Never Save a Demon (A Daughter of Eve Book 1)

by J. D. Brown

  “She’s a Daughter of Eve. Like you.”

  “Bingo,” said Lyn. “She’s too old to fight demons, but it’s probably best she doesn’t find out about … you know.” Lyn gestured between the two of them, indicating their little issue.

  “Another Daughter.” Sam did that growling-sigh thing again and Lyn tensed.

  “Don’t get any ideas, mister. If anything happens to Gran, I will find a weapon that’ll beat your lava ass. Even if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Sam grunted. “Relax. I have no interest in your relatives. I’ll just wait in your vehicle.”

  Damn, he was really going to ride around Paradise with her? Lyn slid her hand under the sheets, searching for Johnny. When she failed to locate the sword, she swept her palm more fluidly over the vacant space. Lyn scrambled out of bed, tearing the sheets off as she went. Nothing.

  “Where’s my katana?”

  “I threw it out.”

  “Out?” She spun to face him. “Out where?”

  “The trash bin outside.”

  Lyn’s jaw fell open. “What? Why? Oh my God.” Her eyes widened in horror. “The garbage truck comes on Wednesdays!” Lyn bolted into the hallway. She ignored Sam’s protests as she wrangled the apartment door from its frame and ran down the stairwell. She burst outside as the garbage truck dropped the last empty dumpster on the pavement.

  “Wait,” she shouted. “Wait!”

  The driver didn’t wait, and the truck drove away.

  She ran after it assuming it would stop at the next corner to pick up more trash. Instead, the truck kept going. It turned onto Main Street and disappeared with the rest of the morning traffic.

  Lyn sprinted after it until her hamstrings burned and her ribs threatened to explode. Sharp gasps punched from her lungs, and she gave in to the need to slow, her feet slapping the cement in a choppy rhythm.

  When the heck did garbage trucks get so fast? Who’s driving that thing? Panting, she stopped and pressed her palms to her knees.

  Bare knees.

  Lyn gasped as she realized what she was wearing; lacy red panties, a powder blue sports bra, and Garfield socks. Son-of-a—

  Cars honked and a group of teenagers waiting at a bus stop jeered.

  “Take a picture,” she shouted between heavy pants. “It’ll last longer.”

  To her horror, they took out their smartphones and snapped away.

  Great.

  As Lyn turned to leave, a kid on a skateboard zipped by. She jumped out of the way, onto the street. A horn blared and her visions tunneled as an SUV headed straight for her. Before she could react, a rough hand grabbed her arm and yanked her back onto the sidewalk. The wind threw her hair across her face as the SUV narrowly missed her.

  Her vision spun and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the vertigo to wane. After several seconds passed, she became aware of the solid wall of brimstone she had pressed up against and realized it wasn’t a wall at all.

  Lyn opened her eyes. Sure enough, she stood with her cheek flattened against the soft cotton of Sam’s T-shirt, her hands splayed over his firm chest. His washboard abs heated her bare-naked stomach as he held her shoulders, panting. For a stunned moment, Lyn stood there, unable to move. Then her brain caught up.

  I’m hugging a demon!

  She pushed away. “Don’t ever touch me again, sword killer.”

  Sam scoffed. “That’s twice in one morning you’ve nearly died. You’re welcome.”

  Lyn frowned. She wasn’t in any danger at the cemetery. She would’ve beaten that Grissel demon if Sam hadn’t scared it off. She couldn’t say so out loud though because they had an audience. Her gaze went to the lingering teenagers who were giggling at their phone screens. Her cheeks warmed. Note to self; wear matching lingerie from now on.

  Sam scanned her. “Do I need to tie you up?”

  Her gaze widened. She knew he wanted to lock her up and throw away the key. It was just a matter of when. And now she didn’t even have Johnny to fend him off with. Lyn winced. She really missed her sword.

  Sam’s lips thinned. He looked at her as though she were meaningless. And to a Greater demon? She was. Completely meaningless.

  Lyn swallowed. She felt too exposed standing before him, and it had nothing to do with the public indecency.

  His gaze went to the kids at the bus stop and he growled. “Come on,” he said, his tone flat. “Let’s go.”

  Lyn popped a potato chip into her mouth. Marilyn Manson’s version of These Dreams blared through Notre Dame’s speakers. The main entrance to Paradise city’s local looney bin stood on the other side of the parking lot. The sign above the glass sliding doors read: Paradise Psychiatric Hospital - Your home away from home.

  “More like your Hell away from Hell,” Lyn muttered.

  “What’d you say?” Sam shouted over the music.

  Lyn ignored the demon riding shotgun and kept her gaze glued to the white stucco building.

  “Are you going inside? Or do you speak to your great-grandmother telepathically?”

  If it had been Angie sitting next to her, Lyn would have laughed at the sarcasm. But because it was Sam, she popped another potato chip into her mouth and chewed slowly, savoring the crunch.

  “Do you have any idea how bad those things are for you? They’re not even made of potato.”

  She swallowed and then shoved a third chip into her gob.

  “I wish you’d eat the bell peppers I made for you.” Sam lifted a sandwich bag worth of neatly sliced red, green, and yellow bell peppers.

  Lyn faced him, smiled sweetly, and then bit into a fourth chip.

  Sam leaned forward and dragged a hand over the stereo in the dash. Despite his disability, he managed to hit the correct dial on the first try. The music stopped.

  “Hey!” said Lyn, only it sounded more like ‘ay as crumbs fell from her over-stuffed mouth.

  “If this is about the sword, I’ve already apologized.”

  Ugh, poor Johnny. Lyn’s heart broke just thinking about him somewhere at the bottom of a steaming pile of garbage, melting in the summer heat. But her anxiety wasn’t about the sword. She hated the psychiatric ward. It wasn’t a hospital, but a prison, and Gran didn’t deserve to be there.

  Frowning, Lyn unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed the chips, and got out of the car. “Wait here.”

  Sam didn’t argue.

  The potato chips were gone by the time she reached the automatic doors and she dropped the bag in the wastebasket near the reception desk.

  “Evelyn! How you doin’, sweetie?” Three receptionists worked at the ward, one for each shift, but Gracie was Lyn’s favorite. The curvaceous middle-aged woman always smiled with her teeth showing and had the brightest mocha-colored eyes; the kind Lyn couldn’t help smiling back at.

  “Hey, Gracie.” Lyn grabbed the sign-in sheet and added her information. “I’m good.”

  Gracie leaned one elbow on the desk and cradled her chin in her palm. “Did Lolly know you were coming today?”

  “I thought I’d surprise her. How’s she doing?”

  “Oh she’s just fine, baby girl. Complaining of a sore throat, but the nurse gave her a cough drop and she’s been up and about since. Let’s see …” Gracie lifted a clipboard and scanned the list of activities on rotation for the day. “Ah, yes. She’s in the game room.”

  “Thanks, Gracie.”

  “Anytime, baby girl.”

  Lyn put the pen she borrowed back into the cup holder and continued down the hall. She had been visiting the ward since she was a teenager and knew the layout by heart. Most visitors weren’t allowed free rein of the hospital, but the faculty knew her by name and were used to her popping in from time to time.

  The East wing of the hospital was reserved for out-patients and low-risk residents. Pleasant landscape paintings in wooden frames lined the cream walls. Cushioned armchairs, vending machines, and all the usual amenities of a family-friendly institution brightened the corners. Lyn could almost pret
end it was a nursing home. They kept the real nut-jobs locked up in the West wing, away from the public eye. Lyn had never set foot in the West wing, but she imagined it as a grisly asylum with cold cement walls and a single flickering light bulb. There was always a flickering light bulb in the movies.

  Lyn found the game room door and peered through the glass window. The small recreational area was where they kept checkerboards, card decks, and dominos for the residents to play, but sure enough, Gran sat at the poker table. It wasn’t a real poker table, just a plain metal folding table with one leg slightly shorter than the rest. But Gran and her friends called it the poker table for obvious reasons; they used it to play Five Card Draw.

  Lyn grinned and opened the door, heading over to good ole Lolly, her great-grandmother on her father’s side. She was born Beatrice Rose McKenzie—the last true Daughter of Eve—but Lyn’s great-grandad had always called her Lolly Pop. Lyn had no idea why, but the nickname stuck.

  Gran’s green eyes lit up when she noticed Lyn, and the cigarette between her lips fell to the table.

  “Jesus, Lolly, that thing’s lit! You’re going to burn the cards.” Sheryl Holiday, a frequent patient who always clung to Gran’s side, was old enough to be Lyn’s mother and just as blonde.

  “Hush,” said Gran. “My great-granddaughter is here.”

  Sheryl twisted in her seat to look over her shoulder as Lyn joined them. “Well hey, look what the cat dragged in.”

  Lyn bent down and hugged Sheryl. “Hey yourself. Guess they couldn’t get rid of you, huh?”

  “Are you kidding? Three square meals a day and all the pharmaceuticals I want? They’d have to shoot me first.”

  “Oh Sheryl, honestly.” Gran smiled at Lyn and opened her arms. “Come here, my little mandolin. Give me some love.”

  Lyn hugged her great-grandmother, bending low to reach her in her wheelchair. “Gran, why are you wearing a turtleneck sweater? It’s like a hundred degrees outside.”

  “Oh, it’s this dang air conditioner. They always crank it too low in the summer. I woke with a sore throat this morning and didn’t want to take my chances. Carlos is taking me to movie night. They’re playing Gone with the Wind.”

  Lyn released her great-grandmother and arched her eyebrow. “Carlos?”

  “He’s new. Moved in last week.”

  “And apparently into cougar snatch.” Sheryl waggled her eyebrows. “If you know what I mean.”

  Lyn wrinkled her nose. “Gran, that’s gross.”

  “What? It’s perfectly healthy to have a little companionship at my age.”

  “Is that what the kids call it these days?” said Sheryl.

  “Ugh, seriously stop.” Lyn squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m going to gag.” She shook her head and opened her eyes. “I can’t believe my great-grandmother is getting more action than I am.”

  Sheryl laughed.

  “Why is that, darling?” Gran picked up her cigarette and held it to her lips. “Who are you holding out for?”

  “I’m not—Jesus, never mind. And you’re not allowed to smoke in here, Gran. Where did you even get that?”

  “Well …” Gran looked at Sheryl and upped her brow.

  Sheryl frowned. “She’s a crook. She stole my entire pack.”

  “I won your entire pack. Fair and square.”

  Lyn rolled her eyes. It was like looking into the future. Her and Angie’s future. “Okay Gran, I’m going to borrow you for a minute. I suggest you put out that smoke before someone sees you. Sheryl, I’d tell you to toss the rest of it in the trash, but I know you won’t, so do me a favor and hide them before a nurse reports it to your counselor.”

  Sheryl winked in response.

  Lyn grabbed the handlebars of her great-grandmother’s wheelchair and rolled her into the hall. Her gaze went to Gran’s left knee, swollen and bumpy under her pant leg, and she bit her lip, wondering if she should ask how it was feeling. The knee needed surgery, but neither of them could afford it, and it killed Lyn inside.

  “Where are we going, dear?”

  “For a walk, I guess,” said Lyn. “I’d take you outside for some fresh air, but you’d melt in that sweater and it wouldn’t be very attractive for Carlos.” She was only half joking. The sweater was long-sleeved and thick. Probably wool.

  “Good thinking,” said Gran. “Oh, how’s your friend Angela?”

  “She’s great.” Lyn pushed and talked. “One more year of school, and then she’ll be a certified accountant.”

  “And you? What have you been doing with your time, mandolin?”

  Lyn winced. She knew Gran hated that she’d dropped out of high school without so much as a G.E.D. “I got a new client. You remember my paranormal investigations business, right?”

  Gran chuckled. “Oh, honey. I didn’t think you’d go through with it.”

  Lyn snorted. “Well, I did. And I could use your help with something.”

  She walked them into the waiting room outside the counselors’ offices, a cozy sitting area with a flower-print couch and decorative mantel. Currently empty, Lyn figured the room was as good a spot as any to discuss possible demon happenings.

  She parked Gran’s chair at one end of the couch then reached into her pocket for Mr. Emerson’s sketch. As she sat beside her great-grandmother, she unfolded the sheet of notebook paper and smoothed it out over her lap. “Can you tell me anything about this sigil?”

  Gran lifted her reading glasses to her nose. “Hmm. I suppose it means something to somebody.”

  “But you don’t recognize it?”

  “Nope.” Gran lowered her lenses. “Sweetie, you do realize most of the cases you take are going to be utter horse shit.”

  “Language, Gran. And yes, I do. That’s what makes it the perfect job. I get paid to do nothing.”

  Lolly laughed. “Great, my last living relative is a con artist.”

  “Hey, if the Emersons feel better believing their daughter was murdered by a Satanist, who am I to correct them?”

  Gran arched her eyebrows. “Was she?”

  “Killed by a Satanist?” Lyn shrugged. “Not according to you.”

  Gran snorted. “We deal with actual demons. Not their so-called followers.”

  Lyn nodded. She already knew that. “By the way, have you noticed an increase in activity lately?”

  She didn’t need to specify what kind of activity.

  “In here? Where do I start?”

  Right. Mental illness is a common side effect of possession. But those people lived behind bars in the West wing, where neither Lyn nor Gran could do anything to help them.

  “Do you remember,” Gran started slowly, “when we used to write letters to each other in code? You were very young.”

  Lyn smiled. “I remember.”

  The code had been a way for them to talk about demons and the curse; a way for Lyn to ask her great-grandmother questions without her parents knowing. They passed notes to each other under the table at family functions and mailed each other letters when they were apart. Lyn wasn’t sure when they stopped, but she would’ve guesstimated around the time Gran was sent to live in the ward. A lot of things had stopped when Gran was committed.

  “I’d like to do that again,” said Gran.

  Lyn chuckled. “Don’t I visit you enough?” She flinched. The question sounded colder than she meant and she regretted it immediately. Of course she’d write to Gran if that made her happy. Lyn would make an effort to visit more often too.

  Lolly smiled up at her. “Oh it’s nothing, dear. Don’t you worry.”

  Lyn gave her great-grandmother an apologetic look. “I’d love to write you again, Gran. It’s no problem.”

  “In code,” she insisted.

  “All right, in code.” Lyn furrowed her brow. Should she be worried that Gran wanted to tell her something in code? “Is everything okay here? No one’s mistreating you, are they? Is it Carlos? Blink twice if you’re in trouble.”

  “Oh Lyn,” Gran scolded.
“Don’t be so dramatic.”

  Lyn upped her brow. She was dramatic? O-kay. She folded Mr. Emerson’s sketch and stood to shove the paper into her pocket.

  Gran reached out and snatched Lyn’s wrist with speed that was a testament to the training she’d done in her youth. “What is this really about?”

  “Me? You’re the one talking about coded messages.” Lyn laughed, but she sounded nervous.

  “Evelyn …” Gran’s eyes were a hazel-green that changed colors with her mood. They looked a particularly sharp shade of emerald right now. “I know you better than your own parents did. Something’s eating you, pumpkin. The last time you were this tense …”

  Lyn lowered her gaze. She knew what Gran was thinking; the last time I was this out of sorts with myself, my family had been murdered.

  “It’s nothing like that, Gran, I promise. It’s just …”

  I’ve accidentally bound myself to a demon—and not just any demon, but an effing Greater demon. What do I do? How do I unbind him before he loses his patience? How do I kill him without killing myself?

  Lyn winced. She knew the answer to those questions. Nothing. She could do nothing. And she wouldn’t burden Gran with that kind of worry. “It’s just this case,” she lied. “Four girls committed suicide after carving that sigil into their chests, but the parents of one think it was murder. It’s kind of a big deal. I don’t want to screw it up. So, thanks for your help with the sigil.”

  “Lyn …” Gran gazed up at her and then hesitated.

  Lyn almost asked what?

  But Gran shook her head and smiled sadly. “Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”

  5

  Angelic Dictionaries

  “A re you going to tell me what your great-grandmother said?”

  They were on the road. Lyn had been lost in thought since she left the hospital and hadn’t said anything to Sam while peeling out of the parking lot.

  “Still not speaking to me?” He grumbled.

  “The sigil doesn’t mean anything,” said Lyn. “Gran didn’t recognize it.”