Demon's Vengeance

by Jocelynn Drake

  Bronx reluctantly tore his eyes off Serah to look at me, his expression softening. “No more appointments and I’ve only got another hour of my shift. Sunrise is in three hours.”

  “No shit?” I twisted, looking out the front window as if I could use the moon to judge how late it was. But then, the moon was hidden from where I stood and I couldn’t use it to tell time even if I could see it. No matter. Between the trip out to Kyle’s shop, the investigation, and the drive back, the night had wasted away, when I had hoped to spend it in a more enjoyable manner. Or at the very least, a productive manner in terms of my relationship.

  I shook my head in disgust. Life had a way of getting in the way of my plans. “On your way home, would you check on Trixie at my apartment?”

  “Sure, what’s up?”

  “She was with me at Kyle’s shop. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “She took it bad?”

  “Yeah, and that wasn’t the first bad news of the night,” I muttered as the look on Trixie’s face when I told her I was once again an agent of the Ivory Towers flashed through my brain. I’d never forget that look for as long as I lived. The horror, the fear, the disgust, and disappointment threatened to drown out rational thought. Despite knowing why she couldn’t, I wanted her to understand my choices, needed her to understand.

  “You finally talked . . .” Bronx’s deep voice drifted off meaningfully.

  “Yeah.” My own voice had become rough with emotion. I wanted to fucking throw something as frustration welled within me, but a temper tantrum wouldn’t fix shit. It would only waste time I didn’t have. I just kept telling myself that my relationship was still fixable. “She can tell you or we’ll talk later. Check in with her before heading home if you don’t mind.”

  “I got it.”

  “I appreciate it.” And I did. I knew the risk he was taking. Trolls were vulnerable to sunlight, turning to stone at the first touch of the sun’s rays. It was a death sentence for them, but Bronx had risked himself for me time and again. My only hope was that I’d be able to return the favor one day.

  “You need any help?” Bronx asked me, but was pointedly staring at Serah with a grim expression. I don’t know what the troll was offering, since he wasn’t the violent type despite his frightening appearance, and would never raise a hand to a woman.

  “No, I got this,” I said, feeling the first hint of a chuckle in hours. “We think we’ve got a little of the attacker’s blood and we’re going to see what kind of information I can get out of it.”

  Bronx’s narrowed gaze jerked back to me and he moved to block the entrance to the tattooing room when I stepped forward. “How?” he growled and I was warmed by his protectiveness.

  “Using the bad stuff.”

  “In front of her?” Yeah, he thought I’d officially lost my mind at last and I certainly couldn’t blame him.

  Serah snorted. “I’m still here and can hear you,” she said in a loud voice vibrating with her annoyance.

  Bronx ignored her outburst, keeping his eyes locked on me. “You don’t have to do this. You weren’t close to Kyle. Let the cops and TAPSS do their job.”

  My weariness seeped back in and I shook my head. “Trixie asked me to.”

  The troll frowned and I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “Why? She wasn’t close with Kyle.”

  What Bronx wanted to say was This isn’t your fight, and I had to agree with him. I’d been dragged into Trixie’s problems with the Summer Court and a fight with the Towers that might have worked out better if I’d just stayed out of the mess to begin with. I wanted to walk away, but the look of fear and desperation in Trixie’s eyes was enough to put me on this path. If only to restore her faith in me again.

  “Apparently Kyle wasn’t the killer’s only victim.” Learning against the wall, I crossed my arms over my chest and looked at my closest friend. “Based on the evidence at the crime scene, the police think the same person has also murdered two pregnant women. It’s likely the person would never have struck without the tattoo. We need to find out who this is and why he’s targeting pregnant women.”

  The troll’s expression grew even darker and he swore softly under his breath. “Any leads?”

  “None so far,” Serah admitted with some frustration.

  For the first time, Bronx’s expression softened toward Serah. “Have you tried the goblins?”

  “Why the goblins? What could they have to do with this?” Serah asked, taking a tentative step forward.

  “The area goblins run the baby black market,” Bronx volunteered.

  The small woman’s mouth hung open for a second in shock before her face flushed red with anger. “And ­people know this is happening and aren’t doing anything about it?”

  “They’re not stealing and eating babies,” I said and quickly bit my tongue.

  Well, supposedly they weren’t stealing babies anymore. In the old days, goblins were quite fond of stealing human children from their cribs. Apparently, young humans are a delicacy. But as times changed, the goblins discovered they could make more money selling babies on a black market. Despite the significant progress we’ve made in recognizing most races as citizens and giving them access to proper health care, many lawmakers aren’t as open about adoption, particularly interspecies adoption.

  “The goblins pay women quite well to have babies and give them over for adoption,” Bronx explained when she didn’t look convinced.

  “There are a number of vampires as well as interspecies ­couples who can’t have children and aren’t allowed to adopt, so they go to the goblins,” I said.

  While I’d never personally visited the goblins regarding their wares, I’d learned that once you became involved in purchasing goods in one black market, you tended to be aware of what else was going on in the underground. You never knew when turmoil elsewhere was going to impact your own livelihood.

  “You don’t think that the goblins are behind the murders, do you?” I asked, drawing my tired eyes up the troll’s frowning visage.

  “Probably not,” Bronx said with a shrug. “They’re fond of money and wouldn’t do anything to hurt their supply. More likely, they’ve already started looking into the matter and might be able to give you some information.”

  “Could be someone they’ve crossed in the past?” Serah suggested.

  “Possible. I’ll dig around and see if I can locate a contact after we finish with tonight’s little escapade,” I murmured.

  The troll looked like he was going to argue with my decision to burrow deeper into this mess when I needed to step away from it, but after several seconds, he closed his mouth and nodded. Lines of tension still stretched from his eyes. He was worried.

  “If you need anything . . .”

  “You’ve got my back,” I finished when his voice faded.

  Bronx stepped back and I cut through the empty tattooing room. I kept my head down so that the three chairs skated briefly through the periphery of my vision. The three of us had worked together for nearly three years. Laughter had almost constantly echoed through that room as we tattooed the ­people of Low Town. Crude jokes, strange misadventures, and unexpected revelations filled that room and a part of me worried that it was on the cusp of ending.

  Pushing aside my personal worries, I concentrated on the soft patter of female footsteps as Serah followed me down the narrow hallway that connected the main tattooing room with the windowless storage room at the back of the building. When she entered, I closed and locked the door as I usually did when I planned to enter the basement. My eyes jumped to the back door, to find that it was still double-­bolted.

  “What are we doing back here? You know a potion to pull information out of the blood?” Serah demanded. Her voice had grown colder and harder with her increasing anxiety. My veiled conversation with Bronx had only raised her suspicions about me and the si
tuation wasn’t going to get any better.

  Taking her winter coat out of her arms, I tossed it on the padded table I used when I needed someone to lie flat for a tattoo. “Hand over the gun,” I said, holding out my hand.

  Serah frowned and took a step backward. “Why?”

  “So accidents don’t happen.”

  She didn’t budge beyond her gaze hardening on me. “I don’t trust you.”

  “Good. We have something in common. I don’t trust me either.” I tapped down the urge to use magic to make the gun disappear, but that wasn’t the way to win this person over. “Hand over the gun. We’re leaving it here.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Basement.”

  Her eyes darted from one locked door to the other as she thought it over. “Anyone else have a key to those doors?”

  “No.”

  While not pleased with the idea, Serah removed the gun from shoulder holster under her right arm and popped the magazine from the grip before placing the weapon on top of her coat. The magazine she shoved into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “You’re left-­handed,” I observed, talking mostly to myself.

  “Yeah,” she said slowly, looking at me as if a few of my marbles had just rolled out of my ears.

  I flashed her a crooked smile. “I’ve not met many left-­handed ­people. Parents used to believe that kids who were left-­handed would turn out to be a witch or warlock so they tried to train lefties to use their right hand.”

  She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Superstitious bullshit.”

  It helped to break the tension a little bit. With a deep breath, I knew it was time to get down to business.

  “I’ve got to set some ground rules before we continue.”

  “And now I’m worried again,” Serah said. Her voice carried some levity as if she was trying to meet me halfway, but it was fading fast. “Why do we need ground rules?”

  “For both our protection.”

  “You know, Gage, if you’re going to use some kind of illegal potion, it’s unlikely I’m going to recognize it. I want to catch this bastard too.” Ahh . . . dear Serah. Already willing to bend the rules for me. Of course, she was right. If I’d decided to use a little pixie liver in a spell she wouldn’t be able to recognize it. While the ingredient was illegal, she wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between it and a shriveled up lima bean.

  “It’s not a potion.”

  “Hacking software?”

  “No.” When Serah looked utterly confounded, I continued, knowing it was better to push ahead than to let her imagination run wild. “First rule is that you will wait here until I call you down into the basement.” When she opened her mouth to argue, I pulled the blood-­soaked paper towel out of my pocket and held it out to her. “Since you don’t trust me, you’ll hold this until you join me.”

  Serah wordlessly closed her mouth and took the paper towel, holding it carefully in her right hand. It was a fair trade. She could be sure that I wasn’t trying to pull a fast one on her while I was out of her sight.

  “Second rule is that you will remain calm no matter what you see.”

  “How much illegal crap you got down there?”

  I just frowned at her. The shit I had down in the basement wasn’t even on TAPSS’s radar. Warlocks could do some seriously fucked-­up shit, but it often required some really strange and rare items. There was plenty down there that could be considered illegal if all the rule makers ever considered what a person could get their hands on. For now it wasn’t illegal simply because they hadn’t thought of it yet.

  “Fine. I’ll stay calm,” Serah said in a huff.

  “And third, you’ll give me a chance to explain anything you don’t understand before you consider breaking Rule Number Two.”

  “Got it. Stay here. Stay calm. Give you a chance to snow me.” Serah ticked off each rule on her fingers while glaring at me. “Can we get this going now? I would like to crawl into bed before the sun comes up.”

  Resisting the urge to flip her off, I turned and pushed a rolling table off the trapdoor in the floor, moving it to the far corner of the room. I didn’t care if she was irritated with me. There was a huge potential for disaster by taking her into my secret lair, and I wanted to at least try to cover my ass before descending into this nightmare. I glanced over my shoulder at her one last time to see her still standing across the room with the tissue in her extended hand before turning my attention to the yawning darkness at the bottom of the warped wooden stairs.

  Common sense said this was a mistake and I was having trouble remembering why I was doing this, but the die was cast and it was time to get this show on the road.

  Chapter 6

  With ease, I quickly descended the creaking stairs and hit the compacted dirt floor. I blindly grabbed the beaded pull chain overhead and gave it a hard yank as I walked into the center of the room. Grimy yellow light washed over the low-­ceilinged room with exposed concrete walls. Deep shadows instantly retreated to peek out from around the three large cabinets that lined three of the walls. The fourth, far wall was empty except for a large symbol I’d spray-­painted there. The air in the basement was thick with the scent of dirt, burned ozone, and some other, subtler scent that I had come to associate with the scent of my own magical signature.

  Standing in the center of the room, I threw my arms out and then swiftly brought them in again before thrusting them out toward the dark symbol. A rush of magical energy stirred in the room, surging toward the wall, while a separate energy shifted, seeming to make the black paint undulate as if something large were crawling beneath it. Over the years, I’d spent hours staring at the symbol trying to decipher the meaning. Encased all in a large, unbroken circle, there were several other symbols running through it. At times, I thought it looked like a name and that frightened me more than anything else.

  The defensive spell I had placed over the basement was a dangerous thing. It attacked with lethal force anyone who entered the basement that wasn’t me. It was also a fickle thing, not liking to be turned off as I learned when I let my friend Sofie descend into my private domain. While it hadn’t attacked her, the spell hadn’t gone into magical sleep mode, which was more than a little unnerving.

  It was never a good thing when a spell stopped obeying you. In fact, spells weren’t supposed to have a mind of their own, but something was different about this one. I’d used this protective spell for several years and I was beginning to wonder if storing all these magical items near the spell was starting to have a negative impact. It was time to consult Gideon for a new protective spell.

  When the last of the magical energies in the room finally settled down, I breathed a small sigh of relief. At least the spell wasn’t going to kill us when Serah came down into the basement. I was just hoping the woman wouldn’t try to kill me. Walking back over to stand at the bottom of the stairs, I called up to her.

  Her footsteps creaked across the wood floor until she appeared at the top of the stairs with a questioning look on her face. “That didn’t take long. Finished hiding your stash from the big bad TAPSS investigator?”

  “Get your ass down here,” I muttered.

  As she slowly descended the stairs, I walked over to the high table that was pushed against one of the walls. Its surface was cluttered with random bits of junk that I had collected for use in random spells and potions. A series of crystals hung from ribbons and leather strings along the wall just above the table, while a stack of hardbound journals was piled in the corner. It was a mess, but it was my mess and I knew where everything was. Grabbing my wand out of the carved wooden box, I quickly shoved it up my sleeve. My hope was to ease Serah into this to keep her panic down to a minimum, and wands were panic-­inducing things. I scooped up a battered box of wooden kitchen matches and a baby-­food jar filled with sea salt, and then paused as my brain ran in ci
rcles, trying to figure out anything else that might help give this spell some kick.

  “Gage?” Serah’s tremulous voice rose up in the silent air. For the first time all evening, she sounded unsure and more than a little afraid. While the room housed cabinets that looked like they contained your typical potion ingredients, the padlocks on the front of each made you second-­guess it. The black symbol dominating the far wall also didn’t help. Even if you didn’t understand magic, the thing held a sinister air as if it was a gateway to something evil. It didn’t take an expert in magic to know that she was treading on dangerous ground.

  I smiled broadly at her when I turned around to find her standing on the dirt floor near the foot of the stairs. “Almost ready,” I said, trying to sound reassuring as I shoved the jar of salt into my pocket.

  “What is all this?”

  “You remember Rule Number Three?” I asked as I stepped over to the cabinet nearest her. Turning my body so that I blocked her view of what I was doing, I picked up the padlock and ran my thumb across the back while pushing a tiny burst of magic through the mechanism. A chunk echoed through the room as the lock popped open.

  “Something about letting you explain,” she said, still sounding as if she was about to bolt for the door.

  “Yep. Here, hold this,” I said, slapping the box of matches into her free hand before I turned my attention back to the cabinet. I squatted down where several plastic jugs were lined up along the bottom shelf with dates scrawled across them in black marker. Grabbing the fullest one, I stood and closed the cabinet doors with my foot.

  “What’s that?” she asked, eyeing the jug suspiciously.

  “Water.”

  “Isn’t starting a fire in the basement a little dangerous, even with water on hand?”

  “We’re not starting a fire,” I said as I carried the water jug over to the middle of the room and put it on the floor.

  “Fine. So what do you have to explain?” Her mind didn’t sound particularly open and her tone wasn’t what I’d call inviting.