Demon Fire (The Angel Fire Book 3)

by Marie Johnston

  “Fine. Let’s go.”

  Sierra blinked at his abrupt attitude change. “I need a laptop.”

  “We’ll pick one up at the next town that sells them.” Where were they going anyway?

  Alma pushed out of her chair—slowly. “Now, just wait a minute.”

  “Looks like we don’t need you.” Sierra gripped the grocery bag and spun. “Let’s go.”

  “They’ll kill this host when they try to find me.”

  Sierra stopped. A beat of relief passed through Boone. She cared about the woman. Who “they” were and how they would hurt Alma, or her personality Sandeen, he wasn’t sure.

  She met his gaze. “He’s right. Alma’s innocent in all this.”

  “We call the police as we leave. Jim might be breathing, but he could be seriously hurt.” He got his phone from his jacket pocket. As he called in the report, Sierra got into her coat and grabbed Alma’s bag. Alma shrugged into her own coat. “I’m parked down the street,” he said and they charged outside, Sierra and Alma first.

  His foot had hit the sidewalk, one arm stretched behind him to shut the door without locking it so the police could get in, when he nearly bumped into Alma. Looking up, he stilled.

  A tall man and a woman, just as tall, were standing at the end of the path to the sidewalk. Both were dressed in long-sleeved black shirts and black tactical pants. Neither wore winter gear of any type and both stood as if they were impervious to the cold.

  The woman with long blond hair and surreal amethyst eyes evaluated Alma. “Well,” the new woman said. “We meet again.”

  Chapter 8

  Sierra skidded to a stop. Alma knocked into her, but the host’s slight weight was hardly noticeable.

  “Harlowe. Urban.” She swallowed hard. It’d been almost three months since she’d seen her teammates but those months could’ve been a day. All the same emotions were there. Longing. Regret. Betrayal.

  The last one was laughable. She’d betrayed her team. When they’d found out, they’d worked with her long enough to catch the angel who’d blackmailed her. Then they’d carted her into custody. None of them had spoken up during her sentencing. She hadn’t looked up to see if they’d been in the audience when Winger had carved her downy wings from her back. She still didn’t know if it would be better or worse if they had witnessed her demise.

  “What are you doing with—” Harlowe’s jaw clenched. She couldn’t say what she wanted around Boone. “This. Thing.”

  “That’s Sandeen,” Sierra answered.

  “I know.”

  Right. His name had sounded familiar, but Sierra hadn’t had time to scour her memory banks. When Harlowe said his name, Sierra finally recalled the report. Sandeen had encountered Harlowe and her leader’s mate outside of the human cult-slash-club Fall From Grace. Harlowe had fought him off, and she held grudges. Plus, he was a demon.

  “And this is Boone. We told him about us, but he doesn’t believe it yet.”

  “Sierra,” Harlowe hissed.

  “What does it matter?” Sierra adjusted her hold on her bags. Sandeen’s bag was small but heavy. “I’m fallen and he’ll be targeted because he helped me. Unless you want to march up to the senate and ask for permission to expend personnel to watch him, he had to be told. Go ahead. I’m sure you’ll get a lot of volunteers when they learn they might see me.”

  Urban crossed his arms. The warriors blocked the path, and Sierra was ready to charge through the snow on the lawn to get to Boone’s pickup. Would he follow?

  A roar came from inside the house. Either Jim was pissed, or Gerzon had taken hold of Jim once again—and was pissed.

  Sandeen lifted the luggage in her fingers. “That’s our signal. Time to go.”

  “Got it,” Urban said and slipped around them.

  Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Shit. They had a minute, maybe two, before they were busted at the scene by the police. “Are the others coming?” The rest of her team. They had believed her. Harlowe and Urban had used the Mist to get to Alma’s house faster. They might despise her, but they’d believed her.

  Harlowe’s lips pursed. “You don’t seem to mind putting our wings at risk.” Her eyes flared as she realized she’d said too much around Boone. Sandeen chortled.

  Sierra shouldn’t have expected any less, but Harlowe’s accusation stung. “Those laws are stupid and probably protect the senate more than anyone in the realm. More demons are coming. I can take care of myself. You don’t have to deal with me. But if this Andy can get demons to do his bidding, then you need more than Urban.”

  “We have yet to confirm your message.”

  The door banged open and Urban stormed out. “Damn thing got away. The human is fine but will need medical attention.”

  A furrow formed in Boone’s forehead, as if working out why, exactly, Urban was also delusional enough to believe Jim was possessed.

  “The police are coming. We have to go,” Sierra said.

  Harlowe and Urban exchanged glances. “We’re coming with.”

  “Ask Boone. It’s his vehicle.” She pushed past Harlowe and ignored all the memories that surfaced. Her and Harlowe watching movies during long stakeouts. Talking about the other guys on the team and their more annoying, but endearing traits. Training together and then rejoicing when they got on the same team. An ache yawned open in her chest. She was never going to have that again with Harlowe.

  By the time Sierra made it to the pickup, Boone was by the driver’s side. “We need to pick up Alma. She can’t walk that fast.”

  Sierra didn’t argue that the woman wasn’t Alma right now. She climbed in. Boone pulled up to the driveway opening and Urban helped Alma inside. His lips twisted in disgust at helping a demon, but even he could tell Sandeen wasn’t pushing the host beyond her capabilities. The bag got tossed in the box and Harlowe and Urban bookended Sandeen in the back seat.

  “You didn’t have to frisk me,” Sandeen grumbled.

  “Yes, I did,” Urban replied.

  “I’d rather she did it.”

  Did he have to antagonize Harlowe?

  Boone pulled away and drove calmly past Alma’s house. He turned the corner, and Sierra checked the mirrors. A police car tore around the other end of the block where Boone had been parked. They’d made it out in time.

  Boone turned toward the highway that led out of town and south toward Wyoming.

  “Where are we going?”

  Boone navigated around the curve of the highway, and the city stretched out in front of them. Darkness had descended hours ago and the lights of Las Vegas brightened the horizon.

  He couldn’t escape the feeling that they were driving into the lion’s den. The day after he’d rescued Sierra, she had mentioned that she’d lived in Vegas. Harlowe and Urban claimed they had orders to go to Vegas. Alma—Sandeen—had the “I’m with you boys” attitude. For three of the four, Las Vegas was relevant. Sierra hadn’t lied about that, at least.

  The entire time they were on the road, he learned all about Sierra’s world. Her explanations of a realm of angels called Numen—both the realm and the angels. Daemon, a realm of demons. The three levels of demons—sylphs, symasters, and archmasters. Or were there four? He’d never look at a gargoyle the same again.

  Sandeen was called an archmaster, and Harlowe had grilled him about why he wasn’t monstrous and leathery. Which had led to Sandeen pestering her about how sexy she thought he was. So demons were normally ugly. Got it. Apparently, the others were able to see what Sandeen really looked like when all Boone could see was Alma.

  By the time the lights of Sin City spread before him, Boone wasn’t sure if he was the only one living in reality, or the only one left out of a great cosmic secret.

  These people talked about this world as simply and as detailed as he’d describe his time being an agent and the realities of being undercover.

  Sylphs were street dealers. Symasters? They were like the midlevel dealers who ran the street dealers who
sold the most drugs. But the middlemen could only play at being the big dog. They didn’t have the connections or the money or, most importantly, the power to control others. Lacking political connections and the ruthlessness to hurt innocent people to make a point, they couldn’t be a drug lord. Archmasters were like drug lords.

  Boone propped his elbow by the window and scrubbed his face, his mind buzzing with all the information. Sierra hadn’t told him as much about Numen—she’d made Sandeen tell him what he knew so “the demon” wouldn’t learn anything new about their realm.

  She didn’t elaborate on what had happened to her, and neither did Urban or Harlowe. And at no point did she tell the others she was pregnant. She hadn’t confirmed it to him, but when he’d asked about bathroom breaks, she’d given him a knowing look.

  She had people after her and instead of getting farther away from danger, they were getting closer.

  Harlowe’s tone hadn’t left room for him to argue. He was just the driver.

  “Where do I go, you know, since I can’t use my map app? On my phone.” The one they’d made him toss outside of Green Valley. Andy has wicked skills. He might be able to track you.

  In for a penny . . .

  Boone had gone with it. How far was he going to follow this troupe of . . . He had no name for them. Sierra called Harlowe and Boone warriors. Still angels, but they did something called a morph to hide their wings on Earth. All he knew was that he couldn’t return to his isolated life in the mountains without all the questions eating him alive.

  That was the excuse he told himself about why he was driving and nodding at Sierra’s descriptions like of course there were angels and demons and they fought their battles on Earth or an in-between realm called the Mist, not to be confused with the realm between the underworld and Earth.

  For fuck’s sake.

  Had he been alone too long? Did he crave interaction? Or was it the escape from the regrets of his old life that drove him to stay a part of this group?

  One of those had to be the answer. It wasn’t the petite blonde in his passenger seat who vibrated with nerves. She was nervous around the two she claimed were her former teammates. Her suspicion of Sandeen lined her speech toward him. But when she spoke to Boone, she was the same fallen angel he’d rescued from a snowstorm.

  Fallen angel. His ironic name was what she claimed was her identity. Kicked out of the realm of angels. She was more comfortable around him than anyone else in the cab. She trusted him.

  Why was that so important?

  The screen of Harlowe’s phone lit up the inside of the cab. “I’ll give you directions to the safe house Dionna had set up.”

  Dionna, their team leader. An angel warrior. Right.

  Oh, and Sierra had been a warrior. Trained to fight demons on Earth.

  She’d taken on an adult male, supposedly possessed, but Boone had witnessed Jim’s irrational anger himself. Whatever the reason for it, Jim had been armed and was over half a foot taller than Sierra. She’d taken him down in seconds.

  Boone hated how their fantasy world matched reality so well.

  He couldn’t forget the lack of footprints around where Sierra had lain, abandoned and injured. Injuries that resembled an appendage being cut and torn from her back.

  He rubbed his face again, concentrating on Harlowe’s directions. The house was in Henderson and this was his first time in Las Vegas.

  He and Phoebe had talked about coming here. He’d never made it a priority. His work had been more important. He’d had the ability to save a lot of people. There had been no need to wear a cape or fly around. All he’d needed were the motorcycle skills he’d learned from his dad before the man had died and his detective skills. He’d only needed to be his gruff, quiet self and the club had opened their doors, believing he was just another working stiff with delusions of grandeur and badassery.

  He’d avoided Vegas because he knew too much of what went down in this town. As an ATF agent, he’d had enough of big cities and their merciless criminals. He’d wanted to escape to his Montana cabin. Phoebe had wanted a husband at her side.

  That he’d finally come to Vegas for a reason so similar to his old life made him antsy. He was tempted to ask Sierra more questions about Numen to get his mind off his former career.

  But they had reached Henderson, and the trip was nearing its end. He pulled up in front of a two-story stucco home in a neighborhood full of them. The light of the streetlamps illuminated the single patch of grass in the front yard and that of every other yard on the street. Rocks surrounded prickly bushes as landscaping. A brick-red garage door was opening thanks to some app on Harlowe’s phone. The rest of the house was a cream color that’d reflect the hot desert sun.

  He pulled into the empty garage. Was the house empty too? Was it full of regular furniture? Bookshelves and picture albums like a real family lived here? Did a real family live here while these people pretended it was a “safe house”?

  If it was empty and full of electronic surveillance equipment, would he have an easier time believing all of this?

  The garage door closed them in. He got out and stretched his cramped legs. During the drive, he’d only gotten out to fill the pickup with gas and keep an eye on Sierra as she went into the gas station with the others and wove through the aisles to the bathroom.

  One of the warriors—because why not call them that—had stayed with Alma. Sandeen took great pleasure in using the women’s restroom, leaving Harlowe the only one who could accompany him.

  Sierra got out, but Urban beat her to the box to get the luggage. He didn’t talk to her, didn’t look at her.

  The whole shun the fallen thing was real between them.

  If this was an act, these people were in 120 percent.

  Chapter 9

  “No one’s here,” Harlowe said as they walked in. The warrior had spoken to Sierra as little as possible. In the gas station bathrooms, Harlowe had given her the cold shoulder. Sandeen had taken the edge off by bickering with the other woman. “There’s only three bedrooms. You can stay with your boyfriend.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend.” The words soured in her mouth. She didn’t know what Boone was. They’d been close, sharing their worst. He hadn’t wanted to go any further than that, and it hadn’t mattered if she’d wished to or not. Boone deserved more, and she had more pressing issues to worry about.

  Like a baby and trying not to get kidnapped.

  Boone was right behind her, piling into the house, which smelled like fresh paint. The place echoed with their voices. The counters were bare and the furniture was sparse. A dining room table with a simple white top and black chairs was paired with a couch and love seat in the living room.

  The house was large, the living room the size of Boone’s entire cabin. The bathroom might even have a tub. She could go for a soak, a little time to think about the left turn and then sudden right her life had made in the same day.

  “Regardless, you two have been sharing a space.” Harlowe’s tone was as hard as her steely gaze. “You can keep doing it. Urban and I will be coming and going. There’s a pergola in the back with a waffle terrace on either side that blocks us from the neighbors.”

  No one would see them transcend. To a human, it’d look like they vanished and reappeared at random times. No wonder this house made the perfect safe house. Angels could pop in and out without raising suspicion or being seen suddenly disappearing and reappearing at all hours of the day and night.

  “I can sleep on the couch,” Boone rumbled. For a guy who’d refused to leave her side after hours of listening to what must, in his mind, be pure fiction, he sure was avoiding her now. She couldn’t blame him.

  “No can do,” Harlowe continued as Urban ushered Sandeen into the house. The host drooped like she was going to collapse. “Alma gets the main floor. The other room upstairs is for me and Urban to take turns sleeping. When we’re not sleeping, we’re going to be set up in the kitchen and living room. All the doors and win
dows have sensors. We’ll know if anyone tries to get in—or out.” She glared at Sandeen with the last part.

  Boone’s mouth flattened. Would he sleep on the floor instead? She’d hate to drive him out of another bed.

  “We’ll get you both new names,” Harlowe continued. “If anyone asks, you two will be a happily married couple caring for your aging mother. I don’t care whose mother it is but you’d better have your story straight before a horde of demons attacks the house.”

  “Then why’d we come here?” Boone shoved his hand through his hair, leaving chunks standing in all directions. “Couldn’t we be overridden with overzealous cult followers from that club you mentioned?”

  “As long as you don’t break your cover, and as long as Sandeen doesn’t roll over on you, you’ll be fine.”

  “Nice, warrior,” Sandeen muttered. “Throw me on the subway tracks.”

  Harlowe ignored him. “You two stay happily married, work from home—pick your own careers—and order in groceries and food. Make up the backstory between the three of you. The rest of the team is going to clean up the mess at Alma’s house. Make sure she has a home to go back to and that an APB hasn’t been put out on her.”

  “Who all knows we’re here?” Sierra asked. Boone put his hands on his hips, his expression intent on the answer.

  Anger glowed in Harlowe’s eyes. “That’s our business.”

  Sierra shook her head. “Not anymore.” Like it or not, she was a part of this and she wasn’t going to be a sitting duck. “Stede got to me. You think any of you are exempt?”

  Urban chose this moment of all times to speak up. “We aren’t hiding anything that can be used against us. What did they have on you again?”

  Sierra clenched her jaw and stared at him.

  “That’s what I thought. Want me to tell Director Richter ‘hi’ since we’re talking to you again?”