A bright blood-red splotch of minion activity hovers above the concrete of the parking lot, a stain of evil. Still strong despite the lapse of time. Most minion trails disappear after about twenty-four hours and start fading after twelve. This one looks as fresh as if made an hour ago.
Creepy.
“Why does it look so fresh?”
“Not sure.” He pauses, staring at the stain. “Maybe it’s more evil than most.”
“That’s scarier than Agramon.” I shiver at the fear demon’s name. I fought it and won, but barely. That creature was one scary-ass demon, the likes of whom I hope never to see again.
“Not quite.” Smythe shakes his head, negating the possibility of anything scarier than a fear demon.
A frisson of relief skates along my veins.
“Okay, then. At any rate, the minion parked here and left the body. No clue why. And because it drove, I don’t see where it came from or where it went.”
“Yeah.” Smythe crosses his arms, eyeing the red splotch of minion activity as if it spoke all the answers.
Which it didn’t. At least not any I heard.
“Hey, think you can do that magic mojo and drop us into wherever the minion is now?”
On my first minion hunt, we tracked a minion to its house where it promptly hopped in a car and drove hell-bent for the Texas-Oklahoma border. Smythe cast a spell and portaled us right into the minion’s moving car. We almost died before managing to kill the minion. At the time, I swore never again, but if it would help find Jenny’s killer, I can break my vow.
“The trail is too old. That spell only works with a fresh trail. We have to hunt this minion the old-fashioned way.”
I clear my throat to keep my sarcastic remark buried inside my mouth. At least the day was overcast and in the upper sixties. Unlike other old-fashioned minion hunts where I about sweated my skin off. Texas heat and walking outside make for a poor mix.
“Let’s go.” Smythe gestures toward the Dumpster. “There’s nothing else we can do here.”
“Go where?”
He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and looks at the time. “Back to your place. Maybe they’ve updated the police report.”
Chapter Six
The police have not updated the report. Either the detectives were slow thinkers, or they put in all their notes at the end of the day. Neither option puts Smythe in his happy place. And while I could think up a suitable activity guaranteed to put a smile on his face, the end result would be confusion coupled with more talking things through than it’s worth.
Hence the grumpy mentor sitting on my couch when I leave for work, his fingers drumming a rhythm against his leg. His “later” follows me out the door.
The drive to work takes no time since traffic waits until the four o’clock hour to strike. Dallas: the city where more time is spent sitting in traffic than out of traffic and rush hour lasts from four to seven.
The ER hums a busy tune as I duck into the break room and store my purse in my locker. The break room door opens as I twirl the dial on the lock. When I turn, Will Wunderliech, M.D. stands frozen two steps inside, an “oh shit” expression on his face, as if I was the last person he wanted to see.
As if? More like definite want on the avoidance. Ever since that day a couple of months ago when Smythe and I paid him a visit, informing him of his mage status, Will has gone out of his way to avoid me.
Part of me doesn’t blame him. Who wants to find out you have hidden magic and now some secret freaky organization wants you to work for them? The other part of me hurts for our friendship. I’ve known Will since high school, when I was the school freak and he paid attention to me.
“Hey. How’s it going?” Might as well be friendly until he works through everything and stops avoiding me.
His lips press together as he draws in a breath through his nose. “Gin.”
“Coming or going?”
“Neither. I’m here until ten.”
“Doing okay?” On the day I found my justitia, Will was shot by a minion. If not for his latent mage abilities, which include quick healing, he’d be dead. A walking miracle, according to his doctors.
I know better.
He shrugs. After shooting him, the minion killed Will’s wife. All for my bracelet, which Will had possessed prior to giving it to me. Not that he remembers giving it to me, but he had to have. How else would the thing have appeared in my scrub pocket?
“That guy you introduced me to isn’t around, is he?” His eyes narrow on a spot to the side of me, as if he expects Smythe to lurk behind the vending machine.
“Nope. He’s at home.”
“Hmm.” Will nods but doesn’t move. Except for his gaze, which darts everywhere but my face.
I sigh. “You gonna take Smythe up on his offer?”
“Don’t know.” The tick of the clock above the door counts the seconds of silence. “Not sure I want to travel that path.”
“I understand.” I nod. “Trust me. But sometimes we have to be what we are. Who we are deep inside. You know?” Check me out, all philosophical and shit.
His gaze snaps to mine, hurt mingling with anger. “Are you living what you are deep inside, Gin? Are you?”
Heat rushes out of my cheeks fast enough to make the room spin. Does he know my secret? Does he know what I am deep inside is not the pretty package I portray to the world?
But he’s no longer looking at me. Will yanks the door open and storms off, his white coat flapping behind him.
The door snaps closed, and I release a breath of air I didn’t realize I held. He’s not reading my mind. He’s grieving and has little interest in learning his mage powers. His attitude is not about me. Really. It’s not.
I hope.
I rub a shaky hand against my forehead, draw in a deep breath, and release it hard. The prospect of introspection instead of a mental prep for a busy evening fails to put me in my happy place. Knowing Will wants to avoid me since I represent Smythe and the Agency churns an ache in my chest.
Leaning against the cool metal of the lockers, I close my eyes and shove all my baggage deep inside for review on my way home. Right now my mind needs to be in the game, ready for a hard night’s work, not circling around like a shark hungry for a meal.
When my eyes open, I’m in the present, ready to go, mind on the patients.
Chapter Seven
I no sooner step into my kitchen than Smythe storms out of the living room, eyes lit with a glee normally seen in misbehaving puppies. Never a good sign after a long evening at work.
“You’re late.”
He should know by now my shift might technically end at eleven, but chances are good I won’t be leaving until midnight. The clock reads 12:15, the click-click of the minute hand a reminder I need to sit and relax.
“Yeah. That’s what happens in the ER.” I set my purse on the counter and pull a glass out of the cabinet.
“You look tired.”
My mentor, master of the obvious.
“Again.” I point the empty glass at him. “That’s what happens in the ER.”
“You can’t back out tonight. Your outfit is on the bed. Hurry up and change.”
I blink several times, as if that will cause his words to have different meanings. “Come again? Change? What outfit are you talking about?” What in my closet did he pull out?
“The police talked to Jenny’s friends.” He grabs the glass out of my slack hand, setting it on the counter. “They hung out together at Club Monster before she left with Donny. They didn’t see her after that. We need to go to the club.”
“Seriously? It’s after midnight.”
He shrugs. “It’s a club. Hurry up.”
“I just got home from work.” I grab the glass and shove it into the water dispenser on the fridge.
“It’s Friday night.” His words wrap around me, a hint of irritation in the undertones. I shiver, shove my stupid learned reaction to fear aside, and turn to face him.
He stares at me for a long pause. “I’m sorry. But we need to go to the club and see if we can get a lead on the minion who killed Jenny. Before they strike again.”
Good point. Although, an unfortunate one for my tired self. I suppose I can suck it up for Smythe. An exhausted demon-huntress is better than none at all.
So much for relaxing at the end of a long evening.
“Fine.” I give him a glare guaranteed to make a cantankerous patient straighten up and fly right as I swallow the water in one long gulp. Smythe’s eyes narrow. At least he doesn’t seem mad. More like excited to track a minion.
An emotion the ER sucked right out of me.
An emotion I need to get back. After all, I don’t wear the justitia for nothing. Might as well use the bracelet for something other than a pretty bauble.
“What did you pick out for me? I’m pretty sure all my clubbing outfits are long gone.” Too many people packed together in one too-small place for my liking. Too many opportunities to touch, and most clubbers don’t have candy canes and rainbows on their mind.
I never thought I’d hear myself say this, but I’m too old for that shit.
The pleased glint in his gaze morphs into worry. “I went shopping.”
Oh now, this I’ve got to see. Keeping my thoughts to myself, I raise a brow as a response and walk into my room. A quick flick of the light switch brings my outfit into view.
Shiny blue material forms a barely there, skin-tight dress sprawled on my bed. At least it sports long sleeves. Blue heels sit on the floor waiting for my feet. I’m about to protest the heels when I notice their tell-tale red soles. Oh my god, he bought me an uber-expensive pair of shoes I could never afford on a good day. Yeah, I can cram my achy feet into those pointy-toed beasts if only to say I am wearing a pair of outrageously expensive shoes.
“You like?”
I start at his voice right behind me. Gah, I need to pay more attention to my surroundings. A heart attack is not on my to-do list for the day.
“You bought me expensive shoes.” I point at them, as if there’s any doubt which pair.
“The dress is designer too.” A hint of uncertainty flows through his tone.
I look at the tag and blink several times. Yep, designer. Yep, expensive. “I can’t afford these.”
He shrugs as he stares at the dress. “Club Monster is a fancy club. You’ll fit in better in expensive clothes. And you didn’t pay for them. These are for work. Consider it a one-time perk.”
I look at the dress, then at Smythe, then back at the dress. Stupid moisture pools in my eyes causing me to blink fast in order to see straight. I’ve never owned such nice clothes in my life. Damn straight I can wear the outfit. “Okay.” I clear my throat. “A perk it is. What are you wearing?”
“Clothes.” A grin turns one side of his lips.
I shake my head. “Never would’ve guessed.”
“My role tonight isn’t as important as yours. You need to bait Donny. See if you can get him to say where Jenny went after their bathroom escapade.”
“He never said they had one. I saw it in his thoughts.”
“Yep. And now you need to get him to admit it. Maybe he saw someone else following her.”
“Maybe he didn’t.”
Brows furrow as his gaze grows distant with thought. “There’s something off about this situation.”
“Yeah. She was killed by a minion.”
“Besides the obvious.”
“Like what?” The strange way the minion trails coalesced around Donny last night before dissipating?
“Is it a coincidence Jenny was killed after she met with Donny?”
“I thought we already established he wasn’t a minion and therefore not the killer.”
“He could have killed her, then hired a minion to dispose of the body. Maybe that was why he was so surprised to see her. He didn’t expect the minion to dispose of the body at the stadium.”
“Or he’s innocent.” I refuse to believe Donny killed Jenny. Dumped her, yeah. Banged one of her friends, sure. But kill her? Nah. He didn’t seem the type.
“Either way, you need to get a move on. It’s not going to take you long to dress, is it?”
“Shoo.” I wave my hands toward the door, and he obliges, pulling the door closed behind him.
In no time at all, my scrubs are in the laundry basket, and I’m taking a speedy shower. After drying off, I pull on a clean bra and panties, then slide the blue dress over my head. The smooth feel of the material rubs against my skin in a way that screams expensive. I twist my hair into a bun and apply enough mascara and eye shadow to make my lids heavy. A dose of lipstick later and I look at myself in the mirror.
The dress hugs my hips, hangs two hands past my girlie parts and displays cleavage like a high-priced hooker. The red-soled shoes pinch my toes, but I refuse to complain. The things I do in the line of duty.
When I open my bedroom door, Smythe leans against the wall, arms crossed, wearing black trousers, a white button-down shirt, and a black jacket.
“Why, Smythe, you have clothes that aren’t black jeans and t-shirts.”
Instead of shooting me a get-real stare, his hooded gaze rakes my body from head to toe and back, leaving my core prickly and eager. Memories of our shared kiss swim through my mind, a remembrance I don’t need to touch him to know he sees too. Visions stream into possibilities as the scent of desire fills the air.
But being a Justitian comes before bedding the boss.
Damn it.
I clear my throat and hold out my arms, knowing the answer even as I ask the question. “Whatcha think?”
“You look…nice.” Deep tones saturate a voice heavy with need.
I smooth the front of the dress. “You did a good job with the sizes.”
“Thanks.” One side of his mouth kicks up. A long pause and he holds out his arm. “Ready?”
Hard muscles under my fingers contrast with the smoothness of his jacket. He holds out a hand and speaks his portal-forming words. We land in an alley, a block away from Club Monster.
The deep throb of distant bass punctuates our silence, broken only by our shoes hitting the concrete. We are almost to the end of the line—yes, at 12:45 a.m. there is still a line to enter—when Smythe speaks.
“We’ll split once we get inside. Look for minions, but don’t engage. We need to obtain information on the killer.”
Like I can engage a minion in a skin-tight dress and too-tight heels without pulling the skirt up around my waist and kicking off the shoes. I’m not seeing jail time for indecent exposure in my future. “It’s not Donny.”
“If you see him, try to get information.”
“I know.” I swallow the irritation in my tone. “We’ve done this before.”
“Not like this we haven’t.”
Okay, good point. “How are we getting in?”
“Leave it to me.”
We bypass the line, ignore the yells and a few whistles, and walk right up to the guard checking IDs. He points to the end of the line, but Smythe whispers something I don’t catch and snaps his fingers, and the guard’s gaze fuzzes as he falls under the spell. So much for paying the entry fee.
Doors open for us as the guard speaks into a mic on his wrist. Deep bass thrums a rhythm in my chest, my bones vibrating to its welcoming beat. Cold air blows a greeting as we walk inside. Lights sparkle from the ceiling, forming pink and purple puddles on the floor. Smoke hovers like a miasma as bodies press together on the dance floor, too many to count, all writhing with need. Smythe heads toward the bar, me following in his wake, trying not to touch anyone.
Wishful thinking. At least the long sleeves offer protection from others’ emotions.
Halfway to the bar, a tingle zips across my nerves, the justitia shaking with awareness. Demon? Or minion? Confusion follows as my bracelet attempts to loca
te the source and comes up negative. I glance around the club, my gaze skimming across the writhing dancers, before rising to the second story. A balcony overlooks the dance floor, patrons leaning against the metal railing. One man rests palms against the railing, overlooking the dancers. I stop, my breath frozen in my lungs. Time slows as the man’s gaze sweeps my direction. Dark hair frames a face hidden in shadows. In the dim light, it’s hard to see his expression, yet the prickles exploding across my skin leave no doubt about the object of his stare.
Me.
Unlike the stares men give an attractive woman, his attention washes over me, leaving behind a strange sensation. I stand straighter, shoulders back, chin up, as if imagining myself successful. Which I am. Or I wouldn’t be a kickass demon huntress.
He slides from the shadows, enough for me to see his lower face. A smile turns his full lips into a parody of a grin as he continues to stare at me. As if he wants to drink me dry.
The man nods, turns, and disappears into the crowd.
Could he be the reason my justitia senses a demon presence? Or was he just some creepy stranger out for a good time?
Only one way to find out: an up-close and personal meeting.
Someone grabs my elbow. An embarrassing squeak passes my lips. My heart beats double time. Was it the man from the balcony? No way. A human couldn’t move that fast. And since my justitia remained in bracelet form, clearly it wasn’t a minion or demon.
Annoying human, then.
I turn to my accoster, get-back glare at the ready, only to stare agape at the obvious bodyguard. No one comes in that size unless they are packing heat. The huge-ass man leans forward, his voice pitched so low I barely hear him over the pounding bass.
“Donny would like to see you.”
I blink in surprise. So much for needing to search the place for Donny. Not that I’m complaining. Mr. Oversized Bodyguard just saved me some time.
I glance to the balcony, but the man remains absent. I’ll hunt for him after I see Donny. Taking a deep breath, I nod at the bodyguard.
“Okay. Where’s he at?”
The bodyguard leads me through the club to a private room. Oo-la-la. Two steps from the room and Smythe pops into my head.
Demon Cursed Page 5
