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

by Deborah Wilde

  Ro answered on the third ring.

  “Find someone else to be your fake girlfriend, asshole.”

  “Fake girlfriend?”

  “Oh? Am I your real one? So hard to tell when the only time I’ve heard you say it in the past month was on the radio for this mission.”

  “What the hell, Nava? This was your idea.” Ro had that silky menace in his voice I normally found sexy but right now found infuriating.

  “No, it wasn’t. Which you’d have known had you bothered talking to me.”

  “I tried. You didn’t answer.”

  I checked my call history. Eight missed calls.

  My eyes slid off the reflection in the visor mirror. A better person would have apologized for jumping to conclusions, but hadn’t Ro done the same thing? I picked at the hem of my shirt, shame and anger both comforting and smothering. The Brotherhood had played Ro, but only because he’d been willing to go along with that script. Been willing to think the worst of me.

  I couldn’t bring myself to be the bigger person.

  “My friend tweeted a stupid tweet about your love life that didn’t even mention me. The Brotherhood, who’ve been monitoring all mentions of you by the way, decided this was a good in to find the demon that went after Gary Randall. Pierre asked. I declined.”

  “So they came to me and made me think you wanted to go public.” Ro swore viciously.

  “In what universe would I be having heart-to-hearts with the Brotherhood?”

  “I dunno. If this made you happy, I’d do it. Even if…”

  “What?” I said.

  “Forget it.”

  “No. What?”

  “It was odd you agreed to it without speaking to me first.”

  “Because I didn’t.”

  “Well, I know that now,” he said waspishly.

  I laughed, slightly hysterically. “You thought I’d gone ahead and done this without your consent. Betrayed you again.”

  “No. I–fuck. I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking betrayal.”

  I rested my head on the wheel. “Oh, okay. Guess it was just Lilith controlling me.”

  I flinched, hearing him punch something hard through the phone.

  “You want me to pretend she’s not inside you?” he said.

  “No. I want you to not make her the sum total of me.”

  Angry silence rolled down the line.

  I closed my eyes. Rohan, this new development with Lilith, I was so very tired of it all. Couldn’t I get the easy version of my life when all I had to worry about was demons and Mandelbaum?

  “I’ll call them and undo this,” he said. “Tell Orwell that we refuse to make our relationship public.”

  I actually pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it in disbelief. “Wow. That sounded like relief. Are we supposed to be a secret?”

  “Now who’s jumping to conclusions?”

  “I’m not jumping to anything.”

  “Then why do you sound pissed?” he snapped.

  “Because the only reason you mentioned us was for this stupid assignment. Because you reduced me to your very special fan who fucked her way into your life.”

  “Part of the story,” he growled. “How was I supposed to know the interviewer already talked to Poppy?”

  “Even for the mission, you should have found a way to show you had a modicum of respect for me!” A family passing by in a Jeep stared at me, probably because I was red-faced and yelling. I lowered my voice. “I haven’t seen you in a month, haven’t had any indication that you plan on seeing me any time soon, haven’t even heard an ‘I miss you,’ and now I’ve been reduced to a cover story. A groupie cover story.”

  “Back at you, sweetheart,” he snarled. “You haven’t exactly mentioned you were pining away for me.”

  I cranked the A/C, angling all the vents at my face. “What are we, Rohan? Because if we’re done, then tell me.”

  “We’re not done,” he said.

  My stomach unclenched, even as my brain picked up on what was being left unsaid. “But?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “That’s some stellar enthusiasm,” I said.

  “Do you want us to be done?” he said, quietly.

  I bit the inside of my cheek, not sure which answer I was scared I’d blurt out.

  “I figured if we got some distance…” He sighed. “What do you want me to tell Orwell?”

  Did I want to take on an assignment that might break us for good, but let me be around him a little while longer? Say no and cement the Brotherhood’s disappointment in me and destroy any hope of respect I had, when the time was coming that I’d need to sway other Rasha to my side?

  Or break up with him and walk away?

  I started up the engine. “I have no idea.”

  Craaack. The black leather whip snapped the ground by my feet.

  I jumped back. “Yikes, you really didn’t need that second espresso.”

  Ms. Clara bounced on her toes. Since she was in six-inch, shiny stiletto boots, her head bobbed much closer to my eyeline than usual.

  “I’m just so excited,” she said in her breathy voice. “I never get to see demons, only do all the boring paperwork.”

  She twisted her wrist, flicking the whip in a complicated pattern before snapping it close enough to my face that its crack vibrated down into my toes. Only a handful of parked cars were witness to her lashing mastery on this Tuesday morning, which was too bad because she was impressive to watch.

  I shielded my eyes from flying dirt. “I’m starting to regret my decision to bring you.”

  “You didn’t. I blackmailed you into taking me because I have what you need. And Kane and Ari were busy.” She clucked her tongue. “Though not getting busy, which would have been far more interesting with those two.”

  “No kidding. Aren’t you hot?” I fanned out my tank top. There wasn’t much shade here under the Granville Street Bridge, though the humongous chandelier art exhibit certainly jazzed up the joint, as did the cute sailboats moored in the small marina next to the red nautical-themed yacht club with its porthole windows.

  “Eh. You get used to it. Ooh. Wait.” She ran back to the car. Even if she hadn’t been encased in a catsuit, there wouldn’t have been any jiggle. Sitting on her ass as the Brotherhood Executive Administrator by day was counterbalanced by her exertions as a popular dominatrix by night. The woman was insanely toned.

  The cars rumbling up top of the bridge were a comforting white noise, the bats zipping in and out of the struts overhead were cute, and it didn’t smell like pee. All in all, a decent meeting spot.

  “You like?” Slamming the trunk of her Mini Cooper, she spun around, now wearing a black leather face mask with oval eyeholes and an unzippered slash for the mouth. She stuck her tongue out. “So I can’t be recognized.”

  “Like may not be the right word.”

  “What in good heavens is that?”

  I spun at the molasses-smooth voice, tinged with a hint of the Deep South. “Hiya, Baskerville. How’s tricks?”

  The demon swallowed several times, his pronounced Adam’s apple twitching. Using all three of his fingers and his linen handkerchief, he pointed at Ms. Clara. “What are you supposed to be?”

  Again with the whip crack.

  “Your worst nightmare,” Ms. Clara growled.

  Baskerville pressed his handkerchief to his face, the picture of a 1950’s Southern gentleman in a linen suit with pressed cuffs. Well, except for his iridescent blue skin and a snout. “No, chérie. That’s Frisbees.”

  “Says the dog demon,” I said.

  “Child, we don’t need petty insults in our line of business. There is a robust market for these kinds of wares and you are by no means the only demand I have for my supply.”

  “How is that an insult? You have a whiskered, wet dog nose.”

  “I have a proud proboscis. I am not a dog, demon or otherwise. Do you see a tail on me? Floppy ears?”

  “Not floppy, bu
t they are pretty large.”

  Ms. Clara patted his arm. “Don’t worry, sugar. According to the Japanese proverb, a powerful man has large ears.”

  “She can stay.” He blotted the sweat at his temple with the handkerchief, frowning at her face mask. “Maybe.”

  “How’s the demon world? Seen Malik lately?” I said. Last time I’d seen him he’d threatened to rain vengeance down on my ass. Then he’d gone M.I.A. and even Leo couldn’t find him. So that wasn’t worrying at all.

  He sniffed. “I honestly cannot be expected to know the whereabouts of every demon.”

  “Like you don’t. You’re the most plugged in demon around. Come on,” I cajoled.

  He sniffed at my blatant butt-kissing, but didn’t deny it. “Suffice it to say, you’re safe from him. For the moment.”

  Small comfort.

  I motioned between Ms. Clara and myself. “We both know you aren’t going to hand over the Bullseye without wanting something in return, and my partner here is a master procurer. She’s got a list of items to intrigue and delight.”

  Baskerville raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

  Ms. Clara coiled her whip around her wrist. Damn, she had badass down cold. “The Vashar.”

  She’d tapped into her admin network and discovered where the Brotherhood was storing the amulet capable of stopping a Rasha’s induction. Sure, it was a risk handing it over to a demon, but if he actually used it on someone, I had a magic ritual that would make an initiate a full Rasha anyway, so it wasn’t like anyone was going to be prevented from fulfilling their destiny.

  I allowed myself only a small smirk at the look of surprise and greed that flashed across his face.

  “It’s true, that did intrigue back when I actually wanted it.”

  My smirk vanished.

  “But I’ve got something else in mind.”

  “Let me guess, you want tears from a virgin guarded by a sleeping dragon. Or no.” I snapped my fingers. “A unicorn dwelling up the ass of an ogre.”

  “One of Rabbi Mandelbaum’s tzitzit,” Baskerville said.

  Ms. Clara frowned. Well, she gave off a frowny vibe. I couldn’t really tell in that face mask. “Why do you want one of his knotted tassels?”

  “My client wants it. I don’t ask questions.”

  Mandelbaum wasn’t going to hand over one of the tzitzit attached to the corner of his poncho-like prayer shawl, and given he wore this mini tallit under his shirt, would probably notice if I tried to cut one off.

  “It’s a really nice Vashar,” I said. “Shiny, never used, brimming full of dark witch power.”

  “I think not.”

  It’s not like tzitzis were rare. I could buy one and pass it off as the rabbi’s.

  “I’ll know,” Baskerville said.

  “What?”

  “I’ll smell if it’s the rabbi’s. You humans are very easy to read.” He glanced at Ms. Clara’s mask. “Some of you.”

  “You know what Mandelbaum smells like? That’s creepy, dude.”

  Ms. Clara cracked her whip at his feet, making the demon jump. “We could just take the Bullseye from you and give you nothing.”

  “I knew I was right to bring you,” I said.

  The demon crouched down and brushed dirt off his trouser hem. “You could. But you’d have nothing more than a paperweight. The Bullseye is a delicate artifact and I’ve encased it with a protective spell keyed to my touch.”

  Sparks flew off my skin. “Let me get this straight. I have a magic sanitary pad clogging my toilet body and to get it out, I have to handle Mandelbaum’s fringe in order to get a demon to finger me so that Esther can blow my pipes?”

  Baskerville turned to Ms. Clara. “Is she making sense?”

  “Not a clue,” she said. “But I wouldn’t mess with her.”

  “Do we have a deal or not?” He spoke very slowly, over-enunciating each word.

  “Just because you don’t understand me, doesn’t mean I’m communicationally challenged.” I pretended to think it over, though with my options being steal off the rabbi’s person versus die, it wasn’t much of a choice. “Deal.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you.”

  “Then I said, ‘I hope a strix shits in your face’ because like strix are these owl demons who eat humans and their shit is really naaaasty.” The lamia demon gnawed on the femur of her former boyfriend, her lips smeared with blood.

  “Sure. He shouldn’t have cheated on you with that cockatrice.” Those were two-legged demons with the head of a rooster so I couldn’t begin to imagine how that coupling had gone down.

  I’d been driving along East 33rd Avenue, on the stretch that bisected the two halves of the city cemetery, mulling over how best to rob Mandelbaum, and failing that, looking for demonic troublemakers so I could pound my way to an answer on the Rohan front, when I’d spotted a woman slashing a guy’s throat. I’d jumped out of my car, magic ablazin’, until I’d seen that the guy in question was green and scaly with one arm too many and the “woman” had fiery red eyes and was screaming, “I’ll give you head like nothing you’ve ever imagined, asshole!” before ripping his actual head off with her claws.

  Domestic disputes didn’t generally warrant my involvement, but tomorrow she’d be off feeding on small children, so she had to be stopped. I allowed her this last supper in sisterhood solidarity.

  “I mean, you have to show them who’s boss.” She sucked his marrow with quiet snuffling noises.

  I pulled my leg into my chest, trying to find a comfortable spot to settle back against the gravestone. “I’m not sure my situation warrants killing and eating my boyfriend.”

  “Your call, honey.” She flung the femur over her shoulder and popped one of the eyeballs she’d been saving into her mouth, munching and making “mmmm” sounds. She picked an eyelash out of her teeth. “But if you’re not gonna go with door number one, it seems to me that your only choice is to own it.”

  “I’m happy to own it. So long as I wasn’t forced into it. So long as my boyfriend wants this for more than an assignment. Mandelbaum is behind this. He has to be. I swear that man was birthed through his mom’s anus because no one is naturally that much of an asshole.”

  “Good one.” She wiped her hands clean on the grass, pushing her luxurious fall of black hair over her shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “Yeah.”

  Time to get this fight over with. Lamia were only moderately dangerous and in my mood, this was going to be a quick kill.

  I got to my feet, but before I was fully upright the front of my chest was slashed open. The demon hadn’t moved. Brushing aside the ruins of my shirt, I touched my fingertip to one of the three diagonal gashes across my boobs and hissed.

  “Lamia can’t attack from a distance.”

  “Yeah, demon daddy had some surprising genes. Gotta love being underestimated.” Jumping to her feet, the lamia flexed her fingers.

  Two of my ribs snapped. Her magic flooded me, a million spiky barbs ripping me up from inside. Paralyzing me.

  “Let’s wrap this up,” she said. “I’ve got a date. Gotta get back on that horse. Literally. It’s a kelpie.” She slashed at the air in front of her…

  …and sliced through my heart. I felt the pulpy mass goosh through her fingers, even though her fingers were nowhere near me. My heartbeat turned sluggish, trumpeting impossibly loud in my ears. The world buzzed in and out.

  The lamia licked my viscera off her fingers.

  Swaying, I crashed onto my ass. Blood streamed from my gashes; flaps of skin hung loose exposing my barely-connected fragments of heart muscle. I called up a red bloom of witch healing magic, trying to knit my mangled self back together.

  I attributed the sharp stab and loss of breath to my dying and not any kind of regret at the life that had been within my grasp.

  My witch magic pulsed faint pink and dimmed.

  I collapsed onto my back like a sack of flour slipping out of someone’s hold. My body was s
o cold, so heavy. My insides were fractured, my magic splintered like panes of cracked glass. So this was what death felt like.

  Something dark and powerful, a black wisp of something other, drifted inside me.

  Desperate, I hooked one of my magic splinters to it, and visualized tying the two together in a solid knot. My shredded chest began to knit itself back together so I reached for another wisp of Lilith’s magic and another, knotting faster and more furiously, my body repairing itself at warp speed.

  My magic re-up loosened the lamia’s hold on me. I reached overhead, grabbed her boyfriend’s femur, blasted the end, and hurtled the flaming bone at her like a javelin.

  Her hair caught fire with a satisfying whoosh, though it stank like mad.

  The lamia wasn’t expecting that, shaking her head like a none-too-bright puppy. Her mouth twisted, opening in a soundless roar that sent a flock of little brown bats soaring into the late afternoon sky like a rippling curtain.

  She dove to the ground with a high-pitched shriek that bottomed out into a ghastly moan, attempting to stop, drop, and roll. It just tangled the tiki torch up worse.

  I leapt on top of her, pinning her to the ground, and fired my electric magic into her kill spot deep inside her ear canal.

  She disappeared, dead.

  I beat the smoldering grass so the cemetery didn’t go up in flames, then marched back to my car, accidentally stepping on her ex’s remaining eyeball. His femur winked out of existence. Right. That meant he hadn’t technically been dead while she’d been eating him.

  My stomach heaved.

  Popping the trunk of my Civic, I got out the first aid kit and cleaned up my wounds. Then I chugged a Gatorade to replenish my electrolytes, checking in on my internal injuries. All was well. Strong heartbeat, repaired ribs. The dozen or so wisps of Lilith’s magic had dissipated, and while I didn’t perceive any other new wisps, I also didn’t feel any lingering effects of having helped myself.

  Esther had detected Lilith’s magic before, but I hadn’t. Would I be able to sense and use it again? Because that had been a handy little trick.

  I slid onto the hood of my car, soaking in the heat of the summer sun. Almost dying had given me some perspective. I’d spent the past month in limbo, waiting for Mandelbaum to make a move, for Sienna to show up, for Lilith to break free, and for Rohan to care.