Demon's Vengeance

by Jocelynn Drake

  “Interesting choice,” Bronx said, his deep voice a low rumble.

  Trixie didn’t look up at him, but just smiled. “Gage says that you always know everything before he tells you. This shouldn’t be a surprise either.”

  His large eyebrows bunched over his large nose, shadowing his deep set yellow eyes. “What do you mean?”

  Trixie looked up at me and smiled before she leaned over and whispered in his ear. Leaning against the doorway with my arms crossed over my chest, I watched the impressive display of emotions cross his face. Joy, horror, amusement, sorrow, and even a little fear – they all flickered through over his usually stoic face before he finally got control. And then it was just uneasiness as he couldn’t decide whether congratulations or condolences were in order.

  “We’re happy about it,” I announced, letting him off the hook.

  “And I am happy for you both as well,” he said before pressing a kiss to Trixie’s temple. “Have you started discussing names yet?” he asked conversationally as Trixie started to clean up her paints.

  “No. She hasn’t even told me what we’re having yet,” I said.

  “It’s no mystery, Gage. It’s going to be a baby,” Bronx said in a dry voice, echoing Trixie’s wry words.

  “Smart-­asses. I’m surrounded by fucking smart-­asses,” I muttered, feeling lighter to hear Trixie laughing again.

  “Will I get to be the godfather?” Bronx asked.

  “Only if you promise not to eat the little tyke,” I said snidely, earning a deep laugh from the troll, no doubt recalling a similar conversation we had a long time ago about trolls and their young.

  A chime announcing the arrival of a customer stopped whatever comment was on his lips as I turned around to greet whoever had walked in. However, the greeting became lodged in my throat at the sight of Jackson Wagnalls. The shifter was all sleek movements as if his joints were kept well oiled. That, or his inner wolf was riding high with the rise of the moon, even though it was still several weeks away from the next full one.

  “ ’Sup, Houdini?” he greeted, flashing a grin full of sharp teeth.

  “Watch it, dog. I could have customers in here,” I snapped irritably.

  The werewolf was one of the few around Low Town that knew about my past in a somewhat limited capacity. The bastard had even gotten to experience it firsthand, when I changed him into a chihuahua for a ­couple weeks. In my own defense, he was about to attack me and I’d done it in as an act of protection. The spell had put me on his shit list for a while, but the removal of Reave from Low Town and giving him some help with the Winter Court at All Hallows’ Eve had gotten me moved to a list of ­people he tolerated.

  “Do you have a customer back there?”

  “Not at the moment.”

  Jack leaned across the glass case that separated us, getting up in my face. “Then I repeat: ’Sup, Houdini?”

  It was a struggle not to laugh. I couldn’t blame Jack for wanting to have his fun. He knew I was a warlock and it was his only chance to tweak the temper of one without fear of being turned inside out. But then, his good mood also helped to lighten the load on my shoulders. When we’d first met, the werewolf had a major chip on his shoulder and was looking to tear out anyone’s throat who got too close. The removal of Reave meant that he got to rule his pack like a true alpha. Killing Reave also put most of the Underworld into his paw, which I think he was enjoying as well. He’d even been nice enough to confer briefly with me when he ascended to his new position of power. My only request was that his ­people didn’t deal in fix. The drug was made from livers taken from pixies and resulted in the death of too many creatures. I knew I’d never stop it from being dealt in the area, but I was happy to just slow down its availability.

  “Nothing. How’s the tattoo?” I asked, dropping my eyes to his neck.

  Jack’s grin widened and he straightened, pulling away from me as he moved the collar of his leather jacket and T-­shirt away from the side of his neck to flash the tattoo I had completed just a few weeks earlier. “Healed and looking good.”

  I glanced at it, then frowned at the poor lighting in the lobby. “Come on back. I think I need to touch up the red a little.”

  As the werewolf greeted my coworkers and shed his jacket, I grabbed what I needed and started to prepare my area for a quick touch-­up while we talked. Werewolves were great to tattoo because they healed quickly, had a high pain threshold, and their skin tended to be flawless, if a little hairy. With the removal of Reave, Jack’s entire pack had been in for a clan tag I designed, involving an oak tree and the initials L.T., for their home turf. It had turned out pretty damn good and I was pleased that nearly all of them had returned more than once for additional ink, keeping me and my employees busy.

  “When are you going to let Trixie tattoo me?” Jack demanded as I snapped on a pair of latex gloves and picked up a disposable razor.

  “The day I’ve heard that you’ve been neutered,” I replied, tilting his head to the side. I carefully shaved away the little hairs that had grown through the tattoo, giving me a clean canvas to work on. In the improved overhead light, I could clearly see where some of the red coloring in the letters hadn’t completely filled in. There were also a few spots where I needed to touch up the black.

  “This should only take a ­couple minutes,” I said, throwing away the razor and preparing the tattooing gun.

  “That’s fine. I came in to talk to you anyway.”

  The werewolf settled in and I stepped on the pedal, sending a soothing buzz through the shop. I went over the black first, touching up some of the outline and making some of the lines thicker before cleaning up the red in the letters. Over the buzzing, I could hear some of the conversation Trixie and Bronx were having. While light, their words were strained and distracted, as if they were waiting for whatever news Jack had brought.

  I spent more time on it than I should have, but there’s something soothing about working on a client who doesn’t squirm and flinch with every touch of the pulsing needle. I think I also needed to get lost in the work to find my center. My thoughts and worries slipped away with the buzz, my eyes locked on the living canvas before me.

  “What news do you have for me?” I asked when I finally put the gun down and cleaned the excess blood and ink from the tattoo.

  “Bronx asked that we keep our ears out for the serial killer, but we haven’t heard anything yet,” Jack said.

  I frowned, placing a pad of gauze against his neck. “That sucks.”

  The shifter shrugged. “Whoever this bastard is, he’s not passing through our territory. He’s other side of the tracks.”

  Cutting off a ­couple pieces of tape, I secured the pad. “The killer is a woman.”

  “Doesn’t change anything.” Jack sat up when I finished, his hand smoothing over the tape to make sure that it was in place. He’d only need it for an hour or so to keep the area clean. “I’ve got all kinds of lowlifes and scum trekking through my domain. Not a whisper, but it’s probably for the best. I know of four shifters in Low Town who are pregnant and these killings have got the entire shifter community on high alert. If this bitch isn’t caught soon, someone is going to get killed when tempers finally snap.”

  “All werewolves?” Trixie asked.

  Jack shook his head, all smiles gone. “Two werewolves, one were-­panther, and one were-­bear. But I’ve heard that the were-­bear family has headed out of town for the winter. I think they’re going to hibernate through the bulk of her pregnancy.”

  “Fantastic,” I muttered under my breath. The tension that had slipped away with our joking in the tattooing room had come back, tightening in my neck and shoulders.

  This was turning into an ugly situation. It wasn’t just that we were dealing with an insane killer on the loose in Low Town, but we also had shifters growing edgier the longer she was on the streets.
Powder kegs were popping up around the city, waiting, primed to explode. ­People were going to end up dead, and I didn’t think that the killer was going to be the first in line.

  “I also hear that you’ve managed to rile up the goblins,” Jack said with a knowing smirk.

  “There was . . . an incident,” I hedged.

  The werewolf laughed, his head tipping back so that his long canines flashed in the dim light. “An incident? Word is that you burned down their house outside the city.”

  “Oh, that’s bullshit! They attacked us first. We went there to talk. The fire was an accident if anything. I didn’t start shit with them!”

  Jack snorted, covering up the last of his chuckles at my plight. “Yeah, well . . . it seems they talked to a ­couple ogres that are still in my employ who remember you very well. They didn’t come out and say what you are, but they apparently hinted around enough to imply that you’re a dangerous man to fuck with. They might have also hinted that you had something to do with Reave’s disappearance, so the goblins are at least taking you more seriously now.”

  My eyebrows jumped at this unexpected development. “You think this will make them willing to talk?” I asked, hoping to use this shift to my advantage.

  The werewolf shrugged as he pulled on his leather jacket. “Don’t know. Goblins are a pain in the ass on a good day. If you managed to put the fear of God in them, they might answer your questions. But that’s assuming you can corner them again.”

  “Thanks.” I sighed. That sounded to be about my luck with things anymore.

  Jack waved at me and called back to my companions before slipping out into the night to rule his little empire. All in all, the werewolf was proving to be a good guy, even though he specialized in needling me. Most of his activities might be illegal, but then I couldn’t throw stones. I’d completed plenty of tattoos in my years that were off the record and then there was the whole warlock thing. Sure, it wasn’t illegal, but admitting it to the wrong ­people would definitely see me lynched for it.

  Ambling back into the main tattooing room, I started to sit down in my chair again when the front door chimed. Customers poured in for the next few hours, keeping my mind away from my latest worries and focused on the job at hand. I welcomed the distraction while I had it. When I was tattooing, I felt like I was actually accomplishing something good with my skills. That feeling didn’t happen often when I was faced with problems that involved the Towers.

  After tattooing two sirens and a leprechaun, I finally hit a lull. Standing up, I stretched my arms above my head and yawned. The clock said that it was nearly eleven, which explained why I was starting to drag so badly. I was usually out of the shop before ten, even on my busiest of days. But I didn’t want to leave. The atmosphere was good, reminding me of the days before my companions knew about my past and trouble was pounding on our door. The jokes and teasing flowed freely through the air, keeping my mind off of darker matters.

  But there was no more putting it off. It was late and I needed to get a few hours of sleep if I was going to be of any use to anyone during the next several days.

  “You heading out?” Bronx asked as he turned back from the lobby after showing out our last customer.

  “Yeah. I’m beat,” I said around another yawn. Reaching up, I rubbed my hands over my face, trying to clear my thoughts. A slow and steady snowfall had started to coat the city during the past hour and I needed to be clear for the drive home so I didn’t end up with my SUV wrapped around a telephone pole.

  “Gage, I think we need to discuss how we’re going to divide up my schedule,” Trixie said softly.

  I dropped my hands back to my sides, my brain finally coming back online with her words. She was still intending to leave.

  “Can you give me more time?”

  “Gage—­”

  “No, wait. Hear me out,” I said firmly, holding up my hands as if they could stop her words. Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath, while packing down the initial wave of panic that threatened to consume me. Losing my shit wasn’t going to convince her to stay. When I opened my eyes, I forced a smile on my face in an attempt to at least look reassuring. “You’ve known about this for a while now, had plenty of time to make up your mind, and line up your arguments. I haven’t and that isn’t fair to me. We’re in this together. Correct?”

  “Of course, but I have to think about the baby’s safety first.”

  “I know and I agree. I have to keep you and the baby safe. What if I can do that? What if I can find a way that will keep you both safe from harm? Will you stay?”

  “I don’t know,” she said softly, seeming painfully unsure now that I was being calm and reasonable.

  “You said your only reason for leaving was an issue of safety. Is there something else?”

  “No.”

  “Then if I can keep you safe, will you stay?”

  “I don’t know. I guess. How are you going to make it safe for the baby?”

  “You and the baby,” I corrected with a warm smile. Some of the panic subsided as I managed to get that tiny concession. “I don’t know yet. I’m still trying to figure that out. I want you to give me more time. Can you wait?”

  Trixie shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s winter. The longer I wait, the more dangerous it becomes. It’s better if I leave soon.”

  “I understand. I just want you to give me a chance.”

  She gifted me with a little smile that didn’t reach her sad eyes. “I’ll try.”

  Quickly closing the distance between us, I gave her a swift kiss. “And you promise not to leave without telling me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. My heart ached to see her so troubled, but I appreciated that she was at least trying to give me some time to protect her and the baby. I just had to figure out how in the world I was going to accomplish that.

  Grabbing my coat, I stepped out into the bitter cold, my mind turned to figuring out a way to permanently extricate myself from the Towers. Or at the very least, create a buffer that would protect Trixie and the baby from their notice.

  But I didn’t get far.

  Gideon was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, waiting for me.

  Chapter 5

  Sometimes, there’s no escaping it.

  I stopped several feet from Gideon, watching the snow swirling through the air to land on his black suit. His cape flapped slightly in the breeze, as if to flick away any tiny flakes that might spoil his dark aura. While the warlock never looked pleased to see me, he was looking grimmer than usual tonight.

  “Is it too much to hope that you’ve caught the bastard and I can return to my normal life?” I asked, stepping around him to walk down the alley beside the parlor. I had parked my car out front, but I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing me talking to a warlock. It was bad for my image of a harmless tattoo artist.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, following a step behind me.

  “So what’s new? Been out scaring little kids?”

  “The council has decided to let you use the library in Dresden,” Gideon said in a low voice.

  I stopped walking and jerked around to look at him in shock. “Really?” The Ivory Tower in Dresden was home to the largest collection of spell books and magical history tomes of all the Towers. I hadn’t expected them to allow it, let alone decide so quickly.

  “On one condition,” he added, causing my stomach to knot.

  Dropping backward, I leaned my shoulders against the wall of the building and shoved my hands into my coat pockets. “I knew it.” The council was never one to do anything the easy way.

  “They will let you use the library as much as you like on the condition that you remove the protection spells on Simon Thorn’s rooms.”

  My mouth dropped open at the mention of my old mentor. The bastard’s
body was now buried under the street in a crappy part of town while his soul now served as the ferryman for the dead in the Underworld, thanks to yours truly. I couldn’t feel bad for him though. He’d tortured me while he was alive and succeeded in handing a chunk of my soul over to Lilith. At least he could say that he had steady employment for the rest of eternity.

  “The spells are still active?” I’d killed Simon months ago. Someone should have figured out what he was using to protect his shit ages ago.

  “Three have gone in. None have come back out.”

  “Is the council sure they’re dead?” But even as the question left my lips, I knew it was stupid. This was Simon we were talking about. The man was a murderous psychopath on a good day. It was only made worse by the fact that he had been a warlock, giving him carte blanche to raise whatever the hell he wanted without fear of retribution.

  “If their screams are anything to go by, then yes, they’re all dead.”

  Sighing, I leaned my head back against the wall and stared up at the sliver of sky I could see between the buildings. It was an ugly orangish black as the lights of the city hit against the heavy black clouds overhead, leaving you with a claustrophobic feeling like you were trapped in a bell jar with all the other insects.

  I wasn’t thrilled with the idea of going back to the Towers in the first place, particularly the Dresden Tower, since that’s where all the horrors of my life actually took place. But I needed to research Death Magic, not to mention a few other things that Gideon and the council didn’t need to know about.

  Adding to my dilemma was the fact that if anyone could get into Simon Thorn’s rooms, it was most likely going to be me. I had studied under the bastard. I knew the spells and wards that he favored. Hell, I used half of them to this day. I learned to unravel most of them so they wouldn’t kill me in my sleep each night. The only concern was whether Simon had bothered to change all his spells after I left the Towers when I was a teenager. If he hadn’t, there was a good chance I could get in quite easily. If he had, I was so fucked.