Back in the bedroom, I latched and locked the window. Rather than squirting the stuff around the edges as I’d done before (which had still left plenty of room to unlatch the window and toss things out without violating the holy barrier), I aimed for the glass itself and let loose. Water drenched the pane, running in rivulets that drip-dropped and puddled on the hardwood floor. I squirted the latch, as well.
“That ought to do it,” I said, turning back to the bed. Evie had pushed herself into a sitting position, her back against the headboard. The whites of her eyes had been replaced with vicious yellow slits that fixated on me.
“You really think that will stop me?” The demonic voice slithered into my ears and a strange sense of coldness wrapped around me. “I could skin you alive if I wanted to.”
“Really?” I took a step toward the bed. “Then do it.” I held up the spray bottle as if I meant to use it and sure enough, Evie flinched. “Just what I thought. You’re a big talker, but when it comes to backing it up, you’re just a chickenshit.”
The demon opened his mouth and let loose an agonized wail, followed by a rush of putrid green fog.
I debated whether or not to spritz him just once to prove my point, but I didn’t want to cause Evie any more agony than she was obviously already in. Instead, I aimed the nozzle and sprayed a tight circle around the bed. I knew it was overkill since I’d already secured the room. But spraying, however futile, gave me some small sense of control.
“You won’t save her,” the voice followed me to the doorway. “She’s already mine.”
I opened my mouth to tell him where to go, how fast to get there, and what a filthy crazed psycho he really was. But as his words sank in, my throat grew suddenly tight.
Because deep down I was starting to fear that he might actually be right.
The doubt followed me all the way back downstairs, where I gathered up what was left of my stuff—who knew a drunk could move so fast and have such good taste?—and carted it back up to my apartment.
I was not going to cry.
I was not going to cry.
I was not going to cry.
I recited the chant as I dropped several armfuls on the sofa and tried not to notice the dirty splotches and green slime that covered practically everything that was left. There were even tread marks where a passing cab had run over my ivory chenille skirt.
My eyes burned and the tears spilled over.
I spent the next half hour mourning the loss of my wardrobe while Evie cussed and spit and threw a major hissy fit in the bedroom.
Finally, after a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth—my own, not Evie’s—I managed to get myself under control and look on the bright side. No wardrobe meant nothing to wear, which meant that, extra cash or no extra cash, I had to go shopping.
I sniffled, wiped my face, and pushed up from the sofa. The noise in the bedroom had quieted to the occasional four-letter word.
“I’m calling Ash,” I called out after one in particular, but the warning fell on deaf ears. Maybe because the demon had finally figured out that I didn’t really mean it. Or, worse, he was getting more powerful, the possession nearly complete, and so Ash didn’t pose as big a threat.
Either way, I knew my time was running out. I had to do something quick. I grabbed my cell and punched in one of the numbers I’d Googled earlier that evening.
“Yes,” I said when someone finally answered. “I’m looking for a Father Donald Patrick. Is he in?”
“Father Patrick died last month. A heart attack.”
“That’s terrible. Was he in the middle of a taxing exorcism?”
“Actually, he was in the middle of an audit. He’d been misappropriating church funds and the IRS got wind of it.”
“Oh. Sorry.” I hung up and dialed the second number. Evie had stopped cussing, but now the bed thumped the wall here and there.
Bam.
Thunk.
Splat.
I tuned out the sounds and focused on the cell in my hand. My mind conjured visions of midnight sacrifices and naked bodies dancing around an open campfire. I could practically hear the drums beating as I dialed the second number. “May I speak to Dr. Zoombababazoom?” I asked when someone finally answered.
“She’s in the kitchen right now.”
Smack-dab in the middle of a poultry sacrifice, no doubt.
“Would you like to leave a message?” the voice asked.
“Yes, please. Can you tell her that I have a life-and-death situation that needs her immediate attention.”
“I’m sorry,” the voice replied. “She doesn’t do love spells anymore. The last guy she tried one on ended up humping a water fountain in Central Park. It wasn’t pretty.”
“I don’t need a love spell.”
“She doesn’t do the diet spells either. The last woman who paid for one ended up on Dr. Phil during a ‘Can This Woman Be Saved?’ episode and Doctor Z almost got sued.”
“I don’t need a diet either.” I swallowed and gathered my courage. “I need an exorcism.”
“An exorcism?” Her voice took on a strange note. “Can you hold on just a sec?” I heard muffled voices, followed by an excited “Hiya. This is Dr. Zoombababazoom. What can I do you for?”
I’d expected an ancient crackle of a voice. One that dripped wisdom and knowledge and black magic. Instead, the woman on the other end sounded like a bubbly sorority girl.
“Dr. Zoombababazoom? The Dr. Zoombababazoom that consulted on the exorcism of Tina Radley that was featured in People last year?”
“Duh. What’s up?”
“My, um, name is Lil. Lil Marchette. I’m a matchmaker in Manhattan and I need”—my voice lowered a notch—“an exorcism.”
“Cool. So what makes you think you’re possessed?”
“Not me. I’m a—” Vampire was there on the tip of my tongue, but I held it back and ended with “really well-dressed matchmaker. It’s my assistant who’s foaming at the mouth.”
“She could have rabies.”
“She’s cussing in five different languages.”
“So does my gardener, but he’s just really well educated and really pissed off at this new line of topsoil that’s supposed to make everything grow when all it really does is cost an arm and a leg more than the old stuff.”
I opened the bedroom door a crack and peered inside at Evie. “She’s crawling around on all fours on the ceiling and her head is on backwards.”
“Now that smacks of possession.”
“Can you help me get rid of the demon?”
“You bet.”
You bet? I’d expected a somber “Of course, I can, child.” Or maybe a serene “I’ll rally my spirit guides and we’ll raise an army to defeat the demon and release your friend.” Or, at the very least a confident “Let me consult with the elders and we’ll see about solving your problem ASAP.”
“Where are you?” I couldn’t help but ask, suddenly desperate to prove that Dr. Z was as real as they came and I’d actually hit pay dirt.
“In the kitchen.”
“And you have a knife in your hand, right?”
“Sure thing.”
“And you’re slicing the head off a chicken?”
“A jar of peanut butter. I’m making PB&Js.”
I was not getting a good feeling about this.
“So you have a demon problem,” she went on as if she were discussing a possible termite infestation. “How long?”
“A few days.”
“That’s good. The sooner the little buggers are detected, the better.”
“So you’ve dealt with this before?” Sure, I’d read the article online about the Radley possession, but they’d listed Dr. Z as a consultant only. Tina’s priest had done the actual exorcism. “Other than with Tina Radley?”
“Sort of.”
“Which means?”
“I haven’t actually gotten rid of a demon before, but I have been trained in the process.”
A virgin. J
ust my luck.
“I know that doesn’t inspire a tremendous amount of confidence in a situation like this,” she went on, “but you can bet I know what I’m doing. I’m the best in Jersey.”
“How many exorcists are actually in Jersey?”
“Let’s see.” She grew silent for a moment as if doing a mental count. “That would be two. Doctor MacIntyre and you-know-who.”
“Dr. MacIntyre? I didn’t see him mentioned online when I was doing my research.”
“He usually does more house-cleansing than actual physical possession, but he does take on the occasional demon. So long as it’s not on a school night.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s got kids. He’s a very involved dad. He’s out in the yard right now putting together one of those Rainbow Gyms. We’re married,” she added. “I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t this girl hyphenate? I was going to. I mean, all of my sorority sisters did, but since my name is a zillion letters long in the first place, I just said to heck with it and kept my maiden name. At first, Kip was a little put off, but he finally came around.”
“Kip? Is he your husband?”
“Wow, you’re good. Are you psychic?”
“More like stupid.”
“Excuse me?”
“Cupid,” I blurted. “I’m more like Cupid in that my expertise involves finding love for Manhattan’s lonely and desperate.”
“How sweet.” She giggled.
No, really.
She actually giggled before rushing on in her pixie-like voice, “It was love at first sight for Kip and me. We met during a seminar called ‘Name That Demon’ at St. Paul’s Cathedral. Three years and a set of twins later, and we’re still going strong. If you don’t mind waiting until he finishes putting the play set together, I’m sure he can help you.”
“Why don’t I just call you back at a more convenient time?” Not.
While I needed an exorcist in the worst way, I wasn’t about to put a pair of young human parents in the same room with Satan’s own. We’re talking twins.
She giggled again. “Holla.”
So much for Google. I spent the next ten minutes brainstorming other alternatives.
I could cruise the local churches for an experienced priest, but I knew I wouldn’t make it inside the door without breaking out into a massive case of hives. Not to mention—and this was the biggie—no Catholic priest would agree to perform an exorcism without a full-blown investigation by the Church, which was why I hadn’t headed for St. Michael’s in the first place.
First off, I couldn’t afford the attention (denizen of the darkness, remember?). Nor did I have the time to spare for such a process. I’d already been spotted in Times Square with Evie and Vinnie. It was just a matter of time before Ash and his brothers figured out what was going on and tracked the demon back to me.
I racked my brain for other options.
I could run an ad for an exorcist in the local Wanted section, but that, too, required time I didn’t have.
I could call my great Aunt Lourdes, who had a blood slave who was related to someone high up at the Vatican. The only problem with that was that Aunt Lourdes—the typical snotty, pretentious born vampire—wouldn’t begin to understand why I wanted to help a human. She would most certainly narc to my parents. Which would mean another black mark next to my name.
Not that I cared, of course (okay, maybe a little, but there was nothing I could do about it, since I actually liked the person I’d become). But I wasn’t going through all the drama with my folks for nothing, which was exactly what I would be doing because, in the end, no way would they help me help a human.
I could check the Yellow Pages for a listing of local saints. But, come on, this was New York. Pure and the Big Apple didn’t really go together, so I had a gut feeling I would come up with a big fat zero.
Still…
I’d just pulled out my local phone book (hey, desperate times and all that) when a strange awareness did a fast jig up and down my spine.
My ears perked, tuning to every sound, from the soft pad of footsteps out in the hallway to the whistle of a tea kettle in some distant apartment. My nostrils flared, drinking in a swirl of scents—from the rich aroma of bottled blood to the leftover tuna Mrs. Janske had fed to her cats to the putrid stench coming from my bedroom.
A familiar tingling started in the pit of my stomach, spreading and gaining momentum until every nerve in my body buzzed to life. My hands trembled and my heart paused.
And just like that, I knew a certain hot, hunky bounty hunter stood on my doorstep.
Twenty
I heard the steady rap on the door, followed by Ty’s familiar voice. “Open up. We need to talk.”
A loud thud from the bedroom punctuated his re quest and I rushed to the door. Instead of hauling it open, I plastered myself against it to make sure it didn’t budge. “Now’s not a really good time,” I said through the thick wood. More knocks drifted from the bedroom, followed by a gasp and a loud, wet burp.
Ugh, I was so docking Evie’s pay when this was all over.
“Look, I know you’re mad because I was spying on you,” Ty went on, his deep voice echoing in my ears. The wood seemed to warm beneath my hands and my fingers tingled. “But there was no way around it.”
“Mad? I mean, yeah, yeah, I’m mad.” I frowned at the door. “I’m royally pissed.”
“I know you and you always seem to end up in the middle of trouble.” He went quiet for a long moment before he added, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
My heart gave a tiny lurch and I barely caught the smile before it tugged at my lips. “FYI—I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Sure you are.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That in the past six months you’ve gotten yourself staked by a jealous werewolf, arrested for murder, poisoned by another jealous werewolf, and nearly decapitated by my sire. Most vampires attract the opposite sex. You? You attract trouble.”
Hey, I attracted my share of the opposite sex. I ignored the tingling against my palms and frowned. “I don’t need you following me all over the city, keeping tabs, asking questions.” Watching. The last thought sent a burst of excitement through me and my toes shivered.
“Open the door,” came the deep, mesmerizing voice.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” I glanced around frantically, my gaze bouncing from the bedroom door to the leftovers of my wardrobe cluttering the couch. “Because my place is a mess.”
“Since when do you care about that?”
Since never. I tried again. “I had a tough night at work and I haven’t had a chance to touch up my makeup or hair.”
“I like the natural look.”
My heart gave another lurch. “Trust me. Medusa’s got nothing on me.”
“You always look great. Now open up.”
Darn it. Where was a “Thanks for the heads-up. I’m outta here.” when you really needed it?
I sent up a silent prayer that Evie would keep quiet, slid the chain into place, and then unlatched the dead bolt. I pulled open the door the mere inch that the chain allowed and peered through the crack at Ty. “Yes?”
He arched one dark eyebrow, the tiny scar kicking up a notch as he eyeballed me. “So that’s how it is? You’re not even going to let me inside? Just because you’re pissed off?”
“I don’t need a watchdog.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn’t go wandering around Times Square because of this demon.”
“I didn’t go wandering around Times Square because of this demon. I went because of Evie. She was, um, dying to try out this new club and I’d promised to go with her.” I shrugged. “What can I say? I don’t like to break my promises.”
“Yeah, well neither do I, and I promised Ash I’d keep an eye on you so he
wouldn’t have to.”
Nix the tiny sliver of hope that Ty was here because he was really and truly worried about me. It was all about business.
I stiffened. “You and Ash need to get an afterlife. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got things to do.” I started to shut the door, but suddenly his hand was there.
“Like what?”
“I’m cleaning my oven,” I blurted, my brain latching onto the first excuse that popped up.
“You don’t clean.”
“I’m watching TV.”
“You never watch TV.”
“I’m balancing my checkbook.”
“You never balance anything. You just stash the statements in your underwear drawer and hope everything works out.”
Did this vamp know me or what?
“Last chance,” he went on. “Open up.”
“Or what?”
“Or this.” Metal popped and the chain ping-ponged and suddenly it was his arm that pushed inside. Then half his body made it in and suddenly the door was open and Ty was standing right in front of me.
His brows drew together as he stared down at me. “What’s wrong with you?”
“N-nothing. I…” I swallowed. “What makes you think something’s wrong?” Other than the fact that I’m acting like a lunatic? I squelched the last thought and squared my shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Really.”
He tore his gaze from mine and glanced around. “Is somebody here?”
“Of course not.” I summoned my best laugh. “It’s just me. Yours truly. The one and only.”
He started to move past me and I planted my hands on his chest before he could step over the threshold. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to sit down so we can talk this out.”
“But there’s nothing to talk out. I can take care of myself, end of talk.”
Suspicion sparked as he stared down at me. “You know more about this than you’re letting on, and I want to know what you know.” He gripped my hands and forced them to my sides.
For a made vamp, he was surprisingly strong. Then again, I hadn’t had my dinner and so I was running low on super born-vamp energy at the moment.
Just One Bite Page 15
