by Ash Krafton
"Did he hurt you?"
"I don't remember. We were standing outside this window. I just remember him kissing me one minute—it wasn't slutty, it was just a cheek thing."
He lifted his hands, palms out. "Not judging."
"And the next thing I knew, he just—pushed me. Everything was cold and I fell over and here I was. How did I fall through the wall? It doesn't make sense. Because I was still standing outside the window." Her eyes big and confused, she reached out to him, pleading. "Why was I still out there?"
She peered at him, leaning over toward him. "It's still here. Why are you still here?"
Before he could answer, one of the servers slid into the booth and started to wrap bundles of cutlery. The ghost wisped away into nothingness.
"Huh." He took a long drought. "Hope you find your answers, sweetheart."
"I'm sorry?" The waitress looked at him. "Did you say something?"
He pointed to the far side of his head. "Earpiece. Phone call. Sorry."
The crab cakes were spectacular, as usual. This place didn't gunk them up with an over-abundance of filler. While he ate, he let the Metatron's last message roll through his mind, over and over, as he tried to break it apart and interpret each section.
Light's scion, tarnished. Okay, a child of the light. Could mean any number of things. First off, a follower, a believer—which only narrowed it down to just about two billion people, and that was only counting Christians. Lots of people believed in God. God just didn't look the same to all of them.
Okay, so a believer being light's scion in this case would be a little too vague. The Metatron was many things but he wasn't trite.
So it had to refer to an actual child who'd been born to one of the Light, with a capital L. That definitely narrowed the playing field.
Could be someone of the Christ line, the Merovingians and their innumerable secret offshoots. Trouble with that would be in calling the entire family "born of the Light." Divine DNA could travel only so far before becoming dilute to the point of impotency. Pretty much just science.
Or…He caught the waitress' eye and signaled with his glass for a refill. It could be one descended from angels. Angel blood did not dilute, no matter how hard one tried. Christ was unique and wholly human. Angels were definitely not.
And they loved getting a little action. The Watchers, who didn't have wings, could pass for regular human—and sane, if they kept their mouths shut long enough.
His stomach flopped. He didn't personally know too many angels and Mack didn't strike him as a baby daddy. But Enochians—he could name one or two of those.
Dammit. He closed his eyes and massaged his brows with his thumbs. Chiara.
He pushed around the last of his Old Bay fries, scowling. There had to be another angle, another piece he wasn't seeing. Another clue he hadn't found yet. No reason why it had to keep coming back to her.
"Hope you don't mind if I wait for your check. Had three skip out on me this month." The waitress put down his beer and the bill. "This beer's not on there. Girl at the bar sent it."
"Who?"
She shrugged and waited while he pulled out his wallet. "Redhead. You'll know her when you see her."
He waved her away when she offered change. "Thanks for the tip."
"Thanks for yours." She winked and held up the bills. "Have a good time."
"Maybe I will."
The waitress cleared his plates. Oh, crap. He breathed into his cupped hand and sniffed. Did he have crab breath? A quick mental inventory of the herbs he carried came up empty on the pleasing fragrance scale. Dammit again. He knew he should have refilled the fennel compartment of his weekly pill organizer.
Hey, things like that came in handy and they fit into an inside pocket. Practical magic was the best magic.
With a sigh that said things were pretty much as good as they were going to get, he slid out of the booth and took a swig of beer, swishing it around his mouth before grabbing his jacket and strolling through the dining room to the bar.
He scanned the row of stools. At the far end, one face turned in his direction, a woman who dipped her chin to hide a quick smile when they made eye-contact. Her heart-shaped face framed by soft waves of shoulder-length auburn hair, she wore an off-the-shoulder slouchy sweater. Very pretty. And definitely looking at him again.
C'mon, Simon. You face down the minions of the netherworld without blinking an eye. Why's that girl got you frozen in your tracks?
He gave himself a mental shove forward. Fortune favored the bold, right?
"You didn't sneak out the back door," she said with a hopeful smile when he took the seat next to her. She had to raise her voice to be heard over the clamor of the crowded bar area. "That's a good sign."
"You didn't have horns." He set down his beer and leaned an elbow on the bar, sitting sideways to face her. Near-empty martini glass on a napkin in front of her. Sweater on her lap. Cross-body purse securely in front. No ring on her left hand. Stop the surveillance, Simon. "I figured it was a good way to start."
"Wow." She wrinkled her nose and laughed, a bit weakly. "Dark sense of humor."
"Wasn't kidding, but that's okay. Thanks, by the way." He lifted his glass in a mock toast. "What's your name?"
"Mimi." She toyed with a lock of hair, twirling it on her fingers, and nibbled her bottom lip. "You are?"
"Kevin." The lie slid out so much easier that it should have. Oh, well. It wasn't like he normally ran about yelling his true name. Honestly, the only ones who used it these days were Chiara and Mack. Everyone else who knew it was either dead or in hell.
Hopefully, this new acquaintance wouldn't end up as either.
"Nice to meet you, Kevin." She held out her hand for a shake, her smile innocent.
Ah, okay. She wanted to shake hands. Could be…manners. Could be luring him into a shady deal. He'd already accepted a beer. What if the handshake was a contract?
A surreptitious glance around him revealed no one was burning a black candle or chanting from the darkened depths of a sinister-looking hood. Or even paying attention, really.
Her smile faltered, her outstretched hand dipping. He was being rude.
He took her hand, gingerly, and exhaled hard when he made contact with actual flesh. Not a ghost, at least. What a relief. He had started to think human girls had given up on him.
But no handshake. He kissed the back of her hand like a gentleman, hoping to close the deficit of his awkward behavior. "So, ah, Mimi. You make a habit out of sending drinks to strange men?"
"Not really," she admitted. Her face flushed in a pretty glow after the kiss-the-hand move. "I wasn't even sure it would work."
"It worked. I'm here." His smile faded after a moment. Wherever he went, trouble was rarely less than a stone's throw away. "You look like a nice girl and everything, but…"
"I do?" Her brow creased and she pouted, crestfallen but for a humorous twinkle in her eye. "I was going for something more like…Irresistible Bombshell. Or at the very least, Definitely Worth Walking Home."
It was becoming very hard to not enjoy this.
"Is that how it's done these days? Labelling? I shudder to think what my label would read." He toyed with the glass, running his finger around the rim. "Perhaps Approaching Expiration Date."
"You're not that old," she protested.
"Looks can deceive."
"Well, what I see is…a nicely dressed man who looks at a girl's face when she talks and who obviously has good taste in food."
He narrowed his eyes. She knew this…how?
"I asked your waitress. The crab cakes really are the bomb. But I wasn't watching you eat, or anything. I noticed you when I walked to the ladies' room." She brushed her hair back from her forehead and frowned. "I told you I'm not good at this, didn't I?"
He rested his elbows on the bar, letting her chatter away. This was nice. This banter. This small talk with a charming woman. No threat of damnation or having to listen to Mack lecturing about why he
needed to get away from her. Just in case…he swept the room with a quick gaze. Nope. No Mack. "And I looked lonely, huh? Is this a pity drink?"
"No, not lonely. Just alone. And you're much too attractive to be sitting some place alone." Suddenly, her eyes flew open wide and she covered her mouth. "Oh, gosh. Did I just say that?"
"Yes, you did." he said, laughing. "Who even says 'gosh' anymore?"
"I know, right? Certainly not someone who bares her shoulder like it's 1986 and impulsively buys a drink for a guy just because she watched him eat dinner and imagined what he'd look like without a shirt on." She nodded, lifting her shoulders in an elegant shrug. "So, Kevin, what's the verdict?"
"Hmm?"
"Maybe…definitely worth walking home?" She half-smiled and flipped her hair a little, hope in her eyes. Definitely new to the singles game.
No worries. He was out of practice, himself. But that was the best part of the game, wasn't it? The practice? Fortunate to have come across someone who was, to all appearances, a very good sport.
And he was never one to turn down a good time.
"I think…it's a lovely night for a walk." He stood, held out a hand to help her down off her stool. "Can I take you home?"
She slipped her hand into his and led him out the door.
The sun had gone down some time ago, and the relentless harbor breeze had developed teeth. Despite her sweater, Mimi shuddered, nearly stumbling.
"You okay?" He grabbed her arm, afraid she would go face first into the sidewalk.
"Fine," she answered. "Never better."
The address she gave him was close by. He knew this neighborhood well enough that he could envision not only exactly where her apartment building stood but also its relative proximity to local ley lines and churches. Fairly inactive spot, although still lousy with ghost walk touring companies. At least he wasn't walking into a paranormal war zone.
She wound her arms though his, snuggling against him as they strolled along the sidewalk, weaving through the stream of nightlife. After a block or two, she pointed toward a side street, away from the waterfront.
"Shortcut," she said.
It wasn't. That much he knew. He gazed beyond her pointing finger and surveyed the alley. The streetlights didn't reach very deep between the buildings. He wasn't afraid of the dark. Neither, it seemed, was she. Funny. He hadn't gotten that impression in the bar.
He peered in, seeing very little of what lay down the lane. "You always charge down creepy dark Baltimore streets?"
"Trust me. This is safer." She drifted to a stop and backed into the shadows, drawing him with her. With a smile, she slipped her hands up his chest, looping her fingers around his neck. "And quieter. There's a dog about a block and a half up that way."
"I don't mind dogs," he said, and immediately wanted to kick himself. Boy. Really out of practice.
"Would you mind this?" She closed what little distance remained between them and went up on her toes, pulling his face down to hers.
A girl with a plan. He liked that.
He circled her with his arms, pulling her closer. A plan and curves. And soft lips. Thank you, Luck, he thought. Definitely a lady tonight.
And hot. Definitely hot. He faltered, breaking the kiss. This girl was overheating.
She reclaimed his lips but this time he broke away forcefully. Gripping her arms, he held her still, trying not to hurt her. "You okay? You were freezing just a few minutes ago. You don't have a fever or something, do you?"
"I'm burning for you," she said, the indirect light from the street glinting off her open smile. "Come on, Kevin."
Her voice slipped deeper and she twisted her forearms around his, breaking his hold, sliding her hands around his waist, snuggling closer. "Don't go all cold on me now."
She kissed him again, tugging up the bottom of his t-shirt and sliding her fingertips along his back, around his sides, up his chest. "Mmm. Feels just like how I imagined you'd look."
When she brushed her palm against his amulet she hissed and snatched her hands back. Her eyes glowed, pulsing red. "Wretched, wretched trinket!"
"Oh, you gotta be kidding me." Dammit. A real she-devil. He rubbed his mouth, trying to wipe away the remnants of her kiss. "And here I thought we had a real connection."
Of course not. That would be too easy. He felt through his pocket for his St. Bridget's cross.
"I hate exorcism on a full stomach," he said. "You have to wait an hour after eating or you'll get cramps. Or was that swimming? Anyway." He thrust the cross up between them, pinning her to the wall. The host twisted her face away, steam rising from her shoulders, struggling like a fly on a glue trap. Holding the cross in his teeth, he pulled out his thumb rings and slid them on before taking the cross in hand again "Had a great time, sweetheart, but too much of a good thing is bad for you."
SO IS THIS. The demon snarled and focused its sullen red stare on the cross.
Wait. It could look upon a blessed object? Not a good sign.
Neither was the smoke that started to leak from the cross.
The relic burst into flame and he dropped it, fanning his fingers. Bad, bad stuff. With a single clap of his hands, he stretched the stream of power between the rings.
THAT WON'T BE ENOUGH TO PROTECT YOU FROM ME.
"That's why I'm here," Chiara announced from behind him.
Chiara? When did she get here? For some reason, he wasn't surprised. He didn't take his eyes off the demon.
No longer held in place, the host stood before the wall, arms bunched, looking like a pro-wrestler, ready to jump off the top rope. Damn shame. He'd liked the taste of her lip gloss.
"Two exorcists, one demon." He clucked his tongue. "You really need to be careful who you try picking up in a bar, sweetheart. Didn't someone teach you about stranger danger?"
He held up his hands, the arc of magic sizzling between his rings. The air tasted like a lightning storm.
"So much for a night off, huh." He glanced over his shoulder at Chiara. The light from his binding rings illuminated the alley, chasing back the shadows. That's what his magic did. It beat down the rising darkness.
"Stay back, kid." He reached for the demon, his smile jagged and humorless. "This one is mine."
The demon snarled, a shredding glimpse of sabre-sharp teeth, and swiped at the wall. Sparks scattered under the tips of its talons. Sullen streaks of light appeared, bleeding through the break in the bricks.
The heat that rushed out caused the arc of magic to sizzle out. His concentration was broken. That was all it took for the spell to falter.
He backed off in a hurry, pulling Chiara away with him. "Bitch can open portals. Get back, Chi—"
The demon pried the edges of the portal back and climbed through the gash. The tattered edges began sealing back up as the portal slowly closed in on itself.
Chiara turned to him, mouth open in protest.
"Aw, let it go," he said. "We need to regroup, rethink what we're up against."
"Oh, Simon." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "When will you learn?"
She bolted headlong toward the wall, smashing through the nearly closed portal. The rippling edges melded back together and disappeared, leaving no more than ordinary wall.
No portal. No demon. No Chiara.
"Oh, hell." He lit a cigarette. "Women."
Stowing his lighter, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Nothing to do but wait.
He didn't have to wait very long. A few moments later, the portal opened in a flash of eerie green light and a pair of people stumbled out. The jagged hole in the fabric of reality snapped shut with a muffled boom that made his eardrums bulge.
He checked his watch. "You know how to keep a guy waiting, don't you?"
The girl collapsed. All signs of demonic possession were gone.
So were signs of life.
Simon knelt over her and leaned close to her face. No breath against his cheek.
The redhead's eyes were closed, her face slack with a terrible peace. Simon jammed two fingers on to the side of the girl's neck. No pulse. "She's not breathing."
Chiara wavered on her feet, looking more tired that he'd ever seen her. She dropped down to her knees, head too heavy to hold up. One look at her face and Simon knew he was on his own for this part.
He pinched the girl's nose closed and tilted her chin, giving her two breaths. The chest rose. He started compressions. What was the song they used to keep the rhythm? Staying Alive? What a stupid song.
Elbows locked, he gave compressions until his back started to ache, the lagging adrenaline leaving exhaustion in its wake. Two more rescue breaths.
The girl coughed.
Simon sat back on his heels and licked his lips. Watermelon. Things could have been so much fun tonight, if she's actually been in her right mind.
The host took a deep, shuddering breath just as the terror took hold. She scrambled back against the wall, looking like a psychotic monkey in a cage. Eyes close to popping out, she babbled like a madwoman. "Where—what was that screaming? Fire, fire everywhere—I was in hell! Oh, my god. Hell! Who are you?"
"Good Samaritan," Simon replied.
Chiara crawled over to anoint her. "G'won," she slurred. "Get out before it decides to fight to get you back."
The girl grabbed her hand and peered into Chiara's face, chin trembling. "Was I…dead?"
"Yeah. And that guy saved you. Another reason to leave. You owe him a favor now."
The redhead scrambled to her feet and lurched away, snatching glances of them over her shoulder.
"Next time you jump through a portal after a host, warn me. Mortals don't travel well the first time." He hunched down next to Chiara and hooked his hands under her arms to hoist her up. "You okay, kid?"
She gasped in pain.
"No. I'm really not." She took a shallow, whistling breath and turned her face toward him. Blood ran from her hairline, dripping down the right side of her face. "Get me home. Before—"
She pressed her hand to her waist. It came away dark and wet. She whimpered, a sound of pain and fear. She crumpled against him, her head drooping.