Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

  And similar to those moments before dawn and after waking from her daysleep, it pushed the helpless anxiety away, just for a while.

  But her stomach tightened when Ethan paused and said slowly, “And as tomorrow’s your day off, I set Jake up for a date with Mark Brandt.”

  Charlie blinked, but it still didn’t come together. That he intended for Jake to copy Charlie’s form and meet with Mark was clear, but not why.

  Special Investigations had been treading carefully with the Brandts due to the senator’s status. Ethan had called it pussyfooting when Lilith had told him to stand by—but he had agreed that a strong response would give the Brandts reason to think themselves more of a threat than they were.

  Charlie knew SI was tracking Mark’s purchases, and that he’d been spending most of his vacation at his father’s house in Bellevue. But Ethan hadn’t yet approached him, except to fly over the property and get a feel for the location.

  Charlie’s gaze fell to the counter when a short stack of papers appeared beside her hands.

  “Colin brought these up,” Ethan said. “Savi got onto Legion’s e-mail server last night, and downloaded quite a bit before they caught her and booted her off. SI’s still sorting through the messages, but before she went into her daysleep, Savi wrote up a list on the front page detailing what she’s found so far.”

  “But why is Jake—?”

  She broke off as Vin slid in front of her with an order, and as soon as she’d placed the foaming mug on his tray, Ethan continued.

  “Brandt’s name showed up, and after reading what he tried to send to Jane, we thought we ought to talk to him.”

  “Tried to send?” She glanced up from the bulleted list on top of the printout.

  “Sammael screened all of her incoming mail; these never got to her.”

  “The asshole,” Charlie muttered, but she didn’t rush ahead to the e-mails; she made herself read all of the first page. “What’s this about IP addresses and mailing lists? What does that mean?”

  Ethan’s smile was broad. “It means we have a real good idea of the aliases several of Belial’s demons are using, and their locations around the country. And there appears to be a demon-only list within Legion, which doesn’t include near as many demons as we’d been led to believe. Here in Seattle, there’s only Sammael and three subordinates…although one of those, I’d wager, was the demon that the nephil killed.”

  That all sounded like great news, until she read a little more. “The messages they send one another are encrypted?”

  “Yes,” Ethan said, and tapped the papers. “But Brandt’s aren’t.”

  The messages dated a month previous began simply—and were exactly what Charlie would have expected to read from an old acquaintance looking to renew a friendship.

  But after two weeks, the tone changed, and they weren’t directed to Jane anymore. Halfway through the fourth, Charlie glanced up at Ethan. “Did he figure out that she wasn’t getting the messages? He doesn’t open with a name, and just says ‘You’…like here: ‘You can’t hide behind your mask forever.’ And all of these ‘I know what you are’ and ‘Humans deserve the truth’ statements. I can’t see him saying that to Jane.”

  Ethan was wearing a slight frown, and he absently swirled his whiskey. “Neither can I, Miss Charlie.”

  “Actually, I can’t imagine anyone saying that,” she said, looking at the e-mail again. “It’s kind of movie-of-the-week. But I guess since he’s a politician-type, maybe he reduced it to sound bites.”

  “Yes.”

  Charlie blinked; Ethan’s reply had been terse, and his jaw was like steel. He let out a long breath, turned in his seat.

  She hadn’t been listening. But all of the other vampires in the lounge must have been—everyone’s attention was on Joel. He didn’t have his laptop that evening, and he wasn’t drinking a screwdriver—and the man with the thick neck who was crowding in on Joel’s space apparently didn’t like having his expectations blown to hell.

  More emotions hit her, now that she was focusing on the two men. Anger that bordered on violence, arousal, a need to dominate. Joel pulled away, said no—and was crowded a little more.

  Ethan stood, but Charlie was already over the bar, striding across the lounge. She leaned her hip against the table, crossed her arms. Joel wouldn’t meet her eyes, so she settled her gaze on his date. The guy was completely ’roided out: acne, overdeveloped muscles, and she could practically smell the testosterone.

  “Leave,” she said quietly. “Right now.”

  The musclehead barely spared her a glance. “Fuck—”

  She had his arm up tight behind his back before he could finish, forcing him to stand. “That’s the second word that starts with ‘F’ that I’ve heard you say tonight, and I’ve only been listening for a few seconds,” she said, not caring that his veins were throbbing at his temples, his teeth were grinding, and pain was screeching from his psychic scent. She shoved him toward the exit without releasing his wrist. “This hurts, doesn’t it? I haven’t even broken or torn anything. Next time you walk in here, I will.”

  She passed Melody, whose eyes widened before she rushed past the hostess podium and pushed the front door open, then held it wide.

  Charlie considered planting her foot in the musclehead’s ass, but wasn’t certain if she’d misjudge the force—and injury might bring her more attention than this guy warranted. She marched him across the street instead, through drizzling rain, and left him groaning and holding his arm in front of the Heritage.

  Ethan stood at the door with Melody, a deep smile creasing the corners of his eyes. “I aimed to be all menacing and formidable until he ran away.”

  “He’d have tried to get a few punches in first,” Charlie said with a shrug. “My way was faster and easier.”

  She slid her arm through Melody’s as they walked back into Cole’s, then left her at the podium with a brief squeeze and a thanks.

  “That it was, Miss Charlie. And I reckon it answered a question for most everyone here.”

  “Everyone” must have been the vampires; as she walked through the lounge she couldn’t miss the tension and unease pouring from them.

  “What answered what?” she asked after she’d checked in with Joel and returned to the bar, wiping the last of the rain from her arms.

  “Well, Miss Charlie,” Ethan said as he took his seat, “I haven’t slain you.”

  “Oh, my God.” Her stomach lurched, gooseflesh rose on her skin. “I broke the Rules.”

  “That you did. And I figure if you made a habit of twisting a man’s arm up behind his back, hurting him for no good reason, we’d be having some real strong words between us. But you had a good reason, so I ain’t all that riled up about it.”

  Her heartbeat regained its normal pace. Ethan was sitting in his easy sprawl, facing her across the bar, yet his words were obviously for everyone.

  But he was going about it indirectly. Charlie shook her head, and said, “I thought we had to follow the Rules.”

  Ethan watched her face for a long second; then he sat up a little straighter and nodded.

  “All right. For vampires, they’re more like real important guidelines, and the ‘not killing’ part the most critical one. You’re stronger than humans, quicker—most times, no matter what he’s threatening, you can get around a human without resorting to killing him. And so long as you don’t abuse your strength, we’ll be all right. I sure ain’t going to slay a vampire for defending someone, or for doing her job.” His lips curled slightly. “Though maybe next time, you might jump over that counter a little more human-like.”

  She smiled, pulling the stack of e-mails back in front of her. “If they’re just guidelines, why does it matter so much if demons and Guardians break them?”

  “They ain’t just guidelines for us; for a demon or a Guardian, they’re absolute. If I’d done what you did, Michael would soon be showing up to give me a choice to Ascend or Fall.” He was silent until she m
et his eyes, and his tone became intimate. “I’d be Falling—which only means that I’d be transformed back into a human to live out the remainder of my life. I’ve got too much to atone for to visit an afterlife just yet. But you ain’t got to worry if it ever happens; once I became a human again, you could turn me, so as I could continue providing for you.”

  She dropped her gaze to the printout again. Ethan, a vampire? She couldn’t even imagine it. And though it would mean he would need her to feed him, too…she wouldn’t want equality to come that way.

  “I like the wings,” she said finally. “So if you run across a human you want to hurt, maybe you should bring me, and I’ll beat him up for you.”

  “Well, Charlie, that’s about the sweetest offer I’ve had in years.”

  She glanced up; although there was humor in his reply, he was staring down into his glass, his jaw tight.

  She swallowed, trying to think of any reason for his response. “Although I guess that would make me like Henderson, and you like Sammael.”

  He blinked in surprise. “I reckon it would.”

  It must not have been that, then. She might as well be blunt. “Are you moaning, Drifter?”

  “Maybe.” His jaw clenched again, but his frustration seemed to shift, encompassing the others in the room. “Maybe when we’re in a private moment, we’ll discuss why it is that whenever I talk about providing, you look away from me.”

  She did? Her throat suddenly ached; she wanted to look away now. But she wouldn’t allow herself to avoid his gaze. “I didn’t realize,” she said quietly.

  His eyes narrowed. “You only didn’t realize that you were giving yourself away, Charlie. You know damn well that you squirm every time I say I’ll give you anything you need.”

  She tried not to fidget. Tried to hold herself still. But something seemed to be rupturing in her, tearing and hurting as it opened. Something needy and desperate that wanted to dig its claws into him and beg and plead. Something that wasn’t strong, but dependent and revolting. Her fingers curled around paper, and she clung to it.

  Clung and backed away from the bar. “I’m going back to the office to finish reading these,” she said hoarsely. “And I’m going to put the spell up.”

  He shook his head; a hat appeared in his hand, and he got to his feet. “That ain’t necessary, Miss Charlie,” he said in a soft, hollow voice. “I’ll return at closing.”

  No. If she could have screamed, she might have as she watched him walk through the lounge. His name, or simply “Please.” But it might not stop there, and become more. Please don’t leave. Please don’t give up on me so easily.

  Please need me.

  Her fingers didn’t stop shaking while he was gone. Even after she heard the footsteps on the roof and realized that he hadn’t gone far, the papers fluttered wildly as she turned them, and she rattled bottles against rims with every pour.

  Why couldn’t she be content with what he’d already given her? How many times had she reminded herself that more might come—that his emotions might deepen? She couldn’t know unless she waited. But everything in her was grasping and pulling and she wasn’t sure she could contain it.

  Had she ever wanted anything so much? Needed it so much?

  And he’d give her anything she asked for—but she couldn’t ask for this. Asking meant that she’d never know if it was his need, or just his need to provide her with what she wanted. Just as his blood, if it didn’t have life flowing through it, would taste the same as hers; she’d never know the difference.

  She craved his need, his love.

  But even as she slowly accepted that this particular need wouldn’t go away, her nerves wouldn’t settle. She read through several e-mails without seeing the words, had to go through them again.

  And read them yet again, before she realized what had caught Ethan’s interest; Charlie had been searching for references to Jane. But it was the description of a demon’s form that Mark had written as evidence that he “knew” the truth: crimson skin and black feathered wings.

  “Drifter,” she said softly. He’d listen for his name. “You think he’s seen the nephilim?”

  She heard him faintly over the distance and music. “Yes. Mostly, I’m wondering under what circumstances—and if he saw one here, or in D.C.”

  Trying not to imagine the Seattle community wiped out like D.C.’s had been, she simply said, “Oh,” then took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to make you moan.”

  There was a sigh in his reply. “I know, Charlie. But we’d best wait to discuss it. Right now, I’m feeling like pushing—but I ain’t so eager to see you running.”

  She wouldn’t run. But even as she began to make the promise, she saw the careful non-interest of the vampires in the lounge.

  “Everyone’s listening anyway,” she said, and watched several of them startle and blush.

  Ethan’s deep laugh carried better than his voice, and some of her shaking eased. “That was just mean.”

  Whatever it was, acknowledging the eavesdroppers so explicitly seemed to break the reticence of a couple who had only sat and watched for several days. They joined her at the bar, and though Charlie’s anxiety never quieted, the familiar roll of conversation made the weight of his absence easier to bear.

  She was in the office and the lounge was empty when Ethan finally returned, his coat dark with rain. The one-way mirror didn’t give her an advantage; she couldn’t read his expression, and her stomach was still heavy as she prepared the night deposit, her feet dragging when she finished and pushed through the door to the lounge.

  And she had no idea what to say, so she only said, “You’re wet.”

  Ethan’s gaze was steady on hers. “It’s coming down pretty hard, and I’m pretty fuzzed up,” he said quietly. “Maybe we’d best hold off on the visiting tonight and go on home.”

  The heaviness lifted a little, and she didn’t let guilt take its place. They wouldn’t be out there looking for Jane—but neither she nor Ethan would be very useful going out like this, anyway.

  She nodded and turned toward the employees’ door again, listened to his footsteps as he followed her through the kitchen to the alley. Just inside the exit, she paused to slide on her coat. Ethan caught her hand, pulled her against him.

  He circled her waist with his arm. His gaze lit on her hair, and he smiled slightly. His hat was damp and heavy; he covered her head with it, then slid his fingers along the flat brim, tipping it up so she could see him again. “You might need to hold on to it when we’re in the air.”

  She flattened her hand over the crown, and he swept her into the familiar cradle of his arms.

  It was pouring, raindrops beating against the pavement, splashing and dancing like thousands of tiny sparkling fountains. Each one clear to her vision, each one separate and part of a glorious whole.

  Her arm tightened around his neck. “Ethan,” she whispered, wonder swelling her throat. “Look at that.”

  “It gets better, Miss Charlie.”

  She glanced up as his wings unfolded and cut a swath through the silver curtain of falling rain. Her breath caught. For an instant, the diamond drops clung to his feathers before their downward sweep flung them in glittering arcs.

  “Oh, my God,” she laughed, and met his eyes. A line formed between his brows, and she smoothed it away with her thumb. “You couldn’t see it,” she said. “But you were amazing.”

  He stared at her before clearing his throat, but his voice still sounded rough to her ears. “I aim to please.”

  “You do.” She laid her cheek against his shoulder and held on to the hat as he launched them into the air. It was always with speed, straight and high; but once he gained enough altitude, he usually slowed his flight. This time, he hovered.

  “Now look at this,” he said quietly. “It only lasts as long as it’s raining this hard.”

  She turned in his arms, and suddenly couldn’t breathe. The city was blanketed in shimmering silver, with colors shooting thr
ough like the facets of a jewel: the garnets and emeralds of traffic signals, the diamond-bright streetlights, the soft topaz from square-cut windows.

  But even as she watched, the downpour eased. Ethan sighed and leveled out, heading east. His hair was plastered against his head; they were both soaked to the skin, her clothes uncomfortable and clinging, her coat sodden. She’d only worn it to keep off the rain, but now it was just an extra weight.

  “Will you take this?” She tugged at her collar, and her fingertips met when the drenched fabric between them vanished. The lake slid by below them, dark and flat. She lifted her gaze to Ethan’s face, but he was looking down.

  She recognized his expression. Hunger, arousal. It pulled at her own, and his lids lowered as if he felt it.

  No, she realized. He’d seen it beneath the thin, pale pink cotton of her wet shirt. Her nipples had tightened under that intense focus—and now she was thinking of his hands, his lips.

  “Son of a bitch,” he said on a soft growl. His mouth closed over her breast with shocking heat. She arched toward him, and her stomach dropped as they swooped.

  He immediately straightened out their flight, but didn’t halt the movement of his tongue, his teeth. Her fingers clenched on his shoulder, his hat. Her head fell back, the rain misting over her face, her eyes, and the lights at the shore wavering as they flew in closer. She could see the house, and she knew they wouldn’t get inside, but it would be hard and slick in the rain, on the deck, where even now a light was flashing in quick bursts…

  She blinked. “Ethan?” And then gasped as he went rigid, his teeth digging painfully into her flesh before he ripped his mouth away. She scented blood—but not hers. Feathers exploded in all directions.

  The arch of his left wing collapsed.

  The world tilted as they flipped, dropped through the air. Ethan was swearing, adjusting her position until she was full-length against him and he was holding her tight with his legs. She wrapped her arms around his waist so he could use both hands to fire his guns; each shot flared bright, the sound muffled by the silencer and the racing of his heart against her ear.