The Unlikeable Demon Hunter: Crave (Nava Katz Book 4)

by Deborah Wilde

  But that was only if he took my side. We’d been through a lot together. We’d survived Prague and nearly hooked up, sure, but I didn’t kid myself for a moment that I couldn’t see the coldness creeping into Drio’s eyes.

  “Tough,” I said, rolling the die. “Some secrets are meant to be a poison in your soul. So sit back and enjoy the rest of your truncated life. Welcome to Knowledge Club.”

  I kept the Kosher salt close and Ro half in front of me as a handy shield for the entire sordid tale. I may not have been convinced that I could set a ward faster than Drio could move, but Drio wouldn’t hurt Ro to get to me.

  Given how Drio had reacted when he’d learned the Brotherhood had its first female Rasha, I didn’t think he’d be particularly fond of witches. Especially ones that were binding demons with blood magic.

  Silent fury rolled off his tense frame, so I wasn’t wrong. But he was as incensed about the possibility of the Brotherhood being on the wrong side of the fight as Rohan had been.

  I edged that much farther behind Ro.

  “You know I could kill you before you laid down a single grain of salt or hid fully behind him, yes?” he said, twisting the machete to examine the handle.

  Eep. I jutted my chin up. “Good thing I decided to trust you then.”

  Rohan crossed his arms. “Drio, come on. Put the machete down.”

  “I knew something was going down in Prague. Why didn’t you tell me then?” He leveled a glare at me.

  “Our mission with Samson–”

  “You didn’t trust me.”

  I looked away.

  “When did you decide to trust me?”

  “Ten minutes ago,” I mumbled.

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. He tossed the machete onto the counter with a clatter, making Ro and I flinch, and marched off.

  Rohan pinched the bridge of his nose. “That went well.”

  I hurried to catch up to Drio and tugged on his sleeve. “I’m sorry.”

  Drio’s strides grew longer, forcing me to jog up the stairs behind him.

  “You’re honestly only mad that I didn’t tell you? Why aren’t you disputing my theory or blaming me or something?”

  “If it comes to it, I’ll assign plenty of blame.” His eyes glinted. “But not to you. You don’t blame someone for wanting to know the truth.”

  “You’ve come a long way from wanting me dead.”

  “Oh, I still want you dead, bella.” He chucked me under the chin. “Just for different reasons.”

  “Should I consider you helping me as my birthday present?”

  “No.”

  I clapped my hands. “Because you bought me something?”

  “No.” He turned his back to me and resumed climbing. “I’d have to like you to spoil you.”

  “Like Leo.” I stuck out my tongue. “Yeah, yeah, I know all about your ways, Mr. Hand-Printed Scarf.”

  He stopped in the doorway of his bedroom, momentarily stunned. “What?”

  I saw my chance and took it. “If exposing corruption in the Brotherhood isn’t helping me, what would you call it?”

  Drio’s features twisted with pain for a moment and I held my breath thinking that I’d finally get some insight into what made this guy tick. He was such a mass of extremes, but he kept having my back.

  I caught his hand. “I’m really truly sorry.”

  He stared at our connected hands like they didn’t compute, then gently shook free. “Forget it.”

  He shut the door. One way or another, I was going to get to the bottom of the mystery that was Drio Ricci. And make it up to him for hurting his feelings, since I now resided in the bizarro-world where his feelings mattered.

  “Nava?”

  At the sound of Rabbi Abrams’ voice, I hustled back downstairs, pathetically happy he’d called but equally worried he’d told Mandelbaum and I was now going to be forcibly rehabilitated for my own good. “Yes, Rabbi?”

  “Esther wants to see you.”

  “You talked to her? Not the Brotherhood?”

  “Navela.” Even his myriad of wrinkles frowned at me. “I didn’t speak to the Brotherhood about this. I wouldn’t endanger you and everything you’re doing to get to the bottom of this.” He sounded supremely cranky.

  I rolled onto the outsides of my feet, a smile breaking free. “I didn’t doubt it for a second.”

  The hospital ward fluorescents cast a cold, grim light over the pale green walls, painted with sunflowers in some misguided attempt at “cheerful.” The strained manic grins on their flower faces only achieved “constipated,” pairing well with the stench of antiseptic and misery permeating the place.

  A warning sign in electric yellow proclaimed that the patient inside was in isolation and listed the conditions of entry, such as no flowers or fresh fruit.

  I donned the scrubs and gloves that the sign instructed me to don. The thirty-something black nurse in pink floral scrubs checked me over then pushed the door open, watching me through the window in the door. I smiled at her until she turned away and headed back to the nurse’s station.

  Dr. Gelman was a fragile waif in her hospital bed. Her black hair was shorter and patchier with more white streaks in it then the last time I’d seen her, while her olive leathery skin was red and angry like it was sunburned, making her look a decade older than her mid-sixties.

  I dug my nails into my palms because tears were really a threat and she’d kill me. Adopting my snarkiest pose, I tsked her. “You don’t call. You don’t write. You neglect to give me the heads up about evil witches.”

  “Snippy.” The oxygen mask over her mouth made her Israeli-accented voice harder to understand, though the face mask tied over my mouth muffled my words as well.

  I sat down in the chair beside her bed, trying not to focus on the bank of monitors and medical equipment surrounding us. “You okay?”

  “I’m still alive, so yes. Thanks so much for asking.” Her sarcasm was sharp enough to sting.

  “You were the one that so thoughtlessly crashed her immune system and didn’t return my calls.”

  Her laughter died, coughs racking her body. I poured her some water from the carafe on the table by her bed, and holding the plastic cup to her lips, kept one hand on her back to prop her up. She was light as a feather. This woman who had single-handedly teleported me into weird caves below Prague just for funsies. Who had the most knowledge of magic of anyone I’d met. Who, right now, was shaking in bed, coughing violently into her hand as the nurse glared daggers at me through the door window for possibly bringing in some unknown contagion.

  Was it possible for this to get more shitty?

  “Damn chemo,” Gelman said, another coughing spasm overtaking her.

  “I can come back another time.”

  She shook her head, pushing the cup away. She placed her hands on her chest like she was helping her ribcage expand. “What’s so urgent?” I hesitated and she snapped at me. “I’m not dead yet. Speak.”

  I caught her up on everything about my witch and Brotherhood suspicions in a matter-of-fact voice. Hoping if I didn’t get emotional, I wouldn’t raise her blood pressure too badly. “Do you believe me?”

  None of the monitors blared. Go me.

  The door opened and the same disapproving nurse came in, now wearing a mask and gloves. She switched out Gelman’s empty IV bag for a full one. “Visiting hours are over.”

  “This is Nava,” Gelman rasped.

  “The one and only,” I added.

  The nurse closed the curtains around the bed, even though there were no other patients in the room. “Good job getting Esther attacked by a demon.”

  Gelman shot her an unimpressed look. “Play nice.”

  “I never meant for that to happen,” I said.

  “Uh-huh,” the nurse said. Gelman poked her. “Fine. I’m Sienna.” Another poke. “Old woman, you’re annoying me.” Sienna tugged her gloves off, loosening Gelman’s hospital gown so she could tug the front of it down. The skin on
her chest was dry and flaky.

  Sienna placed one hand on Gelman’s heart and the other on her back. “What do you want now, Rasha?”

  “Perhaps as a witch,” I said, “you could be a bit more supportive of the first female hunter? Sisterhood and all that.”

  Sienna threw me a mocking smile. “Aren’t you a special Snowflake?”

  I swallowed my snarky retort. Choked on it, but swallowed it. I needed Dr. Gelman’s help and antagonizing her fellow witch wasn’t the way to do it.

  “A witch is binding demons,” Dr. Gelman said.

  Sienna whistled. “You sure?”

  “We are.” Gelman’s tone left no room for doubt

  Relief swam down to my toes. “Who has the ability to do that?” I said.

  “No one now,” Gelman said.

  “The witches who knew how to do that are long dead. Which you’d know if you had a clue about magic,” Sienna said.

  “Even I only ever heard of one in my lifetime. Millicent Daniels. Died half-crazed with her obsession,” Gelman said.

  “Did you know her?” Sienna asked.

  Dr. Gelman shook her head. “I’d only heard stories.”

  “Addictions never end well.” I watched Sienna because she didn’t seem to be doing anything except standing there touching Gelman, which was super creepy. “What are you doing? Because that was not on the sign’s allowed activities.”

  “I’m trying to heal her.”

  I nodded. “A nurse, healer magic. That makes sense.”

  “You really know nothing.”

  “About witches? Call me Jon Snow,” I said. Sienna frowned. “Game of Thrones? Seriously? How have you missed one of the hugest cultural phenomena in recent history?”

  “Luck. All witches can heal.”

  “Infusion and elimination,” Gelman said. Her eyes were closed but she breathed easier.

  “Then why don’t you just cure her?”

  Sienna slapped her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Our magic has grown weaker,” Gelman said. “Sienna can’t cure me but this helps.”

  “You’re too stubborn to die,” Sienna replied in a fond voice. “They don’t even want you in isolation anymore.”

  “Magic,” Gelman prompted.

  “Witches’ magic is based on the premise of infusion and elimination.” Sienna removed her hands and shook them out. Gelman’s skin was a bit rosier. “That’s ‘adding to’ and ‘taking away from.’”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I have a Word of the Day app.”

  “With your generation, I assume nothing. When you kill a demon, you eliminate its life force. If I pin you in place?”

  I jerked against the chair hard enough to snap my head back, an invisible band pushing against my chest like a vise.

  “I eliminate your ability to move.” She released me, but only after much flailing of my hands and an order from Dr. Gelman.

  I rubbed my chest, peeking down the front of my scrubs and T-shirt reading “All I care about is my coffee and like 3 people” to confirm that there was bruising. “So if you changed me into a frog, you would be infusing me with frog essence–Oh, come on!” My voice came out in a throaty croak. It went well with my bumpy green skin and the flipper protruding from my left arm pit.

  Dr. Gelman laughed. If looking like Kermit was the price of hearing her laugh again, then I’d pay it.

  “Infusing you with frog essence makes you a ridiculous looking human,” Sienna said, “not a frog.”

  “Dr. Gelman,” I rumbled. Gelman waved a hand and undid the froggy damage. I patted myself down to make sure I was properly restored.

  “You witches really did just give us Rasha a fraction of your power,” I said.

  “Rasha were only given that one sliver of our elimination magic relevant to killing demons.” Sienna opened the curtains around the bed once more. “Even that was too much.”

  “Our magic is pretty cool,” I retorted. “Electricity, human blades, super speed, poison skin, shadow manipulation.”

  “Flashy super powers.” Sienna keyed in something on one of the monitors. “Rasha should never have been allowed to exist.”

  If her attitude was what I could expect from the witches, any hope of co-operation was hooped. “It’s not just super powers. We can cast spells.”

  Sienna and Dr. Gelman laughed. “Spells are the training wheels of magic,” Sienna said. “Cast a ward, do a ritual, glamor an object, big deal. Inherent magic is where the real power is and the only inherent magic you Rasha have is that little bit to kill demons.”

  “Spells are like the channels you get with basic cable,” I said. “Got it.”

  “My analogy was better,” Sienna said.

  “No, because anyone with a TV can get basic cable. Just as anyone affiliated with the magic world can cast a spell. Rabbis cast spells and they have no inherent magic. Inherent magic are the specialty channels. The good stuff.” I appealed to the nice witch in the room. “Can you find out who’s behind the binding? Kind of a magic forensic chemist?”

  Even Sienna looked to Gelman for her answer.

  “No,” Dr. Gelman said. “That’s not possible. I’ll put out feelers about the binding, but it will take time.”

  “It’s a fool’s errand.” Sienna toyed with the blue bead on the end of one of her short dreadlocks.

  “Let’s go for a little optimism, shall we?” I squeezed Gelman’s hand. “I’ll come see you soon.”

  “Try not to get yourself killed,” she said.

  “Try not to cough up a lung.”

  “Insolent child.”

  I grinned and said she made me seem easygoing by comparison. “Don’t disappear on me again, okay?”

  “I won’t.” She gave my hand a final squeeze and I left.

  Rohan was going at this from the Brotherhood angle, I’d taken the witches. Neither were delivering any kind of immediate results. That left one other party: the demons. And one demon in particular who was powerful and plugged-in enough to possibly help me get some answers.

  Malik.

  The only problem with Malik was that the last time I’d seen him, I’d almost killed him. The marid was ancient and probably had perfected the art of holding grudges, so payback was pretty much inevitable. Not looking forward to it. Plus, it would freak Rohan the fuck out.

  He wasn’t the only one.

  The admissions desk had informed me that Naomi had checked out, and after a quick text to Christina to make sure both she and Naomi were doing okay, I headed back to Demon Club to get ready for my birthday dinner.

  While I bathed, Ro, shirtless, shaved at my bathroom sink, singing along to the Motown playlist streaming off his phone to my speakers.

  I rinsed out the last of my conditioner, a goofy grin on my face at our domestic coziness, and stepped onto the bathmat, drying off.

  Ro tilted his chin up for me to inspect. “Did I miss a spot?”

  I trailed my fingers over his skin then planted a kiss to his jaw. “Nope.”

  He rinsed out his razor, washing away all the little hairs in the sink. What a keeper.

  Make-up applied, underwear and bra on, and a bright orange towel wrapped around my head, I opened my closet to select my clothes. The jangling first notes of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” struck up. The Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell version, which Ro proclaimed to be the only version. I’d been getting quite the musical education dating this boy.

  Ro struck a pose for Marvin Gaye’s opening line, then the two of us were grooving around, strutting in circles around each other, and striking poses on the bed, all while singing our hearts out in a sassy duet. I used my fist as a mic and Ro grabbed it, pretending to share with me. We built to the final crescendo, jumping up and down, belting it out.

  As the last notes died away, Rohan spun me and dipped me.

  Silence reigned. My towel fell to the ground, forgotten, our bond, intangible yet absolute, stretching between us to envelop me.

 
; He set me back on my feet. “Get dressed. Don’t want the birthday girl to be late for her own party.”

  Given the choice, I’d have blown it off, stayed here, and wrapped myself in him. Drunk him in like an elixir.

  “Can’t have that.” I shimmied into a short-sleeved blue shirt dress, sweeping my hair up. “Zip me, please?” He zipped up my dress, and I straightened a bend in his stiff collar. “New shirt, just for me?” I teased. “Want me to pick your tie?”

  “Tieless today.”

  “Scaredy cat.”

  He shrugged into a blazer. “First time seeing your parents as the boyfriend instead of just your co-Rasha. Need to find the balance between ‘make a good impression’ and ‘stop trying so hard.’”

  I fiddled with the decorative buttons on my pockets. “You’re going to be fine.” Or run screaming, but what was a relationship without a few tense family moments here and there?

  Rohan’s eyes narrowed, but Ari rapped on my door, interrupting further conversation.

  “Ready?”

  Rohan studied the lightweight pink sweater Ari wore and then my blue dress. “I’m guessing that’s not coincidence.”

  “Nope.” Ari smoothed a hand over his V-neck.

  “It was our rebellion at age seven at the gendered stereotyping of our clothing.” I pulled my damp hair into a high ponytail.

  “More like Nava pitched a fit that year that she didn’t get to wear this red poufy dress our grandma had given her, because we were always put in blue and pink. Mom insisted we wear what she’d bought us, so Nava gave Mom exactly what she wanted.”

  I grabbed my purse and led the boys out. “She didn’t specify who had to wear what.”

  “We all know how you love your loopholes,” Ari said.

  Rohan chuckled. I elbowed him and he caught my hand. “Your brother insults you and I get wounded. So unfair.”

  I interlaced our fingers. “Ari looked adorable in the pink sundress Mom had chosen for me.”

  My brother nodded. “I really did. Nava just looked like an ugly boy.”

  “I really did.”

  We snickered.