by Tina Donahue
There it was again, her using the term mortal, as though she was…what? Immortal? New laughter threatened at the absurdity of this, while his disquiet for her sanity grew. “How’d you manage to zap his memories?”
She faced him, jaw clenched. “Don’t make light of this.”
“I’m not. I’m just asking a question. Poor choice of words, admittedly, but I want to know.”
“I laid my hands on his head and used my powers, what else? Within a second, the memories he wanted gone went poof.” She waved her hand in demonstration.
He would have felt better if she’d told him about chanting a spell or using a potion, keeping this on an even more impossible or ridiculous level rather than where it seemed to be heading. Picturing Constance laying her hands on Quentin’s head made Gabe uneasy for reasons he didn’t understand. Again, a memory pressed close and flitted away. “You’re telling me you have supernatural powers?”
God, simply saying it sounded insane.
“It’s who I am.”
Or thought she was. Surely, there had to be a reasonable explanation. “Why are you telling me this now?”
Her eyes grew shiny again. “You had to know. We were getting so involved.”
Were? As in past tense? Like maybe she was breaking up with him when they’d barely gotten started? A surge of despair flooded Gabe, followed by a flash of white-hot anger. He frowned. “What do you take me for, the ultimate fool? Why are you really doing this? If you’ve suddenly decided you don’t want to see me again, just say so. I’m a big boy. I’ll accept your decision. Hell, I have no choice, no matter how I feel. I’ll stay out of your life for good, all right? No need to put on this damn act—”
“It’s not an act,” she cried. “I’m not revealing any of this because I want you out of my life. I’m doing it because I’m falling for you, dammit. I’ve never wanted another man more.”
His outrage drained away, replaced by frustration and renewed worry. “Baby, you do understand none of what you’re saying is possible, right? It’s fun to pretend, but—”
“Do you remember how you got from the reception area to Becca’s office the day we met?” She padded closer. “Do you recall what we talked about in Becca’s office before I kissed you? How about what happened on the landing after you left—that would be before I came out and pointed to After Dark again. Do you remember the guy you were talking to? It’s my guess you don’t.
“And when we were at Pasquets,” she said. “Your memories had started to return. How, I don’t know. But they did, until I made them go away again. Any of this ringing a bell?”
He saw the moment in his mind, them sitting close in the outdoor portion of the restaurant. Laughing. Talking. Her leaning into him, brushing her fingers over the side of his head. Him suddenly unable to remember what they’d been talking about.
No. Fuck, no. It was pissing impossible. “This is nuts.”
“It’s who I am.”
Gabe refused to believe it. “You hypnotized me while we were at the restaurant and at the office, making me forget.”
“Why would I have done so?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
She heaved out a sigh. “I wish what you’re thinking were true, but it’s not. I’m a—”
“Don’t say it.” He pointed at her. “I don’t want to hear it.”
Her mouth trembled, but she pulled her shoulders back and lifted her chin. “I know. Why do you think I was so afraid to tell you? You can’t ever repeat—”
“Are you serious? You think I’d actually tell anyone about this loony conversation?”
“Of course you wouldn’t.” She ran her finger beneath her nose. “It would be too weird in your world, wouldn’t it?
“It’s not my goddamn world,” he shouted. “You’re in it too.”
Constance shook her head. “Not in the way you want. I can see it now. Nothing would have ever changed your mind on this.”
“This what?”
“What I am. I shouldn’t have lied to you in the beginning, and I’m honestly sorry for it. But I’ll never regret these last days we spent together. They were more wonderful than I could have imagined. Now they’re over. It’s time for you to return to your life, to people like you, and leave me to what I am.”
“You’re a who, not a what, dammit.”
“Please leave. Now. Don’t come back.”
Before Gabe could respond, she grabbed her gown and left the room. Seconds later, a door slammed down the hall, probably the one for the bath.
Gabe started to follow and then stopped, not knowing what he could possibly say. A part of him clung to the idea that she’d put on an act by claiming to be a—hell no, he couldn’t even think it.
However, deep inside, he was still worried about her mental state, believing nonsense he knew couldn’t possibly be real. Even Father Archambault wasn’t into demon possession, exorcisms or other junk, and he was a freaking priest raised to believe in it.
What was happening to Constance had to be psychological, with a little hypnotism thrown in, which would easily explain why he couldn’t recall some of the stuff from the first time they’d met.
As to the rest of what she’d said…
He dressed hurriedly and then debated whether to say goodbye, write a note, or send a text. He decided against doing any of it. Right now, he needed answers, not another confrontation.
At the front door, he turned and whispered, “Baby, it’s okay to get help when you need it. It’ll make everything better. And believe me, I’m going to get you the best there is.”
She was too precious to Gabe for him to consider anything else.
Constance’s head was in her hands when she heard the front door close gently, as though Gabe was more than relieved with her decision to have him leave her life.
What else did you expect?
To have him accept her real identity had been a fantasy, nothing else. He was repelled by her now, or thought she was nuts. Either way, the man was history and she wanted to die.
For the longest time, Constance couldn’t stop crying. When she had no tears left, she was too weary to drag herself back to bed. Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” awakened her sometime later. Stiff from sleeping on the bathroom floor, she staggered down the hall to the living room and her smartphone.
A quick glance at the screen told her Becca was calling.
Oh, crap. Constance had slept all morning, along with a good part of the afternoon, and now it was time for her to be at work.
“Hi,” she said before Becca could speak. “I can’t come in today. Actually, I can’t come in for a few days. I’m sorry.”
“What’s wrong?” Becca said. “Why are you crying?”
She trembled with new tears. “Sorry.”
“No need to be. Did something happen with Gabe?”
“No—yes—oh, crap. I told him we wouldn’t be seeing each other again. I couldn’t keep lying. It wasn’t right. Everything you said was true. This never could have worked out, so I told him…” She wasn’t able to continue.
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No. I don’t want to see anyone. I just need to be alone for a couple of days, please.”
“Of course. I’ll have Heather reschedule your appointments. No pressure. Take as many days as you want. If you need anything, call, please. We’re here for you. We’re your family.”
“I just wanted him to love me.”
“Oh, sweetie, I know. I wish I could make this better for you.”
Constance smiled. “None of your potions or spells, please.”
Becca laughed softly. “I promise. Take care?”
She just wanted to sleep. “I will. Bye.” Killing the call, Constance made another and sagged to the floor as she waited for it to connect.
Gabe rushed th
rough his paperwork, worry gnawing at him. By three in the afternoon, he was finally able to head out and went directly to the building where Constance worked. H stopped dead on the sidewalk and looked up.
The instrumental from The Exorcist played in his mind as Gabe recalled a scene from the movie—the priest standing beneath a streetlamp, staring at the room where the little girl was, with her being crazy as shit, possessed by a demon.
This is fucking nuts.
Constance was confused. Maybe her blood sugar was too low. There had to be a reasonable explanation, and by God, he was going to beg or bully her coworkers into telling him.
Hopefully, she wasn’t here yet and wouldn’t be while he conducted his investigation of her.
Taking the steps two at a time, he prepared himself mentally to deal with the people inside. They were rough around the edges, as Constance had said—nothing more. Gabe took a deep breath and opened the door, prepared to tackle Heather if she tried to run away before answering his questions.
The reception area was empty. No music played. In fact, it was eerily quiet.
Was everyone eating a late lunch in the break room?
A noise caught his attention, like a door creaking as someone opened it. He stepped back and glanced down the hall. Nothing. Maybe the sound had come from the other—
A piercing howl shattered the silence, curdling his blood. He tensed, expecting to hear the twang of an electric guitar next, then drums, because MJ was screwing around with the sound system again.
The howling continued sans music until a loud thud cut it off, like someone slamming a door. What kind of fucking music was that supposed to be?
He looked over as someone entered from the outside. The guy wore a hoodie despite the stifling heat and had his head down as if trying to hide his face. He turned to Heather’s empty chair and then faced Gabe, revealing himself.
Jesus. He looked like a walking skeleton, sallow skin stretched over prominent bones, the whites of his eyes yellow, the same as his teeth, which he bared.
The hair on the back of Gabe’s neck stood up. He stepped back.
Hurried footfalls rang in the hall. “The reaper’s finally here,” Stefin called out.
The what?
Gabe spun around. Stefin paused and then grinned broadly. “Detective Legrand—Gabe. Stefin here.” He spoke to the skeleton. “You’re late, again. Come with me. No arguments.”
Quickly, he had a headlock on the guy, who tried to fight but didn’t have enough bulk.
Stefin wiggled his eyebrows at Gabe. “You can see I’m the better enforcer. Be sure to tell Daemon so.”
Gabe’s mouth hung open at the flames flickering in Stefin’s eyes.
“What are you doing here?” Zoe said.
He turned at her voice, that still sounded as if she’d been gargling Drāno. Smoke rose from the ends of her hair as it had the last time he saw her, only now she wasn’t holding a cigarette, nor did she have a lit one perched on the top of either ear. Maybe her eyes were causing the smoke, because they had flames in them too.
Good God, both she and Stefin stunk of sulfur rather than fragrance.
Gabe’s heart jumped to his throat. What in the fuck was going on? He heard more footfalls and turned to the other hall.
Becca skidded to a stop. She was back to wearing her weird makeup and harem duds. Her attention sped from him to Zoe, Stefin, the skeleton, and back. She mouthed something Gabe could’ve sworn was, “Oh shit,” and then looked like she wanted to run.
He had the same thought.
Quick as could be, Zoe stood in front of the door, arms crossed over her chest, her irises completely hidden by bobbing flames.
Sweat poured down Gabe’s face, stinging his eyes. He blinked rapidly, hoping to clear his vision of the freak show he was seeing. “Ah.” He jumped at the hand on his arm. Becca’s. Her eyes were as blue as Windex, no flames. Maybe he’d just had a hallucination. Could be the lamb he and Constance had eaten last night had been tainted with slow-acting LSD or something.
The skinny guy wailed suddenly. When Gabe looked again, the poor sucker still resembled a corpse, the flames in Stefin and Zoe’s eyes bobbed merrily and smoke still covered her hair.
“Come with me,” Becca said.
“No.” Gabe stepped back.
“Do you want me to call Daemon, Taro, and Anatol?” Stefin asked Becca. “They can handle the reaper while I take care of Detective Legrand—Gabe.”
“The fucking what?” Gabe shouted at Stefin.
“Reaper,” Becca said. “Exactly what you think the word means.”
He gawked at her. “You can’t be serious.”
“Please come with me. I swear, no one will hurt you. But we need to know you won’t hurt us.”
Did she think he was going to shoot them? Would a bullet even work if it wasn’t made of silver? Wait, those were for werewolves. These people were—hell, he hadn’t a clue what they might be.
On rubbery legs, he followed Becca, only to stop at an open door. Gone was the nice furniture he’d seen only yesterday. In its place was a padded table with extensions for the arms. Leather straps hung from them, with more at the end of the table for an individual’s feet. The equipment reminded Gabe of what prisons used when they executed the condemned. Given the long claw marks on the walls, whoever had been in here hadn’t liked the accommodations.
Drenched in sweat, he shivered at a sudden blast of air-conditioning falling on him.
“Do you like Constance?” Becca suddenly said.
He looked at her dumbly, not understanding the question at first. Like her? Hell, he’d never met any woman he enjoyed more or felt as comfortable with, as though he’d known her all of his days. If she hadn’t dumped her voodoo priestess shit on him, he would have continued to whiz right past like straight into love.
“You don’t anymore?” Becca asked.
“Is she here?”
“She’s taking a few days off. Please answer me. You don’t like her any—”
“I do.” He cleared his throat. It sounded worse than Zoe’s. “But she said…and this…him…” Gabe gestured to the reception area where he’d last seen the skeleton and Stefin. “Them…”
“Would you like an explanation?”
“Do you have one that makes sense?”
“Not in your world.”
Jesusmotherfuckingchrist. Not those damn words again. He frowned. “Don’t play me.”
She made a face. “I’m not. I’m trying to tell you what I assume Constance already has. However, I’m sure she didn’t divulge everything, in order to protect the rest of us. That’s the kind of person she is.”
“We all are,” Zoe said from the end of the hall.
Stefin, Anatol, Taro, Daemon, Heather, and MJ flanked her, arms crossed over their chests, expressions dead serious. Except for Heather, who seemed ready to burst into tears.
“Don’t you dare try to hurt Constance or us,” Zoe said. “I promise, you will regret it.”
He had no doubt.
“Let me talk to him first,” Becca said.
First? He turned to her. “If it doesn’t go well because I don’t believe what you say, what then?”
“You don’t want to find out,” MJ said and gave him a sultry smile.
He kept his attention on her and the rest of the group as he backed into Becca’s office. When she closed the door, Gabe flinched at the noise.
“Easy.” She gestured to her sofa. “Have a seat.”
He remained standing, actually sagging against the door and breathing hard. “Am I having a hallucination? If I am, please call nine-one-one for help.”
Becca smiled briefly. “No hallucination. You’re mortal. We’re supernatural. Now you know.”
“Know fucking what?” he hollered and jerked away from the door at the l
oud banging on it.
“Is he threatening you?” Zoe called out.
“I’m fine,” Becca said. “Please, everyone, go back to work.”
Muted sobs filled the silence.
Becca sighed. “Heather, everything’s all right.” She turned to him. “You better keep your voice down, unless you want Stefin, Taro, and Anatol to ram through the door—or worse, use their powers to get in here. Trust me, they don’t play around, and no bullet is going to stop them. They’re not alive any longer. They. Are. Demons.”
Gabe slumped against the door. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“I’m not. However, you have nothing to be afraid of if you don’t threaten us.”
“Threaten you? If they’re d-d-d—” Fuck, he couldn’t even say it. “If they’re not human—”
“Mortal,” she said. “They’re as human as you, probably more so. They’ve been through a lot of shit, and all of them are nice people.”
Uh-huh. “The kind who possess the rest of us, like little girls. Ever see The Exorcist and its many sequels?”
“This isn’t a Hollywood movie. It’s real life.”
Gabe laughed, a little hysterically he thought. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
She didn’t crack a smile. “Our kind have always been around, and I’m not talking Salem witch trials, the Spanish Inquisition, or any of the other crap peppering history—totally bogus. The only ones who died during those scourges were mortal, because others, like you, simply hadn’t noticed the real supernaturals right next door. All of you are too into yourselves. Selfish. Egotistical. Judgmental. Bigoted. Narrow mind—”
“I get it, all right.” He gestured wildly. “None of this makes sense. What is this place, a way station for otherworldly creatures?”
“The correct terms are demon, reaper, werewolf—were for short—vampire or vamp, shifter, warlock, good fairies like Heather, who can heal, genies like MJ, who grant wishes, and satyrs like Daemon, who are hungry all the time.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Gabe pointed his finger at her accusingly. “I know what a satyr looks like. I saw Legend when I was a kid. Daemon doesn’t have hooves, horns, or a tail.”
