Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (30 page)

They ricocheted around the room, this way and that. The spider was fast, but Conall was faster; Nemesis on steroids.

The spider was no match for him. He’d kill it as easily as he’d slain the trolls. Problem was, Dancy Smith was in there, somewhere. She’d die along with the demon. Beck had to do something, and fast, or the female denizens of Hannah would be rudderless in the sea of fashion.

She scrambled around, looking for the metal pour spout. There—half buried beneath a pile of nylon panties. She snatched it up and jammed it back into the neck of the pepper sauce bottle. Conall and the demon were still going at it. The spider hissed and sputtered, bouncing around the room like a rubber ball as it tried to avoid Conall’s sword. Ropes of gauze shot out of the bug’s spinnerets and floated about, hanging lazily in the air and clinging in sticky strands to the merchandise in the store.

Watching the spider’s frantic gyrations made Beck dizzy. The spider sprang across the room and back again, landing with her big old spider butt in Beck’s face. Beck seized her chance and sprang onto the bug’s back. The orange hair covering the spider’s bloated body was stiff as wire and razor sharp.

She plunged the metal spout into the narrow waist connecting the spider’s abdomen to the head, wincing as the sharp bristles sliced her hand and wrist.

The demon leaked out of the spider and into the bottle. With a thin, whistling shriek, the monster collapsed beneath Beck like a punctured balloon. She put her thumb over the spout to keep the demon inside.

“Umph,” Dancy mumbled, her face mashed against the floor.

Beck was sitting on top of the old lady, riding her like a mechanical bull. Awkward.

With a hoarse cry, Conall yanked Beck off Dancy and into his arms. “Rebekah, are you hurt?”

“Just a few scratches.”

“Little fool.” His face was taut with anger. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking you were about to kill Dancy.” She handed him the hot sauce bottle with the demon inside. “You’d better do something with this. Keep your thumb over the opening or it’ll get out.”

Conall snarled and crumpled the metal spout like it was tinfoil.

“Or you could do that,” Beck said. The big show-off.

“What happened?” Dancy Smith sat up and spat out a glob of orange hair. “Was there a tornado?”

Poor Dancy and her store were a wreck. Both shoes were gone, Dancy’s hair resembled Verbena’s before the Jeannine makeover, and her stockings and clothes were in shreds.

Verbena helped the elderly lady to her feet and over to a chair.

“You don’t look so good, Miss Dancy,” Verbena said. “You’d best sit for a spell.” She took the bra off her head and clapped it over Dancy’s ruined coiffure. “There, so you don’t go into shock.”

Duncan appeared, a grubby child in a ragged T-shirt at his side. The little girl’s dark hair was a rat’s nest of filthy tangles.

“Where’d you get the kid?” Beck asked.

“I’m not a kid,” the little girl said, a trifle indignantly. “I’m Annie.”

“Annie?” Beck took a cautious step closer and then another, afraid she might startle the child. She blinked down into a pair of purple irises ringed in bright copper.
“Annie?”

“Yes. Can we go now? I’m hungry.”

Beck held out her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Annie took it.

“What would you like to eat?” Beck asked.

“Anything but tuna,” Annie said.

Conall handed Duncan the hot sauce bottle. “Rebekah captured a demon. Transfer it to a djevel flaskke and clean up this mess.” Sirens sounded in the distance. “Preferably before the authorities arrive.”

He bowed to Dancy. “Madam, my brother will settle our bill. We have shopped enough for one day.”

T
he next morning, Conall got up before daybreak and went fishing. He returned from the river carrying a string of trout, three big catfish, and a five-pound spotted bass, cleaned and ready to cook. Beck’s father liked to fish, but he didn’t catch much. Conall, on the other hand, was the freaking fish whisperer.

While Conall pan-seared the trout, Beck fried hash browns and cut up some fruit. She liked working in the kitchen with him. Conall went about the business of cooking with the same confidence, quiet efficiency, and attention to detail that he did everything, including sex.

Especially sex, Beck thought, her stomach fluttering at the memory of the things they’d done the night before. He’d been very efficient about that, too, though not nearly as quiet. She hadn’t been quiet, either. She’d sung several rounds of the Orgasm Song. Good thing he’d used his Dalvahni magic to sound proof their room, or Annie might have been scarred for life.

Beck took a seat at the table across from Conall, and glanced at the child to her left. Annie swung her legs back and forth under her chair. She’d turned her nose up at the fish and was finishing off a bowl of cereal.

We’re just like a real family, Beck thought with a wistful pang.
If only . . .

She unfolded the special edition of the
Hannah Herald
that had been delivered that morning. Trey Peterson’s death was big news.

“According to the
Herald,
the driver swears he ran over a spotted dog,” she told Conall, reading from a front page article. The heading read:
TIMBER TYCOON KILLED IN THE BUFF.”
He got out of his car to check, and found Trey Peterson lying in the road, naked as a baby.”

Conall took a big bite of fish and chewed thoughtfully. “ ’Twould seem he shifted ere he died.”

“Thank goodness,” Beck said. “Otherwise, some city worker would’ve dumped him in a hole with the rest of the road kill.” She shuddered. “And nobody would ever know what happened to Trey Peterson. At least this way, his family gets closure and he gets a decent burial.”

Annie put her spoon down. “I’m done.”

“Okay, go brush your teeth,” Beck said. “I need to get to work.”

“I’m going with you, right? Tommy might come back.”

Beck felt a wave of sadness. Tommy was out there, somewhere, struggling against his zombie nature.

“Yes, but first you have to brush your teeth,” Beck said.

“I brushed them last night. Jeez.”

“Nonetheless, you will brush them again,” Conall said calmly. “Now.”

Grumbling, Annie trudged out of the kitchen.

Beck shook her head in amazement. A bath and some new clothes, and Annie looked like any other eight-year-old girl, with her dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and tied with a ribbon. The bath had been something of a challenge. From what they’d been able to learn, Annie’s mother had died when Annie was a toddler, and the orphaned child had become a ward of the state. Annie had bounced around a lot, never staying long with any family. Reading between the lines and remembering her own childhood mishaps, Beck suspected Annie’s kith abilities had freaked out her norm foster parents.

In fairness to the norms, Annie’s banshee routine scared the crap out of most supers, too.

Annie had run away from her last placement, and she’d been on her own for more than two years, surviving in cat form by living off the land. Annie Glenn was one tough little cookie. Annie the cat, however, did not like water, which made bath time interesting.

The child had been filthy—it had taken two tubs of water to get her clean. She’d reminded Beck of the character Newt from the movie
Alien,
with her matted hair and sometimes feral behavior. Beck had feared she might have to shave the child’s head. She’d put in a distress call to Verbena, who’d shown up with Toby and a bottle of Fiona Fix-It. Beck had no idea what Evie Douglass Dalvahni put in the miracle product she’d concocted, but Beck wanted to buy stock in it. It had cleaned and tamed Annie’s grubby, snarled locks in one application.

Contrary to Conall’s declaration that he’d had enough shopping for one day, he’d bravely gone back to town Tuesday afternoon armed with Annie’s measurements, a tracing of her feet, and a list. Beck had asked him to get the child a few things, just enough to tide them over. Conall Claus had returned laden with packages. Dottie Wise, the owner of Toodles, Hannah’s only clothing store for kids, was doing a happy dance somewhere, celebrating her biggest sale ever.

There were shoes—Sunday shoes, sneakers, clearance sandals left over from the summer, flip-flops, boots, Mary Janes, and four pairs of fuzzy house slippers in assorted colors. There were dresses, casual and flouncy; more than twenty in all. There were jeans and stretch pants, tops, blouses, sweaters, and three coats—a wool one for Sunday and two jackets. A huge shopping bag contained tights, socks, under things, and pj’s; another bag was stuffed with girly doodads, including bows, hair ribbons, barrettes, headbands, and scrunchies.

A smaller sack overflowed with assorted costume rings, bracelets, and necklaces. There was a jewelry box to hold all the bling, and even a tiara. Conall also produced a teddy bear; a stuffed unicorn; a Madame Alexander doll; a hand-painted rocking horse; an easel, paints, and brushes; puzzles; a tea set; and three bags of books.

“Holy shit,” Beck said when she’d seen the haul. “I asked you to get a couple of things, not buy the frigging store.”

“I did not buy the store.” Conall crossed his arms on his wide chest and looked superior. “I purchased enough that we do not have to go back.”

“She’s a
kid,
” Beck had said. “They grow.”

A frown line appeared between Conall’s black brows. “I confess, I did not think of that.” He shrugged. “Then we will purchase more.”

We.
Beck sighed. She liked the sound of that, way too much, but she mustn’t get sucked into that kind of thinking. Conall would leave. It was inevitable. Today, tomorrow, or next month, but he would leave. The thought made her insides shrivel, so she pushed it away. He wasn’t gone yet.

“Why do you sigh?” Conall asked, recalling Beck to the present.

Beck folded up the paper and set it down. “Just thinking about Annie. I don’t want her raised in a bar like me.”

“Come here,” he said softly.

Beck got up and went around the table and sat in his lap.

“Annie will be fine,” he said, nuzzling her throat with his lips. “Already, you are a wonderful mother to her. You cannot help it. It is in your nature.”

Beck put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Thanks,” she murmured against his sensuous, serious mouth. “I needed that. I have no idea what I’m doing. I never thought I’d get the chance to find out.”

Conall wrapped his hands around her wrists and looked her in the eye, his expression solemn.

Here it comes, Beck thought, bracing herself.
Here’s where he says sayonara.

“That is something I have been meaning to talk to you about,” he said. “Are you certain this contraceptive procedure you had worked?”

“Sure,” Beck said. “Why wouldn’t it?”

“The kith regenerate, do they not? The situation might have reversed itself.”

Beck gaped at him in shock. “I never thought of that.”

She should have. Once the bullet was removed, Toby’s leg had healed in a matter of hours. She felt like an idiot.

Conall cleared his throat. “Even if your reproductive organs did not regenerate on their own, it is . . . possible I unknowingly rectified the matter.”

“Say what?”

“The other night after the gathering, I healed your wounds. Remember?”

She recalled his gentle touch and the light and heat that had flooded from his hands to her body—her entire body. Conall Dalvahni was nothing if not thorough.

Her heart hammered. “And we’ve been going at it like rabbits. You’re trying to tell me I might be pregnant.”

Nah, what were the odds? Some people tried for years to get pregnant, like Jason and Brenda.

And other people got pregnant at the drop of a hat.

“I thought you should know,” Conall said.

A baby. With Conall. It was hard to process. It was a disaster, right? Then why did she feel like grinning?

“What about you?” she blurted. “Won’t you get in trouble for fraternizing with the enemy? You could get drummed out of the Dalvahni. This must be your worst nightmare.”

“My worst nightmare is something happening to you.” He slipped his arms around her and held her close. “Yesterday, when you threw yourself on top of that monster, my heart stopped and my bones turned to water.”

Beck held her breath. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying that I—”

Junior Peterson materialized. “You better get to the bar and quick. Earl Skinner just pulled up. Hank’s at his house and Toby’s in the woods looking for Tommy. Verbena’s there by herself.”

 

Beck squealed into her parking place at the bar and slammed the truck into park. “Stay with Annie,” she told Conall. “I’ll deal with pretzel dick.”

“No,” Conall said.

“Yes.”
Beck jumped out of the truck. “Let me handle this.”

If Earl looked at her cross-eyed, Conall would take his head off. Then she’d have another dead Skinner on her hands and there’d be questions, and the sheriff, and no end of hassle.

She slammed the truck door and ran for the employee entrance. There were raised voices coming from the kitchen when she stepped inside. She hurried down the hall.

“—ain’t going anywhere with you, Earl,” she heard Verbena say.

“You’ll do what you’re told, Beenie,” Earl said. Beck recognized his nasal voice. “Things are in the crapper since Daddy died. Quit screwing around and get your ass home.”

“I done told you, I ain’t going.”

Beck heard the meaty smack of a fist hitting flesh, and a cry of pain. The sorry sack had hit Verbena.

Beck charged into the kitchen, ready to take on Earl Skinner and his whole weasel army. A cold shadow swept by her; Conall. So much for staying in the truck and letting her handle it. He was a pip at giving orders and lousy at taking them.

He lifted Earl by the scruff of the neck like a recalcitrant dachshund. Earl kicked his feet in the air and tried to shift, but something was wrong. The best Earl could manage was a ferrety button nose, some whiskers, and a few patches of fur on his hands. If he’d sprouted fur in other places, Beck couldn’t see. Thank God.

“Lemme go,” Earl said.

Cold rage poured off Conall, icing the kitchen floors and counters. “I should kill you for striking your sister and for shooting Tobias.”

Good thing Conall had no idea Earl had taken a potshot at her and Verbena. He’d kill him.

Beck laid her hand on Conall’s arm. “Don’t. He’s not worth it.”

Conall’s black eyes were flat. “It would be worth it to me.”

“Please,” Beck said.

“Very well.” Conall shook Earl. “But only because she asked. Hear me, varlet and listen well. Leave this place and do not return, if you value your worthless hide.”

He drop-kicked Earl out the back door. Earl rolled across the gravel and got to his feet, red-faced with fury.

“You’ll be sorry,” he raged at Conall. “You done messed with the wrong guy, you son of a bitch.”

He whirled at a low, angry growl. A dog charged out of the bushes and sprang at Earl, teeth bared. Earl yelped and ran for his truck, a blue and green low-rider with black flames painted on the front hood, but the dog was faster. He caught Earl as he was trying to open the driver’s side door, and bit Earl in the butt.

Earl yelled and swatted at the dog, but the dog held on. Earl’s jeans ripped, exposing his red and blue Superman undies. The dog lost his grip and Earl dived inside the truck. Cranking the engine, he spun out of the parking lot, his truck tires spewing gravel and kicking up dust.

Toby shifted to human form. He was wearing his favorite CCR T-shirt. Twigs nested in his long braid and there was dirt on the bottom of his jeans. Raising his fist, he shook it at the vanishing truck.

“I can’t believe that sawed-off little rabbit turd had the nerve to show up here,” he fumed. “Not after he shot me
and
tried to shoot Becky.”

“What?”
Conall roared, startling Beck. “The blackguard accosted you? Why did you not tell me?”

“He missed,” Beck said. “And I took care of it.”

“I should have killed him,” Conall said. “I
will
kill him.”

“Not if I get to him first,” Toby said. “What’d he want, anyways?”

“Me.” Verbena stepped outside. “He come to fetch me, but I wouldn’t go. He said the ’shine’s gone bad and the dawgs run off, like it’s my fault.”

“Things ain’t going well for the Skinners?” Toby’s eyes shone with amusement. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Much as I hate to admit it, Earl’s probably right. It is your fault.”

Verbena blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re an enhancer, gal. Knew it the first time I got a whiff of you.”

“A what?” Beck and Conall asked at once.

“An enhancer,” Toby repeated. “Like a walking power plant. She juices everybody up. They get stronger and better when they’re around her, at whatever they do.”

Verbena flushed. “No disrespect, Mr. Toby, but that can’t be right. I’m a dud. Ever’body says so. I can’t even shift.”

“So what?” Toby said. “Any old part blood can shift, but an enhancer comes along once in a blue moon. You’re something special, girl.” He chuckled. “Kinda funny, when you think about it. Verbena’s the only thing them Skinners ever had worth a damn, and they done throwed her away.”