by Michele Hauf
She pressed her hand over the shackle rope, which she’d been holding snug against the sigil. The rope fibers were hot and smoldering. It was working.
“I don’t live far from here. We’ll walk,” Ethan said.
He’d mentioned they would discuss a plan for capturing the demon. Why they didn’t simply do it in his office was beyond her, but she appreciated the opportunity to get out of the building. And away.
He opened a heavy steel door. Bright daylight filtered in, making Tuesday blink. She had lost all concept of time, and even though her muscles were dragging her downward from exhaustion, the crisp winter air, inhaled deeply, worked to lighten her. And keep her focused. Tugging her coat closed, but keeping one hand inside on the shackling rope, she followed the vampire outside.
They exited into a narrow, cobblestone alleyway. Ethan turned left.
Tuesday turned right and started to run. She made it ten feet, pulling away the rope that had burned apart thanks to the demon sigil, and dropped it behind her. But as her speed increased and she began to pump her arms, her body collided with an invisible wall, slamming her backward to land in the arms of Ethan Pierce.
“I expected as much,” he said. A flash of his bright smile did not give her any mirth. “So did CJ. The rope was merely a distraction until CJ had time to work up a stronger spell.”
“Bastard,” she muttered, and collapsed in his arms.
Chapter 3
The steel door through which they’d exited opened and the dark witch swung out with urgency. He lifted his hand, exposing the glowing spell tattoos that covered his palm. As he approached, he asked Ethan, “You sure about this, man?”
“Nope. But someone’s got to do it. So do your darkest.”
“Oh, no.” Not knowing what was coming, but not stupid, either, Tuesday struggled out of Ethan’s grasp.
The vampire stretched back an arm toward his approaching cohort while he managed to hold her by the coat with his other hand. She wasn’t going to let whatever might happen...happen.
She began to speak a deflection spell, but a slash of Certainly’s hand caused Tuesday’s words to suddenly jumble and drop in the air. He’d deflected her deflection. He was stronger than she’d anticipated.
With his full body, the vampire crushed her against the brick wall. She kicked, unwilling to be contained. Suddenly, she smelled blood. What the—? The dark witch grabbed her wrist and an icy pain seared the center of her palm. A coppery scent filled the air. He was invoking blood magic?
“No!”
Kicking, Tuesday hit Ethan’s gut, but the vampire lunged forward and slapped his hand into hers. Heat from his blood mingled with hers. The dark witch held their hands together and recited a simple incantation that she recognized as a binder.
Tuesday growled, but the exhaustion from what she’d been through since sitting in the bar—back in the United States—had depleted her magic. The blood spell coursed through her system, and she felt it bite at her neck from the inside. Certainly Jones’s dark and masterful magic bound her to the vampire. They would not be able to leave one another’s side, nor would they be able to harm one another.
“This is the only blood you’ll ever get from me,” the vampire said on a low, accusing tone.
With a shout for survival, Tuesday pushed away from her captor with a shove of her free hand to his chest. The dark witch stepped away, allowing her to stumble against the wall. She caught her hands flat on the rough brick behind her, cursed, then watched as the knife wound sealed in a glow of violet on her palm.
“Had to be done,” Certainly commented.
“How close do we have to stay to one another now?” Ethan asked, as if he’d only been given a simple handshake.
“Not sure. Try it out.”
“Try running off,” Ethan said to her. “See how far you get.”
“Try fucking yourself, vampire.”
“Like I said, she’s going to be a challenge,” Certainly said.
“Challenge accepted. I’ll start walking home,” Ethan said. “We’ll see how far I get before you have no choice but to follow.” He slapped a hand into the dark witch’s. “Thanks, CJ.”
Ethan strolled off down the alley. And Tuesday tugged her coat up and adjusted her hair. She pointed an accusing finger at Certainly. “You, Jones, are on my shit list.”
He shrugged. “I honor your power, Tuesday Knightsbridge. You are an old and strong witch. But I can feel your darkness is even greater than mine.”
“Yeah? Warlock’s looking pretty good right about now.” If she grievously harmed another witch the warlock title would be slapped on her. “That would really put you in your place.”
“As well, it would put you in a place you don’t want to stand. Don’t let it overwhelm you, Tuesday. Remember what you once were.”
Really? The man was trying the New Age-y bullshit on her? “You know nothing about me.”
“No, but I saw into your soul when you were looking into mine.” He bowed his head toward her. “I am sorry for the things you have suffered because of what we are.”
Yeah, so witches had been a favorite cat’s-paw over the centuries. She’d survived, and she would continue to so do thanks to her hardened heart.
Suddenly, Tuesday’s body jerked forward. Certainly stepped aside and they both looked down the alley. Ethan stood about fifty yards off. He gave them a thumbs-up.
And when he started walking again, Tuesday was pulled after him.
“Shit list!” she called back to Certainly, who had the decency to place his palms together and bow to her in reverence.
* * *
Ethan chuckled to himself as the witch reluctantly followed him down the street to his place in the eleventh arrondissement. He lived in a third-floor loft close to Père Lachaise cemetery, which boasted an excellent view of Sacré Coeur up on the hill.
He left the front door open behind him, not feeling the need to wait on the witch. She’d stand back just to piss him off, surely. He tossed his keys onto the gray granite kitchen counter and kicked off his shoes, then wandered through the living area. With a few words to the electronic house butler—“Stuart, modify for sun”—the electrochromic shades fixed between the double windowpanes that looked out over the city adjusted to a soft white that would allow in light but not the UV rays that gave him the most caution.
The layout of the loft was open—no walls, save the ones enclosing the bathroom. Strolling through the living room, around a corner and through the bedroom, he went into the bathroom but left the door open behind him. “Stuart, warm water.” Ethan splashed water on his face, then manually twisted off the faucet and took a few deep breaths.
He opened his palm. The cut CJ had given him had already healed. Sharing blood with the witch hadn’t been as horrible as he’d expected. Remnants of fear over the once-poisonous witch blood remained. He’d have to get over it. And fast. If the demon was a blood demon, surely much blood would be spilled in the coming days. The witch’s. And the demon’s. Ethan wasn’t willing to give any more than the few drops he’d provided today.
He liked blood. As sustenance. But he never drank witch’s blood, even since the Great Protection Spell had been broken. It couldn’t harm him now. And there were even some vampires who liked drinking from witches. If you added in sex and a specific spell for bloodsexmagic, the vampire could steal some of that witch’s magic for himself.
He had no desire to own magic. But to taste the witch’s blood? He couldn’t shake the scent of her blood as it had trickled into the air in the alley outside headquarters. It had roused him so much in that moment that he’d used violence and had shoved her roughly to hide his burgeoning desires. He hoped she wouldn’t bleed near him again.
That would prove a challenge.
“Honey, I’m home!”
He shook his head, but no reflection in the
mirror showed his exasperation. CJ had warned she would be a struggle. But that was a challenge he welcomed. Now, to work with the witch.
Tuesday had shucked off her coat and now reclined on the leather sofa that sat against a rough brick wall. She’d kicked off her shoes and waggled her bare toes—the nails were painted bright blue—as she stretched out her arms and yawned. The black shirt had a button below her breasts and was open from there down, revealing abs. And much more skin than he wanted to notice right now.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Unlike vampires, we witches do need a little shut-eye now and then. And after all the torments I’ve endured?”
“Why don’t you take twenty minutes to rest? Stuart, close the shades completely.”
As the windows darkened, Tuesday sat up and glanced over a shoulder. “Who the hell is Stuart? A house brownie?”
Ethan chuckled. “A bit similar. That’s the name of the electronic house butler. This place is high-tech. If you need something, Stuart can usually get it.”
“Stuart, book me a flight back to Boston, STAT,” Tuesday said.
As the butler began to confirm, Ethan canceled that request. “And ignore all requests from any voice but my own,” he ordered.
“Of course,” Stuart replied.
“That’s creepy.” Tuesday lay back down and crossed her arms over her chest. “And so not fair.”
“While you rest I’m going to make a few calls. Plan our first move.”
“You don’t have a plan?”
“Of course I do,” he lied. Sitting before the kitchen counter with his back to her, he pushed aside her spangled coat. A pad of paper and a pen waited near the phone. He was all about the high-tech, but he’d never give up the landline. “You want a blanket or something?”
“Fuck you, Richard.” And she turned over on the sofa and snuggled up in a ball.
Again with the Richard? He thought about it a few seconds. Ah. Richard shortened was... All righty then. He shouldn’t expect her to think very highly of him after having one of his retrievers kidnap her and fly her across the ocean. And then forcibly bind her to him.
He may have to find a means to cozy up to her in order to get her to trust him or he’d never get anywhere with her. At the very least, he needed her to want to trust him.
Pulling out his cell phone, he scrolled through the contacts. He knew the person he had to speak to first to learn anything about any demon in Paris.
* * *
Edamite Thrash was a sort of demon overlord with a penchant for niceness. But Ethan didn’t tell anyone that, or Thrash would scratch you with the poison thorns that grew from his knuckles. The man was a corax demon, which meant he could shift into an unkindness of ravens and take to the skies. He also made it his job to oversee the demons of Paris, knowing who was where, and when and why. He kept a loose rein on his species, and enforced punishment only when one of them threatened to expose their kind with their foolish actions.
Ethan knew most of the major players in the paranormal realm who inhabited Paris. That was his job, to know whom he could trust and with whom he had best watch his back. Ed was trustworthy.
The dark feather tattoo on Ed’s neck always drew Ethan’s eye. He wore many sigils tattooed on his skin, and combined with his standard dark business suit and smartly parted and slicked black hair, he looked dangerous yet disturbingly GQ stylish.
He shook the man’s hand, noting he always wore black leather half gloves that exposed his fingers. He needed only cover the thorns on his knuckles to prevent an accident.
“Good to see you, man.” Ed nodded over Ethan’s shoulder. “Who is this pretty?”
Tuesday, who had followed Ethan into the building at a distance, was acting petulant, yet she strolled forward and offered her hand to shake. “Tuesday Knightsbridge.”
Ed clasped her hand. “The witch. I’ve heard about you.”
“You have? From who?”
“My girlfriend, Tamatha Bellerose.”
“Bellerose? Oh, yes, her mother is Petrina. I know that witch.” And the quickness with which Tuesday pulled her hand from the demon’s clasp clued Ethan she probably didn’t have a good relationship with the family. “Just in Paris for a visit,” she added. “Forced, as it is.”
Ed looked to Ethan for explanation.
“Tuesday is helping me to locate a demon. That’s why I wanted to check in with you. See if you’ve any information that may lead us to him.”
Ed leaned against the desk behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Which demon?”
“The Beautiful One,” Tuesday said before Ethan could say the name.
“Ah. Gazariel.” Ed winced and rubbed his jaw. “I do know he’s in town. But haven’t a clue where. He hasn’t been making much noise so he’s not on my give-a-fuck radar. Why is she helping? You only require a witch when you need to summon a demon from Beneath or Daemonia.”
“I’m bait,” Tuesday said, tossing out the words at the same time Ethan said, “She’s my lure for the demon.”
“You two don’t get along very well, do you?”
Ethan kept an eye on Tuesday as she walked about the demon’s office, looked over the marble conference table and then wandered to the wall where various artifacts were displayed on small individual shelves.
“We had to take her away from her home to get her to work with us,” Ethan offered.
“Kidnapped me,” Tuesday called over her shoulder as she peered into a glass container that likely held faery dust. The contents sparkled in all colors from the afternoon sun beaming in through the windows.
“Sounds on par for Acquisitions,” Ed said. “So, a lure, eh? Why would Gazariel be interested in that witch?”
“She wears his sigil. Or that is the information we have.”
Ed stood and now he gave Tuesday his full attention. She turned from her curious seeking and splayed her hands. “Yep, I’m the demon’s bitch. I carry his curse. And Einstein here thinks that’ll draw him to me. Idiot.”
“He’ll come to you. We just have to get you close enough he puts up his head and notices,” Ethan said. “Give him a sniff of the witch’s scent.”
“He’s not going to be attracted to the one who wears his curse,” Ed said. “Why would he? I know a bit about The Beautiful One. He put an unwanted curse in her many centuries ago when he had the opportunity. And now he’s done with it. I’m not sure of the nature of the curse, but if the demon wants it gone from him, there’s not a thing in this world that would incline him to set one foot near her now. She’s useless.”
“Hey! I can hear you,” Tuesday called. The blue glass sphere she had touched wobbled and rolled off the shelf. She caught it just before it hit the floor. “Oops. Good save, though, yeah?”
“Don’t touch the breakables,” Ethan said, chastising the overly curious witch. And to Ed he said, “Are you serious? But we need her to open that curse and hold Gazariel so he will submit.”
“Why do you need him to submit?”
“He’s got something that Acquisitions wants.”
Ed lifted an eyebrow.
“It’s a book of angel names and sigils. A muse wrote it. It holds the code for the Final Days.”
“Is that thing back in circulation? I thought the angel Raphael had taken it underwing, so to speak?”
“It made a series of exchanges before Raphael secured it from a vampire intent on populating the world with nephilim. Let’s just say it’s been in so many hands, even the Archives’ records are confused as to where it was last seen before landing in the demon’s hands. But I have good intel that The Beautiful One currently has it.”
“Doesn’t sound like a party.”
“It’s not. The list of angel names, when ordered correctly, holds an ancient coded word, or words, that when spoken, will send all angels plummeting to eart
h to smother mankind with their multitudes. Their wings will burn human flesh, young and old. Paranormals are not exempt, either. The earth will become an ashy cemetery of the mortal, the paranormal and the divine.”
“Whew!” Ed ran a gloved hand through his slick hair. “That’s something you want to stop. But your challenge will be getting the demon to come to you, without knowing you’ve got the witch, and then surprising him with her at just the right moment.”
Ethan’s temples had begun to pulse. He hadn’t expected this particular complication. If he would have known before the demon didn’t want anything to do with the witch, he wouldn’t have bound himself to her until after they’d secured Gazariel. Of course, he needed Tuesday to bring the demon to him. This was a mess. Had she known as much?
Her self-satisfied grin answered that one for him.
“Keep her out of sight until you need her,” Ed suggested.
“Too late. I bound myself to her to keep her close and protect myself from any retaliatory magic.”
“Then you’ve got a problem, Pierce.”
No need to state that one out loud. Tuesday’s soft tsking sounds riled him and Ethan fisted his hands. Yet when he saw her smile beam at sight of his anger, he relented the knuckle-whitening clutch. The witch would not get under his skin. He was smarter than this. And he didn’t need to snap a rubber band to remind him of that.
He turned to Ed. “Can you help by telling me where Gazariel might be?”
“I haven’t a clue.”
“But you keep tabs on all the demons—how can you know he’s in the city and not have a location on him?”
“It’s a feeling, Pierce, not an exact science or even a map. Believe me, I would help you if I could. The Beautiful One is from Beneath, so you might start at l’Enfer.”
The Devil Himself’s nightclub. It was frequented by demons, vamps, werewolves and most any sort looking for dark and devious indulgences. Just the place Ethan wanted to visit. Not.