Accidentally Demonic

by Dakota Cassidy

  Reason returned with a swift kick to her innards, followed sharply by embarrassment for her very vulgar display of wanton lust. Her cheeks grew as hot as she’d just thought he was. “I’m not sure what we have to talk about.”

  “How do you figure levitating isn’t worth an ear?”

  Score team vampire. “So talk.”

  “There are things you need to know as a new demon.”

  “But you’re a vampire.”

  “So I hear.”

  “My uneducated, paranormal guess is that’s totally different than a demon.”

  “Astute.”

  Casey ignored his jibe—as long as he stood across the room, she was back in control of most of her female faculties. “So what can you tell me about being a demon if you’re a vampire?”

  Clay’s eyes fixed on her face. “I know enough to know that you’ll need to control that rage you just displayed out there with Nina, who, as I’m sure you’ve already witnessed, has some anger-management issues and never backs down from a confrontation. That rage you’re experiencing is something you’ll need to harness. You’re a mix of emotions right now. Part of that is due to the changes your body is going through, but you need to learn to control them. You can’t set fire to just anyone—especially a human. People talk. It’s a surefire way to be discovered. Not to mention the fact that if you tangle with the wrong entity . . .”

  Casey’s chin lifted. That sounded ominous. “Entity?” There were more entities? What kinds of entities was he talking about? She shook her head, holding up a weary palm. “No, don’t say it. I’m on mystical-information overload. I think I need some time, maybe. Time to let this just sit. Please. Maybe you could come back tomorrow—or next week.” It would be a battle, but if her anger was what was triggering these off-the-wall magical powers, she’d chew her fingers bloody before she allowed herself to rip anyone’s head off.

  Lips thin, Clay pinned her with his intense eyes to convey he wasn’t joking anymore. “You don’t have time, Casey. I think that’s obvious after tonight. Well, unless you’re a thrill seeker and you get off on the element of surprise. If that’s the case, I can just go home. Which would be fine with me. TiVoing a Giants game sucks out all the fun.”

  Frustration turned ever so rapidly into irritation. Sliding to the end of the bed, Casey rolled up the sleeves of her dirty, wrinkled shirt. “I’m trying really hard to keep a grip on this, but here’s where I’m at. I hope you don’t mind if I just get it all out so we have some sort of understanding about my emotional status.”

  Clay nodded his head in consent as though he was allowing her a moment of self-indulgence. “By all means.”

  Casey rose from the bed and paced before Clay, staying far enough away that she couldn’t be tempted to touch him against her suddenly wayward better judgment. Her voice was tight, but her thoughts were crystal clear. “So here’s where I am. I’ve been locked up in a place where criminals roam dank, dark cells and threaten to make spaghetti out of your intestines and sop it up with your small bowel. I haven’t slept in thirty-some-odd hours for fear I’d lose, at the very least, a finger and I smell like the inside of a dirty outhouse. I was in that dank place because of you and your penchant for aged blood—or whatever.” She stuck a knuckle in her mouth to keep from screaming her horror, sucking air into her lungs.

  But she wasn’t done. Facing him, she blew her wad. “I attacked an off-duty police officer like a rabid animal because you had something so dangerous on you, you may as well have had a ticking time bomb. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had to call my sister—a sister I hardly ever get to see or talk to because I have the job from hell that I’m too much of a chump to demand time off from—and beg her to bail me out of jail. And it wasn’t cheap—in fact, it’ll probably take me a lifetime to pay it off. I come home, thinking this is all some crazy nightmare, only to find out the nightmare’s just beginning. I not only float like a helium balloon, but I set fire to possibly the most frightening woman with clear homicidal tendencies this side of the Mason-Dixon. And if the rumors are true, my eyes glowed red while I did it. As if that wasn’t the icing on my triple-layer cake, I sprouted horns. Horns! So if needing just a little time to gather my wits is too much to ask—tough shit!” Somehow, she’d landed right in front of him, an accusatory finger waving under his long, straight nose, her voice bordering on a screech.

  However, it appeared not much daunted him by his dry response to her impassioned plea. “We don’t have time, Casey. First, there’s the issue of the literal time. I only have a few hours until sunrise. Second—you didn’t see that guy fly across that bar like I did. I say this with all seriousness. After that, you could be drafted into the NFL. The point here is, you had no control over it—you don’t even remember it. And don’t think I’m so callous I don’t understand this has been traumatizing for you.”

  Ya think?

  “We just don’t have time to indulge in your trauma, but I promise, later, if you want, we can hold hands like they do in therapy; you can give your testimonial and put it toward earning your demon chip.”

  Casey watched his lips toy with another smile, infuriated by it. “In what way is this at all funny?”

  His eyes flashed a small hint of sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to make light of your situation. I’m just trying to impress upon you that we can’t allow your emotions to hinder our progress. You’ve already displayed signs of demonic powers. It’s pretty crucial you get them under control. You can’t afford to hurt someone.”

  Those words deflated her rant, leaving her feeling exhausted with defeat. She would never willingly hurt someone, and she’d done it not just once, but twice, in twenty- four hours. If she walloped someone innocent with an errant fireball by mistake, she’d never forgive herself. Just the crazy in that thought alone should make her throw every single one of these supposed turning, shifting, flying paranormal lunatics out of her apartment.

  Her fingers went to the top of her head, feeling her horns—oh, Jesus, horns—and she knew her options were few. The general consensus was that she’d been officially inducted into this super race of paranormals, and her new state of being wasn’t going to change. Ever a realist, odds clearly stacked against her, she had to face this practically.

  Casey backed up, setting herself on the edge of her bed. Cradling her head in her hands, she asked, “So what can you, the vampire, do about me, the demon?”

  “I can help. Or I know of someone who can help.”

  “Really? Is this someone in possession of the How To Be a Demon playbook?”

  His laughter drifted through her small bedroom, husky and low, surprising her with the ease it displayed. “No, but it will involve you trusting me enough to come with me. Now.”

  Her eyes glanced at the alarm clock on her nightstand. It was almost two in the morning. “I can’t go with you. I have to get up in four hours for work.” If she wasn’t in her downstairs office at seven sharp every day, Mr. Castalano would shit day planners. She couldn’t afford to lose her job.

  Clay held out his hand to her, sticking it under her nose to prompt her to take it. Oh, no, brotha. She wasn’t touching him ever again. Evah. “You’ll just have to take a sick day.”

  “I don’t have sick days. I haven’t had one in five years.” Not even when she’d had bronchitis and all but hacked up a lung on Mr. Castalano himself.

  “Today you will.” He said it as though it was a demand versus a request. “Of course, there is always the chance you could levitate in front of your boss, and then you won’t have to worry about a job at all. So I think you don’t have a choice.”

  Casey snorted her displeasure. “Yeah. Choices seem to come my way in a limited quantity as of late.”

  “I did apologize.”

  “Magnanimous should be a hyphen on your name.”

  “Casey . . .”

  She jumped up off the bed, moving around his offered hand, but heeding the warning in his tone. “Okay. Fine. I give. I’m n
ot so unreasonable that I don’t see I obviously have a problem. But I have a couple of questions before I go anywhere.”

  “Make it quick,” Clay ordered, glancing outside her window, his eyes fixed on the skyline.

  She might have made a stink about how bossy he was, but then she remembered a vampire fact. “Right. Daylight or whatever.”

  “Right. A sizzling one at that, but it isn’t as much of a problem as it once was. When sunscreen was invented my horizons broadened. The problem is what’s known as vampire sleep. Come dawn, no amount of NoDoz can stop it. So unless you want to free- fall until the sun sets tomorrow, I’d suggest you hold it together for just a little longer. Not much can wake me once I’m totally under.”

  Vampire sleep. More new catch phrases. She’d have to leave the eleven billion questions that phrase brought up and put them on the back burner.

  There were other things that troubled her.

  Some thoughts had begun to slowly form as this demon thing sank further in—images, not to mention the folklore surrounding demons, brought with it some frightening memories from her Catholic school days. Images and tales she couldn’t believe she hadn’t given any thought to at the onset of this debacle. Casey well remembered the book about demons Sister Theresa Ignatius had on her desk. She’d peeked at the pictures when Sister Ignatius was with Father Hoolihan. She’d also had nightmares about those pictures for most of her elementary school days. Her stomach took a hard dive. “Demons are—are—well, they’re evil. They’re not exactly winning any Nobel Peace Prizes. . . .”

  He fingered the frame of a picture of her and Wanda on her dresser. “No. That’s true, but not all demons are in it for the sheer joy of destruction. Some are just mischievous, nothing more, nothing less. Some were tricked into choosing Hell as their eternal resting place. Some were too weak to deny themselves the remote chance the promise of eternal goodies really does exist in Hell, and they bailed due to fear of retribution from above for past indiscretions. The flip side of that coin is, some are most definitely evil, and you’ll have to learn to watch for the difference. Closely.”

  “And that makes me which side of the coin?” If her performance thus far was any indication—she was on the downhill run to felonious acts.

  “You weren’t pegged for Hell, and you weren’t coerced into making a deal with a demon. You certainly didn’t shun the light. This was an accident. I don’t know exactly where that leaves you. That’s what I hope to find out, but I can’t do it while we stand here.” His impatience with her pesky questions was clear. His “time’s a-wastin’ ” attitude irked her.

  Casey’s hands found their way to her hips, where she planted them, sticking her neck out and pursing her lips. “I’m sorry to be such an inconvenience, Mr. Vampire. I’ll try harder to keep my silly girlie fears to myself from now on.”

  Clay’s face held another flash of sympathy, but it faded to the harder, more serious expression he’d worn earlier. “I think this is a man-woman thing. Venus and Jupiter—”

  “Mars—Venus and Mars. Just so you have your planets all aligned,” she cracked.

  “Mars, whatever. Women like to talk their problems out—men like to solve them and move on. It isn’t that I don’t want to hear you freak, or address it, Casey—it’s that I don’t have a lot of time to do that in. I’d really prefer not to fry sunny-side up for lack of sunscreen, while you’re feeling conversational and time ticks away. Or worse, pass out and be no help to you at all. Because when I sleep, I’m told I look like a body at a crime- scene investigation. I wasn’t joking when I told you that.”

  A shudder crept over her arms and along her shoulder blades. If he was telling the truth, and he really would fry when the sun crept over the horizon, it was something she didn’t want to take a chance on having a bird’s-eye view of. Instantly, she was contrite—even if contrition was the last thing he deserved for being such a dumbass that he’d been skulking a very public place with demon juice. “Sorry. I keep forgetting—but just one more thing.”

  “One more thing. Any more than that, and I’ll have to follow through with my evil plan to rule the world and bite you, turning you into one of my minions.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “That was a joke.” Shooting her an amused smile, his eyes glittered, and his jaw twitched.

  “Don’t be sad if Kimmel doesn’t call you for a guest spot.”

  “I’ll try to keep my disappointment on the inside. Now, that one more thing?”

  “Where exactly are we going? Do demons live in subdivisions behind white-picket fences with two-point-five kids like everyone else?” Because her mental image was of a dungeon with an eerie glow created by thousands of candles and a room with a sacrificial altar where a mesmerized virgin in a white flowing gown lay beneath a pentagram on the wall, all hosted by a man in a hooded red robe.

  His smile was wry. “I imagine some do, but not this demon. And we’re going to see someone who can help you,” he tacked on.

  Casey gave him a pensive look. “Who?”

  “Darnell.”

  “The demon.”

  The corner of his luscious lips lifted. “Yep. Darnell the demon.”

  Heh.

  “We can bring Wanda with us if that will ease your fears. She won’t add any hysteria to the current situation, at the very least. She knows enough about the paranormal to not be too surprised about whatever Darnell tells us.”

  Wanda, her sister the were-vamp. Unfazed by anything extraordinary. Right. But there were Nina and Marty to think of. Just the thought of Nina made her fingertips grow warm. “Thoughts on how we exclude Nina from our little adventure without upsetting her? She and Marty seem to be a package deal, and while I like Marty, unfortunately Nina sets my teeth to grinding.” She frowned, still unable to quite grasp why she had such trouble dealing with someone of Nina’s caliber. “Though I can’t explain why. I’m usually pretty tough to rile. As erratic as I’ve become, I can’t promise she won’t end up with a sawed-off wooden spoon imbedded in her chest. I’m clearly a danger to her, and I don’t want anyone else hurt. Especially people who can’t self-heal, or . . . whatever.”

  Clay laughed again. “Can’t say I thought I’d ever see the day Nina would meet someone who can rival her brand of pissed off, but I’ll make sure she goes home to Greg. He never likes when she’s away anyway. He complains too much for my taste about it, something about not being able to get comfortable in bed without her to spoon with. This gives him the perfect excuse to keep his pride intact instead of calling her every hour on the hour because he misses her.”

  His scathing tone regarding Greg’s abundantly clear love for Nina made her wonder if it was because Nina had to be a hard woman to love, and he didn’t get it—which FYI, neither did Casey—or if it was just love in general that put that sarcastic mocking lilt to his words.

  Not that it was any of her business. It was time to put her good-decision jeans on and stop waffling. “Okay—then let’s do this and get it over with so I know what I’m up against.” Or what new, unsightly appendage she might sprout.

  He nodded, heading for the door in two long strides of his booted feet, his departure easing the tight ball in her stomach. “I’ll talk to Wanda and the girls. And, Casey…you’re a better sport than I expected.”

  She blushed, then caught herself just shy of visibly preening because he thought she was a good sport.

  “Oh, I dunno if I can be called sporting. Doesn’t everyone take the news like a champ? I can’t imagine anyone complaining about being turned into a demon. How silly and shallow.”

  Clay chuckled once more.

  And she preened because he chuckled.

  Bleh.

  CHAPTER 6

  Loud rap music spilled from the open window at the top of the apartment building Clayton pulled up in front of. The black cement front literally shook from the pump of the bass, though the street itself was eerily devoid of any movement. Barren of much but a streetlight with a flut
tering bulb and a fire hydrant that was peeling and had seen better days, the building was dark and lone against the purple, inky sky.

  Casey gave Wanda a quick worried glance over her shoulder. Wanda responded from the backseat with a reassuring hand to her shoulder. “I’m here. Trust me when I tell you, I can play the badass card if need be, Casey. You’re safe with me.”

  For the thousandth time, Casey wondered who this Wanda was. The badass card? This from the woman who’d once spent almost an entire day hiding in the playhouse on the playground because Mary-Margaret McGooken had threatened to beat Wanda up for talking to her boyfriend after catechism.

  But the illusion of safety beat the reality she’d been vividly creating in her overactive imagination on the ride here.

  Clay came around to open the door for her and Wanda, and Casey couldn’t help but be struck by how wildly he made her heart thrash. She slid out, careful to avoid contact with the big hand he offered her.

  No touching, she’d decided. None. Since she’d acquired her demonicness, her estrogen levels had risen to inferno proportions, and her body wanted nothing more than to plaster itself to Clay’s—whether she wanted it to or not. During the ride over, after she was done summoning stark, frightening scenarios that involved sacrificial rites of passage involving the blood of like a wildebeest, she’d found herself all but drooling over Clay, leaning into his arm for no other reason than to feel the pressure of it against her own. Her emotional state had narrowed to but two gears. Off-the-charts sensitive and irritable—or angry and owning it like fury had been created just for the likes of her.

  Inhaling a shuddering breath of icy air, Casey hopped out of Clay’s pickup truck—a very large truck that also had her pondering such an odd choice of vehicles for a vampire. A sleek sports car or a luxury sedan seemed more vampire- ish, dark with tinted windows and leather seats. Definitely stereotypical, and without a doubt movie related, but this big monster truck didn’t fit the mystique surrounding a night dweller, which was what Wanda had informed her Clay was, and she herself was half of. His truck was nothing like what she’d anticipated. It was a silvery blue, and according to him, in his color wheel as per Marty, and from his rearview mirror dangled a rope of garlic—fake, he’d told both her and Wanda as a sort of karmic screw you.