by Michele Hauf
Once on the roof, he found the access door and slipped between a crack. Gliding around the tight edges, he insinuated his shadow form down the thickly painted cement stairs. Under another door, and out into dim light.
He transformed back to human shape in the shadows of a landing one story up from street level. To his left stood a door, and another to his right.
He glanced right. An old Christmas wreath hung on the door, six months past its prime.
To his left, the door was plain, save for the small cat door in the lower right corner.
He looked up and noticed the wall that stretched from Aby’s door through the length of the condo was tiled in brilliant glass tiles. At first glance they formed a mosaic of colors.
But as he looked over the whole, patterns emerged. Among small squares of emerald, crimson and saffron glass, deep indigo tiles formed sigils and warding signs. In fact, he recognized one of them as a powerful demon bind.
“She’s got some serious juju going on with those things.”
He bent to inspect the cat door. It, too, was decorated with what looked like a black marker drawing of a warding symbol. “Clever.”
It made sense. The woman dealt with demons. Best to keep uninvited guests out—like the one that had just attacked outside.
But what about the ones she bridged to this realm? These wards would keep demons out, but would they also keep in those already inside? There must be a release within her apartment.
He hoped Aby kept a tight leash on her subjects. But then, it likely wasn’t her choice. The witch she worked with would have the say in what happened after the demon arrived.
“Ian Grim,” Max muttered. “Christ. I wonder if she realizes what a bastard that witch is?”
It hadn’t seemed apparent to her when he’d mentioned the witch at the charity ball. Could the werewolf have purposefully partnered her with the less-than-savory witch?
Max did not like that wolf.
Tracing a finger over the black symbol on the cat door, he retracted as the ward sizzled a path through his veins and sparked at his wrist. The demon shadow he carried within made crossing wards difficult. He could do it, but not without some hurt.
Standing and scruffing fingers through his hair, Max blew out a breath. He’d come this far, so he had to see it through. But he’d keep his nose high for the scent of brimstone. And if the familiar showed any sign of siccing her demonic cohorts on him, he’d head south in search of that New Orleans familiar she’d mentioned—after taking this one’s head.
Knocking, he waited. He didn’t hear anything on the other side of the door. She couldn’t be sleeping already, only twenty minutes since the cops had driven away. Was she still in cat shape?
The slick little feline had certainly held her own when threatened by the demon. But he couldn’t be sure the demon hadn’t hurt her when it had nabbed her by the tail.
It’s not like you to give a care about anyone.
Again he knocked. “Aby, it’s me.”
A chain slid against the door on the other side. It opened to reveal a disheveled sweet-faced redhead wrapped in a thick terry-cloth robe. Short spiky hair tufted this way and that on her head. She didn’t smile, or hold the door open wider than six inches. Big green eyes mastered her face—and Max.
He leaned one palm against the door frame. Strictly business, Max. You don’t care. “You okay?”
“How did you get in? The front door is the only entrance.”
“I took the roof. Had to be careful the cops didn’t see me. So you’re fine? That’s cool. We need to talk, Aby.”
Her eyes lowered, then she looked up through her lashes. A devastating move. Max swallowed a sigh.
“I don’t like you. You’re my enemy.”
“So says your werewolf.”
“How many familiars have you killed this year?”
He wasn’t going to answer that one. He did it to protect innocent mortals. He’d had the moral argument about killing one to rescue thousands many a time, and the familiar always lost the battle.
“Please leave.”
“Can’t.” He shoved the toe of his boot between the door and the frame. “I have a demon to summon.”
“And a familiar to murder?”
“I meant it when I said I’ve no intention to harm you.” Tonight.
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“Just a few minutes. I give you my word you’ll be safe. I won’t take out the one person in this world who can help me. Trust me. Please?”
“Trust?” She chirped out a chuckle.
But then she looked aside and the air about her, once tense and tainted with adrenaline, changed. It softened. Sensitive to the atmosphere, Max’s flesh felt the whisper of her presence like a sigh.
She stepped back and held the door open. Seeing her barefoot and not all done up in makeup and sexy clothing, Max realized how tiny she was. How vulnerable. He wanted to wrap his arms about her and whisper that the world was a dangerous place, and he’d protect her.
But he didn’t.
Max had given up on wide-eyed innocent women decades ago. No, make that centuries. The only thing women were good for now was to draw him away from the shadow for a few hours and give him a teasing glimpse of the normal life he’d once had. Sex could be so bittersweet.
“Will you invite me inside?” he asked.
She tilted a curious moue at him. Definitely wide-eyed, but considering her profession, probably not so innocent. Reason number one to avoid getting too friendly with this one. If sex with mortals was bittersweet, sex with a familiar could be downright dangerous. But he was prepared.
Hell, he was impervious.
Realization softened her crooked grimace and she dashed her gaze along the threshold. “You can’t enter of your own free will? What are you? A vampire?”
“Nope. But I still require an invitation.” He nodded toward the tiled designs on the outer wall. “Your wards are powerful. It feels as though you’ve had them designed to keep out anything that isn’t human.”
“Even some humans. The sigils can determine intent and integrity.”
“Fancy.”
He didn’t want anyone gauging his integrity. He’d never considered himself a saint, or even honorable. A man did what he had to do to survive.
“So you can’t enter?” She propped a hand at her hip. “Maybe I prefer you right where you are.”
“We need to talk, Aby.”
“We just did, or we began. A nasty demon interrupted. I take it that’s common on your watch?”
“You think the thing apported because of me? The demon was after you.”
“Doubt it. You’re the demon slayer. I’m sure you’ve an entire realm of enemies just waiting to take off your head.”
“Arguing about who most deserves to be a demon snack will get us nowhere.”
Her lashes fluttered and she rubbed her arms. Max could imagine rubbing his palms up her arms, stroking the silken skin, licking her to a frenzy—and bringing himself to the ultimate in frustration.
Yeah, well, it had to be done one way or another.
“I’m tired, and still not completely over what happened,” she said. “I’d prefer not doing this right now. Besides, you rub me the wrong way, Highwayman. You want things I’m not willing to give. And you ask without integrity or gratitude.”
“I offered to pay.”
“Money means little to me. The services I offer are…elite. And personal.”
“I realize that.”
“And you’ve given me no reason to believe I’ll be safe. Should I decide to accept the offer—which I won’t—I’d need to get to know you. To determine if you are trustworthy. And that’s not going to happen tonight.”
She pushed the door, and Max withdrew his foot. Yet she called through the warded door, “I eat breakfast every morning at the International down the street. If you’re interested in holding a normal conversation that involves being cordial to each other and with no
mention of demons, you can catch me around nine. Good night.”
She closed the door on him, but then opened it again. “And thank you for saving me from that demon.”
He nodded, gave her a smirk. “Tomorrow, then. As long as you’re all right?”
“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t fix.”
“Sleep.” He hitched up the corner of his mouth. “Now that’s a goal I want to reach.”
Chapter 5
A by sashayed down the sidewalk, head held high and arms swinging. Confident strides slashed her legs in the pencil-tight skirt that emphasized her long gams. She embodied sensual grace.
Her spiked hair caught the sunlight and shimmered ruby. Its color was interesting, much redder than the russet fur she wore while in cat shape.
“Rubies,” Max muttered, sorting through his memory. “Haven’t taken any of those in a long time. But I sure do like them.”
He banged the back of his head against the seat. His need to steal frustrated him more than his need for sex did. It wasn’t what he wanted to do.
Somehow, when he’d taken on the demon shadow, it had fixed his penchant for theft into his very being. He couldn’t shed the Highwayman if he tried. And he had a stash in the glove compartment to prove it.
Max had parked across the street from the restaurant. He realized it was a place where the business suits held meetings and power-shopping cosmopolitans met for lunch, so out of his comfort zone.
Sure, he’d hung with royalty and dined with dukes and viscounts in his lifetime. But he’d always considered himself the average Joe.
Make that Max.
Stepping from the Mustang, he slid off the heavy coat that had become a sort of safety shield. The leather fended off most demon talons, and, hell, it kept him warm on the nights he camped out behind the wheel.
He tucked the coat and whip in the trunk where he kept a packed duffel, a few books on demonology and engine mechanics, also specially made whips and knives, and his favorite SIG Sauer pistol loaded with salt rounds.
Vacillating on whether or not meeting the familiar was a good idea, he shrugged fingers through his hair. Why was he doing this? He didn’t like it when people forced him to do something. He was always the one in control. Aby’s request put him under her thumb.
“Screw it.” He took off across the street, putting up a hand to stop a car that zoomed from around the corner and honked incessantly. “Keep your drama to yourself, buddy,” he muttered, then quickened his steps to land on the curb.
The writing on the restaurant door listed the current wines and the white truffles that had arrived from Italy. Did the elite realize their favorite treats were snuffled up by sows? Max had to smile at that. He’d never tried them, and by the time he could afford to give them a taste, he’d lost all appetite for good.
He resigned himself to play along with whatever the familiar had in mind. If he were going to get this demon out of his system, he had to make nice.
Max strode inside and smiled charmingly at the hostess, whose pearl necklace shimmered in the sunlight.
“Another pitcher of cream, please,” Aby directed the waiter as he set her rooibos tea on the table beside a plate with a cheese danish.
She’d seen the Highwayman park across the street. It was as if she’d suddenly garnered her own personal stalker. One who killed familiars professionally.
That made her nervous. Until she remembered she had invited him here.
Turning her wrist, Aby stroked the small tattooed words. My enemy.
The Highwayman wanted something from her. Would he follow her endlessly until he broke her down and she agreed? Could she bargain for her life by giving him what he wanted?
Lately, Ian Grim was the only witch she worked with. Much as she abhorred the witch’s flirtations, he was trustworthy. And Severo approved of him.
Grim was booked this weekend for a minor demon bridging. Aby hadn’t worked for weeks and was skeptical about this one. It would be her first since moving out of Severo’s home. But the appointment was already written in her book with red pen. Jeremy would be by around midnight tomorrow to assist.
She had not bridged demons at Severo’s home. Always, she’d gone to this condo for a bridging.
When she’d decided to move out, it made sense to simply make the office her home. Jeremy liked it because it was already soundproof and the tile wards had been put up on the outer walls years ago. Grim found it convenient as well.
Yet what had the Highwayman said about an urban legend? Ian Grim and some werewolf’s wife? She had to ask Severo for more details next time she saw him. Legend or not, it was too interesting to let pass.
Aby sipped the tea and forked a luscious piece of danish into her mouth. Divine.
The waiter returned with cream, and he pointed to the setting across the small two-person table. “You’re expecting a guest?”
“She is.” The Highwayman slid into the opposite chair.
His sudden appearance put her straight on her chair. Max’s manly scent crept through the atmosphere and tickled Aby under the chin. She tucked her hands under the table, where she threaded her fingers together. Right there, at the apex of her thighs, Aby was struck by a tingle far more thrilling than cheese danish could ever produce.
“Would you like to order, sir?” The waiter’s repulsion at Max’s presence was apparent in his flared nostrils.
“Water is fine.”
Aby drew her hands up and fingered the silver fork. Warmth flushed her pores, opening her to take in sensations. She’d felt the same way last night when sitting next to him at the bar in that over-air-conditioned ballroom.
Most men put her off with their leering gazes and attempts to touch her. Maximilien Fitzroy, well, what did he do to her?
His hair was tousled, but she liked it, sort of a just-crawled-out-of-bed look. The thought of it made her imagine him naked, dragging himself from between the sheets, his hard pecs slick with perspiration after a night of lovemaking. Nice…and threatening.
She was threatened by a naked man? Not usually. A naked man meant business was in progress. But Max Fitzroy naked?
He quirked a brow. “What?”
She shuffled the lusty images from her mind, which still didn’t chase away the warm flush tracing her neck. “You clean up nicely, Highwayman. Where’s the whip?”
“In the trunk. And don’t flatter me.” He shuffled fingers through his hair and from his forehead. “I could use a shower something fierce.”
She couldn’t smell anything unappealing, and her senses were keener than a human’s senses.
“You don’t live around here?” she asked, then answered her own question. “I suppose not. I’ve heard you travel all over. Slaying familiars.”
“But mostly demons.”
Uh-uh. Damn her curious nature.
“How do you live? Do you travel from town to town in your car? Stay in motels?”
“Hotels and motels are my home. I haven’t checked in yet, wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying.”
“I see.” She speared a forkful of danish to have something to look at instead of his piercing gaze. “You were expecting me to refuse? Or haven’t you taken a moment to actually converse with a familiar before?”
“Something like that. So about the job—”
“We’re not going to talk business, Highwayman. Remember? I invited you to breakfast to get to know you better.”
His wince made her bite away a grin. If he wanted her to trust him, he was going to have to play by her rules. Knowing she held the upper hand lifted her courage measurably.
“So tell me things, Max. Can I call you Max? You’ve been around a while?”
“I told you, two hundred fifty years.”
“Right. Where are you from?”
“Originally? France.”
“France? The entire country?” She bit into the danish. The man was no conversationalist. She suspected if she were going to learn anything about him, it would have t
o be wrenched out.
“Blois.”
“Ah. Didn’t one of Dumas’s musketeers live in Blois?”
“The Comte de la Fère. Not sure if the real man actually lived there, but the character returned there after serving the musketeers. You’re familiar with France?”
“Never been out of the States. But I like Dumas. Adventure stories are a favorite pastime of mine. I can’t imagine what it must be like to live such adventures. I believe Dumas based a lot of his stories on his own life.”
“He had a way of enhancing the truth and making details larger than life. I knew him.”
“Really? How fascinating. Have you known many celebrities?”
He took a swig of water the waiter had dropped off. A shrug was all he offered.
He was burning to get what he wanted, she could tell. But the fact that he’d come this far and was going along with her game gave him points. And he was cute, so that helped, despite him being a killer.
“So what are you, Max? Immortal?”
“Yes.”
“Not human? Because my wards…”
“Human, but infected with…” He looked aside, scanning the dining room, seeing dozens of round tables draped in white linens, with shining silverware and fresh-cut white roses. It was early; the place wouldn’t be packed with business lunchers for another hour. “This isn’t a conversation I want to have in public.”
“I agree. We’ll stick to the nonparanormal stuff. Though, I’ve never liked that term, paranormal.”
“Because it’s a mortal term. You’re normal, and mortals are the strange ones, yes?”
She answered with a smiling, “Yes.”
She took another bite of danish, then tilted the fork toward him. “Want some?”
“Even if I did want a taste, I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Aby, for two hundred fifty years I haven’t been able to eat, sleep or, well, other things.”
“Really? I can’t imagine.”
“Now can you understand my urgent need to get this demon off my back?”
“Maybe. I don’t understand how you can watch me eat. Doesn’t it make you curious? Hungry? Would you get sick if you did eat? What do you mean by ‘other things’?”