Demon Marked

by Anna J. Evans

  “Armageddon?” Andre asked.

  “Maybe. That’s what the man who raised me thought. ‘First Timothy, chapter four, verse one: In later times some will abandon the faith and follow deceiving spirits and things taught by demons.’”

  “You quote Bible verses.” Andre shot her a look of surprise out of the corner of his eyes. “My mother would love you.”

  “Mary already loves me. She always gives me extra garlic bread.”

  “That’s right.” He smiled, as if pleased by the fact that she and his mom got along.

  “She’s Catholic?”

  “She is and a big believer.” He sighed as they stopped, waiting for Stewart to open the locked doors once more.

  As he bent over, Emma caught the slight shimmer of gold lingering behind the man’s ears, stuck to the arms of his glasses. Hamma claws ... That’s what was making Stewart tremble. He was probably starting to go into withdrawal. It happened with users who’d been on the stuff for years.

  Still ... it was strange to see a man like Stewart sparking. Hamma wasn’t cheap, and the man couldn’t even afford basic laser eye surgery, which had become cheaper than most bicycles.

  “But she also talks to her houseplants and thinks they talk back,” Andre said, “so you have to take that into account.”

  Emma edged closer to Stewart, continuing to talk to Andre. “But you seem to get along well.” Yep, that was definitely gold dust. She backed away as Stewart opened the door and led them back into the lobby.

  “I love my mother.” The tightness in his tone hinted that his family wasn’t as perfect as it seemed. “But sometimes I think I’m a disappointment. She really wanted grandchildren.”

  “Kids aren’t in the picture for you, huh?”

  “Nope. What about you?”

  “Me?” she asked, shocked that he’d even ask. “Of course not ... I ... No, I’ve never even thought about it.”

  “Because you’re still a kid,” he said.

  “I am not. I—”

  “It will take some time to look up those records.” Stewart interrupted before she could finish her protest. “You want to come back in an hour or so? There’s a coffee stand at the next corner.”

  “Sure, no problem,” Andre said, leading the way to the door. Emma followed him out into the bright light, but not without a final look back over her shoulder at old Stewart.

  He was standing there, trembling, watching them leave. When he caught Emma’s eyes, he turned and hurried back through the narrow door into the office, but it was too late. Her instincts were screaming that Stewart knew more about that locker than he was letting on. And that he might just feed that Hamma habit with Death Ministry drugs.

  Maybe the gang did have something to do with this, after all. But what?

  She had a feeling she’d be able to find out ... but only if she ditched her escort. Whoever wanted her at the homeless shelter, they’d wanted her here alone. Emma knew it wasn’t the smartest idea to go back by herself, but she couldn’t see that she had a choice.

  She needed to know what was going on. Sooner rather than later.

  Besides, she wasn’t going to be stupid. She’d make sure she went in armed and dangerous, equipped with her demon mark and something a little more conventional if her pickpocket skills were still up to snuff. She hated to steal from Andre, but then ... was it really stealing if you intended to give what you were taking back at the earliest convenience?

  Emma hoped Andre wouldn’t have the chance to consider that question. After all, how long could it take to get the information she needed from Stewart when she was holding him at gunpoint?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There had been times when a line for coffee fifteen people deep would have sent Emma into a state of abject despair. Today, the tour bus that had just finished its morning trip through the ruins, dumping a load of caffeine-deprived tourists near the coffee kiosk, was the bit of luck she’d been hoping for.

  “I’m not going to make it through this line,” Emma said, crossing her arms and looking anxiously up and down the street. “I’m going back to the Laundromat to find a bathroom.”

  “I’ll come with you. I like to watch women pee.”

  Emma laughed despite herself. “You’re sick.”

  “I’m kidding. Let’s go. I—”

  “No, you’ll lose our place in line.” She stopped him with a hand on his chest that she almost immediately moved away. Even that small connection made her self-conscious, aware of all the other ways she wanted to touch him. “And I’m a big girl. I can make potty all by myself.”

  “I don’t want you going anywhere alone,” he said, humor fading from his expression. “Just in case.”

  Emma’s conscience pinged, but she ignored it. “It’s just the end of the block. You can see it from here. Stay. Get me a triple shot of espresso with three sugars and a sandwich with lots of meat.”

  “A triple shot? Are you sure your body can handle that much caffeine?”

  “My body can handle lots of things,” she said, leaning in to give Andre a good-bye hug that seemed to shock him.

  He was so surprised, he didn’t notice that she’d slipped the stun gun from his suit pocket and eased it down to a not-so-great hiding place on the outside of her thigh. Thankfully, none of the tourists surrounding them noticed that she’d pulled a gun, either. Of course, they’d all been lured into a false sense of security by the shiny brochures and Southie maps handed out by their tour guide. They probably had no idea there was a major gang stronghold a few blocks away or that demon drugs were being sold out of the basement of the souvenir shop across the street.

  Still, shocked by her hug or not, Andre was smiling as she turned to go, pleased with the unexpected intimacy. He looked almost sweet when he smiled like that. It made it harder to shove her stolen weapon down the front of her jeans with one hand as she waved good-bye with the other.

  How would Andre look at her once he learned she’d lied to his face?

  Hopefully, if luck—and complicated coffee orders—were on her side, he would never have to find out.

  Emma walked straight to the door of Soaps Up and went in, taking a few steps down the rumbling rows of washers and dryers before turning and moving back to the window. As she’d hoped, Andre had spun around and was once more facing the front of the line. Moving fast, she slipped out the door and hurried around the corner, retracing their steps back toward the shelter.

  Now all she had to do was figure out a way to get Stewart alone. He didn’t seem that interested in women—he hadn’t even glanced at her shirt, which she’d deliberately left unbuttoned after her and Andre’s interlude in the apartment, perversely enjoying catching Andre sneak glances at her chest. But Stewart had barely noticed that she was a woman, let alone a woman with a bit of cleavage showing and skintight jeans.

  So luring him with the usual seduction routine was probably out. She’d have to think of some—

  Like a shaking, twitching answer to an unspoken prayer, Stewart himself appeared, emerging from the basement of one of the tenement buildings a few feet ahead. He looked as surprised to see her as she was to see him. And guilty. Very guilty.

  Emma pulled the stun gun from her jeans. Even before her logical mind figured out the why, her gut knew the what. Stewart was up to no good; that was what. And he didn’t seem surprised to see her gun, which was more bad news.

  She didn’t realize how bad until a pair of meaty arms grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms to her sides, giving her no choice but to move her finger away from the trigger of the gun, or risk stunning her own legs into painful immobility. Her mouth opened to cry for help, but Stewart was suddenly there in front of her, pushing his thin fingers into her mouth, grabbing her bottom teeth in his fist like she was a dog he’d bring to heel.

  She gagged at the taste of salt and sickeningly sweet lotion, her eyes tearing as whoever held her from behind tightened his arms, lifting her off the ground. Together, the two of them drag
ged her down the street, toward the basement steps from which Stewart had emerged. Emma thrashed and kicked, but the man behind her was enormous and unbelievably strong. She’d never felt so small and powerless, so very aware of her delicate human body.

  Or mostly human body.

  Despite the two hearty meals it had been fed in less than twenty-four hours, the dark craving rushed to life beneath her skin, responding to her fear. Emma could feel her cells opening up, surging with demon power, searching for the energy they craved. She twisted her arms, willing to dislocate her shoulder if it meant she could get her hands on the monster of a man behind her, but it was impossible. Every wiggle made him squeeze her tighter, until her forehead felt like it was swelling to twice its normal size.

  Pulling in her next breath became her first priority, followed closely by somehow maintaining her hold on the stun gun as her hands tingled and grew numb. She was going to need that gun. When the time came, it might be her only shot at escape. She couldn’t take down both of these men with her demon mark, even if she managed to get one hand on each of them.

  Emma coughed and gagged again as Stewart pulled on her jaw. Behind her closed eyes, the world darkened. Seconds later, knees jabbed into her dangling legs as the man holding her descended the stairs.

  They were taking her down to a basement, just like the basement Ezra had trapped her in for what had seemed like years. Even with books to read and a small radio that Ezra’s girlfriend had brought down to her in a moment of empathy, her captivity had been almost unbearable, and she knew these men wouldn’t worry about making her a happy prisoner.

  If they cared about keeping her alive at all.

  Emma’s nerves sizzled, and a jolt of adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream. She wasn’t going to become a prisoner or a casualty. Not now, not when she’d lived through so much.

  Arching her back until it felt like her spine would snap and her lower jaw would be ripped from her face if Stewart didn’t loosen his hold, Emma managed to slip one hand behind her and grab a handful of Strong Man’s crotch. It wasn’t what she’d been aiming for, but she fisted her fingers and held on tight. Even if the dark craving couldn’t find the memories it needed from this particular position, she still might be able to do some damage, to injure the man just enough to force him to loosen his hold.

  She squeezed with every last bit of strength in her body even as she willed the dark craving into her fingertips, sending it to seek out the evil it needed. Seconds later, the Strong Man’s memories flew into her mind so quickly, she could barely focus on one image before the next flashed in its place.

  The interior of a place made of concrete, old showers on the wall, and the man who held her crouched on the ground with another man pinned beneath him. It was ... Stewart. Emma caught a flash of Stewart’s face, fear and pain in his wide eyes as the Strong Man smashed his huge fist into his abdomen again and again. A few feet away, a man in a suit watched the beating, pacing back and forth and screaming words Emma couldn’t hear.

  The Strong Man couldn’t hear anything when he was like this. The blood rushing through his head when he delivered a beating was too loud, overwhelming, the only thing that made him whole. The violence of skin and bone connecting with flesh was what he lived for, the reason he’d joined the Death Ministry. He was ready to earn his second kill scar, ready to pound Stewart into the cracked tile beneath him until he was nothing but blood smeared on the—

  The man with the suit punched the Strong Man in the face, his large gold watch catching him under the nose and tearing away a patch of skin. The Strong Man growled and lunged for the man’s feet, intent on cutting his fancy shoes right off his body when another DM member grabbed him from behind and pulled him to his feet, screaming that he can’t beat the boss.

  More images flooded Emma’s brain, less coherent, shifting back and forth with a speed that made her head spin.

  Stewart crying as the man in the suit shoved a child’s sand sieve into his hands; the Strong Man running outside and into the ruins, hunting for something upon which to unleash his unspent rage. Stewart shivering and cold on the floor, shaking uncontrollably; the Strong Man using his knife on an Inuago demon, gutting the large creature with a few swift jerks of his blade. Stewart slipping the key from the collection at the homeless shelter; the Strong Man helping to rip apart her apartment.

  It took some time for Emma to assimilate the meaning of the contrasting memories, to realize not all of them belonged to the man whose arms were now growing limp around her.

  Some of these memories weren’t Strong Man’s. Some of these memories were Stewart’s.

  Emma cracked her eyes and sucked in a surprised breath around the fingers still curled softly into her mouth. Her entire face was glowing blue. The craving was feeding on the man through her mouth. She supposed there was no reason that shouldn’t happen—just because she’d always fed through her hands didn’t mean that was the only way for it to be done. There was so much she didn’t know about her power, so much she’d never wanted to learn. She’d always tried to survive by doing the bare minimum, giving the darkness only enough to keep it sated. She’d never wanted to give it free rein to explore just how far it could go, how much of her humanity it could consume.

  But now she didn’t have the choice. Adrenaline dumped into her bloodstream in response to fear. The demon mark sensed danger—and it was rising to fight back.

  Still, seeing Stewart’s second face, the face of his soul, shrivel in the blue light sickened her—terrified her. It made that part of her that feared the craving would someday take over scream for her to stop feeding no matter how dangerous these men were.

  Emma spit Stewart’s hand from her mouth as she twisted from Strong Man’s arms. With a guttural cry, she shoved Stewart away, sending him flying down the stairs to crumple at the bottom. Without waiting to see whether Stewart would be getting up again, she turned, lifting the gun that still remained in her hand, ready to finish off the man who’d grabbed her.

  Instead, she found herself aiming at the face of another man, a very pissed-off man in a perfectly fitting suit.

  Andre.

  The Strong Man was at his feet on the narrow landing, passed out cold but still breathing, if the light snuffles erupting from his crooked nose were any indication. Emma’s fingers went limp. When Andre reached for the gun, she handed it over without protest.

  “What the hell—?” His words ended in a light grunt as Emma threw her arms around him, burying her face in his suit, inhaling his safe, clean smell.

  All the angry words he’d been planning tripped on their way out of his mouth and fell into the softness of Emma’s hair. Andre hugged her tight, squeezing her to him, dropping his lips and pressing a long, hard kiss to her forehead, willing her to realize how stupid she’d been to ditch him.

  “I’m sorry. I was going back to talk to Stewart. I thought he’d tell me something if I was alone, but I shouldn’t have—”

  “Damn straight you shouldn’t have.” Andre pulled away from Emma when a groan sounded from the bottom of the stairs. Looked like Stewart would live, unfortunately. Andre wouldn’t have been sad to see the man dead. He’d heard the struggle and looked down the stairs in time to see Emma spit the man’s hand from her mouth.

  The fact that the man had dared to touch her in any way made him want to smash someone’s head in. Luckily, the thick-armed bastard holding Emma had been in the perfect position for a fist to the back of the head. He too was going to live, however, which meant he and Emma should move. Now.

  “Come on. We’ll talk about how dumb you are later,” Andre said, taking Emma’s hand and trying to pull her up the stairs, but she snatched it away before he could take a step.

  He turned to see her fingers clutched to her chest, her breath coming faster. “I’m sorry, I just ... I don’t want to touch you right now.”

  Andre’s jaw clenched, and hurt tightened his chest. “Fine. But we need to leave. I’ll call Francis and ask him to sen
d a team over to pick these two up and take them back to headquarters for questioning. We need to find out why they were—”

  “I have a good idea why they were after me.” Emma turned and ran to the bottom of the stairs.

  “Emma, stop. Get your ass—Shit.” He hurried after her as Emma stumbled over Stewart’s writhing body and opened the door leading to the basement of the apartment building. Andre reached her side in time to grab her around the waist and keep her from taking another step. “We’re not going in there. We don’t know—”

  “I do know. Look.” She pointed into the darkness. Across the hard dirt floor, on the opposite side of the low, cramped space, a lamp stood on a wooden table next to a cage big enough to hold a midsized demon.

  Or a small human woman.

  “There really is someone after you.” Andre’s arm tightened around Emma’s waist instinctively, everything in him insisting that he had to keep her safe.

  “There is. And I’m betting money it’s because of the spell book. But here’s the kicker—the Death Ministry is involved in some way. Look at that guy,” she said, motioning to the giant man still lying on the landing above them. “He’s got a kill scar.”

  “But how is this sack of shit involved?” Andre glanced down at Stewart, who was conscious but not saying a word. He looked like he was in too much pain to do much more than groan.

  Good. Andre hoped his goddamned neck was broken.

  “I don’t know, but he’s the one who stole the key to plant in my apartment. He and the other guy wanted to get me down here. I’m guessing they were planning to put me in that cage and wait for whoever’s calling the shots to tell them what to do next.”