Personal Demon

by Susan Sizemore

  For a moment, he wanted to die.

  Nonsense. She wanted to die.

  “No, love. Don’t be that way. What’s the matter? Tell me,” he coaxed.

  “They died. In fear. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t me.”

  “Of course it wasn’t you. You found the bodies. That’s all you did. Bad enough, but not your fault.”

  “Their souls were robbed. Three souls robbed. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” He remembered that the emptiness of the kill site was haunting. There had been no souls lingering near the three bodies. He’d picked up that much before being kicked out. “You’re right to mourn them, Ivy love, but leave off now. Following them won’t help. Live. For me.” He couldn’t lie inside a real dream. “Live for us.”

  She sniffled, blinked. Surprise and hopeful electric snowflakes sparked from her, surrounded them.

  Christopher stroked her face, kissed the tip of her upturned nose. Such an adorable nose. He kissed it again, and her hot, swollen cheeks. Her skin was salty, delicious. He ran his thumbs up and down the side of her fragile throat, long, slender, pulsing with—

  Christopher dropped his hands onto Ivy’s shoulders. His fangs ached. He knew they were mind walking together again. If he bit her there, it wouldn’t mean anything, wouldn’t mean a commitment. He still wanted to taste her. If he did it there, there’d be no stopping it in the real.

  She knew it, too. And slapped him. Hard.

  “Ow! Damn it, woman! I’m trying to comfort you!”

  “You were. Now you have a vampire hard-on.” She was glaring now. No more tears.

  He rubbed his aching cheek, smiled. “It looks like my clever plan worked.”

  She grinned back. He saw her fight it, but she couldn’t manage for long. Because it was a real dream, but still a dream, they were standing face-to-face without having moved. He held his arms out, offering a fresh embrace.

  His mouth covered hers without any movement, too. But he felt her pull him closer, felt her tongue twining with his, thrusting hungrily. Christopher felt her skin beneath his hands. Felt her hips pressed hotly against his erection.

  Oh, yes, he felt. All he felt was her.

  He groaned when she lifted her head.

  “I’m feeling fangs,” she said. She gave a breathy, nervous laugh. “I was licking fangs. Sorry, I didn’t mean to come on to you—”

  “I loved what you were doing. Do it again.”

  Ivy’s hands were on his chest, holding him away. “You don’t want to bite me. Believe me, you don’t want to do that.”

  “Oh, yes I do.”

  “You can’t,” she said.

  “I will. But not here and now.” He put his hand over her heart. “But I will make love to you.”

  She glanced past him. “Here? In front of Shakespeare?”

  “Will won’t mind. And I’m certainly not concerned with the morality of pigeons.”

  “Me, either.”

  She drew him down by the base of the statue. Because it was a dream, no one else was there, and it was summer in the park. Their clothes disappeared in another dream shift. Christopher tasted tear salt all over her, washing away her grief with every kiss and touch of his tongue.

  He kissed between her breasts and down beyond her navel.

  Her hands swept over his shoulders, reached to lift his chin. He looked up over her magnificent breasts to meet eyes full of want.

  “Come here,” she said.

  He rose to kiss her as—

  chapter twenty-three

  Sunset.

  Christopher woke up furious. Totally aroused and even more frustrated. That he woke up alone made the anger worse. It was all Ivy’s fault. Not the being alone, part. He had arranged to keep away from her and failed miserably. He’d come to Chicago to deal with vampires, and so far all he’d managed was this little side adventure involving mortal murders.

  Oh, there was magic involved, but it was none of his business. He was certain the dark, sacrificial magic had nothing to do with vampires.

  At least Ivy knew something about vampires. She’d led him to this Selena, who obviously knew more. Ivy was a lead. But she wasn’t important.

  He’d wasted an entire day on her. Again. Complicated. Pleasant. Damnably arousing, but not important.

  Time to get on with business. He’d take care of her on his way out of town.

  He swung out of bed and went through Ariel’s house one more time. Once again, he found no information, but a hot shower and shave helped his mood, helped him clear away the dregs of lust, helped him think. He and his brother in blood were about the same size and had the same taste in clothing—everything in black. Christopher changed into fresh clothes.

  He put his leather coat on over a silk shirt and went out into the bright city night. Ariel lived a couple of blocks over from a very popular part of town. Lots of nightlife. Lots of noise and color and beautiful, frenetic young people. Everyone checking everyone out. Not Christopher’s sort of scene, but he understood choosing the surrounding as a way of hiding in plain sight for those of his kind experiencing the itch of growing hunger. For Ariel, this would be a good area to monitor the pulse of his city.

  This wouldn’t be the place to indulge a vampire’s hunting urge, but the hunger for sex. Vampires weren’t different than the mortals out there, looking for a drink and a shag.

  Even thinking about a shag set off images of Ivy for him. Roused hunger for her. How they’d connected in dreams that day had never happened to him before. He’d traveled in other people’s dreams for over a hundred years, but he’d never shared dream reality with another being before. He’d never even considered the possibility. And didn’t know if anyone else ever had, either.

  And was it a good thing? It could be addicting, and addictions weren’t safe. As if vampires didn’t have enough compulsions to worry about.

  Christopher thrust his hands in his coat pockets and concentrated on finding a vampire in the crowd. He walked along each side of the crowded street, went into a club, but the loud music pulsing in colors and numbers around him distracted his senses. He found a bench by a bus stop, sat, and let the world swirl by.

  And threw back his head and laughed when his thoughts brushed across the energy of the exact same vampire Ivy had been trailing the night they met.

  “Fate,” he muttered. “Bloody fate.”

  He sat back and called the lad to him. When the youngster came diffidently up to the bench, he was, of course, dressed in black.

  If it were possible for a vampire to become even paler, then this youngster did at the sight of Christopher sitting with his legs crossed and his long arms stretched out along the top of the bench.

  “An Enforcer!” The words came out a frightened, croaked whisper. He rushed on, “There’s no need for this. I haven’t done anything to her. We’re on a date. My nest leader read me the riot act. It’s all good now. I understand, dude—sir.”

  Christopher didn’t understand at all, but he did appreciate that the young vampire had the senses to recognize he was no ordinary strigoi. “Hunter,” he told the lad. “You may call me Hunter.”

  “Yes, Hunter. Can I go now? Or do you want me to recite the Covenants first? I memorized them, like my nest leader ordered.”

  “And your nest leader is?”

  “Ju-Julia, blood daughter of Rose, blood daughter of Jimmy Bluecorn.” He shrugged. “I don’t know any further back than that.” He swallowed hard. “Hunter, sir. Hun—”

  “That’ll do. Thank you.”

  “Can I go now?”

  Christopher also found the colorful sparks of fear fireworks shooting off the scared vampire entertaining. It was almost a pity that the people passing by couldn’t see what Christopher did.

  But they couldn’t see, feel, touch, taste, hear the way he did.

  He patted the bench. “Have a seat.”

  The other vampire settled stiffly beside Christopher. Christopher stood, and loomed. He was good
at looming, not that he needed to look more dangerous than he was—only the other Enforcers were as dangerous as he in their small world.

  “What are the Covenants?” he asked. He listened as the young vampire listed off rules that had nothing to with the ancient Laws of the Blood. They sounded totally mental to Christopher. Like some mortal mockery of the Laws he was sworn to uphold and enforce. He might not like the term Enforcer, but that was exactly who he was.

  “Mental,” he murmured. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

  “Can I go back to my date now?”

  Date? Vampires having dates? What was the world coming to? “Yeah. Fine.” There was nothing more he could learn from this misguided child. “No, wait.” Christopher grabbed the lad’s arm before he could get past him. “Ariel. Where’s Ariel?”

  Emotions blinked red and green off the youngster, like Christmas lights. “How would I know anything about Ariel?”

  Christopher believed the other’s ignorance. He was just a young nest vampire learning to make his way in the world. Dating.

  “What about Ivy?” Christopher heard himself ask. Wasn’t he trying to ignore her? “Know anything about a mortal called Ivy?”

  All the colors of the other vampire’s emotions began strobing, and he gave a silver-blade-sharp laugh. “Poison Ivy? You don’t want a taste of that, dude. Bad blood. Very bad blood.”

  Christopher grabbed the youngster’s throat, crushing out any more insults. The lad choked and clawed at him. Christopher tossed him aside after a moment. Let him go back to his date.

  Christopher turned and walked up the street.

  It wasn’t hard to find the spot in the park because it was the place where life was absolutely absent. The trees and grass and little critters didn’t count. Christopher hadn’t physically been there before, but he knew it well. He had tasted it in Ivy’s tears.

  Never mind that there was police tape up around the grove where the bodies had been found. Never mind the lights set up to help the forensic technicians continue their work into the night.

  Whatever they found wouldn’t be the truth. Maybe the hows, certainly not the why. And the who? They wouldn’t believe it.

  It mattered that the mortals didn’t find out or believe. To Ivy’s people, to Ivy. Still not his problem. This was a mortal atrocity, at least it was an atrocity being perpetrated on mortals, but no vampire was involved.

  No vampire but him. If it wasn’t for Ivy, he wouldn’t be there, hiding behind a tree and trying hard to recall something that was wrong with the picture of this place in his memory. He didn’t want to be spotted, which meant he should keep part of his attention on the outer world, but night was getting on, as it always was. No matter how vulnerable it made him, he let all his senses out into the world.

  It was the taste of tears that told him all he needed to know. It was the memory of the stone knife that told him what was going to happen.

  And, now, no matter how he fought it, he had to find Ivy before it was too late.

  chapter twenty-four

  Feeling better?” Lawrence asked. “Selena said to be gentle with you when she dropped you off.”

  “Selena also told Aunt Cate not to let me out tonight. We both know Aunt Cate’s going to kick me out to go look for crazed murderers as soon as she gets the chance.”

  “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

  “The good witch of Cook County thinks I’m the one to handle this problem.”

  “Well, she could be wrong,” Lawrence suggested.

  Ivy looked up from the kitchen table at Lawrence. She was holding a cup of tea between her palms. There was a book in her lap, but for once she had no interest in reading. She’d been staring into the amber liquid, appreciating the warmth, the fragrant scent. It reminded her of Christopher.

  Oh, Goddess.

  It didn’t help that he’d showed up in an erotic dream earlier in the day that still had her nerves jangling with yearning for sex. At least she’d stopped crying.

  “I’m doing fine,” she finally answered Lawrence’s question. “How are you doing?” she asked the one-armed vampire.

  “I am always improving. More tea?”

  He’d made her the tea. Aunt Cate had sent her upstairs to the apartment over the magic shop. It was busy down there. Not in a good way.

  The media had linked the murders to Satanic rituals—just because they were sort of right didn’t mean they should be stirring up people’s fears of magic. The stirring had brought the usual suspicious don’t-suffer-a-witch-to-live folk out in numbers to protest the very existence of a store that catered to magic practitioners. It had happened before, but there was a dangerous vibe emanating from the protesters that night. Murder made you scared, and the scared could lash out. Aunt Cate was counting on the cops to keep an eye on the crowd as, to the folks outside, putting up even the usual magical wards would have been seen as an evil spell aimed at them.

  Lawrence went to look out the kitchen window, down at the alley behind the building. “People out there, too.”

  “Waving pitchforks and torches?”

  “One has a flashlight.” Lawrence laughed. “And he’s waving it.”

  The Brits called flashlights torches. Ivy closed her eyes and shook her head. Lawrence was looking at her when she opened her eyes. “What?”

  “What’s his name, this strigoi of yours?”

  “Christopher. Not mine. You know that can’t happen. Thank goodness. No offense.”

  “None taken. Christopher. Hmmm.” Lawrence rubbed his manly square jaw. “Never heard of him. And it’s not like we’re the largest ethnic group in the world. We’re all blood relations, in a way. What’s he look like?”

  Lawrence was a good-looking fellow, as vampires tended to be. Christopher wasn’t handsome, but he was fascinating. And that smile—

  Ivy put down her cup and sketched a crude cartoon of Christopher, using a pad of paper on the table. Lawrence looked over her shoulder to study the drawing. “He has nice eyes,” she said, almost apologizing for Christopher’s other physical faults. “And a beautiful voice.”

  Lawrence smiled and shook his head. “What is it with American girls being turned on by English accents?”

  “He doesn’t like my knowing he’s English,” Ivy said. “That bit of information got me in trouble.”

  “Sorry I spoke up.”

  “Sorry I repeated the information to him. What’s the big secret? Do you know why I’m in trouble?”

  “I really don’t. Maybe it’s some secret the old-world ones are keeping, that’s my guess. They live in a very paranoid, insane culture over there, worse than even our deep underground nests.”

  “Your what?”

  He shook his head. “What’s in this tea? I shouldn’t have said anything about that, either.”

  “I heard nothing,” Ivy assured him.

  “I wish. And my worry.”

  “You have to watch out living with us mortals. We’re tricky and worm things out of you.”

  “I’ve never been very good at being secretive,” Lawrence said. “My opinion about you and Christopher is that you are connected the way Cate and I are. I don’t think you can do anything but blab around him. He’s like you, isn’t he? A fount of geeky information dying for someone to share it with. You’re a magpie who’s found her mate.”

  Lawrence meant well, but everything he said was hurtful. “Stop it! You know I can’t have a vampire. I mean—I won’t.”

  “But you’re starting to want one.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Well, it didn’t matter. She probably wasn’t going to survive this demon-hunting thing anyway.

  Before she could manage to get into a deep feeling-sorry-for-herself funk, Aunt Cate came into the kitchen.

  Cate looked out the kitchen window. “It’s clear out there,” she said.

  “Have the protesters out front left?” Ivy asked. There had been quite a crowd on the sidewalk o
utside the shop entrance when she’d come in. The fear and anger in the air was nauseating. And it wasn’t just the usual suspects; the fear was spreading across the city, settling like a blanket.

  When she had entered the magic shop, she’d been yelled at and called ruder words than witch by the angry group outside.

  “They’re being escorted away,” Aunt Cate said. “Somebody threw a rock through the front window. I don’t like the dark energy that’s growing. It was time to disperse it, so I called the police. They already had a car outside.”

  “A Bailey called the cops?” Lawrence clapped his hand over his slow-beating heart. “If you keep doing law-abiding things like that, I’m moving out.”

  “I’m sure Great-grandpa Eamon’s rolling in his grave,” Ivy added.

  “I doubt it,” Cate said. “The villagers who buried him drove a silver spike through his heart to pin him to the ground. I’ve been meaning to dig that up and sell it on eBay.” Aunt Cate poured herself a mug of tea and sat down at the table. “Why do they have to picket my place whenever there are rumors of Satanism? As if I would knowingly sell even an herb or tarot deck to a Satanist. I do not deal with amateurs.”

  Lawrence and Ivy shared a look, and laughed.

  “All right, I am a witch, and I keep a vampire in the house.” She gestured toward the street, where scared people had been protesting witches living in the neighborhood. “But they don’t know that.”

  “Keep me? You make me sound like a gigolo,” Lawrence said.

  “Well, aren’t you?” Christopher asked.

  Everyone whirled to face the doorway. Ivy rose to her feet and took a step toward him. At least she hadn’t screamed and run to throw her arms around him. Or dropped the mug to crash dramatically at her feet. She still quivered at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Shit.

  He stood with his arms crossed. Who knew for how long?

  No one had noticed him come in. Not the vampire or the senior witch, or Ivy, who at least imagined she had some sort of connection to the English vampire.