“I’ll take it from here,” I assured the terrified kids. They fled, scattering paint chips in their wake.
“Argh!” Leo pulled on her hair. She looked about sixteen in her striped jumper with the cap sleeves and a jean jacket. Not that I was stupid enough to mention that.
I waved the giant, fake, shiny ruby ring surrounded by “diamonds” that I’d purchased at the dollar store down the block. “Look deep into the gemstone. Let its cut edges–”
“Facets,” Leo said primly. Goblins and their gem fetishes.
I rolled my eyes. “Let its facets calm you, you psycho.”
She snatched the ring from me and slid it on her finger, admiring it.
“Working?” I asked.
“As a placebo, sure.” She regarded the rows of paint chip samples and whimpered. “Or not.”
Ten minutes later we’d narrowed the selection down to seven different shades of red and one green. “You know my vote,” I said.
“I can’t paint my wall this color just because it’s called ‘Olive-ia Newton John.’” She was beginning to vibrate.
I slung an arm over her shoulders. “I’m going to say this with as much love as I can, okay?” She nodded. “Your bedroom trim is white. And if you paint the walls red, my diminutive demon friend, you will look like you live in a toadstool.”
She snatched the green chip out of my hand and marched up to the front counter.
I waited until she’d placed her order for a gallon of paint and we were browsing the aisles to ask my favor. “So, hey. I was wondering if I could get Harry’s phone number.”
Leo picked up a utility knife. Casually examined it. “Why do you know his name?”
“Uh, Ms. Clara told me.”
“I see.”
“No one else knows any identifying info on him.” She didn’t put her weapon down so I picked up a wide putty knife and brandished it in front of me. “The guy obviously consorts with demons so I’m hardly a threat.”
“What do you need to talk to him about?” She popped the blade out.
I scrunched up my face. “Witches.”
“Right. I can’t see how pulling my friend into whatever this Brotherhood-witch animosity is could possibly be a problem.”
I brushed the blade she jabbed at me aside with my putty knife. “I promise you–”
“Maybe I don’t trust your promises.” Leo threw the knife back onto the shelf and stalked out of the aisle.
I laid down the putty knife and followed her, cornering her in the back by the bookcase of wallpaper samples. “I was a shitty friend, okay? There are not apologies enough for cutting you out of my life, but the number of people I trust are pretty much standing in front of me.”
“Don’t be such a drama queen. You have Ari.”
“He’s pretty firmly committed to Team Brotherhood right now. That’s part of why I need to talk to Harry. He seems connected in certain circles…?”
Leo gave a slight nod.
No one was nearby, still, I lowered my voice. “The demon that attacked me in Prague had been modified. I’m hoping if I find the external spine that had been rigged onto it, I can do some kind of spell to test for magic indicating binding and use that to figure out if the attack was ordered by the witches or the Brotherhood.” I rubbed my forehead. “I know you help fight the good fight, and believe it or not, I’m really conscious of not crossing this line between us. I don’t want you to think that I’m using you for your friends and contacts, but I don’t know where else to turn.”
“The thing is, Nee, it’s not just your life that you’re playing with anymore. It’s not even just mine.” Leo flipped through a rack of shower curtains, each one cheaper and uglier than the last.
“I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you again.”
“Not consciously. But you’ve changed. You’re a lot more willing to cut and run.”
I willed myself to respect what she was saying and swallowed the snarky comment I wanted to make about some people willing to give up on others pretty fast. “Okay. You need time to trust this again. Trust us. Forget I asked.”
This wasn’t worth my friendship.
“Really?”
“Really.”
The employee called out that Leo’s paint was ready.
“Go pay,” I said. “I’ll help you prime your walls.”
Leo fiddled with the fake ring. The employee called her to the counter again. She took two steps, stopped, and pressed her phone into my hand. “Two seven three three one six,” she said and headed for the counter.
27-33-16. The combination to the locker we’d shared in grade twelve. I smiled.
I unlocked her cell, and got Harry’s number from her contacts, leaving him a message using the burner phone I’d purchased when I’d gotten back from Prague. The Brotherhood had given me an encrypted phone which they could track and probably use to monitor all my calls, so I’d bought another cell.
We lugged all the paint and supplies back to Leo’s apartment, threw open the windows, blasted her Girl Power playlist, moved her furniture away from the walls under plastic sheets, and rollered our little hearts out.
“What is Harry to you?”
Pouring more primer into the tray, Leo wiggled her hips to the Beyoncé playing. “My boss.”
“He owns the P.I. firm?” I dipped my roller in the primer, slapping it against the tray to get rid of the excess.
“Yup. Is that good?”
“It’s even better than I expected.” I’d been hoping that he could get me to someone who could get me to someone who could find out what had happened to the spine, but if he was a seasoned P.I., he could very well be able to get it for me himself.
“Nee.” I glanced up at Leo, holding an angled corner brush in her hand. “I’m conscious of the line, too.” She resumed painting, singing “Crazy In Love” at top volume.
I hugged her and went to work on my own wall.
Chapter 8
Just as we were finishing up, Ari texted me to come back to Demon Club. I scratched my cheek with primer-covered fingers. “I gotta book. You okay for the rest of this?”
Leo tapped the lid back onto the paint can. “Yeah. Go.”
I washed off my roller, we wished each other “schmugs,” and I returned home.
Ari was in the library, plugging in his laptop. He’d brought Szechuan take-out for dinner and the room was filled with the smell of chilies and sesame.
“Did you learn anything useful from Ellen’s family?” I pulled off the first lid, inhaling the delights of ginger beef.
“Not really.”
He pushed a package of Twizzlers my way without looking over. His go-to peace offering with me since we were kids. The tension in my shoulders eased.
“Strawberry. Good boy.” I opened the other two Chinese food containers to find shrimp fried rice and spicy green beans.
“Like I was gonna buy you the black ones and watch you throw them in the garbage.”
“It only took one lesson for you to learn.”
He dug out his phone. “I swung by Mara’s place–”
“You went without me?” I shoved the licorice back at him.
He tossed the package at me again. It landed on the table with a thump and a crinkle. “It was on the way home. I just wanted to do an initial recon. See what I could scope out.”
“Without me.” I scooped rice onto my plate. “After I was the one that got her address to begin with.”
“Will you stop bitching and look?” He shoved his phone at me.
Sure, this was no big deal to him because he was the one getting to call the shots. I probably wouldn’t even have minded if he’d given me a heads up before he’d gone over there. Note to self: less of the free and easy with anything I learned in the future.
I looked at his stupid photo. “It’s an ugly butterfly. Mazel tov.”
“It’s a sphinx moth.”
That got my attention. Certain types of mara demons were reputed to take the fo
rm of sphinx moths. I examined the insect more closely but unless mottled and brown had become synonymous with evil, there was nothing to definitively ID it. “Why didn’t you capture the thing?”
“It flew away before I could get close. Tomorrow morning, when we go back there, if we can catch her transforming or better still, force a transformation?”
“Then we’ve got her. Is that possible? To force it?” When Rohan, Drio, and I had taken down Samson in Prague, we’d performed a ritual to force his transformation back to his true body, but in that case, we’d had his demon name and, besides, moths were a shape these demons shifted into, not their natural form.
“I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to check the library.”
We spent the next couple of hours hunting through the library and Brotherhood database for any references to inducing a mara demon transformation.
“I guess it was too much to hope for.” Between us, we’d inhaled all the food, so with no leftovers to place in containers, I dumped my dirty dishes in the dishwasher, then ripped into a bag of tortilla chips for our after-dinner-after-dessert-after-snack snack.
“I need to think about how I want us to play this when we go tomorrow.” Ari removed a tub of guacamole from the industrial-sized fridge, snapped off the lid, and, tearing off the plastic sealant, dumped the entire thing into a mixing bowl.
I smooshed up the tortilla chips, added them to the guacamole, and stirred, not saying a word. He could strategize; I could strategize. It had taken both of us to get this far: Ari learning about Mara in the first place and his keen eye for detail that had him spot the sphinx moth, coupled with me getting the connection between Davide and the clinic as well as Mara’s address. He wasn’t going to shut me out now.
I tossed him a spoon and we dug into the guac and chips like it was a crunchy cereal. “We’ll get her,” I said around a mouthful.
Kane wandered into the kitchen, peered into our bowl, and grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”
“Disgustingly good.” Ari held up a spoonful. “Try it.”
“No. That’s a line too far even for me.”
Ari and I shrugged. Kane’s comments didn’t come close to our parents’ very vocal feelings on our culinary masterpiece, created by us at the tender age of six.
“It’s comfort food,” I said, savoring the creamy, lemony texture with its crispy surprises in every bite.
“It’s chunky sacrilege.” Kane tossed a package of popcorn into the microwave. “I’m going to watch Deadpool. You’re invited. That bowl is not.”
Ari’s taste may have run to crime dramas not superhero flicks, but his gaze lingered on Kane speculatively when Kane’s back was turned. “Sure,” Ari said. He grabbed some beer and headed into the TV room.
“Gonna get cozy?” I asked Kane, rifling through the cupboards for the stash of M&M’s that Ms. Clara had hidden away.
Kane placed his hands on my shoulders. “For the last time, babyslay, I am not interested in your brother as a boyfriend. I don’t do those.” He smirked. “Well, yes, I do, but only other people’s.” He smacked my ass. “Movie in five.”
I brought my empty calorie hoard into the TV room and got comfy under my favorite blanket next to Kane and my brother on the couch, wearing my “I’m sarcastic because punching people is frowned upon” pajama top and black boxers with a giant yellow happy face that I’d won as some door prize. I seriously needed to do laundry soon. It was a massive injustice that I lived a reality in which demons existed and house elves didn’t.
I arranged the snacks by proximity and order in which I planned to eat them: the salt and vinegar chips and one of the two-party sized bags of M&M’s stayed in front of me. The popcorn and other candy bag was positioned for the guys to eat.
Where Rohan was, I had no idea, nor did I care.
We’d just gotten to the pegging scene, with Ryan Reynolds on the receiving end of a strap-on dildo in a hilarious celebration of International Women’s Day, when Kane gave this breathy sigh.
Awkward.
He let out a somewhat more gutteral moan. Ari and I stared at him in confusion.
“Oooh,” Kane gasped in a high voice. He smirked at me.
That. Bastard.
“Uhhhhhhhh,” I groaned in a lower register.
“Ah. Ah. Ah,” Kane continued in falsetto.
“Yeah, baby,” I said in my most manly voice, thrusting my hips, and pumping the cushions.
“Oooh. More.” Kane sloppily thrust his tongue in and out of his mouth.
“The fuck is wrong with you two?” Ari asked, turning up the volume on the movie.
Kane stuck his tongue in his cheek, miming a blowjob while panting, which, for the record, sounded nothing like me.
I bent over the sofa and slapped my own ass. “Do me.”
Kane whipped a pillow at me. “The hell I’m bottoming.”
My jump of triumph due to him breaking first became a stumble when Ari tossed out, “You’d bottom for me,” without even taking his eyes off the screen.
Kane’s mouth fell open.
I curled into a ball in the corner of the couch, and spent the rest of Deadpool that way, all thrill of victory gone, as I tried to concentrate on the movie and not on the absolutely serious way my brother had said that. Partway through The Avengers, I was yawning so hard I had to bail. I gathered up the detritus of the snacks when I left and loaded up the dishwasher.
I shuffled down the hallway, headed for the back stairs and bed.
Rohan’s door was half-open. I couldn’t escape the lure, much like a mouse to a cheese-laden trap, or an alien enthusiast to an anal-probe-promising light beam. Just a quick peek from a safe, stalkerish distance.
The light from his bedside lamp cast a warm pool over him. He sat on his bed in boxers and a faded green T-shirt, his hands pressing down on the mattress and earbuds in his ears. A broken piece of pale curved bone lay tossed beside him. He didn’t speak, didn’t give any sign of my presence, lost to the thoughts responsible for his blank stare.
I stepped toward the door, my hand raised to knock.
Stepped back, dropping my hand.
Maybe if I hadn’t ended things, I would have asked him what was going on, given the nightmares and now this. We’d been friends if nothing else. But I’d set our boundaries and to muddy things up now wouldn’t be to anyone’s advantage.
I went up to my bedroom, clutching my phone, unable to banish the image of him. I thunked my head back against my headboard twice before dialing his number, praying it went to voicemail so I could hang up guilt-free.
“Hello?”
“It’s me. Nava.”
“Oh. I didn’t recognize the number.” He sounded… empty. Running on autopilot.
“It’s a burner phone.” I arranged the covers over my feet.
“Prepping for your drug dealer debut?”
Even that level of lame teasing from him sent relief swimming down to my toes. “Or adulterer. Keeping my options open.” I cast about for something to say as our silence stretched on for a beat too long. “Uh, what were you listening to? I saw you when I was walking past a minute ago.”
His bed creaked. “Albinoni’s ‘Adagio in G Minor.’”
“Ah. I’m not a classical music person. Jazz and big band.”
“Because of tap.”
“Yeah. Did you get into classical from your mom?”
“My dad, actually. It’s all he listens to. He whistles a mean concerto.”
“Impressive.”
More silence.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yup.”
All righty, then. Compassion quota satisfied. “It’s late. I should let you–”
“Have you been dancing a lot lately?”
I jerked my head with a double blink. “Uh… Trying to.”
“How’s it going?”
I lay back on my mattress, allowing the call to play out. My initial caution quickly disappeared because when we weren’t at each other’s th
roats, Rohan and I could talk for ages without running out of topics. We discussed a dozen inconsequential things, from a Saturday Night Live sketch that had gone viral to whether the Empress of China had owned pugs (related to the sketch), until the conversation turned to Rohan telling me he had no idea what to buy his mom as a belated Mother’s Day present.
I tucked the edge of the blanket cocoon I’d made for myself under my hip. “Ari and I bought ours a spa gift certificate, but that’s because I have zero desire to have an actual conversation with her and find out if she’s developed any interests outside her field of study and Ari’s lazy. But your mom is Maya Mitra.”
A quiet chuckle cut across the line at my blatant squee. Rohan was well aware of how in awe I was of his music producer mother. “She’s impossible to shop for. If she wants something, chances are she’s already bought it. Or Dad has. I’ve never figured out if he loves to spoil her or he just really loves the fact that his engineering firm is successful enough that he can buy stuff without worrying about the cost.”
I wrapped the sound of his fond laughter around me as tightly as my covers and tried not to wonder if his sharing mood meant I was something more than a convenient cover for a mission and a fuck buddy. It didn’t matter anymore.
“You’re Maya’s only child and you actually like her,” I said sternly. “You do not get to descend into gift certificate territory. Write her a song. I’m sure you can think up something insightful.”
I swear I wasn’t dredging up the whole “Toccata and Fugue” debacle but both of us must have gone to that place because I didn’t imagine how the silence went from the easy familiarity we’d achieved to loaded. I cleared my throat. “It’s the perfect gift for her.”
“Hell no.”
“Why not? Done that too many times?”
“Actually,” he admitted, “I never have.”
“Rohan Liam Mitra, what is your problem?”
There was a rustle of sheets through the phone. “You know how scary her rep is,” he said. “She’ll mock it.”
I smiled, switching the phone to my other ear. “Aww, kitten. She won’t mock it. She’ll love it because it’s something thoughtful from you to her.”
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 64
