Nina looked to each of her friends, then shrugged with a light lift of her shoulders. “Um, nope.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Casey tried another tack. “Okay, how about this—does anyone else think this joker’s cheese is sliding off his cracker because he believes he actually had a demon’s blood?”
“Clayton has to drink blood in order to function, honey,” Wanda soothed. “I know what you’re going to say—this is crazy—but in our world, it’s like taking your vitamins or eating your vegetables, you know? It’s what Nina, Clayton, and myself included, need to survive.” She bit her lip and winced when Casey gawked at her. “It just is—though I can’t say I’ve ever heard of anyone we know drinking demon’s blood. I didn’t even know demons truly existed other than the occasional gossip I’ve heard at parties, which you can’t always trust. But after the past couple of years, there isn’t much I’d doubt at this point. So no, I guess there isn’t a whole lot we find very surprising at this point.”
Clayton’s jaw twitched, but his expression remained poker-faced. “Demon’s blood is a delicacy—a exceptional one. In your world, Casey, it’s like a human’s one-hundred-year-old Scotch or a Cuban cigar. It’s something to be savored. But I think, although I can’t be sure, my spilling it on you somehow left you with a manifestation of some demon traits. It’s the only explanation for your levitation, which—I’ll say once more—might seem inconvenient now, but in the long run could be really cool.”
“And her fireballs—don’t forget those,” Nina reminded them, holding up a strand of her self-healed hair.
And so there it was. Four rational adults, talking about demons and blood like it was normal—nay, like it was sane.
So okay, insanity aside, at least she knew what she was dealing with, and some of what they all said had to have some kind of merit. There was absolutely no denying what she’d been doing before Clayton Whateversson had shown up.
Now all they had to do was fix it. Surely if she could fix some of the debacles Lola and Lita got into, she could find a way to fix this. It was what she was good at—making everything better, cleaning up sticky messes. The only thing was, this time she couldn’t clean it up with a chunk of Mr. Castalano’s cash or his lawyer—which could prove problematic but maybe not impossible. Nothing was impossible.
Squaring her shoulders, Casey summoned all of her hard-acquired skills, and made a desperate, internal plea for patience. Rolling up her sleeves, she stood before Clayton, disregarding the wonky tingle he evoked that made her light-headed, and instead, dug into her reservoir of determination. “Okay, so let’s just say, for argument’s sake, I’m a demon. Yay me. You’re nothing short of upstanding for rushing over here to tell me you were the one responsible for my—my issue. It’s obvious I can’t deny something’s happened to me, though I admit to a great deal of reluctance believing what’s going on has to do with demon’s blood, but that’s neither here nor there. You all seem to speak a language I don’t understand. Either way, it’s not a language I want to speak.
“What I do want to know is what we do next. I think you probably get that I don’t want to levitate or shoot fireballs from my fingertips. There’s a certain amount of discomfort and awkward moments to be had if you can set someone’s hair on fire just because they made you angry. So if you know you did this to me, and you know how it happened, you must have a solution or you wouldn’t have taken the risk in coming over here when daylight is rapidly approaching and you vampires melt in the sun.” She fought the urge to snort. “So go ahead and do whatever it is that you have to and make this all go away. Just let me know if I should prepare for an act that’s painful. I have a pretty high tolerance for pain, but I’m sure I have a limit that can be exceeded.”
No one spoke.
Or moved.
Or did much of anything but stare at her with blank expressions.
Casey rolled her hand in the air to motion that Clay should get this show on the road. “Well, c’mon—let’s do this. I have a long day tomorrow and now, to my utter humiliation, that you’ve all heard exactly what it is I do for a living, you can see I need a lot of rest to keep up with the kind of job I have.”
Was that the sound of crickets chirping?
Casey clapped her hands together under Clayton’s nose. “Hey! C’mon—let’s go.” When he didn’t budge, and no one else did, either, that panic she’d so successfully beaten down all night long began to rise. And then a thought hit her. Demons. When one thought of demons, one thought of what? She was a voracious reader. Church. Yeah, church. Heaven and Hell at war. Angels. Ouija boards. Ooooh, scary. Raising the dead. And—and—oh, Holy Mother of God—possession. If she really was a demon—if she could shoot fireballs and float, and was just shy of speaking in tongues—though the night was young, who knew what else might happen—she had to be possessed.
That meant she had to be exorcised—and not in an elliptical fashion. “I’m possessed. Is that what you’re all avoiding telling me—that you have to exorcise me?” She lost the ability to breathe after voicing that fear, but she suctioned in a much- needed gulp of air and forged ahead. Okay—it would be okay. She knew lots of priests. Her boss was a devout Catholic and if Lola and Lita did anything on Sunday—it was only after they’d attended morning mass. She let out a shaky sigh of relief, and looked up at Clayton square into his delicious, dark eyes. “Do you want me to get some rope and a chair?”
Puzzled was definitely how she’d describe the look Clayton gave her back. The deep dimples at either side of his mouth standing out when he compressed his lips before speaking. “But we just met. Don’t you think it’s a little soon to bring out the toys?” His eyebrows wiggled with a lascivious upward slant.
Her face flushed all sorts of red. “You’re a real riot, huh?” She waved a hand to dismiss him. “Just get the stuff . . . please.”
“For?”
She’d have never guessed he was such a dim bulb—he didn’t come across that way at all. “So you can tie me down, of course. You know, when you say prayers and throw holy water on me—or whatever it is you do when you exorcise a demon. Forgive my lack of knowledge on the subject, but I only have a couple of movies under my belt on the subject, and one PBS documentary.”
Wanda was behind her in an instant, gripping her shoulders, kneading them, attempting to relax her. “Casey, you have to listen. I think what Clay means when he says you’re a demon is that you’re a demon. You’re not possessed by anything.”
The rustle of his hair against his collar pricked Casey’s ears when he nodded his head. This time there was no playful glint to his eyes, either. “Wanda’s 100 percent accurate. That’s exactly what I mean. You absorbed demon blood into your system, Casey. That means you’re now half demon—”
Nina was back up again, cutting Clay off as she stuck a finger in Casey’s personal space. “Hold up—I know this part of the conversation—it’s like putting on an old pair of comfy jeans. Here’s what they’re trying to tell you and there’s no Vaseline to make the point of entry any less painful. It means there ain’t no goin’ back, kiddo. Believe me when I tell you, I know your angst. It’s a total harsh to your life buzz, but that’s just what it is. You’re a demon forever. So adjust. Oh, and Wanda and Marty are really good at the sympathy thing. I’m not so much into the candy-ass crap.”
Marty used the heel of her hand to knock Nina in the arm. Her blue eyes narrowed. “You’re as helpful as a bull in a china shop. And I hate to be the thorn in your gangsta side, but you did your share of candy- assing, and of all of us, you were the one who took the longest to adjust. Again, I refer to endless days and nights of trying to make Greg take the vampire in you back while we ran behind you, offering more support than a 1- 800 number for Microsoft desktop users. Just back off and leave the consoling to the people who can speak an entire sentence without the use of the word fucktard, okay?”
A cloud of fear cast a hazy glaze on the clear head Casey had clung to, making her heart
crash and her tongue thick. This couldn’t be permanent.
Yet Clayton didn’t seem to notice how she struggled to maintain an even keel.
Where Wanda’s hands had once been, his larger ones replaced them, forcing her to look at him. Which so would have been an “angels singing a chorus of hallelujahs” moment but for the severity of this situation. “What they say is true, Casey.You’re not possessed by a demon.You are a demon. Half a demon, anyway. If part of you weren’t still human, you’d have scales, horns, and from what I understand, you’d have to learn how to take on a human form again. . . .”
Scales—if nothing thus far had turned her into a suicidal train wreck, scales should certainly be the defining affliction. However, his voice—deep, scratchy, cultured—slipped away as the swinging pendulum her emotions had become arced with a wild shift she experienced by way of an infuriatingly hot itch on the top of her skull, and the semi- familiar jolting sting of electricity to her fingertips.
Her head bent low, gearing up for what she decided was probably another attack of blistering anger by the feel of her blood boiling, but a synchronized gasp from all parties concerned had her head propped rightfully back upward.
Eyes, four pairs, wide and blank, stared back at her.
There was a mouth or two open, but their returned silence became an entity all its own. One she knew meant another horrifying occurrence was in the making.
“Whaaaaaaaat?” she yelped.
Nina was the first to comment. “That is some shit, my friend. I don’t think Bobbie-Sue makes a fucking single thing that can cover that up, Wanda.”
Marty’s hand flew to her mouth, where she stuck a knuckle between her teeth. “I can’t believe I’m doing this twice in a night, but Nina’s right, Wanda. We don’t even have anything in preproduction to help that.”
Help. She needed gobs of that lately.
Clayton whistled, long and low. “Okay, so maybe you won’t find that as cool as levitation.”
Wanda tilted Casey’s chin up into the light, then gave the sides of her hair an upward swoosh. She blanched. “No words—I’m out. All out.”
Casey pulled her chin from Wanda, shaking her off with a shove. “What, what, what!”
Lips pursed, Wanda looked around, scanning the walls of the room, then, obviously making a quick decision, tugged Casey into her kitchen. Clayton headed up the rear, stopping short in the doorframe while Nina and Marty dodged just shy of crashing into his back. They each poked their heads around his arms. “Wanda.” Clayton’s gravelly warning rang in the small space. “Maybe you should—”
Wanda’s hand was in the air with a whoosh. “Let me handle this, Clay.” She held up her silver toaster. “I’d do this with less abrasion, but this lifestyle doesn’t always allow for it. It’s like ripping an old Band-Aid off a wound—you can’t peel slowly or it’ll just hurt more. So remember this, when I rip your metaphoric bandage off, Case. I love you, and I’m only doing it this way because there really is no other way.”
She held up the toaster.
Casey looked into it—confuzzled.
Wanda offered assistance by repositioning her sister’s head so she might have a primo view of the top of her head.
Oooo.
Life really was like a box of chocolates, Casey reflected.
You never did know what you’d get.
Although, when you reached into a box of chocolates, you mostly got some species of chocolate. Maybe it wasn’t always the kind you liked most—like the chocolate-covered truffles, or even the caramel-covered chocolate. Sometimes, you got the buzz- kill kind—like the orange gooey-centered chocolate. Bleh.
But she was pretty sure, when you reached into that box of chocolates, you never, ever got the kind of rare chocolate treat she’d just acquired.
The chocolate with horns.
CHAPTER 5
Lifting her chin, Casey turned her head to the left and then right, watching the distorted image of herself in the toaster, silently reciting Hail Marys. “No. Those can’t be what they look like, they are—it’s—impossible.” The word whispered from between her lips with horror.
“Welcome to stage whateverthefuck Wanda numbered it. This is stage denial,” Nina said.
“Hush, Nina,” Wanda chastised. “Okay, so maybe we can figure out a way to disguise those, you know, Case? I was really good at my job with Bobbie-Sue.”
“Please, Suzy Sunshine,” Nina cut her off. “Knock off the optimism and stop feeding her false hope with a silver spoon. Here’s the reality, Casey. I have fangs. Wanda does, too. Both Marty and Wanda shift into something even the most diehard bleeding heart would pass over at the local pound on adoption day, and they have tails. We learned to adjust. I learned to keep my fangs to myself and your sister learned to shift without scaring society at large. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s ever gonna be any different from here on out because they’d be full of shit. And don’t try to convince yourself you can be changed back. That maybe there’s some magical cure or whatever you do in your head to pacify this craziness—because then you’d be full of shit.”
Wanda held her palm up to quiet Nina while Marty clamped a hand over her mouth and Clayton frowned at her to quiet down. She ran a finger along the side of Casey’s face with a sympathetic smile. “Nina’s just bitter because her entry into the world of the paranormal wasn’t without a lot of kicking and screaming. It took her a while to accept her fate, and it was a long, ugly process because, as you can see, Nina’s anything but rocking horses and rainbows.” Wanda paused for a deep breath. “But even though I know next to nothing about demons, we can help you. We do know everything you’re going through right now—every single emotion, every single fear. I know shooting fireballs and shifting into a werewolf are two totally diff things, but the shock of the reality that this exists is the same. The fear is the same. You have a lot of changes coming your way, but I’ll help you, sweetie.”
Casey, speechless for far too long, finally ponied up, swatting at Wanda’s interfering hands, which without notice felt like small intrusions to her personal space. “So what you’re telling me is that I’m always going to be like this. The chances I’ll scare small children with my horns—horns, people—and fry my manicurist are high. How do you suppose you can help me with that? And you.” She pointed a finger at Clayton, accusation blazing in her eyes. “If what you say is true, and that vial of blood is what did this to me, what kind of lunatic takes a chance like you did going to a crowded bar with something so damn dangerous? It’s like running with scissors or—or carrying around a saltshaker full of anthrax, you—jackass! It’s careless and stupid, and—and fucked up!”
Clayton’s mouth opened, but Nina—go figure—got there first.
“Oh! Anger. I so get this one,” Nina called from the doorway. “You’re just whipping through those five stages like Marty here whips through a clothes rack at Macy’s, ain’t ya, powder puff?”
Casey’s eyes grew hot and so did her delectable anger. In fact, the stage had a certain amount of freedom to it she rather enjoyed, thus deciding, not entirely of her own volition, to test again—in Sybil-like fashion—on Nina. “Do you ever shut your mouth? Really, you’re the rudest species of cow.”
Wanda was instantly in Nina’s path. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying, Nina. Her hormones, not to mention her emotions, are raging—you know this. How about you try and be the bigger paranormal here and back down first?”
Nina was obviously giving thought to that, but it just wasn’t enough contrition for Casey. Nah. She instantly, and once again, quite illogically, wanted a piece of Nina’s ass to chomp.
Casey sauntered up behind Wanda’s back and peeked over her shoulder with a smug smile just as Nina’s chin lifted and her eyes bored holes in Casey’s. She wanted to make damn sure Nina knew she knew exactly what she was saying. “Moooooooooo,” she taunted.
Once more, chaos erupted as Nina reached around Wanda, grabbing at Casey. “C’mere, demonlicious, I
’ll moo your lungs right out of your fucking chest!”
“Ladies!” Clayton roared, pushing past Wanda and Nina, and scooping up Casey by the waist. He gripped her to his side like she was light as a feather, wrapping her struggling legs around the back of his waist, and securing her by clamping her ankles together with one hand. He looked down at her, his face tight with how fed up he was. “You need to get ahold of yourself. All of you either sit down in the living room and shut up or go the hell home. Got it?” His sudden serious turn made everyone take notice.
Clayton stormed past the women, carrying a bouncing Casey with him. He shoved open her bedroom door with a booted foot and dropped her on her bed like a sack of potatoes.
Infuriated, she popped right back up, her fists in a death lock. “Who the hell do you—”
“I said,” he grated out with a throaty warning, “enough. And when I say enough, you’ll learn you’d better cut it the hell out, or I’ll make you cut it the hell out. The latter will be anything but enjoyable if you don’t.” Placing both hands on either side of her body, he stared her down. “Do we understand each other?”
Instead of cringing to the far corner of the bed, Casey found she’d far rather move closer to him. So while her brain told her to knock it off with the slutty, her womanly parts sang a very different tune. An arm, so obviously not in her control, draped over his wide shoulder. “You. Are. Hot.” An internal gasp as loud as the howl of a January wind sounded in her head. She’d just called him hot. Out loud.
Because he is.
Yes, yes, yes, he was. Oh, Heavenly Father, he was.
So what’s the gripe?
It was forward.
Which is better than backward.
Clayton picked up her hand by her fingers and dropped it to the bed. “While I’ll admit that’s still nice to hear after all these years, you’re not yourself. So any and all compliments by you about me are going to be taken with a grain of salt. Now, it’s time we talk about this without interference. Sit down, still your mouth, and listen to me.” He backed away, standing in front of the window with his arms crossed, all forceful and powerfully brick shithouse.
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