Demons in My Driveway

by R. L. Naquin

  Also, it would be a lie.

  Having a relationship while repeatedly trying to save the world had proven too difficult for Riley and I to overcome, especially while it was his job to keep me alive. Two months ago, we’d finally agreed to call it a day. Unfortunately, he was still employed by the Board to be my minder. We had no time for a relationship, but we were together all the time.

  No. Not awkward at all.

  It was one of the reasons I’d jumped at the chance to take this trip with Bernice. Was it too much to ask for a few days without a constant reminder of how much my heart hurt? Apparently, there was no vacation from a broken heart. I couldn’t leave it behind, like a hairbrush or my right flip-flop. Broken hearts were more like a fungal infection or a thigh rash—always along for the ride.

  Slimy McAsshat kept talking. I wasn’t listening anymore, but he kept flexing and chattering. I rubbed my eyelids with my fingertips.

  I could make him cry. It wouldn’t take much. I’m tired. I could turn that into a little pity party, then turn it around and blast it at him.

  I could make him cry.

  I sent tendrils of emotion in his direction, prodding him, testing his defenses. He tasted like ambition and greed, but I could change that before he knew what was happening. I could make him feel anything I chose. Didn’t I deserve more respect than what he was showing? Didn’t he deserve to be punished?

  My eyes flew open in horror. What I’d been thinking was awful. Not six months ago I’d taken down the most powerful empath history had known. Katy had done things like that. She’d used her empath powers to make other people do what she wanted. Feel what she wanted.

  And here I was contemplating the same thing.

  I swallowed the rest of my drink and set the glass on the bar. “Listen,” I said, turning toward the man. “It’s been nice meeting you, but I’ve really got to get some sleep.”

  He looked startled, as if rejection were unfamiliar to him. As he stammered at me, unable to find the magic words to get me to drop my panties, a shimmer on the wood paneling over his shoulder caught my eye. The wood sort of oozed toward him, then took on the blue of his tight, tight shirt as the blob slid down his arm.

  The guy never noticed a thing when the gremlin slipped the watch from his wrist, then disappeared over the carpet with it.

  I wanted to object, but he kept flexing at me as he talked. Maybe I wasn’t so far gone that I would manipulate somebody’s emotions to make them do what I wanted, but I wasn’t above allowing petty theft to happen right before my eyes, either. The gremlins loved their shinies.

  This asshat was his own shiny. I couldn’t imagine why he even needed a fancy watch. The world revolved around him.

  Without another word, I turned toward the stairs.

  “Your loss,” he said behind me. Without the pseudo-sexy artifice, his voice was whiny and mean.

  Wiggy nodded at me then glanced at the guy I’d just left at the bar. I felt secure in the knowledge that Wiggy wouldn’t let the guy come upstairs after me.

  Thank God, because I couldn’t possibly use that bathroom with him in the room.

  I yawned and checked my watch.

  Screw the time. If I was going to be any use at the Gathering tomorrow, I needed sleep, whether it messed with my internal clock or not.

  And to be honest, since I didn’t know what to expect at this enormous get-together of world leaders, I was more than a little nervous.

  Not enough to keep me awake, though. I didn’t remember changing for bed before I was out cold.

  * * *

  Wiggy took one look at my face the next morning and ordered me an enormous breakfast, despite my objections that I was too anxious to eat. He sat me in a window seat so I had a perfect view of the four-hundred-year-old church across the street.

  “Don’t be nervous, now, poppet. It’s only a convention.” He poured me a cup of coffee and placed a smaller pitcher of cream and a sugar dish next to it. “You sit right here and I’ll bring you a proper breakfast. You take your time and enjoy it, yeah? They’re lucky to have you attending, not the other way around.”

  I nodded, mute in my apprehensive and pre-coffee state. He patted my shoulder, then disappeared into the kitchen. He returned in a flash, grinning, with a plate piled high with eggs, English sausage, potatoes, fried bread and, to my puzzlement, a large helping of baked beans.

  “Tuck in!” He smiled and left me alone in the dining room.

  I wondered why a hotel so close to where the Gathering was being held seemed so empty. Church bells rang across the street as I took my first bite and realized English sausage was probably my new favorite thing. Totally different spices from American sausage.

  As I chewed, I gazed out the window and tried to prepare myself mentally for the upcoming meeting.

  All I knew about the Gathering could fit on the back of a cocktail napkin. Once every five years, representatives of the various Hidden governments around the world met to discuss common issues, share ideas and reconnect with each other. Because the various countries were wary of each other, they didn’t do much communicating outside of the Gathering. Takeovers, territory disputes and suspicion had been the standard for hundreds of years. Twice a decade they let down their guards and shared—at least a little.

  I suspected it was more an excuse to eat and drink a lot, tell lies to make their countries sound more sparkly to the others, and show off the things they could flaunt.

  That’s where I probably came in. I had a strong feeling Bernice had asked me to accompany her so she could parade me around as the empathic Aegis who took down the infamous Katy.

  Bernice, of course, would somehow take the credit for having such a stellar Aegis.

  The gremlins seemed to think I was something special. Somehow, I doubted the humans would feel the same way. As tight lipped as the various governments were, I found it unlikely they knew who Katy was, let alone me.

  My stomach churned and I set down my forkful of baked beans.

  I hoped the rest of the Aegises wouldn’t count Bernice against me. Aside from getting away from my problems at home, meeting other Aegises was the biggest reason I’d agreed to come.

  I caught movement through open doors that divided the dining area from the lobby/bar. Bernice strolled downstairs dressed for her formal ambassador activities.

  Somewhere along this wild ride in the last year and a half, my quirky dress sense had become almost normal compared to the odd people surrounding me in my life.

  The head of the United States Board of Hidden Affairs stood before me in a pink-checked tweed pantsuit with enormous gold buttons down the double breast. Yellow ruffles spilled from the cuffs and peeked out at the neck. She smiled, and bright pink lipstick flecked her front tooth.

  I’d never seen her decked out like that before. The outfit was a reflection of how nervous she was. That and the anxious energy spattering my shields like hot fat over an open fire.

  At least I wasn’t the only one feeling the pressure.

  I smiled. “You look so pretty.” I snagged a napkin from across the table. “Here. You’ve got a little lipstick...” I mimed scrubbing my teeth.

  She took the napkin and scrubbed, then grimaced at me so I could check. I nodded, and she tucked the napkin into her handbag. She checked her watch and frowned. “He’s late.”

  “Who’s late?” I glanced around the empty lobby/bar. The only people I saw were a young guy in checkered chef pants walking into the restroom and a maid vacuuming in the hallway.

  “Marcus. I told him to meet us here at eight.” She pursed her pink lips in disapproval. “It’s already ten after.”

  As if on cue, the front door swung open and the slimy guy from the night before stepped through. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I seem to have misplaced my watch.”

  I frowned. He wore a crisp gray suit, and his hair was clean and combed in a neat, sensible style, rather than the self-conscious pseudo-sexy rumpled look from the night before. The s
trangest part was his light French accent, noticeably absent the last time we’d met.

  He winked at me and took my hand. “Don’t be angry. I had to know.”

  I blinked in confusion. “Had to know what? Whether I was easy to pick up in a bar?”

  Bernice and Marcus exchanged a knowing look. I hated when people did that. A lump of cold anger formed in the pit of my stomach, and I narrowed my eyes.

  So, Bernice had known. Probably why she never came downstairs last night. She’d be smart to stay clear of me for the rest of the trip if she didn’t want an earful of angry Aegis.

  Marcus squeezed my hand, and his voice was soft. “I had to be sure you had control of your powers. I’ve heard about the things you’re capable of. You took down a psychotic killer with powers that everyone assumed far outmatched yours. Please forgive me. I had to see what you would do when provoked.”

  I pulled my hand away from him and wiped my palm against my black lace skirt. “You’re welcome for not killing you, I guess.” He could try to tell me he’d been faking it to test me, but you can’t lie to an empath. If I’d been willing to leave with him, he’d have been happy to take me. Conflict of interest or method acting? My mind was already made up on that front.

  Dirtball.

  Bernice placed her hand on my arm. “Zoey,” she said almost in a whisper. “Marcus is the Chief of the North American Division of Hidden Relations.”

  I swiveled my head between the two of them. “Are you saying he’s your boss?”

  She nodded.

  I could have easily thrown my hands in the air and walked away from them both. Over the past two years, the United States had lost nearly all its board members to a ruthless murderer. All the Aegises except for my mother and I had also been killed. The entire time, Bernice had been on her own, telling me she couldn’t go to the governments in other countries for help because they were so territorial and might attempt to take over ours.

  And the whole time, she had a boss of her own. Someone could have done something to help. Either Bernice was too stupid to get the help, or Marcus was too inept at his job to lift a finger.

  Judging by the look on Bernice’s face, she expected me to cozy up to Marcus—and kiss his ass, to top it all off.

  “Excuse me a moment,” I said. I stepped to a blank wall behind them. The action probably appeared odd from their point of view. After a brief word with a small lump I’d noticed in the wallpaper, I held my hand out and a gremlin dropped Marcus’s watch in my hand. I returned to stand in front of him and placed it in his hand. The look of surprise on his face was worth an entire trench coat full of watches.

  “Where did you...” he trailed off, staring at the object.

  “Don’t test me again.” My words were slow and even. “I’m capable of all kinds of crazy shit you can’t begin to imagine. You either trust me or you don’t. Game time is over.”

  I left them both staring after me and flounced out the door.

  Chapter Two

  The walk from the pub to the football field—soccer field to me—took less than five minutes. The other two had caught up with me early on, since I didn’t know where I was going. Huge waste of an awesome exit. They were smart enough to read the expression and know not to bring up what had happened. The subject was closed.

  We strode through a small hub of shops, then down a path to a small river. A field spread in front of us, empty and stark.

  I quirked an eyebrow at Bernice. “It’s like my backyard, isn’t it? There’s a bubble disguising the whole event in plain sight, right?”

  She nodded, and her ridiculous pink pillbox hat bobbed, causing its golden flowers to brush her forehead.

  Let the record show, even I thought the hat was a bad idea.

  Up until that morning, I’d have said a hat was always a good idea.

  Marcus gave me the side-eye, then walked onto the grass and disappeared. Bernice offered an apologetic smile and followed.

  I sighed and smoothed my skirt, then stepped through the projection of a blank field into the absolute chaos of a crowded shindig.

  As it always happened when I went into my own, similarly disguised backyard, I experienced no atmospheric change, nothing brushed against my skin, and the temperature didn’t change.

  The noise level, however, went up several decibels, and I walked right into the back of Bernice, scraping my elbow on her rough tweed. I rubbed the skin and pulled the bunched-up sleeves of my sweater down my arms to keep them safe. Her tweed had a bite.

  I stepped around Bernice and scanned the area. People milled everywhere. An enormous, rectangular, tented pavilion took up most of the field. A buffet spread the length of one side, and groupings of tables and chairs filled most of the inner space. A long table, several chairs and a podium took up the top of the rectangle. People sat at tables in groups, stood in clusters, or watched in pairs from the sidelines. At the bottom of the rectangle, a jazz combo played music that was plenty loud inside the bubble, but completely silent one step outside.

  Marcus nodded at us. “Ready, ladies?”

  Bernice grinned and wobbled after him in her low-heeled sandals. The grass was muddy from a recent downpour, and the air was chilly, though not freezing. Not too bad for the beginning of November in England. Still, I was glad for the boots I’d chosen, and the thick tights under my skirt. I wasn’t sure why I’d decided to dress entirely in black. Normally, I’d have chosen some bright colors to perk up the outfit, but somehow, all black had felt right. Maybe I’d needed to feel mysterious with all those strangers. Whatever the reason, the fabrics were all heavy and warm.

  I supposed Bernice’s awful tweed was pretty cozy too, though the sandals weren’t a bright move. I could see her taking on mud with every squelching step she took.

  A small, fluttery man in a blue pinstriped suit spotted us before we reached the tent. He placed his champagne flute on the table in a distracted way, then met us before we stepped inside.

  His forehead crinkled with worry as he looked from me to Bernice then back again. “Bernice,” he said in a British accent that would have sounded highbrow and intimidating if it weren’t so squeaky and effeminate. “Is this who I think it is?”

  Bernice beamed at him. “Lord Chilford, may I present Zoey Donovan?”

  His eyes grew wide, and he hissed between his teeth. “Are you insane?” He grabbed Bernice by the sleeve and dragged her far enough away that I couldn’t hear what he said. Marcus followed, concern trickling down his arms and legs toward my filters. Chilford’s back was to me, but I could see Bernice as she listened to whatever he was saying. His hands made wild gestures, and her face paled. She glanced at me, then back at him, her mouth falling open. Marcus’s jaw clenched and he folded his arms, as if whatever Chilford told him had put him on the defense. All three of them looked toward me, then looked away.

  Well, I’m just feeling all kinds of welcome.

  I placed a hand on one hip and waited for them to finish their animated discussion, presumably about me. Fear, oily and slick, flowed across the grass from Bernice. She shook her head in response to something Chilford said, then Marcus scowled and looked in my direction.

  None of them showed any signs of ceasing their conversation, and Bernice’s fear became thicker with each second. I should have been worried, but I couldn’t seem to work up to a state of concern that matched their dramatics. Maybe I’d had enough of bureaucrats for one lifetime. Maybe I was done walking on eggshells to please other people. Maybe I was done with constant danger shadowing my every move.

  Screw it. I’d seen champagne glasses with orange juice in them. If I was about to get booted out of here or told the world was coming to an end, a mimosa or two might make the news go down a little easier. I shrugged and made my way over to the pavilion without them.

  I stepped off the grass into the covered area toward a group of four people dressed in elaborate outfits decorated with peacock feathers, strips of leather, bright ribbons, or hundreds of butto
ns. As one, they stopped talking and stared at me, then stepped back, forming an aisle. They said nothing to me as I passed.

  I hadn’t exactly been expecting a parade and fanfare, but this was disconcerting. From the way everyone was acting, I might as well have stepped out of a flying saucer and walked around waving chartreuse-and-lavender tentacles from my forehead the way everyone was acting. Ignoring their behavior required a concerted effort. As did the urge to yell boo and see if they scattered like bunnies.

  Or cockroaches.

  I made a beeline for the buffet table.

  Everywhere I went, chatter stopped and people stared. An Asian man in an enormous white cowboy hat dropped a pat of butter in his grapefruit juice without noticing. A tiny redheaded woman in a purple-and-gold sari bumped into a tent support, then sent a pastry tray skidding into the leg of an African man wearing a cape of red-and-yellow feathers and little else. He was so intent on my progress through the tent that he didn’t notice the blackberry jam dripping from his left ear.

  I tried to scan the crowd with the proper level of nonchalance. At least some of these people had to be Aegises. Somehow, I’d expected I’d know another Aegis when I saw one. Apparently not. None of these people seemed the type to help anybody, let alone one of their own kind.

  If this was how Aegises treated each other, maybe I didn’t want to meet any new ones. Mom and I were doing fine on our own.

  At least we thought so.

  A short, thin woman wearing what could only be called a neck tutu had her back to me, so she didn’t see me coming. I reached for a bite-sized blueberry muffin and accidentally brushed her fluffy tulle accessory with my elbow. She turned, her thickly painted lips smiling. A brief moment of relief swept over me. Finally, a cheerful person who wasn’t afraid of catching my social leprosy. I was premature in my assessment. When the woman caught sight of me she grimaced and took several steps backward, landing in the lap of a rotund gentleman in a bright patchwork suit.

  So much attention made my skin itch, but I refused to cave. I stood straighter and stuck out my chin. What the hell was this? Sixth grade?