“I’m trying to heal her.”
I nodded. “A nurse, healer magic. That makes sense.”
“You really know nothing.”
“About witches? Call me Jon Snow,” I said. Sienna frowned. “Game of Thrones? Seriously? How have you missed one of the hugest cultural phenomena in recent history?”
“Luck. All witches can heal.”
“Infusion and elimination,” Gelman said. Her eyes were closed but she breathed easier.
“Then why don’t you just cure her?”
Sienna slapped her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Our magic has grown weaker,” Gelman said. “Sienna can’t cure me but this helps.”
“You’re too stubborn to die,” Sienna replied in a fond voice. “They don’t even want you in isolation anymore.”
“Magic,” Gelman prompted.
“Witches’ magic is based on the premise of infusion and elimination.” Sienna removed her hands and shook them out. Gelman’s skin was a bit rosier. “That’s ‘adding to’ and ‘taking away from.’”
“Thanks,” I said. “I have a Word of the Day app.”
“With your generation, I assume nothing. When you kill a demon, you eliminate its life force. If I pin you in place?”
I jerked against the chair hard enough to snap my head back, an invisible band pushing against my chest like a vise.
“I eliminate your ability to move.” She released me, but only after much flailing of my hands and an order from Dr. Gelman.
I rubbed my chest, peeking down the front of my scrubs and T-shirt reading “All I care about is my coffee and like 3 people” to confirm that there was bruising. “So if you changed me into a frog, you would be infusing me with frog essence–Oh, come on!” My voice came out in a throaty croak. It went well with my bumpy green skin and the flipper protruding from my left arm pit.
Dr. Gelman laughed. If looking like Kermit was the price of hearing her laugh again, then I’d pay it.
“Infusing you with frog essence makes you a ridiculous looking human,” Sienna said, “not a frog.”
“Dr. Gelman,” I rumbled. Gelman waved a hand and undid the froggy damage. I patted myself down to make sure I was properly restored.
“You witches really did just give us Rasha a fraction of your power,” I said.
“Rasha were only given that one sliver of our elimination magic relevant to killing demons.” Sienna opened the curtains around the bed once more. “Even that was too much.”
“Our magic is pretty cool,” I retorted. “Electricity, human blades, super speed, poison skin, shadow manipulation.”
“Flashy super powers.” Sienna keyed in something on one of the monitors. “Rasha should never have been allowed to exist.”
If her attitude was what I could expect from the witches, any hope of co-operation was hooped. “It’s not just super powers. We can cast spells.”
Sienna and Dr. Gelman laughed. “Spells are the training wheels of magic,” Sienna said. “Cast a ward, do a ritual, glamor an object, big deal. Inherent magic is where the real power is and the only inherent magic you Rasha have is that little bit to kill demons.”
“Spells are like the channels you get with basic cable,” I said. “Got it.”
“My analogy was better,” Sienna said.
“No, because anyone with a TV can get basic cable. Just as anyone affiliated with the magic world can cast a spell. Rabbis cast spells and they have no inherent magic. Inherent magic are the specialty channels. The good stuff.” I appealed to the nice witch in the room. “Can you find out who’s behind the binding? Kind of a magic forensic chemist?”
Even Sienna looked to Gelman for her answer.
“No,” Dr. Gelman said. “That’s not possible. I’ll put out feelers about the binding, but it will take time.”
“It’s a fool’s errand.” Sienna toyed with the blue bead on the end of one of her short dreadlocks.
“Let’s go for a little optimism, shall we?” I squeezed Gelman’s hand. “I’ll come see you soon.”
“Try not to get yourself killed,” she said.
“Try not to cough up a lung.”
“Insolent child.”
I grinned and said she made me seem easygoing by comparison. “Don’t disappear on me again, okay?”
“I won’t.” She gave my hand a final squeeze and I left.
Rohan was going at this from the Brotherhood angle, I’d taken the witches. Neither were delivering any kind of immediate results. That left one other party: the demons. And one demon in particular who was powerful and plugged-in enough to possibly help me get some answers.
Malik.
The only problem with Malik was that the last time I’d seen him, I’d almost killed him. The marid was ancient and probably had perfected the art of holding grudges, so payback was pretty much inevitable. Not looking forward to it. Plus, it would freak Rohan the fuck out.
He wasn’t the only one.
The admissions desk had informed me that Naomi had checked out, and after a quick text to Christina to make sure both she and Naomi were doing okay, I headed back to Demon Club to get ready for my birthday dinner.
While I bathed, Ro, shirtless, shaved at my bathroom sink, singing along to the Motown playlist streaming off his phone to my speakers.
I rinsed out the last of my conditioner, a goofy grin on my face at our domestic coziness, and stepped onto the bathmat, drying off.
Ro tilted his chin up for me to inspect. “Did I miss a spot?”
I trailed my fingers over his skin then planted a kiss to his jaw. “Nope.”
He rinsed out his razor, washing away all the little hairs in the sink. What a keeper.
Make-up applied, underwear and bra on, and a bright orange towel wrapped around my head, I opened my closet to select my clothes. The jangling first notes of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” struck up. The Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell version, which Ro proclaimed to be the only version. I’d been getting quite the musical education dating this boy.
Ro struck a pose for Marvin Gaye’s opening line, then the two of us were grooving around, strutting in circles around each other, and striking poses on the bed, all while singing our hearts out in a sassy duet. I used my fist as a mic and Ro grabbed it, pretending to share with me. We built to the final crescendo, jumping up and down, belting it out.
As the last notes died away, Rohan spun me and dipped me.
Silence reigned. My towel fell to the ground, forgotten, our bond, intangible yet absolute, stretching between us to envelop me.
He set me back on my feet. “Get dressed. Don’t want the birthday girl to be late for her own party.”
Given the choice, I’d have blown it off, stayed here, and wrapped myself in him. Drunk him in like an elixir.
“Can’t have that.” I shimmied into a short-sleeved blue shirt dress, sweeping my hair up. “Zip me, please?” He zipped up my dress, and I straightened a bend in his stiff collar. “New shirt, just for me?” I teased. “Want me to pick your tie?”
“Tieless today.”
“Scaredy cat.”
He shrugged into a blazer. “First time seeing your parents as the boyfriend instead of just your co-Rasha. Need to find the balance between ‘make a good impression’ and ‘stop trying so hard.’”
I fiddled with the decorative buttons on my pockets. “You’re going to be fine.” Or run screaming, but what was a relationship without a few tense family moments here and there?
Rohan’s eyes narrowed, but Ari rapped on my door, interrupting further conversation.
“Ready?”
Rohan studied the lightweight pink sweater Ari wore and then my blue dress. “I’m guessing that’s not coincidence.”
“Nope.” Ari smoothed a hand over his V-neck.
“It was our rebellion at age seven at the gendered stereotyping of our clothing.” I pulled my damp hair into a high ponytail.
“More like Nava pitched a fit that
year that she didn’t get to wear this red poufy dress our grandma had given her, because we were always put in blue and pink. Mom insisted we wear what she’d bought us, so Nava gave Mom exactly what she wanted.”
I grabbed my purse and led the boys out. “She didn’t specify who had to wear what.”
“We all know how you love your loopholes,” Ari said.
Rohan chuckled. I elbowed him and he caught my hand. “Your brother insults you and I get wounded. So unfair.”
I interlaced our fingers. “Ari looked adorable in the pink sundress Mom had chosen for me.”
My brother nodded. “I really did. Nava just looked like an ugly boy.”
“I really did.”
We snickered.
“This is going to be some party,” Rohan muttered.
He had no idea.
Chapter 9
Cars clogged the curb in front of my parents’ house.
“Two o’clock,” Rohan said. “We’re being glared at.”
Mrs. Jepson’s curtains twitched, but not before we caught a glimpse of her trademark floral apron.
I nudged Ace. “Twenty bucks says she finally has an aneurysm about the cars blocking her curb.”
Ari snorted. “She’s been promising that for years. We’re not that lucky.”
The cedar and stained glass front door was ajar. We stepped inside, a loud hum of chatter and Céline Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On” swamping us, and were immediately approached by a caterer bearing a tray of champagne.
“Why yes, thanks.” I helped myself to a flute. Ari, Rohan, and I clinked glasses. “Get Dad off music duty.”
Ari grabbed one more champagne flute. “On it.”
Two other servers circulated with hors d’oeuvres. I examined their offerings before committing to the order of appetizer consumption.
“Your birthday dinner is catered?” Rohan said.
“But of course.” My parents always used the same caterers. Their cheesy zucchini mini quiche were a special treat and I helped myself to two. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
“For what?”
“So many things.” I laughed bitterly. “Just remember that I have no expectations of you playing nice with my family.”
“How bad could this be?”
“It’s like being disemboweled. You expect it’ll be bad, but until you’ve experienced it you can’t actually fathom its awful depths.” I ran my hands down his arms. “I appreciate you being here.”
“Sparky, be it demons or family members, I’ve got your back.”
I exhaled. “Okay. Game time.” I dragged him through the foyer, down the hallway past the grids of framed family photos, and into the living room, opened for this momentous occasion.
The crush of people helped a bit with the room’s general soullessness, though most of them wore black, so they kind of blended into the black-and-white brocade wallpaper.
One of the caterers cleared away the drinks and empty small plates strewn over the modular coffee table.
“Whoa.” Rohan slowed as the packed room turned and stared at our entrance.
“Wait for it,” I muttered. “Blue rinse on your nine.”
“Nava!” A tiny freight train of a woman with a blue-tinted perm barreled toward us. She air-kissed my cheek, bestowing birthday greetings, and then turned her gossip-attuned eye on Rohan. “Are you one of the security boys that Nava does secretarial work for?”
I choked on my quiche.
Rohan patted my back with one hand while extending his other to shake. “Rohan. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Ellen Tannery. I’m Associate Dean of Dov’s Law Department.”
I wiped my mouth with the cocktail napkin. “Rohan’s my boyfriend.”
“Really?” Another woman turned with a prim sniff. Awesome, my mom’s aunt Alexia had arrived. Ro got full credit for only giving the mildest startled blink at her overly made-up face with her botoxed forehead that wouldn’t move with a dynamite blast to the face, and her collagen-injected lips that she swore were merely “good genes.”
The Michael Bolton song playing cut out, replaced by Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You.” Praise unto Ari.
Alexia waved at Rohan with an asparagus tip. “This handsome young man is really your boyfriend?”
“Will wonders never cease?” I said in a tight voice.
Thus began the Parade of Making Nice, involving Rohan and me circulating from group to group while I smiled through a litany of backhanded insults on my professional status from my parents’ faculty friends and blatant disbelief on my love life from my family members. No, that’s not fair. There were family members that combined both, like my half-deaf great uncle Moishe, holding court in Dad’s recliner, who repeated his slights in a voice only slightly quieter than a stadium announcer’s.
Ro was shell-shocked by the time we’d navigated the room once. “These people are horrible.”
“Yeah. Come on, Snowflake.” I tugged on his hand. “You’ve done your time. I’m pronouncing you officially freed for good behavior. Leo will have corralled our friends in the TV room. You’ll be safe there.”
I led Rohan past the charcuterie table first so he could load up on protein because his left eyebrow was twitching, generally a sign he was starving. Though it might also have been PTSD. I shoved a small plate into his hands then waved discreetly at Ari, his elbow caught in a death grip by one of mom’s co-workers. He had the same pained expression on his face he always did when she tried to set him up with her douchebag son. I tipped my head to the door to let him know we were making our escape.
Leo, bless her heart, took one look at Ro and stuffed her highball into his hand. “Start now and keep up a steady intake,” she said. “It’ll make this night go much easier.”
He tossed the drink back. “Can’t we just go fight demons?”
“What do you think we’ve been doing for the past hour?” I grabbed another champagne flute from a passing server and chugged it down.
“Going to greet the parents now?” Leo asked.
I shoved the empty glass in her hand. “Wish me luck.”
I caught my dad sneaking back into the home office, his phone in his hand. He’d dressed up for the occasion, which meant replacing his sweater vest with a plaid button-down shirt that had been ironed to within an inch of its life. “Freeze.”
He stilled mid-reach for the docking system plugged into the house-wide speakers. “You don’t even know what I’m going to play.”
“Steve Miller’s greatest hits.”
He blinked owlishly at me. “Are you psychic?”
“I can see your screen.”
“They’re classics.” He huffed. “Besides, you don’t have time to worry about music. Go talk more with all your guests.”
“Oh, sure.” I planted my hands on my hips. “Should I go slip into my Handmaid’s Tale robe now? Because secretary at a security firm, really, Dad? Uncle Izzy already mansplained how I need to find a nice Jewish boy and get married now that all my dance mishegoss is done with. Haven’t heard that one since last Hanukkah, so it was just swell to be told that if I found the right Executive to work for my M.R.S. was assured.”
“Sweetheart, no one was going to believe the girl who spent the past year racking up temp jobs was hired for any type of actual security position. Be logical.”
I logically wanted to brain him with his phone. I placed my hand on my diaphragm, using a breathing technique from tap to calm the fuck down. “Happy birthday to me.”
“Always. What does a clam do on his birthday?”
I exhaled, rolling back my shoulders and visibly bracing myself for the groaner to come. Dad said so many of the wrong things, but he was the first one with a joke to make light of a situation.
I was my father. Kill me now.
“You ready? Can you take it?” Dad asked.
“I’ve been training. I’m in pretty peak freaking shape. Hit me. What does a clam do on his birthday?”
“He she
llabrates. Ba-dum. Tshh.” He mimed hitting a drum set.
“Wow.” I was totally telling that to Ari.
He kissed the side of my head. “Go find your mother. Someone spilled Merlot on her blouse and she’s having a clothing crisis about what to change into.”
We exchanged wry grins. Mom didn’t cope well with on-the-fly decisions.
“Going. Stay away from the music or you’ll remember what magic powers I do have.”
I knocked on my mother’s bedroom door before pushing it open with an “All hail the birthday girl.”
Mom stood in a black pencil skirt and black camisole, a variety of tasteful black blouses arrayed on the bed. She frowned at my blue dress, running a hand over her honey-blonde bob. “Really, Nava. Haven’t you and Ari outgrown that ridiculous show of petulance?” She dropped her hand. “Dear God. What happened to your chin?”
I blushed, cupping my hand over it. I’d thought the ton of concealer I’d used had done the trick since no one else had commented, but Mom had X-ray vision when it came to finding my flaws. “Demon,” I mumbled.
She tsked me. “What’s done is done.”
I kissed her cheek. “Lovely to see you, too, Mom. What’s the problem? Having trouble choosing between black and slightly less black?”
“I had a perfectly good blouse, but your cousin Shauna spilled wine on it.” She fiddled with her tasteful gold chain. “I swear that woman has nothing better to do than hold a grudge.”
I flung her closet door open. “Since it’s a party…” In theory. “Here.” I pulled out the brightest shirt I could find: a jade green number with its tags still on.
“Your father bought me that.” She raked a critical eye over it. “I think the color would make me look a bit… desperate.”
“You’re right. If you put it on, everyone would be like ‘cougar it down a notch.’”
She laughed. “You’re the payback my mother warned me about. Go enjoy your party. I’ll be down momentarily.”
Duty done, I fled back to the TV room.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 95
