“I shall if you come to me willingly,” he said in a soft voice. In the flickering light of the torch, he looked like an old master’s painting, his features outlined by stark shadow. “You belong to the dead. I would still have you as my queen. You are”—he paused—“magnificent.”
Ashe felt her eyes widen as she struggled not to snort out a laugh. “Thanks. I’m over the whole broody thing. I’m thinking pastel bike leathers.”
Belenos raised a hand, as if beckoning. “Come now; would you turn your back on your essential nature? You belong with the dark.”
Ashe felt his power crawl over her like some chitinous beast. She thought she’d brushed aside his attempt at controlling her. Now she realized he’d been holding back. Belenos was old. A king of vampires. He might be Fruit Loops crazy, but he was no lightweight. She closed her eyes, because to meet his gaze would be a terrible mistake. Vamps, if they were good enough, could hypnotize as easily as they breathed.
Perhaps that was what he’d been waiting for. She could feel rather than hear him drawing closer. He seemed to absorb the energy from the air around him, the weight of his magic blotting out the life in the night wind. She swayed slightly from keeping her eyes closed, but trusted her senses to tell her exactly how close he was.
Any slayer worth her salt knew how to fight blind.
He was waiting for an answer, so she gave one. “I liked the dark because it hid the stains on my soul. But now I’m coming to accept that people forgive my past. It’s spring. I’m in love, and with a living guy to boot.”
“Ticktock. Reynard still does not have his soul.”
Ashe concentrated on a cramp that was forming from holding the gun so still. Pain would help her keep her focus. “Yeah, the urn’s still missing. Which means you don’t have your supernatural Viagra.”
“Perhaps we don’t need it. I could teach you to love me. You could Choose me.”
“And what drugs are you on?”
He was close now, drawing closer. A predator ready to pounce. “Perhaps I could heal your powers. You could be the witch you once were.”
It was the one thing he should never have said.
Ashe opened her eyes. He was mere feet away, deadly close. She curled her lip. “You’re such a waste of space.”
Ashe pulled the trigger.
Belenos flew back, arms splayed in a graceful arc. He was a large male. The force of the bullet didn’t take him too far, but he toppled with a crash worthy of one of the great cedars sheltering the graves. A circle of dark blood bloomed on his chest, black in the torchlight.
Ashe switched weapons, now grasping the stake in her right hand, the gun in her left. One bullet wouldn’t kill a vampire this old, unless it ripped through his spine. She was counting on it knocking him cold for a good eight hours.
She stood before the fallen vampire, their boots nearly touching. “By the way, I’m not an idiot. My brother-in-law brought along two dozen of his closest friends to mop up your henchmen. The fun and games are over, Red.”
Eight hours should be long enough for the local vamps to take the Eastern vamps to Queen Omara. The monarch of the Northwestern territories could punish Belenos in ways no witch or mortal could dream of, and all within the letter of the vampire laws.
She wished she could watch.
Ashe knelt over Belenos, pressing the point of the stake over his heart. He looked like he was out cold, his hair strewn around him like an exotic mane, but she wasn’t taking any chances.
The bullet hole was a little to the right, just where she’d wanted it. Not quite a killing shot. Ashe could smell raw meat. That would be where the custom silver-coated slug had torn its way out his back, making a big mess along the way. Cruel, but if you tangled with a vampire like Belenos, you had to mean business.
She heard footsteps, and recognized Reynard’s tread. “I’ve got him,” she said. “What about the others?”
“They’ve been dealt with. Do you want me to search for the key?”
“Please.”
Reynard knelt on the other side of the fallen vampire.
“Do you think others vampires will show up, wanting children?” she asked.
“According to Caravelli, Queen Omara will make it clear what a bad idea that would be.”
“Good.”
He began fishing in the vampire’s pants pockets, and pulled out a small gold disk. It bore a six- pointed sun. Their gazes locked, Reynard’s eyes grim, as he gave it to her. “Are you all right?”
“Sure. I just did what any mother in my place would have done.”
Early the next morning, Ashe’s hacker contact finally called back, but only to report that he had no leads on any properties recently purchased by Anthony Yarndice. He’d tried every search known to hackerdom and then some. Bannerman, however, seemed to be constantly buying estates and selling them at a profit. He gave Ashe three addresses the lawyer had purchased in the last six weeks.
Ashe had just gotten out of the shower. Reynard was still in the bathroom, discovering the joys of a massaging showerhead. “Yeah, okay,” she said into the phone, trying to write and adjust the towel wrapped around her hair at the same time. “Thanks, bud.”
She wrote down the last address and hung up. Bingo! Ashe did a victory dance, losing the towel in the process.
Reynard appeared in the bedroom doorway and watched the performance with speculative interest.
“What is it?”
“A hit! A palpable hit!”
Reynard raised an eyebrow.
Ashe waved the notepaper with the addresses. “Bannerman bought three properties. One location corresponds with the demon-tracking spell Holly cooked up last night. We have Tony’s new location.”
Reynard’s eyes turned a cold silver. “Where?”
“North Central Shopping Mall. Where you met me at the library.”
Reynard picked up Ashe’s towel and handed it back to her. “Well, my dear, then let’s go check it out.”
“Har, har,” she said. “I hate librarian jokes. You know that, right?”
He gave her a look that mixed mischief and affection. “Why else would I make one?”
Chapter 22
Tuesday, April 7, 8:30 a.m.
Carver House
Since Holly was the only one among them who’d actually bagged a demon, she agreed to meet them at the mall as soon as Grandma arrived to watch the kids. While Ashe was making those arrangements, Reynard called the hellhound guard post outside the Castle door and reported that the errant demon had possibly been found. Mac and the other guardsmen should be on standby.
Those errands done,Ashe and Reynard took the Ducati, roaring through the streets with the abandon of teenagers on spring break. She could feel his excitement in the play of his body behind her, in the tingle of his power dancing along her skin. It was a Tuesday morning and traffic was light. They sped past empty playgrounds, silent houses, and schools with throngs of children standing outside the doors. Coffee shops had tables out on the sidewalk, patrons reading the paper and sunning themselves. Except for the task at hand, it was a beautiful morning.
Hellspawn had a way of souring the mood.
Ashe tried to remember everything she knew about demons. There were many different kinds—the term “demon” was about as specific as “bug.” Some were born. Hellhounds were a kind of half demon. Born demons tended to be fairly sane and law-abiding. Others were parasites that infected human hosts. Most of those demons were far more powerful and very bad news. Fortunately, they were rare.
Ashe had killed a few lesser demons, but none bigger than a bread box. The big guys had to be banished, and that took magic powers. The Carver witches had performed a banishing spell exactly twice. It had been the same soul-eater demon both times. Ashe’s ancestor Elaine Carver had died the first time they’d booted it out of Fairview. The second time, Holly had killed the demon and ripped open the doorway to the Castle. Ashe hadn’t been present at that battle, but she’d heard it took a wh
ole lot of magic to get the job done. Holly had pulled earth magic from a nexus of ley lines that converged right where the battle was being fought. Where that had been an ocean of power, the area around the mall was a trickle. Plus, Holly’s powers were just coming back online. They couldn’t count on her providing that boatload of power. The best they could hope for was, like, a kiddie pool’s worth. Or a salad bowl. Or a butter dish. Even if a collector demon wasn’t the badass that the soul eater had been, how the hell were they going to get rid of it?
They pulled up to a stoplight. It was only chance that made her glance down almost at the same time that Reynard tapped her shoulder and pointed at the brand-new BMW 5 Series sedan next to them. Ashe recognized the driver. Bannerman. A hot wave of dislike itched its way across her skin. Was he out and about doing business for Tony? Were they picking out curtains for more demon hidey-holes?
At that moment, the lawyer looked up. Even through the tinted glass of the car window, she could see him pale as he figured out who was glaring into his passenger window. His expression said he was terrified of Ashe. Gratifying, but . . . Sure, she’d roughed him up a bit, but not enough to explain the sudden tears in his eyes. That made her plain curious. Had something new happened?
Suddenly the silver BMW swerved out of its lane, moving to the right to slide into the turning lane that led to the highway. An evasive maneuver, if there ever was one. That doubled Ashe’s curiosity. Did Bannerman somehow know that she knew he’d hired the assassin to kill her?
The moment he began to pick up speed, the light changed. Ashe cut across two lanes of traffic before the other drivers could react. Like a shot, she was after the lawyer, Reynard letting out a whoop as the Ducati’s engine opened up with a snarl.
The gorgeous BMW had plenty of horses of its own, and Bannerman had a head start. They were on the four-lane stretch of road that would eventually head to the ferries. Ashe was cautious about weaving around cars, especially with a passenger, but she pulled past the pickup in front of her to get a better visual of Bannerman’s car. The pickup honked, but it was mere background noise. She had the roar of the engine in her head, the vibration between her thighs, and a hot and happy male pressed against her back. She was born for moments like this. Her heart seemed to beat in her throat, straining like a horse fighting its bit.
Bannerman was two cars ahead now, and signaling to pass a third. They swept beneath an overpass, the heavy band of shadow a sudden coolness on her face. The BMW changed lanes, sped up. Ashe guided the Ducati into the space between two lanes and let it rip. She felt Reynard’s hands tighten around her waist.
In twenty seconds, she slid into a space only a car length behind her quarry. She saw Bannerman looking in the rearview, squirming, rubbernecking from side to side for an escape.
Why was he so afraid? It wasn’t like she had punched him out or anything.
He took a risky dodge into the left lane. In another second, he turned, flooring it before three lanes of south-bound traffic could T-bone his beautiful car. Ashe swore, but more for form’s sake. She simply pulled an illegal Uey at the next break in the meridian.
“Bloody hell, woman!” Reynard roared in her ear.
“Suck it up; we’ve almost got him.”
Okay, so that was a little optimistic. By the time Ashe reached the turnoff, she saw the BMW silhouetted against the bright April sky. Bannerman was heading southeast on one of the narrow roads that led through the maze of hobby farms north of Fairview. If they lost him in that neck of the woods, the trail would grow cold fast.
There was nothing but empty field between her and Bannerman’s car, but the winter rains had turned the ground into a muddy slough. She found herself slowing to compensate for dirt and gravel left behind by farm vehicles crossing from field to road. Bannerman was slowing as well, bumps in the road threatening to bottom out the expensive car. The lawyer was more cautious than he needed to be, but that was fine with Ashe. She was gaining on her timid prey.
The BMW crested a hill and disappeared over the other side. Ashe did the same. Pulled up behind Bannerman. Pulled alongside him. She glanced over, saw the mix of fury and fear in his eyes.
As the hill began to descend, she took a risk and put on the speed. The Ducati swooped ahead, Ashe dodging most hazards but gambling with her control when the road bumped too hard. A half mile ahead, the road forked. That was all the space Ashe had to stop Bannerman. When she had gained just enough distance, she slowed the bike, turning it to block both lanes. Tires chewed the pavement as she slowed to a stop. A plume of dirt and dust kicked up.
Reynard jumped off, grabbing his helmet off his head. He looked ashen, but he ran to put himself between Ashe and the oncoming car, drawing his Smith & Wesson as he went.
“Whoa! Stop!” Ashe yelled, steps behind him.
For a moment, she thought they’d both be a hood ornament. Only at the last second did Bannerman stand on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a lurching halt.
Ashe stood very still, partly to show no fear, partly because she thought her knees would collapse.
The passenger door flew open and Bannerman shot out in a panicked sprint toward the main highway.
You’ve got to be kidding.
Reynard set his helmet on the bike. “Shall we go wish Mr. Bannerman a good morning?”
Ashe was right behind him. “Oh, yeah, I’m looking forward to this.”
Reynard caught up to him in a burst of guardsman superspeed. He grabbed the lawyer by one arm, dragging him back before he’d gone a hundred feet. Reynard pinned him against the shiny BMW.
Despite the cool spring air, Bannerman was sweating, his hair limp against his skull. The skin under his eyes looked puffy and dull. He seemed to have aged ten years since Ashe had met him only a few weeks ago.
The lawyer was apparently getting what he deserved.
“Going somewhere in a hurry?” Ashe asked.
“Let go of me!” Bannerman snapped, but his eyes were begging.
What does he think we’re going to do? Not that she couldn’t think of a few things.
Ashe tried to guess what Bannerman was seeing. She and Reynard were both dressed for action in dark leathers, denim, and sunglasses. They probably looked like rejects from a metal band. Reynard took his hand off the lawyer’s arm, but stood close enough so the man still couldn’t move.
Ashe folded her arms, a bit of a trick in a tight leather jacket. “So how is good old Tony this morning?”
“Don’t ask me about him. I can’t talk about him.”
“Yeah, right. The compulsion.”
The skin around Bannerman’s eyes puckered. “It hurts.”
Reynard nodded. “Some silencing spells work through pain.”
“Is that why you ran just now? Because you were afraid we’d make you talk?”
Bannerman bobbed his head once, his face going gray. Sweat shone on his upper lip.
“Damn.” Ashe hated this. Bannerman was a creep and had earned a lot of payback, but she wasn’t into torture.
“Is the demon at the North Central Shopping Mall?” Reynard asked. “Yes or no?”
“Yes.” The lawyer writhed as if something had pierced him through.
Reynard leaned closer, his expression showing regret, but neither did he shy away from the task at hand. “Has he purchased other places?”
“Not yet.”
So the two other addresses the hacker had given them were Bannerman’s own investments and not for Tony. Good to know.
“Are you in the process of arranging such a purchase for the demon?” Reynard asked.
“Yes.” Bannerman gasped.
“How many?”
Bannerman twisted and fell to his hands and knees, retching. Ashe jumped back before he puked on her boots. The sound made her mouth water in sick sympathy.
The lawyer held up three fingers.
The demon was trying to buy three other places.
Bannerman crawled to his feet, wiping his mouth with a handk
erchief. Reynard hauled him up until he could lean on the car. Bannerman’s head fell forward. When he lifted it slowly, Ashe could read the exhaustion in every line of his body.
“It seemed simple at first,” the lawyer said. “He seemed normal, even nice. He just wanted a bookstore. I was settling the Cowan estate. I thought, why not? But then things changed.” Bannerman’s face twitched, but he had the look of a man gone beyond pain to numb surrender.
“How?”
“It’s like he was part human when he first came into the office. I couldn’t even tell he was a demon at first. Now he’s all demon, all the time.”
“How is he choosing his properties?” Reynard asked. “Are there certain strategic locations he’s after?”
“I don’t know. He just wanders around town. Once he settles on a place he likes, it’s up to me to convince the owner to sell. And up to me to pay for it.” Bannerman hung his head as if he’d lost the strength to lift it. His eyes were screwed shut. “You’ve got to stop him. I can’t.”
It dawned on Ashe that Bannerman had just volunteered information, despite the pain. She flashed back to her first interview with the lawyer, when his office had started dripping slime. In a roundabout way, he had asked her to save him from Tony then. He still wanted her to save him now.
“And if the owner declines to sell?” Reynard asked.
Bannerman shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”
Ashe felt another layer of anger spreading over her soul. “I am so going to ice this hellspawn.”
Reynard stepped back from Bannerman and reached into the car. When he straightened, he had a file in his hand. “Does this give the particulars of the sales?”
Bannerman opened his eyes and nodded.
Ashe took the file and glanced at the papers. She was no lawyer, but it looked as if every last detail of the transactions was documented there. She couldn’t stifle a grin. “You’re not getting a retainer, are you?”
Straightening, the lawyer returned a look meant to boil flesh from the bone, suddenly the Bannerman she’d first met. “I could still file for assault, you know.”
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