Elven Blood (Imp Book 3)

by Dunbar, Debra

  Gregory was waiting for me, messing with the TV remotes in my great room as I walked in. Dar froze in terror the moment he saw him.

  “Don’t worry about him,” I told my brother. “He’s here to see me. Why don’t you go upstairs? Leethu is up there and she’ll be thrilled to see you.”

  Dar brightened considerably at the prospect of a thrilled succubus waiting upstairs, and headed up to see her.

  “Another stray cat, cockroach?” Gregory asked.

  “A brother,” I told him. Fuck, I was practically running a damned hotel, a safe house for demons.

  “So I’m assuming you called me because you have the four–nine–five report done? You’re early, little cockroach. How unexpected.”

  He knew damned well why I called him. I was positive the gate guardian told him. Still, mention of the report threw me off topic. “No, it’s not done. I’m not doing it. I’m filing a protest, appealing to my union rep, or whatever. The guy died of natural causes.”

  He walked toward me. “Beginning to enjoy the punishment, my little cockroach?” Should I do away with all pretenses and just bring you up to Aaru with me permanently?”

  I shuddered, but held my ground. “No punishment and no report. I’m filing an official protest here. What’s the protocol for that?”

  He stood well within my personal space, but thankfully didn’t touch me, physically or otherwise. That welcome burn of his power flowed over my senses, and I struggled to keep my thoughts on how pissed off I was.

  “I lodge your complaint. We schedule a meeting with the Ruling Council for you to present your case. Then we vote. If the vote is in your favor, then no report is necessary. If not, then you will have twenty four hours to present the four–nine–five report in person at a second meeting.”

  What a fucking pain in the ass. Still it bought me some time, and if Haagenti killed me, I’d at least die with the satisfaction of knowing that these angels would never get their fucking report.

  “Okay, do it.” I waved a hand at him. “Make it so.”

  “Good. And now I need to discuss a little matter with you about my gate guardian.”

  I felt my temper flare, but he held a finger up, to cut me off before I could say a word.

  “Those gates belong to the angels. That gate guardian is under my direction. As my bound demon, I’ve allowed you limited passage to and from Hel, but I am under no such obligation to allow any of your friends, family, or pets through. Do not badger, threaten, or harass my gate guardian. Do I make myself clear?”

  My temper exploded and I started stabbing him in the chest with my finger.

  “You fucking asshole. You listen to me right now. You want to let a bunch of Lows through the gate to hassle me? Fine. I don’t care. But you will allow members of my household and those doing business with me passage. I’m not putting up with your bullshit games. The next time you interfere with my business, hinder me in any way, I’m going to rip your fucking head off and stick it in your ass. Do I make myself clear?”

  I was sure I imagined the ghost of a smile that flickered across his face.

  “Very clear. However, none of this changes the fact that the angels own the gates. You have no rights to them beyond those we grant you.”

  I struggled, a mini war going on within myself. Part of me was on the verge of a tantrum, wanting to whip out the Barrette of the Iblis and proceed to cut his fucking wings off. Part of me reasoned that a logical approach would yield better results, and that angels were all about debate, rules, and loopholes. I just needed to find the loophole.

  I fingered my barrette while he watched me placidly. For the first time in my life, logic won.

  “So you all are now a democracy? The gates are owned by the angelic host as a whole and each angel has equal access and say when it comes to their usage?”

  “No. Of course not. The gates are solely under the governance of the archangels.”

  “You mean the Ruling Council?”

  Gregory shook his head. “A subset of the Ruling Council.”

  Ah. Like a committee. “So, if Sleepy is on the Ruling Council, but not an archangel, he has no say over who can come and go through the gates?”

  Gregory looked enigmatic. “Why would he want to use the gates? This hypothetical Sleepy angel would never want to journey to Hel, and I can’t see him wanting to allow a despised demon through to interfere with the precarious balance of evolution here. “

  “What if he bound a demon?” I waved a hand as Gregory raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Could happen. You’ve started a fashion trend, and now everyone wants one. Sleepy binds a demon, and needs it to go through the gates. Can he do this?”

  “Yes. He’s on the Ruling Council. Not every angel would have that privilege. Of course, not every angel has the power to bind a demon.”

  “So, as the Iblis and a member of the Ruling Council, I insist that my demons be allowed safe passage.” I sucked at this debating thing. I probably should have chopped off his wings instead.

  Again, that ghost of a smile. “But little cockroach, you have not bound these demons to you. We are comparing dissimilar scenarios.”

  “They are bound as part of my household. Is not my household mark equivalent? They are mine in the same way as a bound demon would be.”

  “But they are not. They are not compelled to do your bidding, they still have free will.”

  “As do I,” I told him, running a finger over the tattoo of his sword on the inside of my upper right arm.

  He paused, considering my words. I’d never been under his compulsion, had always retained my free will. He’d made an exception to the definition of a bound being, and set a precedent.

  His voice was calm. “I will alert the major gates that they should allow your household to pass unharmed. Please let everyone on your end know that they must adhere to behavior standards or they will lose their immunity.”

  “I will,” I replied, still fighting the urge to rip off his wings.

  “Is there anything else, Iblis?” he asked with no innuendo, no sarcasm. He was speaking to me as though I were a business associate. As though I were a peer.

  “That is all,” I told him, feeling suddenly regal.

  He nodded and gated away. As soon as he was gone I realized that for the first time he’d addressed me as the Iblis, not as ‘little cockroach’.

  25

  Jacob Bara lived in a small rancher on a cul–de–sac in downtown Mount Airy. I parked along Main Street and drank beer at the nearby sports bar until nightfall then made my way down his street. Luckily things were quiet, and no one besides a wandering dog noticed my presence. I knocked on the door, and a stout, bald man in his late sixties answered.

  “Jacob Bara?” I asked.

  He nodded, so I showed him the little embossed card Dar had given me with his name and address. He paled and ushered me in.

  “What happened to the other demon?” he asked. “Are you taking his place?”

  “No. I’m here because we’ve got a bit of a problem.”

  He was clearly comfortable around demons, ushering me to a comfy chair and getting me a beer. He plopped down on the couch across from me and twisted his hands together.

  “Is the girl ok? She was fine a few days ago. I haven’t checked on her since she went back to college. Nothing’s happened to her I hope.”

  “She’s fine, but someone has leaked rumors of her existence to the High Lord Taullian, and he’s hired a demon to track her down and kill her.”

  I didn’t tell him that demon was me. Still, he turned an alarming shade of gray and knotted his hands into a tight ball.

  “I’ll never give her up. Never. I don’t care how much I’m tortured, what anyone does to me. I’ll never betray my family.”

  “I’m confident that you’re loyal.” I handed him the other card, the one with the offer from the elf woman Tlia–Myea. “Do you read angelic script?

  He nodded and read the card slowly then looked up at me, the p
aper rattling slightly in his hand. “Have you found this elf baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will it work?”

  This guy was pretty quick on the uptake for a human. He could have been a sorcerer if not for Tlia–Myea’s desperate desire for a substitute child.

  I shrugged. “Probably not. But it’s the only option where the girl stays alive.”

  He looked down at the card again. “If it doesn’t work, they’ll send more after her. Maybe find the demon who did the changeling exchange with me, or the one who has been delivering my notes, bribe either of them for my name and trace her that way.” He looked up at me. “I’ll do anything to keep her safe.”

  “You can’t live.” I told him, confirming what he already knew.

  He nodded. “Tlia–Myea was wonderful. Like a mother to me. She treated me as if I really were her Elven child. And my step–sister has grown into an incredible woman. She’s the equal of any full elf. Smart, beautiful, powerful. I’ve had a good life, better than any other changeling human. I’ll accept my fate.”

  “So how do you want to do this?” I asked. “Are there things you need to do first? Arrangements you need to make? We’re on a really tight timetable; we don’t have more than a few hours.”

  “I have nothing to do. There will be no way to trace her from me. I’ve left nothing that can possibly hint of my time with the elves or my involvement in this.”

  He looked at me expectantly. I stared back, uncertain what the delay was. Didn’t he need to go get a gun or some pills or something? A noose?

  “I’m losing my nerve here,” he told me.

  “So what’s the hold up?” Put your head in a plastic bag or something.”

  He looked rather frightened. “I thought you were going to do it.”

  Fuck. Not that I normally minded offing humans, but now I had to deal with paperwork. And this would definitely violate Wyatt’s edict.

  “There’s a two–hundred page report I have to fill out if I do it, and I’m not sure the angels will consider the Dr. Kevorkian excuse to be adequate. You have no idea how horrible their idea of punishment is.”

  He stared at me, his eyes huge, his hands trembling. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Fine. Getting up, I took a quick drink of my beer before walking over to him. “Do you want me to Own you, or not?”

  He looked horrified. “No. Oh please, no.”

  It might have been kind of cool to Own a human who had spent his life in service to the elves, but I’d respect his choice. I made it as quick and painless as possible. The other humans would think he’d just had a heart attack.

  I finished my beer, rinsed the glass and put it in the dishwasher before letting myself out. One loose end tied up.

  It was late evening by the time I parked on a side street a few blocks from Mount Olivet. After leaving Mount Airy, I looped around to my house to grab Boomer before heading to the cemetery. On my own, with just a shovel, it would take me the whole night to dig up a modern grave. I could do it faster with my special skills, but then the grave would clearly look disturbed and I’d learned to try and keep things as under the radar as possible with humans. They were really persistent when it came to investigations, and modern technology meant they could track me down a lot easier than they could seven hundred years ago. Getting caught wouldn’t be a problem if I was already dead, but I had the faint hope I’d be able to defeat Haagenti and return. It would really suck to come back and find everything I owned confiscated and Wyatt behind bars as an accessory to a felony.

  Second time in one week I was doing this. I may be a demon, but I’m not much on digging up corpses. Hopefully this would be my last for a long, long time. I carefully removed the baby’s marker, and the sod covering the tiny grave, then let Boomer go to work. He skillfully moved dirt aside into neat piles with his two huge heads and massive paws. He wasn’t normally so neat, but I’d asked him to be more careful with the dirt so I could replace it as easily as possible. Under regular circumstances, he’d fling chunks of ground half a block away, blast through the vault and casket, and be enjoying a late–night snack within minutes. About four feet down, Boomer hit the coffin lid. He jumped out for me to take a look.

  This grave was tiny. Caskets this small were a combination of vault and casket, negating the need for a big concrete vault or grave liner.

  “Can you pull it out?” The grave was so small we wouldn’t have any room to maneuver. And although four feet wasn’t particularly deep, it was too deep to stay up top and reach down to the remains. The whole process would be easier if Boomer could bring the coffin to the surface.

  The hellhound cocked his head to the side and looked over the edge. Grabbing the steel cable I’d brought in one of his jaws, he jumped down, landing with his feet carefully poised on the dirt ledge he’d made surrounding the casket. Boomer weighed nearly three hundred pounds in his hellhound form. I appreciated his care, especially since I didn’t know how sturdy the lid was after nearly twenty years in the ground.

  He dug down to free a handle, looped the cable around it before leaping back to the surface. Grabbing the ends with both jaws, he pulled slowly and steadily, stirring the casket from the embrace of packed dirt. Slowly he edged backward, easing it out an inch at a time, but over the years, the ground had a tight hold on its prize, and, after a bare inch of movement, the pretty brass handle snapped off and flew through the air.

  The devastated expression on Boomer’s face was priceless. I almost laughed.

  “It’s okay, boy. Let’s dig it loose a bit more, and try with the other handle.”

  He did just that, leaping back in and sending dirt flying with renewed enthusiasm. In no time at all, he was easing a much–loosened casket up and out of the grave. I brushed the dirt from the cream and gold, faux–marble lid and instructed Boomer to cut the top off. A few quick slices of fang, and the lid slid to the side, revealing pink satin.

  The coffin was a vault casket, so it was solid with a tight seal. Normally decomposition would have mottled and stained the pink ruffled lining, but this was pristine. The tiny baby, nestled peacefully inside, looked as fresh as the day her grieving parents had laid her to rest. That alone clued me in to the baby’s ancestry. Elf babies were magically preserved, held in stasis from the moment they died. An exchange might take place within days, or within years of a death. The elf baby needed to appear absolutely fresh at the time of the swap, and years in the ground had done nothing to diminish the power of Elven preservation techniques. Such a tiny little thing, with wisps of golden hair and a pale pink bow of a mouth, her ears an illusion to pass as human. I reached out with my energy, to scan her, and confirm what I already knew.

  I couldn’t bear to separate her head from her body; she was just too perfect. Gently lifting her from the satin enclosure, I wrapped her in a blanket, setting the little form inside a duffle bag. A twinge of guilt went through me, but I reminded myself this baby had died long ago and there was a young woman, very much alive, that necessitated my disturbing the rest of the dead.

  I put the casket back together as best I could, then Boomer helped me lower it into the grave and return the dirt. After replacing the sod and marker, the grave looked much as we’d found it. With any luck, the site would have few visitors and the property maintenance people wouldn’t be around until spring for mowing.

  Slinging the duffle bag gently over one shoulder and the steel cable over the other, Boomer and I climbed over the high cemetery fence and mad our way to the Suburban.

  26

  Leethu twirled a lock of her silky black hair, her face a study in concentration.

  “It’s still not quite right,” she mused, half to herself. Dar was upstairs “recovering” from an entertaining evening with the succubus. It was just as well. He’d be a serious distraction at this point. Especially all hopped up on hormones.

  “How did you form the original child?” Perhaps if she remembered, she could duplicate her efforts here, on this c
orpse.

  “Oh, that was a work of art,” she said proudly. “I manipulated the elf portion so it was the majority of the formation. Just enough of me to provide defensive ability and the conversion skills to fix wounds and illness. I wanted her to appear to be a full elf, but be able to turn on the power if she were in danger.”

  Clever and thoughtful. I had no desire whatsoever to form an offspring, hybrid or otherwise, but I could appreciate the great care and skill that Leethu had put into her elf hybrid.

  The succubus shot me a sly look under long, black lashes. “You’ve seen her, Ni–ni. Isn’t she perfect? She looks like a full elf, like a clone of her mother. Didn’t I do well?”

  I felt cold. “Of course I haven’t seen her,” I lied. “If I had, do you think we’d be wasting time trying to cram demon energy into this thing?”

  Leethu resumed her work, a little smirk on one corner of her sensuous mouth. “I have no wish to find my elf hybrid girl, Ni–ni. It would only prove my involvement in her creation. I hope she remains safely hidden away, out of the hands of those who might turn her, or her body, over to the elves. That way I can deny my part in this. It could have been any Incubus. Clearly the elf woman was mistaken in her accusation of me.” Yes, Leethu was far more intelligent than any demon gave her credit for.

  “Here,” she said, nodding at her hands.

  I reached over and sent my energy down in beside her to the spot she indicated, then burned a small trail along the cells, leaving traces of energy behind. We were purposely using raw energy instead of personal energy. It left a stronger marker and didn’t readily identify a particular demon. If this passed their scrutiny, neither of us wanted the baby’s parentage obviously linked to Leethu, or me, through our energy markers. Best to keep things vague and let them assume it had all dulled over time, that the Elven stasis had been compromised because of the demon genetic signature.