We’d eaten at one of our favorite sushi bars then walked along the Embarcadero, the smell of fish and salt strong in the air. Our casual kisses along the wharf led us back to my place.
A few days ago, a decent night with Steve would have left me invigorated and content. Now I felt confused and surprisingly unsatisfied. I’d always enjoyed our dates, the comfort they offered, the validation of the choices I’d made. Cora hadn’t cared for him much. She’d never voiced disapproval, but I saw her pinched lips every time I came home the next morning.
I threw on some jeans and my favorite ninja kitty shirt and made my way down the stairs. My cell rang, and the display flashed Ewan. I stopped in the hall, uncomfortable with the idea of talking to Ewan in front of Steve—which annoyed me.
“Hey,” I said, answering.
“Wanted to see if you needed anything special for tonight.” His tone was matter-of-fact, almost bored.
“I think I’ve covered everything on my raise-a-revenant to do list.” I kept my voice light, but the awkwardness and tension from last night hung over the phone waves.
“So when do you plan on coming?” His tone stayed the same—flat.
“How about eight?”
In almost perfect or imperfect synchronicity, Steve’s voice chimed in from the kitchen. “Hey, Ruby, what tea do you want?”
You didn’t need to be a demon to hear that over the cell. Shit. Shit! And shit some more. Why did I care if Ewan heard Steve? It’s not like I have any obligation toward the man—no, the demon. The guilt still sliced through my gut. Plus it’s already late in the morning, right? I glanced at the clock, the hand just past the nine. Oh, screw this. I wasn’t going to let Ewan March make me feel guilty for living my life.
“Um, how about the Morning Thunder,” I answered, loud enough for Steve to hear . . . and Ewan of course.
“So, anyway, will eight work?” I said into the cell.
Ewan didn’t answer right away. His pause stretched into an unnatural quiet, made especially uneasy in a house that always creaked and sighed. I couldn’t even hear Steve in the kitchen.
He finally broke the silence. “See you at eight.”
“Okay,” I said, forcing a smidgen of enthusiasm into my voice, before ending the call.
I stared at the screen a few minutes until Steve found me in the hallway and held out my tea. “Something wrong?” he asked.
I placed my cell on the console table, took the mug, and whiffed the pungent steam wafting from the black tea mixed with mate. “Some family stuff I have to deal with today.”
His morning-after-sex relaxed expression sprinted off his face. “One of these days I’m going to find out what you keep hidden behind those wistful eyes.”
No. You won’t, and we will never progress beyond this surface sex and easy conversation, and I will continue to wipe those contented expressions off your face.
I forced a smile. “The mystery of my wistful eyes is far more exciting than the reality. Trust me.”
We made vague plans to see a movie at an undefined later date, and he kissed me good-bye. I planted my butt on a barstool in the kitchen and placed Adam’s diagram on the island next to an interesting picture I found in one of Cora’s books.
The picture depicted a necromancer dressed in flowing robes, hands outstretched over a grave. Various, geometric diagrams adorned his hands, neck, and face. I didn’t need to run out and buy a Gandalf outfit at the local costume shop, but maybe I could take some cues from the diagrams. I wish I’d sorted more through Cora’s scattered mind and picked out information on necromancers. How long have we existed?
I flipped through the book, looking for specifics on how to structure my ritual. Every necro performed a ritual to raise a revenant, often drawing upon the work and knowledge of others, but ultimately the ritual was unique to the necro, a work of art. Some were better at it than others. I was shooting for survival.
Chapter Nine
“Ms. Montagne, so very nice to see you again,” the demon butler said, giving me the same pained smile, as if he were chewing on gravel.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
He stopped and turned to face me, his big white eyeball straining against the socket. He returned to face front and resumed his unsteady shuffle. “You can call me Gus.”
Gus? How anticlimactic. I was used to more dramatic demon names. “Are you a demon?”
He harrumphed. “I suppose I am, if that’s what you choose to call it.” He led me up the stairs, in the opposite direction of the study, and stopped in front of an open door. “You will find Jax and Master Ewan inside.”
Before entering the room, I watched Gus retreat, wondering what his response to my question about him being a demon had meant. Was he something else? With the way the demons guarded their backgrounds, I’d probably never find out.
I stepped into a very modern room, unlike the rest of the house, blending functional desks and Aeron chairs and oversized leather couches meant for movie watching. An eighty-inch screen covered one wall, wires extending from its back, connecting it to various computers and other devices.
Ewan leaned back in a chair while Jax typed away on a laptop resting on his thighs, his feet thrown on top of a desk. Ewan cocked his head at me when I entered, then turned back to write something down on one of the many scraps of paper scattered on the desk.
Jax waved me over. “Check out this video.”
I felt Ewan’s eyes follow me as I leaned over Jax to watch an idiotic YouTube video. I chuckled despite myself, then heard my cell phone. I pulled it out of my purse and saw the text from Steve saying he’d like to come by and pick up the jacket he’d left at my house. Bad timing. I jumped at a loud snap and turned to see a broken pencil lying between Ewan’s fingers. He was staring at my hand still gripping the cell phone.
Jax’s head moved back and forth between us, his mouth twitching.
“I’d like to see the room set aside for the ritual,” I said to no one in particular.
I needed time to meditate, focus. I’d spent the past day trying to remember how it felt to conjure my power, but all that came to mind were sensations. The type of sensations the mind imprints at burning a finger on a hot stove or riding a roller-coaster with loop de loops. I had the same nervous excitement now, sitting in the coaster waiting for the ride to launch.
Jax glanced up from the computer at the same moment that Ewan stood. “Come on,” Ewan said as he strode to the door, his back to me.
He led me to a back porch that spanned the entire rear of the house. It was screened and surrounded on the outside by nine foot oleander bushes, dotted with white and dark pink flowers, dark green leaves scraping the metal roof of the porch. The leaves poked through the screen, little lances waiting patiently to prick the wandering hand. When I was twelve, my mom had chased me around a park right into an oleander bush. I’d scratched myself for days and cursed my mom for weeks.
Ewan waved me over to an empty expanse of the porch circled with candles of various shapes and colors, casting an ominous glow that barely chased off the shadows skulking around the room. I walked over, steering clear of the screen.
“Will this do?” he asked.
I nodded. “Where’s Adam’s body?”
“In the basement. Do you want it brought up now?”
Achieve inner calm while peeking at the dead body, worried it’ll pop up and jump on me? Not likely. “No.”
“All right then, I’ll leave you alone.” He didn’t move. The lines around his mouth softened. “I want to apologize for last night. I wasn’t acting very gentlemanly.”
“Gentlemanly?” I smiled. The tension eased from my shoulders. “I’d never use gentleman in the same breath as demon.”
“Now I’m offended.” The crinkle of his eyes told me the opposite. “We demons are quite chivalrous.”
“Chivalrous? I suppose you have a white horse hidden away somewhere?”
He’d somehow moved closer during our exchange a
nd grazed my cheek with his finger. “White horse,” he whispered close to my ear, “boring.”
He lowered his lips to mine but stopped short of touching them, tracing my back with his hand, gliding it up my neck to wrap his fingers in my hair. Our bodies were close but not touching; only our breaths met in a hot exchange. He gazed at my lips before possessing them with his own.
I swayed and caught his shoulders to steady myself. I moaned at the electric shock searing a path from my lips to my core. Feeling, tasting him was better than I had ever allowed myself to imagine.
Ewan consumed me.
I wasn’t ready to be consumed.
I broke the kiss. Lust blurred my vision, but I still caught the frustration that flashed across his face. I ran my hand down the length of his arm, feeling the muscles clench.
He inhaled deeply and raked his hand through his hair. “Good luck with the raising. You’ll do fine,” he said softly, then pivoted to walk out of the porch. I began to wonder if it wasn’t safer to deal with angry, annoyed Ewan instead of teasing, seductive Ewan, who made my legs wobble.
I needed meditation more than ever. I squatted on the floor and spent a good twenty minutes trying to clear the kiss from my mind. The moment I’d achieved a modicum of Zen, footsteps sounded on the porch. I opened my eyes slowly. Kara crouched next to me and quirked an eyebrow. “You ready?”
I nodded and tried once more to clear my mind of Ewan’s touch.
“Let’s get this started,” I said. “Help me draw Adam’s diagram.” I thrust my palm out and handed her a Sharpie.
“On your hand?”
“Yep. The same palm I’m going to cut and bleed to feed the ritual.”
Kara scrunched her nose.
“Oh, don’t act all grossed out. You witches use weird stuff sometimes,” I said.
“I’ve never used blood.” She slathered on the holier-than-thou tone, then flipped with, “Well, human blood anyway.” She grabbed my palm and began to trace the diagram. “Does the ritual demand blood?”
“No, any item like hair can connect the necro to the corpse, but blood creates the strongest bond.”
She held my palm out in front of me. “There.”
“That’s pretty good, thanks.”
“You still want me here while you perform the raise?”
“Yes,” I said. “Just in case something goes haywire.”
“How will I know if something goes haywire?”
I tore my eyes from the diagram. “The usual suspects I guess—sparks, screaming, general writhing in pain.” I made light of the situation, but I was scared. What if I totally screwed up?
We both turned at the sound of Ewan and Malthus entering the porch.
“Good evening, ladies,” Malthus said. Ewan regarded my inked up palm but didn’t comment.
“Have you completed your preparations?” Malthus asked.
“Yes. I’m ready for . . . ah—” I was about to say body, but that seemed so vulgar. I was about to bring a man back to life. “Please bring Adam,” I said.
Ewan sat in the chair next to Kara and texted. I did one of those double head swings when Gus entered the porch minutes later carrying Adam wrapped in a sheet. He slogged along in his usual manner, but didn’t appear bothered by the weight of the body. He placed it on the floor in front of me without so much as a peek at me. A lock of sun-bleached blond hair fell out from behind the sheet, and my mind flashed to when I discovered Adam’s body lying in the bushes.
I clenched my hand to ward off the shakes, glad I was still squatting.
Ewan stood and turned to Kara. “Call us if you need us.” He gave me an unreadable stare.
Malthus patted his hand over his demon heart and gave me a short nod. He and Ewan left the room while Kara settled down in a chair on the far corner of the porch.
I inhaled, closed my eyes, and searched through the murk in my mind for the door I’d closed long ago. Not seeing it, I panicked.
I fingered my silver necklace, inhaled again, letting the deep breath clear the invading circus from my head. I pressed my hands on my stomach—in, out. Finally, a door appeared in my mind. Shadows formed into a recognizable staircase and wood floor—the downstairs hallway in my house. I concentrated on the door to the guest bathroom and wrapped my hand around the doorknob.
The bottom of my bare foot felt warm, sticky. I lifted it, and red drops rolled off my toes onto the floor. Blood seeped from under the door and surrounded me in a slick pool. My limbs sagged, swollen from the hot terror that beat down on me.
I unstuck my shaking hand from the doorknob, turned, and raced down the dark hallway of my mind toward the front door, my feet slapping wet against the wood floor, the slap, slap echoing out to the street.
I barely realized I’d exited the demon lair in reality, my mind consumed by a red-tinged blaze. I’d left everyone staring after me with a chaotic mix of confusion and concern marring their faces, and I wondered if I’d be able to face them again.
Chapter Ten
I tossed the pencil on the desk. This was ridiculous. I’d read the same sentence five times, and it still failed to penetrate my frustration and shame over Saturday night’s debacle. Kara and Ewan had called me several times, but I’d ignored their calls for two days. I’d spent most of Sunday sprawled on my couch—dejected—a glass of wine in hand and Ewan’s words, you’ll do fine, clanging in my head. Pathetic.
I tapped my fingernail on the desktop, trying to concentrate on an article for my research paper, occasionally conscious of the scratching of pencils on paper. Monday was my only nighttime class, and depending on the mood of the students, either passed quickly or dragged on for an eternity. Fortunately, tonight I was giving an essay exam, relieving me from stammering out an ill-conceived lecture.
A quick glance at the clock told me only an hour had passed. I doodled on my notepad, drawing endless circles ’round and ’round each other, mirroring my life skirting a supernatural identity I couldn’t shed so I circled it, careful not to get too close.
The last student dropped his blue book on my desk. Relieved, I shoved the article and books into my backpack. I needed to grab some papers before going home to get some much needed sleep—hopefully. As I exited my office, the heavy door slipped from my fingers and slammed shut, sending a resounding echo down the hall.
Then silence.
I’ve never liked empty buildings at night—too much empty space, too much silence.
The hallway was darker than usual. Looking up, I noticed some burned out lights. I walked faster, chased by the echo of my own footsteps. As if playing on my fear, I swore another set of footsteps joined mine.
A scraping. A soft rubbing noise.
Dread crawled up my spine, grasping each vertebra with its talons. I rushed toward the elevator, still a good thirty feet away, driven by the unsettling sensation that something was bearing down on my back.
My breath strangled my throat at the now very real footsteps keeping pace with mine. I glanced over my shoulder into the fluttering shadows. A figure approached. Shit. I was pretty sure it wasn’t a janitor.
He snarled. Nope, definitely not a janitor.
Not wanting to waste precious seconds waiting for the elevator, I sprinted for the stairs. I swung open the door and braved a quick look at my pursuer, now close enough for me to see the sick pallor of death on his face, that mix of puke-green, yellow, and gray that not even the best makeup artist can camouflage. Or imitate.
Zombie.
But slow and laborious not. This bastard was fast, seemingly spurred on by some undead hysteria. Whoever had made him commanded some serious necromancer strength.
I jumped down the stairs, taking three or four steps at a time. The zombie took five. My heel caught on one of the steps, and I landed on my knee with a loud crunch. I scrabbled on the floor, gritting my teeth against the ice pick spearing my knee down through the marrow of my leg. I stumbled and used my hands to propel me up and forward.
The zombie
was so close I could smell its foul odor, more retching than the time I encountered several decomposed rats in my basement. His hand clamped onto my arm, feeling like a cold noodle. Yuck.
Using the handrail as leverage, I spun, throwing the zombie off balance but inadvertently jerking him closer to me, close enough to see his oozing, red-rimmed eyes. He hadn’t been dead long. His flesh was intact. He grinned at me, revealing bloody teeth, then squeezed one of my fingers down to the bone. I winced.
He garbled, the sound like gargling water in the throat, then emitted a starved rasp, the hunger of the undead. Never satisfied. Always voracious.
Adrenaline spiked my limbs. I spotted a fire extinguisher on the wall and reached out with my whole body, using my fear as a medieval stretching rack until my joints popped. My fingers tickled the fire extinguisher until I managed to wrap my hand around the metal spout on the top and whacked the zombie across its head, causing it to tumble back down the stairs. I dropped the extinguisher in disgust, noting the bits of bloody flesh stuck to the bottom. I half ran, half limped out the door and down the hall to the stairs on the opposite side of the building, the zombie’s furious clomps behind me.
My heartbeat had jumped the tracks. I squeezed tears from my eyes and hopped down the stairs, ignoring the slice of pain in my knee each time I landed.
I exited the building and sought the most well-lit, crowded spot, which turned out to be the front of a drug store. I pulled my cell out of my backpack and struggled to press Ewan’s contact with my trembling fingers. My breathless words were short. “Zombie . . . attack. Okay. Drugstore. Campus.” I tucked my phone away and waited.
I leaned against the wall and gasped to catch one of the breaths coming one on top of the other while I scanned the sidewalk for the zombie, worried it’d attack someone else, but there wasn’t much I could do until Ewan arrived.
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