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

by Deborah Wilde

  “I’ve killed demons before,” Raquel said. “Not that type, but all of us here have.” She rolled her eyes at my stupefied expression. “Hello, witches. We’re the original demon killers.”

  “I thought witches had no interest in killing demons anymore.” I prodded Gelman’s ankle with my foot.

  “Tl;dr, they do,” she snarked.

  “Most don’t slay.” Elena, the Mad Max redhead was a lot more soft-spoken than I would have assumed. “Only a handful of us have kept to the old ways.”

  Raquel smiled good-naturedly at her. “Trust the Romanians to know all about the old ways.”

  “I agree with Nava that we need Rasha. I have no interest in hunting.” Shivani added some lox to her bagel and cream cheese. Her English was clipped in that posh way of the very upper class. “Not at this stage of my life. I’m happy to leave that to Rasha and younger witches who choose to pursue that path.”

  Catalina gently cleared her throat. “May we get back to the more pressing issue? Instead of pointlessly fighting Lilith, the spell redirected and went for the easier target to draw out.”

  “That’s you,” Raquel said. “The easy one.”

  Shivani raised an eyebrow at her. Raquel squirmed and looked away, but she didn’t apologize.

  “Lilith had cast your awareness into a magic box, had she not?” Shivani said. “The spell extracted you and put Lilith in there instead.”

  I laughed, spreading homemade raspberry jam on a scone. “Hoisted on her own damn petard. She made her prison. Let her rot in it. I’ll live with her the way people live with bullets lodged in them.”

  “She’s too strong to contain,” Gelman said. “She’s leaking out.”

  Cold washed over my body in a rush. “You said it was wisps.”

  Wisps were light, fluffy, almost invisible. They recalled dandelion puffs on a summer day and cotton candy at the fair. Leaks were how people described oil spills, disasters that irrevocably destroyed oceans and beachfront, speckling tides with fish floating belly-up and staring accusingly at the sky.

  I slammed the table, rattling the china. “You. Said. Wisps.”

  Tea sloshed over the rim of Shivani’s cup onto her saucer.

  “Oh my,” Shivani murmured, and grabbed a napkin.

  When Gelman didn’t respond, I snatched her stupid lighter, blasted one of its corners, and tossed it on the table.

  She bristled, then deflated against her chair. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to be wrong. You were going through so much already. But yes, it’s a leak. I’ve detected more and more traces of dark magic in you. If it keeps up at this rate, you’ll have maybe a month before Lilith’s box blows open.”

  A lot could happen in a month, couldn’t it? Solutions could be found. Magic boxes could be reinforced. I shivered, reliving Lilith’s seething flash of rage when I’d tried to negate our contract by breaking up with Rohan. She’d been terrifying back then, but that would be nothing compared with how she’d be if she got free now, furious from weeks of captivity and determined to exact revenge.

  “How do I protect myself?”

  A hush fell over the room, all the other witches suddenly very interested in adding sugar to their tea, refolding their napkins, or brushing imaginary crumbs from the tablecloth.

  “Oh,” I said, in a very small voice. “I don’t.”

  I dropped my head in my hands.

  A soft knit blanket was draped over my shoulders, but it didn’t help. The warmth didn’t soothe my ice-cold insides.

  Gelman squeezed my shoulder, her shea butter and lavender moisturizer wrapping me in its calming scent. “I didn’t bring everyone here for a public death sentence. We’ve found a way to remove her from you.”

  I lifted my head.

  “Essentially, you tried to bypass the original deal you made with Lilith,” Elena said. “That’s why Esther can’t get her out of you. That original magic is still rooted in place. You’re like a clogged toilet right now and Lilith’s magic is the sanitary pad jamming you up. Leaking bits into you.”

  “Are you–are you for real?” I spluttered.

  Elena frowned. “Did I not say that properly in English?

  Raquel poured herself some tea. “You said it perfectly, honey. Nava’s a wadded-up pad. Go on.”

  Elena spoke enthusiastically, her hands madly gesturing. “We can plunge the box out of you.”

  “Like bringing the pad to the surface of the bowl with all the other gross stuff,” Raquel added, squeezing some lemon into her frou frou cup.

  “Thanks.” I rubbed my eyes. “I got the metaphor.”

  “We can delicately extract the box before everything overflows and the situation is irreparable,” Elena continued. “Then we transfer Lilith, while still unconscious, to a stronger vessel that will contain her indefinitely.”

  “Rivka is in London right now, getting that vessel,” Gelman said.

  “This sounds spectacularly repulsive, but if it gets her out of me?” I dug into my scone with the renewed enthusiasm of one who’d just had her death sentence lifted. “Unclog my toilet self.”

  “There’s one problem,” Catalina said.

  I threw my hands up. “Of course there is.”

  “We need… punct ochit punct lovit. How do you say?” Elena tapped her finger against her lip. “Middle of target?”

  “Bullseye,” Catalina said. “It’s an artifact rumored to cut through any magic.”

  “Rumored. Right. Which means you have no clue where it is or that it does what it says.” Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside me, and I was scared that if I let it out, I’d lose myself to the madness of my situation. I added clotted cream to my jam-slathered scone and bit into it, willfully ignoring how the buttery, flaky biscuit choked my throat like ash.

  Raquel arched an eyebrow, recoiling from my scone like I’d shit on it. “That’s like a thousand calories. What would your boyfriend say?”

  I licked some jam off my finger. “He likes me well-fed.” Regroup. Focus on what can be done. “Where’s the Bullseye?”

  “There’s this demon. Baskerville,” Gelman said.

  I pointed my jam knife at her. “You’re full of surprises today. A hunter, a consorter with demons. A very specific demon who happens to be my least favorite blue dude.”

  Gelman pushed the knife aside. “We’re witches. We hunt demons or make deals with them as we need to.”

  I made a snarky face. “I know Baskerville. I’ll get the artifact.”

  “Be careful with it. It’s a single-shot deal,” Raquel said. “Don’t set it off.”

  “One attempt. Got it. And the highly trained person who’s going to use this thing on me is?”

  “Any idiot can use it,” Raquel said. “Just press it to your skin.”

  “What’s the downside?” It was a magic artifact. There was always a downside.

  Catalina adjusted her scarf. “There’s a fifty percent chance that it will extract your magic along with it.”

  “Really? My options are death or possible magic loss?” Funny, Rohan had been so mad at me for the deal that had restored his magic, but faced with these two outcomes? I’d drop to my knees and blow him in thanks if he could spring the same arrangement on me–one where some perv would get their voyeuristic kicks for a night, but I’d get to keep my magic.

  I was working very hard on Regroup 2.0, but not gonna lie. It was a struggle. My scone fell from my hand to my plate.

  “I won’t let you lose your magic,” Gelman said. “It’s a delicate operation but we have the combined abilities to extract her and contain her in the vessel with no harm to you.”

  I looked at each woman in turn. “And you’ve all agreed to this?”

  “That’s why we came. To meet you and decide if we’d do this,” Elena said.

  “Which we will,” Catalina said.

  Shivani nodded.

  I looked at Raquel, who rolled her eyes. “I’m in, stop staring.”

  “Thank you.” I
put my hand on my heart, overcome at their generosity.

  “I want more than thanks,” Gelman said. “Stay on my good side for a change or fend for yourself.”

  “Your good side. Is that the one with your face or your ass?” I said, then took a delicate sip of my water.

  “See what I have to put up with?” Gelman said.

  Shivani burst out laughing. “Please let me be there when you meet Maya.”

  I choked on the sip I’d taken.

  Gelman pounded me on my back, muttering encouragements like how if I died drinking water it would definitely solve the Lilith problem, but she’d never forgive me for denying her the thrill of trapping the most powerful witch of all time.

  I coughed and shook my head at Shivani. “You’re friends. With Maya Mitra.”

  “That grimace is a little much,” Gelman muttered into my ear.

  “My architecture firm worked with Dev’s engineers many times over the years.” Shivani pushed a strand of silver hair behind her ear. “Rohan’s lovely.”

  Raquel reached for a napkin. The silky material of her cream dress shifted enough for me to see her bra, a periwinkle, watered-silk push-up number studded with tiny blue crystals. Jeez. Even her lingerie was epic.

  “If you like that type,” she said.

  Whatever, honey. All breathing man-lovers liked that type.

  “Yes, he is lovely. What about Sienna?” I said. “I assume you’ve been filled in on that situation as well?”

  The women nodded.

  “There’s a deep schism in our community right now over what happened with Tessa,” Shivani said. “A lot of very heated discussion about our place in the world. The only good thing is that we’ve managed to keep Sienna’s involvement a secret.”

  “For the time being,” Catalina said. “How much longer remains to be seen. It depends on what happens when we find her.”

  “Or her next move,” Shivani said.

  “You’re really not going to like my news, then.” I filled them in about Mandelbaum wanting a new witch. “Sienna could do a lot of damage.”

  Gelman’s hands paused on the teapot, then she smiled, small enough that I almost didn’t catch it. I didn’t have to share my Brotherhood information, sure, but if there were anyone’s friends I was going to trust, of course they would be hers.

  Catalina crossed herself. “We can’t let him get her.”

  “We can’t let certain witches get her either,” Shivani said. “She’s playing with dark magic.”

  I slid the blanket off my shoulders and folded it. “They’ll try to stop her by any means necessary?”

  “They’ll try to join her,” Raquel said. “We have our share of Malfoy wannabes.”

  “Damn. I don’t want to like you, McGonagall.” I draped the blanket over the chair.

  “Back at you, Luna.”

  “Excuse me. I always felt a certain kinship with the young Sirius Black.”

  Raquel snorted. “If I’m Head of Gryffindor, I should damn well know who’s in my House, you starry-eyed Ravenclaw.”

  I doctored a bagel with a generous schmear of cream cheese and much lox. “Can you identify the most likely contenders? Watch them for any sign of contact?”

  “Can and will,” Elena said.

  “I’ll work on that with you,” Catalina said.

  “Raquel,” Shivani said, “you compiled the dossier on Sienna. Where are you at with sussing out potential dark magic teachers or covens devoted to it?”

  “A lot of rumors and nasty gossip. No useful leads. I’m working on it.”

  The landline rang.

  “I’m going to speak with the older women in our community.” Gelman headed for the phone. “See what I can learn about Millicent. She died when Sienna was very little so she wasn’t the one teaching her, but she was her birth mother. It might be worth pursuing.”

  Raquel prodded me with the toe of her Louboutin. “Be careful with Baskerville. For all his smooth-talking ways, he’s deadly. We’ve lost a lot of fine witches who underestimated him.”

  “Nava.” Gelman held out the receiver. “It’s Ari.”

  I wiped cream cheese off my fingers and took the phone. “Hello?”

  “Why aren’t you answering your burner?” he said.

  “It’s in my purse. Probably on vibrate. Why?”

  “Ro was trying to get hold of you. Some radio interview he wants you to hear.”

  “Thanks, Ace.” Despite my good intentions, I hadn’t called Rohan last night. I’d been too raw after the call with Pierre. Maybe this interview would give me the opening I needed.

  I made my apologies for having to rush out. Everyone was very gracious and Shivani even assured me that I’d do fine when I met Maya.

  Gelman walked me to the door. “Your first witch playdate. Happy?”

  Other than the shitty outcomes part, sure, but all that I’d learned about witches today made me feel like some of them at least, truly were my sisters.

  “Very. It was a little much with the long toilet metaphor, but I feel better. Thank you.” I paused, debating and then going for it. “Esther.”

  I braced myself, expecting a swat across the top of my head for presumptuously using her first name, but she trained a pleased smile on me, and blushing, I rolled onto the outsides of my feet.

  “My pleasure, child.”

  Chapter 6

  I kept one eye on the light traffic and the other on the dial, tuning in the station Ari had given me where Ro was being interviewed. It was good to hear his voice, even if it was only the set up for the Hard Knock Strife theme song that he’d written and recorded.

  Rohan bantered back and forth with the DJ and then they went into the exclusive first listen to the song.

  Was this why he’d called? I’d already heard the entire thing, though I was happy to hear it again because he had a hit on his hands. His raspy growl perfectly captured the story of a man lost to the darkness, his voice smoothing to rich honey with the subsequent redemption.

  I caught myself grinning and singing along. His Ro-mantics were going to lose their shit. I couldn’t wait to read the fan boards when I got home.

  The interviewer came back on, essentially echoing my sentiment about Ro’s fans, except with somewhat less profanity.

  “I understand you’ve got another treat for us,” the interviewer said.

  “Yeah,” Ro said. “I’m busy writing and recording a solo album. A mini EP called Ascending. Six tracks that tell a story about my life these past three years.”

  My smile fell. Only six? There had been five leaked titles. Had “Slay” made the cut?

  Had I?

  “When can we expect this?” the interviewer said.

  “Next month. September 27,” Rohan replied.

  A couple weeks after his twenty-fourth birthday.

  “You’re going to sing one of the songs, live, here today.” Dude sounded like he was creaming himself. “Take it away.”

  Rohan strummed the opening chords. Chords I knew by heart, had sung myself to sleep to.

  Hooooonk!

  I wrenched the wheel, jerking the car back into my lane. He was playing the song he’d written for me? Why? Hands shaking, I pulled over to the side and parked the car. I didn’t trust myself operating large machinery.

  I turned up the volume and closed my eyes, pretending I was back in my bedroom the night of my birthday when he’d sung this to me. His voice curled around me, singing the story of us.

  In the song he called me a cherub wrapped tight in barbed wire, and after he’d left I’d swear those spikes had taken hold deep in my flesh.

  Falling for Rohan had been like slipping on black ice; I’d lost my footing hard and fast. That slide had been scary but exhilarating, and even with minor wipe-outs, one smile from him and I’d scramble back up and head his way. Until that horrible night when I’d crash-landed and could only lay there bruised and winded.

  Singing “Slay” was Rohan’s way of resetting us. Saying
that all the hurt feelings over what had gone down were behind us. Hearing him pour his heart into his words for me, for everyone to hear? I felt like I could dance.

  No. I felt like I could soar.

  I tried not to think about Icarus and flying too close to the sun.

  By the time he finished those final ringing notes, the line “You know I’ve been slain” still hanging in the air, I had my phone out, waiting impatiently for the interview to end. This talk was happening now. We were going to clear the air between us and then move forward, stronger than ever.

  “Sounds like there’s a very lucky person in your life,” the interviewer said.

  I bounced up and down in my seat. Me. That’s me.

  “I’m the lucky one,” Ro said.

  Every organ inside my body turned to mush.

  “Can you tell us about her?”

  “She’s amazing.” The wonder in his voice, like I was a precious gift in his life, took my breath away. He cleared his throat. “Her name is Nava and she’s incredibly special to me.”

  Something sunk in my chest. That sounded too rehearsed.

  “I understand she was a fan first,” the interviewer said.

  “She was.”

  I bolted upright, cold sweat prickling my neck. No. Not this.

  “In fact, I heard from the actress Poppy Wallace that she remembered the two of you when you were in Prague during the final few days of shooting on Hard Knock Strife.”

  “Yeah,” Rohan said. “That was when I realized I wanted a more meaningful relationship with her.”

  Was that before or after Poppy’s lips were on your dick?

  The interviewer chuckled. “Apparently, you had a certain nickname for Nava? Lolita.”

  “I don’t call her that anymore. It was a private joke, but it’s over.”

  Oh, it was over, all right. I was going to rip Ro’s balls off him and stomp them into pieces. I clutched my phone until the interviewer had thanked Rohan and signed off.