Demon Night

by Meljean Brook

  “Well, hell,” he drawled. “I was all set to be a bad guy. I sure am glad I didn’t have to be.”

  Charlie laughed, but Mark still had a hold on her sister’s arm, and he’d scared the shit out of all of them.

  She moved quickly, then pulled her punch at the last second so she didn’t take off his head. Unconscious was good enough. His head snapped back, his eyes rolled up, and he dropped.

  “Holy shit, Charlie,” Jane said, and collapsed to the floor, her laughter turning to loud, wrenching sobs.

  Charlie sank down with her, shoving Mark’s crumpled form to the side, and wrapped her arms around Jane’s shoulders. She looked back at Ethan. His clothes had been cleaned, and there was a large healing splotch on his throat that she didn’t want to think about.

  “The nephil’s dead?”

  Ethan nodded, and he glanced at Jane before meeting Charlie’s eyes again. “Seems that vampire blood does something to it. Heals the human flesh so the possession doesn’t take and it can’t maintain its form.” His smile was crooked. “Leastwise, I figure that’s what happened.”

  She held his gaze; she wanted to hold on to him, and she thought he probably wanted the same, but even this small, intimate connection of sight and speech felt wonderful, perfect. “So I guess it was a good thing Mark shot me.”

  “I reckon it was.” But he didn’t manage the easy tone she had, and he looked away from her for just a second. His voice roughened. “You all right?”

  “Yes. Although it’s also a good thing I don’t have to pee anymore, or I’d probably have embarrassed myself when the senator showed up.”

  His face softened. “I’d have pissed myself about a hundred times over when that bullet busted through the window.” His gaze searched her features for another moment. “I got to head outside, clean up, talk to Hugh. You all right to stay here a few minutes?”

  Charlie nodded, watched him walk through the door, her heart pounding wildly. A bad guy. He would have killed a human, would have Fallen, would have had that blood on his hands—so that she wouldn’t have to.

  That man was crazy in love with her. She’d have bet anything on it.

  Bet anything and everything—and she was going to. She was certain, but it wasn’t enough. Because along with the love and the certainty was that same terrible need, and pretending it didn’t exist wasn’t going to make it go away, and denying it wouldn’t mean she was stronger.

  Getting what she needed was probably going to hurt, though. Hurt her…and hurt him.

  She lifted her cheek from Jane’s head. “Drifter? Where’s Sammael?”

  His voice carried across the lawn. “On the porch.”

  Frowning, Charlie looked out the empty window frame. If the demon was on the porch, then he wasn’t standing. “Alive?”

  Jane’s breath hitched.

  “Yes,” Ethan said, and Charlie repeated his answer for her sister, but held on to Jane’s wrist when she attempted to get up.

  Jane sat down again.

  “You’re going to stay with Sammael,” Charlie said, and it wasn’t a question.

  Jane’s throat worked, and she averted her face. Her eyes filled. “I know you don’t understand, but—”

  “I understand better than you think. I know exactly how hard it is to give up something you love, but that isn’t any good for you.” And thank God Ethan couldn’t qualify as bad for her, because she’d never give him up.

  “He’s good to me.” Jane still wouldn’t meet Charlie’s eyes.

  “I’ve seen that,” Charlie said, and looked down at her hands. “I’ve actually got it easy now that I’m a vampire. I haven’t had to fight myself at Cole’s since I’ve been transformed because I don’t crave anything except blood. And that’s not bad for me—it’s just food. Tasty food. It doesn’t even matter if I eat too much; psychic energy doesn’t have any calories.”

  Jane’s lips curved into a smile, and her slim form began shaking. “You’re nuts, you know?”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said softly, and waited for Jane to look at her. “I can’t come around to your place anymore. Not if you’re living with Sammael.” She watched the shattered expression fall over Jane’s face, felt her sister’s sudden hesitancy and pained indecision—and for an instant, Charlie almost left it at that. Almost pushed Jane into making a choice. But she simply couldn’t. “But I’ll always be available whenever you need me—or for whatever reason. Available after sunset, anyway. At Cole’s, mostly, or I can be a cheap dinner date, and a movie is always good, too. Because I’ll need to see you; I’d just prefer that it isn’t with Sammael. Maybe I’ll change my mind in twenty or thirty years. But right now?” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  Jane pulled up her legs, dropped her face against her knees. After a long second, she said, “Okay.”

  “Fuck you,” Charlie said, grinning with relief. “I can’t believe it took you that long to agree.”

  “You scared me to death, made me think I was going to lose you. So fuck you.” Jane lifted her head. “And you told Mark about my crush on Bruce Willis. Total breach of trust.”

  “Look on the bright side. Maybe Sammael will shape-shift, and you can be all ‘Yippee kai yay—’”

  “Oh, Jesus. Shut up.” Jane dropped her head to her knees again, turned her face so Charlie could still see her. Her brows scrunched together. “Speaking of, did you get my note, with the unicorn?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know there’s another option for feeding.”

  “Yes,” Charlie said quietly, and her chest began to ache. Even the bullet hadn’t hurt this much. “And Sammael’s bound to give me anything I need if I ask for it. So if you could arrange to send a pint of his blood to my house every day, I’d appreciate it.”

  Jane’s expression became confused and pleased, all at once. “But I thought you’d be with—”

  Charlie cut her off before she said Ethan’s name. “I am.” And she didn’t want Sammael to know the reason behind her request, so she added, “But he’s like a cop, or a doctor—out saving people. I don’t want him to worry if sunset comes around and he can’t get home to feed me before I go to Cole’s.”

  Jane nodded, but her gaze narrowed on Charlie’s face. “And is that the only reason?”

  So now Jane started paying attention to how she was feeling. Charlie couldn’t halt her wry smile, and hoped Jane would attribute it to her response. “No. It’s also because I know Sammael will hate doing it.”

  Jane’s lashes fell, a mixture of pain and humor running through her scent, and Charlie almost took it back—but she couldn’t. And there was still one other matter that needed to be settled with the demon. She touched Jane’s hand.

  “Let’s go see him,” Charlie said, and for Jane’s sake, she held in her laughter when she spotted Sammael laid out on the porch—and the giant hellhound stretched out beside him, eyeing the demon’s leg with the same hungry speculation that a dog would a meaty bone…only tripled.

  Jane gasped in horror, but Charlie pulled her closer. After a second glance at Sammael, she realized the venom had at least partially worn off. Fear kept him still now.

  Jane went to his head, and Charlie helped him sit up so that he was leaning back against her sister’s chest.

  “Charlie,” Ethan said, and she looked over her shoulder, saw him crouching over the senator’s headless form with Castleford and Selah. Ethan’s brows drew together; he slowly rose to his feet, and she turned back to Sammael.

  Jane was making murmuring, soothing noises, but the rasp of Charlie’s voice scraped over them, and her eyes locked with the demon’s.

  “Jane was going to give you an ultimatum about not killing Drifter,” Charlie said. “But I don’t think she has to—you simply aren’t going to do it.”

  Sammael’s jaw clenched, and Charlie thought it was only so that he wouldn’t declare his intention to do exactly that while Jane was listening. But the crimson sparking through his eyes said it well enough.
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br />   She continued, “Because the bargain stated that you’d prevent any hurt from coming to me—but if he dies because of something you’ve done, it’s the same as ripping my heart out.”

  Sammael turned his head to look up at Jane. Her hand shook when she touched his cheek. His eyes closed for a moment, and he nodded. “Very well.”

  “She’s also real good friends with Jake,” Ethan said from behind Charlie.

  She hadn’t heard his approach, but she couldn’t mistake his amusement. She glanced around; Castleford was there, too, impassively studying the demon, his hand absently stroking the hellhound’s muzzle.

  “And she’s been getting to know a few other Guardians and vampires, too,” Ethan added. “So I reckon before you slay any, you ought to stop and ask them if Charlie would cry over their graves.”

  Sammael’s lips twisted. “Bargain or no, bothering myself with the likes of you would only waste my time. You are insignificant in comparison to the glorious path that awaits—”

  “Jesus.” Charlie stood, rolling her eyes. Even Jane’s lips were twitching, though her expression remained fond…as if she thought Sammael’s bluster was a joke.

  Ethan smiled, but his gaze was curious as he looked over the demon. “That path to glory, the blood that heals—that foolishness you were spouting wouldn’t be part of a prophecy, would it?”

  “Yes.” The gravity of the demon’s reply was echoed in the stony set of his face. “I’ll admit I did not wholly believe it myself until I saw the blood’s effect.”

  “Yet Legion was trying to duplicate that effect,” Ethan said.

  “Yes, but we did not know how to use it, or what purpose it would serve. Or if we were fools for attempting it, based solely on the vague promise of an incomplete prophecy. Even a demon can begin to lose faith.” Sammael rose unsteadily to his feet, and Jane tucked herself beneath his arm. He eyed the hellhound. “You are letting me leave—alive?”

  Ethan’s smile turned hard. “Only because of the woman who’s with you.”

  Charlie stood beside him as Jane’s car appeared in the drive, and Jane helped Sammael into the passenger seat. She looked over the top of the car at Charlie before she got inside.

  “Was he speaking the truth?” Ethan asked quietly when the car drove past the gates. “The bit about not bothering with killing us, and the prophecy?”

  Castleford answered him. “Yes. The only lie in all of that was yours.”

  Charlie blinked, then glanced up at Ethan’s face. He didn’t seem at all upset that he’d just been called a liar. “What?”

  Ethan grinned. “Jane ain’t the only reason he’s alive. Truth is, every single one of us got a real powerful thrill when you neutered that bastard, turning the bargain around on him. And now that he’s not a threat, he might prove more useful living.”

  Charlie looked back at the gates. She’d have said more pussy-whipped than neutered; unfortunately, it went both ways. Jane was just as controlled and blinded by her need for him. “I’m just glad I could help,” she said quietly.

  She was sitting on the porch steps, looking up at the stars when Mark woke up. He stumbled out and plopped down beside her, watching blearily as Ethan, Selah, and Castleford continued their examination of the senator’s body. They were taking pictures now, and Ethan glanced over at Charlie a few times, but he apparently decided that Mark was harmless.

  Charlie had just begun to wish that both she and Mark smoked when he finally said, “I think I turned into my dad back there. I know the stuff I said sounded exactly like he did in the last couple of months.”

  Charlie nodded. “I thought it might be something like that when you called Jane a whore.”

  “Yes.” He blushed. “I’m sorry for shooting you.”

  “I’d have been sorry if I’d had to shoot you.” She paused. “A little sorry.”

  The strobe of the flash highlighted Ethan’s sudden smile, pulled at the ache in her chest. He was monitoring the conversation, and it didn’t feel like cold surveillance, but safety and warmth.

  Mark sighed and propped his chin on his fist, then winced and jerked his head up again. “A part of me knew it wasn’t him. I saw that thing in D.C. a couple of times. Told myself it was just around our house because Dad had been trying to talk to so many vampires, demons, whatever. And he’d become such an asshole lately—even more than usual. I just didn’t let myself believe it.”

  “Well, not every asshole is a demon, so don’t use that as a litmus test,” Charlie said.

  “Especially in D.C.,” Mark replied, then turned to look at her blankly. “Where are the cops? Am I going back to D.C. or to jail?”

  Charlie shrugged, but Ethan raised his voice and said, “It’s not worth the effort of prosecuting you. And you’ll have enough to deal with in a week or two.” Ethan’s camera vanished, and he said to Castleford and Selah, “You want to take him to SI? I’ll come on down in the morning, after I get Charlie settled, and we’ll talk to him then.”

  Beside her, Mark said with quiet unease, “Take me where?”

  Although Ethan and Selah probably heard them, Charlie answered just as softly. “San Francisco. They’ll ask you about the nephil, what he’s been doing the last couple of months—and working out how they’ll cover up all of this.” She bumped his hip with hers when he still looked uncertain. “They’re the good guys. And you fucked up pretty bad, but your reasons weren’t so terrible. So grow a pair and go.”

  She felt the bruise that left on his ego, but he didn’t respond except to straighten his back and shoulders. A few minutes later, she watched Selah teleport Mark, Castleford, and the hellhound from the lawn, and turned to see Ethan grinning at her.

  She couldn’t help but smile. “What is it?”

  “You cut off a demon’s balls, and hand them to a boy to make a man of him.” He shook his head, chuckling. “I’d do well to be careful around you, Miss Charlie, or I might find myself talking at a higher pitch, and Jake with hair on his chest all of a sudden.”

  Good Lord, how she loved this man. Her heart lurched painfully, and Ethan’s amusement faded. He stepped toward her.

  “You going to tell me what I just laid on you?”

  Ethan was close now, but Charlie didn’t tilt her head to look up at him, because then she’d be kissing him—or rising up on her toes, hoping he wouldn’t make her lift herself all the way up to his mouth. She was strong enough to do that, always—and there were times she wanted to. But she wanted him to meet her in the middle, too. Because if he didn’t, she would just be left poised on her toes, waiting.

  “You didn’t put anything on me,” she said, and her voice sounded too weak—he didn’t believe her. She tried again. “It’s knowing that you might start being careful around me…and that I’ll deserve it.”

  He drew in a long breath before letting it ease out. “And how’s that, Miss Charlie?”

  But she didn’t get an opportunity to explain. Ethan stiffened and his focus shifted beyond her. Frustration sounded a sharp note through his psychic scent.

  “They’ve already gone,” Ethan said. “The nephil’s dead.”

  Charlie turned, and a shiver of dread traveled the length of her spine. She recognized the Guardian standing on the lawn behind her: Michael, the Doyen with the incredible voice and strange obsidian eyes. They appeared human now, the irises almost the same color as Ethan’s—but they were hard, and tired, as if he hadn’t looked upon anything good in too long a time.

  “I have need of you both,” Michael said softly, and Charlie had to fight the weakness in her knees, the urge to sink to the grass and let that sound wash over her.

  Ethan glanced at her in concern, and she shook her head. “I’m all right,” she said. “I just wasn’t ready for that.”

  Michael’s response was heavy with apology. “You will need to prepare yourself for more, and you must do it quickly. I have cleared the way for us, but if we delay too long, we risk the demons discovering those I have slain.”
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  Sudden tension paled the scar on Ethan’s lip. “Where are you planning on taking us?”

  “I have found the nephilim’s prison.” Obsidian swirled around Michael’s golden irises. “But I cannot break through the shield surrounding it.”

  “Oh, God,” Charlie whispered in numb realization.

  Hell.

  Ethan took her hand, held her steady. She clung to him, fighting the brain-deadening fear that washed through her, dimly aware that Ethan was signing a blazingly fast exchange with the Doyen. Ethan’s fingers curled into a fist at the end of it, and he looked down at her.

  “It’ll be quick, all right?” He glanced at the Doyen. “Michael will make you up some heavier clothes, a jacket to ward you against the heat. You close your eyes, try not to look. And it’ll smell something terrible, so try not to breathe.”

  “And not to listen,” Michael added quietly.

  Ethan’s hand shook, and a look at his face confirmed that it wasn’t in fear, but in fury. But he didn’t round on the Doyen, and simply held her gaze as he said, “You just hang on to me real tight.”

  She did, but still the heat ripped the breath from her lungs, seemed to scorch her cheeks. She buried her face against his chest as quickly as she could, but the glimpse she saw was enough: they stood in an enormous cave, and directly in front of her a large black building carved with symbols was set into a foundation of rippling, moving flesh. People or things surrounded them, on the floor and the walls of the cavern, crawling, screaming, and everything was red and the stench of burning blood sank into her even though she hadn’t drawn air.

  “Charlie,” Ethan said, and she wasn’t sure if she heard his voice over the horrifying cacophony or if she just felt her name from his lips. His Gift slammed into her, and she bit the bare skin at his neck.

  No no no, she screamed, because it was huge and beautiful and the most terrifying sound she’d ever heard, and she couldn’t hold on to it, couldn’t get her head around it.

  Ethan fell to his knees on the soft wet floor, his grip slackening, his blood warm against her cheek. She fell with him, and then Michael’s voice was there, lifting her, helping her fight the overwhelming need to sink into the dark miasma of that sound, to just let go, to give up.