Those Who Fight Monsters (31 page)

“Love your necklace,” I said, making with the Bambi eyes. What serial killer didn’t love a big-busted gal with huge Bambi eyes?

“This?” He dangled the pentacle between his fingers, and I made sure to lean forward in appreciation. My boobs nearly popped out of my dress as I admired the silver necklace. Being near the jewelry actually made me feel itchy, but I figured that was my impatience; I really wanted Noel to get on with seducing me. Talking to my nipples again, he said, “It’s a pentagram. I do magic,” he added in a low voice, ending with a smile that was probably supposed to make him seem mysterious.

Cue my wide-eyed curiosity: “So you saw girls in half?”

“Not
stage
magic. Real magic.” His smile pulled into a leer. “Sex magic.”

I giggled. Couldn’t help it. He was so earnest. It was adorable. “Is sex magic hotter than regular sex?”

“Oh yeah.” He paused. “Want me to show you?”

“Like you would not believe,” I said with a smile. “Your place?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He helped me down from the barstool, grinning like a lovestruck idiot. As I clasped his hand tightly, I sent out a pulse of power, exploring him, testing for magical ability. Nothing. The guy was a blank page.

Some tough assignment. Hah. At this rate, I’d have his soul within the hour.

As we waited for a cab, he babbled about his prowess as a magician. I made all the appropriate oohs and ahhs. Oh yes, he’d call my name as he came inside me, and I’d hold him tight as he died. And then, once his soul was bound to me, I’d take him down to Hell.

No need for Lillith to know that Noel was a fraud. Hell had marked him as a high-level dark magician; that was all that mattered. I’d complete my assignment easily, and Lust would get major kudos for a powerful catch. In doing so, I’d finally prove my mettle to my queen and get the promotion I deserved. Everyone would be happy.

Well, except for Noel. But hey, you can’t win them all.

The apartment wasn’t bad. I’d expected Ikea-chic and some secondhand accoutrements, but instead I found tasteful furniture (modern) and framed paintings (abstract). I recognized one of the artists as someone who’d recently been claimed by Hell — the man had sold his soul for the opportunity to be immortalized by his artwork — and I took a moment to admire the bold strokes of black in the otherwise colorful painting.

“That’s an original,” Noel said, after naming the artist.

It looked like road kill with tire streaks. I liked it.

Noel took me by the arm and led me to his bedroom, a thing of black walls and overflowing bookshelves. Oh yes: this was where the power happened. Not magic, no — still coming up blank on that end — but the
sex …
I smelled the lingering energy, felt the ripples in the stagnant air, tasted the aftermath of death. It was enough to make me tipsy. Sweet Sin, this room had seen many active nights. And days. And afternoons. To say nothing of the weekends. Clearly, Noel was a man who got his jollies right here — sex before, during and after the ritual sacrifices. His sheets must be easily washable.

I couldn’t wait for us to get started. I bet his soul would taste like licorice and rum — steeped in evil, dripping with lust. Yum!

As Noel started lighting some candles (black, naturally) around the room to “set the mood,” I stepped over to the bed: a four-poster with a metal frame, its sheets satin and red as a beating heart. The comforter was a lush thing of sensual black — not the dead no-color of rot but the enticing inky darkness of nightmares.

I almost shivered with anticipation. Setting the mood, indeed.

He walked up behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders, then stroking down my arms. “Ready?”

“Sweetie,” I purred, turning around to face him, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Noel kissed me hard, mashing his lips against mine and forcing his tongue into my mouth. He was aggressive. Possessive. Just like I knew he’d be. I went along with it, encouraged him with little moans that could have meant pleasure or surprise or fear — whatever he needed, I’d give it to him. He was my client, and I’d make sure he was satisfied. So instead of me seducing him, I simply reacted as he kissed me down my jaw and my throat, bruising me with passion. His tongue teased me, darting, painting me with small licks; his teeth grazed me, the threat of pain in the midst of building pleasure.

He hit a sweet spot, and I bit my lip to keep myself from tearing his pants off and throwing him onto the bed. Let him be in control, I told myself. Let him have his power. Let the moment stretch. It would be over all too soon. Sex with humans always was. His hands moved down my back until they cupped my ass.

“No panties,” I breathed. His fingers quickly discovered I was telling the truth. Then I said, “No bra.”

As if that had given him permission, with one hand he tugged down the front of my dress, then stared in obvious glee at my very large, very bare breasts. (Infernal magic: way better than an underwire bra.) My nipples were already erect, thanks to Noel’s rough kisses and blunt fingers, but now the sheer hunger in his gaze as he stared at my tits made me slick with need. He was murder and sex and brute humanity in one black-clad package.

Oh, Gehenna, he was
fabulous
.

And then his mouth latched onto my nipple, and my reaction was very loud and very positive. For the next who knew how long, he suckled me and stripped me down until I was shining from his licks and wearing only my stilettos and a huge smile.

One of his hands was doing marvelous things between my legs when he asked me, “Can I tie you up?”

“So polite,” I murmured.

“The magic is stronger when it’s consensual.” He emphasized the importance of consent with a waggle of his fingers.

“Of course you can tie me up.” I adored bondage — Lash Me, Thrash Me is a particular favorite among the succubi. Besides, no mortal ties could truly keep me pinned; a teensy burst of power would sear through even the strongest of bonds. Or I could always just bamf myself down to Hell if I really needed to make a quick exit. But I was still sure the only thing I had to worry about from the wannabe magician was premature ejaculation.

Noel steered me to the bed and eased me down, his fingers dancing all the while. “Spread yourself wide for me,” he panted.

I obliged.

Leaning over me, he opened the drawer of his nightstand and took out four pairs of handcuffs. Soon I was bound to the bedposts, still in my heels.

Noel sat back and smiled at me. “Perfect. You’re perfect.” He got off the bed and rummaged through the drawer again.

“What are you looking for, sweetie? A blindfold?”

“Nope. Just this.” He pulled out a pouch and dangled it in front of me before he loosened the drawstrings. “Salt.” He sprinkled the white crystals on the ground in a white trail, going around the bed. As Noel walked out of my line of vision, I realized the bed hadn’t been flush against the wall. “Don’t mind me,” he said from behind me. “Just have to finish the circle.”

Bemused, I chuckled softly. The handful of magicians I’d dealt with over my thousands of years had drawn circles too. Usually in blood. Noel was certainly acting the part. Shame he had no ability whatsoever.

“There we go,” Noel said. He was just out of eyesight, but I heard him drop the pouch, then open and close another drawer. He said, “This next part’s going to sting a little.”

That’s when he plunged a dagger into my stomach.

Shock hit me more than the pain. Steel can’t kill me, even though getting stabbed with a foot-long curved blade hurts worse than an angel’s blessing. But the notion that this mortal man had actually stabbed me stunned me into silence. How
dare
he? Sure, he was a serial killer who performed human sacrifices as a matter of course, so that should have been a tip-off he had a pair of balls on him … but
still
. The nerve!

The thought took me all of a second — long enough for Noel to pull the blade out of me and step back. And that’s when I felt the magic snap like electricity. A hungry buzz filled the air, the sound of flies over a corpse.

Right, all done with playing along.

I reached within me for my infernal power, ready to overwhelm Noel Le Noir with lust and then ride him until his bones broke and I sucked out his soul.

Except nothing happened.

Ignoring the agony in my belly and the sweat on my brow, I tried again. And again, nothing happened.

What the fuck…?

“Sorry about stabbing you before we got to the good part,” Noel said, sounding quite cheerful. “But if it’s any consolation, I promise to fuck you silly after you’re dead.”

Terrific.

“I said I’d show you magic, right? Well, the circle you’re in just sealed, thanks to me spilling your blood. It’s a magic circle, honey. The circle negates evil magic. So nothing evil in it can get out.”

My mouth dropped open. Screw me on Salvation Day, Noel wasn’t a fraud after all. Thanks to his fucking spell, I had no power while I was trapped in the circle. Why couldn’t I sense his magical ability?

And how did he know I was a demon?

“You’re perfect,” said Noel. “Those legs … those tits. Ah, man, those tits. You’re just the right sacrifice for the demon I mean to summon.”

Back the truck up.
Summon
a demon?

“Sweetie,” I said — okay, croaked, but give me a break, I’d been stabbed in the stomach and was bleeding and in a lot of pain — “what’re you talking about?”

“I traffic with demons,” he said proudly. “I get power in exchange for souls. Magic. Stock tips. Fashion advice. All I have to do is kill someone and leave the offering in the circle, and then my demon sponsor gives me goodies after I summon him. So I had to sacrifice you, Jesse. I hear Hell’s lovely this time of year. I bet you’ll love it there.”

Actually, I did. But that was beside the point.

“Listen, Noel, you’re obviously not in your right mind.” Fuuuuuuuuck, it hurt to talk. And because I was in a magic-free circle, I couldn’t even heal myself. Stupid magic spell. “Demons are the big, bad evil. Whatever you summon is going to steal your soul.” Unless I could steal it first.

“I’ve been doing this for years, Jesse. I’m not worried. Especially because I’m not the one in the circle.” He grinned, a predator’s smile I normally would have admired. “Seems like your soul’s the one in jeopardy.”

It would be, if I had a soul. “You’re making a mistake,” I gritted. “And the demon you summon will destroy you.”

“Uh-huh. I’d say that’s what they all say, except by now they’re usually dead or too busy dying to bother with talking.” He sighed. “This much spirit in you, you must be phenomenal in the sack.”

“Oh, I am. Why don’t you come here and find out yourself?”

“Sorry, honey. Can’t break the circle. Now you hush up and go ahead and die while I summon the demon, okay?”

I clenched my teeth against the pain throbbing from my stomach. “Demons don’t care for being called like dogs. Tends to make them grumpy. Even if you get one to serve you now, it’ll come after you when you’re not looking.”

“Talk, talk, talk.” Noel grabbed something off the nightstand — his pentagram necklace. “This is a Shield against Evil, honey. No demon can harm me while I wear it.”

No freaking
way
. Really? That stupid thing was real? “You probably want to put that on, so that the demon you summon won’t, you know, slaughter you.” No way was I letting another one of the nefarious kill him. That would be
my
job when I got out of here.

“Unfortunately, the shieldstone blocks my magic. So, no wearing it for me right now.”

Satan spare me. Daun had been right.

“It’s sweet of you to be concerned, though.” Noel smiled down at me. “Don’t worry. Between the circle, which will hold the demon, and my shieldstone for when I’m done, I’m completely safe. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a creature of the Pit to summon.”

I didn’t know which was worse: me being captured by a mortal with intentions of magical grandeur, or Daunuan being right.

Even before the chanting stopped, the shadows had pulled together until there was a black mass hovering over me. It stretched and filled out, taking on the shape of an obscenely well-muscled man. Skin the hue of burnished copper. Hairless. Wonderfully naked, but his most important muscle was covered by a leather apron.

Only one demon made it a point to wear a workman’s apron of tanned human skin: Baruel, so-called Master of All Arts. He was a creature of Pride, one of Lust’s natural enemies. Baruel was also an asshole, but that had nothing to do with him being one of the Arrogant. He was one of Hell’s elite, and as befitted any infernal Lower Down, he had an ego that dwarfed Mount Everest.

Baruel would have no qualms about destroying me; it was a Pride thing.

Snarling, I struggled against the handcuffs, to no avail. Think, Jesse. There’s got to be a way out of this that didn’t end with my severed head on a silver platter.