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

by Deborah Wilde

  Drio pulled the laptop close and ran a new search for the female face in the database.

  I gripped the top of a chair watching the anger rolling off Rohan meet the implacable front that was Drio. It scraped my already raw nerves to fine wire. I opened a window but the fresh sunny breeze failed to ease the powder keg vibe.

  Screw it. I jogged downstairs and rapped on Rabbi Abrams’ door.

  “Come in.” His voice was a bit muffled.

  I threw open the door. “What’s wrong?”

  He crumpled up a Kit Kat wrapper. “Found them.”

  I placed a hand over my heart. “Stop at one, please, and no more honey in your tea today.”

  “Agreed. Do you have an update?” He waved me at a chair.

  “Yeah.”

  Give the man his due, he stayed pretty calm while I told him about his illustrious founder. I left out the deal Lilith had proposed because there wasn’t enough money in the world to make me talk sex with the guy. “You think Rabbi Mandelbaum knows this? Or that he’s up to the same thing? Making demon pets to help fight this war?”

  “I’ve never heard any of this, and I’ve been around this Brotherhood much longer than he has.” He stroked his white beard. “It is, however, possible. Does Esther have anything to add?”

  “She doesn’t know yet. I’ll go see her soon, but first I need your help with something else. Ever heard of an oshk?”

  He sat forward with an interested gleam. “No. A demon?”

  I gave him a brief run-down, asking if he could think of the best place to search for it since it wasn’t in the database or any of the texts we’d tried. He reached for another Kit Kat from the stash on his desk, leaning back with a grumble when I shook my head at him.

  Denied his treats, Rabbi Abrams heaved himself out of his chair and pulled a thin book off his shelf.

  I took it from his gnarled hands. “It’s a journal.”

  The leather binding was brittle to the touch, the ink on the parchment was faded with time, and many of the pages had come loose. Entries were written in a spidery handwriting in a combination of English, Hebrew, and Russian while the pages were filled with illustrations of demons I’d never heard of, not that that meant anything. I didn’t have as complete an education in demonology as the other Rasha. “Are these Uniques?”

  “The Brotherhood doesn’t believe them to exist. According to them, Rabbi Shokovsky made it his life’s work to record the whisperings of madwomen.”

  “Witches?” I said.

  “The Brotherhood wanted facts, demons that were confirmed in different cultures, not crazed rumors and fanciful tales. He died alone and reviled.” He ran a wrinkled finger along the edge of the page. “You said the oshk was an urban legend told by other demons. Perhaps Shokovsky heard the story.”

  I stopped flipping pages at one covered in rough scribbles, all the sketches a variety of the oshk I’d met. “I’d say he did. How’d you get this contraband, Rabbi?”

  “He was my great-great-great-grandfather.” Rabbi Abrams winked and tossed me a Kit Kat. “My family doesn’t precisely toe the party line either.”

  I skipped into the library, clinging to this small victory like a lifeline. “I have returned triumphant.”

  The mood had thawed between Rohan and Drio, but both the men seethed with frustration, open half-drunk beer bottles on the table in front of them.

  “Did you bring us chocolate, too?” Drio asked.

  “No. Rabbi Abrams gave this to me because I’m his favorite. He also gave me this.” I lay the open book down on the table, tapping the demon’s name that Shokovsky had written at the top.

  “A matryoshka,” Rohan read.

  “Like the Russian dolls?” Drio humphed, studying the drawings. “We’re dealing with eight of them?”

  “Seven,” Rohan corrected. “We killed one of the versions with an arm.”

  “Seven out there for Candyman to make more Sweet Tooth with? That’s plenty,” Drio said.

  “The matryoshka is a Unique. She just comes in parts. Leo wasn’t wrong,” I said pointedly, dropping into a chair.

  “No, she wasn’t.” Rohan hooked an ankle around my chair and tugged me close. It was all the apology that I was going to get.

  The journal entry confirmed that the matryoshka ate other demons with no apparent interest in humans. Its secretion worked as a paralytic on demons.

  “We’re lucky it doesn’t work as a paralytic on us,” Drio said.

  “It’s bad enough,” Ro replied.

  “Speaking from experience.” Drio smirked.

  “Don’t start,” Ro said. It was unclear whether he meant me or Drio. Drio’s smirk grew wider and I pressed my lips together, pointedly looking away.

  We poured over the drawings, learning everything we could about the rest of the forms. A head, an arm, a leg–put the eight parts of the oshk together and she made a complete human figure.

  The guys discussed how best to track it, as well as what protective gear we’d need to keep from getting splashed with its secretion. Ro agreed not to tempt fate by using his blades so he and Drio made a list of weapons we had on hand that would get the job done.

  I told them that the heart was the sweet spot then tuned them out, needing to properly regroup after the shit show at Malik’s. Needing to release the breath that had been stuck in the base of my throat these past couple hours. I pressed up against Rohan. With every inhale, I filled up a little more with him. My skin heated, my tension eased, and my muscles became pliant. I shifted closer as if the hard warmth of his side could keep me upright when my spine so clearly couldn’t.

  He didn’t look at me, didn’t speak to me, listening to Drio expand on an idea. His only movement was the idle play of his fingers on the neck of his beer bottle but his utter awareness of me emanated outward. So when the table got jostled and he reached past me for the box of tissue to blot the pooling liquid with a murmured “kitchen,” I had to shut my eyes to steel myself because the unease humming in my system had become low grade arousal and that one word skyrocketed me.

  Rohan left the room carrying his beer and the soggy tissue.

  Drio kept reading the journal. “Go after him.”

  I didn’t need to be told twice. I scampered into the kitchen.

  Rohan caught me, pushing me up against the cabinets. “I hated letting you go to Malik’s by yourself.”

  “But you did.” I slid my arms around his neck. I didn’t want to think beyond this moment, so I kissed him deeply, and whatever else he might have said died as his lips met mine. The kiss danced on the edge of violence, grinding against each other, working through all the anger, fear, and frustration we both had penned up.

  Our darkness banished, our lips became a sweet tease. Rohan wrapped his arms around me and we held each other, our heartbeats slowing in tandem.

  “Want to tell me what happened?”

  I pulled away with a shaky sigh. “Yeah. But let’s get Drio. And food. Lots of food.” I hadn’t eaten since breakfast on the red eye flight home, and using my magic had long ago metabolized it.

  Excellent boyfriend that he was, Rohan made sure I was stuffed with my favorite Szechuan food, even ordering the ginger beef extra crispy for me. He stayed at my side, a steady presence, while I caught Drio up on Orlando, and told them both about meeting Lilith.

  Ro took the bit about Lila making my mouth vanish better than I expected. His vibrated fury only lasted a few seconds. He stuffed it down to focus on me, pulling me into his arms and rubbing my back in slow, steady strokes, as I recounted everything else that had transpired.

  Almost everything. I couldn’t tell them about Lila reliving my memory or her offer. I tried three times, and on each occasion broke into a coughing fit. The third time my coughing was so violent that Drio actually got me some water instead of his expected response of letting my brains leak out of my ears. When I was able to speak again, I ended up saying I’d pissed her off with my questions and it was a no-go.
/>   I yawned, my lids half-closed.

  Ro tugged me up. “Let’s get you to bed.”

  As soon as he climbed under the sheet with me, I gripped his hand, wrapped my leg over his, and stuffed my cheek against his chest. He was something real and solid to rest against; someone caring and fierce and mine. I finally felt secure enough to let sleep claim me.

  I woke up in the middle of the night because I’d kicked the sheet off and I was cold. I reached for Rohan, but he wasn’t there. My hand hit something crinkly. I switched on the light to find a note Ro had left me on his pillow.

  Gone to Palm Springs. Back in the morning. Don’t worry.

  He’d snuck out in the middle of the night to fly to California. Why would I possibly worry? I tried to go back to sleep, but his absence left me raw and empty, like a demon had sliced me open, casually thrust in a claw, and yanked out my insides.

  Dawn was a long time coming. Rohan’s reappearance even longer.

  I’d been sitting on the front stairs for two hours, consumed six cups of coffee and two bagels, and worked myself into one righteous fury by the time Rohan rolled up.

  A smoke-infused haze covered the sky, the sun a bright orange ball from forest fires burning hundreds of kilometers away. The air was heavy and stagnant with no hint of a breeze coming off the water through the trees.

  He got out of the car, saw me, and flashed me his rock fuck grin. “You won’t believe what I found. Women’s clothing and a fairly recent photo of Ferdinand with some lady. I don’t know who she was to him but I’ll find out. It’s a great lead.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” I spoke in a low voice, my eyes locked on his. “And don’t lie to me. Ever.”

  “How did I lie?” He sat down next to me. “I checked out Ferdinand’s place.”

  “Red-eye flights aren’t that red-eye. You didn’t charter a jet in the middle of the night. You kept it, didn’t you?” My hands tightened on my coffee mug, now cold and empty.

  “I called them to arrange it when you went to deliver the painting.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He twisted his Rasha ring around. “I was going to, but I was waiting for you to come home, and then the oshk happened and…” He leaned back on his elbows against the stairs. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

  “No? You were locked onto me last night so tight that I couldn’t even turn over. You’d have asked me to wait and I would have.” He looked away. “I didn’t want to.”

  “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, huh?” I’d lived that way, but I’d never figured Ro would pull that on me. Never figured he’d strip the connective threads that bound us with his manipulations. Funny how fast “doing better and doing this together” flew out the window when it didn’t fit with Ro’s wants. I crushed the remnants of my bagel into a pulpy mess and tossed it onto the grass. “If I ask you to wait, then convince me otherwise. Don’t sneak around.” I jabbed a finger into his chest. “You know who sneaks around, Ro? Addicts.”

  And addictions never ended well.

  “Here comes the melodrama.” He stomped up the stairs.

  “Better than the death wish.”

  “Oh, okay. You fight the oshk and you take down the Brotherhood. I’ll just sit here enveloped in bubble wrap and you tell me when it’s safe to move.”

  I jumped to my feet. “I have a better idea. How about you pull your head out of your ass and examine your behavior? You’re spiraling. Acting on emotion, not logic. Great way to get yourself killed.”

  “Spare me the bullshit. You want this blown open more than I do.”

  “I thought I did.” I clenched the coffee cup, stifling the urge to chuck it at him. “But you’re getting obsessed. Running full tilt on everything. You need to slow down. You were the one who said we were in this together.”

  “We are,” he growled.

  “Then keep your promise. And don’t break us.”

  Chapter 16

  Naomi and Christina’s dingy lobby had been renovated since the last time I’d been here, the new flashy disco tiles in varying shades of sea green a dazzling pop upon entry. The faded red carpet in the hallways had been ripped out and replaced with hardwood which brightened things up, but the plaster was still cracked in the far corner and the ill-fitting stairwell door still stuck.

  Amazing how easy it was to make something look surface shiny. Kind of like the smile I’d perfected on the drive over.

  I knocked on their door, balancing a cardboard tray with coffee cups and a large brown paper bag. Christina opened the apartment door and I held up the bag. “I brought bagels with lox and cream cheese.”

  “From Siegel’s?”

  “Where else.”

  She grinned, taking the bag from me and calling out for Naomi to join us. I braced myself but other than the turtleneck sweater Naomi wore that was out of place on this beautiful June day, there was no sign of what she’d suffered. Externally, at least.

  “I got you chicken noodle soup because I wasn’t sure you were eating solids after the surgery.” I handed Naomi the take-out container and plastic spoon, half-expecting her to throw it back at me. Definitely expecting her to say something cutting.

  “Thank you,” she said in a raspy voice, her throat still healing. She took it and curled up on the corner of the sofa.

  I grabbed my own sandwich and sat down, making bright chatter with Christina about all the beach traffic on my drive over. The conversation progressed to a restaurant we’d both heard good things about and on to the mind-numbing topic of our recent weather. If we discussed house prices, we’d have run through the greatest hits of Vancouverite small talk.

  Even though Christina was keeping up her end of the conversation, she kept shooting glances at Naomi like she was waiting for her to tell me something.

  I pushed my mostly uneaten sandwich away, wondering if I should make my excuses and leave.

  “I’m quitting the firm.” Naomi put the soup on the table, pulled a worn fleece blanket off the back of the sofa, and laid it across her legs.

  I did a double take at Naomi’s words. “Why? You sounded so glad about making associate soon.”

  “She was happy about what her parents would think,” Christina said. “She’s going to put herself first for a change and go traveling. Rock climb in Copper Canyon and slackline in the Moab Desert.”

  “I’ll go back to law eventually, but not in the corporate world. The attack…” Naomi fiddled with the spoon. “It put a lot of things into perspective. Made me realize it was time to go for things I didn’t think I deserved.”

  Christina smiled at Naomi and took her hand.

  “Oh. Oh.” I said. “Good for you two. I’m sorry for being kind of a bitch to you all those years, Naomi, and I can’t really discuss it but I wasn’t lying when I said I was in the security business. I promise you that we’re going to get those responsible for the Sweet Tooth.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she said.

  “Now that we’re all friends,” Christina said.

  “Weellll,” Naomi and I said in unison and laughed.

  Christina glared at us. “Shut up or I’ll hurt you both.”

  “Vicious. Good luck with that,” I said to Naomi.

  She shot Christina a heated look. “I like her feisty.”

  I covered my ears. “Nope.”

  Christina kicked her foot out at me. “I think we should all go out sometime soon. You can bring hot stuff that you’re dating.”

  “I’d like that.” Something good was coming out of the Sweet Tooth tragedy after all. I needed, no, I wanted more friends in my life. It was an unexpected victory. Our lunch relaxed into a much more upbeat affair after that, though I couldn’t stay long. With firm promises to get together soon, we said our goodbyes and I headed for the hospital.

  Along with visiting Naomi and Christina, seeing Dr. Gelman out of isolation and surrounded by flowers and get well cards went
a long way to brightening my shitty morning.

  “You can’t portal.” Dr. Gelman took a bite of the fruit compote on her tray and made a face.

  “Out of everything I’ve told you, that’s the part you’re most interested in?”

  “One thing at a time. Portalling is elimination magic.”

  “Which Rasha have.”

  “Not that type of elimination magic. You eliminate demon life, not the spaces between two points.” She pointed her knife at me. “Don’t be obstreperous.”

  “I’m not difficult.”

  She hid a smile like she hadn’t expected me to understand. That Word of the Day app was brilliant.

  “Ari shadow transports,” I said.

  She poked through the rest of her food. “That definitely shouldn’t be possible.”

  “It is if I’m a witch and Ari got some kind of echo of some of my ability.”

  “Figured that out all by yourself, did you?” She pursed her lips. “It’s our fault, really, for not seeing the obvious. There wouldn’t be a female Rasha. That’s redundant.”

  “You agree?”

  “Yes. I pronounce you witch.” She tapped my shoulder with an imaginary wand. “Welcome to the club.”

  I still wasn’t convinced I wanted to be a member. “No badge? No cake?”

  “Here. Mazel tov.” Gelman pushed the corner of her tray with the bland white cake square close to me.

  “Pass, thanks. The sticking point in all this is that my magic is pink, not red.”

  “That’s because you’re a mess.” She wiped her mouth and threw her napkin on the tray, covering the food.

  “No. I used to be a mess. A hot one even, but I’m only lukewarm now.”

  “That too, but I was referring to this twin business. Seems it affected you as much as it did Ari.” She picked at her fruit salad, eating around the maraschino cherries. “In some ways it would have been better if he hadn’t had magic at all.”

  “Why?”

  “As the two of you developed, gestated, Ari’s magic must have inhibited yours. His lay dormant, waiting for the induction ritual, and that leeched onto your magic.”