Guardian's Hope

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “Things are looking up, Beauty,” Tyn crowed, though the elongated jaw and long teeth made it sound like an alien tongue. “The new house is already doing more business than I anticipated. We’ll be rolling in cash by the end of the month.”

  Another house, two blocks over, had come into his possession in much the same way as the first. The neighbors thought he was a nephew and “Uncle Charlie” had been sent off to a rest home. “Alzheimer’s, poor man.” In truth, Uncle Charlie was on the same long voyage as the old lady in the backyard.

  “That Smith is worth his weight in gold. Look how fast he found that old whore.” He gurgled with delight. “I want to retire from the more active end of the business and apply my knowledge and acumen to the more lucrative organizational end,” he mimicked. “That’s just how she put it. The more lucrative organizational end my ass. She’s tired of working on her back and wants to be a Madam. Fine by me. She’s just what I need. And she’s smart enough to know what’ll happen if she ever decides she can screw me over. Yeah, she’s looking forward to a long and profitable partnership and that sounds good to me. You listening to me?”

  Beauty kept her head down and didn’t respond. It was hard not to answer. Not as hard as defying a direct order, but the compulsion to obey was still there. Tyn stalked toward her.

  “You better answer me. Answer.”

  “Yes… Master.”

  “Don’t like that word, do you? Get used to it. Stupid bitch. And here I had something I thought would make you happy. Want to know what it is?”

  This time she didn’t try to fight against the words. “Yes, Master.”

  His lips drew back over his teeth in what passed for a grin. “The new house won’t be staffed with minions. The old broad’s got girls fresh from the streets who’re looking for a safe place to ply their trade. See, I’m doing a good deed here. Giving them a nice place to work. We get a cut, the old broad gets a cut and the whores split what’s left.”

  Somewhere through the haze that covered her mind, Beauty felt a tinge of relief. The girls were sick and dying. No one else seemed to care.

  “Now, I’ll bet you’re asking, ‘What’s going to happen to my poor minionettes?’ You like that name, huh? I think it’s catchy.” He stroked his chest and preened at his cleverness. “Well, since the minionettes are so agreeable – I only have to give them an order, after all – to serving the more peculiar and slightly painful perversions of humans, my new Madam is referring any clients with special needs to us. Her girls are happy – apparently even hookers can be squeamish – and mine have no say. You see how well this is going to work. It’s a win-win all the way around. A little word of mouth and business will be booming.”

  A tear trickled out of the corner of her eye and down to the end of her nose. It wasn’t worth wiping away. She gathered all her strength.

  “Can I go now?”

  He changed into human form and crooked his finger. “Come here,” he ordered.

  Beauty rose slowly to her feet, used to the routine, and crossed the room to stand in front of him.

  “Look at me. You know I hate that poor me attitude.”

  She lifted her head and stared at him. He ran his fingers over the cheek he’d slashed with his claws. “You need to put something on that. It isn’t healing properly. And take a shower, wash your hair. Eat something. You’re spending too much time taking care of the minionettes. You need to take care of yourself. You need to take care of me. Don’t think you can die on me. I won’t allow it. Now give us a kiss.”

  She raised her chin a little more and slightly parted her lips. His mouth crushed against hers and his tongue began to delve into the depths of her mouth. His hand squeezed her breast painfully and she moaned. It was what he wanted. For her, it was just another part of hell. She wasn’t even relieved when he pushed her away.

  “Mr. Smith should be here shortly. Send him up.”

  Tyn watched as she slowly closed the door behind her. He almost called her back, to question her again, but changed his mind. He didn’t want to ruin his good mood.

  Beauty still refused to cooperate in identifying the woman with her picture. He now knew the woman he was looking for was Hope Parsons, yet every time he demanded that Beauty tell him who the woman was, her response was the same.

  “Me.”

  He’d beaten her, starved her and finally refused her access to the minionettes which seemed more painful than any physical punishment, yet her answer never changed.

  “Me.”

  He’d never known Beauty’s human name. He didn’t need to. She should have had a number like the others, but as soon as he’d tasted her, he knew she was special and now she was his Beauty. He had a feeling in his gut that the other Hope was special, too. He’d find out soon enough.

  Mr. Smith was probably right. He thought Beauty was telling the truth and the other woman was using Beauty’s real name. Identity theft he called it. It was the only thing that made sense.

  As soon as the knock sounded and Smith entered, Tyn demanded, “Have you found her?”

  “Not yet. Nobody’s seen hide nor hair of her since the losers botched the grab. Finally got the address and I got my guys watching day and night. Ain’t seen nothing. You know, this could run into a lot of money keeping six, eight guys watching round the clock.” Smith was calculating how much he should ask for and how much he could skim off the top. He took a seat without being invited and Tyn frowned.

  “I don’t care how much it costs. Do it and make sure they understand their orders. They’re not to touch her or approach her in any way? I don’t want her scared off again.”

  “Yeah. I made sure the message was loud and clear. The only one allowed to touch her is me.” He’d helped dispose of the body of the last guy who crossed Tyn Damon. He wasn’t about to make the same mistake.

  Finding Hope Parsons, or whatever her name was, had become an obsession for this guy and Smith couldn’t figure out why. He should have been satisfied that the woman was gone. He should be happy the stupid bitch wasn’t still pestering bartenders all over town. But he wasn’t. He acted like she was his property and he wanted her back. Smith mentally shrugged. Wasn’t his business. The guy paid well and Smith had his pick of the litter when it came to the sorry creatures Damon kept upstairs, except for Beauty. Nobody touched her except the big man himself. She’d been looking a little worse for wear lately and Smith wondered what went on behind closed doors with those two. The thought made him horny.

  “I see you got the new place up and running. Need any muscle on the doors? Never know when a customer might give you trouble.” Smith had been shown the door a few times himself.

  “No, what I’m paying you to keep the authorities away is all the security I need from you,” Tyn said folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve made other arrangements for inside. You take care of what I’m paying you for and leave the rest to me.”

  He’d managed to pick up a few fellow demons here and there to serve as protection for his expanding business. They were happy to be shown how to get along in this world and resist the call of their masters in the otherworld. They were as devoted to him as lower level demons could be, which meant as long as they feared him, they would remain loyal. Smith was useful, but he was still human.

  “Fine by me, Mr. Damon. I was just making a friendly inquiry.” Smith rose and moved toward the door. “I got to get back to work serving beer to the fangers. I’ll keep my ears and eyes open and let you know if my boys come up with anything.”

  “You do that.” Tyn gritted his teeth as the door closed behind Smith. Once he was sure Smith was gone, he slammed his fist into the desk. He wanted answers, but giving into his fury wouldn’t help. He needed to be smart and patient. It was getting harder all the time.

  Chapter 14

  Hope stared open mouthed at the gash running the length of Broadbent’s arm. While the wound was deep and painful looking, it wasn’t the wound that shocked her. She’d seen enough farm injurie
s and their accompanying gore to be able to hold up under the worst. No, it wasn’t the blood. It was the awful smelling smoke that rose from the wound after Grace poured what appeared to be plain water along its length.

  They were gathered behind the curtained off area of the new den, where a cot, two chairs and two small white cabinets formed a treatment area for injuries such as this. Neither Grace nor Nardo, Broadbent’s partner for the night, showed any reaction to the occurrence and Broadbent’s hiss and wince was no different from any man’s to the cleansing of a serious wound.

  “What are you doing to him? That’s not normal,” she cried.

  “It’s normal if you’re one of us,” Nardo said, his eyes intent on the rising smoke. “Man, Professor, your wee beastie dropped a boatload of shit into that arm. Next time you might want to quote less and fight more.”

  Broadbent grabbed Nardo’s shirt, pulled him close and whispered something through his gritted teeth.

  Nardo stood and straightened his tee. “The Professor’s vocabulary just expanded by two very crude words,” he said.

  Grace didn’t laugh. “Pass me that towel,” she said and when Hope complied, “It’s Holy Water. Demon claws poison the wound and Holy Water neutralizes the poison. It’s a Paenitentia thing. Don’t know how it works and don’t care as long as it keeps my men healthy. Yucky smell though, isn’t it?”

  “What would happen without it?” Hope asked, inching closer to observe.

  “This long, lean, lovely body of mine would be horribly scarred.” Broadbent hissed again as Grace poured more water into the wound. “That’s if I were strong and healthy enough to fight off the infection. If I wasn’t, it could take weeks or months to fight it off and in cases of multiple wounds…” He shrugged. “It would turn me.”

  Nardo laughed but without humor. “Talk about adding insult to injury.”

  Grace placed a dry towel beneath the arm and began gathering up debris. “Next time, be more careful,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll be back in a bit to stitch it up.” She turned and left.

  When Hope went to follow, Nardo held her back and when they heard the door close behind Grace, he said, “Leave her be for a few minutes. She thinks we don’t know it, but she cries every time this happens. No big boo-hoo, just a little weeping and then she’s fine.”

  “She’s quite brave about bumps, bruises and broken bones, but things like this…” Broadbent waved at his injured arm, “Seem to do her in.”

  “Why does Canaan let her do it? For that matter, why do you let her do it? Surely there was someone taking care of this before she came?”

  This time Nardo’s laugh was real. “She’d only worry about one of us botching the job. Don’t sweat it. Canaan says it’s more tension release than anything else. She’s been that way since Col almost turned.” He was laughing, but his voice was filled with real affection.

  Hope marveled at the ease with which they accepted the danger inherent in their calling and at their easy acceptance of the love and care they were given. While these men might appreciate that love, they had no idea how rare and precious it was.

  Later, after the stitching, Hope sat with Broadbent while his arm began to heal. She checked under the wound’s covering at regular intervals and was amazed at the speed with which the jagged edges knitted together. She periodically patted his face and brow with a cool damp cloth when he claimed feverishness, but she saw no signs of fever and suspected he was enjoying the attention more than seeking comfort. She didn’t mind. He had a story for every occasion and was an engaging companion.

  Nico and Canaan found them laughing over another of his anecdotes when they returned from patrol.

  “And there’s my mother,” Broadbent was saying, “In the sudden hush of forty people, saying “Why can’t my son be like other boys and look at dirty pictures of women!” Broadbent was laughing so hard tears were pouring down his face. “The poor woman spent the next year avoiding anyone who was at that party and I spent the next year being avoided at the gymnasium, except for the two boys who wanted to know how I got the nerve to come out.”

  Hope laugh was as loud and long as Broadbent’s. The high, clear sound of it echoed off the ceiling.

  Canaan pulled back the curtain and ran his tongue over his teeth before he spoke. “This is probably none of my business, but didn’t I see you leave the club last Wednesday with a good looking blonde… female. I mean, hey, it’s not as common among us as it is among humans, but it’s okay. Nobody’s going to care.”

  The injured and his nursemaid broke into another gale.

  “That’s nice to know, my lord,” Broadbent sputtered, “But you missed my point. My mother found copies of Modern Warrior and Weapons under my mattress.” He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and turned to Hope. “After that, they wouldn’t even let me take archery. When I first came here I was totally inept.”

  “Still is,” said Canaan, laughing now as well. “We keep him around for the entertainment.”

  “And because I’m the only one in this House who can read.”

  “We can read. We just don’t see the point.”

  Broadbent smiled at Hope and shrugged. “The illiterate masses. What can one do?”

  But Hope was looking at Nico. For a moment, the half-smile of amusement had left his face and his eyes darkened. As quickly, the half-smile returned and he gave a short bow.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go see if Grace needs help.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Hope offered, somehow feeling that Nico might need her more than Broadbent.

  “No,” he said shortly. “You stay and take care of the Professor.”

  He’d been too sharp. It was ungentlemanly and uncalled for and he would apologize. Later. He folded a paper napkin and ran his fingers along the crease so forcefully the paper tore. Broadbent was a good man, well read and educated in the finest schools. Broadbent made her laugh. Broadbent could discuss the classics that she had read as well. They were the only books her father allowed. Broadbent would make the ideal mate for a woman like Hope. He should encourage the relationship. So why had his heart leapt for a moment when he thought Broadbent might be gay and why had it sunk to the pit of his stomach when he heard the truth?

  He knew why. The woman haunted him. Hers was the face he looked for when he came home from patrol. He heard her voice when she wasn’t there. She visited each day in his dreams. She’d stand at the side of his bed in her prim flannel robe and gown, smiling gently and with a look of longing in her eyes. He’d reach for the tails of the little bow that held her gown close to her throat, but it always floated out beyond his fingers. She’d smile sadly and then she’d speak.

  “I’m not for you,” she’d say and fade away.

  Her sleep induced specter was right. She wasn’t for him. The people who’d raised him put great stock in dreams and visions and while he’d buried those days deeply, some things still persisted. He tried to remember the chants he’d learned as a boy, the ones to destroy the haunting of dreams, but it had been too many years and the words were no longer there.

  It was getting too hard to be in the same room with her. Sooner or later, by some gesture or word, he’d give his feelings away.

  He finished setting the table, made his excuses to Grace and headed for his rooms.

  *****

  Hope smiled, nodded and joined in the conversation when she could. Her eyes kept straying to his empty seat.

  With a straight face Grace had said, “Nico sends his apologies. He’s tired, hasn’t been sleeping well. He thought he should skip supper and hit the sack early.”

  But her eyes gave her away and Hope knew that Grace didn’t believe a word she was saying. Canaan nodded sagely, Manon and Otto looked at each other knowingly, Nardo rolled his eyes and the twins snickered and snorted at each other, obviously enjoying the joke she’d missed. She distinctly felt the thought that Nico needed to get on with it or get over it, but she couldn’t d
istinguish with whom the thought originated. She almost asked and caught herself in time. If they wanted her to know, they’d speak it aloud.

  “By the looks of Broadbent’s arm, things are picking up.” Canaan stabbed another slice of ham and put it on his plate. “Pass those sweet potatoes down here, will you please.” He scooped a large spoonful onto his plate.

  “It’s that time of year,” Col said between forkfuls.

  Nardo laughed. “What, like it’s Demon Season? Do we need a license to kill?”

  The twins dropped their forks, made guns of their fingers and pointing them skyward at the sides of their heads, said, “Bond, James Bond.”

  Rapid-fire, Nardo threw two rolls which they caught with their gun hands. Hope laughed at their silliness with the others, but she knew, once again, she’d missed the reference. She spent an hour or more every night on one of Nardo’s computers looking up the words and references she didn’t understand. It sometimes felt like she was learning a second language and no matter how much she studied, she was always behind. If she was going to live in this modern world, she had to catch up with it.

  “I don’t know what you put in these potatoes, Babe, but they’re a helluva a lot better than that stuff my mother used to make.”

  Grace beamed with pride, but it was Hope who blushed as she felt the thoughts pass between the pair. To cover her embarrassment, she said, “Now that’s something that’s universal.”

  Everyone was looking at her now. She’d interrupted their conversation. “I’m sorry…” She jumped at Grace’s pinch, nodded, and started over. “I think all women like to hear their man say they do something better than his mother.”

  “C’est vraiment. It is true. No woman wishes to be second to a man’s mother,” Manon said in agreement.

  Grace gave Hope an encouraging pat on the shoulder. “Absolutely,” she said her eyes alight as she looked to Canaan. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Feeling braver, Hope asked, “Is there really a Demon Season?”

  “Yes.”