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

by Deborah Wilde

  I tugged on Rohan’s sleeve, my eyes anxiously darting to Baruch.

  Ro squeezed my arm in reassurance, then stepped forward, partially shielding me, and clapped Baruch on the shoulder.

  “Mandelbaum has extra tzitzit,” he said in a calm voice. “Baruch, you got someone you trust back at HQ who could get one for us?”

  Baruch pinched the bridge of his nose and I held my breath that he didn’t go nuclear. That I hadn’t lost him. I’d barely found a way to live without Drio and we hadn’t even been friends for much of our relationship. Losing Baruch was an ache I wouldn’t be able to staunch.

  He exhaled slowly and deeply. “The witches are confident they can keep you from losing your magic?”

  He was worried about me, not angry. My shoulders relaxed down from my ears as I considered how best to answer him.

  The witches had been optimistic when my chances were still fifty-fifty, before I’d drawn on Lilith’s magic. Had I decreased my odds? Maybe, but if I let myself go down the rabbit hole of despair, I’d lose my shit entirely. I needed to stay strong; the fate of the world and my happily-ever-after depended on it.

  “Yes. They’re confident.”

  “Then no problem,” Baruch said.

  “That’s it? It’s that simple?” I said.

  “Is there an alternative?” Ro said. I shook my head. “Then, yeah. It is. But take me along for back-up when you deliver it to Baskerville.”

  “Of course. Though I did have back-up the first time.” I dug my burner phone out of my pocket with grimy fingers. I’d be sanitizing it later. “See?”

  Baruch’s eyes darkened somewhat at the photo I’d snapped of Ms. Clara in her latex glory. Minus the freaky mask.

  “She used the whip?” His voice sounded rougher than usual.

  “Oh, yeah. Ever seen her do that wrist-wrapping trick? She’s balletic with that thing.”

  “You’re a menace,” Ro murmured, his eyes twinkling.

  Baruch stole one last glance at the photo, then smoothed down the front of his shirt. “Have you told us everything?”

  Everything except Ilya’s memory wipe, but I wasn’t about to drop two bombs on Rohan in a row. “Yup.”

  “Why can’t you find Sienna?” Baruch asked.

  “She’s shielded herself from any location spells and gone off any technological grid. Her place was cleared out. Dr. Gelman couldn’t even find a hair to trace back to her.” My hand flew to my mouth. “I have to tell Esther what Sienna’s done.”

  Just once I’d like to be the bearer of good news. I was never getting my rugelach.

  “May I leave the bathroom now?” I asked.

  “We’ll reconvene back at the bungalows,” Ro said. “Baruch is staying at Mom and Dad’s.”

  Normally I would have been overjoyed. Now, I nodded in resignation, and answered my phone.

  Before I could even say “hello,” Ari was freaking out on the other end, asking if I was okay. “Ace. Calm down. I’m… uninjured.” I couldn’t lie and say I was all right, because I still had Ethan’s blood on me and I was holding on to my sanity by my fingertips.

  There was shouting on Ari’s end and then Kane was on me, demanding I answer the same question. He had the phone wrestled away from him by Leo who bombarded me with yet more concern.

  Baruch plucked the phone away. “Who is this?” he barked. He held the cell away from his ear as Leo yammered at him, her voice cutting off with a shriek as Ari reclaimed the phone.

  “Nava is holding up,” Baruch said. “Rohan is taking her home. You can speak to her later. What? No. Ari. No. I–Ben zona!” He blinked at the phone, stupefied. “He hung up on me. Your brother is as annoying as you are. He’s also coming to Los Angeles.” He tossed me my cell back, suddenly looking incredibly weary. “We need a strategy.”

  A text from Ms. Clara lit up my phone. Mandelbaum coming to L.A.

  “I’d say this was the last straw, but…” I gave a harsh laugh, handed Rohan the phone, and walked out the door.

  Chapter 11

  I didn’t call Esther until I’d showered and burned my clothing. Okay, not really. Billie had promised to dispose of them. Being clean and Ethan-free, plus the sandwiches and shot of whiskey that she’d brought, helped dissipate my shell-shock a tiny bit, as did the chocolate chip cookies, warm from the oven. Not one or two either. Like a dozen of them. And she told Ro they were all for me.

  “You look like you need the chocolate, lovely.” She tucked an escaping strand of blonde hair back into her bun.

  “You are the best human being in the history of the world.” I was wedged into the corner of the couch in the bungalow living room with pillows stuffed around me and a bright knit blanket thrown over my legs.

  She smiled at me, all grandmotherly. “I like this one, Rohan. She’s a fine judge of character.”

  He planted a kiss on her plump cheek. It was a sweet maternal tableau made sweeter, though decidedly less innocent, by the fact that Ro had also showered and was only wearing boxer shorts, his chiseled abs on display. “I like her, too. But I’m glad you approve.”

  “Billie, do you have stories of Ro as an irrepressible child?”

  “Dozens, dear.”

  “Can I come help you make cookies some time and can you share them, starting with the most embarrassing?”

  “Any time.” She tucked the bundle of dirty clothes under her arm, told me to call if I needed her, and left.

  I took a photo of Ro munching on his second cookie and posted a nauseatingly cute caption to go with it. “Yo, cookie thief. I didn’t even hear you ask for the first one.”

  “It’s for the mission,” he said, spraying crumbs.

  “Funny boy.”

  “Funny boy who let you wear his clothes.”

  “True.” I was enveloped in a pair of his sweats that were too baggy, an old skater T-shirt, and a Fugue State Five sweatshirt that he’d dug out of the depths of his closet especially for me.

  “I guess that entitles you to two cookies.”

  I picked up the top of a pair of Sienna’s nurse’s scrubs that I’d grabbed from Raquel on the way back to the bungalow. She was back home in Los Angeles after our meeting in Vancouver, having used the scrubs to do a location spell on Sienna without success. I hoped to have better results with my dark magic boost.

  Trusting Rohan and Esther was one thing; I didn’t know Raquel well enough to predict how she’d react to me drawing on Lilith’s magic, so I’d swallowed my retort to her snarky “good luck finding her.”

  Location spells were tricky, requiring a personal item–blood and hair worked best–as the cornerstone to the whole procedure. I had to cast my awareness out along an invisible thread of belonging that connected the item to its owner. The complicated part was making that thread magically tangible using infusion magic. It was a delicate procedure, and easy to lose track of the thread at any point. Though once the connection was secured, the person’s location would be immediately revealed.

  Sienna had managed to erect a big fuck-off magic barrier between herself and anyone doing the spell which the other witches hadn’t been able to breach.

  My turn.

  Closing my eyes, I took a moment to center myself. I reached out for the couple of wisps inside me, knotting them onto my internal visualization of my own magic. My magic had always presented itself in my mind’s eye as a kind of whitish blue, emblematic of electricity. Now, however, it was morphing into a marbled grayish-black.

  I opened my eyes after the third failed attempt.

  Rohan handed me a glass of water. “You gave it your best shot.”

  I stilled his jittering leg. “Thank you for trying to contain your freak-out that I’m using Lilith’s magic.”

  “I’m a master of serenity. Desperate times, but fuck, I hate this.”

  “It’s not ideal, but Sienna has amped things up in a horrifying way. If I can find her, then it’s an acceptable risk.” I gulped the liquid down greedily. “One more try. I’m hitt
ing that same barrier, but I have one final section to probe for a weak spot.”

  Rohan took the empty glass from me with a kiss. “Do it.”

  I shook out my neck and shoulders and closed my eyes again, clutching Sienna’s shirt to my chest. Once more I slid along the thread and crashed into the enormous black barrier looming up in front of me.

  I carefully sussed out every inch of the bottom third but couldn’t get through. If I couldn’t change the barrier, could I change my magic? I’d been like a hammer, perhaps I needed to be like smoke. Or water. My magic sank into the barrier, burrowing deep down like rain in the root system of a tree. I allowed myself to fall into Sienna’s magic, becoming one with it.

  Her magic collapsed in on me, burying me and filling my lungs like I was drowning.

  I wheezed, panicking. The magic buffered and bashed me against the barrier, until I had no idea if I was still physically upright, my lungs screaming with a burning need for air.

  Blackness wove itself around me, pulling tighter and tighter.

  Fighting didn’t work so I surrendered to it, allowing it to sweep me away like the tide. I broke through the other side, blinking at a harsh light. Death?

  No, sunlight. And a very familiar wall thronged with praying crowds seen in the distance through an open window.

  I opened my eyes, grinning. “I’ve got her.”

  “You’re going to give me a heart attack,” Ro muttered and swiped another cookie.

  I checked Lilith’s magic box. A pinprick of light now emanated from one corner. Not bright, welcoming light. Gloomy, oppressive light that wasn’t much better than monster-hiding shadows, but I’d successfully completed the location spell, so I was counting this as a win.

  Esther skipped the “good job, Nava” part and went straight to the downside. “So she’s in Jerusalem. Where am I supposed to hide you so she doesn’t come after you for breaching her barrier?”

  “How’s she going to know it was me? You said yourself there’s no way to determine who casts magic. No magic forensic chemist. Besides, any signature I had as Nava is changing due to my forced proximity with Lilith.” I explained about the color change and the pinprick of light.

  My poor boyfriend looked like his head was going to explode. He stomped into the bedroom.

  On the other end of the phone, Esther flicked her lighter at warp speed.

  “Sienna’s attack changed the gameboard,” I said. “If she’s using us as weapons, then we need to use everything at our disposal to fight this war. That means Lilith’s magic. It might be the only edge we have.”

  “Remember the part about dark magic being addictive? That’s what you’re sounding like. An addict, justifying what you want.” Esther said.

  “I’m using it to help us!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Also, I want to talk to her when you catch her.”

  “We’ll discuss it after we’ve brought her in. Focus on the mission that brought you to Los Angeles.”

  “Speaking of which, Mandelbaum is coming to town.”

  “The rabbi is going to investigate the attack,” she said, “which means it’s only a matter of time before he learns about Sienna. I’ll let the others know. Be careful.”

  The image of Ethan on fire rose up before me, the stench of burned flesh still seared in my nose hairs. I scratched the phantom blood on my skin.

  “Will do.” I tossed the phone onto the sofa with a shiver and hurried into the bedroom.

  Rohan stared at his sheet music, his pencil between his teeth, but at my entrance, he shoved all of it into the bedside table drawer and patted the mattress.

  I slipped between the cool sheets. Even the linens in this place were deluxe: the softest Egyptian cotton that rich-people-money could buy. “Can I hug you like a teddy bear tonight?”

  “No.” He snapped off the light. “I have a headache and it’s your fault.” He snuggled up against me, pulling me into his arms.

  “It’s Sienna’s fault.”

  We lay on our backs staring at the ceiling for a few moments, both of us fidgety. Were we really still on the same day as the attack? I felt like I’d aged five years.

  “Do you want to cry or rage or something?” I said. “I mean, my strategy is ‘denial to exhaustion,’ but that’s not generally how you play it.”

  “I don’t know how to play it. I’m furious at Sienna, gutted over Ethan, and some combination of both about Zander.” He rested his head on his bent arm. “I don’t know how to play it,” he repeated, more softly.

  “Ah, babe.” I hugged him.

  “Next Thursday,” he said after a while.

  “What about it?”

  “That’s my strategy. I keep my shit together until Thursday next week. Far enough away to have dealt with everything. Then I’m going to crack.” He lay his cheek against my chest. “I don’t want to lose more friends.”

  I kissed the top of his head, inhaling the tang of citrus shampoo on his still-damp strands. “Whatever you need. I’ll be here for you.”

  “I’m counting on it. And back at ya. In case the denial wears off. Whatever you need.”

  “FYI, Snowflake, I consider blanket statements like that legally binding.”

  “It’s always ‘check the fine print’ with you.”

  More staring at the ceiling. More restless limbs. More lack of sleep.

  Rohan flipped on the bedside lamp. “Cards?”

  I pushed the covers aside with a sigh. “Gin. The drink and the game.”

  I reached for my fourth cookie of the morning, having a sliver of tummy space left to cram it into. Mouth full, I pulled the cold case print-outs from my enormous purse and thunked them on the table.

  Rohan rifled through a few pages. “You sure you want to do this?”

  “If it silences the instant replay my brain is stuck on? Positive.”

  My phone buzzed with a text from Esther. Sienna got away. Locked up a couple of witches for a few hours but didn’t harm them.

  I slammed my palm down on the table. “Damn it! We lost her.”

  I texted back. Want me to try again?

  No! I’ll come after you personally if you do.

  “What happened?” Ro held the shirt from Sienna’s scrubs out of my reach.

  “I’m not trying again. Esther forbade it.”

  He tossed it on the sofa. “And you’re listening to her? Does that mean you’ll listen to me?”

  “Situationally.” I shoved half the pile of cases at him. “Get working.”

  We created a subset of cases that mirrored what had happened to Gary. The cases were very, very mind-numbingly detailed. Most of the day later, by which point I was reading while hanging upside down off the couch, we had a plausible trail.

  “Who do you like for it?” I said.

  Rohan flipped between the various demon entries he had open on the Brotherhood database. “Hybris. A Unique demon specializing in insolence, hubris, violence, reckless pride, and general arrogance. It fits the pattern. Give the victim their heart’s desire, then take them down in a very public humiliation.” He clucked his tongue. “Very few one-on-one Rasha encounters with her. Some supposition that the kill spot may be in her trachea.”

  “Let’s phone it in.” I shuffled the relevant cases into a pile, my hands only mildly shaking at the Ethan flashback that hit in the quiet.

  Pierre answered on the first ring. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m dealing. We found a pattern starting back in the twenties. Al Capone. Bootlegging, gambling, prostitution, racketeering. He had the gall to claim he was doing a public service for the people of Chicago, since ninety percent of them drank and gambled. Said he was just furnishing them with those amusements. Feds couldn’t make anything stick. Not even the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre. And then he’s brought down by tax evasion?”

  “Who else?”

  “Richard Nixon in the 1970s and his belief in his infallibility during Watergate. Colton Bannister i
n the 80s. Bannister was a business tycoon, who did a brutally ruthless takeover of this small mining company.”

  “Gold, right?” Pierre said.

  “Yeah. They’d found a gold mine and predicted they stood to make billions. After the takeover, the founder of the mining company was so devastated by the loss of his family’s company that he killed himself. The tycoon didn’t care. His exact quote?” I flipped through to the back page of that particular file. “‘If he didn’t have the balls, he shouldn’t have been in business.’”

  “Oui,” Pierre said. “I remember. The mine was in some country that had had peace and prosperity for two hundred years.”

  “Except as soon as Bannister owned the mine, the country was plagued with every kind of natural disaster: floods, hurricanes, mudslides.” I checked the file. “And civil unrest. Things got vicious and desperate. He had sunk a large part of his own fortune into the mine. Not only did he lose his shirt, his own family was killed in a plane crash en route to the mine. Colton was the only survivor. Awful, but it hadn’t been tagged as the result of demon activity at the time.”

  “We missed it,” Pierre said.

  I named a few other incidents then said, “Case number 230DDX.”

  Ro smirked at me, shaking his head.

  I heard Pierre type the number in.

  “That actress about ten years ago?” he said. “The imprisoned one. Big international scandal?”

  “Yeah. What was her name again?”

  “It’s written at the top of the file.”

  “Kinda smudged on my end,” I said.

  “Tabernac, you know who I mean.”

  “Yeah. I just want you to say it, Frenchie.”

  “’Annah ’Utton. Colisse, you suck.”

  I snickered, happy for any humor, juvenile or otherwise, today.

  Hannah Hutton shot to fame playing a CIA agent in a series of films. Off the popularity of that, she’d bragged she could get an audience with the dictator of a fractious Third World country during a very tense time with the United States. That she’d be the peacekeeper to tone tensions down, just like her character did. Surprisingly, she managed it–the invite part at least, as it turned out the dictator loved the franchise.