Demon Night (12 page)

Uncertainty held her throat tight, and Charlie slipped on her jacket so the silence wouldn't be so big. He was right, it would be a step forward.

So why was she hesitating? Was she depending on the comfort of the familiar?

“All right,” she said with a jerky nod. “We'll try it out.”

A look through the one-way made her recognize how long she'd been talking to Old Matthew: Ethan was on his feet, eyeing the door.

Old Matthew was looking, too, a slight frown wrinkling his brow as he turned back toward her. “One more thing, Charlie—I didn't have to answer any questions about Betty last night.”

His shotgun. He could legally carry it, but she'd heard enough stories to know that didn't mean the cops wouldn't give him grief about it. “They didn't ask if you had a weapon,” she said, “and I didn't feel like volunteering it.”

“What put your back up? Did they give you any trouble when they questioned you?”

“No.” She shifted her bag to her right shoulder. Ethan was prowling the length of the bar now. “It's just the way they look at you, you know? Because they have your name, your history, everything—and probably thought that I was up there drinking, imagined someone coming after me, and just fell down the stairs and hit the gate so hard it twisted like that.”

Old Matthew's wide shoulders were shaking, his head moving back and forth, his laugh deep. “Oh, Charlie girl, that's how they'd be looking at
me
, not a pretty white gal. Wondering if I really did kill that couple, and got out because everyone's turned into a bleeding-heart liberal. And thinking that even if I didn't do it, I probably did something so that I deserved the time. Or they're looking at Vin, wondering if he's swinging by a chop shop every night on his way home.” His amusement had turned hard. With a deep breath, he pulled off his kufi, swiped it over his bald head. “You okay getting home?”

Charlie tipped her chin toward the one-way. “Do you see the size of the guy out there? He could take Betty on and come out smiling.”

“He a cop?”

Charlie blinked, startled. Old Matthew had a shrewd sense of those things; he could always make a cop. “No.”

“Health inspector? He's got that look. Seeing everything.”

She could understand why he'd gotten the impression; Ethan had stopped walking the length of the bar, was staring at the mirror as if he could see right through it. Good Lord, but she could feel the intensity of that gaze down to her toes.

“He's in pharmaceuticals.” When Old Matthew frowned at her, she quickly added, “Not a drug dealer.”

His face lightened. “All right. Good night, Charlie girl.”

She was in the hall again before her own good-bye had left her lips, and every thought scattered when she swung through the lounge door. Ethan was waiting for her, holding his hand out, his face without expression.

Except for those eyes.

“You ready?”

She nodded, speechless again. Maybe there would come a day when she wasn't struck dumb when she opened up a door and found him standing there, when she could come up with a topic and chat with him as easily as she had over the wall. But for now, she only slid her palm into his and let him lead her to the front entrance.

He paused outside, looking up and down the street. Even this late, there were still quite a few people on the sidewalks.

Late.
“Sorry—” She had to catch her breath in surprise when he pulled her forward again. He wasn't matching her stride anymore, and she was almost race-walking to keep up with him. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” she finally got out. “I hope you didn't have to wake up.”

An image of him in bed, sleep-rumpled and warm, ballooned through her mind; his flat response quickly deflated it. “No.”

She could really use a little help in this conversation. And a slower pace; if she didn't visit the gym every day, she'd probably have been huffing by now.

“Old Matthew just wanted to talk to me about some new stuff I might be doing.” Counting drawers and ordering supplies wasn't all that thrilling, though. “Important work back there, you know—investigations into bank robberies, thwarting bad guys.”

Unease prickled the length of her spine. They were off the main street now. Ethan had stopped at an intersection, turned his head to stare down the empty sidewalk behind them.

Her breath shortened. Someone was moving in the darkness near a residential building.

But she'd been so paranoid lately that someone was
always
moving in the darkness.

She closed her eyes and kept on talking. “That'll be me: bartender by night, FBI by day—” Ethan's forward motion almost yanked her off her feet, pulled her out of her fright like a cartoon character who'd left her shadow behind. She ran along beside him and almost stumbled over the opposite curb. “The, uh, white collar division.”

“You like numbers, Charlie?” He looked behind them, his nostrils flaring, his lips forming the beginning of a snarl.

“When they add up.” She darted a glance over her shoulder, panic starting to fill her belly with jittering bugs.
Nothing there, nothing there.
“When they don't, not so much. Ethan—”

“I'm not all that fond of shit that don't add up, either.” He suddenly stopped walking, and slowly turned. “And I don't like five against two.”

Her stomach dropped to her feet. Five figures slunk out of the dark. In the arc of the streetlights, their skin was pale—then concealed by shadows again as they came closer. Not as fast as they had the night before, but like a pack of wolves edging up on their prey, not wanting them to scatter too early.

Ethan's jaw hardened, and he breathed out long through his nose, a heavy sound of resignation. She couldn't read any fear in his face—just determination. “But I reckon five against one will suit me just fine.”

Did he think he was going to fight them?
But the incredulous thought had barely formed when his arm came around her waist. The world tilted, whirling and spinning, her cheek against his neck, her fingers clutching at his arms.

It stopped, and her bag thumped against her back, finishing its swing. She staggered into Ethan's chest—she was on her feet, but not steady.

“Can you stand, Charlie?”

She blinked. A silver-and-black telephone box hung near her left arm. Ethan filled up the booth, hunching over her.

The material beneath her fingers was roughly woven—not soft as she'd expected his shirt to be. She looked down, saw the brown sleeves. A long knife appeared in his hand.

She jerked away, the back of her head rapping against plastic as she crowded herself into the corner. “Oh, no.”

No no no. He was so big. Huge. She thought she'd be grateful, awed—but she was only afraid.

His face was set as he turned and dug his blade into the trim beside the door. The flashing point of the dagger scratched metallic shrieks from the aluminum. Shadows surrounded the booth, flashes of dark and pale.

Charlie slid to the floor, wrapped her arms around her shins, making herself as small as possible. The scraping stopped, and it was suddenly so quiet she could only hear the thudding of her heart, her crazy breaths.

Then a flutter of movement as Ethan crouched in front of her, his knees filling up the space on either side of her legs. The brown coat pooled around him, his boots longer now, a smooth shine the length of his shins. Buckles winked dully at his ankles.

“Charlie.” He ducked his head into her line of sight, forced her to meet his eyes. Hard and sharp, like shards from amber stone. She looked away from them, letting her gaze fall to the holsters hanging low on his hips and anchored with braided leather around his lower thighs. “You've got to stay put, Charlie, you hear me? Don't you open this door, don't you leave this booth for anything—until either I come get you or the sun comes up. For
anything
. Promise me that.”

Shivers wracked her body; a cold breeze snaked around his legs, seemed to wriggle its way through every thin point of her clothes and skin. Outside, a shadow formed a human shape; a white hand tapped soundlessly against the plastic, then a face looked in, grinning.

She'd seen that face before—for just an instant. An arrow had been through his forehead.

“Charlie?”

She met Ethan's eyes. “I promise.”

 

There was no escaping Charlie knowing now. And he'd lose this opportunity to make these sons of bitches talk by running with her.

A man played the hand he was dealt, but Ethan had learned to carry an ace or two up his sleeve. And a Guardian against a vampire was like having a whole goddamn deck full of aces.

With a burst of speed, he caught the first vampire. A male, yelping like a coyote when Ethan got hold of his collar. Ethan pivoted, slammed the vampire flat against the pavement, intending to keep him down with his boot against the vampire's neck until he handled the others.

Ethan heard the crunch of the vampire's skull against concrete, felt the sudden blandness in the male's psychic scent that wasn't unreadable, like psychic blocks or the spell, but just empty.

Hell and damnation—he'd slammed him too hard. Until the vampire's brain healed, he wouldn't talk any more than a vegetable would.

Footsteps came up fast behind him. Ethan looked under his arm, snatched the attacking vampire's wrist before he could take off Ethan's head with his sword. A tight squeeze had the vampire dropping his weapon. Ethan caught the sword before it hit the ground and swung the vampire by his broken wrist, whipping him up hard against a wooden storefront. He clamped his hand around the vampire's throat, lifted the bastard until he dangled.

The muffled pop warned him, but even Ethan couldn't move quick enough to avoid the bullet. Pain exploded in his upper back, tore into his chest like a blacksmith pounding a hot iron stake through him. His muscles screamed as he turned and replaced the vampire's sword with his crossbow.

Ethan fired. The vampire holding the gun dropped, the weapon clattering to the sidewalk, the bolt between its eyes. Gritting his teeth against the agony in his back, Ethan trained the crossbow on the vampires circling the booth.

Charlie was watching them wide-eyed, and he could see by the rise of her chest that she was breathing erratically. Her lips were trembling.

Then she flinched and raised her arms protectively when a female with long dark hair and wearing half a cow in leather lifted her gun. The pings of the bullets against the glass were no louder than the silenced shots.

Charlie lowered her arms and stared. Her gaze shifted to Ethan and he nodded once, letting a smile touch his lips. She might not understand magic was at work, but the results were unmistakable: they wouldn't be getting in, and couldn't hurt her through the spell.

Her mouth widened in a relieved grin, opened in a laugh that he could see but not hear.

Still watching her, still watching the vampires circling the booth, Ethan replaced the crossbow with his own sword, pressed it to the neck of the vampire he held before loosening his grip.

Using his lungs brought blood up to his mouth; he swallowed it down and ignored the burning in his back and chest.

“Let me make this real simple.” His tone was low enough it made speaking less of an effort, dangerous enough they wouldn't know how much it was hurting. It was better the vampires thought a bullet had little effect, or they'd soon be shooting more at him. “Anything happens to Charlie, any more humans are turned against their will, and Sodom and Gomorrah is going to look pretty next to what I'll do to Legion.”

In the booth, Charlie rose to her feet. Her palms flattened against the window panel. Not cowering anymore, though she took a startled step back when the female snarled at her and made a lunge at the plastic.

Rabid dogs, just looking to frighten her.

Beneath Ethan's hand, the vampire's throat worked as he struggled to speak. “You Guardians talk a lot, but you don't help us. Don't give us anything we need.”

That sounded like a line a demon would feed them. Ethan smiled a bit, and even without fangs he reckoned it looked as lethal as a demon's. “Well now, you just tell me what Legion is giving you, and perhaps—”

The female rushed around the booth, snapped at Charlie again. The vampire's movement must have looked near instantaneous to Charlie, as if she'd appeared from thin air; Charlie stumbled back against the opposite side of the small space.

Her surprise crackled through the air like summer lightning.

Son of a bitch.
She'd rubbed up against the blood on the symbols, wiping them clean.

And the vampires realized it the instant he did. If they got in there with her, reactivated the spell with their own blood, Ethan wouldn't have a chance in hell of helping her.

The female was on the wrong side of the booth—her companion went for the door.