Demon Night (20 page)

She certainly hadn't felt the horrible guilt and disappointment that tore at her when Old Matthew answered and she lied her way through his concern, assuring him she'd be better tomorrow.

Goddammit. She made her way back to Jake, anger and dread dragging at her steps. What if this hadn't been settled by tomorrow? And even if they got Jane away from Dylan, would they be staying in Seattle?

Aside from Jane, her job and the offer Old Matthew had made to her were the best things Charlie had going—and she was about to fuck it all up.

“Just let me know when you're ready to talk again,” Jake said quietly.

Her hair was in a sweaty tangle around her face, her shoulders and back aching, her calves and thighs screaming when she finally eased up and began to shake it out. She hadn't landed a single blow past his blocks, but it was more relieving than frustrating—she hadn't had to hold back, hadn't had to worry about hurting anyone or pushing anyone but herself too far.

“Okay,” she said, her chest heaving, “talk.”

“Okay,” Jake said. “So his dad got out of the Confederate prison camp in 1864, and a few years later he bought a big place near what would spring up as Leadville, Colorado, and moved there.”

She moved in on him again, but lighter now—just cooling down. “How long was he a P.O.W.?”

“Not sure. And everything after that is sketchy until after Drifter and his brother graduated from Harvard—but that's just likely because they didn't attend any public schools, so there's no record.”

Remembering what Ethan had said about his mother's reaction to his speech, Charlie put in, “I think his mom might have schooled them at home.”

Jake nodded. “It wasn't unusual. And after Harvard, Caleb went into a practice in Denver. Drifter was already working for a couple of different agencies, tracking down criminals who'd fled west, or who just hid out in the smaller towns. There's quite a few mentions in various papers of him bringing in outlaws, swindlers, that sort. Then around 1885, it all seems to go to hell.”

“How?”

“His mom died. Killed, actually, because there was a murder trial not long after. The defendants were acquitted. Then McCabe, Sr., dies, and although the papers aren't specific about this, there's just enough to make me think it was suicide. Then reports of ‘The McCabe Boys' start showing up—the trains and banks they've hit, the rewards on their heads, news of the bounty hunters and lawmen they've killed while evading capture, the jails they've broken out of when they did get caught.”

Charlie stopped dead, stared at him. “You're serious?”
Please, let him be pulling something over on me
.

But a solemn expression had settled over his features, and she couldn't find a hint of a joke behind it. “Yes. But it wasn't until 1886 that Drifter's death is finally recorded—then Caleb's, right after.”

She let that sink in. The ache in her chest wasn't just from the exercise or frustration now—she wanted to see Ethan, hold on to him for a long, long time.
A spot of trouble,
he'd said. And he'd given up his life to get his brother out of it.

“So, I can't tell you what Drifter was like when he first got to Caelum, or anything much before 1968—and even then, I only saw him a few times before he was assigned as my mentor in the early nineties.”

“I—” Imagining the span of Ethan's lifetime was knocking her loopy. Charlie huffed out a breath, tried again. “I'm slow adjusting to thinking in these time periods, but I'll catch up.”

“I understand. I still can't fathom Michael's age, and he's God-knows-how-old.” He laughed a little, but Charlie had just gotten the joke when he added, “Anyway, when I first met Drifter, he was with another Guardian, a really pretty young…Hot dog, that had your back behind it. Are we going for another sweaty round?”

“Sorry,” Charlie muttered, and reminded herself that she was cooling down.

His grin flashed, all too knowing for her comfort. “Anyway, it was nothing serious. I think they were just fu—” Jake cleared his throat. “Friends.”

“Fuck buddies.” Which was all Charlie would have asked for. Impossible for her now. Not just his determination not to use her as a salve, and her determination not to be used as one—there was no chance that she could keep that emotional distance from him.

Her sister, her job, the most fascinating man she'd ever met…Charlie's life was just getting more and more fucked by the second.

At least she had too many endorphins running through her to feel sorry for herself right now.

“Yes. Until she Ascended with the others, and then I think it's just been random human women, because I'd have heard if it was a Guardian. Back in the eighties, there was a rumor about things going sour between him and a vampire, but I don't know if it was legitimate, and I only knew him by his coat and his height then.” Jake turned his head. “Do you think you're even? Because he's lowered the spell around his room.”

No. She wanted to hear more about the vampire and about where he lived on Caelum and what Ascending was. But she only nodded and said, “I think so. Thank you.”

He streaked into the house, leaving Charlie alone on the deck. The sun was setting over the city, painting oranges and purples in long strokes across the sky and the water. The air was cool, and now that she wasn't active, it pricked gooseflesh over her sweaty skin.

She tried to keep the fear from her voice in her final message to Jane, just convey a sense of urgency, but she wasn't certain she managed it. When she hung up, only the knowledge that the phone was the one way Jane could reach her prevented Charlie from throwing it into the lake.

“She'll be all right,” Ethan said softly, coming to stand beside her. He leaned his elbows on the rail, clasped his hands, and stared out over the water. “Sammael cares for her. I don't rightly know how corrupt it is, but he's protective. He won't allow her to be hurt.”

“If he's the one telling the vampires to kill me—”

“Turn you into one of them.” His gaze lowered to his hands. “They're looking to transform you.”

Her breath hitched. “Either way, he's got to be one sick and twisted motherfucker not to realize that hurting me would hurt Jane pretty damn bad, too.”

Ethan nodded, a tiny smile kicking up the corner of his mouth. “He's a demon, Charlie, which means he's both sick and twisted—and since it pertains to you, I'm laying it out straight. This is why I'm not taking you with me at night, even if it means it won't be as easy to get to Jane. I don't want you out there, because the vampires can hurt you. The demons can't.”

A short laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. “Well, as much as I'd like to hang outside her window and wave until she sees me, I don't want to become a vampire target, either.”

He glanced at her. “That's not a half-bad idea. And I reckon I've seen enough of you to try it for a minute or two.”

That didn't make any sense, but her body was making it very clear that he hadn't seen as much of her as she'd have liked. Not just the cold—every nerve seemed aware of his presence. The slight brush of her inner thighs as she shifted her weight was enough to have her attention zinging low, and her gaze settled on his mouth.

But that was done with. And though she couldn't be immune to him, it wasn't anything a little self-denial and a lot of self-gratification wouldn't ease.

“Are you feeling okay now?” She searched for any difference, but he looked as easy and relaxed as he had their first walk to Cole's. “After drifting?”

His smile deepened, and he turned toward her. He was wearing almost the same clothes as when the vampires had attacked—the jacket, brown trousers, knee-high boots, and holsters. His shirt was a deep blue now, but it still looked eminently touchable. “Has Jake been running his mouth again?”

“I won a bet,” she said.

“You ought to be careful making wagers; if they're ever with a demon, it can land you some serious trouble.” His gaze ran over her face, down to her chest. He turned back to the lake. “You worked him over pretty hard?”

She touched her hair, wondered how matted and stringy it looked. “Yes.”

“That's good. That's real…” His lips tightened, and he swallowed. “I'd best go. You ought to get inside, so I can lock the house down. I'll try to bring Jane back to you tonight, Charlie.”

“Thank you.” She bumped her hip against his thigh, smiled up at him. “For sending Jake to be my punching bag, too.”

His nod was abrupt, but his attention lingered on her mouth. “I sure wish I—” His jaw clenched. “Hell and damnation. Don't lay your hands on me, Charlie.”

Frozen, she watched his head descend, felt his warm breath, the light brush of his lips against hers.

He immediately stepped back. “That's all I meant to do before.”

She closed her eyes. “I guess drifting did work, then.”

“It cleared a few things for me, that's for damn certain,” he said, low and forceful. Startled, she glanced up and his amber gaze locked with hers. “The first is that I won't be torn up forever. I hope not much longer than it takes to fetch Jane for you, get you both settled again. Then we can see where we're at, and if it's still agreeable to you, maybe scratching this powerful itch we've got. Most likely, we'll be scratching a long time, and more'n once—but we'll figure that as we go.”

Her breath caught in her throat and a slow lick of anticipation curled deep. “I'd like that,” she managed. “And you don't have to worry that I'll let myself need more from you.”

Or ask for more, if she couldn't stop herself from needing it.

“I only recently figured that, too.”

She couldn't interpret the wry note in his voice, so she said, “What's the other thing?”

“That I ought to staple Jake's lips shut before he heads back to San Francisco.” His grin was slow. “But I've since added another realization to those: you look awful good when you're all sweaty.”

She returned his grin. He was such a tease, but she could give a little back, then wait for the rest. “If you'd ever peeked over that wall, you'd know that I look better sweaty and
naked
.”

Ethan groaned, dropped his head into his hands. “You hush, Miss Charlie.”

A few minutes after sunset, Ethan went out to the deck and formed his wings. Charlie watched him through the French doors until he flew too high for her to see, then she took her time through her shower, fixing her hair, and dressing in her favorite gray pants and a blue camisole.

Even Ethan probably wouldn't think dried perspiration was sexy.

Tired, but not at all sleepy, she searched for Jake. When she found him in the attic entertainment center, she decided that there wasn't a room in the house that she didn't love. Huge triangular windows bookended the room, offering a view of the lake on the west and the dark rise of the hill and drive in front of the house. Thick rugs welcomed her bare feet, a fireplace and the facing wingback chairs invited long reads and cozy chats.

Jake had sunk into the deep cushions on the sectional sofa. Demons and angels fought across a wide-screen television, and he muttered to himself when his character received a hit from a demon that sent blood flying and his life indicator shrinking.

“Is that how they look?” Horns curled beside the demon's head. She had crimson skin and fangs, but no tail, no trident.

“Not exactly,” Jake said, leaning to the side as his character rounded a corner. “They shape-shift to look like people. They look like people when they're demons, too, but they have more snake and goat to them. The whole scales and cloven feet thing, you know…”

The rest was lost in another mutter and a furious clatter of buttons, and Charlie smiled to herself and moved to the east window. Ethan's truck was gone.

“You guys would make a killing as a moving service—” She broke off, looked closer. Two pinpoints of light were moving through the trees. “Jake, I think a car's coming.”

The room went dark, and Jake was beside her an instant later, touching her arm before her scream could escape. “I did that, Charlie. I can see better if I don't have the reflection to look through.”

He didn't say anything about someone else not seeing in, and she fought the urge to creep away from the window, to find the nearest bed and hide under it.

Squinting, he leaned toward the glass. “It's a little car…a Toyota. Can't see the driver yet.”

Aside from the illuminated landscaping at the front of the house, Charlie couldn't see anything but the headlights. “Jane drives a Toyota.”

“Jane doesn't know where we are,” he said, but there was uncertainty in his voice. “Unless Drifter did get ahold of her, and bought her some time to come here.”

“Would he do that?” The question rattled from between her teeth.

“He might have thought he'd be coming right after, or getting here first to tell us she was headed this way.”

But because Ethan wasn't there, it could mean that driver wasn't Jane—or that he was hurt somewhere, or still fighting Dylan.

She didn't let herself think of any other option.

“It's Jane,” Jake said softly. “
Maybe.
Let's go on downstairs, Charlie.”

He turned off the lights along the way; an automatic pistol appeared in his hand. Charlie hung back from the front entrance until he gestured her closer, then she stood to the side of the large double doors, trying to look through the beveled glass. The driveway wavered in front of her.

Jake's jaw was tight. “SI's got temperature sensors being developed so we can tell demon from human through the spell, but aside from a few prototypes, they aren't ready yet. I wish they were.”

“Me, too.” Charlie rubbed her arms. “Can vampires shape-shift?”

“No. Yes. One, but she's—” Jake stopped, flashed a narrowed look at her. “You're thinking that if it's a demon, you can go out there and you won't be in danger.”

She'd been approaching the idea in a vague way, but when he put it in those precise terms, it didn't sound dumb. “Yeah.”

“Over my dead body. And it would be, because Drifter would kill me. In any case, without psychic abilities you wouldn't be able to tell until you touched her.” He held up his empty hand, wiggled his fingers. “Hot skin. Feels like you're touching someone with an extremely high fever.”

Charlie stared out the window, trembling. How had Jane not noticed something like that?

“Damn,” Jake muttered. “It looks like she's injured.”

“What?” She scrambled to his side. Her heart had already been racing; now it was pounding so hard it made it difficult to breathe. The headlights were swinging into the drive…definitely Jane's car, but Charlie could only see the silhouette of her sister inside. “How bad?”

“There's blood on her forehead and her shoulder, and she's driving a little erratically.” A calm seemed to settle over him, and he looked down at her. “Okay, Charlie, this is what I'm going to do. I'll put a new set of symbols on the door frame, key them to my blood, then remove Drifter's. Then I'll go out—and if it's her, I'll bring her in. If it's not, I'm going to call Drifter and SI. I might have to run, but you'll be okay in here.”

He bent to scrape the door, and she leaned over him, staring through the window.

“I understand—oh, Jesus!
Jane.
” Her nails dug into his shoulder. Jane stumbled past the hood of her car, the front of her white shirt crimson.

A dark form darted through the shadows behind her.

“Oh, my God. Jake, hurry!”

Jake stood up, swore, and aimed through the glass. “Vampire. And—shit, I don't have a shot. Change of plan, Charlie—I get him away from her, you get her inside and use the symbols. Drifter showed you how?”

Charlie was already nodding frantically, tugging at the door handle. Locked. “Okay, okay—”

Jake pulled her hand away from the deadbolt, stabbed the pad of her forefinger with his dagger, and said grimly, “So you're ready as soon as you get back.”

Then he replaced the knife with a sword and twisted the lock.

The door swung open on a visual more horrific than anything Charlie could have imagined, and worse for the silence of it: her sister on her stomach, the vampire holding her to the ground with his knee on her back and using her hair to pull her head up, exposing her throat. Jane's mouth opened in a scream, the vampire leaning forward to tear at her neck.

Then the scene was replaced by Jake's back as he ran through the door. Charlie followed him…and it was all wrong. Sounds rushed in, but there was no screaming, nothing human except the strange whistling noise that Charlie was making.

Only two steps past the door, she slammed into Jake. He was turning, his hands on her arms to spin her around, shove her back inside.

The side of his head caved in. She felt the splatter of his blood the same instant she heard the suppressed burst of gunfire.

He vanished.

Charlie was still spinning, but Jake's hands weren't there to guide her into the house. She hit the solid wood beside the door, crumpled to the porch.

Get inside.
But she was dizzy, looked the wrong way. The vampire lifted himself off Jane. Jane…who held two pistols in her hands.

Charlie blinked, and now it was Dylan climbing to his feet, a startled expression on his face. “I wasn't expecting him to teleport. A shame, that. His head would have left a nice message for Michael.”

Get inside.
She crawled forward. Dylan's shiny shoes appeared in front of her. He crouched, looked into her face, and his expression was so sympathetic, so familiar, that for an instant she wanted to reach out to him.

“A message that they need to receive, because they've been lying to you, Charlie,” he said quietly. “Let me take you to Jane, and we'll get all of this sorted out. She can explain everything to you.”

God, how she wanted to believe him. She'd eaten dinner with this man, laughed with him, seen the love with which he'd treated her sister.

But Jake's blood was on her face, her hands…her finger was bleeding.
Get inside.

She staggered to her feet. “Move out of my way, Dylan. You can't keep me from going in.”

“No, I can't.” He stood, smooth as a snake rising from his coils. Cold hands gripped her arms from behind. “But Mr. Henderson, my associate, can. Let's take a ride.”

His SUV appeared next to Jane's car. Charlie kicked backward, heard a satisfying grunt before Henderson twisted her wrist up high, almost brought her to her knees.

Tears filled her eyes, and she walked forward obediently, the pea gravel rough under her feet. The SUV's alarm chirped when Dylan pointed his key at it, and the blinkers flashed.

They were going to turn her into a vampire.

Fuck this.
Ignoring the agony in her right arm, she slammed her left elbow into his belly.

She didn't get another blow in. Henderson simply lifted her, squeezed her tight. Dylan turned, frowning.

“Mr. Henderson, I told you that if you hurt her at all, or if you touch her wrong, I wouldn't be pleased.”

Charlie stared at him in disbelief, but the arms around her loosened. Not enough to get away, despite her struggles. Henderson shoved her into the backseat, took a place beside her. His hand covered the opposite door handle before she'd done more than move an inch toward it.

Dylan slid into the driver's seat, turned to smile at her. “Now, that's a good girl. You learned that you can't beat him much more quickly than I thought you would.”

Terror was setting in, leaving her cold and shaking. “Where's Jane?”

“Safe at home with me.”

She didn't try to make sense of that; she'd never been good at word games, and she suspected a demon was a master. “Where's Drifter?”

Dylan was right—she couldn't physically defeat them, but Ethan could.

He
would
.

“McCabe? I don't know.” Dylan's eyes changed, the whites and irises glowing a brilliant scarlet. Horror crept into Charlie's veins and began a morbid dance with fear. “But I hope he comes soon. I've got a message for him, too.”

 

Shape-shifting into Charlie's form and waving at Jane through the window might have been a bit more successful if Jane hadn't been so devoted to her work.

The light in her upstairs office was likely keeping her from seeing him when he did take the opportunity of darkness and a street empty of traffic to hover at her window. The remainder of the time he spent in the small fenced backyard, watching the demon.

Sammael didn't appear all that concerned that a Guardian was outside the house; he lounged on the recliner in the unlit room, reading the Sunday paper, tipping it down now and then to cast a shit-eating grin at Ethan through the sliding glass door.

Until the grin slipped, and confusion flitted over his features, his focus moving behind Ethan.

Ethan spun around, caught Jake before he landed in a bleeding heap at his feet. His breath sucked in hard through his teeth when the sight, the smell hit him.

Oh, Christ Jesus. The kid's head had been shot to hell.

Jake's brain couldn't be much good, but it must be functioning enough that he'd teleported here—his Gift manifesting in a moment of pain, terror.

A hard shake and roaring Jake's name roused him. His lids opened a slit before closing again.

“Jake, goddammit! Is Charlie still in the house and the spell up?” Ethan's voice roughened, tore at his throat. “
Is Charlie in the house?
”

No verbal response—but failure and urgency filled the kid's psychic scent.

God Almighty.

A bone in Jake's chest snapped as Ethan grabbed him up tight and launched into the air. Couldn't leave the kid behind in the yard—Sammael would be out within a second to kill him.

“You get to a Healer!” Ethan had to shout over the wind, the torrent of his wings. “You anchor yourself to Michael or Dru, just like you did to me, and you teleport yourself to them. Or else you sink deep and stay underwater, and put your mental blocks up until it heals. You understand me?”

Jake's psyche had barely shifted to indicate that he did understand when the lake appeared below them.

Ethan let him go, and was halfway across the expanse of the water before the kid hit the lake's surface.

 

The scene that had taken place at the house was as clear as if had happened right in front of him. Jane's car, the heavy footprints in the gravel that intercepted hers, the blood on the ground. Ethan bent and sniffed, just to make certain: demon blood.

He didn't vanish any of the evidence. Human and vampire blood laying dead and heavy in his cache felt bad enough; demon and nosferatu blood tended to creep around his mind, like a bit of the creature still existed in the tiny drops.

And though he was certain Charlie had been in the vehicle whose tracks led away from the driveway, he took an extra second to check the interior of the house—Charlie wasn't hiding in any of the rooms. The second set of symbols scratched in the frame near the front entrance and Charlie's bloody handprint on the porch told their own story.