I Married a Demon

by Beverly Rae

“Never contacted him, huh?” My husband had lied to me. Grumbling a bit longer, I tugged on my clothes and hopped toward the front door. Although I’d much rather have joined Blake in the shower and demanded an answer to why he’d lied, I sensed I wouldn’t get anything out of him. Therefore, since Blake wasn’t giving me any answers, then maybe Michael would.

  I was halfway to downtown Tulsa without realizing I didn’t know how to find my brother-in-law. Turning to my PDA extraordinaire, I caught Partner up on the tense meeting between the brothers and the strange message from Michael. “I need to find his brother. Got any ideas?”

  Partner’s cowboy hunkered into a western version of Rodin’s The Thinker. “I have it. If you had Blake’s cell phone I could link with it and trace where Michael called from.”

  “Well, sheesh, Sherlock. Big deal. I’d assume he phoned Blake using his own cell phone. But so what? You can’t tell a person’s location by tracing a call made on his cell after they’ve disconnected.”

  “I can.”

  I slammed my foot on the brake to keep from running into the tailgate of the pickup in front of me. The driver tossed me an angry look through his rearview mirror and I waved my apology. “You can?”

  “Sure can, missy. But only if you have Blake’s cell phone. You left it at home, right?”

  I pulled to the curb, picked him up and gaped at the cowboy. “Let me get this straight. You can use Blake’s phone to find out where Michael is even though Michael probably used his cell phone and not a landline? And you can do this without going through a bunch of hassle contacting cell phone service providers?”

  “Trust me, Jenn. I can. Or at least I could have. If you’d brought the phone with you.”

  I reached into my pocket with my other hand and pulled out Blake’s phone. “Then I guess it’s a good thing I brought his phone with me. I kind of accidentally shoved it in my pocket.” A series of less-than-sincere beeps─I’d gotten very adept at beep interpretation─challenged my statement. “Really. I dashed out of the house and didn’t look at whose phone I was grabbing.”

  The cowboy winked at me and chewed on a blade of wheat. “Oh, sure. An accident. Right.”

  Guilt by accusation gets me every time. Had I purposely taken Blake’s phone by simply doing my subconscious mind’s bidding? Yet whichever way it happened didn’t matter now. One thing was for certain. I’d never admit to taking it on purpose. “Yeah, an accident. Now quit stalling and do your thing.”

  The cowboy threw down the wheat and hooked his thumbs in his jeans. “No problem, darlin’. Here’s how it works. Turn on his phone and put it face to face with me.”

  I followed his directions. “Face to face? Don’t you mean screen to screen?”

  Partner let out a loud beep, startling me and making me almost drop both devices. “Ow! Are you trying to break my eardrums or what?”

  “Jenn, quit whining and put us together.” The cowboy wiggled his fingers at me in a hurry-up gesture.

  “Fine. Here you go.” I positioned the two machines together, screen to screen, and waited. After several minutes, however, nothing had happened. “Is it working?”

  “Shush.”

  I obeyed not only because I didn’t know what else to do, but because a couple of men walking by gave me a curious look after they heard me talking. If I’d had a free hand I would have touched my ear, pretending to have a phone earpiece. Instead, I decided to ignore them. If I was the oddest thing they saw all night, then they were very lucky people.

  After five minutes, however, I became antsy and was about ready to ask Partner for an update when he beeped a couple of times. Separating them, I checked out Blake’s phone for any damage and let out a sigh.

  “His phone is fine.” Another series of beeps and the cowboy’s chiseled face appeared larger in a close up. “Nice to know you were worried about his simple tool and not me. And it’s not even his important tool, either. If you get my drift.”

  “Uh, yeah. A deaf woman would get your drift. You are anything but subtle, my friend. Still, I can hardly return his phone if it’s messed up.” Why was I arguing with a piece of metal? “Well? Did it work? I’m tired of twiddling my thumbs.”

  “Then stop twiddling and mosey on over to the Night Crawler bar on West Hudson Street. The call originated from there.” The cowboy disappeared, replaced by a map of downtown.

  “Don’t bother with the map. I know the place. It’s a haven for all sorts of bad creatures, mortal and otherwise.” I pulled the Jag into traffic and headed for downtown.

  My mind whirled with questions. I navigated the dimly lit streets until I found a parking spot. Once I’d parked across from the bar, I grabbed Partner, then hopped out of the car.

  “Jenn? Don’t you want to take a weapon with you? After what you said about this place, I’d think you’d want to be packin’.”

  “Packin’? Are you a cowboy or a gangster?” I chuckled at my joke and continued across the road. “If anything goes wrong inside, I’d have to carry a damn machine gun to have a chance of walking out alive. Nope. It’s better if I go unarmed. Hopefully, they won’t see me as a threat if I’m not ‘packin’.” Taking a deep breath, I pushed through the door of the hole-in-the-wall joint, paused to strike a defensive stance, and got ready for anything.

  A few heads looked up from their drinks to give me a glance, but no one bothered taking a second look. Moving to the nearest corner, I stayed put until my eyes adjusted to the dark, smoke-filled room and hoped I’d spot Michael before he spotted me.

  Rock and roll played from speakers mounted on opposite walls. On the other two walls, one plasma television blared a football game and another flashed the latest episode of Survivor. Booths rested against the walls, and tables took up the mid-section. The mirror behind the bar showed the aftermath of bar fights in the cracks crisscrossed across its width. Customers occupied all the stools, with many appearing as though their bottoms had been glued to the seats since the last decade. In the back, down a hallway, I could hear the unmistakable sounds of men’s low voices and billiard balls cracking together.

  I scanned the nearest wall for an empty seat and spotted the occupants of the closest booth starting to get up. Not wanting to meet their eyes or draw attention to myself, I let them shuffle past me, then slipped onto the cushion and scooted as far to the other side as possible.

  “What can I get ya?” The waitress, a poster girl for Goths R Us, leaned on the tabletop and cocked a penciled-in eyebrow at me.

  “Excuse me?” Sometimes it’s easy to sense a supernatural being and sometimes it isn’t. Right now it was. This young woman had vamp written all over her.

  “You want a drink?”

  Of blood? I managed to keep my initial question inside my head before answering with the correct one. “Oh, yeah. A beer is good. Whatever’s on tap.” Was she staring at my veins? I put my elbows on the table and wrapped my palms around either side of my neck.

  She smiled, telling me she knew what I was thinking, and moved off toward the bar. She returned faster than I’d have thought possible and plucked the money from my outstretched hand. Examining the ten-dollar bill as if it might be counterfeit, she arched the other fake eyebrow this time. “Should I keep the change?”

  “Sure.” If it kept her away from me, I’d give her another ten spot. She whirled around and sauntered over to a nearby table, leaving me to wonder which would be more dangerous, letting her suck my blood or taking a drink from one of these filthy glasses? I decided to play it safe and do neither.

  Unfortunately, Partner decided it was time to chime in. Literally. Like the church bells on a Sunday morning, a soft lilting chime rang out of my pocket, drawing Ms. Vamp’s attention. I shot her a small smile and silently wished I could pop out his batteries. “Oh, uh, it’s nothing. Just a friend of mine.” I patted my pocket for extra measure. Having more than likely seen her fair share of parasitic creatures catching a ride on her undead clients, she gave my pocket a cursory glance and returned to
taking the others’ drink orders.

  “Be quiet, Partner, or I’ll plug you into my car and let you mate with the cigarette lighter.”

  “Don’t go kickin’ up a fuss, I was just curious and wanted to know what was goin’ on, darlin’.”

  “Curiosity can kill you as fast as it killed the cat.”

  I ignored Partner’s snort and wondered if it was too late to pull his batteries without anyone noticing. Luckily for him a loud, familiar voice garnered everyone’s attention.

  “You motherfuckers are screwing with me. Did you finish them or what? Did you find it? Talk up or you’ll regret your silence.”

  Michael’s harsh tone drew my gaze to him. He, two men and a beautiful blonde woman were seated in a booth cattycorner from mine. The two men growled at Michael although the blonde appeared unconcerned by the men’s aggressiveness. Instead, she swayed back and forth with the earplug to her iPod firmly in place.

  I hunched down in my booth and studied Michael’s companions. One was probably a ghost. His persona flickered once in a while─a dead (pun intended) giveaway─and left the telltale vapor outline of a younger man dressed in medieval clothing. Since his mortal exterior flickered, I knew he had to be a young ghost who wasn’t yet powerful enough to maintain his outward appearance for long stretches of time. Young being less than a thousand years old. His friend, however, wasn’t so easy to figure out.

  “The master told you what to do.” Michael’s expression darkened. He uttered a low growl and pushed his body over the table to put his face closer to the two men. His action, swift and threatening, caused Blondie to look up, but she still appeared uncaring. If she wasn’t a supernatural entity, she had nerves like one.

  Poor thing is bored to tears. Is she Michael’s girlfriend?

  “We were told to find out where they were. That’s all we were instructed to do—find them. No one said anything about killing them.” The ghost’s body wavered again. “It’s not like we can’t exterminate them any time we want. They’re low-life mortals no one would miss.”

  I checked Michael’s expression. He had to have seen the ghost shimmer. Therefore, Michael had to know his friend wasn’t a normal human dirtbag, but something supernatural.

  “Then go back and do the job right.” Michael’s ghoulish growl, deep and gravely sounding with a touch of terror in it, left nothing to the imagination and confirmed the suspicion crawling around in my brain since meeting him.

  The implication finally hit home, and I swallowed the bile that had leapt up my throat. I’d seen his form change the night he’d visited, yet I’d tried to find another explanation. Now I couldn’t deny what I’d seen any longer. It hadn’t been my mind playing tricks on me.

  My brother-in-law was an undead, a night creature, an Otherworlder. My brother-in-law was a ghoul.

  Aw, shit. Family reunions are going to blow big time.

  Finding out a loved one is an undead creature is hard to take. I’d seen enough families go through the awful experience to know. But I’d always been the sympathetic observer, not one of the family members. Still, I didn’t know Michael well enough to feel sorry for him. It was Blake I was worried for.

  No doubt this was the reason the two brothers hadn’t seen each other in years. Most newly undead people break ties with their families. Michael was of the Otherworld and poor Blake hadn’t found out about his brother’s transformation. But what did Blake feel responsible for? Did he feel responsible for their estrangement? I could imagine the devastated expression on my husband’s face when he found out his brother was part of the supernatural undead.

  I downed my drink, hoping for a bit of liquid fortitude and praying I wouldn’t catch anything from the filthy glass. Sometimes being a Protector sucked, and I had a bad feeling this was going to be one of those times. Leaving yet another tip for the waitress—trust me, the more you tip a vamp waitress, the safer you’ll be—I slid out of the booth. Letting out a puff of relief, I made it to the door and outside without drawing attention from Michael’s booth.

  The cool night air was a welcomed respite after breathing the smoke-mixed-with-stale-beer air of the bar. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh smell as well as trying to relax my nerves. The older I got—meaning out of my twenties—the harder it was for me to handle these kinds of surprises.

  I crossed the road under the dim glow of the street lights and made it to within a few feet of my car. That’s when the sensation of someone—or some thing—watching my progress hit me dead on. Whatever it was, it was close—too close.

  Lions and Tigers and Werewolves, Oh My!

  As a Protector, I have to make quick decisions involving life and death. I had no doubt this was one of those times. I could either move toward my car, putting me closer to the thing and probable danger, or I could run like hell and hope to reach the bar’s relative safety. Neither option sounded very good to me, but I’ve never liked the idea of getting sliced and diced with my back turned. The idea of ending up torn into tiny Protector parts made my decision easy.

  I leapt forward, clicking my remote to unlock the door. Tuning Partner in on my possible impending death, I yelled, “I’m under attack!”

  The words were barely out of my mouth and answered by a high-pitched squeak from inside my pocket when a very large, very smelly object struck me from my right, knocking me three feet into the air. I hit the ground hard, knocking the breath from my lungs and Partner from my pocket. He slid, cursing, toward the storm drain near the curb. A flash of red lights covered his panel seconds before he fell through the grate and disappeared from sight. “Jennifer!”

  Unfortunately for Partner, I had more immediate problems to deal with. A huge white werewolf with glowing red eyes snarled, exposing sharp, saliva-dripping fangs. The animal roared with glee at having me trapped. I tried to suck in more air despite the considerable weight sitting on my chest.

  “Get. Off. Me. You. Asshole!” Although I’d put all the power and anger I could muster into my words, they still came out whisper-soft. And a very ineffectual whisper at that. I swear I saw the beast smile.

  But I wasn’t out of the fight yet. Bringing my legs up and around him, I prayed all my weight training had paid off. I rolled, clamping my inner thighs around its torso and locking my ankles together to hold on. The hell-animal snarled, struggling against my wrestler’s hold. I managed to roll it onto its side for about two seconds before it had me pinned on my back again.

  Have you ever heard the old saying, “I’ve got a tiger by the tail”? Trust me. Having a werewolf between your legs ain’t no walk in the park either.

  Recalling my last fight with a shifter, I made a fist and went for its most vulnerable spot. Its eyes. I screamed a karate yell and landed first one punch in its left eye, then another in its right. An angry roar nearly deafened me. Using its massive paws, the creature pinned both my arms down, effectively restraining me with its crushing weight. The only part of my body I could move was my toes.

  My heart pounded against my chest and, although I’d never admit this to Partner, I wished I’d taken his advice and packed a gun. Enjoying my immobility, the shifter ran a rough tongue across my cheek. Laughing in a part-growl, part-howl, the beast lifted a paw, spread its claws wide, and prepared to slash my throat.

  I closed my eyes, sent Blake a silent goodbye, and waited for death.

  The werewolf’s surprised growl opened my eyes in time to see it fly up and away from me, soaring over my car to land on the other side, out of my sight. Gasping for air now that the weight was off me, I pushed my aching body to a sitting position and started doing a crab crawl toward my car. I twisted around and leaned against the front tire. Sounds of fighting came from the sidewalk on the other side of my Jag, but I was too exhausted to move and check it out. I whispered a soft “Thank you” to my unseen hero and hoped he’d win the fight.

  The struggle was soon over, however, and I readied myself to meet either my savior or another attacker. Putting my shoulder against my
Jag, I forced my body to a half-standing, half-leaning position, and stared at the ground.

  “Hey, lady. You okay?”

  I lifted my head to see the biggest man I’d ever seen, including a few giants I could name. “Yeah, I’m okay. I think.” My knees buckled with my answer and I started to fall to the street. Instead, arms the size of redwood tree limbs gathered me up like a child’s doll and held me against a chest harder than the side of a mountain. Amazed, I pressed a hand to his chest to see if it was really as firm as I thought it was.

  It was.

  Big brown eyes stared at me from a face only a mother could love. I knew it was bad of me, but I couldn’t get the image of Fred Flintstone and King Kong all rolled into one out of my head. This man, and I use the term loosely, was the largest goof-slash-ape I’d ever seen.

  “You’re sure-sure? If not, George can take you to a doctor.” He sniffed twice.

  Was he smelling me? Because if he thought I stunk, then he hadn’t had a whiff of his own B.O. yet. The man must live with pigs and monkeys to smell this bad. “George?” I glanced around for another man-ape. Did these guys run in packs?

  “Sure-sure. George.” He removed one hand from around me long enough to pat his chest and grin—or at least I think it was a grin—showing off two-inch sharp teeth.

  “Oh, you’re George.” I wiggled a little, hinting to let me go, but my clue went right over his head. Figuratively speaking, of course. “George?”

  “Uh-huh?”

  This guy was enormous, but he wasn’t threatening. Instead, he seemed more like a big, tender-hearted bear. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances. “Could you put me down, please?”

  “Oh, sure-sure!” George dropped me without warning but, thankfully, I landed on my somewhat stable feet.

  I stepped away and surveyed the long haul of him. Not even Big and Tall shops would be able to clothe this guy. He probably had his clothes custom-made, although not by a competent tailor from the way they hung on his massive frame. “Were you the one who saved me from the werewolf?” Remembering my attacker, I scanned the area around us and found nothing. George’s face darkened into a glower and I swallowed, admitting I was more than a little nervous.