“And?” I knew I was challenging him in a way he wouldn’t appreciate, but I couldn’t stop the word from coming out of my mouth.
“And I know it’s not out of the goodness of your heart.”
“You got a problem with ambition?”
“Nope. I think it’s high time for you to be in charge of your own cell. And a successful exorcism of a golden boy is likely to get you there.” He clapped his hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, son.”
I tried not to choke on the sudden mix of emotions that filled my throat. Pride. Satisfaction.
Disgust.
…
Franklin left to check out Ava with his sources and I made my way to the club’s back room, situated behind the bar. The space was small, but it would do.
Hunting demons could go one of two ways: fast or hellishly slow. Along with it, the danger level swung from risky to treacherous. It all depended on the goal. Kill the demon, or save the person.
Mostly, we killed demons.
A shot at saving the person the demon had possessed took time, and in most cases involved infiltrating their organizations, even their homes. Gaining their trust—or as close to trust as a demon could feel—was a time-consuming process. I had worked for Thomas for two months, and the time spent was about to pay off.
A hellishly slow mission to save a possessed person made a much bigger impression on the Venator high command. Whoever the hell they were. All I knew was that it would net me my own cell. Not only would I get out from under Franklin’s thumb, I might be able to find and finally get the authority I needed to hunt down and take out Malus.
And hell, exorcising Thomas could maybe save a young man in the process—although I tried not to dwell on that part. Sentiment didn’t do much for Venators, except get us killed faster. So I focused on the concrete part of the equation. Getting my own command. Almost a given, if I succeeded in the exorcism.
As long as I didn’t fuck it up.
I carried the four chairs sitting around the table out to the public area of the bar, setting them along a wall in the back. They’d only be in the way. Then, after returning to the back room, I flipped the table over and grabbed the bottle I’d stashed in the back of the minifridge the last time I’d been at the club. Good thing only Venators were allowed in the back room—not the few part-timers Franklin and Caleb, his newest student, kept around to keep the club looking legit. A jar full of blood would have been tough to explain to a regular employee.
Kneeling on the hardwood floor, I painted the underside of the table carefully, swiping the runes that burned in my mind onto the wood. Neon lights hung from the walls, illuminating the room just enough that I hadn’t had to turn on the overhead lights.
I knew all of the symbols by heart—had imprinted them into my brain along with all of the other information I’d needed to say alive over the years. The Venators didn’t keep written books filled with knowledge; everything had to be passed on from man to man. Oral tradition moved through the generations and kept the knowledge alive. And the hundreds of runes necessary to trap, repel, and weaken the demons we hunted were no exception to that rule.
There were a stupid number of runes out there that could be used for different things. And many different exorcism rituals—some worked better than others. For Thomas, I was going with one of the most complex. One of the most likely to succeed.
One of the easiest to screw up.
The rune line faded and I dipped the brush into the red viscous liquid. I grimaced. The blood didn’t really have a smell to it, not that I could detect from a couple of feet away. But my mind tricked my nose and the phantom scent trailed down my throat to settle in my stomach, rock-shaped and acrid. Sweet and coppery. Mixed with other scents of death and horror and pain.
But it didn’t smell, really. It was just a trick of my mind. A memory best forgotten.
A knock sounded on the door and the brush slipped, nearly marring a rune, but I was able to pull back in time to save it. I frowned and looked back at the opening door.
“Almost done?” a familiar voice asked.
I nodded, suppressing the scowl that Caleb always brought out in me. I just couldn’t take a man in his late twenties who bleached his hair seriously, even if he did it to blend in at Pulse, where he bartended. The man was a Venator, and Franklin’s latest student. And arrogant as fuck.
Arrogance got new hunters killed.
“Almost.”
Caleb paused and crossed his arms. “I don’t know why you’re bothering with all this bullshit, anyway.”
“Your opinion is noted.” I tapped my temple with the dry end of the bloody paintbrush. “I’ll mentally file it under ‘who gives a fuck.’”
“Chances you’ll get the guy back are one in ten, tops. And screw ’em anyway. Anyone who gets themselves demon bit isn’t worth the trouble.”
I mostly agreed with Caleb, which pissed me off. So I ignored him.
Caleb turned his head and spit. Without another word, he left the room.
I looked back at the runes. I hadn’t expected Caleb to jump on board with what I was doing. He was a newish Venator, but between the shit that brought us into the fold—the lifestyle and the demon blood we were marked with—it didn’t take long for us to become jaded. Of course, he’d probably get the promotion angle—the fact I wanted my own cell. But that was none of his business.
Besides, yeah, Franklin was right. There was a small part of me that wanted to actually save the kid hidden underneath the demon in Thomas. Admitting that would be too close to showing weakness.
We were a fucked-up group, as a whole.
I was almost finished with the runes. Almost finished with this town. Almost finished with Thomas. And if things went right with this operation, the place I moved on to would be my city. My cell.
All the work I’d put in, and a slip of a girl had almost screwed it up.
Fuck. I sat back on my heels. No matter how I worked to shove her face from my mind, she kept slipping back in. The innocence behind her pretty eyes. Her seemingly endless legs. Her oddly long sleeves. The weather was turning hot and sticky, not at all conducive to long sleeves. It was odd, and I didn’t like strange things I couldn’t explain easily. And there wasn’t much about that woman I could easily categorize.
Especially the way she’d stood up to me. If she’d been afraid, it hadn’t been of me.
“Ava,” I murmured, liking the way her name tasted on my tongue. It was too bad, really. If I’d run into her during a different time, I could have tasted more than her name.
And I would have.
…
Miriam and I had watched the Colin Firth movie the night before, but I couldn’t even recall what it was about. At work the next morning, I watched the computer boot up, my eyes blurry from weariness. After Miriam left, I’d gone straight to bed, and amazingly, straight to sleep. But then I dreamed of young Thomas, of his death. But it wasn’t him, not in the dreams. In my dreams I was Thomas. I smelled the smoke. I felt the heat. I burned in the fire.
I’d woken up covered in sweat-soaked sheets, my hair matted, my throat painfully dry.
Seriously not the best night’s rest I’d ever had.
But I’d managed to get myself to work on time. Not that it was such a huge accomplishment—I worked as a vet tech at a local veterinarian hospital and only really had to impress the animals with my half-awake brain and only sort-of matching outfit. Luckily, they were pretty easily impressed by breakfast alone, and I liked the work. It was one of the few jobs I could find where I didn’t come into contact with humans on a regular basis. Plus I got to work with animals, and I’d always enjoyed their company.
The ding of the bell hanging over the door yanked me from my thoughts. Arms full with an oversized purse and a box of donuts, the receptionist, Eileen, shoved the door open with her back. Big smile affixed to her round face, she didn’t seem to notice my mood.
“Morning, dear. How are you?” Eileen didn’t w
ait for my answer. Instead, she started in on what I liked to think of as “Eileen’s Daily Update.” She generally began with her kids, whom I had never met, then moved to her less-immediate family members, before rounding out the news with friends and acquaintances.
For once, I welcomed the gossip.
Even as Eileen started in on her daughter-in-law, one of her favorite topics to gripe about, I couldn’t concentrate on her words. Had I done the right thing? Should I have told Tough Guy what I’d seen happen to his friend, instead of hinted around it? Maybe. The future would still have happened, most likely, but I wouldn’t feel guilty about not giving a more forceful warning.
When Eileen finished her gossip and disappeared into the break room-slash-file cabinet storage area, I stared at the computer screen, trying to bring my thoughts into something coherent.
I failed.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Through the day, I lost myself in my work, as much as I could. I cleaned up after pets. Helped hold down several dogs and cats who preferred not to have their temperatures taken. All in all, a normal day. But by the time the doctor headed out for a late lunch between patients at three thirty, clarity hit me.
The way I saw it, I had two options. One: do nothing. Probably die of guilt. That would look awesome on my epitaph. Two: try to figure out what the hell a Venator was. See if it actually had something to do with my curse. Be a freaking adult.
Not really much of a choice. I waited for Eileen to go into the back room to warm up her own lunch, and then pulled up a browser window on the computer.
Heart thumping hard in my chest, I brought up Google and typed “Venator” in the search bar.
And as quickly as my hope rose along with my stomach into my throat, it dropped like a rock. The name of some Star Wars ship. A sports car. Lots of companies. A Wikipedia entry saying it meant “hunter” in Latin.
Not super helpful.
I shot a quick glance over my shoulder and typed in “psychic, Venators, supernatural” into the search bar. Links to a television show popped up, then links to several psychic mediums that made me cringe.
I chewed on my lip for a moment and thought hard. There had to be a way to narrow this down. Miriam. I grabbed my cell phone and sent a quick text to Miriam. Miriam’s return text came almost immediately.
You know me too well. I didn’t have time last night, but I asked around about Cute Guy from the hospital this morning. His name is Thomas Winston. Big donor.
That was it. Not exactly a rare name, but it was all I had. I added, “Thomas Winston, Chicago” to the terms. Nothing relevant.
I bit back a sigh of frustration and glared at the screen. The sound of Eileen humming warned me she was approaching, so I closed out of the browser and headed for the back room.
The doctor would be back soon, and a few more patients and their owners were expected in, so I bent down to clean the kennel of our single overnight guest: a chubby cat named Mr. Pickles.
I felt something move behind me.
Startled, I let out a little squeal and jumped, turning to see what had startled me. A man stood in one of the corners of the room. Suddenly, I felt very stupid for my slight freak-out. Probably a pet owner. Maybe he was here to see Mr. Pickles. The only other current resident in the kennels was a beagle whose owner had dropped it off earlier and wouldn’t be back to get him until tomorrow. Eileen didn’t usually send people to the back without an escort, but if she’d had a call, she might have waved him back.
I pushed down the thought that I hadn’t actually heard the phone ring.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said quickly. “Um, we don’t usually have people back here.”
The man stood beyond the examination table that sat in the middle of the room. With the corner office’s light off, that side of the room was darker than normal. I suddenly wished the room had windows to let more light in.
“Your face is here.” He tapped his head slowly, never looking up so I could see his features better.
Okay. That was a creepy thing to say.
My body tensed, and nerves kicked my heart rate up. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Had that been a bit of an accent in his tone? He definitely sounded odd. Maybe English wasn’t his first language.
“Uh…look. Why don’t we go up front? I’m sure we can figure—”
“You must be the one.” He gathered himself from the shadows.
I blinked. It had almost looked like the shadows melded into his form. The low lighting had to be messing with my eyes.
Panic rushed through me, and I took a step to the side, toward the door that led out to the front office.
The man moved so quickly that my stomach lurched at the sight. And as suddenly as I’d seen him move, he stood between me and the door.
What. The. Hell.
My mouth dropped open but no sound emerged. I dragged my gaze up to meet his, and abruptly wished I hadn’t.
Inky darkness filled the space where his eyes should be. It was as if his pupils had grown to encompass the whole of the eye. White teeth flashed—teeth sharpened to points.
He reached for me, and I screamed.
Chapter Three
Fucking hell. Franklin’s call had come at a good time. My teacher had useful contacts, I’d give him that, one of whom monitored Internet searches in our area. The older woman at the reception counter formed such a puckered face that she might have been sucking lemons. Why the hell a receptionist at a veterinary hospital would have Googled Thomas’s name and Venators, I had no clue. But she’d damned well better tell me why she had, or her life was forfeit.
Not saying I’d be the one ending her life. But if I’d found out what she’d done, the demons would, too. Only a matter of time.
“Excuse me?” she asked, drawing out the vowels.
“I said, is this the only computer in the building?” I leaned over the counter, and she slid back in her rolling chair, eyes wide, staring at my tattoos and scars. Good. I was scaring her. “You Googled him fifteen minutes ago. Where did you learn of us?”
Mouth forming an O, she simply gaped.
Hell. This one really had no idea what I was talking about. I almost growled in frustration. She wasn’t the one who’d searched for the Venators and Thomas Winston. But I couldn’t afford to be polite and didn’t really give a damn about making her comfortable. Thomas’s people would move fast.
“Who did, then?” I demanded.
A crash sounded from behind the receptionist, and she turned to look.
I was already moving.
I jumped over the counter, landing lightly on my feet, then threw the door open to the back room.
On the floor of what looked like a vet’s operating room, a woman crab-walked backward across a pea-green tile floor, away from a man who didn’t move like a man. Instead, the man slid forward as if he could float. But he wasn’t floating. Shadowmen could walk; they just didn’t do it quite right. Instead, they slithered, skating along the floor in a poor imitation of a human gait.
I glanced at the woman again, and—hell. It was the woman from the hospital. Ava.
She reached a pile of metal pans stacked neatly in a corner and threw one at the shadowman. Its middle shifted sideways so it could avoid the projectile. Another almost inhuman movement, save for only the most flexible of people. Contortionists.
Time for me to act. Ava didn’t have long if the shadowman got to her. I grabbed a handful of the salt from my jacket pocket and flung it at the shadow. It screamed—a screeching noise no human could manage.
A cat hissed and a dog started barking from its kennel. The shadowman twisted to view the new threat.
“I see you,” it said, looking at me. “I know you.”
I kept my face carefully blank. One of Thomas’s then, if it knew my face. Or maybe this shadowman belonged to Thomas’s boss. It was possible he knew my face, too. Shit. That meant I couldn’t let him report back. Shadowmen weren’t the best spies, but it could give Thomas or
Thomas’s boss my face. That would be enough to royally screw me over.
I threw another handful of salt at the shadowman, and when it dodged, I grabbed it around the middle. Clawed fingers slid under my jacket and dug into my back.
Fucking shadowmen.
I grunted in pain, but I couldn’t afford to slow down. Shadowmen could too easily slither back exactly where they’d come from, the shadows. The salt would hold it to this plane, but not for long. Sunlight was their bane. Only through the safety of shadows and fake light could they move. Even fake light hurt them, but they couldn’t survive true sunlight.
“Back door,” I yelled at Ava, who still sat on the floor, a stricken look on her face.
The sunlight would be strong outside, even in the late afternoon. Strong enough to destroy the thing.
It shocked the hell out of me when Ava struggled immediately to her feet and ran for the back door. I’d half expected her to stare blankly or scream or do something equally useless. She reacted quickly, I’d give her that.
I fought to keep the shadowman from slithering away. Dragging the thing to the back door in Ava’s wake, I felt my muscles aching from the strain. Strong fucker.
Ava flung the back door open, hit the doorstop, and ran through into the light. The shadowman renewed its struggle. With all the strength I could pull from my tattoos, I threw it out of the building.
Silence stretched for a half second, and I wondered if Ava had hit the light and just kept on running. I strode through the door, my back on fire where the thing had scratched me. The shadowman had fully dissipated—banished from this plane by sunlight.
But Ava wasn’t gone.
She stood a few feet away from the back of the building. Her eyes were locked on the spot where the shadowman had disintegrated. But she wasn’t running. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t even screaming.
Temptation by Fire Page 3