I’m not actually thinking Donny, Mr. Charity Donator and football star extraordinaire, drugged my drink, am I?
At this point, I’m clinging to his innocence with my fingernails.
“Donny’s a lot of things, but a drugger of women’s drinks is not one of them.”
“Are you sure about that?”
My mouth opens. Shuts. Opens again. Before I can get the words out, Smythe nods.
“You aren’t sure about that. He could’ve killed Jenny and hired a minion to dispose of her body.”
“I don’t think so.” I shake my head. “He doesn’t seem like the killer type.”
“Neither did Jeffrey Dahmer.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
Smythe shoots me a get-real look. I ignore it.
“He said he left Jenny and returned to his room. Did you know he has his own private room at Club Monster?”
“Killers say whatever to get off the hook.”
“I don’t think he killed her. He definitely didn’t tinker with my drinks.”
“Drinks?” Smythe’s jaw tightens.
I flinch. Silly, damn ingrained reaction. To cover, I shrug. “I had to fit in, right? Get him to confide in me. It worked, by the way. He said he liked me, and I should come back and visit him. That proves he didn’t drug my drink. Why would he ask me back if he did?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Smythe rubs his forehead. “Never mind. If you don’t think he drugged your drink, then how do you explain how you were drugged?”
“I don’t know. How did you find me? What happened to the guy dragging me?”
“Dragging you?” The expression on Smythe’s face morphs from curious to murderous in under a second. His fingers flex. At least his anger isn’t directed at me this time. Part of me feels sorry for the guy with the bad dye job.
It’s a small part and easily squashed.
“I was dancing with Donny and started feeling sick. Like I was drunk but a hundred times worse. He asked if he should call me a cab, I think, then he left and Bad Dye Job showed up.”
“Who?”
“This guy had a horrid blond dye job.” A memory of leaving Donny’s room jerks my eyes wide. “He ran into me. When Donny and I left his room. Donny’s room. For the dance floor. We walked into the main club, and that guy ran into me. Hit me hard enough to splash my drink all over my sleeve. It was after that I started feeling sick. He must’ve drugged me, not Donny.”
“Donny could’ve hired him.” Smythe stalks the few steps to where Eloise stands, his fingers flexing open, closed, open, closed. “You haven’t explained the dragging. What do you mean, the guy dragged you?”
“Right. Sorry. After Donny left, I ran into the bad dye job guy. Again. I can’t really remember what happened, but he led me to through doors to a hallway. Maybe in the back of the club? Or where the offices were? I don’t know, but I couldn’t walk. I threw up. Then he started dragging me. I couldn’t stand, and my knees got all scratched.”
I peer at my knees, happy to note no scratches, tears, or marks. Eloise’s healing rocks.
My gaze meets Smythe’s enraged one. At least all that anger focuses on some target other than me.
“How did you find me?” My voice lands one note up from a whisper.
“Followed your cry for help to that hall by the club offices. You were on the floor, and some guy was bending over you. I asked what he was doing with my friend, and he said he was trying to put you in the office to sleep it off since you were so wasted. He took off down the hall and out the doors into the club when I bent to see about you. I fuzzed the cameras and portaled you home.” He smacks a palm against the wall. “I shouldn’t have believed him.”
Eloise pats his arm, her blind stare focused on me. “You need to be taught how to tell when your drink is poisoned.”
“It was drugged, not poisoned.”
She waves a hand, negating my correction. “Same difference.”
Not really, but I’m not in the mood to argue. “Why didn’t the justitia nullify the effects? Like it does when it helps me heal faster?”
“Justitias don’t work against poison. Which is why you need to learn to detect it.”
Nice to know. Better late than never, I suppose.
“How do I learn to taste a tasteless substance?”
“You don’t taste it. You detect it with a spell before it passes your lips.”
“I didn’t think spells were in a Justitian’s bag of tricks.”
“They aren’t.” Smythe narrows his eyes, silently glaring Eloise into silence.
It fails.
“Nonsense.” Eloise waves away his words. “Anyone can be taught a detection spell.”
“Eloise.” Smythe lowers his voice, enunciating each word as if explaining physics to kindergarteners. “Mages perform spells. Justitians kill demons. Not the other way around.”
Only a justitia can kill a demon. Mages help us with their spells, but no spell can take down one of Hell’s own.
“She can be taught.”
“By who?” Smythe gives Eloise a puzzled glance. “I don’t know that type of spell.”
Well, I learned something new. I thought Smythe knew every spell. Shows you what I know. Or don’t know as the case may be.
“Perhaps a lesson for all is in order. Tomorrow evening? Here?” Eloise turns to me. “Be sure to invite your brother.” And with those final words, she forms a portal and disappears. Nifty trick to avoid disagreement.
The look Smythe shoots at the closing portal is as cold as the portal itself. He drums long fingers against his thigh.
“I’m assuming she means to talk to T about becoming a ghost talker.”
Only if talking is an euphemism for getting it on with my twin. Can’t Smythe see what’s going on between the two of them?
“Assume all you want. You know what they say about it.” My grin fades as memories of the club swamp my mind. Breath catches in lungs tight with emotion. “Thank you for rescuing me. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t come along.”
He steps closer to me, his palm warm upon my shoulder.
“I shouldn’t have put you in a position to get hurt.”
“Smythe. You put me in those types of positions on a daily basis and call it my job.”
He removes his palm, sitting next to me as he speaks.
“That’s different. You know what I mean.”
I suppose I do. Although rattling his cage is half the fun. “Yeah. I guess I do.” Fighting the walking evil goes with the job. Being drugged at a club by a potential killer is a whole different issue. “I don’t know why they tried to drug me.”
“They didn’t try. They succeeded.”
“Semantics.” I wave a hand. “Why me?”
“No clue. It could have something to do with Jenny. It might not. Donny might have tried to scare you off.”
“He could’ve just said leave instead of inviting me back for a drink. No, I disagree with you about him. He’s not a killer. Or a man who feels the need to drug women’s drinks.”
“If you say so.”
“I do. Enough about Donny. I want to find that guy who drugged my drink. I didn’t even meet him. What about me made him choose me?”
“As I said, I don’t know.” Smythe punctuates his words with a shrug and head shake. “But I’ll get online and see if I can find the cameras for the club. Are you okay?”
“Thanks to you. I’m glad you’re always around to save my ass since I’ve become a demon huntress. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Probably be dead. A chill snakes down my spine, and I cover it with a half smile.
“That’s what I’m here for. And it’s Justitian, not demon huntress.” He returns my grin, his gaze dropping to my lips as red creeps high on his cheeks. He pops off the bed faster than a cork freed from a champagne bottle. One palm pats my shoulder twice, a failed attempt at eradicating the strings of potential passion spreading between us. “I’ll be in the o
ther room. Try to get some sleep. It’s late. Or early.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Sleep is the last thing on my mind, tiredness banished by Eloise’s healing.
Smythe stares at me, narrowed eyes seeing into my soul. What does he see inside me? Invisible ribbons band us together, pulling him into me, me into him, a tie we continue to ignore.
He clears his throat, the moment evaporating. “See you tomorrow. I mean, later today.”
The door snaps closed behind him, tension deflating from the room. Red numbers glow 4:00 a.m. on the alarm clock, a reminder to become exhausted. And yet, I’m pumped, running on adrenaline, leftover healing energy, and sexual frustration, the mix a buzz of impatience trapped beneath my skin.
I need sleep, which means I need out of this dress.
A quick dash into the bathroom followed by a change of clothes along with a make-up removal session and I’m ready for bed. As soon as I walk into my bedroom I draw in a breath, thoughts of sleep vanquished by a rush of intimidation mixed with longing.
Zagan leans against the wall on the other side of my bed, arms crossed, biceps straining against the fabric of his white button-down shirt. The demon of deceit. The demon who mistakenly believes I am his servant. The demon my justitia sees as a friend.
Traitorous jumping-for-joy bracelet.
I shake my wrist, as if that will stop the silver links from clicking together with joy.
“Zagan. What are you doing in my bedroom?”
“I find I like it here.” A smile turns his lips as his gaze drifts across my face. “So homey.”
“I smell a lie.”
He shrugs. “I am the demon of deceit, am I not?”
“Out with it.” I circle my hand, encouraging him to talk.
“I wanted to see how you were doing.” He pushes off the wall, taking a step toward me, the tone of his voice a mesmerizing pull. “Is that so wrong? Do not friends talk to each other?”
I stop short of telling him he’s not my friend. He’s my justitia’s friend. The only demon my bracelet refuses to kill. Refuses to let me kill.
Oh, who am I trying to fool? Whether due to the entity in the bracelet attached to my nervous system or personal preference, during the time I’ve worn the justitia, Zagan has become somewhat of a friend.
In the loosest definition of the word.
Not that I’d tell him. Wouldn’t want him to get any more ideas than he already has. And trust me, he’s been full of ideas since the first time we met.
At least he can’t force me to obey him.
Which makes me an enigma to the demon. An enigma I can handle. Obeying him, not so much.
“What do you want to discuss?”
“You were injured tonight.”
“Damn. News travels fast.” Really freaking fast if he already knew.
“I am a demon who listens.” He stalks a step closer, eyes narrowing. “Why were you at the club?”
“I thought you said you listened.”
He waves a hand. “I did not hear that part of the story. Do tell.”
What harm could there be? Maybe Zagan will offer the name of Jenny’s killer. Since the damn demon knows the murderer’s identity.
“Jenny, the woman whose body was found at the Armadillos’ stadium the other night, was last seen at Club Monster. We were trying to find the minion who killed her.”
“Ah. And did you?”
“No. But someone drugged me. And tried to drag me off the premises.” I shudder and shove the memory aside. I will not think of how close I came to something bad in Zagan’s presence.
He snarls, fingers cranking into fists. “You should not be harmed.”
I can’t stop the eye roll. “What is it with you guys? Smythe said almost the same thing. Come on. I’m a freaking Justitian. I kill minions and demons, present company excluded. It’s not like I don’t get hurt regularly.” Despite my no-big-deal talk, my hands tremble, a delayed adrenaline rush from my near-death experience.
Not that I’ll tell Zagan. Better he think I’m a strong independent woman instead of a scared little girl putting on a brave face.
His snarl relaxes, but the air vibrates around him, a distant storm on the horizon.
“That is different. You cannot use a justitia against a human.”
I drop my gaze, focusing on stilling the trembling shaking my limbs. “Yeah. I found that out the hard way. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.” No more whiskey for me.
Zagan steps closer, his voice a low growl bent on revenge. “You are correct. It will not happen again. I will find the one who dared to poison your drink. I will—”
My gaze snaps up to meet his murderous glare. I hold up a hand. “Whoa, buddy. I so do not want to hear any murder plans. That makes me a witness in a court of law. No planning to kill humans around me. You hear?”
Zagan blinks, rant ending as a grin spreads his lips wide. “You called me buddy. We truly are friends.”
After my don’t-talk-to-me-about-murdering-humans speech, that’s all he has to say? Not an “okay” or “no way,” just a comment on how my poor word choice indicates a friendship?
Demons. You never know how they might twist your words to suit their purposes.
Although, being Zagan’s friend beats the alternative of being his servant. Truth be told, I like the idea of having this particular demon for a friend.
Gah. Where’s a convenient brain transplant surgeon when I need one? This emotional state of conflict is driving me crazy.
“Why is being my friend so important to you?”
“You wound me.” He places a hand over his heart in mock horror. “Can a demon not enjoy a human’s companionship? Her witty humor? The way her heart beats for me?”
“Don’t delude yourself on that last point. Buddy.”
One side of his mouth kicks up, and he takes a step toward me. “We have been through this before. Your blood calls to me. I answer.”
“You answer because you and my justitia have history together. It has nothing to do with me.” I swallow, acting all tough-girl while my insides twist into quivering ropes.
“That is where you are wrong, Gin.” I suck down a breath as he steps in front of me, as he places his hand over my heart. “You called to me before”—the name of my justitia rolls off his tongue, a name unpronounceable on human lips—“became part of you. Long before. One day you will realize how much I helped you and be grateful.” The last word he whispers in my ear, leaving a trail of chills to dance across my skin.
Spit dries in my mouth. Does he mean what I fear he does? Had he been attracted to me because of the lies I told my entire life? Could my ultimate deception be what called him to me?
Was it possible his attraction had nothing to do with my justitia?
When he steps out of my personal space, I shiver with relief. Time for a topic change, STAT.
“Why was Jenny killed?”
“You might believe her death to be tragic, but you need to focus on the more pressing issue.”
“What’s more pressing than a rampaging minion killing women?”
“A rampaging demon ensnaring humans to do its bidding.”
“There’s a demon loose on earth?” So much for the Agency demon-appearance computer program working.
“Not loose. Ensnaring. Thinking it’s better than all the rest. That it should be the leader of all forces in Hell.” His fingers flex and release as a snarl forms only to fade. He pierces me with a direct gaze. “It will use humans to do its bidding. You need to stop this demon.”
“Geez, Zagan. That sounds like every other demon, including you, out there.” Despite my bravo, a sense of foreboding brushes a finger down my spine. I straighten.
“This demon is not me. I am wounded you think it is.” He places a hand over his heart, while pouting like I hurt his feelings.
Which I’m pretty sure is an act.
“Okay, I’ll bite. How do I stop it?”
“Find the one the demon targets.” H
e drops that bomb as if there’s only one person targeted by a demon in the whole United States.
Seriously? “Which one?”
“The one the demon wants.” He enunciates each word as if I’m slow and don’t understand the language. “But be careful. If you are harmed again—”
I hold up my hand. “Nuh-uh. Remember? No murder plans or threats to humans in front of me.”
He pauses. Blinks twice. A ghost of a smile plays across his lips.
“As you wish. You know what I will do to them without me needing to say it.”
I shiver. I do know. I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard. Almost.
“I am glad you are well.” His gaze rakes my body, clinical, not sexual, yet chills blossom on my flesh.
“Thank you.” I clear my throat to bring my voice down an octave. “And thank Eloise.”
“Ah.” His eyes sparkle with an inhuman fire at the mention of the healer’s name. “Eloise. It has been many years since I have seen her. You are in good hands. I will leave you now.” He circles one hand, palm up to form a portal.
“Wait!”
But he doesn’t, disappearing into his portal before I can ask how he knows the Agency healer. Damn it. Yet another mystery.
A wave of tiredness crashes into me, and I yawn. So much for working on the mysteries left by Zagan’s visit. Tomorrow will be soon enough to determine an unknown demon’s equally unknown victim. At least he gave me a clue, for all the good it does.
And there’s still the matter of who killed Jenny along with who tried to kidnap me. Not to mention the way more pressing matter of how Zagan knows Eloise.
Yep, plenty of things to mull over tomorrow. Or later today, as the case may be. I should tell Smythe about Zagan’s visit, but the sudden tiredness overwhelms me. I can talk to my mentor tomorrow about my personal demon appearance.
Letting loose with another yawn, I turn off the light and crawl under the covers, leaving the unanswered questions for when I wake.
Demon Cursed Page 7
