“What are the seven virtues of bushido?” Part of his test was to see if he could carry on a conversation and keep up with the kata at the same time. He knew this one. I knew he knew it.
“Righteousness, courage, benevolence, respect, honesty, honor, and loyalty.” Not one movement faltered, each one punctuated by a correct answer.
“Are you packed?” I abruptly changed subjects, to see if I could throw him off.
“Yes.”
“Did you get your posters?”
“They’re rolled. Miss Mira is going to mail them to me later.”
“You get emails and phone numbers for all your friends?”
“They’re all in my notebook.”
“You got your phone charger?”
“Yes.”
He was leaving, you see. Tomorrow, we were getting on a plane to Mexico, and I was taking Estéban back to his mother and the rest of his demon-slaying family. There was a ton more I could teach him, sure, but now, with things like they were… I had a target on my back in the most literal sense, and the kid was just collateral damage waiting to happen. It was time for him to go home, back where it was safe.
I should have taken him home earlier, but some pleading on his part (and Mira’s) had convinced me that the kid should at least be allowed to finish out his senior year of high school in peace. “Give him a few months to be normal, Jess. Please. Once he goes home, you know that’s gone for him.” What could I say? When she was right, she was right. So here we were, end of May, and we were packing the kid up to go home for the first time in over a year.
Between you and me? I was gonna miss him.
The secondary part of the mission, of course, was to see if Estéban’s mother, a powerful bruja, could figure out how to rid me of these extra souls without harming me, or them. Someone, somewhere, had to know how, and while Carlotta had never heard of such a thing before, she was willing to see if she could figure it out. I was hoping between she and Terrence, they could solve this little problem of mine and I could get back to my normal life. For some loose definition of the word “normal.”
“Jesse?” Estéban stopped in the middle of his kata, but I finished the last move before I turned to look at him. “Do you think I’m ready? Tell the truth.”
A year ago, he’d believed with the absolute certainty of bull-headed youth that he was ready. A year ago, he’d arrived in Kansas City in pursuit of the demon who had murdered his older brother. He was guided by fury and bravado, and together, we’d taken the thing down. Now… Now he asked if he was ready. I was so damn proud of this kid it hurt.
“I think… I think that it is my strongest wish that you never have to fight another demon battle in your life, kid.” I watched him wilt on the inside, and kept going. “But I also know that you will, and I am ninety percent sure that you’ll live through it. I can’t make you any more ready than you are, k-…Estéban. Whatever’s left to do has to come from you.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, and I snaked an arm out to yank him into a quick noogie. “Just remember I’m older, and faster, and meaner. ’Kay?”
“’Kay.” He shrugged me off with a small chuckle. “Whose turn is it to come with you to It today?”
“Sveta.” We both made a face. Taking Sveta out in public was like walking around with a rabid honey badger on a dental floss leash. But taking Terrence into the mall where I worked was little more appetizing. The last time I’d worked, I’d caught him out in front of the store where I worked, berating a group of kids with fluorescent hair and skinny jeans, informing them just why they were what’s wrong with the world. Considering that those kids were my store’s target demographic, you can see how this wasn’t helpful.
I think the only reason Mira wasn’t protesting this Mexico trip more was that she was relieved I was taking my two “bodyguards” with me. To say things had been unsettled in the Dawson household was putting it mildly.
And it wasn’t just Mira. I was reminded of that as Estéban and I came back inside to find my six-year-old daughter facing down with the potential Ukrainian psychopath.
“You leave my doggy alone! He doesn’t like you, and I don’t like you either!” My angelic little redhead hid a fiery temper, and her sense of self-preservation hadn’t kicked in yet. This much was obvious. She was standing almost nose to nose with Sveta, who had obligingly crouched down to be more on the child’s level. Thankfully, neither my child nor her adversary had any weaponry in evidence.
I looked at Mira and Terrence, who were still contentedly drinking tea. “Was no one going to put an end to this?”
“I think Anna has it under control, actually.” Mira gave me a small smirk, telling me I was on my own.
Sveta, ignoring the presence of all the adults in the room, nodded solemnly to my daughter. “It is not necessary to like everyone all of the time. But sometimes, we must live with them anyway. Understand?”
Anna’s nose wrinkled up a little as she pondered that. “Yeah…” It was clear she was mentally looking for the trap.
“So, I will make a bargain with you. You know what a bargain is?”
Again, the wary “Yeah.”
“I will not harm your doggy. In return, you will do your best to keep him from startling me in my sleep. To keep him safe, you must teach him. It is part of being a responsible pet owner. Understand?”
Annabelle thought it over for long serious moments, then spit in her own palm and stuck out her hand for a shake. “Deal.” I glanced at Mira, who gave me a shrug and a shake of her head. No idea where our child had learned that.
Sveta spit in return and shook the offered hand without a trace of amusement or condescension, then stood up. “And now, we should eat breakfast, I think. After we wash our hands.”
The war abruptly over, Anna obediently followed the dangerous woman over to the kitchen sink so they could both wash their hands together. Within moments, my daughter forgot her ire, and was chatting away with Sveta about doggies and kitties and whatever else popped into her curly red head. It boggled the mind.
“You’re all crazy. I’m gonna go take a shower.” I left a chorus of chuckles behind me, though I failed to see the humor.
In our newly expanded, overly chaotic household, the shower was one of the few places I could get some time to myself, and that was only because I’d put my foot down early on and insisted that Sveta was not allowed to follow me in there. Seriously, if a demon was gonna come at me in the shower, it was just gonna have to happen. A man has limits.
As the hot water sluiced down over my shoulders, I rested my head against the cool tile wall. I was so done with all this. This whole demon-slaying, soul-selling, war-in-Hell circus, you could have it. I was supposed to be retired, dammit. Of course, I’d seen enough cop buddy movies to know what happens when you say you’re going to retire. Might as well have painted the cross-hairs on my forehead myself.
With my eyes closed, there was nothing to stop the images from coming back. The most vivid one was a beautiful blond woman, toppling backwards in slow motion, my fingertips just barely brushing hers as she fell. It was night, and the lights of a distant city twinkled behind her as she plummeted down and down and down. Over and over again, that graceful pirouette into oblivion.
It hadn’t happened that way. I knew that. The night Gretchen Keene leapt to her death from the roof of her hotel, I hadn’t been anywhere near close enough to stop her. And even if I had, she wouldn’t have been reaching for me. She’d gone willingly in a last ditch effort to protect her loved ones from the chaos I was now facing. But regardless of how it had actually gone down, it haunted me. Somehow, some way, I should have been able to stop her.
Until recently, my visions of past failures had been limited to my dreams. Anymore, though, they crept up on me when I least expected it. I knew the flashbacks were a sign of PTSD. The nightmares, too. And there was that really nasty hypervigilance episode a few weeks ago where Sveta and I prowled the house for hours, looking for
the threat I just knew was there.
When it was happening, it was terrifying, both for me and for everyone around me. After, I was mostly pissed off at myself and embarrassed. At worst, I was becoming a danger to my family. At the very least, it was inconvenient.
And we weren’t even going to mention what I’d come to think of as “the tunnel dream.” Not a night went by that I didn’t find myself stepping out of some mysterious tunnel, facing down a long, empty, dirt field. I was never alone in those dreams, but I could never quite see the dark, slender figure that waited for me at the other end, and I was never able to turn around to see who was taking shelter in the tunnel behind me.
I stood under the shower until the water started to get cool, then went to get ready for work.
Chapter 3
My real job, when I actually get to spend time there anymore, involves selling snarky tees, band shirts, and various clothing items with artfully placed holes in them. I get to listen to really loud, abrasive music, and give advice on tattoo and body piercing care to kids who are probably too young to actually have either. I love my job, and I wear my Old Dude name badge proudly.
Funny how a tiny little chain retail store can come to feel like home. From the blacklight painted walls, to the endless bass thumping through the overhead speakers, to the rows and rows of goth-clothed mannequins hanging up near the ceiling. I’d touched pretty much everything in this store at some point or another in my way-too-long tenure. Walking in felt comfortable. Normal.
My boss, Kristyn, her hair an obnoxious shade of fuchsia this week, threw her keys at me as I came in the door. “I gotta run to the Oak Park store. You’re in charge, Abe will be in at noon, and Lex will be in at two. I’ll be back before five.” Poof, she was gone, leaving me alone to open the store. Technically against the rules, but after so many years working together, we fudged now and then. And it was only for a couple of hours.
Being alone in the store for a bit meant that I was free to give the place a good once over. Y’know, mop the bathroom floor, straighten the cash wrap, scope for demonic fleas…
The mirror on my keychain looked like any trinket you could get out of the dollar bin at any discount store. In fact, I think that may be where we got it. It was the runes scratched into the back of it that made it something special.
I examined the entire store with that mirror, checking out the high shadowy corners, crawling under the clothing racks, even opening the new boxes of shipment, just in case.
I was looking for something I called a Scrap demon. They looked like greasy black mop heads with four insectile legs poking out, though most of their body was taking up by a gargantuan, shark-toothed mouth. They were the parasites of the demon world, unintelligent but crafty when it came to their own survival. They usually operated at the behest of a stronger demon. Attached to a person, they could suck energy, will, even the very life out of their prey, leaving their host a husk of their former self. And that’s if the host survived.
There’d been one in the store once, and I’d dispatched it posthaste. There was still a gouge in the tile floor where I’d skewered the thing with a novelty letter opener. Now, with so much more on the line, I couldn’t afford for one to sneak up on me again.
Once I was satisfied that the place was clear of creepy crawlies, I went to open up. Standing at the door, I caught the eye of the woman across the street and gave her the all-clear nod.
My punk co-workers didn’t know about demons, or slaying, or trapped souls or anything like that. And quite frankly, Sveta wasn’t going to fit in as a customer or an employee, so while I puttered around inside It, she took up camp on a bench across the courtyard where she could see the door. She could cross that distance in three seconds. I know, because she had me time her the first few times, just for practice.
Every time I passed near the front window, I checked on her, but as near as I could tell, she never moved. She could have been any woman, anywhere, dressed in blue jeans, heavy work boots, and a thin gray T-shirt. Her brown hair was pulled back into a utilitarian ponytail, and she wore no makeup at all. At first glance, she appeared perfectly normal. Young and athletic, pretty even.
But if you watched long enough, you’d realize that no one else tried to sit on her bench, ever. Parents pushed their strollers in a wide arc around her, small children made it a point to scamper in the opposite direction, and teenagers found other places to loiter. It was like she exuded the aura of a predator, and normal people steered clear on pure instinct.
It could also be the scars. Being a champion demon slayer wasn’t exactly a safety-conscious occupation, and like any of us, Sveta’s arms were peppered with scars varying from tiny blemishes to one that wrapped completely her left biceps and told the story of how she’d nearly lost the arm. There were more, concealed by her clothing. Down her legs, across her ribs. Reminders of battles won. We’d had one very PG-13 game of “compare the scar” when she came to live with us. While Terrence won by default – no one wanted him taking off his clothes, I mean really – I think Sveta probably topped even my spectacular marks.
She never wore long sleeves, though, never tried to hide them. Most likely, she never even thought about them anymore. I know I didn’t think about my own, until I caught the sidelong glances, the whispered conversations as some stranger caught a glimpse. I think it was worse for Sveta. People don’t like to see scars on pretty women. It violates the natural order of the world or something.
Both her elbows hung over the back of the bench, her hands dangling near her sides where I was certain some type of weapon was hidden just out of reach. Her pale blue eyes moved constantly, scanning the crowd. I wasn’t exactly sure what would happen if she thought she saw a potential threat, but so far, we hadn’t had any incidents.
Of course, I had one frequent visitor to the store that would have tripped every alarm bell she had, if she’d ever recognized him. I’d been forced to tell Ivan about Axel, my personal demon, and I was certain that he’d informed Sveta and Terrence. Luckily, neither of them knew what Axel looked like, and so he continued to slip under their radar. (Quite frankly, if they failed to recognize the most powerful demon I’d ever been around, I wasn’t sure this gave me a lot of confidence in their ability to protect my body. Just sayin’.)
And speaking of the devil, Axel showed up a few hours into my shift, as expected. His visits to my home had been curtailed by Terrence’s over-zealous wards, and with my two guardians providing constant watch, having conversations had become difficult. We’d had to resort to more clandestine methods.
I spotted him across the courtyard, his blond mohawk and excessive facial piercings kinda standing out in a crowd. Nonchalantly, he sauntered right past Sveta’s bench, dragging his fingers across the back within inches of her shoulder, smirking to himself when she didn’t even look twice. I shouldn’t have been surprised at his audacity. He was a demon after all, he just couldn’t help pushing the envelope.
The minute he cleared the door, I made a beeline to get ahead of my coworkers. “Welcome to It! What can I help you find today? Our band tees are all buy one, get one half off.”
The man-demon gave me a small smirk as I ushered him over to the tween girl section. “You do this on purpose.”
“Every time.” Once I was sure our words would be drowned out by the thumping bass overhead, I gave up the pretense. “So, what’s the word?”
Axel sighed at me. “Always right to business with you. No ‘how was your day?’ or ‘my, did you lose weight?’” He clicked his tongue piercing against his teeth in disapproval.
“How’s about I whistle real loud and introduce you to a lovely single Ukrainian I know?” Not that I would. As much as I hated to admit it, I needed Axel too much right now to sic Sveta on him. And truth be told, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t win.
Axel swiveled around to glance out the plate glass window. “Little Svetlana… My, how she’s grown.” For a heartbeat, his eyes flared red, until I elbowed him in the rib
s. “Ow.”
“Dude, either talk or buy something.” I grabbed a shirt and shoved it into his hands, belatedly realizing it was pink. That made me grin.
The demon rolled his eyes, thankfully returned to their normal color, and tossed the shirt on the floor. “It’s pretty much the same. They know the souls are in the wind, but no one can seem to track where they went.” He smirked. “You’re welcome.”
A few months ago, shortly after my return from L.A., it had become very clear that keeping my little extra-souls problem a secret was going to be next to impossible when I glowed like a fifty-thousand watt bulb to anyone who could see magic. That included any demon who came within fifty yards of me.
So Axel, in all his magnanimous (read: self-serving) glory, had performed some of that voodoo that he do so well, and cloaked me from demonic prying eyes. Now, so long as the souls were calm, and I didn’t have a demon sitting right on my head, I was relatively safe, for some loose definition of the word.
I could still feel Axel’s spell if I thought about it, though I tried very hard not to. It slid across my skin like a faint sheen of baby oil, and it smelled like rancid butter. I didn’t like it, and the souls under my skin had put me through excruciating pain at first, trying to burn it off. I’d struggled for days before I’d managed to wrestle them under control.
So far, though, it seemed to be working.
“So you’re still the only one that knows I have them?” Every time we talked, I lived with the dread that the secret was out. Because I knew what would happen then. Then, all bets were off, and they’d come for me, and everyone I’d ever cared about. It’s what they did.
“I, and I alone.” He idly thumbed through the rack of shirts. “Though everyone’s pretty sure you know where they are.”
I kept yanking shirts out of his hands before he could litter the floor with them. “Well, you do whatever it is you do, but let them know that I won’t be home for a while. I don’t want anyone coming to the house while the girls are alone.”
A Snake in the Grass Page 3
