Demon Cursed

by Karilyn Bentley

  “You still have that prickling sensation?”

  I pause, assessing. “No. Not anymore. It’s gone.”

  “Try T again. Maybe he found her.”

  “I can’t believe you know we’re telepathic.”

  “I can’t believe you thought I didn’t know.” Humor fills his eyes. “Try him.”

  Closing my eyes, I reach for my twin. T?

  Nothing.

  A shot of panic traces through my system. He usually answers when I really need him to. Why isn’t he?

  T? Answer me, damn it!

  After a long pause, a sense of irritation floods my veins, tenses my muscles as my twin finally reacts to my prodding.

  What the fuck, Gin? I’m busy.

  Finally. I sag in relief. He’s okay enough to be angry. I can work with his temper.

  Is Jackie with you?

  No. I told you, she went to some club to find Donny.

  And you were going to follow.

  You were right. It was stupid. So I came back home. Can I go now?

  My sisterly warning system hops into high alert. What’s he hiding? I try to push my way further into his consciousness, to see from his eyes, but he shoves back, prohibiting me from accessing his optic nerves. Which means my curiosity factor flies off the scale. Whatcha doing that’s so important?

  Nothing.

  T.

  He pauses, tendrils of irritation flowing through our bond. Fine. Eloise is teaching me a spell. It takes all my concentration, okay? Will you let me go now?

  Uh, sure.

  Too surprised to react, I stand frozen as he snaps his mental barriers closed. A big what-the-hell on so many fronts it wasn’t even funny.

  “Did you talk to him? Is Jackie with him?” The concern in Smythe’s voice snaps open my eyes.

  “Yes, I did, and no, she’s not.” I fight to hide the surprise from my voice. Eloise is with T? Words can’t describe the emotions pinging through my mind. Oh, wait. They can. “We need to go home.” I need to see this for myself.

  Smythe shakes his head. “We haven’t finished searching the club.”

  Leave it to my mentor to stay on target. Of course, he’s right. As usual. Despite T’s current, ahem, distraction, if something happened to Jackie on my watch he’d be more irate than a dragon with a bee under its scales. Which means I need to return to the current Club Monster problem and be happy T decided against stalking Jackie, instead of stressing over his extracurricular activities.

  Back to Jackie.

  “Can we find the camera feed? See if she’s on there?”

  Blue eyes widen as Smythe nods. “Great idea. Lucky for us, we’re right by the offices. Come on.”

  He waves a hand at the camera hanging in the corner of the hall, presumably to scrub us off the recording. We try each door until we find the security office.

  “Hey!” The only guard in the room rises from his chair, only to lose facial expression, his gaze blanking as Smythe mutters a spell. He sits, staring at the wall.

  Nifty trick.

  “You gonna teach me how to do that some day?”

  Smythe raises a brow, silent speak for not fucking likely. I shrug.

  “Help me look.” He bends over the desk, typing commands.

  Various camera angles flash on the screen, the tape rolling backward at a blurry speed until Jackie appears at the door of the restroom. She straightens her too-tight skirt, tosses her hair over her shoulder, a smile curving her lips. She heads in the direction of Donny’s private room, but walks out of the camera view.

  Smythe pushes more keys, causing another angle to appear. Jackie isn’t as clear in this one as she walks through the crowd. Again, she disappears from view. Again, Smythe works his keyboard magic. This time when she appears, she’s talking to the guy with the bad dye job.

  A chill snakes down my spine as she laughs at something the man says. She gestures toward Donny’s room, grabs the guy’s arm, and leads him to where she thinks Donny awaits.

  They disappear from view.

  “Get her back! That’s him! That’s the guy who tried to kidnap me.”

  “Have patience.” Several keystrokes later and the view in front of the private suite appears.

  But not Jackie and the creeper.

  “You missed them.”

  “No. See, the timestamp matches.” He points to the time on the frozen image of Jackie taking the man’s arm, comparing it to the time on the private suite.

  “So where are they?”

  Smythe pans several cameras. I see myself walking to the restroom after talking to Donny, who vanishes from all camera angles.

  “Have you tried to access his private room?”

  “Yep. There aren’t cameras in there.”

  “Do you think that’s where Jackie is?”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Smythe strides to the door, holding it open for me as he waves a hand in the guard’s direction. The guard blinks a couple of times, clearly coming out of his trance, as the door shuts behind us. When we arrive at the door into the club, Smythe mutters at the camera.

  “Setting things to right?”

  “Always. Come on. Let’s see if she’s in the private suite.”

  We hurry through the crowd, me wobbling in my heels after Smythe’s long strides, arriving at the suite without generating many strange looks or alerting Donny’s bodyguard. I yank open the door, poking my head inside.

  The same group of players and their arm candies from earlier stare at me. No Donny to be seen.

  “Where’s Donny?”

  “He left.” One of the players answers.

  “As in left, left. Or left to dance?”

  “Does it matter? He left.”

  Shit. No help here. “Thanks.”

  I close the door, my heart pounding an uneven rhythm. Donny couldn’t be responsible for Jenny’s death, right? Or my drugged drink. It was a coincidence the bad dye job guy bumped into both me and Jackie shortly after we had been alone with Donny. Right? Someone that charitable couldn’t be a murderer.

  Right?

  Geez, Gin, pull your head out of your ass. Of course charitable people could be murderers. Just because I didn’t want Donny, the top giver to the local children’s charity, to be a murderer, didn’t mean he wasn’t.

  “I knew it.” Smythe nods once. “There’s something shady about Donny Football.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a coincidence.” I refuse to voice my doubts. Smother the suckers until they vanish. “Where do you think Jackie went? Is there a door between where she picked up that guy who tried to abduct me and here?”

  Smythe looks at me a beat too long, his lips pursing as his eyes narrow. He draws in a breath, expression relaxing, and peers beyond my shoulder. “Over there.”

  He heads “over there,” and I totter after him, my wobbling ankles keeping me from matching his strides. A door hides in the shadows, obscured by a tall table. Smythe ignores the KEEP OUT sign, shoving the thing open as if he owns the place. I teeter through as fast as possible before someone notices.

  The door leads to another concrete hall lined with rooms. Loud machinery sounds echo, a clear indication we’ve located the maintenance area. A great place to commit a murder. With all the noise, no one in the club would notice.

  I shiver.

  Smythe glances at me, one brow raised in an are-you-ready expression. I nod. He strides down the hall, opening doors, while I follow. The only thing out of place is a couple of dead cockroaches.

  Nothing shocking for Dallas.

  The hall dead-ends in a room containing the HVAC system and unrecognizable pieces of machinery. No Jackie. No bad dye job guy. No way out.

  I activate the minion sensors in my eyes.

  No minion trails.

  “No trails.”

  Smythe nods. “Come on. Back to the club.”

  A deep bass beat throbs in my chest as we step through the door into the main club. Smythe leans
against the closed door, arms crossed.

  “Any suggestions where to go next?”

  I shake my head. Was she dead? Where did my kidnapper take her? Or did he?

  Smythe’s eyes widen, then narrow as he looks past my shoulder. I start to turn to see what surprised him, when someone runs fingers from my shoulder to my elbow.

  “Hey, babe.” Donny’s fingers dance against my upper arm. “You looking for me?”

  I swear Smythe growls. Like a dog marking his territory. A little zinger of pleasure zips south at the sound.

  Erasing fantasies of Smythe, I smile at Donny. “Yeah. I was. Wanted to know if you’ve seen Jackie. We can’t find her.”

  He nods. “She looked like shit, so I paid for a cab and told the cabbie to take her home.”

  Smythe straightens while I freeze. She could have been drugged. I’m pretty sure I looked like shit when Bad Dye Job guy tried to drag me out of the club.

  “When?” Smythe recovers first.

  Donny shrugs. “Just came back from putting her in the cab. Why’s she so important? Because of your brother?” He raises a brow.

  “Nah.” I touch his arm. “I was giving her grief for dumping him earlier. She’s important to the crime we’re working on.”

  Smythe’s glare bounces from my fingers on Donny’s arm to my eyes, his jaw gritting. I drop my hand. The muscle in his jaw relaxes.

  “Anyone leave at the same time you put her in the cab?” he asks.

  “Sure. Do I know them? Nope. No one but her was in the cab, if that’s what you’re getting at. Care to tell me what Jackie has to do with Jenny?”

  “Sorry. Active investigation.” Smythe shrugs, as if apologizing for lying. “What’s the address?”

  Donny shrugs. “Some place off Spring Dale Road. Can’t remember where.”

  Lucky for us he doesn’t have to. The street is near my house in a string of low-income apartments. I’m assuming it’s the same apartment T moved half his stuff into when they first started dating. Which was one of the few times I visited.

  I know where it is. I’ve been there.

  Smythe glances at me before giving Donny a single nod. “Thanks. We appreciate your help. Let’s go, Gin.”

  He reaches for my arm, but Donny beats him to me. Donny’s arms wrap around my waist, and before I can recover from shock, he places a kiss on my mouth with the same lips he used on Jackie. A quick flash of their “dance” passes through my mind. Ugh.

  “See ya ’round, babe.” His fingers trail off my waist as he walks to his suite.

  “What the fuck, Gin? He kissed you.”

  Smythe resembles a steaming pot, red-faced and boiling with jealousy.

  I slip a hand on his chest, the strong thump-thump of his heart beating under the pads of my fingers. “Relax. He’s just a friend.”

  “Do you always kiss your friends?”

  “I didn’t kiss him. He snuck one on me.”

  “You let him.”

  I raise a brow. “Yeah, because kicking him in the nuts would’ve been so much better. Geez, Smythe. What’s your problem?”

  “Him touching you, is my problem.”

  Okay. I’ll admit it. His jealousy turns me on.

  “Are we going to do this here or ensure Jackie is okay? Donny could be lying. Especially since my justitia thinks he’s been around a demon or minion.”

  Smythe draws in a breath through his nose, holds it for a two-count and releases the air. “You said you know where her apartment is?”

  “I’ve been there a couple of times.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  He grabs my hand, laces his fingers with mine, the heat of his palm a comforting warmth. A frisson of jealousy mixed with possession wends through his thoughts before he snaps the connection closed on my empathic ability. This time his strides aren’t as long, allowing me to walk beside him as if I’m his girlfriend, as if he’s proving a point.

  Which doesn’t bother me like it should. I’m not normally into men who exude she’s-mine, cavemen impersonations.

  Despite strict adherence to trying to maintain a separation between my personal life and my professional life, my desire to continue on the high moral road appears to wane the longer I know Smythe. The more he touches me, the more he saves my ass from a variety of threats, the more I want to forget my eleventh commandment.

  Circumstances sometimes dictate changing personal rules.

  Cool, fall air greets us when we push through the door, the noise in the club subsiding to a pulsing bass deep within my chest. Smythe’s jaw tenses, his fingers tightening. A fine tremor of ire passes from his palm into mine, an indication he has more to say about Donny’s kiss once our hunt for Jackie ends.

  Why does his jealousy turn me on? What is it about my mage guardian that makes me want to toss caution to the wind?

  Why am I thinking about this now?

  Stuffing Smythe fantasies into a corner of my mind for later review, I focus on the problem at hand: ensuring Jackie lives through the night.

  Smythe remains quiet as he heads toward the alley lining the club. Once we’re blocked from view of the street, he pulls out his phone, tapping the screen to bring up a map.

  A couple of taps later and Jackie’s apartment location pops into view.

  “Would landing on this side of the building be best to remain unseen?” His voice shows none of the emotion vibrating through him. Only determination sounds in his tone.

  I look to where he points. A satellite view of the apartment complex shows an overhead view of her building.

  “I guess. It’s dark. We should be good.”

  Smythe swipes the map clear, puts his phone in his pocket, then murmurs his portal-forming words. He grips my hand, leading me into the in-between and out by Jackie’s apartment building. A chill releases me as we step into early fall air. Like I thought, no one stands around watching our appearance.

  Smythe strides to the front of the building, me following at a slower pace. Heels should never be the choice of cat burglars. Or nurses who’ve stood on their feet all day.

  My mentor is halfway up the stairs to Jackie’s second-floor apartment before I even make it to the staircase. Maybe I should stay here.

  When he arrives at the landing, he looks at me, one brow raised in a silent question. I point to my feet. He shakes his head. After a pause where he cracks a grin and gives a quick head shake at my refusal to move farther, he steps to Jackie’s apartment, placing a hand against the door. His lips move as his eyes close. A yellow glow forms around his hand, sinks into the door, disappearing a second later.

  After a moment the yellow light reforms around his hand, vanishing when he removes his palm from the door, his fingers balling into a fist. He meets me at the bottom of the stairs.

  “No one’s home.”

  “I could’ve told you that. No taxi can make it from Club Monster to here in the time it took us to portal.”

  “Your suspicion has been verified. We’ll wait.”

  “Here? Where anyone can see us?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” He raises a brow. “We’ll wait where we landed. We can see the parking lot from there.”

  Once again I’m tromping through the grass in heels. Nice expensive heels not designed for lurking alongside buildings. Damn, my feet hurt.

  But then again, that’s what happens when you stand on your feet all day at work, then cram the suckers into pointy-toed shoes.

  I lean against the building and pray no one calls the cops on us. Tiredness uses that moment to strike. I yawn.

  “What time is it?” Pitching my voice to a low whisper, I elbow Smythe.

  He pulls out his phone, turning it on and off. “A little after midnight.”

  “No wonder I’m tired.”

  “It won’t be much longer.”

  As if his words summon taxis, one turns into the complex, headlights sweeping near where we hide. The taxi draws closer, stopping in front of Jackie’s building. Did Donny tel
l the truth when he said he’d just put Jackie into a taxi? It seems like the drive would have taken longer, but then again, not much traffic is on the roads at a little after midnight on a Thursday morning.

  After what seems like a minute of idling, the driver opens the door, stomps around to the right back passenger side, and opens Jackie’s door. He sighs loud enough for us to hear.

  “Should’ve asked for more.” If his words are meant to rouse Jackie, they fail.

  The driver pulls her out of his cab, throwing an arm around her waist and one of her arms around his shoulders. She sags against him, her legs unable to support her weight.

  “We should help.” I start to move forward but Smythe grabs my arm, not allowing me to leave the shadows.

  “Wait.”

  “What if the drug in her drink kills her?”

  “It won’t.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Eloise said the drug in your system wasn’t lethal. Jackie might be drunk.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Shh.”

  I close my lips and press closer against the building. The driver escorts—more like carries—Jackie up the stairs. Since I can’t see, I start to edge around the corner of the building, but Smythe stops me.

  “He’ll see us.”

  I nod, ears straining to hear what happens at the top of the stairs. Finally, I hear the sound of a door opening. Keys rattle as if pitched on the floor. The door clicks closed. Footsteps sound as the driver quicksteps down the stairs. He hops into his cab and drives off.

  “Okay, let’s go check on her.”

  “There’s nothing to check. The drug will wear off. No one’s in her apartment. We aren’t watching her sleep.” Smythe crosses his arms.

  I stare at him. His eyes narrow as if daring me to oppose him. For a brief moment, I consider it. Jackie might be a ditz, but even ditzes deserve better than to be drugged and dumped in their apartment.

  On the other hand, Smythe has a point. No one followed her here. I’m tired. And did I mention my aching feet?

  “Okay. But shouldn’t we make sure the door is locked?”

  “Fine. I’ll do it. Wait here.”

  Instead of waiting, I walk around to the front of the building. The best position for watching him check her lock. He places a hand against the door. The dull snick of the lock sounds a second before he removes his palm.