by J. Kenner
We drove back the way we'd come, all three of us in the car so tense, I'm surprised the windows didn't fog up. But we saw no sign of the warrior demon.
"Looks like our demon friend is long gone," I said.
In the backseat, Rose drew her legs up onto the seat and hugged her knees to her chest. She looked at me, the whites of her eyes eerie in the reflected light of the dashboard. She didn't have to speak; I knew what she was thinking. That demon might be gone, but there was still another right there with us, alive inside of her.
I reached back, wanting to take her hand and offer some sort of comfort, but she shifted away, turning on the seat so that my fingertips only brushed her knee. I pulled back, rebuffed and uncertain.
I was distracted from my own self-loathing by the sight of my bike, splayed out at the side of the road, wounded but apparently untouched.
"Later," Kiera said, watching me eyeing it. "We'll catch it on the flip side."
"I'm tired," Rose said "Can't we just go?"
I wanted to say yes, to be responsible. So help me, I wanted to tell Kiera to pull over, then plunk Rose on the back of the bike and speed off toward Boarhurst. But I didn't, because I was hard up by then. I'd gotten the idea of a hit in my system, and I wasn't backing away. Not then. Not even for Rose.
"Soon," I said. “This is important." And it was. Every kill made me stronger, right? And if warrior dude was any indication of the kind of demons that were in store for me now, I needed all the strength I could get.
All true . . . and at the same time, all utter bullshit. Because right then, it wasn't strength I was craving. Not by a long shot.
I had Kiera stop just long enough to retrieve Rose's duffel, then we were on our way again. It wasn't even ten when Kiera eased the car into a slot in front of the gray facade of a club that had no visible signage. But despite the early hour, I saw a couple of junkies finalizing a deal in the shadows near the front door, and a drunk couple getting so down and dirty with copping a feel that even I was about to get embarrassed. And, honestly, considering all I've done in my twenty-six years—and Alice's twenty-two—it takes a lot to get me embarrassed.
"I love this place," Kiera said, killing the engine and opening her door. "It's got atmosphere."
In the backseat Rose's eyes were wide. "Don't look at anything," I said, channeling a responsible sister for a few seconds. "And anything you do see, I want you to forget by morning."
Either my words or my tone broke the spell, and she rolled her eyes and sighed. "I’m fourteen, Lil. I’m not a baby."
"I’m just trying to make sure you're fourteen going on fifteen, and not thirty."
"A little late for that," she said, and I had to silently concede the point. She'd been through hell, and she'd grown up fast. And maybe I couldn't turn back the clock, but I was damn sure going to try.
The door was manned by a beefy guy with arms so thick he couldn't actually put his hands down by his side. He gave Rose the evil eye, then shook his head. "ID. And it better not be fake."
I eyed Kiera, who was clearly thinking that he would be a good subject on whom to practice her knife skills. Rather than deal with the inconvenience of a homicide investigation, I sidled up close and turned on the charm. Or I tried to. The truth is that despite having absorbed the essence of an incubus, I hadn't yet mastered the control aspect of my newfound sexual prowess.
My lack of skill, however, was not an issue. Either enough sex-goddess aura oozed out without me trying, or the guy was too damn horny to care. But when I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered in his ear that I would be really, really, really grateful if he let the girl in with me, he complied without complaint. True, he squeezed my ass, but he didn't complain, and he let us pass. Kiera gave me a questioning look, but I just lifted a shoulder, shook my ass, and led the parade inside. Some tricks it was better not to share.
The club was the kind of place that can only be described as seedy. Actually, that's not true. It could also be described as dark, dangerous, smelly, and loud. In other words, exactly the kind of place responsible caretakers did not take fourteen-year-old girls. And although that twinge of guilt once again settled over me, I shoved it down with brutish finality. I'd made the decision, we were there, and that was that.
I led our little group to a booth in the back that smelled of sex and alcohol, and we slid in, risking half a dozen communicable diseases as we did. I took a quick look at Rose, mostly to assuage my guilt, though I wasn't sure what I was going to do if she looked completely freaked-out. As far as I was concerned, we were there to stay.
Fortunately, guilt wasn't an issue. Rose didn't look freaked; on the contrary, she looked fascinated. And, yeah, there was a little bit of guilt associated with that—this was a world I'd never wanted Rose to glimpse—but at least she wasn't cowering in fear and disgust.
More than that, she seemed truly to be Rose. Her eyes were clear, her body not shaking, and when she looked at me with that soft little smile I knew so well, my heart almost melted. Johnson was nowhere in sight, and even as I celebrated that little tidbit, I also couldn't help but feel a little uneasy. Because he'd be back. And I figured it would be sooner rather than later.
I reached out and squeezed her hand. Her life was in a complete shambles, and a lot of the blame fell on me. But right then, I was just glad to have my sister back.
"We're never gonna get a waitress," Kiera said, sliding back out of the booth. “Tequila for me. Coke for the kid. What do you want?"
“Tequila," I said. "And thanks."
She sauntered over to the bar, then squeezed in next to a tall blonde desperately in need of a bra.
I edged sideways and regarded my sister. "You never asked," I said.
Her head tilted to the side. "Asked what?"
"How come I'm in another body." I looked over at Kiera to make sure she wasn't on her way back. "You were screaming, and Johnson was inside you, and you called me Lily. You knew, Rose. How did you know?"
When she frowned, a little crease appeared over her eyes. She shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I just . . . I just knew."
"What else do you know?"
She pressed her lips together, and I saw her eyes begin to glisten. "I know a lot of stuff," she said, her voice drawing down to a whisper. "Stuff I don't think he wants me to know."
I fought the urge to hug myself against a sudden chill. "Like what?"
She leaned forward. "He called. That night you died. He called a man named Egan and told him it was time. Told him to go fetch Alice."
I made a muffled sound and realized my hand was up over my mouth. I was right. Lucas had been playing both sides, helping to fulfill the prophecy so that in the end his boss could use me to find the Oris Clef. I was still a pawn in some massive celestial game, but at least now I knew the score.
"What else?" I asked, but her eyes were wide and she shook her head. "Can't talk," she said, then pressed a finger over her lips even as her other hand pressed flat against her chest. "He's always listening."
I forced my face to stay bland, refusing to let her see the depth of my disgust that a creature as vile as Johnson was inside her. It didn't matter, though. That same disgust ate at her already, and when she blinked, two fat tears spilled out. I held out my arms, and she slid into them, then her head pressed against my shoulder.
"Why is this happening to us?" she asked, but I could only shake my head.
"I don't know."
"It's because we're dirty," she said, in a voice not her own. A voice that sent chills up my spine. "Dirty, filthy, little bitch-whore girls."
I pushed away, and when her face tilted up to meet mine, it wasn't my sister I saw behind scared, weary eyes. I was suddenly lost, wanting to lash out against the thing inside her even as I wanted to pull her close and comfort her. "Dirty girls," Johnson said. "But worthy. So very, very worthy."
"Kiera's coming back," I said, speaking through gritted teeth and forcing my voice to stay calm and harsh. My words were a ploy, but the trick w
orked. I could practically see the demon skitter away behind her eyes, and Rose return, ever so tentatively, to the world.
"I don't like that," she said, scooting over to the corner of the booth and lifting her thumb to her mouth. She gnawed on her cuticle, her knees tucked up near her chest, and at that moment she looked closer to four than fourteen.
"Rosie," I said, reaching for her. She turned away, though, tightening her arms around herself. Deep inside me, I felt my heart break, even as the dark bubbled up, wanting release. Wanting satisfaction.
Across the room, Kiera still stood at the bar, chatting up the girl next to her. I saw her slam back a tequila, then order another. Just as well. I wanted time for Rose to get her bearings.
After fifteen minutes, Rose's feet were back down on the floor. "Rose?"
"I'm cool," she said. She lifted a shoulder. "Honest."
I didn't believe her, of course, but I could hardly argue. Especially not since Kiera had finally decided to join us again. "Drink up, campers," she said, sliding a Coke toward Rose and a tequila shot toward me. "Plenty more where that came from," she added, after I slammed the shot back without even taking a breath.
"Glad to hear it," I said. Right then, five or six more sounded like just the ticket.
"So what are we doing with Little Bit here?" Kiera asked, looking pointedly at Rose. "You gonna be okay sitting while we go hunting?"
Rose gnawed on her thumb, then nodded. “I’ll be okay."
She would be, I knew. Because even if some badass demons wandered in and tried to get it on with her, Johnson was close to the surface, and he'd fight the bastards off.
Kiera cocked her head, then took off into the crowd. I eased out of the booth and followed her to the bar. She ordered another round of tequila shots for both of us, and while we waited, I scoped out the crowd. Definitely not a Harvard hangout—that was for sure. And while I had a feeling that no one in the crowded club had a rap sheet less than an inch thick, that didn't make any of them demonic.
"This isn't going to work," I said. “There's no way to tell the demons from the rest of them."
She watched as the bartender filled up the shot glasses, and she slammed one back. "I can tell," she said, tapping her nose and reminding me of the way she'd earlier smelled Johnson on Rose. “They gave me two gifts when they brought me back. I'm strong, but I guess everyone gets that one. And they gave me the magic sniffer."
I'll admit to a little flutter of envy. How come I couldn't sniff out the bad guys? The answer, though, was obvious. Even if a supersniffer was a standard trait for your average brought-back-to-life-soldier girl, that was one trait they would have kept off the checklist when they were making me. After all, if I could sniff out demons, Clarence's game would have been over before it started.
"Want me to prove it?" she asked, then sidled close to me. I stiffened as she pressed one hand on my waist, then eased up my body, leading with her nose until her breath brushed my ear. "I smell them in you," she said in a whisper, and that was all it took to have the black edge of my temper flaring. I whipped her around until her back was to the bar and the point of my knife was right over her kidneys, my body shielding the blade from the view of those around us.
"You're going to want to be very, very careful," I said.
I saw a quick flash of fear on her face, replaced almost instantaneously with the cool calm of someone who faced death every single day. "Chill out, Lily. I get the way you work. Kill 'em and suck 'em in. I was briefed, okay. Clarence briefed me."
I stared at her for one long moment, searching for the truth, wishing I could tell if she knew the whole story. Then I backed away, sliding my knife back into the thigh holster that was hidden beneath my duster.
"I didn't mean anything," she said, and this time I was certain I saw compassion in her eyes. "I mean, it must be a bitch to have all that crap floating around in you. But you have to admire the irony. You get to use their essence to go out and kill their buddies. It's beautiful.”
“Trust me," I said. “There's nothing beautiful about it." But I wasn't inclined to slit her throat anymore, so I thought that was a good thing. I cocked my head toward the dance floor. "Okay," I said. "Let's find us one."
With Kiera leading the way, we shimmied onto the dance floor, squeezing close to strangers, getting pulled into arms we'd never touched before, and grinding down in a hard, sexy beat that had all the juice I'd tried to turn on for the bouncer bubbling up inside me. A few yards away, Kiera had her arms around an Aryan-looking blond, with a jawline that would have made a New York modeling agency orgasm and just enough beard stubble to shift the androgynous beauty over the line toward masculine.
She was pressed close, her crotch rubbing up against him, and his erection straining in his jeans, announcing the state of his arousal to anyone who cared to look.
Dammit, I was looking.
She turned her head and sent me a significant look and, yeah, I balked. Him? But I had no reason to doubt. Deacon, after all, was a demon, and though he wasn't as pretty as this guy, Deacon was one hell of a lot sexier, with his sultry heat and piercing black eyes.
I shoved Deacon out of my mind and concentrated on my new mark, cutting in as Kiera backed away, laughing, to pass me off.
"Whoa," the guy said. "What the fuck?"
She patted his cheek. "Not my type," she said, then eased off into the morass of bodies.
"Is it so bad with me?" I asked, sliding my arms around his neck, and grinding against him with the music. He really didn't have to answer my question. The answer was right there in his jeans. It was heady, the desire rolling off him, and the truth is, I was finding it hard to remember that he was the bad guy.
Was he the bad guy?
Kiera said so, but could I trust her? After all, she worked for Clarence. And what if she was setting me up to kill someone good? Someone human?
What if the whole smelling-demons thing was bullshit?
But why would it be? If Kiera'd been duped like I'd been, then she'd have no reason to lie. And even if she were playing a role like Clarence, she wouldn't want me to figure out the game, right? She needed to build trust. And she couldn't do that unless the supposed demon she pointed me to really did dissolve in a puddle of goo when I got it with my knife.
And, yeah, that would mean she was targeting her own allies, but Clarence and company didn't want me absorbing good. They wanted me absorbing bad. Becoming bad.
Bad to the bone. That was me. Or it would be soon.
I raked my gaze over the crowd, finally finding Kiera in a clench with a pencil-thin brunette in hip-hugger jeans and a tight white T-shirt, damp with sweat and clinging to every curve of her breasts. I watched as they moved, every once in a while catching a glimpse of Kiera's knife stuck in between her belt and her jeans and hidden by the short denim jacket she wore.
She must have felt my eyes on her because she turned to me, and I saw the tiniest of grins. Then she cupped her partner's face, kissed her hard, and slowly eased her free hand down over the blade of her knife.
I turned away, my eyes going automatically for Rose. I found her, sitting at the booth just where she was supposed to be. And I found something else, too, only a few yards away. Watching her. Watching me. Deacon.
I felt the familiar tug in my gut, that tightness, that awareness, that I'd come to associate with him. I wanted to go to him, but I could hardly look like I was best buds with the boy. Not in front of Kiera. Still, I was thinking of him, and considering the way my dance partner was suddenly behaving—his hands skimming my ass, pulling me in tight, grinding hard against me—I think my inner incubus was showing.
"With me," I said, leaning in close to whisper, and at the same time knotting my fist in the collar of his shirt. With one quick glance toward Kiera, who was still involved with femme-fatale demon, I eased my prey toward the door and out into the parking lot.
I had no idea what kind of demon he was, and I knew I shouldn't wait. Shouldn't wonder. Shouldn't do anythi
ng but take him out. But I was curious, and I was turned on, and damned if I didn't want to make the moment—the hunt—last as long as I could.
"What do you want?" I asked, brushing my lips over his ear.
"You." His hand slid down to cup my crotch, the contact sending shivers through me despite the vileness of the hand that was touching me. I imagined it was Deacon, and shifted my stance, opening my legs wider, and moaning when he closed his hand over the hot denim of my jeans. "Give us a kiss," he said, and I could hear it now, that voice that seemed to echo through my head. A voice that came not from the man but straight from hell.
He leaned in, his mouth open, and I leaned forward to meet him, battling his kiss with one of my own—fighting hard as he tried to draw out my soul. He jerked back, eyes open with fear. "What the fuck?"
"Sorry, buddy," I said. "I like this body. I think I'm going to stay."
"Bitch," he said, his hands going for his back pocket and the knife he undoubtedly had hidden there.
He didn't make it. I got to him first, drawing my blade in seconds and thrusting it forward even as he lunged. I got him in the gut, my blade piercing flesh and muscle to stab him deep in his liver before I sliced up, gutting his belly like a fish.
Death oozed out of him. Not blood, but the black goo that was the life force of demons. He fell backward, and as he melted into a puddle, I fell to my knees, overwhelmed by the flood of strength I'd gained from the kill, and the dark, sensual heat I'd absorbed from the demon. He was death. He was destruction. And that essence was in me, a low, needy buzz, desperate for satisfaction. For release. For the kill.
I heard the crunch of gravel behind me, and I whipped around and up onto my feet in one motion. Deacon. Before I could speak, he had me pressed back against a nearby car, his mouth hot on mine, his hands on my breasts, and damned if I didn't want him right then, right there. I'd been primed on the dance floor, and I hadn't come close to being satisfied. And now, with this darkness inside me, I just wanted it. Wanted him. Wanted the release.
"I didn't like seeing you with him."
"He's dead," I said, arching back as he cupped my breasts, trying to keep a hold on thought and reason, then wondering why I was bothering. "He was a demon. That's what I do."
