“Like André the Giant,” another student said.
“Yes,” Mom said. “Acromegaly causes an overproduction of the growth hormone. That comes with a host of medical problems including vision difficulties.” Mom stepped out from behind the lectern. “Why wasn’t he an underdog?” She ticked the reason off on her fingers. “David was not lacking experience, nor did he only have a slim chance. Instead, he assessed the facts in a way that no one else had. Everyone else had read the situation differently, dependent on their understanding of how things had always been resolved. David had his own unique lens on events. He did what had to be done to win. It’s to be admired, not sold short as merely luck.”
Once more her eyes met mine. I didn’t understand the takeaway. Mom didn’t know what I was up to with the Brotherhood. It’s not something Ari would have shared and I certainly didn’t tell her.
The bell rang and students gathered up their books. Mom reminded them about their papers due next class.
I made my way down the stairs to her, wondering what I was missing. “Mom.”
She stilled, a folder of lecture notes and a couple of fat hardcover books pressed to her chest. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s–”
“I said it was fine.” She brushed past me.
I stood there, warring with myself. New students filed in and the professor gave me an odd look, so I took my indecision out into the hallway, standing next to the vending machine.
Mom’s departure was my cue to get back in my car. To quote the immortal Snagglepuss, “Exit, stage left ev-en.” It’s not like we had to interact all that much since I’d moved out, and when we did, we’d both be civil. We’d perfected that.
I stormed her office before I could second guess myself. She sat at her desk, staring out the window. She’d added a red and blue throw rug since the last time I’d been here and the small sofa in the corner was a bit shabbier, but otherwise it was as I remembered it. It still smelled of sun-warmed books and her Chanel perfume. Framed photos of Ari and myself at different ages, always grinning at the camera with our arms draped over each other, lined the window sill. They were even stacked in front of history books, along with photos of her and Dad on various trips.
“I meant it, okay? I was tired and sad and just done with that party and I know that’s not a good excuse, but please understand that I mean this.” I closed her office door. “I shouldn’t have called you a bitch.”
Mom swiveled in the chair to face me, cleaning her glasses with more vigor than required. “No. You shouldn’t have.” She didn’t offer anything in return.
Students’ conversation out in the hall about their tuition payments drifted in through the closed door. Since I’d rather have a kappa demon suck my guts out through my ass than have Mom start in about my UBC status again, I gestured at the door. “I’ll leave you to it.”
One of the photos on the bookshelf caught my eye. I picked it up. The camera had caught me pulling an over-the-top, my head tilted and lips curled in a sassy smirk, wearing a tux costume.
“Your last competition,” Mom said. My Achilles had snapped soon after and it was off the stage and into the emergency room and physical therapy.
I rubbed the back of my neck. “Another life.”
“You blew everyone else out of the water.” She didn’t sound proud, exactly, but she didn’t sound indifferent either.
I replaced the photo on the shelf with a dull thud. “Why did you tell that story about David not being an underdog?”
She leaned over her desk to close her blinds on the afternoon sun slanting into the room. Out in the hall, the classroom door shut, leaving the two of us in the hush of this darkened office. “Why do you think?”
I hated it when she answered my question with a question. I hated it even more that I wished I had the answer, especially since there was an expectation in her measured stare. A stare that was going to flash with disappointment in a moment, the way it always did.
I flicked on the overhead lights, making her blink. “No clue. Why did you?”
“Mallory asked.”
“Right.” I didn’t have the guts to ask why she’d worn that shirt, but there was a question I could throw her way and actually get a useful answer on. “Did you ever hear anything about King David and witches?”
Mom raised her eyebrows, an intrigued glint in her eyes. “There are witches?”
“Big time.”
Mom was already opening her laptop. “Is that how David originally got the magic for the Rasha?”
“Yup.” She didn’t respond, her gaze vacant and her attention to me lost. I bid her a soft “bye” and left.
I got back to Demon Club in time to hear the results of the analysis of the Sweet Tooth that Rohan and I had sent to the lab. It was such a beautiful day, we took the call out back by the pool. The albizia tree’s leafy fronds cast dappled shadows around the edges of the flagstone deck, though its Dr. Seuss-like purple puffy flowers wouldn’t bloom for another couple of months.
Rabbi Abrams had joined us, pulling up a teak chair next to the water. His eyes were closed and his face was tilted up to the sun and I wasn’t positive he was awake.
I’d kicked my sandals off and was dangling my legs in the cool water, watching the refracted sunlight dance along the concrete at the bottom. Ro dipped a foot in, then joined me, the cell on the warm ground between us.
The Rasha on the other end of the speaker phone confirmed that Sweet Tooth and the two other substances were the same. I high-fived Rohan, and the Rasha told us to hang on, he was transferring our call to HQ.
“You think Ms. Clara or Baruch want to talk to us from Jerusalem?” I scooped up some water, drizzling it down the back of my neck.
“How would the New York tech guy know?” Rohan wet his hands, flinging drops onto my chest. “Cooling you off.”
“What a mensch,” I said.
He nodded and leaned in. “That plus your dress is really thin.”
I glanced down at my nipples now showing through the wet spots, made sure my back was to Rabbi Abrams, and splashed my boyfriend.
“You got the source of the drug?” Rabbi Mandelbaum barked at us over the line in his Russian accent.
“You mean did we kill the demon responsible for producing it?” I said. “Why yes, we did. And thank you, Nava and Rohan, for valuable insights when our database had such meager intel on it.”
“If it was a Unique as you claim and it’s dead, then the information is perhaps not so valuable anymore.” If he sneered any harder, he’d strain something. “When will you apprehend the other demon involved. This Candyman?”
“We’re working on it.” Rohan poked the corner of my frown and I bit his finger. But I stopped scowling at the phone.
“Not you, Rohan,” Mandelbutt said. “I want you back in Los Angeles. I have another mission for you.”
“The investigation isn’t finished yet,” Ro said.
“Nava is the only Rasha listed on the assignment,” Mandelbaum said.
Ice filled my veins. The bastard couldn’t take Ro away from me. “We’re working together on this.”
The rabbi spat something in Hebrew.
Rabbi Abrams opened his eyes, sighing. “Boris.”
I snorted. “Must catch Moose and Squirrel,” I said in a Russian accent.
All the men went silent. Rohan pressed his lips together, his shoulders shaking.
“What?” Mandelbaum said.
“Nothing.” I smiled sweetly, even though he couldn’t see it.
Rabbi Mandelbaum jabbered on in angry Hebrew.
“Maspik!” I’d never heard Rabbi Abrams snap.
Mandelbaum sputtered to a stop.
“With Kane and Ari away, we can use Rohan. You have enough Rasha in Los Angeles.” Abrams patted my shoulder.
“Grown fond of her, have you, Isaac?”
“I thought we were speaking of Rohan. I’ve grown f
ond of him, too.” His voice was placid, but his smile chilled me.
“It’s settled then,” Rohan said. “I’m staying.”
“You mean you won’t leave your girlfriend.” Mandelbaum made a smug noise at our collective silence. “It’s understandable. She’s Rasha. She’s there. Fighting together forges a bond.”
I couldn’t look at Rohan as Mandelbaum so eloquently voiced every single fear I fought to keep at bay.
“Don’t. Push. Me.” Rohan snarled. “And stay the hell out of my personal life.” His voice turned to silk. Silk hiding an iron bar. “You know better.”
Was he thinking of Asha? I curled into his side, rubbing his back. He was rigid, but slowly relaxed under my touch. He caught my hand and laced our fingers together.
“This investigation continues,” I said. “You can list both of us on it, but I’m still lead.”
Ro laughed and Mandelbaum hung up.
“Douchebags gonna douche.” My hand flew up to cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Rabbi Abrams.”
“I think you said it perfectly.” He rose from the bench, slowly, but every inch a fighter. “Keep on Candyman, and step up your activity on everything else.”
Rohan waited for Rabbi Abrams to leave, then he kissed me. “We’re in this together. Nothing can change that.”
So why did it feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop? Fucking Mandelbaum and his insinuations. I wanted to nail his hide to the proverbial door. I hopped out of the pool and grabbed the basketball sitting on the edge of the court. “Did you Skype your parents?”
I fired off a quick lay-up. The ball hit the backboard and bounced off. Rohan stole it. “Yeah. Mom was running out to a session so it was a quick chat, but Dad gave me a detailed run-down of the golf tournament details.” He shot, but didn’t fare any better.
We both ran for the ball, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the court.
“I like your dad,” I said. Rohan collided into me and I rubbed my hip. “You, not so much, pushy.”
Ro tossed me the ball. “I like my dad, too. I think he’s been travelling too much for work, though.” He bounced on his bare toes, arms out, blocking me from getting near the basket. “How’d it go with your mom?”
I bounced the ball, looking for my opening. “I want to run an idea past you, but you have to keep an open mind.”
“Score and you got it.”
There was some universe in which I feinted right and put Ro in the dust, shooting a perfect basket from center court, but in this one, I pivoted and ran to the other basket that we weren’t using and flung the ball.
It teetered for a precarious second on the rim then dropped through the basket, bouncing along the court until I scooped it up.
I fist pumped. “Nailed it.”
“Cheated it.”
Something flashed through my head. I sauntered back to Ro. “Won on my terms.”
I thunked the ball into his chest.
He patted his pecs. “Strong like bull,” he said in a Russian accent. “You realize that Mandelbaum will now forever be Boris Badenov for me.”
“You’re welcome. Will you listen to my idea?”
“For the record?” He bounced the ball, dodging my every block. “I hate it already, but go ahead.”
“In terms of everything we’ve been investigating about who is binding demons and the connection to Askuchar, we’ve been going about it in expected ways. You’re investigating the Brotherhood and I’ve roped Gelman into helping with the witches.”
“How else do you want to do it?”
“Demons.”
“You tried the zizu. They didn’t know either.”
I steeled myself and went for it. “Malik might.”
Rohan fumbled his bounce, dropping the ball which rolled away. “You can’t be serious.”
“Gelman’s promising leads could take weeks to pan out. If ever. We don’t have that kind of time. If there’s a demon who’s capable of narrowing down our search? It’s worth pursuing.”
“No.” Rohan cleared the court in fast, angry strides.
I jogged after him. “Why not? Like you said, I already dealt with the zizu.”
“No past history there. You’re not going to see the marid demon who’s thousands of years old, who you almost killed, who almost certainly wants to kill you back. Who probably will.”
“I learned a new word today. Autocratic. Look it up.”
He stopped at the bottom of the back stairs, his expression grim. “I lost Asha because I was an asshole. But if I have to be an asshole to save you, I’ll do it.”
“Then you’ll lose me anyway.”
Rohan raked a hand through his hair. “‘He wants me dead.’ That’s a direct quote from your debrief.”
“I remember. But Malik is also very interested in his own self-preservation and the goings-on in his world. He’ll have a vested interest in finding out who’s behind this.”
“It’s a suicide mission.”
“Every time we step out the door as Rasha, it’s a suicide mission. Take emotion out of this.”
Don’t make me your new cause. It would be an easy mantle to assume for a man with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility towards those he wanted to protect, but our relationship had to stand apart from all that.
“Fuck.” He shook his head, the fight draining out of him. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”
“Not really. I like being alive.” I shrugged. “I do seem to see things differently from the other Rasha.”
“Do we get to be in this together?”
“I think that between what I have to tell him and his fascination with Ari, I’ll be safe. I can’t say the same for you and I won’t risk having you there.”
“New word for you. Hypocrite.”
“I can live with that.” I slid my arms around his waist. “Can you?”
His lips flattened into a stern line before he shook his head with a weary sigh. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” His hold on me tightened. “People who keep their promises get very good rewards.”
“Cuntessa is very happy to hear that.”
“Cuntessa?”
I screwed my expression into adorable confusion and pulled away. “What?”
“Cuntessa? Nava,” he purred. “Spill.”
“Tell me the Passover story.”
His counteroffer was to tickle my hips.
“It’s my clit,” I gasped, batting his hands away. “Cuntessa de Spluge.”
“You named your clit Cuntessa?”
“Like you’re one to talk, dude who is cheating on me with his car.”
“Aw, Sparky, you’re a close second in my affections.”
I shoved him away. “I’m leaving and you suck.”
He snickered, then swung me in to his chest. “Promise me.”
I kissed him. “I promise.”
Man, was it gonna bite if he was right and I ended up dead.
Chapter 13
“I love home delivery.” Malik lounged in his doorway, eyeing me the way the wolf must have with the three little pigs. His British accent was pure sin.
“I love your arrogance that you didn’t bother moving after I almost killed you.”
He laughed, flashing straight white teeth against his bronze skin. He was still the only being I’d ever met who could pull off a Caesar cut, and was still the stuff of billionaire romance cover fantasies in his soft gray trousers that were artfully tailored to the hard lines of his body and navy shirt, carelessly folded back at the cuffs. “Oh, petal. I’d say I missed you, but I didn’t. Now, unless you brought the more interesting twin?” He peered into the hallway. “No?”
He shut the door, but I stuffed my foot in to block it. Not like he politely stopped trying to close it. “Ow.” I pushed my shoulder into the door to keep my poor bones from breaking. “If you weren’t wondering why I was here, you wouldn’t have let security buzz me up or let my toes cross the wards I’m sure you’ve got strung across this doo
r.”
“Ten seconds.”
“That’s not–”
“Five, four…”
“Demons are being bound.” I rushed my words as he made a buzzing noise.
Malik yanked me inside by my collar and slammed the door.
I wrenched free.
His penthouse apartment hadn’t changed. Still to-die-for sweeping views of the city, a massive glass wine storage unit in the open concept space, and a loft bedroom. He pointed at one of the leather sofas, custom made to hug the curved walls. “Sit and talk.”
I told him about the gogota and the purple magic. I left out the spine modification, the yaksas, and Askuchar. I’d meant what I told Ro about enjoying my continued existence, and bringing up any Brotherhood involvement severely reduced my chances of walking out of here.
Malik listened in silence. A look of crystalized rage flashed over his face, but he sounded positively insolent when he said, “Why ever would you care about all this?”
It was a good question, but I had a good answer. “Leonie.”
Malik knew my bestie was half-goblin and I hoped that fact would make him amenable to helping me, because saying that I wanted to make sure humanity was safe from people binding demons and using their magic to further nefarious human agendas would just get me tossed out.
He weighed my answer, rubbing a finger over his chin. “What do you want from me?”
“A name.” I followed him to the kitchen.
He removed two stemless wineglasses from a glass-fronted cupboard, yanked the cork out of the half-drunk bottle of red on his counter, and poured us both a liberal dose. He shoved the drink at me. “I have no love for my fellow demons. If they’re stupid enough to get caught, they deserve what’s coming to them.”
“I got the better of you once and I’m not as powerful as a witch.” I took a sip of the wine and yes, it was as smooth and expensive as the fancy cream label promised.
“Your concern is touching. Misplaced, but touching.”
I savored one last sip. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Thanks for the wine. Have a nice life.”
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-6: A Complete Paranormal Romantic Comedy Series Page 100
