Demon's Vengeance

by Jocelynn Drake

  “I’m serious. I’m sorry. I know you’re very capable. I guess with everything going on, I don’t want to see you get hurt as well.”

  “Thank you.” Serah returned to her seat and blinked a ­couple times as if she were trying to get her brain functioning again. “I appreciate your concern.”

  “There is an element of magic involved here that makes me uncomfortable leaving you solely in the hands of the police.” I shook my head, trying to watch my words but still impress upon her the danger that she was walking into. “You didn’t see what Gideon and I saw. The potion has made this woman stronger and faster. If she manages to surprise you, you’re not going to have more than a second to escape.”

  “That’s why I’m kind of hoping that you have a trick or two up your sleeve that might help,” she said, her smile returning.

  “On one condition.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want to be there. Stick me with whichever cop is going to be following you or protecting you.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “What time are you heading out?”

  “I’m going into the O.B.’s office at five, where they are supposed to have a fat suit for me as well as some maternity clothes. From there, I’m supposed to walk over to the hospital for an ‘appointment,’ ” she explained, making air quotes with her fingers. “After that, I’m to walk six blocks to a grocery store known for its dimly lit parking lot.”

  “They’re going to make a pregnant woman walk six blocks in the cold? Heartless,” I joked, though the thought of her route was making me ill. Even without the threat of a serial killer, this wasn’t the best neighborhood that she was trudging through.

  “Ha. Ha,” she said blandly. “We’re hoping that the killer took advantage of an opportunity rather than stalked these specific women. Otherwise, we’re shit out of luck.”

  “True. What about backup?”

  “There will be an unmarked car following and additional backup at the three-­block mark in the alley as well as at the grocery store.”

  “That’s pretty fucking thin,” I complained.

  Serah gave a helpless shrug. “I’m not the only one acting as bait.”

  My stomach twisted anxiously with guilt. I wasn’t planning to do a damn thing for those other women because I simply couldn’t. Anything I attempted would give away the fact that I was a warlock. Of course that raised the sticky question of whether protecting my secret was more important than protecting the lives of these women. I hated ethical quandaries. If the world found out my secret, I lost my value to the Ivory Towers and I was dead. Of course, if the world found out, it’s likely the world would rush to kill me or use me against the Towers.

  For half a second, I thought about contacting Gideon to see if I could get him to help, but I knew what the answer was going to be—­NO. Two warlocks couldn’t save the world. But then I didn’t want to save the world. I just wanted to save a few women in Low Town.

  “Where do you want me to meet up with the cop following you?”

  Serah frowned at me, not looking the least bit pleased that I was going to be tagging along. I was sure this ex-­cop just saw me as a potential liability and someone who was only going to get in the way. That was a possibility, but I also had a good shot at keeping her alive.

  “I’ll tell him to stop by for you in a few hours,” she finally conceded.

  “Thanks.” I swung my feet over the chair and to the floor. “And now I’ve got a little something for you.” Walking over to the counter, I started pulling open drawers, searching for something small; something that could be easily concealed on her person but if found wouldn’t be seen as suspicious.

  After coming up empty, a brilliant idea struck me between the eyes. Slipping past her to the glass case at the entrance to the main tattooing room, I reached back into the shelves and pulled out a large mason jar of buttons. I poured out a handful onto the glass counter and sifted through them until I came to a large black button that looked as if it belonged on a winter coat. With my back still turned to her, I said a whisper of words while sketching a design in the air over the button in the palm of my hand.

  Once the spell was in place, I turned around and offered her the button with a smile on my face. She looked at me as if I had lost my mind.

  “What is it?” she asked cautiously.

  “What does it look like? It’s a button,” I said, still holding it out to her.

  “Yeah, but what did you do to it?”

  “I put a tracking spell on it.” When she didn’t take it, I grabbed her right hand and laid it in the palm. “Keep it on you at all times and I’ll be able to find you.”

  “I don’t need it. I’m going to wear a wire and a wireless device so that I can be heard at all times.”

  “Yes, but they won’t know what you’re feeling. I’ll be able to tell if you’re suddenly afraid or panicked due to being unexpectedly attacked. That could give me an extra second or two on your companions, which could make a hell of a lot of difference when it comes to this bitch.”

  “And what if I don’t want you to know what I’m feeling?”

  I arched one eyebrow at her and gave a little sigh as I flopped back down in my chair. “I can read your emotions. Not your thoughts. Right now, you’re suspicious and anxious, with a small hint of pissed. You wanted a trick or two to help. This is it.”

  “Fine,” she muttered, shoving the button in her front pocket. With the button, there was no hiding the sense of relief and even a bit of disappointment. There was no doubt in my mind that she’d been hoping for something a little more, something flashy.

  “I can’t do anything bigger to protect you. With magic soaked into this killer, I’m not sure what she can sense or what might be a trigger. We can’t risk scaring her off.”

  “Oh, no. Sure. I totally understand. This is fine,” she quickly said, her disappointment evaporating in an instant.

  “I’ll have your back, Serah,” I said, extending my hand to her.

  She hesitated, an odd little smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she looked at it. “You know, I never thought I’d be comforted by the thought of a warlock watching my six, but I am,” she said as she shook my hand.

  “Most ­people wouldn’t, but I promise, I’m not like them.”

  Serah gave a snort as she released my hand and twisted around to scoop up her coat. “Something tells me you’re worse.”

  I didn’t say anything as I walked her to the door. I certainly didn’t think I was worse, but then I wasn’t sure how many witches and warlocks were using demons to guard their shit. It certainly wasn’t something that placed me with the good guys. But what about the ends justifying the means? My intentions when it came to the demon were to take down the Towers and make the world a safer place for everyone. Wasn’t that a good thing? Did it really matter how I got it done?

  A sigh slipped from my parted lips as I shut the door behind Serah and watched her walk down the street toward her little blue sedan. Too many questions and I didn’t have any of the fucking answers.

  Chapter 9

  Eddie was a pain in the ass.

  Detective Edward Lebeau appeared at Asylum just before seven and promptly informed me that he thought it was total bullshit that some con man tattoo artist had been forced on him during a sting operation. In fact, the loudmouth prick didn’t hesitate to give me his opinion on tattoos, tattoo artists, and women on the police force—­none of which was positive.

  I naturally took some pleasure informing him that he wouldn’t only be accompanied by me, but by Bronx as well. As soon as Serah left the parlor, I was on the phone to my friend, informing him of the plan. Bronx was eager to help, but it had all depended upon the cop showing up after sundown. For once we were lucky.

  The troll’s massive bulk and dark expression helped to intimidate dear
Eddie, but it was a small bit of hypnosis on my part that finally changed the asshole’s mind about not letting Bronx tag along, which was a good thing in the end. Serah’s anxiety was already on the rise as I was sure she was either at the doctor’s office or on her way. I didn’t need to be distracted by the beanpole with attitude to spare. There was already plenty to worry about.

  Eddie reached over and turned up a crackling police radio that was tuned to the operation. A stern voice was giving a quick update on a woman who had left the hospital and was headed toward the main southern transfer station for the Low Town bus ser­vice, putting her in the opposite direction from Serah.

  A ­couple minutes later, he whipped the twenty-­year-­old Chevy Malibu with rust spots on the doors into an opening halfway between the medical offices building and the hospital. The position gave us a clear view of the path that Serah would take while the growing darkness helped to keep us hidden. I didn’t have high hopes that we would keep such a clear view of her the whole time since we wouldn’t be able to follow closely without raising suspicion.

  “I need my feet on the ground,” Bronx suddenly announced as he pushed open the passenger side door and slid out.

  “What the fuck!” Eddie snarled, starting to lean across the seat to grab for the troll, but Bronx moved a lot faster and smoother than a person might expect. Eddie never touched him. “You’re going to blow our fucking cover!”

  Before he could continue ranting, I tapped my index finger in the dead center of Eddie’s forehead and the man froze. His mind dropped instantly into a hypnotic trance, his entire body locked up as if someone had hit the pause button. It was a shame I couldn’t keep him like that indefinitely.

  Ignoring Eddie for now, I slid out of the backseat and joined Bronx on the sidewalk. The troll didn’t bother looking down at me, his sharp yellow eyes continuously sweeping the area, trying to spot if anyone was watching us.

  “Bronx?”

  “It’s a feeling. A kind of warning that I can’t explain. After working for Reave for years, I learned to trust it. Kept me alive through some bad stuff.”

  “Got it,” I murmured, my mind already working. I dug through the pockets of my coat, looking for something I could charm, but I didn’t have much on hand. Just my wand, a handful of chalk, and a ­couple peppermints. You never charmed food. Stupid accidents always followed when you charmed food.

  “How about this?” Bronx suggested, pulling on the collar of his wool coat to draw my attention to the onyx stone in a silver setting pinned to the lapel. When the stone caught the light, I saw there was a protection symbol etched into it. It was the first time I’d ever seen Bronx wear anything like it. The troll wasn’t religious and didn’t buy into protection symbols, but I was willing to bet that being my friend had convinced him that having such a thing certainly wouldn’t hurt.

  “I knew you were a mind reader,” I joked, pulling the pin a little closer to me as I traced the same tracking spell on the onyx stone that I’d used earlier for Serah.

  Bronx gave me a little smirk. “Nope. Just guessed that you’d like to keep an eye on me as well.”

  “Definitely.” I drew a second spell over the stone, turning it into a two-­way radio. “Talk and I’ll be able to hear you.”

  “Will I be able to hear you?”

  “Yep, but it’s got only about a six-­block range.” I released the pin and stepped back, letting the troll readjust his coat.

  “Like a walkie-­talkie?”

  “Better. I’ll also know where you are and that range is pretty damn far. Try to stay close and hidden all the same.”

  “Not a problem.” Bronx gave a little salute and then turned away, trudging down the street with his head down and hands in his pockets.

  After less than a minute, he became little more than a massive black shadow, disappearing into the growing darkness. The troll had spent time working for the local mafia boss, Reave, before he could finally escape that life to become a tattoo artist. He rarely spoke of that time and I never got the impression that he enjoyed it. Unlike most of his kind, Bronx had a finer sensibility. He had the soul of an artist and, while his size and strength might lend itself to brutality, he wasn’t a violent creature.

  Even knowing that, when shit got crazy, Bronx never turned away from me. He was always there to help at the risk of his own happiness and life. I hated a part of myself for constantly drawing him into danger and darkness. And yet, he was the one who I relied to watch my back. Trixie was my heart, but Bronx—­he was my rock.

  Jumping into the front passenger seat of the car, I took a moment to close my eyes and focus on the two threads of emotion that were attached to my brain now. Serah was anxious with a hard edge of determination. Bronx was a Zen pool of calm. The troll was a master of control, his own worries and fear locked down so that he could focus on the job before him.

  With my companions taken care of, I turned my attention back to the cop. I shoved Eddie so that he was sitting back in his seat with his eyes staring blindly forward. “You told Bronx to talk a walk and find some shadows to hide in so he could watch for the killer. He just left to follow your instructions,” I said and then tapped his forehead again.

  Eddie blinked a few times and looked around a little confused when he spotted me in the passenger seat beside him. “That troll gone?”

  “Hiding, like you said.”

  He grunted and relaxed in his seat, accepting what I said. With his eyes on the building, Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his ragged coat pocket and I quickly lowered my window a few inches rather than allow him to fill the warm stagnant air with smoke.

  “Not a smoker?” he asked with a sneer. “I thought you tattoo artists were into all the vices.”

  “I’ve got a few,” I mumbled.

  “What? Knitting pillows and collecting salt and pepper shakers?” he mocked.

  First I was worthless slime and now I was a pussy. The guy was getting on my last good nerve and I hadn’t been with him for more than fifteen minutes. I bit my tongue. I figured drinking and casting hexes were bad enough vices. I was pretty sure that I didn’t need another. It didn’t matter. I had nothing to prove to this asshole.

  “So I gotta know something,” Eddie said after an extended silence in which he listened to the radio and glared at his dwindling cigarette. He paused and took another draw off his cigarette before rolling down his window a ­couple inches to pitch the glowing butt onto the street. “You were the guy that bastard grabbed, right? Why didn’t he kill you?”

  I sighed and rubbed my burning eyes with my thumb and index finger. The lowered window hadn’t helped much when it came to the smoke. “You’re going to have to be more specific. I know a lot of bastards.”

  Eddie turned a little in his seat to look at me. He had unbuttoned his coat to reveal an old Iowa State sweatshirt that looked as if it had seen better days. But then so had this guy. The lines on his face and sprinkling of gray in the dark brown stubble on his chin said this guy was closing in on forty, but there was a youthfulness in his voice that made me think that his job and lifestyle were sucking the years out of him like some medieval torture device.

  “You know, that Towers bastard who appeared at the site of the last killing,” he pressed.

  I finally realized that this asshole had been at the crime scene that morning, but I hadn’t noticed him. Of course, I’d been half asleep when I strolled onto the scene and couldn’t remember anyone besides that lard butt detective and the dead woman.

  “The warlock?”

  “Yes! Why the fuck didn’t he kill you?

  I gave a shrug, turning my gaze from the detective to the street just past his shoulder, looking for Serah. She should be exiting any moment now, and I was anxious to get this show on the road.

  “I don’t know. He asked if I knew anything about the potion that had been tattooed on the killer
. I told him what little I knew.”

  “And . . .” he prompted when I fell silent.

  “That’s it.” He pushed me around a little and then . . . nothing. Guess he had better things to do with his time than kill me.”

  . . . Subject 2 is descending the elevator to the ground floor. Eyes on in two minutes.

  “That’s her,” Eddie said stiffly as he shifted back into cop mode. He turned in his seat so that his body was facing forward but his eyes were on the hospital. “One of these days, we’re going find a way to beat the Towers. Don’t ever doubt that,” he started, his voice low and soft so that it was creeping across the car toward me. “And when we do, we’re going to line up every last one of those bastards and bitches. We’re going to kill them slowly, make them spend the rest of their miserable lives in pain so they can pay for everything they’ve done to us.”

  “And what about the kids in those Towers? Do they get to go home?” I asked despite knowing I should just keep my fucking mouth shut.

  Eddie gave a snort and shook his head. “Nope. They’re no different. Why let them go so this can start all over again? We gotta snuff out all magic use so we can be free.”

  “Those kids haven’t done anything.”

  “Not yet.” Eddie tore his gaze away from the empty street to stare at me. “But they will. Don’t let yourself go soft on them just because one fucker didn’t kill you on the spot. I promise you, the next one will.”

  He was probably right about that, but he didn’t recognize that Gideon had made a conscious choice to not kill me. He made it sound like warlocks and witches had no choice how they behaved. It was just hardwired into their DNA to be psychotic murderous assholes. Sure, I had met plenty who made me think that could be true, but I’d also been through their training, heard their rhetoric. They taught the apprentices that violence and cruelty were the only options if you wanted to survive in this world. And then they backed up their claims with horrific brutality.