Exhumed

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  I hauled myself over the bed and to Nate’s side as his hand extended and he uttered, “Parietis” in a hushed tone. The demon ran at us and I tensed, but it struck a barrier just past the bed.

  “Good warlock. You get a cookie.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It’s not Mishka. She can’t summon anything.”

  “It’s been six years.”

  “Yes, but a summoner is a particular breed of witch and no one in her family could do that.”

  “Except her mother who summoned her demonic father—”

  Nate sighed. “That’s the only case. Mishka cannot summon a Rakshasa.”

  Dread plummeted pretty hard in my stomach. I was familiar with many summoned demons—and the really, really bad ones. “Rakshasa?”

  “Yes. Now put some clothes on, dear.”

  Clothes. That I could do. My dresser consisted of quick clothing—the basics I might need in a hurry when not venturing to my walk-in closet. I slipped on black panties and a bra, feeling much, much better and more secure with the girls bound in full lace cups.

  The Rakshasa hadn’t moved, just watching us with those glowing eyes. He’d stopped bleeding black on my hardwood but I had a feeling that shit would stain.

  “So who can summon them?” I got the last clasp hooked on my bra and reached for a tank top.

  One of the knives clattered to the ground and the demon raised a horribly clawed black hand, fingers splayed.

  “This is...not good.” Nate was backing up and I abandoned the tank top, deciding to join him ’cause if he was freaked out, I didn’t really need a reason as to why.

  The Rakshasa clawed the air where the barrier was and the atmosphere sparked angrily, noise like metal on metal grinding. I winced, fought not to cover my ears because I needed my hands ready.

  “Zar,” Nate said softly.

  “Nate?”

  “Get your guns.”

  I squeezed between him and the dresser and yanked open my closet doors, bolted forward without bothering to hit the light. Something crashed in the other room; I resisted the urge to look and instead swiped my shoes out of the way and yanked the Micro Tavor out from behind them. Right hand locked on the rifle, left fed it a magazine, and I ran back to the bedroom.

  Naked but for a bra and panties, carting around an assault rifle. I bet I looked hot.

  The scent of blood tinged the air—had to be Nate’s as I didn’t smell anything when the creature bled before. The Rakshasa demon was across the room with his back to me, a huge, imposing shape blocking out anything beyond, and I didn’t see Nate so that’s where he had to be.

  I raised the gun. “Now’s a good time to duck.”

  The Rakshasa turned, red eyes narrowing on me.

  I squeezed the trigger and bullets ripped through its torso, spraying black across the wall. New floors and a new paint job, probably.

  I hit the end of the magazine. Waited.

  It hadn’t gone down; in fact it twisted and roared, and a knife twirled through the air toward my head. I ducked and it clattered behind me, striking one of the mirrors at the back. The ground rumbled as the demon ran for me; I discarded the gun, glanced around for another—

  But the Rakshasa stumbled forward, smacked the doorjamb, and went down under Nate. The warlock had his knee in its back, hands on its head, and he gave the skull a twist. Skin tore, black ichor fell, and bone cracked.

  Silence.

  Nate remained crouched on the body, sweat slicking his skin. Still in the towel and that took some talent. He cast the head aside where it rolled on the hardwood and dragged the back of his forearm over his sweaty forehead, as his hands were currently covered in demon blood. He glanced up at me with a slight frown. “So that’s vampire strength?”

  “Yep.” I walked over and toed the demon’s shoulder. It didn’t move. “My poor floor.”

  Nate rose and crossed the room again, one hand outstretched as he felt the air. “He tore a hole to get in here.”

  “Dimensional?”

  He nodded.

  “You know, I would not object to you reinforcing the place with magic now that you’re around.”

  “Will do, though I doubt we should stay here.” He glanced over his hands, then the claw marks—not from me—across his shoulder that were bleeding steadily. “I think I’ll shower first. Again.”

  “Opposed to a little company?”

  He grinned as he walked by, and I got warm all over, straight down to my toes. “I actually insist upon it.” Thankfully he didn’t grab for me with his demon bloody hands and I hopped over the body to go and join him.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Awkward Welcome Party

  I turned on my phone to find seven missed calls from Nicolette. I skipped the messages and just rang her back immediately while I dragged clothes on the rack, deciding on what to wear.

  She answered after one ring. “I was this close to sending Peri and Ryann over to check on you!”

  Peri and Ryann because it was daylight—early evening, in fact, which in the summer meant loads of sunshine. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Confined to my bedroom, sure, because I knew sun leaked in through my broken apartment window. We’d stuffed towels along the crack between the door and the floor the night before and sealed the rest of the frame with duct tape just in case. “He’s fine too.”

  “Well, I’m tres glad to hear it. Then you won’t be distracted when I tell you I’ve already received four calls from former clients requesting proof that their targets were, in fact, eliminated.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. “Who?”

  “Amita Singh—”

  “What the fuck—I sent her the guy’s head! And dick!” Honestly, never rape a young girl, not only because it’s a horrible thing to do, but because she might grow up to have enough money to hire someone like me to cut your dick off, shove it down your throat, and then tear your head from your body.

  I put a bow on that package. It seemed justified.

  “This got out and everyone’s buzzing about it,” Nic continued. “You’re certain Vasquez didn’t tell anyone else?”

  “No, I shot her in the head as soon as possible. Maybe she told people—but someone told her, who presumably told others.” I jerked my arms into a black sheer blouse and let it hang open over a solid burgundy cami. “It gets worse. Like, seventeen thousand more levels of worse. First, I was attacked in my bedroom today by a Rakshasa demon who tore through dimensions to get in here.”

  “Oh...my.”

  “Yeah.”

  “There are very, very few summoners who they will work for.”

  “Yeah. It gets better: Nate tells me this one came in and attacked without using any illusions, which means it was probably forced here. Commanded to pop in and kill, not remotely autonomous.”

  “You must’ve really pissed someone off.”

  “Big surprise.” I sighed. “And guess what else: Mishka’s alive.”

  “What?”

  I slipped on a pair of black jeans next, pinning my phone between my ear and shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “I thought that—”

  “No one raised her—she never died.” I should have suspected. I never actually saw a body. Scream? Check. Blood? Check. Apartment building exploding? You bet. But like a soap opera, never trust a slippery witch if you haven’t seen the body, torn out the heart, and set her on fire.

  “So...”

  “Yeah. Apocalypse now. Check with Peri again about anything she might remember. We stopped their ritual to open the dimension but nowhere did I hear about what they were planning to do to the world once Mish got here.” And to think, Delarosa and her cronies nearly killed Nic to raise someone who wasn’t even fucking dead. “And that prophecy thing that Sean said? Contact Abel, give it to him, and see if he can find anything in Venatores Daemonum’s records about it. Father Matthew was in contact with the Veil, so he’d know about this. There might be something Abel can find.” Always good to have a man on the inside who likes extra
cash and is too old to believe half of what his douchebag organization tells him.

  “Got it. What else?”

  I dropped to sit on the plush stool by my shoe rack to slip on a pair of socks. “She knows he’s alive and she knows where I live. Walked right into my fucking apartment—”

  “How did you not—”

  “Was otherwise engaged. Anyway, strolled right in and threw me through a window. This place isn’t safe. We’re gonna crash with you in the suburbs, but I can’t drive in daylight. We’ll have to take the emergency exit—can you direct Ryann to meet us there so she can take us in the truck?”

  “Sure.”

  I stood, grabbed a bag hanging on the wall, and started throwing clothes into it. I had a “go bag” already packed, of course, but it was in the downstairs hall closet hanging on a peg, and getting there would involve crossing the sunlight currently streaming through my window. “Keep looking into precisely what the fuck Hell Bitch Redux might want.”

  “Wouldn’t it be to kill Nate?”

  You’d think so, but it looked more like a would-be snogging session. “I don’t know. But it sounded like she wanted to get him alone, which is not happening any time this century. Tell Ry I’ll be expecting her within the half hour at the garage, so she’d better move her ass.” I hung up and stuffed the phone in my back pocket, then slipped on a pair of boots.

  Nate moved in the doorway in the corner of my eye, sexy as hell in a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. He’d filled out beautifully, all lean and toned muscle. “Where are we going?”

  “To stay with my assistant and your sister-in-law.” Most fucked up family tree ever. I grabbed a black duffel bag, tossed it on the box of men’s things I’d had ready for him, and nodded in its direction. “Get dressed and pack. I’m sorry I can’t get anything else at the moment—I didn’t know what to have around, what you’d like, and a shopping trip would be real nice right about now, but—”

  He crossed the closet to reach me, scooped my face up in his hands, and kissed me long and deep; only when my knees started to melt did I realize I was jittery, shaking, completely frazzled and my heart was beating at a hummingbird pace. Considering I was nearly assassinated an hour ago, it was to be expected, but still shocked me.

  His forehead touched mine. “We’ll figure this out.”

  Oh, like I was just freaked out that a Rakshasa was forced after me by someone wicked powerful and his dead wife was still alive. Nope, try again: how about that she faked her death and I didn’t know about it. I survived by remaining several steps ahead of everyone. She bested me not once but twice now, including the whole “I secretly have a husband and I’m the antichrist’s daughter, blah blah blah” thing.

  Yes. We’d figure this out. But in the meantime, I was thrown off kilter and it would take some getting used to.

  But it’ll help when I finally shoot the fucking bitch in the head, darling. “Yeah. I know.” I pressed a peck to his lips and leaned down to zip up my boots. “Get dressed and while we wait for Ry in the truck, I’ll tell you about the time we raised your brother’s spirit and he possessed the Demon Hunter’s psychic boyfriend for a week...”

  ****

  Nicolette and Persephone lived outside the city in the suburbs, but not the townhouse or even semi-detached kind. They had a good sized bungaloft—a bungalow with a loft—on a corner lot, on a quiet street with a handful of older retired couples and a few young families. Peri apparently liked the city but didn’t object to some peace and quiet. She was damaged—to which I responded, join the fucking club and maybe one day you can succeed me as president—and this gave her a place to recover. Not suited for work outside the home—what with her penchant for blowing things up and killing people—she apparently did freelance graphic design for faraway clients she couldn’t murder with a garrote when they pissed her off, so both she and Nic were covering the mortgage.

  Vampire and demon life partners with mortgages. Somewhere, some religious types were keeling over at the thought.

  Ryann had brought along Ellie, which was good ’cause this called for Avengers Assemble Part Deux and I needed everyone on board. Nic had prepared for us, leaving a space in the garage for the truck, and once the door was down, Nate and I climbed out. Peri cracked open the side door for us, her typical scowl greeting me, and we piled inside.

  The house was an odd mix of old and new; Nic liked colour and excess, Peri liked simplicity and order, so it was a little like an interior decorator with bipolar disorder had gone through the space. An orange wall here, a sleek modern table against a white wall there. Random red tiles across the floor in the kitchen with white cabinets and not even a single magnet out of place on the fridge. Living room had the plain hardwood floor but three of the walls had striped yellow wallpaper.

  The windows were all fitted with metal blinds similar to my own apartment and as long as Mish didn’t show up to throw me through another one, we should be safe.

  “Abel just rang me back,” Nic called from her computer. Their living room was set up like a dual office, with Peri’s desk and PC on one side of the room and Nic’s on the other. L-shaped dark green sofa and TV sat in between but they didn’t get a lot of guests and so it was mostly an office space. “He’s never heard of that prophecy though he’s mostly familiar with Revelations, but he’s scanning some things he found.”

  “Abel?” Ryann repeated behind me.

  I shrugged. Maybe I should’ve told her that. “Yeah, he’s been on my payroll the past year.”

  “Is everything okay there? Christian’s okay?”

  I all but winced as I caught Ellie glancing away, a spark of irritation in the grinding of his jaw. Damn nun was clueless that it bothered him. “Haven’t heard anything bad.”

  She didn’t ask more, thank god.

  “Guest rooms are ready.” Nic’s gaze moved to Peri. “Can you take the bags over?”

  “Why the fuck do I have to be the hostess?” Peri snapped.

  Methinks she wasn’t thrilled at having the houseguests. I rolled my eyes. “I’ll figure it out—go put the grenades away, Peri.” Nate followed me down a hall of laminate faux-wood flooring where the guest rooms lay—since the place was a backup safe house, I knew they’d be well-stocked as I’d seen to my potential room myself two months ago. Weapon rack just inside the door, gun holstered behind each nightstand. Cash, one change of clothes, mini-fridge stacked with VBA pouches. I hefted our bags onto the bed and slipped out of my four inch heeled boots.

  “I can’t believe you have friends.”

  I turned to see Nate grinning at me. “Don’t start.”

  “You do. Actual friends.” His arms snaked around my waist. “It’s cute.”

  “It is not!”

  “Yep.” He kissed the tip of my nose and I flexed my fingers into a fist in preparation to punch him. “Cute.”

  “You’re coming off the Christmas card list for that.”

  He kissed me and I leaned shamelessly into him.

  I sighed contentedly. “Remind me again that you’re really you and I don’t have to keep you chained up anymore.”

  “I’m really me and I’m going to chain you up in retribution for a while.” His lips landed on my nose again. “Because you’re cute.”

  I shouldered my way out of his arms and trudged down the hall. Fighting not to grin. Stupid boy and his effortless charm.

  I hoped the bedroom was relatively soundproof for later.

  We returned to the living room and I dropped to sit at the apex of the L-couch like I owned the damn thing. Nate sat next to me, eying the others he didn’t know beyond a glimpse yesterday, and they all sort of smiled awkwardly in return. When I swung my legs up on his lap, his hand rubbed at my ankle idly. I stretched and settled down, wiggling my toes happily.

  “So. Introductions.” I pointed to my tired-looking blonde assistant first where she sat at the computer. “Nicolette Levesque, vampire. Also a pacifist hippy. She would’ve been your godmother a
nd helped you if I died horribly before you awoke, which is possible in my line of work.” Next I jerked my finger in the opposite direction to the bitch at the other computer. “Persephone Takata. Quarter-demon and your sister-in-law. She tried to turn you over to your brother’s ghost but we forgave her. Apparently.” Ry and Ellie sat at the kitchen island, awaiting their further instructions, so I finished with them. “Ryann David, nun.”

  Her eyes narrowed.

  “Ex-nun I mean. Demon Hunter. Also a hippy. And then Ellie Rhys, psychic who talked to Peter for you. People-who-aren’t-friends-but-more-like-coworkers,” a glare when Nate smirked at me, “this is Nathan O’Connor.”

  Uncomfortable silence took up. Jeez, they weren’t very welcoming.

  “Nice to meet you when you’re not trying to kill everyone,” Ellie said helpfully.

  “Uh, and thanks for the time you killed the guy who killed my family,” Peri said, then cleared her throat and avoided Nate’s gaze. “Plus sorry for the time I tried to sell you out to him.”

  Nate shifted at my side. “You’re welcome. And...thanks, I guess.”

  “I’m going to print out what Abel is sending.” Nic swung her chair up to face the desk again and the printer began spitting out paper. “He’s hunting around the ‘secure’ rooms and taking photos.”

  The doorbell rang and Peri rose to get it, being that she was the only regular occupant of the home who could do so in daylight. A moment later, she rounded the corner from the front hall, frowning with a long slim box in her arms. Flowers, by the look of it.

  So help me fucking god if that skank sent Nate flowers, I would tear her fingernails out. Though I’d probably do it even if she didn’t.

  But Peri dropped the box on the couch beside me. “They’re for you.”

  “Well.” I eyed the box; it was long and white, a red bow around it. “Not like I’m opposed to random gifts but anyone want to assure me there isn’t a bomb in it? Or, y’know, Rakshasa demons?”

  “Rakshasa couldn’t fit in there.” Nate deadpanned. I smacked him playfully.