Demon Cursed

by Karilyn Bentley

  After stumbling off balance, I right myself and turn in a fast circle. Where did he go?

  This time he slams me face first into the side of the car, my nose crunching in agony. The justitia stops the pain but can’t do a thing about the blood running across my upper lip. He traps my wrist with the justitia in a strong grip, holding both against the car. Once again my justitia blocks my empathic abilities. Cold anger rushes through my veins, fueling my muscles with adrenaline. I could call Smythe to help, but want to take out this demon on my own. It’s up to me to escape.

  “You aren’t much of a fighter without your guardian.”

  Instead of offering a smartass comment, which is a little hard to do with blood running down the front of my broken face, I step on his foot, driving my sneaker into his instep.

  He loosens his grip. I start to twist, but am rewarded for my efforts by another face-against-car move. Ouch, ouch, ouch. The justitia dials down the pain receptors and the empathic connection, thank God. At least I heal fast. Provided I get out of this fight.

  Which I will. As if the alternative is an option.

  The demon gives my trapped neck a little shake. His fingers tighten. Black spots dance along the periphery of my vision.

  “Don’t kill her. I want her.” The whiny tone of the minion’s voice grates worse than his crazy laugh. And leaves more chills.

  On the plus side, the demon releases his grip. “She is not yours. But she can be valuable.”

  Damn straight. Provided valuable means not dead.

  “I will let you live, Justitian. For now. You are”—he sticks his nose close to my neck, inhaling deeply as if he enjoys the scent of my fear-sweat—“attractive to me. We shall meet again. Tell your guardian Rahab gives his greetings.”

  The pressure against my neck releases as the demon’s body moves. Footsteps followed by a tinny pop and a sudden cutoff of maniacal minion laughter let me know the demon-minion combo jumped a portal to Hell. Or wherever they crash at night.

  The tiny pop of displaced air acts like a release valve, draining me of energy, my body collapsing next to my car while my heart beats an unsteady tempo.

  That didn’t go so bad. I’m still alive.

  I wipe a hand across my bloody lip while checking for serious injuries. None of those, only scrapes, bruises, and a broken nose along with a side order of aches and pains. Everything will heal by morning. Quicker if I can get Eloise to come out.

  Which she probably won’t do for only a broken nose. And I’m still miffed at her for spelling me into an eighteen-hour sleep.

  My justitia retracts into a bracelet after I give it an encouraging shake. I finger the silver links.

  “Want to tell me who that demon was?”

  Demon. Bad. Kill.

  Yeah. Like I couldn’t figure that out on my own. So much for carrying on a conversation with the entity living along my nerves.

  With a sigh, I push to my feet, and retrieve my purse and keys. A quick hunt to the bottom of my purse turns up a tissue which I use to wipe my face. Taking a deep breath, I grab my nose, adjusting the bone back into place. As usual the justitia acts as an opioid, numbing the pain of resetting.

  Good thing justitias can only be worn by certain bloodlines. Chronic pain sufferers would kill to own one.

  Time to let Smythe know what happened. Since he dropped me off at my house on Sunday, I haven’t heard a peep from him. Which is unusual. He said he was researching, and God only knows the man can research the hell out of the Internet, but he usually opened his laptop in my living room. This is one of the few times since we’ve worked together that he’s left me alone for this long. Three days and I already miss him.

  Not sure if that’s good or bad.

  Dropping my mental barriers, I use telepathy to call his name. T answers.

  Gin? Are you okay? I sense pain.

  A visual of T in a car flits through my mind.

  Yeah, I’m fine. For the most part. I’m trying to reach Smythe. He’s not home, is he?

  I’m not home, so I don’t know.

  Where are you?

  Tracking Jackie. She’s at some club.

  Which would explain why he’s in a car. Since when is my twin one of those creepy exes?

  T, stop being a stalker. Let her go.

  Yeah, yeah. I know. But I can’t. My palm stings from where he smacks his hand against the steering wheel. I want to know if she slept with Donny. Then I’ll leave.

  Oh, Lordy. Call me if the cops catch you.

  Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have to see him to know he rolls his eyes.

  Since nagging him to stop his new stalker behavior will prove fruitless, I sign off to search for Smythe.

  Later.

  Bye.

  He closes our connection, leaving me with a big helping of what-the-heck. That was strange on a number of levels. T’s stalking issues aside, why did my telepathic skills default to my twin? Nothing to it but to try to contact Smythe again.

  This time, I unlock my car, slide into the seat, locking the doors behind me. Because everyone knows locked car doors keep out demons. Yeah. Right. But the motion makes me feel better.

  Leaning my head against the head rest, I close my eyes and locate the telepathic pathway Smythe uses. I trace it to an invisible wall ten feet thick. As I thought, he shut me out.

  What’s so important he can’t answer my call?

  The only thing left is to pick up the phone to call him. I bring up his number and hit the call button. He answers on the second ring.

  “Yeah?” His tone indicates distraction. As if I caught him in the middle of a mentally taxing activity.

  “Since you’re blocking me, I’m using the old fashioned way.”

  He pauses. “Gin? You sound odd, what’s wrong?”

  I dab at my bruised, yet no longer bleeding, nose with the tissue.

  “Nothing much. Just a run-in with a demon and its minion. Said his name was Rahab.”

  “What? Where are you? Are you okay?”

  “You heard me. I’m in the parking garage at the hospital. And yes. Mostly.”

  “Hold on.”

  Two seconds later, a portal opens six feet from my car. I wave while pushing the end symbol on my phone. Smythe storms to my car as I hit the unlock button. He yanks open the door, concern vibrating the air around him with a righteous indignation.

  “What the hell happened?” He grabs my chin, turning my face from side to side. White brackets form around his lips.

  “Rahab said he let me live since he finds me attractive. Which is not a pleasant prospect. This was right after I almost killed his minion. I don’t even know who the heck he is. Besides a demon who came to the defense of his minion.”

  “Start at the beginning.”

  I tell him about the threatening minion, how I almost killed the nasty before its demon appeared and tried to hand me my ass. The more I talk, the lower his brows dip.

  “Rahab is the demon of pride. The leader of all pride demons. Being in his close vicinity rubs off on humans.”

  “Maybe that’s why I acted like a cheap ho on display. It would definitely explain me thinking I could conquer the world.” Or the demon in this case.

  Smythe nods. “Could be. Still don’t know why he showed up. Appearing in parking garages is not his normal modus operandi.”

  “I got the impression he came to defend his minion. But now that I’ve been introduced to him, I’m going to hunt him down. He’s mine.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  “But first I need to clean up.”

  He takes a step back, one arm resting on the open car door, the other on the roof, his gaze focused on my nose.

  “I hoped you would be able to go to the club tonight. See if you can get a lead on that guy who tried to drug you.”

  “With a busted nose? Are you effing kidding me?”

  His fingers tap against the roof. One, two, three. “We need to track that minion. We’re not going to let your
busted nose get in our way of stopping a killer. Your justitia will heal the bruising.”

  Mages and their singular focus.

  Although, since I suspect I saw Rahab at Club Monster the other night, perhaps going there makes sense.

  “Okay, fine. Either poof yourself over to my house or get in the car. I’m going home.”

  Smythe pauses as if he has something to say. After patting the roof twice, he gestures for me to get out of the car.

  “What?”

  “You’re shaking. I’ll drive you home.”

  I glance at my trembling hands. Yep. Definitely shaking. Good thing he offered to drive. Wait a minute. “You can drive?”

  He shoots me a get real glare. “Of course. Just because I choose to portal doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive. Now get out.”

  All righty then. I do as he says, walking around to the passenger side while he slips into the driver’s seat. He pushes the seat back as far as it will go to make room for his long legs. I pull another tissue from my purse and hold it against my nose as he starts the engine.

  His phone rings. He yanks it out of his pocket and slams it against his ear. “What?…It just now appeared on the computer? That’s old news. We’re already on it. It’s hopped a portal back to Hell…Okay, you do that.” He shoves the end button before sticking the phone in the cup holder. “Rahab just appeared on the Agency computer. So much for that demon identification program working in a timely manner.”

  “I guess something’s better than nothing. Maybe a different programmer needs to take a look at it?”

  “Not sure that’ll help.”

  “On a different subject. Did you find anything on the history of the justitias?”

  “My search in the library turned up nothing.” He yanks the seat belt across his broad chest, snapping the buckle into place as if he possesses a grudge against the thing.

  “Sorry to hear it.”

  “Yeah.” He leans against the head rest with a huff. “Didn’t have much time to look. Researching the wards took up most of my time.”

  “And?” I glance at him when he throws the car into reverse. He meets my gaze for a moment before shifting into drive.

  “You were right. They’d been tampered with.”

  I knew it! The Agency should be a fortress impervious to a minion attack.

  “How do you tamper with wards? Aren’t they supposed to repel tampering?”

  “Good question. Yes, they are. But they didn’t. Someone with enough juice cast a breakage spell, which lowered their ability to repel intruders.”

  “Intruders like armed minions.”

  “Yeah.”

  I nod. Until another thought strikes.

  “Speaking of, why can’t the minions just walk into the building? Why bother with the helicopter?”

  “The entrance is for show. Spells turn away curiosity seekers. Non-magical people pass the Agency, see it as another old building and leave it alone. Why?”

  “Something I thought of during the attack.”

  “Your mind works in mysterious ways, Gin.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.”

  His lips turn in mirth. “Who says it was a compliment?”

  “Uh-huh. Back to the wards. What else did you learn about them?”

  “That’s it. Someone tampered with them. Or maybe several someones. The warding spell is difficult to cast, even more difficult to break.”

  “Could the same person who cast the spell break it?”

  “My understanding is the original caster died years ago. Others strengthen the wards. Bottom line, it’s not just one person who helps ward the Agency.”

  “Who’s strong enough to break the spell?”

  Smythe pauses. After a few breaths I risk a glance at him. Jaw tense, he stares straight ahead. His fingers flex and release. Rays from the streetlight strobe light, dark, light across the angles of his face.

  “Charles Tweedy.”

  My gaze returns to the road as a wave of sympathy crashes into my chest. Smythe doesn’t need to deflect attention from the real culprit. I know who, even if he refuses to admit it.

  His father.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The space in front of my house sits empty when we turn onto my street. Surprise strikes hard and fast, dissipating as my brain kicks in gear.

  T left to stalk Jackie. I really need to put a stop to his new extracurricular activity before he gets arrested or slapped with a restraining order. I never in my wildest imaginings pictured my twin stalking his ditzy ex-girlfriend. He never bothered with his other exes. Besides the double D’s, what makes Jackie so special?

  Good thing Smythe wants to go to the club tonight. I can kill two birds with one stone. Maybe three, if Rahab appears.

  Smythe hits the clicker, opening the garage door. Once he puts it in park, he hops out of the car, slamming his door. He stalks up the stairs to the back porch, letting himself inside with a wave of his hand.

  Locks are nothing to a mage.

  Since tension filled the rest of the drive home, I assume my mentor spent his time wondering if his father was responsible for the dropped wards. While my father was a son of a bitch who got what he deserved, Smythe cares for David. God only knows why. David snips at him, belittles him, and acts like an ass to everyone.

  Talk about your dysfunctional relationship.

  Maybe one of these days he’ll let me in on why. Or not.

  With that thought, I slam the car door to follow Smythe inside the house. The sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard greets me as I close the kitchen door.

  Ah, the wonderful sounds of home.

  Ignoring a feet-propped-on-the-coffee-table Smythe, I duck into my bedroom, drop my purse on the bed, and dart into the bathroom.

  I stare in the mirror at caked blood smeared across my chin. Looks like I missed some spots when trying to clean my face in the car. Perhaps Smythe ran into the house to escape my appearance as opposed to feeling guilty about David. I touch my achy nose, not too surprised the expected bruising failed to appear.

  Lucky me. Being a Justitian has its advantages.

  I wash my face free of dried blood and take another peek in the mirror.

  While the justitia eliminated the bruising, it has yet to get rid of the swelling. Puffy skin rings my nose, creases under my eyes, giving a new definition to bag lady. This I can work with. Remembering makeup tricks from my abusive past, I pull out foundation, along with varying sponges. Five minutes later my face is back to normal.

  I continue applying makeup, highlighting my eyes until they pop with color. Good enough for the club. For a brief second, my imagination turns to Donny, to his laughing brown eyes, the way his arms squeezed my waist as we danced. He’d make some woman happy, if he’d settle down long enough to keep her. Just not me. I’d rather have the computer-geek mage typing in my living room.

  Jackie better want a one-night stand.

  Oh God, Jackie. According to T, she was going to the club in her quest to bang Donny. She might be a ditz, but she didn’t deserve to be in the same club as a serial killer.

  Provided the killer still stalked the club.

  Yet another item to add to my long to-do list for the night. And here I thought convincing T to abandon the stalker game would be the highlight of the evening. Now I have to ensure his double-D ditzy girlfriend lives.

  An idea teases me with what to do about Jackie. Have Smythe spell her into leaving the club. Excellent suggestion, if I do say so myself.

  Satisfied with my game plan, I change from scrubs into the designer dress Smythe bought me, slipping my tired feet into the red-soled pointy heels. Good thing I had the dress cleaned since my last club adventure. When I walk into the living room, Smythe’s gaze rakes my body from foot to head. A sexy smile turns his lips.

  Yeah, he beats Donny on so many levels it isn’t even funny.

  I point to my face. “Can you tell I have a busted nose?”

  He stands to walk tow
ard me, his fingers gripping my chin with a light touch to tilt my head side to side. “A little puffy, but you did a great job with the makeup.” His eyes narrow. “You’ve had practice.”

  Anger saturates the air around him, thick and potentially suffocating. At least it’s not directed at me.

  Shrugging, I turn my head, forcing his fingers to release my chin. “You ready?”

  He stares at me for a second too long before nodding. Taking my hand in his, he waves his other palm, reciting his portal-opening words. We step into the in-between, landing in an alley by the club.

  A deep bass pounds a rhythm into our chests as we walk to the club entrance.

  “Don’t drink anything.”

  I roll my eyes. Been there, done that, and refuse to try it again. I’m a quick study. “Not planning on it.”

  “We’ll split up inside. I’ll keep an eye on you.”

  “Just one?”

  His brow furrows. “Huh?”

  “Never mind. I’ll look for the guy who tried to kidnap me. As well as stop T from stalking Jackie. Speaking of—”

  “Wait. What’s this about T and Jackie?”

  “They split up. Jackie decided to make Donny her new bedmate. It’s debatable whether or not he’s onboard with the idea. T is madder than a wet hen and is stalking her.”

  “Good grief.” He shakes his head.

  “That about sums it up. He doesn’t want her back, so I’m not sure what his deal is. At any rate, I thought maybe you could spell Jackie into leaving if you see her? I might not want her with T, but that doesn’t mean I want her in danger.”

  “We’ll see. If it looks like she’s in trouble, I’ll try to get her out of it. No guarantees.”

  “Gotcha.”

  I take a deep breath, giving myself an overdue mental shake as adrenaline floods my system. I have this covered. No drinking, which means the kidnapper won’t have a chance at me. Nothing to fear. I can do this. I’m a Justitian with a super-cool bracelet and a sexy guardian mage.