a line of lyric from the real Boss, the words flowing off my tongue without thought. “The highway’s jammed with broken heroes on a last-chance power drive. Everybody’s out on the run tonight, but there’s no place left to hide.”
Jinx and Feish looked at me.
“Is she okay?” Jinx asked. “Did she get hit in the head?”
Feish shrugged and wobbled her fish lips. “No idea, she is just kind of strange, I think.”
The irony was not lost on me that a river maid with gills and fish lips along with a talking spider who thought she was an editor thought yours truly was strange.
I waved a hand at the two of them. “Never mind. Jinx, why didn’t you tell Crash?”
She paused from shoving chapter thirteen into her mouth at a rate that would have choked a horse to speak around the pages.
“No. He didn’t come by. You showed up first. First dibs,” Jinx mumbled and then sighed. “So good. This book is just magnificent.”
So weird.
Well, a job was a job, and if I couldn’t find a way to reverse all the debt Himself had managed to foist onto me, I needed every job I could find.
I looked at Feish. “I guess it’s time to pay the Marshall House a visit.”
5
The plan was for me to drop our stuff off at Gran’s house and for Feish to get us food—she was still hungry—before we met outside the Marshall House to speak with a goblin. A goblin who wanted me to help him, and to keep it a secret from Crash.
Curiouser and curiouser. The intrigue of it had me more than a little excited.
Our plan was solid, but I got derailed in an unexpected way.
I snuck through the back door at Gran’s, quiet as I could, and stuffed the black-spell book and Feish’s new romances into the cupboard next to the fridge. When I came back later, I’d show the book of spells to Gran and ask where she thought I should hide it. My fingers lingered on the cover. I swallowed hard, and at the last second, scooped it up and shoved it back into my bag.
“You are going to be trouble,” I whispered.
A creak from upstairs made me wince. I did not want to hear Suzy and Eric knocking boots, thank you very much.
“Sorry, Gran, you’re on your own,” I whispered.
I hurried out the door into the backyard. I turned and came face to face with a ghost I did not like one bit. I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
Matilda, the ghost from next door, had returned. She crept onto our property slowly as though it pained her, and kept pointing to her neck as her head flopped off to the side. “Gah, get out of here,” I whispered and made a shooing motion with my hands.
A dark chuckle rolled out of the Sorrel-Weed house.
Yes, send her back to me. Send me the old woman too. I would like them both to serve me.
Chills rippled over and through me, and I grabbed Matilda and yanked her behind me. Don’t ask me how, because I couldn’t understand it in that moment. “He’s hurting you, Matilda?”
I own her. You can’t have her, dark one.
Smoky black tendrils shot out of the house next door, wrapped around Matilda as if they were ropes, and just like that she was sucked away with a violent jerk, a silent scream on her lips as she was drawn into the house.
The breath in my chest froze, and my limbs shook like leaves in a windstorm. I stepped backward, keeping my eyes locked on the house ac
ross from me—back and back, I went until I was going down the steps that led into the basement below the house. I fumbled with the doorknob behind me, swung the door open, and shut it, finally blocking the sight of the house and the darkness within.
How the hell was I going to deal with that place being right next door? Since my nearly-all-the-way-dead experience the week before, the Sorrel-Weed house’s darkness seemed to get worse every day.
I leaned my head against the door, the knowledge that I would have to go back out, that I would have to cross the lawn and pass by the stupid house freaking me out. How was no one else feeling the monstrosity lurking in there? I’d been looking through Gran’s book of spells, but there was nothing in there about banishing a house spirit. Maybe that Black Spells of Savannah and the Undead book had something. I shuddered at the thought of using that book. Not that I had any gift for spells, anyway.
“Crash, you in here?” I called out, the heat of the day not fully permeating the basement. But the forge was going, and the sound of the flames was weirdly soothing, as if they would burn out the voices of the ghosts next door.
“Yes.” His voice was rough and solid, and it provided me with the steadiness I needed in that moment. I smoothed my hands over my face, unable to turn to look at him. He’d rejected me, and I him, only hours before, and we’d both agreed it was for the best.
I couldn’t stop the shaking in my legs though, couldn’t ignore the need to let the fire between us drive out the darkness that was trying to lay claim to me by digging into my soul. Because whatever was in the Sorrel-Weed house was darker than anything else I’d run into in the shadow world, and that was saying a lot.
“Breena, are you okay?” The concern in his voice undid me.
“Nope. That’s a nope,” I whispered.
Then his hands were on my shoulders, turning me, and I buried my face against his chest.
“You’re freezing.” He swept me up into his arms and carried me closer to his forge. He sat on a chair, pulling me down with him. “How is that possible in this heat? What happened?”
My eyes remained wide open, because I was suddenly afraid of closing them. “Just give me a minute.”
He didn’t push, and he didn’t let me go either. The minutes ticked by, and the pounding of my heart finally slowed, though the fear was still at the edge of my mind. Like if I let it, it would crawl over me again, freezing me in place and stealing the new life I’d made for myself. “That house next door. It’s harboring something darker than just a nasty ghost.” I shuddered. Even saying it out loud felt like a risk—as though I was calling it to attention.
“It’s always been dark,” Crash said softly. “The history there is ugly.”
“It’s worse now. Something has changed. There’s an . . . entity in there that’s hurting Matilda. Before, she was in there alone,” I said with absolute certainty. I rubbed my face.
His arms cinched tighter around me. “I believe you, but I can’t see it. You seem to have an easier time picking up on the dead.”
I looked up at him, changing directions because I did not want to think about the critter haunting the Sorrel-Weed house. “Crash, what the hell were you doing with those two girls young enough to be your daughters?”
He stared down at me. “I thought this was a terrible idea. All of it.”
“Oh, it is, that hasn’t changed.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to know—”
“That we don’t feel something when we are in contact with each other?” He arched a brow. “Is this helping you push back the fear?”
“Distractions are a beautiful thing,” I said, knowing that I needed to go. Feish was waiting for me, and whatever was in the Sorrel-Weed house would still be there when I came out, no matter how long I waited in the basement with Crash. He couldn’t really protect me, but when I was with him, I felt safe—even though it was probably an illusion. It was why I’d sought him out just now if I was being honest with myself.
He bent his head, hair falling over his forehead, and his eyes locked on mine then slid down to my lips. “It would be a beautiful thing even if it’s a bad idea.”
Oh dear. I clung to my one touchstone in the raging sea of hormones and desire. The thing I used to remind myself that he didn’t really want me. “The girls? You just like them young?”
His jaw ticked and he pulled back, a flash of irritation on his handsome face. “You are not the only one with a job to do. One of mine is protecting the younger fae, and in a place like that, what you saw needed to look the way it looked.”
I couldn’t help the dry sarcasm. “Right, it needed to look like the three of you . . .” I left it open for him to finish the sentence, thinking I’d push him into the depths of anger. That’s the way Himself would have responded, defensive and childish. Mostly because he was usually guilty as could be when I finally confronted him about something that had to do with other women. He’d told me more than once his relationships with others were none of my business.
I wasn’t falling for that stupidity again.
But not Crash, there was no defensiveness. Nope, Crash chuckled at me. “There are fae men who would hurt the younger women badly if they didn’t think there would be repercussions. I have a fairly good reputation for handing out repercussions to those who cross me or hurt those who are under my protection. It is my job as an elder fae.”
Well, damn it. That was some serious white knight business that was all kinds of sweet and chivalrous. “Damn it, I didn’t want to like you more,” I muttered.
I waved a hand between us as if that would cut the sexual tension. Only it didn’t work. He caught my one hand and raised it to his mouth where he pressed a kiss to my wrist that involved lips, tongue, and a nip of teeth.
Fire, electricity, and a steady thrumming low in my body sprung to life, awakened by that simple touch, by the kiss that hadn’t even landed on my lips. Far too easy to imagine his mouth other places.
All the places.
I swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?”
I went with complete honesty. “My clothes will fall off.”
He burst out laughing. “Gods, Breena, you always manage to catch me off guard.”
I used his distraction to slide off his lap and what was getting seriously hard down there. “I should go. Thanks for . . . helping me. Again.”
He didn’t step toward me. “At some point, we will have to discuss this.”
I didn’t fool myself into thinking he meant something like a blacksmithing training session or another discussion about the house next door and the darkness within it. He’d be there for those things, too, I had no doubt, but he was talking about when I was ready to ride him like a pony into the wee hours of the morning. Maybe several mornings. I swallowed hard. “I’ll keep that in mind . . . should Corb not be available.”
Oh, yeah, I went there. I was trying to push him away, but he was on to me.
He laughed softly. “I doubt he’d be able to keep up with you. There is some supernatural blood in him, but not enough to handle all that you are, Bree.”
“Corb is supernatural? What is he?” Those two questions flew out of my lips, and on the heels of it came a thought I did not like one bit. Was Himself supernatural too? Was that how he’d screwed me over, not because of some connection Corb had accidently given him? No, that couldn’t be it. Corb said he'd introduced Alan to the shadow world.
“That will be his story to tell you,” Crash said. “Not mine.” He stood and turned to the forge, his back muscles pulling on the T-shirt he wore, and the urge to run my hands over him had me clenching my fists.
I forced my feet to move toward the door, barely shuffling because of the waves of desire ripping through my body just from thinking about Crash and everything he’d just offered me. About all that he could be to me if I let myself trust him fully. But I’d been burned badly by Alan, and I wasn’t about to let my hormones be the deciding factor here.
“I’ll deal with you later, jackass!” I snapped and pointed at the house as I strode by. “You come on my property, though, and I’ll pull all your bits apart and stuff them into the beyond! See how you like them apples, dink face!”
I had no idea how to do any of that, but the darkness seemed to pause, uncertain for a moment, caught in the onslaught of my frustration which spilled out as anger.
That moment of hesitation from whatever was in the house next door was all I needed to get by the critter, out of the backyard, and onto the street. There was still a sensation of eyes on me, but it was far weaker out here, away from the two houses.
“Duck me,” I whispered as I found myself wobbling down the street, a strange mix of hormones, fear, and frustration propelling me forward.
By the time I reached the Marshall House, I’d mostly composed myself. At least I was walking normally, and the libido had faded to a dull thrum. Feish waited for me across the street from the hotel, her hands tucked behind her back.
“Did you pick up something to eat?” I asked.
“Yes, it was good. You want some?” She pulled her hands out from behind her and held out a grease-soaked paper bag.
I took the bag and peeked in. A trio of oily hush puppies waited for me, and I ate them quickly, not caring they were cold. I was hungrier than I’d realized.
“You got to eat better,” Feish said. “Vegetables and fruits, or you be getting red spots all over your face.”
“Then you should have brought me vegetables and fruit,” I mumbled around a mouthful.
“I wanted greasy food,” she mumbled back. “I didn’t think you’d eat the last of them.”
As always with Feish, her reasoning was just a little off kilter. I wiped my fingers on the paper bag and tossed it into the trash.