The Slaughtered Lamb Bookstore and Bar (Sam Quinn Book 1)

by Seana Kelly

  Three

  Wait. We’re Using the Word Demon as a Metaphor, Right?

  Punching, fighting like the cornered animal I was, my arms shot out and hit something hard. The sound of a grunt had me doubling my efforts. I was being held down. No! Not again. I opened my mouth and screamed, but only a whispered gasp met my ears.

  “Sam. Stop.” Gray eyes shone in the murky light, blocking out the Kraken. Clive? Holding in a sob, I wriggled away from him. Sitting up, I turned, my eyes darting around the room. I was in the bar. My bar was still here. How?

  “Ms. Quinn?” I flinched as a dwarf I didn’t know stepped closer. “I’m Doctor Underfoot. Mr. Fitzwilliam called me when he couldn’t wake you.”

  I stared at the two of them, uncomprehending, willing the panic down. Eyes darting around the room, I tried to take it all in. I was dry. On the floor of my bar. Which had not been destroyed. My gaze finally landed on the doctor who stood about four feet tall, with short dark hair, ruddy skin, and an impressively bushy beard. I didn’t know what was going on, but as I wasn’t being digested by a monster, I’d hear them out. Backing further away from the men, I tried to assess the situation.

  “Who’s Mr. Fitzwilliam?” My voice was a painful croak.

  Clive stood and said, “I am.”

  “I was—it was a dream?” Studying the unbroken window, searching for a telltale rivulet of water, I ran a hand over my body. “I wasn’t eaten?”

  “Is that what you were screaming about?” Clive tunneled his fingers through his hair, before crossing his arms and studying me. In all the years I’d known Clive, I’d never seen him display any emotion. He gave the impression of one who had seen and done it all, someone now bored by everything. The stiff, jerky movement made me focus on him more than I would have at that moment. And that was when I noticed his left sleeve was unbuttoned and rolled up. Blood stained the crisp, snowy white of his shirt.

  Heavy footsteps pounded down the stairs. Dave came into view, concern clear on his face. He pulled Dr. Underfoot aside and spoke in a low voice while I tried to avoid Clive’s measuring gaze.

  Though my legs were shaky, I stood. Being stretched out on the floor while men looked down on me was uncomfortable on many levels.

  “Are you all right now?” His voice was low, just for me, and I appreciated the discretion. He wasn’t trumpeting my fear to the room.

  Breathing deeply, I nodded.

  He turned to the window and stared out. We weren’t touching, but he was close enough to catch me if I collapsed. Which was nice, though unnecessary.

  “Um. Could someone tell me what I missed and how you all got in?” My heart was still beating a mile a minute, but it was over. I kept telling myself the danger was over. I sat in the chair I’d occupied earlier, the book I was reading still on the table.

  “You were screaming,” Clive said again. “I was—it doesn’t matter. I heard you screaming. Your wards were open, and I found you sitting right there. Eyes wide open. Screaming. I couldn’t get you to stop. Couldn’t wake you.” He gestured toward Dr. Underfoot. “Neither of us could.”

  I’d locked my wards down. I knew I had. How… I’d been trapped by my wards in the vision. I’d yelled again and again for them to open. They must have heard me.

  Dave walked over and crouched in front of me, staring into my eyes, sniffing the air around me. “Eyes are dilated and she—” He sniffed again. “You smell different.”

  “Yes,” Clive said. “I noticed that, too. Beneath the terror, she’s different.”

  “Demon,” Dave said.

  Dr. Underfoot moved forward to discreetly sniff me.

  “I stink?” Nothing like having three men stare at you and tell you that you reek.

  Dave picked up my cocoa cup and breathed in the scent. He picked up my book and blanket, searching for something. Looking down at my feet, he paused and shook his head. “Nice bunny slippers.”

  Something had happened to me. I’d lost control of my own body. Someone had made me see what wasn’t there. My hands started to tremble again. I stuffed them in my hoodie pocket, afraid to consider what could have been done to me. Again.

  “Nah, Sam, not you. Whoever was here, either literally in the room with you or more likely the magic that was sent to ensnare you, is what stinks.” He touched my head in a brotherly, affectionate way. “You do smell different, though. It’s strange, more complex—”

  “Yes, exactly,” Clive interrupted.

  “We can deal with that later, though. Right now, we need to figure out if a demon has taken an interest in you or if someone has piggybacked on a demon’s power to take you out.” Dave turned to Clive. “Why am I smelling your blood on her?”

  I flinched at the hard edge in Dave’s voice.

  “I told you,” Clive said, rolling down his sleeve and buttoning the cuff. “She wouldn’t wake up. Her heart was racing like a hummingbird’s.”

  “It’s true,” Dr. Underfoot confirmed. “We couldn’t wake her. Her heart was about to give out. Mr. Fitzwilliam did what he had to in order to save her.”

  “You gave her your blood?” Dave sounded outraged.

  “Would you rather she was dead?” Clive shrugged into his suit jacket. “We couldn’t find anything physically wrong with her. I thought it might be a psychic attack. I’m immune to that. I took a chance and fed her some of my blood.”

  “That was a hell of a chance you took with her life.”

  “It worked.” Clive glanced at me, making sure I was still conscious. “She’s strong. She’s out of the vision and alive.”

  Clive gave me vampire blood? I ran my fingers over my lips. A streak of crimson stained them. Stomach gurgling, I wiped my fingers off on my pajama pants. That was the least of my worries. If it hadn’t been for Clive, I’d still be trapped with the Kraken.

  “Thank you.”

  He blinked, surprised. Expression softening, he nodded.

  “So.” I cleared my throbbing throat. “When you say demon, you’re not using that as a figure of speech, are you? You mean an actual demon just tried to kill me.” What the hell did I do to piss off a demon?

  Dave strode back to my small table, pulled out the other chair, and sat down across from me. “I smell sulfur, which is a dead giveaway. There’s a different, underlying magic entwined with the sulfur, which is why I think someone is using a demon to power a spell targeting you.”

  Dr. Underfoot pulled a pocket watch from the vest of his three-piece tweed suit and checked it. “As Ms. Quinn seems to be better, I need to get back.”

  “Yes, of course.” Clive shook the doctor’s hand. “I appreciate you getting here so quickly.”

  “I wish I could have been more help.” He nodded to me and then Dave. “Goodnight,” he said, before turning and leaving.

  Clive pulled over another chair and sat on my left side, shoulder to shoulder with me. The emergency may have been over, but having them on either side of me helped quiet the tremors.

  “So,” Dave said, drumming his fingers on the table, legs spread as he sprawled in the chair. “Piss off any demons lately?”

  A laugh bubbled up. “Other than you? Not that I’m aware of.”

  Clive crossed his legs, appearing completely unconcerned. His shoulder was still against mine, though, giving me a place to lean.

  “Is there anyone in town you might have access to?” I asked Dave. “A family member, someone I could talk to?” I needed to know what the hell was going on.

  Dave tilted his bald head back, thinking. “Thankfully, my relatives are rarely on this plane.” He blew out a breath. “I guess I could talk to Tara. She’s a succubus I’ve known since—well, a long time. She’d be safe enough. She works at the Tonga Room.”

  “The Tonga Room?” I said. “As in the Fairmont? Tiki torches, cocktails in coconuts, a band that floats in a lagoon, thunder showers every fifteen minutes, that Tonga Room?” I loved that place!

  Dave smirked. “That’s the one.”

  “H
uh. I figured a succubus would get more business as a stripper or a hooker.” You learn something new every day.

  “She’s done that, too. She says she actually gets more action from the married businessmen in town for conferences.” He shrugged. “Don’t ask me to explain the ways of cheating men on the hunt for pu—”

  Clive cleared his throat.

  “Companionship of a carnal nature,” Dave finished.

  “Can I go talk with her?” It was a delicate balance, wanting to feel a connection to Clive but not wanting to make it obvious that I was leaning on him. It was hard to explain. He treated me as though I was capable but had a shoulder at the ready if I needed it.

  “You? No. We? I guess.” Dave stopped drumming, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  “You’d go with me?” I asked, breathing a sigh of relief. “No insult to your kin, but I’d feel better having you at my back when I meet a demon.” No matter how much it scared me, my life and home were being threatened. Fearsome, not fearful.

  “No guarantee Tara knows anything, but I’ll call and see if she’ll meet with us. You should check with Owen, see if he can cover. If we’re both going out tonight, he’ll need to be here.” Dave pulled out his phone and scrolled through contacts.

  He left a moment later, phone pulled away from his ear as a cranky succubus screeched about being woken up.

  Once stomping boots and tinny screams had passed through the ward, the bar became uncomfortably quiet. Clive’s shoulder pressed against mine. I knew he could feel me trembling, but I’d died horribly just moments ago, and I hadn’t yet reconciled my relative safety with the gnashing beak that had been stripping the flesh from my bones.

  “I am alive, right? This isn’t some mind-shielding hallucination as I’m being swallowed and dissolving in stomach acid, right?”

  I heard a chuff of laughter before he leaned across me and grabbed the arms of the chair I sat in. He lifted it and swung it around, placing me directly in front of him. My knees touched the edge of his seat, his legs on either side of mine. He didn’t touch me, but his steady gaze helped to settle my nerves.

  “You’re a survivor. Regardless of what was attempted tonight, you made it through. They only win when you give up.”

  I nodded. “They’re not going to win.” I felt my nerves settle as I said it. It was true. I may have been shaking, but I wouldn’t give up.

  “Fear is good. It can help you survive.” Clive paused, gauging my reaction. “Don’t give it the power, though, to keep you from living. You’re stronger than that.”

  A small flicker of pride warmed my chest.

  Pushing back, he stood abruptly. “It’s almost daybreak. I need to go.”

  “Of course,” I said as I got to my feet.

  He stepped close, his eyes traveling over me, as though assuring himself I was still in one piece. His hand rose slowly, giving me time to react. When I didn’t flinch away, his fingers brushed softly over my cheek. His fingertips warmed me in ways I couldn’t explain.

  Clearing his throat, he dropped his hand. “Get some sleep.” And between one blink and the next, he was gone. Damn, vampires were fast.

  I locked up my wards—again—and walked back to my apartment. Unsettled, I stopped in the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. There was no way I was going back to sleep. My home had been compromised, my mind breached. Safety was an illusion. I’d get dressed and sit in the bar with a baseball bat in my lap. If someone was coming, I was ready.

  Leaning over the sink, cold water dripping from my nose, something shiny glinted in the light. Mom’s pendant. I thought about why my scent might be different. The only thing that had changed since Dave and Clive had last seen me a few hours ago was Mom’s necklace. I’d never taken it off before.

  Drying my face, I considered what it meant. I didn’t remember a time my mother wasn’t anxious. She’d jumped at unexpected noises and never slept through the night. Dad was gone by then. I had only the vaguest memories of them laughing together, as he danced her across the kitchen floor. After he was gone, Mom had lived her life looking over her shoulder, shuffling us into the car in the middle of the night.

  It hadn’t been a question of avoiding rent. We had some money. Not a lot, but enough to put food on the table. She’d spent her days peering out windows, checking on me, reading old books, and crying over photos when she’d thought I was asleep.

  We’d moved around a lot, never staying in one place more than a few months, often only a few weeks. Different apartments in different buildings, yet all the same. Seeming more agitated than normal, she’d worked late into the night on the pendant. Something very special for me, she’d said. I’d fallen asleep on the couch, watching her hunched over the wobbly table, as she mumbled to herself, an open book and her jewelry making supplies spread out before her.

  She’d woken me in the middle of the night, hung the pendant around my neck, and told me we needed to leave. It was beautiful, but I didn’t care. I was tired and didn’t want to move again. We’d only been there a couple of days and there was a park across the street. She’d hushed me, said we weren’t safe, and packed the car, as she’d done countless times before. We drove through the night, headed for yet another nondescript apartment.

  Picking up the pendant off the bathroom counter, I studied the stones, the design. It needed to be cleaned after my dunk in the ocean and the chain needed to be repaired. I couldn’t get over the feeling, though, that without it around my neck, I’d been exposed to who or what we’d been hiding from all those years.

  Four

  Werewolves: Serial Killers or Misunderstood Furries? Discuss

  I needed a jeweler to fix my necklace but had no idea where to find one I could trust. So, lucky man that he was, I called Owen. The phone rang a few times and then went to voicemail. Not one to be foiled that easily, I called back.

  “What?” Owen’s voice was both slurred with sleep and annoyed as hell. It was impressive.

  “Morning, Sunshine!”

  “I’m hanging up now.”

  “Sorry, sorry. Don’t hang up. I need your help.” I heard the sounds of movement and then another deeper voice grumbling. Damn. Owen’s date stayed over, and I’d just woken both of them up. “Super sorry!”

  “What do you want, Sam?” He sounded a little more awake, which was good.

  “Okay, two things: I need you to work late tonight because Dave and—”

  “Are you seriously waking me up at…4:58 in the morning to discuss my work schedule? Hanging up now.” Less sleepy, more pissed.

  “Wait! Please, Owen. That’s not the main reason I called. I was just easing you into the conversation. And I’ve been up for hours pacing, waiting until a decent hour to call and this was as decent as I could get. I almost died last night. Twice actually. Dave thinks a demon is involved in the attacks, so we’re meeting with a succubus tonight to try to get info. That’s why I need you to stay late. The main reason I’m calling, though, is to ask if you know a good, reliable jeweler who can work with a very important piece of jewelry.”

  Silence reigned.

  “Are you still there?”

  “Run that back. A demon tried to kill you. Twice. What the hell did you do?”

  “Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Seriously, they acted like I made a habit of calling up demons and them jabbing them with forks.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Aww, there was my Owen.

  “Rattled but fine. So, can you stay late?”

  “I have a date, but…” Low voices rumbled. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Any jewelry store recommendations?”

  “Send her to my family’s shop. My sister will look out for her,” the deeper, grumbly voice said, and Owen murmured his agreement.

  “Go to Drake’s Treasures on Marina Boulevard at Beach. It’s near the East Harbor. Little place in an art deco building.”

  “Great. Thank you. Go back to sleep now.” After hours of sitting in the bar, not knowing if
my thoughts were truly my own and checking my wards obsessively, it was good to have a plan. I’d get the necklace fixed today and question a demon tonight.

  “We’re awake now.”

  “And think of all the lovely things you can get up to now that you’re both awake.” I heard deep chuckles as the phone went dead.

  Waiting until the shops opened involved more hours of stress pacing. At nine, I ventured into the city, exhausted and jumpy. My hand strayed again and again to the front pocket of my jeans. Feeling the reassuring lump helped me to relax for a few minutes before I was compelled to check again. I had no idea if I was right—that the necklace had been spelled to protect me—but as Mom had told me never to take it off and when I had I was attacked by the Kraken, it seemed like a good idea to put it back where it belonged.

  San Francisco was my home now, but being out in the open, especially this morning, made me uneasy. Owen liked to tease me about hiding in my hobbit hole, but in comparison to the safety and predictability—until recently—of The Slaughtered Lamb, the world could be overwhelming.

  The jasmine-scented sunrise of the Marina District had me striving for calm and normalcy. There. Just as Owen had said. A jewelry store occupied the corner of a beautifully maintained Art Deco building. The plaque hanging over the shop’s door said the jewelers had been in business since 1906.

  A brass bell chimed as I entered. The shop was dark and quiet. The carpet, a threadbare velvet in a fading cobalt blue, showed the traffic pattern from the door to the middle case and then down the row to each of the other cases. The walls were papered in a silver and gray Deco floral pattern. The dark wood display cases were glass-fronted and topped. A large crystal chandelier hung from a center medallion in the ceiling, illuminating the cases, sparkling off the glass, yet leaving the work area behind the counters dim.

  Hand straying to my pocket again, I approached the center display case. It was filled with antique wedding ring sets. A bittersweet tug had me crouching down for a better look. They were unbelievably intricate, these shining reminders that love and fidelity were a timeless reality for some.