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

by Deborah Wilde

  “And say what?” His gaze was pure challenge.

  That everything I’ve been scared of is true. That you’re rushing us, investing yourself because you need a purpose, and I need us to take things one day at a time because this is all so new and I care about you so much and I don’t want us to crash and burn like Cole and I did. That I don’t want to end up crying in the middle of the street because you only loved the idea of me. “Are we still good?”

  Rohan blinked. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? What I did…” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t me.”

  Except it kind of was. “I know.” My voice was tighter than I’d intended it. I softened my tone as I added, “And I’m sorry for clocking you. I didn’t feel like I had any other option.”

  “I appreciate that, but you sidelined me twice because you decided that the best way to protect me was to keep me out of the fray.”

  “What would you have had me do?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice was as full of anger and resignation as mine had been. He exhaled, pushing to his feet. “Any useful evidence downstairs?”

  Good talk.

  “I haven’t checked yet. I wanted to keep an eye on you.”

  “No time like the present.” Rohan glanced at the shattered basement door, his expression unreadable, then headed downstairs.

  I stepped over some tangled plastic tubing on the basement concrete floor lying next to an overturned chair. Ro pointed to two containers on a metal table. One was a thin, glass vial minus the Sweet Tooth label that held the familiar pink crystals. The other was a plastic container like the sterilized ones they gave you for urine samples. The seal had been broken and it held a clear liquid with pale streaks of blood floating in lazy twists.

  Rohan picked it up and walked over near the spot on the ceiling that the oshk’s secretion had hit when I’d attacked it. Cotton-candy scented clear liquid had dripped on the floor. “Do you see another sterilized container?”

  I sorted through the wreckage until I found one that the oshk hadn’t crushed. Rohan collected the liquid and sealed it up.

  “Don’t get any on you,” I said. “With all your issues and the drug in its purest potency?” I mock-shuddered. “I know I’m irresistible, but you were precariously close to Fatal Attraction territory there. Boiling bunnies. Yikes.”

  Rohan raised his eyebrows.

  “Too soon?”

  That earned me a ghost of a smile. “I’m astounded you held off this long. Besides, my focused, passionate nature–”

  “You mean your willingness to obsess?”

  “I mean, my absolute commitment and perseverance has served me well. Landed me record contracts, tricky demon kills. You.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Too soon?”

  I laughed and swatted him.

  We found a trash bag to dump lab wreckage into, taking that and the three containers with us: the vial with the crystals, the blood-streaked liquid already sealed up, and the new clear secretion we’d collected. We dropped the containers off at a twenty-four hour courier service, expedited to a Rasha-owned lab in New York where they could analyze the substances and see if, as suspected, we had a match between the oshk secretion and Sweet Tooth.

  My stomach rumbled, so I pulled into a diner that was almost full with a brisk breakfast rush, snagging the last tiny booth in the back. My anger had faded, leaving only hunger and exhaustion. The blueberry pancakes I ordered were light and fluffy with fat fresh strawberries slices on top and a heaping dollop of whipped cream. The bacon was extra crispy.

  Rohan’s veggie omelet, no cheese, looked very healthy.

  “Healthy isn’t leprosy. It’s actually the opposite,” he said.

  “Who said a word?” I drizzled melted butter on my pancakes.

  “You did.” He nudged my leg. His expression of fond exasperation was so familiar and welcome that the vise around my chest loosened.

  I held a forkful of strawberry-adorned pancake at him. “Live a little.”

  He leaned in for the bite, sucking whipped cream off my fingers. “I’m not denying the appetites that matter.”

  Two could play this game. I slipped off my shoe and snuggled my toes onto his dick. Keeping my eyes on my food, I fought a grin, massaging until he got hard. So, like ten seconds.

  Under the table, he grabbed my foot. “Enough,” he growled.

  I motioned our waiter for more coffee. “Think Candyman screwed the oshk over in some drug partnership? That demon was pissed.”

  Rohan added some hot sauce to the last third of his omelet. “All I care about is that Leo said the oshk was a Unique and we’ve eliminated the source of the Sweet Tooth.”

  The analysis would conclusively confirm it, but the chances were high that the drug was off the street forever. Candyman still needed to be apprehended, but we’d put him out of business. I clinked my mug to Rohan’s. “We make a good team.”

  “The best.”

  If we both injected a bit too much enthusiasm into our words, maybe that was okay.

  With hours until we’d hear back about the Sweet Tooth analysis, we decided to crash so we could hit the ground running finding Candyman. Drio wouldn’t be back until tomorrow and depending on what he’d learned from Golda, we’d need a strategy around that as well.

  We made one quick pit stop at the cemetery in Vancouver–not the Jewish one, where cremation was forbidden–to meet the Rasha-friendly employee there and burn the trash bag of busted-up lab equipment, and then it was bedward-ho.

  I slept okay for a while but a text from Sienna on my burner phone on behalf of Dr. Gelman woke me up.

  Esther has a promising lead on the bindings. She’ll be out of isolation today if you want to come by. Before I had time to yawn, let alone compose a reply, another message sailed on in: For whatever unknown reason, your last visit cheered her up.

  I added Sienna to the list of people who were never going to be a fan.

  I snuggled back under the covers against my furnace boyfriend, but, hard as I tried, I couldn’t fall back asleep again. My promise to Ari to go see my mom weighed on me. I’d let my resentment toward my parents, especially Mom, fester for years and could have easily gone another decade, but I kept seeing Gelman wasted by cancer.

  I heaved myself out of bed with a huff and snatched up some clothes.

  “Where you going?” Rohan mumbled from under the pillow he’d stuffed on his head when my phone had gone off.

  I popped my head out of my sundress. “To see my mom.”

  He pulled the pillow off and cracked one eye open. “You want me to come with?”

  I rumpled his hair. “Best if I don’t have witnesses, but thanks.”

  He flopped over. “When you get back, we can Skype my parents.”

  I whacked him in the head with his pillow “Not funny.”

  “You’ll have to meet Mom at some point,” he called out.

  I kept marching down the hallway. “Let’s see how things go with the blood-related mother first.” I crossed my fingers, not entirely sure which way I wanted things to go, and went to keep my damn promise.

  12

  Mom was teaching, so I drove over to UBC to catch the end of her class. I slipped into the back of the lecture hall. It was summer semester and this was a third-year history class, so there were few enough students that she noticed my entrance.

  She was wearing the green shirt. This weird glowy feeling warmed my chest. Idiot. It was a shirt. It was clean. She didn’t know I’d be here today and it had nothing to do with me. Especially since Mom didn’t even pause speaking when I came in, her eyes glancing off me from her position at her lectern to the student in the front row who’d raised her hand.

  “Can you elaborate on what you meant by ‘David was not the underdog of legend?’” the student asked.

  “Underdog implies that the odds are stacked against the person because they haven’t the skill or experience.” Mom had devoted her acad
emic career to becoming the foremost expert on King David. She’d told Ari and I that originally she’d planned to focus on the Roman rule of Judea back in the fifties B.C.E., but after Ari’s destiny was revealed, she’d switched her attention to the man who’d founded the Brotherhood.

  Even her professional choices were centered around Ari.

  I pried my fingers off of my purse and smoothed out my expression. Mom was watching me.

  “David was unwilling to follow the rules of honorable conduct that Goliath expected,” she said. “He brought a projectile to the fight instead of engaging in hand-to-hand combat. Even King Saul expected the single combat method, as evidenced by him attempting to dress David in his own armor.”

  “David played dirty,” the student said.

  “David played to win.” Mom adjusted the glasses she wore to clearly see students at the back of the room. I forced myself to remain relaxed. “Hitting Goliath with that slingshot wasn’t luck. David was a precise slinger. It was how he’d fought off wild animals as a shepherd. Armor was also heavy, so David kept speed and agility on his side by refusing to wear any. Then there’s the fact that Goliath requested that David come to him. Why? Goliath was a seasoned warrior. A giant of a man. He wouldn’t have been scared of David. It’s now believed that he suffered from acromegaly.” She wrote the word on the board behind her.

  “Like André the Giant,” another student said.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “Acromegaly causes an overproduction of the growth hormone. That comes with a host of medical problems including vision difficulties.” Mom stepped out from behind the lectern. “Why wasn’t he an underdog?” She ticked the reason off on her fingers. “David was not lacking experience, nor did he only have a slim chance. Instead, he assessed the facts in a way that no one else had. Everyone else had read the situation differently, dependent on their understanding of how things had always been resolved. David had his own unique lens on events. He did what had to be done to win. It’s to be admired, not sold short as merely luck.”

  Once more her eyes met mine. I didn’t understand the takeaway. Mom didn’t know what I was up to with the Brotherhood. It’s not something Ari would have shared and I certainly didn’t tell her.

  The bell rang and students gathered up their books. Mom reminded them about their papers due next class.

  I made my way down the stairs to her, wondering what I was missing. “Mom.”

  She stilled, a folder of lecture notes and a couple of fat hardcover books pressed to her chest. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s–”

  “I said it was fine.” She brushed past me.

  I stood there, warring with myself. New students filed in and the professor gave me an odd look, so I took my indecision out into the hallway, standing next to the vending machine.

  Mom’s departure was my cue to get back in my car. To quote the immortal Snagglepuss, “Exit, stage left ev-en.” It’s not like we had to interact all that much since I’d moved out, and when we did, we’d both be civil. We’d perfected that.

  I stormed her office before I could second guess myself. She sat at her desk, staring out the window. She’d added a red and blue throw rug since the last time I’d been here and the small sofa in the corner was a bit shabbier, but otherwise it was as I remembered it. It still smelled of sun-warmed books and her Chanel perfume. Framed photos of Ari and myself at different ages, always grinning at the camera with our arms draped over each other, lined the window sill. They were even stacked in front of history books, along with photos of her and Dad on various trips.

  “I meant it, okay? I was tired and sad and just done with that party and I know that’s not a good excuse, but please understand that I mean this.” I closed her office door. “I shouldn’t have called you a bitch.”

  Mom swiveled in the chair to face me, cleaning her glasses with more vigor than required. “No. You shouldn’t have.” She didn’t offer anything in return.

  Students’ conversation out in the hall about their tuition payments drifted in through the closed door. Since I’d rather have a kappa demon suck my guts out through my ass than have Mom start in about my UBC status again, I gestured at the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  One of the photos on the bookshelf caught my eye. I picked it up. The camera had caught me pulling an over-the-top, my head tilted and lips curled in a sassy smirk, wearing a tux costume.

  “Your last competition,” Mom said. My Achilles had snapped soon after and it was off the stage and into the emergency room and physical therapy.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Another life.”

  “You blew everyone else out of the water.” She didn’t sound proud, exactly, but she didn’t sound indifferent either.

  I replaced the photo on the shelf with a dull thud. “Why did you tell that story about David not being an underdog?”

  She leaned over her desk to close her blinds on the afternoon sun slanting into the room. Out in the hall, the classroom door shut, leaving the two of us in the hush of this darkened office. “Why do you think?”

  I hated it when she answered my question with a question. I hated it even more that I wished I had the answer, especially since there was an expectation in her measured stare. A stare that was going to flash with disappointment in a moment, the way it always did.

  I flicked on the overhead lights, making her blink. “No clue. Why did you?”

  “Mallory asked.”

  “Right.” I didn’t have the guts to ask why she’d worn that shirt, but there was a question I could throw her way and actually get a useful answer on. “Did you ever hear anything about King David and witches?”

  Mom raised her eyebrows, an intrigued glint in her eyes. “There are witches?”

  “Big time.”

  Mom was already opening her laptop. “Is that how David originally got the magic for the Rasha?”

  “Yup.” She didn’t respond, her gaze vacant and her attention to me lost. I bid her a soft “bye” and left.

  I got back to Demon Club in time to hear the results of the analysis of the Sweet Tooth that Rohan and I had sent to the lab. It was such a beautiful day, we took the call out back by the pool. The albezia tree’s leafy fronds cast dappled shadows around the edges of the flagstone deck, though its Dr. Seuss-like purple puffy flowers wouldn’t bloom for another couple of months.

  Rabbi Abrams had joined us, pulling up a teak chair next to the water. His eyes were closed and his face was tilted up to the sun and I wasn’t positive he was awake.

  I’d kicked my sandals off and was dangling my legs in the cool water, watching the refracted sunlight dance along the concrete at the bottom. Ro dipped a foot in, then joined me, the cell on the warm ground between us.

  The Rasha on the other end of the speaker phone confirmed that Sweet Tooth and the two other substances were the same. I high-fived Rohan, and the Rasha told us to hang on, he was transferring our call to HQ.

  “You think Ms. Clara or Baruch want to talk to us from Jerusalem?” I scooped up some water, drizzling it down the back of my neck.

  “How would the New York tech guy know?” Rohan wet his hands, flinging drops onto my chest. “Cooling you off.”

  “What a mensch,” I said.

  He nodded and leaned in. “That plus your dress is really thin.”

  I glanced down at my nipples now showing through the wet spots, made sure my back was to Rabbi Abrams, and splashed my boyfriend.

  “You got the source of the drug?” Rabbi Mandelbaum barked at us over the line in his Russian accent.

  “You mean did we kill the demon responsible for producing it?” I said. “Why yes, we did. And thank you, Nava and Rohan, for valuable insights when our database had such meager intel on it.”

  “If it was a Unique as you claim and it’s dead, then the information is perhaps not so valuable anymore.” If he sneered any harder, he’d strain something. “When will you a
pprehend the other demon involved. This Candyman?”

  “We’re working on it.” Rohan poked the corner of my frown and I bit his finger. But I stopped scowling at the phone.

  “Not you, Rohan,” Mandelbutt said. “I want you back in Los Angeles. I have another mission for you.”

  “The investigation isn’t finished yet,” Ro said.

  “Nava is the only Rasha listed on the assignment,” Mandelbaum said.

  Ice filled my veins. The bastard couldn’t take Ro away from me. “We’re working together on this.”

  The rabbi spat something in Hebrew.

  Rabbi Abrams opened his eyes, sighing. “Boris.”

  I snorted. “Must catch Moose and Squirrel,” I said in a Russian accent.

  All the men went silent. Rohan pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking.

  “What?” Mandelbaum said.

  “Nothing.” I smiled sweetly, even though he couldn’t see it.

  Rabbi Mandelbaum jabbered on in angry Hebrew.

  “Maspik!” I’d never heard Rabbi Abrams snap.

  Mandelbaum sputtered to a stop.

  “With Kane and Ari away, we can use Rohan. You have enough Rasha in Los Angeles.” Abrams patted my shoulder.

  “Grown fond of her, have you, Isaac?”

  “I thought we were speaking of Rohan. I’ve grown fond of him, too.” His voice was placid, but his smile chilled me.

  “It’s settled then,” Rohan said. “I’m staying.”

  “You mean you won’t leave your girlfriend.” Mandelbaum made a smug noise at our collective silence. “It’s understandable. She’s Rasha. She’s there. Fighting together forges a bond.”

  I couldn’t look at Rohan as Mandelbaum so eloquently voiced every single fear I fought to keep at bay.

  “Don’t. Push. Me.” Rohan snarled. “And stay the hell out of my personal life.” His voice turned to silk. Silk hiding an iron bar. “You know better.”

  Was he thinking of Asha? I curled into his side, rubbing his back. He was rigid, but slowly relaxed under my touch. He caught my hand and laced our fingers together.

  “This investigation continues,” I said. “You can list both of us on it, but I’m still lead.”