Chicks Kick Butt - Rachel Caine, Kerrie Hughes (ed)

by Chicks Kick Butt (mobi)

  Richard Bull had been arrested five times since he’d turned eighteen—which was six years ago. The charges were all drug-related, but apparently nothing that would keep him off the streets for any extended period of time. The mug shots showed a scrawny, hollow-cheeked thug with greasy hair, bad skin, and soulless eyes. I couldn’t imagine what Melanie saw in him.

  “Do you think Melanie is staying with him?” I asked Barbie doubtfully as I looked at the address. Bull’s apartment was in one of the city’s less attractive neighborhoods. “I have the feeling a white goth girl would stick out like a sore thumb around there.”

  Barbie nodded. “I’m sure she would if she showed her face, which she’s probably not doing if she thinks her family’s going to burn her if they find her.”

  I grimaced. Too true. “Of course, we’re not going to blend into the crowd, either.”

  Barbie shrugged. “I’ve gone into worse neighborhoods and lived to tell about it. And our friend the Boy Scout is our best shot at locating Melanie.”

  I had to concede the point, which explains how Barbie and I found ourselves standing in the dingy hallway of a seriously nasty apartment building, knocking on Rick the Prick’s door while the floor beneath our feet rattled from the rap music blasting from the next-door apartment. The hall had the vomit-and-piss stink of a subway station, and I wondered how a girl brought up on the Main Line could stand the place.

  Repeated knocking was getting us no results, and the longer we loitered in the hallway, the more apt we were to draw unwanted attention. We’d been stared at and propositioned a number of times as we’d made our way into the building and up the stairs, but so far that was it. I wanted to keep it that way.

  I reached out and gave the doorknob a good rattle, testing the strength of the lock. It felt pretty flimsy—I could probably bust it even without having to let Lugh take over my body and use his superior demon strength, something I would allow him to do only under the most dire circumstances. I was never going to get used to the utter lack of control that went with having a demon driving my body, or the sickness I often experienced when he once more receded into the background.

  Barbie must have seen the direction of my thoughts. She put a restraining hand on my arm, then reached into the pocket of her black cargos—part of what I liked to call her “Stealth Barbie” outfit—and pulled out a set of lock picks. Some of her methods as a private investigator were somewhat less than ethical, but I wasn’t about to complain.

  Barbie knocked on the door once more. “Come on, Rick,” she said loudly. “I’m not in the mood to pick this lock, but I will if I have to. It’ll be a piece of cake.”

  When there was still no answer, Barbie shrugged and inserted her tools into the lock. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of us bursting in on the guy—the chances were good he’d be armed, and he might shoot first and ask questions later if he felt threatened. I was about to mention the possibility to Barbie, but was interrupted by a voice from behind the door.

  “Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?”

  Rick the Prick, I presumed.

  Barbie and I had agreed in advance that she would do the bulk of the talking, seeing as she had the tact and patience I so obviously lacked. So I bit my tongue and let her answer.

  Barbie removed her tools from the door and smiled up at the peephole. Her looks and that smile were enough to stop traffic, and I bet Rick was thinking impure thoughts about her the moment he got a good look at her. Myself, I stood a little off to the side, where he couldn’t see me. I have a tendency to intimidate people—a tendency I’d honed and perfected over years of being the queen of attitude—so it was best to have Rick’s attention focused on the harmless-looking Barbie instead. Never mind that she wasn’t nearly as harmless as she looked.

  “We’re looking for Melanie Sherwood,” Barbie said, still smiling. “We thought you might have some idea where she is.”

  “Don’t know her. Get the fuck out of here.”

  Barbie was unperturbed by his response. “Of course you know her, Rick. You’ve been dating her for about a year. My friend and I really have to talk to her. It’s very important. Like, life-or-death important.”

  “Fuck. Off.”

  “You think tossing off an f-bomb every sentence makes you into a tough guy?” I asked, unable to resist. Barbie gave me a reproachful look, and I tried to look innocent.

  “I guess I’ll have to pick the lock after all,” Barbie said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’, bitch,” he growled. “Don’t matter if you’re inside or out.”

  In went the lock picks again.

  “You come through this door, I’m gonna bust you up!” he warned, but there was a hint of fear in his voice.

  “You can try,” I told him as I reached into my purse and withdrew my Taser, arming it. Usually, I’d only use it on demons, but I’d be happy to make an exception for Rick.

  A woman’s voice, too soft to make out beneath the echoes of rap music, spoke from the other side of the door. Rick snarled something indistinct at her, but moments later, the door swung open, Barbie’s picks still stuck in the lock.

  Whatever goth phase Melanie Sherwood had been going through, it seemed to be in the process of passing. Her hair was dyed black with purple streaks, and if you looked closely, you could see the holes around her eyebrows, nose, and lower lip where various jewelry had once pierced her face. But she was dressed in a perfectly ordinary pair of blue jeans and a faded baby blue T-shirt, which was a serious violation of goth uniform.

  Rick the Prick hovered behind her, his face set in a sneer that I suspect was supposed to be menacing. I was more threatened by the persistent twitch in the corner of his eye and by the size of his pupils.

  Melanie looked grim and maybe even frightened as she opened the door wider and invited us in. I wasn’t sure accepting the invitation was wise, but Barbie waltzed right in as if she didn’t have a care in the world. I followed more slowly behind her.

  I’d been too busy indulging my paranoia to remember that I was still holding the Taser down by my side—until I stepped through the doorway and heard Melanie’s gasp. Not the best way to set the tone for a friendly interview, I must admit. I started to put the Taser away, but I guess Rick the Prick didn’t like seeing the weapon move.

  “Rick, don’t!” Melanie cried, too late to stop his fist from slamming into my jaw.

  Even though I saw the punch coming, I didn’t move fast enough to avoid it. Pain exploded through my brain, my head snapped back hard enough to cause whiplash, and I went down hard. There was some scuffling and some shouting around me, but I hurt too much to pay attention to it. I sure hoped Rick hadn’t just broken my jaw.

  He didn’t, Lugh’s voice said soothingly as I put my hand to my aching face. You’ll have a nasty bruise, but I can fix it next time you go to sleep.

  My own internal medic, that was Lugh. He couldn’t use his supernatural healing powers unless he took control of my body. Luckily, he could take over control easily while I slept, and I didn’t suffer the nauseating side effects that way.

  I blinked to clear my vision and saw that my situation had not improved. Rick loomed over me, pointing a gun straight at my head. A few feet to the side, Barbie had her own gun out, pointed at Rick. He was wide-eyed and panting, his hands shaking ever so slightly—I wondered if he’d ever actually pointed that gun at anyone before. Too bad he was so close he couldn’t miss if he tried. Lugh could fix a lot of injuries that might kill a normal human, but he couldn’t fix a bullet to the brain.

  “Put the gun down,” Barbie ordered, her voice cool and full of authority, her aim completely steady. I knew it was a front—despite what you see on TV, PIs don’t as a general rule go around getting into gun battles with the bad guys—but it was a good front.

  I lay as still as possible, not wanting to make even the tiniest motion for fear it would startle Rick into shooting me. Hell, if I could have kept from breathing entir
ely, I would have.

  “Everyone just stay calm,” Melanie said, and her voice was even cooler than Barbie’s.

  I blinked and focused on her. She was standing just a couple steps to Rick’s left, her hands up as if to prove she was unarmed. There was no fear in her eyes, and her breathing was slow and steady as she eased a little closer to Rick.

  “Put the gun down, Richard,” she said in that same calming tone.

  “They’re working for your fucking parents!” he said, hands now shaking even more.

  Melanie took another step closer. “Even if they are, shooting them isn’t going to help anything.”

  I was frozen in place by Rick’s gun, my head throbbing in pain, but I had enough functioning brain cells to come to the obvious conclusion that Melanie Sherwood wasn’t alone in that body after all. There was no way a teenage girl—especially one with her upbringing—would stay this calm under fire. I guessed I should be happy she wasn’t encouraging Rick to shoot me. Illegal demons aren’t known for their great humanitarianism.

  Melanie’s hand came to rest on Rick’s arm, and he flinched. Luckily, the gun didn’t go off. At her urging, he lowered the gun slowly, still looking way too twitchy for my taste.

  “Now put it away,” she said, and with a shuddering sigh, he tucked it into the back of his pants and took a step backward.

  Barbie had not relaxed her stance, and her gun still pointed steadily at Rick’s chest even as he backed away. “I suggest you tell your boyfriend to leave the room,” she said, and Rick’s gaze flicked from the gun to Melanie. Her chin dipped in a slight nod, and with a last withering glare at me, he turned around and stomped out of the room, heading down a hallway and out of sight. Moments later, a door slammed.

  Barbie let out a slow breath and lowered her gun, flicking on the safety. I noticed, however, that she didn’t put it away. And that she was eyeing Melanie with a fair amount of suspicion. She must have come to the same conclusion that I had.

  Melanie reached a hand out to me, and I saw no reason not to take it and allow her to help me up. My head spun for a moment when I got to my feet, but the feeling quickly passed. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the pain. Keeping a wary eye on Melanie, I picked up the Taser I’d dropped when Rick hit me.

  “Let me get you some ice for that,” Melanie said as she shut the door to the apartment and locked it.

  “Never mind,” I told her. “I’ll be fine.”

  I wasn’t being stoic—it was just that I didn’t want to have both my hands full, and there was no way I was putting away the Taser. Melanie blinked at me, then nodded and gestured to a ratty mustard yellow couch with sagging cushions and frayed arms.

  “Please, have a seat.”

  Barbie and I shared a look. I shrugged, and we both sat down on the couch without ever taking our eyes off Melanie. She made no hostile moves. I was pretty sure if she’d meant us harm, she’d have attacked already. But not sure enough to put away the Taser.

  Melanie sat in an easy chair and clasped her hands in her lap. She gave Barbie a quick once-over, then turned her full attention to me.

  “You’re Morgan Kingsley,” she said.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Have we met?” I knew I’d never met Melanie Sherwood before, but I had no idea which demon currently resided in her body.

  She shook her head. “No. But your reputation precedes you.” Her lips curved in a wry smile. “Only the best will do for my parents.”

  I decided to lay my cards on the table immediately. “You mean your host’s parents, don’t you?”

  Melanie pressed her lips together into a thin line, then sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly. “Yes, my host’s parents. I suppose there’s no point in denying it.”

  I was pretty damn surprised at that attitude. It seemed like the threat of execution would be a pretty good reason to deny it. “Melanie’s too young to host a demon legally,” I said, a master of stating the obvious.

  The demon nodded. “Yes. But it is unlikely she would have survived long enough to become a legal host, even supposing the Spirit Society would accept her as a candidate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She glanced at the hallway down which Rick had disappeared. “Richard, as you may have gathered, is a drug addict. When he and my host started dating, she picked up his habit. At first, it was just a way to rebel against her parents, but it turned into way more than that. What she didn’t know was that Richard was infected with HIV.”

  I winced.

  Melanie shook her head. “He didn’t know.” Again she glanced at the hallway. “He’d never been tested. But as you’ve no doubt guessed by now, my host was also infected.”

  “HIV isn’t an automatic death sentence these days,” Barbie said, echoing my thoughts.

  “No, but her parents would have kicked her out the moment they found out, and she had no means of supporting herself. Not to mention the drug habit, which was only getting worse. The combination of circumstances would have turned it into a death sentence.”

  I eyed Melanie skeptically. “So what you’re trying to tell me is that you illegally possessed her, but I should look the other way because you’re an angel of mercy, saving her life?”

  “Something like that. She is far better off with me in residence than she was before. And while the transfer might not have been technically legal, both she and my original host were willing participants.”

  “Your original host?”

  Melanie nodded. “My original host was legal and registered.” Her face twisted into a grimace. “And our relationship was the opposite of love at first sight.”

  I’d known other demon/host relationships of that ilk. The hosts did not fare well under those circumstances. Demons just had too much power and were bound to come out on top in any conflict.

  “If I’d had to reside in that host for my entire stay on the Mortal Plain … It would have been hell for both of us. So we agreed that we would try to find someone else to host me. Meanwhile, Melanie had decided that her only chance of survival was to find a demon who could manage her disease.” She smiled slightly. “She doesn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but part of the reason this solution appealed to her was that her parents would disapprove so badly. Another teenage rebellion.”

  I almost smiled back. I’d gone the opposite direction myself. My parents were devout Spirit Society members, who’d always hoped I’d volunteer to host one of their “Higher Powers,” as they called demons, when I came of age. Instead, I became an exorcist.

  The smile faded before it took root. “This story sounds great,” I said, “but you’ve broken a lot of laws.” Possessing an unregistered host was a capital crime, as was changing hosts. The only legal way for a demon to possess a host was through a sanctioned summoning. “Not to mention that it could be total bullshit.”

  I watched Melanie’s face closely, searching for a reaction that would give me a hint as to whether she was telling me the truth. I didn’t get one.

  “I understand your skepticism,” Melanie said, “and I don’t blame you. But consider that I had many options when you presented yourself at this doorway. If I were the kind of immoral creature you suspect me of being, my choice would not have been to sit down and talk to you. I could have killed you both like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “The problem is there’s no way for me to prove that I’m telling you the truth. I can produce the results of Melanie’s HIV test, but that would only tell you that she’s ill, not that she’s hosting me of her own free will.”

  “No,” Barbie said, “we’d have to hear it directly from Melanie herself to be sure it’s the truth.”

  The demon frowned at her. “But you know that’s not possible.”

  “Actually,” I said, catching on to Barbie’s train of thought, “it is. All you’d have to do is temporarily move out of Melanie and into Rick. Just long enough for us to have a word with her.”

  The demon froze, the look on her face one of mingled wari
ness and confusion. “But Richard might not survive the process.”

  “You’ll just have to make sure he does,” I countered. We then engaged in a short staring contest. Usually, a host is left catatonic when a demon moves out—hence the law against demons changing hosts—but one of the secrets I’d learned since becoming possessed myself was that the catatonia is caused by abuse. If the demon wanted Rick to stay intact, he’d be fine.

  She lost the staring contest, her gaze dipping quickly down to the floor as she chewed her lip in thought. Then she seemed to come to a conclusion, for she met my eyes once more.

  “Richard might not be willing to take the risk,” she said. “He is not exactly an altruist. Would you have me take him against his will?”

  That question made me squirm. I made my living exorcising demons who took unwilling human hosts. How could I in good conscience allow such a thing to happen right before my eyes? True, the demon was unlikely to go through with the transfer if it wasn’t telling the truth, and if it was telling the truth, it was unlikely to harm Rick in the brief time it possessed him. But still …

  “If you feel you must exorcise me, then you’ll have a fight on your hands,” she said. “I would do my best not to harm you, but I can’t make promises. I have, however, made promises to Melanie, and I will not abandon her.”

  I gritted my teeth against a sharp reply. The threat was uttered with no heat, and the demon’s body language was relaxed and not even remotely hostile. Slowly, Melanie pushed to her feet. Barbie and I both stood up considerably faster, though still Melanie made no hostile move.

  “Let’s settle this without violence, shall we?” Melanie suggested. “Come with me.”

  She headed toward the hallway down which Rick had disappeared. Barbie looked at me for a decision. I momentarily longed for the good old days, when no one looked to me to make difficult decisions.

  Do you think she’s telling the truth? I asked Lugh.

  She’s not human, Lugh reminded me. If she were human, I’d say there’s a good chance she’s telling the truth. But demons are better at lying than humans are, so I can’t be sure.