“You’ll heal fast. All mages do.”
“Is that why I’m here despite being told my only ticket out of the hospital would be a celestial discharge?”
“Yep. I’ll come back in a week. Train you. Explain things. Deal?”
“Okay.” He draws out the word with all the speed of a turtle running a race. “You have a deal, Smythe.” Will holds out his hand.
Smythe crosses the room to shake it.
Looks like I have a new training partner.
So why am I not more excited?
Chapter Six
We arrive via portal in my kitchen. A soft peel of feminine laughter lets me know Jackie and my twin continue to drink my beer in the backyard.
“So why wouldn’t you tell Will about the demon and minion fighting when you didn’t mind Blake and T knowing?” I ask as we walk into my living room.
Smythe takes his usual seat on the couch, pulling on his laptop like most people pull on shoes. “I wanted to make sure he’d let me train him.”
“You lied?”
“No. I plan on telling him next time we talk.”
“You lied.”
He scratches the back of his head. “An omission. Not an outright lie.”
“Uh-huh. Call it whatever makes you feel better.”
He shakes his head, gives me one of those half-grins that means he thinks I’m funny. Annoying. But funny.
I’m learning to read him too.
“I’ll let him heal up, then next week go over there and explain the new world to him. We could use him as a healer at the Agency.”
“Thinking ahead, eh? You do realize he not only got shot and almost died, but his wife was killed in that house?” I shudder. I don’t blame Will for not wanting to return home. Sure, a minion was killed in my house, but he definitely wasn’t someone I cared for. If T, Blake, or even Smythe had been killed in this house, I’m not sure I could live here anymore.
“Even more incentive to leave.”
“His tragedy shouldn’t be seen as an incentive.”
“I didn’t mean for it to come across callous.” He sets his laptop on the coffee table and turns his full attention to my rigid, fists-balled posture. “It would be hard to lose your spouse the way he did.”
I suck in a gulp of air, release my irritation on the exhale. Smythe might kill minions with the expediency of an exterminator facing a roach, but he’s not cruel. And he doesn’t laugh at others’ misfortunes. I know better than to accuse him of cashing in on Will’s tragedy.
“I’m sorry. I know you didn’t mean it like that. I’m just…” I wave a hand, letting the motion encompass my day.
“You’ve had a bad day too. You and Will have a lot in common. Not only do you work together, but you’ve both suffered a recent loss.” His jaw locks, lips flattening.
A shot of joy-joy dances through my system. I refuse to examine why his jealousy puts me in my happy place.
“I guess we do.” Knowing Will and I have something in common wipes the joy over Smythe’s jealousy right out of my system, leaving my chest aching like a boulder sits on my ribcage. “I’m going to bed now. Have fun surfing the web.”
“It’s not even dark.” Master of the obvious Smythe is.
“I have to get up early. Tomorrow’s a twelve hour shift day.”
“We need to do something about that.”
“Talk to management.” I head toward the hall.
“You know what I mean.”
“As I’ve said before, give me a paycheck equal to what I make at the ER, and I’ll demon hunt full time for you. Until then…” I turn and wave my fingers. “Good night. Oh, and you might need earplugs if you plan on sleeping on the couch.”
“Earplugs?” A ridge furrows between his brows. “What for?”
I point to the wall separating the living room from T’s room. T’s old room. He’s supposed to be living with Jackie but since I’ve become a Justitian they’ve spent most nights here. Loudly.
Smythe's gaze bounces between the wall and me. “The wall doesn’t make noises.”
“Okay, then. See you tomorrow.”
He’s spent the night here plenty of times. You’d think he would start packing the earplugs. Or maybe he’s such a sound sleeper he doesn’t notice T’s extra-curricular activities.
Stranger things have happened.
“Good night, Gin.” A dull click of the keyboard follows his words, as he pulls up a browser to research whatever we talked about before visiting Will.
I pause halfway in my room, remembering our topics of discussion. Demon. Will. Mom’s adoption.
Crap. Mom’s birth has nothing to do with my secrets. So why can’t I shake the feeling Smythe will discover what T and I want to remain buried?
****
Streaks of waning light flicker across my walls and ceiling as I lie in bed, staring at nothing. Low laughter trickles past the curtains from Jackie and T’s outdoor conversation. Much better than other noises the two can make.
Semi-cool air blows across my skin as the air conditioner whines a pitiful cry. Do I have enough saved to fix the damn thing? How much do half-dead A/C units cost?
Will Blake visit me tonight?
Maybe he’s already here. I sit straight and glance around the room. Shadows gather in the corners, around the furniture, but no ghost. At least no ghost I see. Which isn’t saying much. Unless I touch T, I can’t see the spirits.
Another new gift, courtesy of my justitia.
I flip onto my side, one hand reaching for the knob on my nightstand for the girl’s-best-friend. Halfway there I stop. At one time in my life, opening that drawer brought relief. Smythe’s spell stopped the beer craving but did nothing for the emptiness creeping through my soul.
Bottom line, I don’t know if Blake will stop by for another visit. Even if he did, what kind of relationship would we have?
Better to lie on top of the covers with my battery operated, feel-good-now toy.
Closing my eyes, I picture Blake as I last saw him, alive, happy, leaving for work. Feel the touch of his lips against my skin. Tears form a hot press against my lids. My attempt at calm fails, allowing the wave of sadness, of self-pity, of guilt, to break through my soul. I curl onto my side, my cries muffled by the pillow.
A squeak startles me awake, tears crusted to my face, my heart an erratic pounding rhythm. An eerie quiet bathes the room with a lack of noise only achieved at the nearness of a predator. I stop moving, breath frozen in startled lungs, ears searching for the source of the sound.
The chair. Oh my God, someone is sitting in my chair. I am not alone.
What do I do? Scream? Fight? Run? How long until he notices me?
The intruder curses, a rumbling of an ancient language. The chair squeaks again as he stands, his shadow an elongated black stain on the wall.
A scream rips up my throat but freezes on my tongue when tingles shoot up my arm, stemming from my justitia. The damn thing is ecstatic, which only signifies one thing.
Zagan is in my room.
Yeah, I’m supposed to kill demons. But not this one. Even if I wanted to, the justitia wouldn’t let me.
Smacking sense into the silver links doesn’t work. I’ve tried. The knowledge fails to stop me from trying again. A low chuckle rumbles through the room, double-timing my heart rate.
As if he scents my fear, Zagan walks toward me.
I scoot to the other side of the bed, a mad scramble to escape. Not that escape will help me.
Zagan gestures toward the window. “It was kind of you to let me in.”
Two tries later and words squeak past an almost frozen larynx. “The window is closed. And I didn’t let you in.”
White teeth shine in the darkness, a slash of glee on a torturer’s face. “Closed, yes. But the intent was there. Your blood calls to me, remember?”
His words tug like a lover’s caress on my skin, and my mouth turns dry. My stomach churns. Fear? Or anticipation? He shouldn’t know my inne
r thoughts, my wicked desires. My fingers tense on the sheet. As if the flimsy material could prevent a demon from having its way with me.
Do I really want to prevent him?
Gah! Of course I do. Note to self, demons make one insane.
What was he talking about? Right. Blood. “That’s only because you took some of mine.”
“It called before that day. For many years now. When they gave me the chance to destroy you, to take,” the unpronounceable name of my justitia rolls off his tongue, “as my own, I could not end your life. You…attract me.”
Another spit-less swallow and my stomach flutters a jig. Warmth spreads through tingling limbs. If the justitia had lips they’d be smiling. Instead, my whole body reacts to the demon’s words like they crawled over my skin. A shiver sinks into my core, firing an unwanted sexual response.
Unwanted, right?
What about this damn demon makes me so conflicted?
“What do you want?”
“You.” He takes another step toward my shivering form. “Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?”
In hope the answer has changed? “Why do you continue to stalk me when you know the answer?”
“We’ve been through this.” His arms cross, eyes narrowed on where my fingers clutch the sheet to my chest. “You should be my servant and yet, you are not. You should obey my every command, and yet, you do not. It is perplexing.”
Way to go, Gin. Give a demon something to chew on. Oh, wait. What am I thinking? Anything the demon chews on besides me is preferred.
“Sorry?” I’m not, and he knows it.
His soulless gaze meets mine. “Perhaps in the days ahead, you will value my help.”
“I—” won’t, sits on my tongue but I snap it off. Perhaps it makes me a bad person, but as long as the demon won’t eat me, kill me, or fuck me, who’s to say he shouldn’t help me?
How screwed up is my life that I can think that with a straight face?
And how hella bad is my life going to get to need to call upon said demon’s offer of help?
I don’t even want to know.
“That’s kind of you to offer.”
“Perhaps a kiss to seal the deal?” His gaze rakes down my torso, back to my lips, the look as tangible as a feather stroke.
“No chance.” Not again. The only time Zagan kissed me, he ensorcelled me first, drew my lust to his, joined the two together like strands of rope. Then his tongue sliced into mine, while his evil thoughts bored deep into my brain, threatening a hemorrhage. If it hadn’t been for T’s consciousness jumping into my body—a perk of being twins—Zagan would have controlled me. Or killed me.
And yet, part of me—a defective part—craves him.
Luckily the flawed part cedes control to the more rational one. For now.
The demon chuckles. “You think it will never happen again. You are mistaken. But today is not the day to prove you wrong. That day will come. For now, heed my warning.”
You know you’re in deep shit if a demon has to warn you.
“There is nothing to fear but fear itself. Do not let fear conquer you.”
A deep breath in, a slow release. I blink. Waiting. Waiting. His lips remain closed. “That’s it? You quote FDR and tell me not to let fear conquer me?”
“Heed my warning.”
“What kind of warning is that? We called that Tuesday when I was a kid.” I cross my arms and glare at the demon. Not smart, but hey, a glare is a good response to already known advice.
And it keeps that annoying do-me-now voice squashed.
Zagan shrugs. “It is a fair warning.” He stiffens, stares at the bedroom door. “And it’s all you’ll get. Tonight. Good-bye, little Justitian. Until we meet again.”
In a quick flash of portal colors, he disappears, taking with him a good deal of the shadows hiding in the room. Or maybe my eyes have finally adjusted to the dark.
A knock sounds on my door. “Gin?” Concern rumbles in the depths of Smythe’s voice.
“Yeah?”
To Smythe, yeah equals come on in. He shoves open the door, eyes narrowing on my upright, sheet clutched to chest position. “What’s wrong?”
“Um…” Where to start. With the demon? My justitia’s reaction? Or why part of me wants a freaking demon?
Not going to that last one.
“Bad dream.” I throw up a flimsy mental shield and tack Blake’s face on it.
Smythe’s tense posture relaxes a fraction. Enough for him to walk into the room. His nose wrinkles as he sniffs the air. “Why does it smell like sulfur in here?”
“I don’t smell anything.” I don’t. While parts of his lair may smell like sulfur, to me Zagan smells, well, nice. Like home after a long, hard day.
Gah. Where’s a toilet when I need to puke?
“I smell a demon.” Smythe stands in front of the window, arms crossed, nose sniffing like a bloodhound on the trail of a missing person.
Busted. “Zagan might have portalled in. Did you find out anything else about my bracelet or Mom’s adoption?”
His eyes flare.
I need to get better at sudden topic changes.
“Gin.” The low rumble of his voice vibrates my nerve endings, the deep bass of thunder before a storm. “Why was Zagan here?”
His gaze catches mine in the half-light, reels me in, drowns me with compulsion.
I don’t want to tell him. Part of me wants to hold Zagan’s visit to myself, keep him hidden. Lie. The other part wants to spill all. Wants to tell Smythe everything.
Guess which part wins? Damn mage compulsion. “He gave me a warning.”
One brow rises. “A warning?”
“He quoted FDR. There is nothing to fear but fear itself. Then he told me to not let fear conquer me.” I bark a laugh, breaking Smythe’s compulsion. “You’d think if he’d wanted to help he would have come up with something less obvious.”
“That’s it?” Smythe walks to my bed, sits on the end and twists to face me. “He didn’t say anything else?”
“That’s all.” All I’ll tell, that is. The rephrasing of you’re mine I’ll keep to myself. Why worry the mentor?
“He portalled into your room and gave you a warning?”
“Pretty much.”
“That doesn’t sound like a demon. Why give a warning? About fear of all things?”
Good point. “Do I look like I understand demons?”
“Demons don’t warn people. He clearly wanted something.”
“Yeah. To give me a warning about letting fear conquer me.”
“Which makes no sense.” He shakes his head. “I wonder why the Agency’s computer didn’t notify me Zagan was in your house.”
“Faulty programming?” Doesn’t the esteemed demon-identification computer program catch all appearing demons?
“I’ll have to—” A puzzled expression crosses his brow, interrupts his sentence. He draws in a deep breath and leans closer. “Why do you smell like sulfur?”
All thoughts of the defective computer program vanish. He’s kidding, right? Humans do not turn into a Hell’s scent plug-in after meeting with a demon. I bring my arm up and inhale. A faint whiff of rotten egg wrinkles my nose, which naturally kick-starts my heart into a pounding this-ain’t-happening beat. “What the hell?”
“You tell me.”
“He didn’t even make it to my bed. I mean, he didn’t leave the window area. Stayed across the room.” I’m babbling, an annoying habit I tend to do when nervous. Or scared shitless.
Zagan had healed me from a potentially fatal brain hemorrhage right before he tried to turn me into his servant. Something had popped deep inside, allowing a part of him, a part of his essence, to lodge deep in my being. But I thought that part had been eradicated when the Agency healer gave me a potion to counteract the poison in my body from where his claws scratched me.
Apparently I thought wrong.
I look at Smythe. “What does this mean?”
“Now that’s the question of the day. I have no fucking idea.”
And that scared me worse than Zagan’s visit.
Chapter Seven
After a long day at work, all I want is an evening of rest. Instead, I find another item on my house in need of repair. The garage door opens halfway, emits a sound reminiscent of a train wreck, and shudders to a stop. Rather like my life in my younger years. Yep, I got my shit together. Eventually. Not so sure I can say the same about the vibrating door. I hit the opener again. And again. And once more for good measure. The gap between the seal and the ground turns into a mocking smile complete with maniacal laughter.
Definitely need a drink if I’m imagining a demon in an empty space.
Seeing how a demon appeared in my bedroom last night, I suppose one under the door isn’t that far out of the question.
Talk about a sad commentary on my life.
The door is going nowhere fast. Not up. Not down. Shit, shit, shit. Just what I need. Another thing broken. So much for parking my car in the garage.
Where’s T when I need him?
Using our mental connection, I pop into his mind. And out again fast enough to make my vision swim. Eww! Could’ve done without the Double-D porn show. At least he’s at Jackie’s. No loud noises echoing around the house tonight.
I throw the car into park, turn off the engine and open the door.
“You okay?” Smythe stands on the porch as if he watched me drive up, his gaze bouncing from my face to the car, tension tightening his shoulders.
I wave toward the garage and step out of the car.
His attention snaps from me to the gaping space. “What happened to the door?”
“It died.”
One brow raises, and his voice takes on the tone one uses with a petulant toddler. “Really?”
I shrug. Does he actually expect me to give him the low down on why the door broke? Something tells me he wouldn’t believe the obvious “the world ganging up on me” explanation.
His mouth opens, closes, as if he wants to say something, but holds his words. Huh.
I guess wonders really don’t cease. After a pause where I can almost see the internal wheels of his mind spinning, he strides toward the misbehaving door. Gives it a shove. Big surprise the thing stays put. “Not good.”
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