Demons Not Included: A Night Tracker Novel (Night Tracker Novels)

by Cheyenne McCray

  She gave me a grin. “I know you’ll give him one.”

  Once Rodán taught me how to play pool, when I first came to New York City, I never lost a game.

  You could say I’m a fast learner—about a lot of things.

  In a few minutes I was chalking my cue. After Chance took a drink and set his draft beer on a side table, he grabbed a cue from the wall rack, chalked it, and went to the table.

  “Eight ball?” Chance asked as he racked up the balls, and I nodded. He made the break, sending the fifteen into the corner pocket.

  “You’ve got solids,” he said as he aimed his cue at a striped ball. “Ten in the corner.” He sank the ball and called the next shot. “Nine in the side pocket.” He banked the shot off the rail and missed.

  He smiled at me. “Your go, Nyx.”

  His smile wasn’t right. Something just wasn’t right.

  I glanced at Caprice, who perched on one of the stools at a high-top table, close to Chance. “Open your eyes,” I wanted to say “He’s not what he seems.”

  After the pool game, I would tell her. In the meantime I wanted to see if I could find out more about this Chance Cartwright.

  At the head of the table, I leaned in and aimed my cue. “Seven in the corner.” With a smooth stroke I sunk the bail.

  “Where are you from?” I asked Chance as I eased around the table for my next play “Where it’s hot all the time.” Chance’s grin would have been disarming if I remotely trusted him.

  Caprice, on the other hand, was looking at the guy like he was a God.

  “That covers a lot of territory.” I propped my arm on the rail. “Four in the side.” The ball dropped and I put the next two balls away in one move, then had to scoot around the table for a shot, close to Chance.

  My stomach clenched and I shuddered from the slight contact when my body brushed his. I screwed up and took the shot too hard and the six bounced out of the pocket.

  I was more concerned about the uneasy feeling that kept growing and growing inside me than I was about the bad play.

  “You’re good, Nyx.” Chance studied the balls before he walked around the table. I watched him, and the way he moved reminded me of T. “I’ve got some catching up to do,” Chance said.

  Somehow Chance and T were related, whether by kin or race.

  “What do you do?” I asked as he readied himself for the shot.

  “Fourteen in the side.” Chance took the shot, but the cue ball bounced and rode the cushion of the rail, and then fell back into play. “Not my night,” he said, but didn’t seem the least bit upset. He braced his cue stick on the floor and held it with both hands. “I manage a large team of engineers.”

  “Engineering what?” I put away the five and one in a single shot.

  “Not going to give me a break, are you?” Chance said with a friendly grin as he chalked his cue again. He didn’t answer my question and instead smiled at Caprice. “You were right, she’s damned good.”

  The guy was totally messing with me. I don’t know how, but I just knew it.

  “Where do you live?” I asked as I leaned in to take my next shot.

  Chance shrugged when I glanced up at him. “In the area.”

  Evasive. Every answer was a generality, and said in such a way that I would have sounded rude if I pressed him. Did I care if I sounded rude? I saw Caprice’s smile and a war raged inside me. She looked so happy. Radiant, even.

  A loud crack echoed in the room as I nailed the last ball and it dropped with smooth precision into the corner pocket. I eyed the table to choose the best position to put away the eight bail. “Eight in the side.”

  I dropped it into the pocket and the game was over. Like that. Not one bit of challenge. I didn’t think he had really even tried.

  Chance wrapped his arm around Caprice’s shoulders and squeezed. The sight had my whole body stinging with tension and I wanted to yell at him to get away from her.

  “Nyx slaughtered me,” he said with a smile.

  Slaughter. Interesting choice of words.

  So he was from someplace hot, he was an engineer, and he lived in the area. If an ounce of truth had been in his words to begin with.

  “Thanks for the game.” I put up the cue. I wanted to shake Caprice. Something was wrong.

  “Do you have a sec, Caprice?” I asked, and she seemed reluctant as she moved out of Chance’s embrace before walking with me down the steps from the elevated gaming area. It was hard to be heard with the music so loud.

  “I know you like the guy.” I said as I tried to figure out how to say what I needed to. “But there’s something wrong.”

  “Not this again.” Caprice raised her hands and let them fall to her sides. “1 can’t live my life based on something you think you sense.” She started to turn away “Besides, I can take care of myself,”

  “Be careful,” I called after her. “Please be careful.”

  She didn’t look back.

  CHAPTER 12

  Caprice was gone when I was close to setting out. That guy, Chance, had apparently left, too. My heart sank as I played with the olives on the little plastic sword in my martini. The sword was yellow. I hate yellow.

  Everything was just white noise as I thought about Caprice and that guy. I barely heard any of the Trackers talking as my stomach knotted and a sick feeling washed over me.

  I had to call Caprice and try again to get her to listen to me. I unlocked my phone ID so that she could see it was me calling, and then pressed the speed dial number I’d programmed in for her.

  My call went straight to her voice mail. I heard her cheerful voice telling me to leave a message, followed by the beep. I attempted to keep the concern out of my tone as 1 told her to give me a call, and then pushed the off button before putting my XPhone back in its clip on my belt.

  I tried to relax, but didn’t have it in me to join in with the laughter and fun the other Trackers were having.

  T didn’t hang out with the Trackers at the Pit, which was fine by me. Around nine he showed up and stood beside my chair, looking like a Highlander lost in time, stoic and not saying a word.

  The other Trackers openly appraised him, but no one made an effort to introduce themselves and I didn’t bother to introduce him. I was too distracted anyway my thoughts on Caprice. They’d seen him, of course, when I’d come back to the Pit last night after Jon’s death. Maybe Rodán already gave them the word that I was stuck with this guy.

  Joy.

  T and I left and walked into a crisp night that smelled of fall, with the eventual threat of winter on its fingertips.

  “So how long have you and Rodán been getting it on?” T said when we weren’t far from the Pit.

  “What ? “ I snapped my attention to him and came to a full stop. “To begin with, if Rodán and I have a relationship, that’s none of your business.”

  T shrugged. “Just trying to understand things around here. If something happens to his woman, is it going to be my ass he puts in a sling?”

  I clenched and unclenched my fist, which was dangerously close to Lightning. “You really are as dumb as an underground Troll.” I started walking again, trying to stay ahead of T, but he kept up with his long strides. “I’m no one’s woman, and I don’t have to explain my relationship with Rodán to you.”

  “All right, then tell me, Princess, why you’re up here wading through Demon guts and not sitting on your throne having every need attended to?”

  My fingers twitched and I ached to show him what this Princess could do with her fists, not to mention the rest of her body I rarely curse, but right then I was so close to telling the pile of trollshit to fuck off.

  But noooo, he had to keep talking. “You’re an enigma, Princess.” When I glanced up at him, he looked genuinely interested in me. “Drow females are subservient to Drow males, and hell if I’ve ever heard of a Drow female like you.”

  I ground my teeth before I snapped my words. “Having a Drow King for a father and a human mot
her as Queen has its benefits.” As if I would be a submissive female to a dominant male.

  We reached Amsterdam, and I halted and propped my hands on my hips as I looked along the avenue. I didn’t sense anything paranormal going down and definitely no Demons.

  But I still had that sick, sick feeling in my gut about Caprice.

  “So your mother doesn’t have a taste for the bondage-and-domination lifestyle the Dark Elves get into,” T went on, sounding like he was deep in thought. “And she apparently taught you to be like her.”

  T nailed that dead-on. Even though my father was King of the Dark Elves, he would do anything for my mother, who refused to live the submissive Drow female lifestyle, and he allowed me to be raised as my mother wished.

  I glared at him, “You’re really starting to piss me off.”

  “A female Drow warrior.” T shook his head as if in wonder. “That’s kind of hard to believe.”

  Why, oh, why was I stuck with this irritating male?

  It was true that I was the only female ever allowed to train with the male warriors. My father, as King, could allow me to do anything, and he loved me so much he let me learn to fight to the point where I could beat just about any warrior. That sure hadn’t made me popular with the males.

  Not that I’d cared. Not really.

  Well, maybe a little.

  As for T.. .

  “If you need me to make you a believer, then keep on talking,” I said as my muscles flexed and tensed.

  T gave a smile that somehow made his Highlander looks appear harsher. “I think I should know more about the female I’m stuck with for this assignment.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “If we’re going to play this game, why don’t we start with you? So tell me, T, what are you? Where did you come from? What are you doing here?”

  His face seemed to grow darker, and instinct almost made me take a step back. “You don’t want to know, Princess.”

  I wasn’t about to let the jerk intimidate me. “Try me,” I said, just before I caught the smell of fear from a human male and the newly mown hay smell of a Metamorph.

  “Terrific,” I said in a grumble as I started running to the first problem of the night. Other than T, that was.

  The Great Guardian should send all Metamorphs to an Otherworld where only dinosaurs reigned.

  And send T there while she was at it.

  With T beside me, I dodged pedestrians and crazy New York drivers, and in seconds I made it to a small side street near Amsterdam and Sixty-sixth Avenue.

  When I arrived, I saw the Metamorph playing the part of a huge, muscle-bound mugger. His hair was long and stringy, and he reeked of sweat. He had a gun pressed to the human’s temple while, at the same time, he clenched his other hand around the human’s throat and had him shoved up against a wall. The only light was from what came through windows on either side of the street, and the slight illumination from a streetlight off of Sixty-sixth.

  “I gave all my cash to my kids this morning,” the human was saying, sounding like he was rushing to get the words out, his voice shaking. “Honest. I don’t have anything on me but my credit cards.”

  Obviously the Metamorph didn’t realize I was behind him because he hit the human male in the face with the butt of the handgun. The Metamorph split the human’s lip and tore the skin on his cheek, causing the man to cry out. Blood splattered his tan suit.

  The human was a realtor—I guessed that by the open briefcase with flyers for homes, apartments, and buildings for sale, with more flyers scattered all over the side street.

  “Cough it up, man,” the Metamorph said in a heavy Bronx accent. “I know you got more than five dollars on you.”

  “How about you cough it up?” I had my hands close to my daggers, and came this close to beheading the Metamorph just because I wasn’t in the mood to mess with the creep.

  “Oh—oh, fuck.” When the Metamorph saw the white flash in my eyes, he dropped the gun and released the man. He ran. I ran faster.

  Before he got ten feet from the wall, I was in front of him. “Let’s play Metamorph rugby,” I said as I grabbed his shoulders and slammed my forehead against his.

  I got my hard head from my father.

  The Metamorph stumbled backward.

  I hooked my ankle around his and yanked his foot out from under him.

  He dropped flat on his back on a pile of the flyers. His shout echoed off the side street walls as his head hit concrete. I planted my boot on his chest.

  The human started to inch his way out of the side street, then I saw T heading toward him.

  I turned back to the asshole beneath my boot.

  “If I deball you I might get called on a foul.” I cocked my head as I looked down at his crotch, before meeting his gaze. “But if I kick your head across the street, I score.”

  “Don’t! Please!” The big, brawny Metamorph looked close to tears. Metamorphs are such wusses.

  I shook my head. “Gotta go for the gold.” I gave a nod toward the human. “He can play goalie.”

  The Metamorph started shaking—and shifting. In the next moment I was looking at a scrawny, scared-shitless teenager beneath my boot.

  “Oh, for the Goddess’s sake.” I couldn’t tell if this was a trick or his real form. But I wouldn’t hurt a kid and I’m sure that was the whole idea. “Get to the sidelines.” I pointed toward a corner of the building closest to us. “And don’t move. I’m not in the mood for it. I’ll change the game from rugby to hockey and use your head for a puck.”

  The Metamorph “kid” scrambled to his feet and did what 1 ordered him to. His arms were lanky, his legs thin beneath his jeans as he moved.

  The human just stood beside T with his mouth hanging open.

  “Your skin’s purple,” he said, as if it was the only thing that mattered in the whole freaking night.

  “Amethyst. Now shut up.” The only reason he could see me at all was because I’d had to drop my glamour to deal with the Metamorph. I brushed the mugged human’s mind with my air power to make him forget the incident, and gave him a few instructions.

  “You stumbled, and split your lip and cut your cheek when you fell.” This part was always fun. “Go to the Broadway Dive Bar between 101st and 102nd Streets. Clean up, have a couple of shots of whiskey, then catch a cab home. Go take a ride on the carousel in Central Park with your family tomorrow. Have some fun. During the day.”

  The man started to walk in the direction of the bar. “Get your briefcase and stuff, then get out of here,” I said.

  T just stood there, his arms across his chest, an amused expression on his face. Prick.

  As the man obeyed me, I picked up the Metamorph’s weapon. Nice. The .380caliber HiPoint pistol told me he might be into some arms trading, too. I turned my gaze on him as I slid the weapon into a sheath at the back of my belt, and the Metamorph tried to hide the smirk that had been on his face when my back was to him. “Kid, huh? Sure. Maybe I should have removed your head after all.”

  His face went as pale as a Vamp’s.

  Oh, brother. Like I said, Metamorphs are such wusses.

  Mr. Realtor finished gathering his things and was off to get stoned without a look back.

  “Might want to straighten that tie,” I shouted to him.

  I used my XPhone to call PTF, and then they were on their way to take the now elementally aircontained Metamorph.

  That gutdeep feeling that something horrible, something unbelievably devastating, was going to happen hadn’t gone away even when I’d been dealing with the Metamorph, After T and I left the scene, the feeling got worse as the night progressed, and I had no doubt that it wasn’t my imagination. I’d never felt anything so powerful before.

  While we searched my territory for paranormal activity I kept my senses alert for Demons. They were here. They didn’t take nights off.

  We were near the Hudson when I stumbled back as if a boulder had been rammed against my chest.

  Horrific imag
es, sensations, sounds, and smells slammed into me.

  Demons. Pain. Blood. Fear. Screams. “Caprice!”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Caprice!” I screamed again as I pushed myself as fast as I could toward her territory.

  I sensed and could see images of the Demons. The Demons had Caprice down and were crowding around her body.

  “No!” My words were lost on the air as I bolted down several blocks in mere seconds. I rounded onto Avenue of the Americas. “I won’t let them kill you, Caprice!”

  My whole body felt like I was running through cracked ice. Sharp, jagged edges that kept me from going faster. Cold threatening to freeze my entire being.

  Her screams reached my heightened senses and I could already smell the Demons. A sense of helplessness stabbed at me like razorsharp icicles. I wasn’t going to make it in time.

  I pushed harder, even though I knew it wasn’t going to do any good. Caprice’s life force was already leaving her, and her essence was drifting away to Summerland.

  When I reached West Fifty-fifth Street I came to a hard stop.

  It was a wonder I didn’t shatter.

  The freezing cold I had felt when I was running was nothing like what I felt the moment I saw the Demons tearing apart what was left of Caprice.

  For a moment I just stood there, wanting to scream, cry, tear into the Demons.

  As the horror rose up in me like thick sludge, it felt as if the world was tilting upside down. An acrid taste filled my mouth as I fought back the rising bile and the ache in my tearless eyes.

  Rage wrapped around the horror and anguish in my heart and soul like a boa constrictor crushing my ribs and lungs. My fingertips brushed my XPhone as I reached for my dagger. No time to call Rodán. I’d take out these bastards myself.

  T appeared from out of the shadows, a grim look on his face as he unsheathed his pair of doubleedged short swords.

  He nodded to the Demons closest to him and I focused on the six of the eleven near me.

  Eleven? Dear Goddess.

  The earth wouldn’t stop feeling as if it was sloping downhill.