by Slade, Jessa
In the face of his silence, Sera glanced uncertainly back at Niall. “I don’t know what Archer told you about the feralis attacking, but I’m no fighter.”
“If you survived possession, you are.” Niall gestured her deeper into the room.
The other men quietly arranged themselves to points equidistant on the other low couches and single chairs, as if too shy to approach, too fascinated to leave. Archer stayed beside his column.
Sera’s gaze slid from one side to the other, keeping them all in view. She took a seat on the edge of the couch across from Niall. “Metaphorically, perhaps. But I think you all live a little more literally.”
Ecco paced behind Niall. “You were a death-dealer before too. We read it in your file.”
“A thanatologist.” The snap in her eyes held enough hazel fire that any violet was redundant. “We offer comfort and guidance at the end of life.”
Archer tried to reconcile that fierce glare with the imagined hush of a deathbed vigil. As if wondering the same, Ecco scratched his head. “So guide the poor suffering demons into oblivion at the point of a gun, or a knife, or poisoned blow darts.”
Zane stepped in front of Ecco and settled himself a few cushions away from Sera. “Don’t sweat the details yet. You don’t even know what your demon can do.”
She glanced at him. “So, how long did it take you to resign yourself to killing ferales?”
He laughed. “Are you kidding? I still want to be the next Jimi Hendrix.”
She gave him an answering smile. “But duty and a demon called?”
His merry expression faded. “Duty called, all right, but instead of going to Vietnam, I headed for the border. Got caught in a poacher’s snare just this side and lay there for a week with my leg half cut off at the knee. Demon came to me looking like my draft officer. For some reason, I thought I only had to serve a year.”
She grew still. “Vietnam? How old are you?”
The bleakness spread, until the callow smoothness of his face looked no longer young but worn to nothing. “When was I called up? Seventy-two? This other war has made me forget.”
In the silence, the sound of Zane rubbing at his jeans over the long-ago wounded leg rasped irritatingly. Out of all the gathered men, not a one breathed. Archer, fighting down his own memories, wondered if he should take a poll for pitching Zane over the balcony.
“Zane was the last to join us, before you,” Niall said quietly. “Perhaps that other life still stings a bit, but it fades.”
Sera frowned. “I don’t want to give up my life.”
“In some ways, you already had. Which is one reason the demon chose you. Just as Zane left everything to flee to Canada, so your accident separated you from what passed before.”
“But I have family, friends.” Sera’s voice rose a half step, a plaintive note.
“You won’t for long,” Ecco muttered.
Archer figured he could expand the pitching over the balcony poll to include Ecco.
A stark expression tightened Sera’s face, as if the rug had been pulled out from under her, along with the floor and the earth itself, leaving her to stare into a yawning abyss—or not so much into, as up from, since she was at the bottom now.
He couldn’t tell her she wasn’t lost, that he’d save her. She’d know it for a lie. But he found himself straightening from his post beside the column and stepping down into the room. “As Zane said, she doesn’t know what her demon can do. Maybe she’ll be like Bookie, working on the sidelines.” He looked around for the absent historian. “Until she has balanced her demon, she’s of no use to the league, with no reason to cut all her ties at once.”
Niall frowned. “Since the teshuva’s crossing, the Veil has been in flux and tenebrae activity through the roof. We need every man—every woman—we can get.”
“Do we?” The curt question from the back of the room turned a few heads.
Archer noted who seemed unsurprised by the question.
Niall asked, “You think there aren’t enough demons to go around, Jonah?”
The tawny-haired fighter’s quick wits matched his brawn, but he stood inflexible now. Jonah never blabbed like Zane, but Archer had pieced together the story of how he’d picked up his demon like a particularly nasty and incurable case of malaria while serving as a missionary in Africa.
Jonah’s expression pinched tight. “Bad enough we’re seeing demons in daylight. Must we also face them in”—he glanced at Sera—“in our fair flowers of womanhood?”
She snorted, then turned it into a cough. Archer managed to keep his own lips from twitching.
Niall shot her a reproachful glance. “We might not understand this change in standard operating procedure yet. But the mission remains, people. Fight evil and save our souls.” The reven at his temple was a bleak reminder as he turned slowly. “All of us.”
Archer stirred. “The war will not end today, regardless.”
Niall nodded reluctantly. The smile he finally turned on Sera was strained. “I must seem heartless to you. A passage through the Veil usually riles up the horde-tenebrae only until the demon is bound in flesh.” He scrubbed one hand over his face. “Usually. Anyway, our resources are strained at the moment.”
Archer crossed his arms over his chest. “So that’s why everyone’s hanging out in the clubhouse this morning.”
An ozone scent spiked in the room as a few dozen demons stirred toward ascension in their irate talyan. He figured he’d better be ready to pull himself back over the balcony rail.
He held his hand out to Sera. “It’s been a long night for everyone. And there’s plenty more of those to come. I’ll take you home.” As he said “home,” he realized he was thinking of his loft.
Zane stood up. “We prepared a room downstairs for you, Sera.” He said her name gingerly, as if it were glass.
She smiled at him but shook her head. “I’ve been gone seems like forever. I want to go back to my own place.”
She slanted a glance at Archer, as if she’d heard “home” in his thoughts.
Niall stood as well. “Ecco and Zane will go too. With the lesser demons out in force, your teshuva’s trailing energies could prove too tempting a target. As Jonah mentioned, daylight is no guarantee of quiet anymore. We’ll talk again when you are rested.”
The other talyan, even Jonah, said their good nights in a low murmur of voices. Archer wondered how many would take her image to bed with them. He felt the curl of the annihilator in him, though he hadn’t called on the demon, and this time he kept his hands to himself as he followed Sera to the elevator.
Crossing town in one of Niall’s ubiquitous black sedans, he almost wished he’d let Ecco drive so he could have held silent watch over Sera in the backseat instead of listening to her and Zane talk softly behind him.
“Did I sound like an idiot back there?” Zane asked. “Sometimes I think the demon got lost in the woods and only picked me because there was no one else around.”
“Do demons get lost? This last demon had a whole city to choose from, and it picked me.”
Zane snickered a little. “If only our demons had gotten lost in the woods while picking other fair flowers.”
Sera groaned. “God, how archaic was that? Jonah, right? I suppose he’s been down in the belly of the whale a long time.”
Zane’s laughter cut out. “Too long. A lot gets stripped away.”
“Sorry,” Sera said. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“No, geez. My demon’s supposed to be the jokester. Jonah’s not a bad guy. Just set in his ways. Who’d guess fighting evil incarnate would even have a standard operating procedure?”
“And now I’ve mucked it up.”
“Well, you being here is freaking out the lesser demons, which must be good for us.”
“Yeah, I’m great at freaking out demons,” she muttered. Archer swore he felt a hazel gaze boring into his skull, but he didn’t look around. “Is it too late to be the next Janis Joplin instead? ‘C’mo
n, take another little piece of my soul now, baby. . . .’ ”
Archer stiffened at the throaty, sultry imitation coming from the backseat.
Zane chuckled. “Not bad. I’ll do ‘Purple haze, all in my eyes.’ ” He was silent a moment. “I wish—”
Before he could say more, or, worse, sing it—and damn it, hadn’t thirty-five years of death and destruction taught the boy not to bother wishing for anything?—Ecco whirled, throwing one elbow over the seat back.
“Know what I wish?” A snarl twisted his lips, and demon harmonics trembled in his voice.
In the rearview mirror, Archer watched Zane’s face pale.
Sera’s eyes were half lidded—hiding what, Archer didn’t know. Maybe a glint of demon violet? He wondered whether he’d have to stop the car.
“What do you wish, Ecco?” she asked.
The gray light of day was pearl soft on her skin when she lifted her face to meet the other man’s gaze squarely. Her hazel eyes reflected only bright compassion.
Ecco recoiled. “I wish it were quiet in here.”
He got his wish. Archer drove on in silence.
CHAPTER 10
On the stairs to her apartment, flanked by three large, dangerous men—well, two large, dangerous men and one nice guy—Sera realized she hadn’t had this much social life since . . . ever. And all it took was giving up everything and succumbing to demonic possession.
She might have laughed, except she opened the door, flicked on the lights, and saw the devastation.
She had only a second to gape at the smashed dishes and shredded pillows spewed down the hall before Archer yanked her back.
“Ecco, Zane, check it out.”
“But—” She stumbled aside as the two talyan shouldered past her.
When she would have followed, Archer gripped her elbow. “You locked the door when you left yesterday?”
“Of course.”
“You sure? The demon’s coils were tightening around you—”
She hissed out an impatient breath. “I set the latch to lock when it closes.”
He examined the lock. “It wasn’t forced. Who else has a key? Family? Ex-boyfriend?”
And she’d just been thinking about her nonexistent social life. “No one.”
“It wasn’t anything Niall ordered. He leaves a place neater than he found it.”
Zane returned. “No one here. Judging from the crust on the spilled yogurt, it’s been a few hours.”
Archer urged her inside. “Pack what you need. We’re going back to my place.”
Ah, the downside of said social life with an immortal man suffering from supernatural possession. Always thinking he knew best. “This is my home.”
Zane backed away. “Uh . . . I’ll go see what Ecco’s doing.”
They ignored him.
Archer scowled. “You think you’re a badass part of the gang now. But this isn’t a malice or even a thug feralis. Breaking and entering is a human trick, and you’re no match for a djinn-man. No teshuva is.”
“Any crook could have done this,” she argued. “At the hospital, they’ve been swamped with addicts on some new drug, which always means a surge in burglaries. Why would one of these djinn-men toss my apartment?”
“I don’t know.” His jaw flexed, as if the admission pained him. “They’ve never bothered with us before. We don’t matter enough.”
“Then why now?” She reached up to tangle her fingers in the pendant cord. “This? But it hasn’t shot out a single laser beam or anything.”
He didn’t crack a smile. “You’d rather believe this is a random act? I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Well, I don’t believe in running away from a challenge.” She pushed past him.
The carnage hit her as if the sharp instrument that had ripped through the curtains—why the curtains, for God’s sake?—had ended its downward stroke in her belly. Where were the demon’s healing powers to protect her?
She pulled the garbage can out from under the sink. “No point in calling the cops, I suppose. Can’t exactly tell them a demon tossed my place.”
The pickle jar she snatched off the floor shattered in her hand. She gasped. Archer grabbed her and led her back to the sink to thrust her palm beneath the streaming water.
She stiffened against the urge to lean into the hard strength of him. “It’s just a little cut. My demon will take care of it, right?”
“This will numb the sting at least.” Even as he spoke, the crimson flow vanished.
She turned off the water and stared at the raw diagonal bisecting her palm. Then she glanced at Archer, her apartment in shambles behind him. “It still hurts.”
He followed her gaze to the gutted couch. “Yeah.”
Ecco appeared from the hallway. “They went through the whole place. Feels a little personal to me.” He flashed his teeth at Sera. “Only been one of us a few hours and already you have enemies. Way to go.”
Way to cheer her up. She headed to the bedroom, where dresser drawers had been upended on the floor and gutted pillows sprouted white tufts of stuffing like mold. In the bathroom, the mingled fragrances of smashed toiletries made her stomach heave. Broken mirror crunched under her shoes, and the pretty patterned scarf she’d used to dim the lights was draped in tatters over the toilet.
She rejoined the men in the living room. “It wasn’t a drug burglary. My prescriptions are scattered, but they’re still here.”
Zane looked up from where he was tossing wreckage into the trash. “Couldn’t be that easy.”
“If they didn’t get what they wanted,” Archer said flatly, “they’ll be back.”
Sera pushed down the prickle of fear his words conjured. “All the more reason to lie in wait for them. Whoever ‘they’ are.”
Ecco shrugged. “Niall said to keep an eye out for horde-tenebrae sniffing around. Makes no never-mind to me where I do that. And if it is a djinn-man . . . ,” he said, trailing off with another threatening smile. “Maybe it’s time to get real personal.”
Sera didn’t look at Archer. “I’m staying.” She marched back to the bathroom. The place where it all had started.
A fragment of mirror clung to the medicine cabinet, just enough to reflect her incredulity at the wanton destruction. Not that she could have hidden anything—say, a pendant—inside the mirror. It was as if the invader had wanted to break all the connections to her old life. Like there’d been so damn many.
She knocked out the last piece of glass with her fist.
For a while, she heard the men talking in the outer rooms. She moved on to the bedroom. Knowing someone had pawed through her things, she tossed all her clothes into the closet and slammed the door, then stared at the fist-sized hole in the cheap pressboard. Somebody had wanted to put a hole in her.
Well, the feeling was mutual. Frustration welled up, prickling in the backs of her eyes. She headed for the living room to continue her work, glad the men had left her alone.
She stopped abruptly when she saw Archer wielding a broom in the kitchen. “You’re still here. I didn’t hear anyone.”
He straightened from the dust pan. “You wouldn’t have heard a dozen rampaging ferales over the commotion you were making.”
She grimaced and cast her eye over the bare, gleaming counters and the four bulging bags of trash. “Thanks for the help.”
Archer nodded once. “Zane said the smell of the food got to him and went to find something to eat. Ecco said he doesn’t do windows and headed down to the Coil. The club owner is a sometime associate of the league and keeps an ear out for us.”
Sera sunk down on the slashed couch, trying not to feel the missing stuffing under her. Archer emptied his last load of trash and came to lean in the doorway between the kitchen and living room, arms crossed over his chest.
She stared at him.
Finally, he sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do anything except make it better. All of it.”
“You h
ave a generous spirit, Sera Littlejohn.”
“If you want to believe that, don’t put me in a room alone with the creep who did this.” She thought for another moment. “Alone with a carving knife about the size of what did my curtains.”
He smiled. “A generous spirit and a lively temper.” He stepped back into the kitchen, then returned with a coffee mug, minus the handle, filled with orange juice.
“Missed the freezer, did he?” she asked sourly. “Unlike my dishes.”
“No. Everything’s a loss. But this was still sealed. I figured you’d take a break eventually. How are you feeling?”
The broken handle jabbed into her palm, and she raised her hand to study the almost invisible white scar. “A little achy.”
He shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t mean just your hand.”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “A little achy everywhere, I guess.”
A quick glance up, and she was surprised to see the answering color in his face.“If you’re worried about what we did last night, you won’t suffer any consequences. No diseases. And you won’t get pregnant.”
No consequences beyond semi-eternal damnation. “Another demon side effect?”
“The mingling of human soul and demon possession leaves males sterile. I imagine the same holds true for women, although I can’t be sure, since you’re the only one we know. Maybe Bookie could do some tests. . . .”
“Let’s not even go there. I don’t want to explain why we’re wondering.” She paralleled her arms across her belly. “Anyway, after my accident, the doctors told me I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”
“That must’ve been hard to hear.”
“At the time, they weren’t even sure I’d walk again. I’ve wondered, with my mother’s depression and delusions and my father’s early-onset dementia, if having kids was a good idea. Sometimes, after a night at someone’s vigil, it all seemed so vain and futile anyway. . . .”
He settled at the other end of the couch. “Life isn’t always madness and death.”
“Said the immortal man who kills demons for a living.” She quirked her lips at him to show him she appreciated his attempt—transparently halfhearted as it was.