The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-3 (Nava Katz Box Set)

by Deborah Wilde

  “Don’t forget that fanatical devotion to the Pope,” I said. “So how does this work?” I fanned out my shirt, sticky with sweat. “And why is it so hot?”

  “It’s always like this. Near as I can figure, it’s the energy I’m generating manifesting this pathway. Emerald City conforms to our spatial universe but lets me jump across our world in leaps and bounds. Have shadow, will travel. Watch.”

  Ari winked into existence on the far side of the quad by a large concrete flower pot. The dark outlines of the North Shore Mountains were visible in the distance.

  He was back with me a second later. “Cool, huh?”

  “Very. But if it’s shadow-port, and we did that, how come we’re still stuck in this green light place?

  “I need shadows to enter Emerald City but once I’m in, I stay in until I choose to leave. It uses up less energy than going in and out between EC and normal reality.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Someone’s been practicing. And keeping secrets.” Perhaps it was hypocritical of me, given that I hadn’t owned up to my real agenda with the witches, but it stung that he hadn’t told me about this. Ari and I had never kept secrets from each other. Not before we’d become Rasha.

  A cold shiver ran up my spine. Was our being Rasha together going to strengthen our crazy twin bond or drive us apart? I hunched deeper into my jacket, for all the good it did.

  “I wanted to figure out some stuff first,” Ari said. “I’ve researched the archives on Rasha magic. No one has ever had the ability to teleport. Drio can flash step, but it’s not the same thing.” He shrugged.

  Ari didn’t know if this magic was a result of the witchcraft we’d used to induct him. If it was and he was already anxious about standing out? I rubbed the side of my hand over my forehead. “No matter how you got it, Ace, it’s all kinds of awesome.”

  A security guard came around the corner.

  I edged behind Ari but he wasn’t phased. “He can’t see us.”

  It was weird how through the lens of Ari’s magic every single detail on the guard’s uniform was apparent even from a hundred feet away, down to the neat cross-stitching of his company’s logo.

  Closer and closer the guard silently came, a jaunty spring in his stop. Completely oblivious to our presence. Also whistling given his pursed mouth, even if I didn’t hear anything.

  “Enhanced vision but no sound?”

  “No smells either,” Ari said. “No clue if that’s the magic itself or me not having a handle on it.”

  Sweat ran down the backs of my knees. “What happens if you knock into someone while you’re in EC view?”

  Ari shadow-ported.

  The guard stumbled left, avoiding Ari’s sudden appearance. The guard frowned, looked right through Ari, then checked his shoe.

  “The magic forms a buffer.” The guard didn’t hear my brother even though he stood right there.

  Ari jumped back to my side, looking a little pale. “I’d better take us back.” He grabbed my hand and, with another sickening lurch, the world snapped back into color.

  We’d returned to the parking lot, next to the second-hand Honda that Dad had bought us. He’d said it was because we’d needed our own transport living at the chapter house, but I suspected he was relieved his Prius wasn’t going to suffer any more damage at our hands.

  Ari rubbed his hand over his chest.

  “You okay?”

  “If we’re being flexible with the definition, then sure.” He fumbled the key into the door, opened the glove compartment, pulled out a bottle of Tylenol, and popped a couple pills, dry-swallowing them.

  Since I was now sober enough to drive, I let him rest for the ride home.

  The magic we received when we were inducted was derived from an aspect of the Rasha’s personality. My prickliness, as Ari called my behavior after my dance dreams were shot, had resulted in my Lady Shock and Awe abilities. Kane, toxic in relationships, was literally poison, his skin turning into the ultimate bad touch, while Rohan had his knives. Enough said.

  I’d chalked the nature of Ari’s powers up to damage suffered from being tortured by demons and the shock of having his Rasha dreams put on hold when I was the one inducted at his initial ceremony. But was that all it was?

  Maybe the invisibility as we’d stood there-but-not-there wasn’t inherent to Emerald City but came from the fact that all these years Ari had longed to be a little less bright and shiny. That his deep-seated desire to be a little less seen had been made tangible.

  I glanced sideways at him, eyes closed, sprawled in the passenger seat, and wondered how far his resentment extended. The combination of dark forest and my own spiraling musings was not a good one, and I was glad once I turned off the winding road that led down the mountain back onto the light traffic at the base on Lougheed Highway.

  Forty-five minutes later, I drove through a black, wrought-iron gate set into a thick stone fence forming the perimeter of Demon Club’s property. The chapter house was located on a large tract of land in the Southlands area of Vancouver’s west side surrounded by woods. I cut the engine in front of the stately three-story mansion with its wide front stairs, large beveled windows with stained-glass accents, and multiple chimneys pointed up at the sky like divining rods.

  I shut the driver’s door, waiting for Ari to get out before beeping the fob at the car to lock it. A basketball thumped steadily against the pavement from out back, and Kane whooped as another of his shots went in.

  Thanks to the glow of the LEDs lighting up the court, his shirtlessness was on display, so the night wasn’t a total write-off.

  The ball bounced off the rim.

  “Come play.” He fired the ball at Ari. “Twenty-one.”

  “With your shitty layup? Fast game,” Ari said.

  “Watch it, son. I have five years of experience on you.” Kane jogged backward to the center line.

  “Five years of bad habits. At least my dad taught me how to shoot.”

  Kane froze. Only for an instant, but still.

  “Aw, man.” Ari strode toward him. “K, I didn’t mean–”

  Kane stole the ball away from Ari. “Shut up and play.”

  “Kane.”

  Kane raised his eyebrows at Ari, as if daring him to continue down that path.

  “All right, but you’re going down,” Ari said.

  Kane dribbled the ball. “Other twin?”

  “No, thanks.” I didn’t want to get in the middle of whatever old wound had just been opened. “I’m headed for ice cream.”

  “Seeing the ex not go well?” It was if all sound stopped just in time for him to drop those words with a loud thud.

  I glanced at Rohan’s bedroom window, his open window, exhaustion seeping into every inch of me. Working together, sleeping together, my time with Rohan was over. I wanted him gone so I could focus on my future. Which, admittedly might involve elements of my past, but in a new futuristic dynamic that was solely on my terms.

  Kane shot, missed, then patted my shoulder on his way to retrieve the ball.

  Leaving the guys, I marched through the back door and dug out the mint chocolate chip ice cream, sucking on a spoonful, and letting the icy crystals melt on my tongue.

  My eyes narrowed on the car keys to Rohan’s precious Shelby Mustang that were tossed on the counter and I couldn’t help once more replaying his look of regret. I stuffed the lid back on the ice cream tub and jammed it in the freezer, letting the cold blast of air steel my shards of ruined pride. I wanted to put that look back on Rohan’s face now, but for very different reasons. I was a free agent and after reconnecting with Cole, I wasn’t about to have our mutuals get all up in my business. Or kill any further hook-ups. Once and for all, Rohan needed to realize we were done.

  I waltzed through most of the main floor with my Brotherhood phone pressed to my ear, faking a conversation with some guy. By the time I got to Rohan’s door, I was running out of ways to turn my imaginary lover down, so I hoped he was in his room and
not down in the Vault working out.

  Jackpot. His door was ajar enough to see him laying on his stomach across his bed, a low stream of chill music issuing out of his speakers. I strode back and forth in front of the door, giggling that it was late and I couldn’t possibly meet my pretend hook-up now.

  As soon as Rohan indicated by word or deed that he’d overheard, I’d set him straight with absolutely no room for doubt. It was time for him to go back to Los Angeles so I could get my sex life back.

  By my third pass of Rohan’s door, I peeked in to see how my conversation was going down. In case I needed to adjust my volume.

  Rohan hadn’t moved. I crept around the side of his bed, doing my damnedest not to think of the many varied and deliciously filthy acts we’d partaken of on his mattress and ignoring my clit, Cuntessa de Spluge’s throbbing vote for one more round.

  His head lolled over the edge of the bed, his hair falling forward, blocking my view of his eyes.

  I touched his shoulder. “You asleep?”

  He flipped over, one hand shooting out to grab me by the throat, his iron blades snicking out from his fingertips to gouge my skin before his eyes even opened.

  My phone clattered to the floor. I froze, not daring to breathe until he blinked through his confusion into recognition.

  He jerked his hand away from me, scrambling back wide-eyed.

  Harsh breaths stuttering out of me, I grabbed my phone and fled. I didn’t stop running until I’d locked my bedroom door, sliding down the wall to sit with my knees drawn in to my chest. Shaking, I touched my fingertips to my throat and the tiny drops of blood that came away a shocking red.

  Lizzo’s “Good As Hell” rang out from my phone, jarring in the silence. I’d assigned that ringtone to Rohan as a reminder to myself to be hair flip girl with razors underneath. Well, my metaphorical razors had just met his very real blades and I wasn’t sure hair flip girl was up to the task of speaking to him.

  My hand hovered over my phone, my decision on whether to answer up in the air until the last note.

  “I’m so sorry.” Rohan’s voice was bleak. “I’d never–I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  I didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer because I wasn’t so sure anymore. I rested my head on my knees until I could speak with a steady voice. “Did you hear what I said in the library yesterday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. You need to go home.”

  He laughed quietly, the sound laced with a bitter edge. “Don’t I just.”

  “Rohan.”

  “I’ll let you go.” The fatigue in his voice called up the smudges under his eyes and whatever was haunting him enough to put him on the attack before he was even fully awake.

  “Wait, what happened?” I asked before he hung up. I screwed my face up into a scowl. Why did I have to ask?

  There was a pause. “You caught me off-guard.”

  I toyed with the edge of my fluffy throw rug. “Something bad went down when you were away, huh?”

  His “yeah” was a long time coming. There was no point asking him about what. If he was reluctant to admit this much, I’d get no further answers out of him.

  “I saw my ex tonight,” I blurted out. I mimed shooting myself in the head. Hang up, idiot.

  “On purpose?”

  “Intel gathering. He was friends with one of the victims on this mission Ari and I are on.”

  “Ah. So who won for shittiest encounter?” Rohan asked. “The guy who ripped out your heart or the one who almost ripped out your throat?”

  Same guy. I fumbled my phone. “I have to go,” I said, and hung up, wishing I’d listened to myself ten seconds earlier.

  7

  “What crawled up your ass?” Ari asked Saturday morning, as he drove us to the Westside Sleep Disorders clinic.

  While this clinic wasn’t the nearest one to Davide’s apartment, we’d decided to investigate it first. The closer one was affiliated with Vancouver General Hospital and required jumping through a lot more bureaucratic hoops to get into. That probably ruled it out for demons to troll for victims. Besides, we could swing by that one later if need be.

  “Nothing.” I placed my venti latte in the Honda’s cup holder. Rain streaked down the front windshield, the slick streets amplifying the traffic to a dull roar. “Did you research your supposed symptoms?”

  He tapped the steering wheel absent-mindedly. “Yeah. If we don’t get anything here, we need to talk to the families of the other victims.”

  “Sure. We can rule out whether others complained of night terrors.”

  We snagged a parking spot in front of the clinic with about five minutes to spare before Ari’s appointment.

  The reception area was fairly generic: abstract art on the walls, chairs and couches in muted greens and blacks. A bland soothing comfort. The receptionist’s red bow tie was the brightest pop of color in the place. He handed over a clipboard with paperwork for Ari to fill out, his smile a bit brighter than polite patient care warranted. I got the hairy eyeball.

  Ari didn’t seem to notice, so once we’d sat down, I pointed out in a hushed voice that Gay Cutie was jonsing for him. My brother didn’t answer, concentrating on the questionnaire to be completed.

  When he’d finished, I volunteered to take it up to the counter. “Here you go.”

  I scouted the reception area. Or, rather, the files lining the bookshelves along one wall.

  “Thanks. Dr. Alphonse will be out to see your…” Gay Cutie arched an eyebrow.

  “Brother,” I supplied.

  “Brother,” he replied more cheerfully, “in a minute.”

  Another employee dumped more files next to the receptionist. “Risking life and limb in the name of health care,” she said.

  “Better you than me,” Gay Cutie said. “I swear one day we’ll be found like the Wicked Witch of the East in there.”

  His coworker laughed. A phone rang. “I’ll get it,” she said, answering the phone on a second desk.

  “So, how long has the clinic been in business?” I asked.

  Gay Cutie sorted the new files. “About three years now. Doctors Stewart and Alphonse founded it.”

  “Big staff?”

  He cut me an unimpressed look over the stack that he straightened with a sharp smack against the desk.

  “Sorry,” I said. “It’s just that the other place we tried was a bunch of quacks and if Ari doesn’t get his sleep problems resolved soon?” I sighed.

  “Well, we’re professionals.” His tone was clipped.

  Before I could thaw his icy demeanor, Ari called out that he was headed in to his appointment with Dr. Alphonse. He stood beside a fifty-something woman in a smart pantsuit with white streaks in her frizzy hair.

  I nodded then asked Gay Cutie where the restroom was. He directed me down the hall with a lazy wave of his hand, eyes already back on his computer screen.

  The first open door off the corridor lead to a sparse consult room decorated with a large illustrated poster asking “What type of sleeper are you?” The cupboards were locked and there was nothing else of interest so I moved on. The next door was closed and I didn’t want to risk interrupting someone’s session.

  One more door before the bathroom.

  Jackpot. Files were stuffed into a filled-to-bursting bookshelf, while various clinic supplies from boxes of printer paper to neatly folded linens were stacked in haphazard rows. I pulled out the list of victims’ names and began scanning the folders, grateful that they were in alphabetical order.

  Unfortunately, the files were also all old. I examined a stack on a battered desk that was jammed into the corner beside an ancient Mac, its laboring fan sounding like a bag of angry bees. The top file was open and, given some of the notes in pencil, it looked like the employees were transferring these files to an electronic database.

  I moved the mouse and the monitor came to life. Good. One less level of security to get through. I gained entry to the system with the clinic’s address. Kane
had imparted all kinds of useful tips regarding common passwords.

  The database of patient records popped up, but there were no files for Bader or Chen. I continued my search with Epstein.

  “Ari, why don’t you tell me in your own words what you’ve been experiencing?”

  I fumbled to catch the keyboard before it hit the ground, but the doctor’s voice had come from a vent. I exhaled. Then cocked my head to hear how well Ari could pull off this ruse.

  “I’m only sleeping for a few hours a night,” he said. “When I wake up I see this dark figure at the foot of my bed. I’m powerless. My vocal chords are frozen, my limbs don’t move.” I’m stuck there watching it watch me.”

  I barely caught that last quiet statement.

  Night terror symptoms were essentially the same as a visit from a nightmare demon. He wasn’t describing an actual nightmare demon since the wards around Demon Club precluded that. What made me uneasy was that I didn’t think his recitation of the medical condition was an act. The way he rushed his words, the break in his voice as he’d said he was powerless; my brother wasn’t that good an actor.

  “Do you feel too hot or too cold during this process?”

  “Both. I’m sweating but I’m shivering, too.”

  I had to double-check the last batch of patient records listed on screen, having no memory of what names I’d just read. Even an initial visit by any of the victims would have produced paperwork. But there was nothing other than for Davide who had only recently started treatment with Dr. Alphonse.

  “Do you feel paralyzed?” she asked. “Like there’s a pressure on your chest?”

  “Yes.”

  “Terrified?”

  A pause.

  I stared down at my feet. He’d had nightmares when we were kids. On a scale of one to awful, how bad did me not considering how investigating this place would affect him rate?

  “What you’re experiencing are classic sleep terrors,” she said. “Any history of substance abuse?”

  “No.”

  “Have you had any stressful situations in your life lately?”