The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series

by Deborah Wilde

  A nurse turned into the hallway from an X-ray room, pushing a bed with a patient on it, but other than a nod, took no notice of me.

  Once inside the elevator, I pushed the button for the next level down, figuring the staff would want the shortest distance possible to take the bodies. If I was wrong, well, I’d go through each floor one by one.

  I expected creepy flickering and buzzing fluorescents, but the hallway was surprisingly well-lit. Dead silent. A good sign. Halfway down the corridor, I found the morgue. A bright, open room with lots of stainless steel sinks and tables.

  On one wall was a list of body parts including Thyroid, Lung R, Lung L, and Heart written on plastic signs and tacked along one side of a chalkboard. Next to the board was a scale. Empty, I was happy to note, though the orange “biohazard” buckets under a couple of the tables were disconcerting.

  A grizzled middle-aged man in plain scrubs and a disposable surgical cap stepped out of a doorway. “Can I help you?”

  I jumped. “Oh. Hi. You’ve got a Jane Doe here? Early twenties, red hair? Heart attack.” I rubbed my hands over the goosebumps springing up on my skin.

  He twirled a finger around the room. “Constant current of cool air. Prevents smells from stagnating. Has our JD been identified?”

  “Possibly. I was sent to check for a tattoo.”

  “No kidding.” He handed me a surgical cap and latex gloves. “Put these on. We don’t want to contaminate her remains.”

  He led me into a huge cooler where sheeted bodies were stacked in rows on refrigeration shelving, kind of like an IKEA of the dearly departed. Along one wall were the latched drawers I’d expected from years of crime show watching.

  “That’s where we keep the rotters,” the attendant said.

  I gagged, tasting bleach.

  He unlatched a drawer, sliding out the slab with the Jane Doe, our first victim. I braced myself but she didn’t stink. He smirked. “We also seal certain bodies to preserve evidence.” He grasped the sheet covering her. “Ready?”

  “Go for it.”

  He uncovered her and left me to check. My excitement at getting a leg up on Ari dimmed in the face of my first human corpse. Jane had only been dead a short time and since she’d been in the cooler, decomposition had yet to set in. She looked exactly like bodies in the movies did except what was dismissible up on the silver screen packed a punch when I was close enough to see the ragged cuticles that she must have had a habit of biting, and the small scar cutting diagonally through her left eyebrow. When I was close enough to see the chipped purple polish that was eerily close to my own.

  I curled my latex-covered fingers into my palm.

  Her entire right side was covered in an elaborate tattoo of tropical flowers in brilliant colors running from her shoulder down past her hip. No wonder the attendant had laughed. Pretty distinct ID.

  I wondered how she’d spent her last hours. Had she lived her life to the fullest, burning brightly, believing the world was hers for the taking? Or was her life a mess of failed dreams and half-formed regrets?

  My chest grew tight.

  Since there was no sign of the Arabic word for love anywhere on her front, I reached out to turn her over. My fingers froze inches from her body. It was the nail polish: the sight of her lifeless hands so similar to mine. Dizzy, I gripped the door to her drawer, my fingers tingling.

  Pull your shit together.

  Had this been part of Ari’s training? I’d cycled through a lot of emotions on missing out on the twenty years of being an initiate but jealousy had never been one of them. This probably wouldn’t have been his first corpse. He wouldn’t have frozen up.

  The image of his smirking face kicked my butt into gear. I pinched my arm until pain dissipated any panic, then, steeling myself, rolled her over.

  There it was. Once more in felt pen, woven through the stem of one of the flowers curving around her hip. I snapped a photo of it and, with a whispered promise that I’d avenge her life that had been cut far, far too short, pitched my gloves into the trash, and got the hell out.

  I barreled through the corridors, car-bound. Two wrong turns later, I found a service elevator that took me down into the underground parking garage. I stepped out and pushed the bar to open the door to the garage but nothing happened. Tried again. Still nothing.

  I threw my weight against it, hysteria dancing over my skin. I needed out of this building of death. Eyes darting around, I found a scanner requiring an access card to get out, but the lights on it were cycling from red through to green. It was broken and zapping it didn’t make a difference. Which meant my choices were go the long way through the hospital, out the door open this late at night to the street, and down the block to the garage entrance or…

  Making a fist, I rotated it clockwise, and blew the door into the garage.

  That had been louder than I’d anticipated, but given it was the middle of the night, no one was around to raise any alarm. I raced across to my car in the far corner, the skin between my shoulder blades prickling.

  A figure jumped out of the shadows.

  I let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream and threw a right hook that should have done some serious windpipe damage.

  My assailant dodged my blow and flipped me onto my hood, pinning me in place with his hip.

  Rohan ripped my surgical cap off. “Getting a jump on the day?”

  I shook out my curls, calming my beating heart. “I’m bringing my C game. It’s like my A game but bigger and more supple.”

  His eyes darted down to my boobs.

  I pushed him off. “Are you following me?”

  “Yes.”

  I blinked, not expecting him to be honest about it. “Well quit it, stalker. I have work to do.”

  “Can’t let anything happen to my partner before we retrieve the spine.”

  I wiggled all my bits, checking for damage. “We’re not partners.”

  Rohan sat on my hood. “I’m not totally useless at this. Kinda have a lifetime of training in assessing character and making judgment calls about life or death situations.”

  “I don’t want you making judgment calls. I want you doing what you’re told.”

  “Right. In Nava-land, my role is ‘dance, monkey, dance.’”

  I beeped the fob at my car to unlock it, my fingers squeezed tight around the plastic. “Au contraire, Rohan, you have no role in Nava-land anymore.”

  He didn’t react. “Why are you in scrubs?”

  “I was pursuing a lead with the serial killer demon.” I let out a stuttery breath.

  Rohan jumped off the hood. “Hey.” He lay his hand on my shoulder. “What happened?”

  “Corpse. Unnerving. Go figure.” I traced the rough edge of my fake employee ID.

  “Was this your first dead body?”

  “Yeah. Does it get easier?” Please tell me it gets easier.

  He nodded. “But you’ll never forget this one. Every detail down to where you were standing when you saw it.” He skimmed his hand along my back. “You shouldn’t have had to face that alone. Or unprepared.”

  I blinked away the tears pooling in my eyes, refusing to break down. “Get me a coffee and I’ll be good to go.”

  Three figures stepped out from between two minivans to circle us. “Wallets,” the leader demanded.

  Baggy jeans, hoodies, shaved heads, and dull stares, the trio were the Huey, Dewey, and Louie of thug life. They were exactly what I needed to shake off the past hour.

  “In my car.” I bounced on my toes.

  “Put the bloodlust away,” Rohan murmured. He turned to the thugs and held up his wallet. “You want this? It is pretty flush with cash, but no can do, dude. This lovely lady needs a coffee and I need money to buy it for her.”

  “Such a gentleman.” I stepped away from the thug leering at me.

  “We’ll take the lady, too.” The leader jerked his head at Sir Leers-A-Lot, who grabbed my arm.

  I broke his hold, then broke
his nose. Big thanks to Baruch for teaching me how to keep from telegraphing my moves because damn, had I taken him by surprise. I fist pumped.

  The thug stumbled back, his hand failing to contain the blood spurting from his big honker. “Bitch.”

  He didn’t unleash his inner demon which meant these were human assailants. Oh well.

  Rohan tossed his wallet up in the air, catching it one-handed. “I’d say that’s a no.”

  “You’ll fucking pay for that,” the thug said. The three pulled out switchblades, flicking them open in synch like they practiced.

  Rohan snorted. “Those are barely knives.”

  “Boys and their blades,” I said, sliding onto the hood of my car to watch the show. I prodded my knuckle. That was gonna swell.

  “Not gonna play?” Rohan asked.

  “Nope.” Breaking the guy’s nose had improved my mood considerably. I examined my fingernails. “Show me what you’ve got to offer, partner.” This wasn’t me relenting; I just wanted to watch Rohan fight. “I’m the helpless female that needs protecting.”

  “Role playing, are we?”

  I tried to hide my grin, but Rohan caught it, winked, and beckoned the asshats forward.

  A minute later it was over. The crook with the broken nose now also sported a badly broken arm. The second guy had run off after Rohan stabbed him in the thigh with his own switchblade, and Rohan had the leader in a chokehold. He applied more pressure and the leader crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

  Rohan slapped the last thug standing across the head with his wallet. “Get lost.”

  The thug hesitated.

  Rohan broke his other arm. Howling, he ran off the way his friend had. Rohan pocketed his wallet.

  I jumped off the hood. “Not so fast. You’re buying me coffee.”

  “I saved your life at great risk to my own. You’re buying.”

  “Get real.” Ripping off the lanyard, I slid into my seat and started the car.

  Rohan didn’t speak again until we were at a twenty-four hour Starbucks drive-through, halfway to our next destination. He reached across me to hand the money to the cashier. I closed my eyes briefly, inhaling his signature scent of his iron blades cut with a spicy musk. My tension melting away as essence of Rohan curled inside me.

  “Where are we headed?”

  I handed over his disgusting black coffee, taking a generous sip of my mocha latte with extra whip before setting it in the cupholder. “You can go find a rock to slither back under. I’ve got a cranky old man to delight with my presence.” Harry had never phoned me back but Leo had had his home address in her contacts and I may have taken that, too.

  Rohan frowned. “It’s the middle of the night.”

  “Very astute.” I patted his cheek. “I don’t require as much beauty sleep as some.”

  He caught my hand, biting gently into the fleshy part of my palm. “Beauty sleep for this body would be too much of a good thing.”

  I pulled my hand away, changing the cheesy love song playing on the stereo.

  A Blur song started up, Rohan bobbing his head along with the beat before launching into a falsetto “whoo hoo” along with the singer. I laughed and he met my eyes with a half-grin. The private one he only ever trained on me, then a full smile emerged, almost like it had burst out of its own accord.

  Fizzy heart-shaped bubbles danced in my chest, pouring forth fast and furious, no matter how much I mentally whack-a-moled the bastards into oblivion. I was pretty sure I was still sitting up straight despite all my atoms listing sideways toward him with a magnetic pull, but I checked my alignment to make sure.

  Wrenching the wheel, I pulled into a spot outside Harry’s new place, a war-era bungalow on the east side, sending Rohan careening against the passenger door. “We’re here.”

  I didn’t bother checking if he would follow me, because when had he ever done otherwise, and also because of each steady footfall behind me.

  I leaned on the bell until Harry answered, bleary-eyed, his white hair sticking up every which way.

  He was a vision in plaid, from his pajamas peeking out under his robe, to the blanket slung over his bony shoulders. A lit cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth.

  At the sight of me, he took a deep pull on the cigarette, exhaling a thick white column of smoke into the frosty night sky. “My lack of a response was supposed to be a clue. What’s with the scrubs?”

  “I’m a ministering angel,” I said.

  Harry flicked a gaze over Rohan. “Who are you? The sidekick?”

  Rohan’s incredulity was a beautiful thing.

  I put my hand on the door. “Let us in. I’ve got a job for you.”

  Harry shifted to block my entrance. “You can’t afford me.”

  “Sidekick,” Rohan grumbled.

  I shot him a “move on” look and pulled the cash from Ms. Clara out of my pocket.

  Harry slowly and deliberately closed the door.

  I shoved my body between the door and the frame before it was half-shut, fanning away his disgusting smoke. “Help me because this could have ramifications for Leo.”

  Harry gave me a hard look, then stepped aside. “Five minutes.”

  His old place had been tatty: yellowed clippings of UFO sightings on the walls and ceiling, UFO models on every available surface, outdated and worn furniture, and the stench of decades-old cigarette smoke baked into every particle.

  This place had white walls, new furniture, and no UFOs. “Aw, Harry.”

  His gaze shuttered. “What’s the job?” He eased into his newish leather recliner.

  I held out the money. “Take it. That way you’re on retainer and bound by confidentiality rules.”

  “I’m not bound by anything I don’t want to be bound by, missy,” Harry said, snatching the money from my hand. He thumbed the bills. “It’s a start.”

  “It’s plenty.” Rohan’s tone was deceptively mild.

  Harry was no fool. He gave a snarky nod.

  I told Harry all about the gogota attack in Prague and the metal spine that had been left behind that I was hiring him to find.

  “I’m not hearing how this impacts Leo,” Harry said.

  “It might be how demons are bound,” Rohan said.

  Harry whistled. “Someone wants to force demons to do their bidding?” His expression changed from cantankerous old man to a shrewd conniver who’d seen far too much for his years. “I’ve got a dealer who, well, let’s just say if it can be found, Baskerville’ll find it. Got a nose for black market items, especially ones purported to be occult.”

  “Great.” I stood up.

  “Not so fast,” Harry said. “You and Boy Wonder here need to do something.”

  I’m not sure whose self-control was more commendable: Rohan’s for not stabbing Harry the way he so clearly wanted to, or mine for not laughing. Okay, it was totally Rohan’s. My snorting coughs weren’t fooling anyone.

  “Baskerville isn’t going to help you without something in return,” Harry said.

  “I’ll pay him.” I’d get the money somehow.

  “Cash won’t cut it. There is a trinket, however, that will. A dog collar. Go get it.”

  “Why can’t you?” I asked. “The three hundred should cover you doing that.”

  “I don’t like the dog that has it.” He readjusted the blanket around his shoulders.

  “Fine.”

  “Watch out,” he said, scribbling down the address, “the dog senses fear.” With that he practically manhandled us out the door.

  Rohan raised his eyebrows. “Asking for help? What an idea.”

  “Isn’t it?” I jogged down the front stairs.

  Rohan grabbed me around the waist before I reached the car, swinging me around. “Not the sidekick,” he insisted. I giggled and sang the Batman theme at him. He pretended to drop me. “Take it back.”

  “I’m Batman,” I said in a growly voice.

  “You suck.” He set me back on the ground.

&nb
sp; “You must have something better to do than come with me,” I said, unlocking the car. Like pack.

  “Nope. I’m off active duty for a while after that last mission.” Yawning, Rohan slumped in his seat and took a sip of his now-cold coffee. “Can we skip ahead to you accepting that I’m working with you on this?”

  No, we could not, but forcibly removing the lunkhead from my car would take more energy than I had. “If you have dog allergies or anything, say something–”

  He twirled his finger in a “get on with it” motion.

  “Awesome.”

  Chapter 11

  If there was anything of value in the abandoned warehouse that Harry had sent us to in the industrial area outside the city, then demons had to be involved. A misty haze draped the sunrise like a net. The air was cold, dank, and stank of open sewer.

  The left third of the desolate single-story building was unfinished and missing most of its roof. Broken scaffolding drooped, in contrast to the concrete exterior tagged in colorful graffiti, including over the bricked-up window frames. Greenish-black ribbons of mildew ran riot over the concrete.

  A dented metal sign proclaimed the premises patrolled by a guard dog.

  The wind bit at my skin and I pulled my coat tighter around me.

  We checked the perimeter for any hostiles. A couple of white rats with rheumy eyes and abscesses mottling their patchy fur haunted the nearby makeshift garbage dump, overflowing with plastic bags, stained mattresses, and broken furniture. Otherwise, the area was clear, but we still approached the warehouse with caution. Why this place necessitated a guard dog given the exposed walls and lack of a front door was a mystery.

  A fluff of a white dog with a pink ribbon tied at the end of its cute braided tail jumped out from the shadows, barking furiously. Yippy little thing. Around its neck was a matching pink leather collar with a sparkly pink stone. The only thing that could have made it less scary was if its toenails had also been painted pink. It was totally a demon.