Home for the Holidays: A Night Huntress Novella (5 page)

Nine

I
AN’S BRO
WS SHOT
up. I repeated my statement more slowly, regretting this course of action but agreeing that it was necessary.

“We need to cut something off Denise and use her bones to make a weapon against Wraith.”

“Oh, I heard you the first time.” Ian’s mouth twisted as he looked at Denise. “I was just pondering how much your husband will beat my arse when he’s back to himself and hears about this.”

“Believe me, I won’t tell him if you won’t,” she replied with a touch of grim humor. Then her tone hardened. “But this changes things. We’ll carve two knives, and you’ll take one while I’ll take the other, because I’m going back to Spade.”

“You can’t. If Wraith finds out you’re like him, he’ll kill you on the spot!” I snapped.

“Better if we find a way to lure the others away from him first and then attack him,” Ian said, backing me up.

Denise let out a snort. “You guys are forgetting what happened when I killed the demon who branded me. It made everything he’d done to me permanent. If we kill Wraith without undoing his spell first, we risk everyone staying exactly as they are
for the rest of their lives
.”

The truth of that rolled over me like an avalanche. I’d thought it would be hard getting Wraith away from the equivalent of five bespelled vampire bodyguards so we could stab his eyes out, but what we’d need to do instead made that seem easy.

I let out a groan. “We have to find the demon that branded him, and hope to God he wants his power back.”

Ian snorted. “Poor analogy, Reaper.”

Whatever. I’d hope to hell if that would improve our odds, but the fact remained that only the demon could remove the effects of the brands. Without those, Wraith would be a regular vampire. And if he’d been hiding from that demon, he’d soon be a dead vampire. Even if the demon did the unimaginable and let him live, I wouldn’t.

“I can’t chase after the demon; I killed one,” Denise continued. “I’m betting their kind is pretty intolerant of that. But you two can, and in the meantime, I’ll keep an eye on Wraith. If he tries to hurt anyone, I’ll have that knife, but I’ll only use it as a last resort.”

I hated this plan. It left everyone I loved at the mercy of a man who’d used a demonic spell to steal their free will for reasons unknown, but they couldn’t be altruistic reasons. It would be a race to see who was successful first: Wraith in implementing his end game, or me and Ian in finding the demon who branded him with the power to cast such a spell, among other abilities. I shuddered, but Denise was right. If Bones—the
real
Bones!—were here now, he’d tell me he would rather be dead than mentally enslaved for the rest of his life. Knowing the others as I did, they’d say the same, too.

Winner really would take all in this race.

“Then it’s settled,” Ian said. “On to the next task at hand.”

His gaze slid over Denise with cool calculation, and though she stayed ramrod-straight, I flinched. I knew he was deciding which part of her to slice off.

“Your lower leg will do,” he said, as casual as discussing which cut of steak he’d prefer for dinner. “The bone’s long enough that we should be able to fashion two blades, and thick enough that it shouldn’t splinter while we’re carving them. Femur would be better, but then you’d bleed like a cut snake.”

“Your concern for the carpet is touching,” Denise muttered.

He flashed her a genial smile. “I’m not fretting over the carpet. We’re doing this in the tub, but the more blood you lose, the longer it’ll take you to grow that back.”

He had a point. Lop off anything on a vampire except their head, and it would grow back in two minutes flat. Denise’s regenerative abilities were less rapid, but in their own way, more impressive. She looked human, but now she was in every way the same as the demon who’d branded her, right down to her bones. Denise actually
could
survive being beheaded. Cockroaches had nothing on her.

She let out a long sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

Denise started toward the bathroom, but Ian’s voice stopped her. “I’m not cutting into you until you’re under my sway, so you won’t feel it. Think I’m a sadist?”

“Yes,” she said, the word “duh” implied in her tone.

He laughed. “You have me there, poppet, but I have certain standards when it comes to women. I don’t hurt them unless they enjoy it, and you won’t enjoy this.”

Denise crossed her arms. “Look, Ian, I appreciate the semi-concern, and no offense intended, but I doubt you have enough juice to put me under—”

She stopped talking when his gaze changed from turquoise to sizzling emerald. Power flashed over me, fast as a snapping whip and strong enough to sting like one. I blinked. Either Ian had been doing some supernatural workouts lately, or he’d held back on showing me the true scope of his power before. By the time he’d crossed the room to Denise, her eyes were wide and staring into nothing, all without Ian even needing to speak.

“We’ll see how much you question my juices when you wake up with a freshly regenerated leg,” he muttered, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. “Come along. I’m not doing this alone. Besides, Denise isn’t the only one getting some work done now. You are, too.”

“Me?” I asked as I followed him into the bathroom.

Ian set Denise in the tub and then looked up at me, smiling wolfishly as he pulled out a silver knife.

“Your not-quite-dead, vampire-who-eats-vampires status may have kept Wraith’s spell from working on you thus far, but we’re taking no chances. I’m carving a warding tattoo on you, and setting it with silver-infused ink, so brace yourself. This will hurt.”

Ten

T
HA
NKSGIVING
D
AY.
I
should’ve been home, gathered around a table filled with food that most of us would eat only because it was tradition. Instead, I was with Ian at a strip club whose broken neon sign advertised full nudity. Guess G-strings were considered too modest for this establishment. I only wished the managers were as strict in their policy about cleanliness. I’d been in some sleazy places before, but this one made me glad I couldn’t catch any of the germs that were no doubt crawling over every inch of the interior. I didn’t even drink my gin and tonic, because the glass still had clear impressions of other people’s lips on it.

The dancer’s thoughts revealed she was no happier to be here than I was, but she dutifully went about her act, gyrating, bending over, and otherwise showing enough of her assets to prove that the outdoor sign wasn’t false advertising. I waited until she was finished and then waved her over, stuffing some twenties into her garter—the only piece of clothing she wore. She relayed her thanks with a wide-stance hip thrust that I looked away from. I didn’t do it to see more of her lady parts; I did it since she’d been wondering how she was going to afford taking her son to the doctor because his cold hadn’t gotten any better.

Ian snickered. “For that much money, you could’ve had a few lap dances.”

“Stuff it,” I said wearily.

Where do you go if you’re looking for demons? Every place humans were most likely to be feeling desperate, according to Ian. Because of the unthinkable terms of a demonic deal, the people who were willing to agree to them felt like they had either nowhere else to turn, or nothing to lose. Over the past week, we’d spent enough time in hospices, homeless shelters, county jails, and mental-health facilities to make me thoroughly depressed for more reasons than not finding a hint of that telltale sulfur scent. Tomorrow, if we still struck out, we’d leave the state to hit other potential demonic hotspots, like casinos and the stock exchange.

On a holiday like Thanksgiving, strip clubs were filled with the very picture of dejection, with a generous side order of the required desperation. I could even smell it on them beneath the alcohol fumes and other less than aromatic scents from the club. Not that I pointed fingers. I knew from experience that being lonely on a holiday felt more intense than other days of the year.

Case in point: my current mood. Either depression was catching, or it was getting harder to stop brooding about the last conversation I’d had with Bones. I’d covered up the real reason behind my absence with an excuse about my old job needing my assistance. Normally, when you quit a job, your former employer couldn’t call you back, but my occupation had been hunting the undead for a covert brand of Homeland Security. It was feasible that I could’ve been reactivated for a mission. Plus, let’s face it: I had a track record, so my abrupt departure wouldn’t be that unheard of. Wraith might be suspicious, but he could only guess that I was really after him instead of helping my old team catch some rogue undeads.

But oh, Bones’s voice when I called to say I wasn’t coming back for a while. I didn’t know if his coldness had been influenced by the spell or by a very real sense of betrayal. I’d sworn never to take off again like this, but how could I explain that I had to break that promise because he wasn’t really
Bones
at the moment? I couldn’t, so, feeling heartsick, I’d hung up as quickly as possible.

When the door opened, momentarily letting a blaze of sunshine into the darkened establishment, I almost didn’t bother looking up. Seeing another face mirroring my own emotional mix of determination and despondency would only hammer home how much I wished circumstances were different. But I did look, and though there was nothing unusual about the young man’s appearance, a wave of acrid air blew in with him.

Air that stank like sulfur.

My spirits lifted in a blink. Who’d have thought running into a demon would make someone’s day, but I almost clapped in delight. I didn’t wait for Ian, but bolted toward the newcomer, smiling broadly.

Maybe it was my smile that kept him from sensing danger. Maybe he hadn’t yet noticed that I didn’t have a heartbeat, or he felt secure because, compared to demons, vampires were easy to kill. Either way, he didn’t fight when I grabbed him and hustled him back outside.

“We need to talk,” I told him.

The demon laughed, staring me up and down. “I normally don’t like room-temperature meat, but for you, I’ll—”

His dubiously flattering statement was cut short when Ian appeared, wrenching the demon’s arms behind his back.

“As the lady told you,” Ian said pleasantly, “we need to have a word with you.”

The demon’s light brown eyes began to fill with red. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with, vampires.”

I reached into my jacket and pulled out a long, thin knife, holding it near the demon’s eye.

“As a matter of fact, we know exactly who we’re fucking with.”

Eleven

W
E FLEW HIM
onto the roof of a taller building for more privacy. There, Ian and I forced the demon to sit and then tied him to a metal air-conditioning vent. Being in direct sunlight would weaken the demon. Plus, the ropes were entwined with rock salt, so if our new friend had the ability to dematerialize, this would mute it. It would also discourage struggling. The ropes were over his clothes now, but squirming would bring them in direct contact with the demon’s exposed neck, and he wouldn’t like the results.

“We have questions,” Ian said once we’d finished. “Answer them without lying, and you’ll walk away safe and sound.”

The demon glanced at the knife again and whistled. “Bone of the brethren. Aren’t
you
the naughty pair for having that? Still, the knife is only good for killing and I can’t answer questions if I’m dead. You’d get me to talk faster by offering me cash.”

He wanted us to bribe him? “I saw a church a few blocks up. Maybe I’ll grab some holy water and
then
we’ll chat,” I snapped.

The demon laughed. “That stuff does nothing to my kind. You watch too many movies.”

Not the first time I’d been accused of that, but it would be really helpful if the movies got things right for once. Of course, that didn’t mean I was out of scare-tactic options.

I pulled out two salt shakers I’d packed into my jacket where my silver knives used to go. Different creatures required different weapons, after all.

“Now how about we get serious? Vampire by the name of Wraith made a deal with one of your kind. I want to know who.”

The demon scoffed. “How should I know? It wasn’t me, that’s all I can say.”

I threw a handful of salt onto his face. It bubbled his skin up like it was acid, but I knelt and clapped my hand over his mouth to silence his scream. “Don’t toy with me, I am so not in the mood,” I hissed in his ear.

Muffled grunts sounded against my hand. Cautiously, I lifted it, but he didn’t scream again. He spit out some salt before glaring at me.

“We’re demons, not Amway. It’s not like I can pick up a phone and find out who’s got a deal out on your vamp.”

“You’re supposed to have the power to grant just about any request, yet you expect me to believe you can’t find a name?”

I wagged the salt shakers threateningly as I spoke. The demon sighed. “Keep seasoning me all you want, but I still can’t tell you who has the deal on that vamp. It’s not like we update a worldwide Excel sheet every time we contract a soul.”

“But you’re demons!” I burst out. “Scary, powerful, soul-snatching scourges of the underworld! How can you
not
do something as simple as keep in touch about who you brand?”

A shrug. “We’re independent contractors. Don’t like it? Complain to management. Maybe dialing 666 will get you someone.”

I wanted to fling the rest of the salt on him out of sheer frustration, but his words held the ring of truth. I guess it had been too much to hope that snagging one demon would mean we’d find out who’d branded Wraith. Over a week later, and we still had nothing to show for our efforts. Despair coursed through me until I felt like I was choking on it. The demon’s head lolled back and he inhaled.

“Mmm, smells delicious. If you’re determined to find the demon’s name, there’s a way to bypass all that pesky hunting.”

I wrestled back my gloom enough to let out a bark of laughter. “Let me guess: it involves dealing away my soul?”

He lifted his head. “Again, I don’t make the rules. I just play by them, and the rules say I can’t tap into wish-granting without the right form of deposit.”

Yeah, I felt desperate and tired and scared shitless about what might be happening to Bones, but that wasn’t the answer. I’d find another way.

“No deal,” I said coldly. “And since you’re not able to tell us anything useful . . .”

I put down the salt to grab the bone knife again, but Ian shook his head. “We agreed to let him go if he told us the truth, and I believe he did.”

“If we let him go, he’s going to keep
damning
people,” I pointed out, in case he’d somehow forgotten that.

Ian waved his hand. “Both of us act according to our natures. I drink blood. He collects souls. Just because we have different methodologies doesn’t mean I’m going to dishonor our agreement.”

Only Ian could so casually describe what a demon did as a methodology. The demon wagged his finger at me. “You were going to kill me despite your promise. Liar, liar, pants on fire! Heh, takes me back to my days in the pit. Everyone’s pants were on fire there.”

He laughed at his own joke. Unbelievably, Ian joined in. I stared at the two, wishing I could stab at least one of them and not being sure who I wanted it to be at the moment.

“Since there’s nothing more to talk about, I’m leaving,” I said with as much dignity as I could muster. They could keep chortling away if they wanted, but I had better things to do. Like figure out how we were going to find one demon amidst thousands.

Ian cut the bonds from the demon and he stood, cracking his back as though relieving a kink. Then, to my amazement, Ian pulled out a large wad of cash from his coat and peeled off several bills.

“This is for your silence about what we discussed,” he said, holding out the money. The demon pocketed it in a blink.

Not only were we letting the demon go free, we were paying him for telling us absolutely nothing. I gave a last disgusted shake of my head and turned around, heading for the exit.

I was about to yank open the door to the roof when the demon said, “You know, there is
one
other way you might be able to narrow down your search.”

I froze before slowly turning around. Ian’s brow arched, but the demon said nothing else. Instead, he stared at the lump of folded bills Ian was about to put back in his coat.

Ian snorted and peeled off another few. “This is all you get on good faith. Impress me, and you’ll get more.”

The demon pocketed the money before glancing around, as if fearing other demons would ascend from the floor of the roof. Then he lowered his voice.

“I’m not supposed to consort with vampires, but I like your style—and your money—so bring me one of the spelled vamps, and I’ll tell you the power required to conjure that sort of enchantment. You’ll know then if the demon who branded your boy is medium-level, a higher up, or one of the original Fallen.”

Ian pulled off a thick stack of bills. The demon’s eyes bugged, but before he could snatch it, Ian held it out of reach.

“If you’re truly able to determine the power level of Wraith’s brander,
and
help us find him or her, I’ll give you triple this. My word on it.”

The demon pulled out a piece of paper and pen, then scribbled on it. I came close enough to see that it was a series of symbols followed by the word “Balchezek.”

“My true name,” he said, holding it out to Ian. “Draw this in unsoiled blood, say my name three times, and I’ll appear.”

“Don’t you just have a cell phone number you can give us?” Demons and their love of bloody rituals.

He slid a jaded glance my way. “I’m guessing when you call, you’ll be pressed for time, so I’m giving you the no-waiting-required method. Besides, you never need to worry about coverage bars or dropped calls with this.”

Good point, but I had one more question. “By unsoiled blood, do you mean freshly shed instead of bagged plasma?”

Balchezek exchanged a glance with Ian, who rolled his eyes. “Times like this I feel old,” Ian muttered, to a grunt of agreement from the demon. “He means virgin’s blood.”

I bristled. “Are you trying to say that if a chick gives it up, she’s considered
soiled
? What kind of sexist bullshit is—”

“It can be male blood, too,” Balchezek said, winking at me. “Whatever turns you on.”