by Allie Gail
“I have a lead. Didn't I tell you we were working on it?”
“You do?” And to think, I just assumed they were blindly shooting in the dark. Since when do they have a lead?
“Could be just a rumor, but there may be a way to get him to talk.”
“Really? How?”
“Well, supposedly there's this ancient spell. Relatively unknown, but I've tracked down a copy of a book that might explain it in further detail.”
“Cool. So where is it? Can I see it?”
“It's in some village I can't pronounce in Hungary. I've already ordered it. Once it gets here, I'll know more.”
“Wouldn't it be faster to just download the Kindle edition?”
He laughs at my ignorance. “There is no Kindle edition, Jude. The book we're talking about is very old and very rare. There can't be more than two or three copies in existence. It was a stroke of sheer luck that I came across this one.”
“But you think it'll help?”
“That's what I'm hoping.”
“How will it help?” I persist.
“I don't know for sure that it will,” he admits. “It's a long shot. But supposedly this spell works sort of like a truth serum for demons. Gets into their heads somehow, makes it impossible for them to lie.”
“Oh-h.” Hearing the unabridged truth from the mouth of Locryn Price? I'd auction off everything I own for a ringside seat to that.
“Anyway, it's a start.”
I hate to be Debbie Downer here, but there is still one little clincher. “That's great, but even if you can get him to tell you where they are and how to get them back, that still doesn't solve the problem of what to do with him afterwards.”
“Sure it does.”
“It does?”
“All we have to do is pose the question – how do you kill a cambion? If the spell works like I'm hoping it will, he'll give up the solution to the problem himself. He'll have no choice.”
Of course. Why didn't I think of that? It all sounds so simple, so tied-up-with-a-big-red-bow perfect. A little too perfect, if you ask me. Call me a pessimist, but I have a hard time believing all our answers are going to come from some witchy spell out of a moldy old book. There's no way it can be that easy.
Nothing's ever that easy, is it?
But maybe that's not even the most disturbing question here.
The most disturbing question might be...why does the thought of killing some half-breed demon fill me with such inexplicable sadness?
~ * ~ * ~ * ~
Chapter Ten
The slamming of a door registers somewhere in my subconscious, and I sigh drowsily before throwing a leg over the warm object that's preventing me from stretching out fully.
“Well, aren't you two just as cute as a couple of bugs in a rug.”
Opening my eyes, I blink a few times before focusing on my brother's face as he grins down at me. What is he doing in my room? He knows to knock first.
Oh, wait. I'm not in my room.
I lift my head to see Max at the other end of the couch, rubbing his eyes before looking at me with a surprised expression. My striped sock is just below his chin, practically in his face. We fell asleep head-to-toe, and the thing my left leg is draped across is his chest. It vibrates slightly as he laughs.
Struggling to sit up without kicking him, I throw the blanket back and try to straighten my hoodie. Russell's home already? That means it's after five. I must have been more tired than I thought if I slept all afternoon.
“Fell asleep,” I announce in a croaky voice. Like it isn't obvious.
Russ flops down between us, ignoring Max's protest that his heavy ass is sitting on one of his legs. “Nice to see you got your beauty sleep. Although I gotta say, I'm not seeing much of an improvement in either one of you.”
I wrinkle my nose at him. “Dude, you stink! You smell like motor oil.” Which makes sense, considering he works at Phil's Auto Service, but I assumed he'd be confined to the office until his hand healed up. “You're not getting the couch all greasy, are you?”
He rolls his eyes. “No, Martha Stewart, I am not getting the sweat of my labor on your very chic and stylish Bob's Discount Furniture sofa. Don't have a cow.”
Pushing my nose up with one finger, I stick my tongue out at him.
“What's cooking? Something smells good.”
“It ain't you, I can tell you that.” Jerking his leg out from under Russ, Max gives him a well-placed kick in the thigh.
“Ow! Sleeping Ugly sure wakes up cranky, doesn't he?”
“Crap! I gotta go check on dinner. I didn't mean to sleep this long.” Scrambling to my feet, I hurry into the kitchen to make sure the meat and potatoes are done enough. Satisfied that they're perfect, I add the tomato sauce and several cans of veggies before turning the temperature up to high.
That done, I walk back into the living room just in time to catch the tail end of some conversation I clearly wasn't meant to hear.
“...that route and you're never gonna find out what happened to them,” Max is saying in a low voice.
I clear my throat, and they both turn to look at me with guilty expressions.
“What are you making in there?” Russ smiles brightly, an obvious distraction.
“Vegetable beef soup. Should be ready in about an hour.”
“Awesome! Whaddaya know...you being here may have its benefits, after all.”
“Thanks. I love you, too.”
“If you really loved me, you'd make me some corn muffins. You know how I like cornbread with my soup.” Exchanging a quick look with Max, he bends down to untie his laces before kicking off his sneakers. “I think I'm gonna leave you two bozos and go take a quick shower, since I have time.”
“Good call,” Max agrees. “Except for the 'quick' part. Do us all a favor and take your time.”
Pretending to be insulted, Russ flips up the collar of his work shirt. “What are you talkin' about? Girls love this shit. The whole grease monkey thing, it's a turn-on. Didn't you ever see a Bruce Springsteen video?”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Come on, man...Uptown Girl?”
“Yeah, right. When Christie Brinkley shows up at the garage, we'll talk. And anyway, you need to get your facts straight. That was Billy Joel, not Springsteen.”
“It was? You sure?”
“Billy Joel,” I concur with a grin.
“Huh. No shit? I coulda sworn it was Springsteen,” he mutters, shaking his head as he stomps up the stairs.
“Remember – deodorant is your friend!” I call after him.
Once Russ is out of earshot, I take advantage of his absence to cross-examine Max. “Something you wanna share?”
“What do you mean?”
I merely raise an eyebrow. Playing coy isn't going to work with me.
“How much did you hear?” he asks, visibly cringing.
“I heard enough.” Which may or may not be true, depending on what he's about to tell me. “What's going on?”
Studying me speculatively, Max rakes a hand through his hair. Finally he says, “It's nothing to worry about. Russ has just been toying with the idea of...what to do in the event our current strategy doesn't pan out.”
“I see. So what's his brilliant backup plan?”
He looks uncomfortable. As if he really doesn't want to be having this conversation with me. “Decapitation. Separating the head from the body.”
My eyes widen as I stare at him speechlessly.
“It's only in the event that nothing else works,” he hastily reassures me. “A fail-safe if we have no other choice.”
“That's...barbaric!” I whisper, horrified to my very core. How could they even consider something so...so disgusting? So morbid? For that matter, how would they go about doing it? Ugh, forget it – I don't want to know.
“As it stands, I happen to agree with you. It is barbaric. But tell me this – how barbaric was it when your parents were shot p
oint blank by one of these monsters? Do you think for one minute that demon felt any remorse for their deaths? Or for letting an innocent man rot in prison? Price is one of them; he's no different. Just because he's humanized himself with a name and a pretty face, that doesn't mean he has a human's conscience. I've spent enough time interrogating him to know that. Don't think of him as a person, Jude. Because he isn't. He's only pretending to be. And that's what makes him so dangerous.”
Suppressing a shiver, I slide my icy hands into the front pocket of my hoodie. How did we come to this? Only days ago I was singing along to Alanis Morissette on the way here from Tulsa, happily looking forward to a pleasant and relaxing vacation with my brother. My biggest worry was simply finding another job, and even that wasn't a particularly pressing issue. Now two of our friends are missing, possibly dead, and the three of us have what amounts to a ticking time bomb strapped to a table in the basement.
And me, the naïve fool that I am, I am drawn to the time bomb like iron to a magnet. Let's face it. Even if he hadn't made the offer, I'd have found some other excuse to converse with him. I can't help it. He fascinates me. There is just something about Locryn Price that I find irresistibly intriguing.
Thing is, he knows it. I'm not a complete idiot – I am fully aware that he can read me like an open book. So I have to be careful.
Because he will no doubt try to find a way to exploit my obsession.
The first thing Loc does when he sees me coming down the stairs is break out in the Beatles song Hey Jude.
I pull up the folding chair and shake my head in mock disappointment. “Wow. So original. I've never heard that one before.”
He continues to hum the song, winking at me mischievously with a twinkling eye. In this moment he seems so human, I could almost forget what he is.
Almost.
“You seem awfully chipper tonight,” I comment.
“I could say the same about you. Did you enjoy your afternoon catnap?”
As usual, he's caught me off guard. “How did you know about that?”
“Stands to reason. You look well rested.” His smirk is infuriatingly knowing. “And I'm quite sure you weren't catching forty winks like a sweet little lamb last night. Now were you?”
“Me? I slept like a rock, thank you very much.” Naturally he knows damn well that isn't the truth, but it irks me that he thinks he knows everything. Even if he does seem to know an awful lot.
“Did you? Now that's odd. I was under the impression that you spent the night tossing and turning after literally begging to have me between your naked, quivering thighs. Well...my mistake.”
Dammit, dammit, dammit! Thirty seconds in and already he's got me all blushing and flustered. I'm not off to a good start in terms of staying in control.
Then again, let's be honest here. I was never the one in control, was I?
“You have quite an imagination,” I tell him, once I'm able to find my tongue.
“Darling, you have no idea.” Relaxing back in his chair, he mercifully changes the subject. “Tell me. Why have Batman and the Boy Wonder stopped coming around? I cherish those special moments we spent together. Your brother shoving a blade into my chest...me laughing...him twisting the blade while rambling on and on about his poor lost girlfriend...me laughing...him turning all red in the face and going batshit crazy...et cetera, et cetera. Good times.”
If that's his idea of a good time, then he's more fucked in the head than I imagined. “I would think you'd appreciate the reprieve.”
“Don't tell me they've given up so soon.” The sarcasm in his voice tells me that he knows better.
“No. They're just...reevaluating their position.”
“Or could it be they're biding their time while waiting on a special delivery from Nyársapát, Hungary?”
I freeze. For a moment I think I actually stop breathing. If he knows that, then surely he already knows what Max is hoping to learn from that book. But how? How the hell does he seem privy to everything that goes on in this house? And more importantly, how are we supposed to outfox someone who is always one step ahead of us?
“You don't seem all that worried about it,” I tentatively point out.
“Why should I worry? It's all rubbish, you know. Spells and talismans and all that archaic drivel. Nothing more than antiquated nonsense. Honestly, I'm surprised at you. I thought you were smarter than that. Why are you letting your superstitious boyfriend waste his time with this? I would think you could come up with something a little less pathetic and desperate.”
There is nothing different in his voice, nothing to indicate that he is anything but bored by the whole idea.
But there is something...something in the way his eyes flicker away from me for just the briefest fraction of a second...
Oh. My. God.
He's lying. He's freaking lying!
Trying to come off as indifferent because he's actually concerned. Hoping to bluff his way out of it because he knows that book could very well be authentic and contain information that could work against him.
Holy shit...
My confidence bolstered, I give him a sweet smile. “If it's all a bunch of bull, then why do you even care? Let us have our fun.”
“You really think you can just conjure up some kind of necromantic hocus-pocus and have me cowering at your feet, telling you everything you want to know?” He huffs a scornful laugh. “You must be mad.”
“I don't think anything. It wasn't my idea,” I remind him. “But if there's even a fraction of a chance it might work, then I have to say I'm on board with it.”
“You're actually going to go through with this ridiculousness?”
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn't.”
“It won't work.”
“Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?”
His eyes narrow ever so slightly. “I'm telling you, it's a waste of time.”
“I'm curious. Why are you suddenly so concerned with how we spend our time?”
“Just trying to save you a little grief. But by all means, go right ahead. Make fools of yourselves if that's what you want to do. It's nothing to me either way.” Hesitating for a moment, he urges me in a strangely soft voice, “Don't do it, Jude. You might not like what you hear.”
I instinctively reach for his hand, almost making contact before thinking better of it. “So tell me now. Tell me where they are and we won't have to.”
“No.” He shakes his head slowly. “No...I think not.”
“Then don't blame us for doing what we have to do.”
He sighs, and the sound is more stoic acceptance than anger. “Fair enough. And in return, I would ask that you extend the same courtesy.”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?”
“Do I seem the type to make idle threats?” His eyes roam away from me, in that apathetic way that's already become familiar. I can always tell when he's ready to change the subject. He makes no pretense of hiding his disinterest. “There's a deck of cards over there on the shelf. Since there's little else to do, what do you say to a friendly game of poker?”
I blink at him, surprised by the innocuous suggestion. “I've never played poker before. I don't know how.”
“I'll teach you. It's not that complicated.”
“Okay. I guess...” Going over to retrieve the dusty pack of cards, I try to hide a smile. “It's been years since I played with these. I remember Crazy Eights and Old Maid. That's about it.”
“Hand them to me, if you please.”
Sliding the cards out of the box, I lay the stack on the table and push it in his direction, careful to keep my hand just out of reach. He either doesn't notice my wariness, or he pretends not to. I'm pretty sure it's the latter, considering he sure as hell doesn't appear to miss much.
“We'll need something that can serve as betting chips. Maybe some matchsticks or something along those lines.”
Right. As if I'm stupid enough to give this guy matches!
“We can use these,” I tell him, emptying the plastic checkers out of a Connect Four game. Surely these are harmless enough. At least I know he won't start a fire with them.
“Perfect. Now I'll start by giving you a breakdown of the hand rankings,” he says, shuffling the deck while watching me to ensure that I'm paying attention. “A hand is five cards. If you have two cards of a matching rank, say two tens for example, then you've got a pair. Two pair should be rather self-explanatory – if you had two tens and two nines, you'd have two pair. Three of a kind would be three cards of the same rank. Makes sense, yes? Are you with me so far?”
I listen as he patiently explains the hands and then the rules of betting, inserting a few helpful hints here and there as we play several run-through hands just to get the hang of it. The whole thing is a little surreal. Sitting in the basement in the middle of the night, playing a casual game of poker with a demon in chains. This has got to be one for the books. Let's just say, I never would've pictured a scene like this anywhere in my future.
As we play, we chat. Not about anything important, purely conversational small talk, but it's enough to lull me into a false sense of security. I should know better. I should have better sense than to let my guard down, to relax and actually enjoy myself, but somehow it just seems to happen in spite of my subconscious constantly reminding me that while the situation may seem perfectly prosaic, it is not.
And yet, sometimes...
Sometimes he seems so normal.
He is part human, after all. What would it take, I wonder, for the dominant demon side of him to be repressed? Is that even a possibility?
His sudden challenge jerks me out of my idle musing. “What say we make this a wee bit more interesting?”
And there it is. What did I say? Should've known better.
“I think this is about as interesting as I want to get,” I tell him dryly.
“Oh, come on. Lighten up a little, darling. I'm not talking about anything life-changing here. Just something on a smaller, somewhat lighter scale. A friendly little wager, nothing more.”
Frowning, I shake my head, but he continues as if he doesn't notice.