The Unlikeable Demon Hunter_Crave

by Deborah Wilde

Ro laughed and Mandelbaum hung up.

  “Douchebags gonna douche.” My hand flew up to cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Rabbi Abrams.”

  “I think you said it perfectly.” He rose from the bench, slowly, but every inch a fighter. “Keep on Candyman, and step up your activity on everything else.”

  Rohan waited for Rabbi Abrams to leave, then he kissed me. “We’re in this together. Nothing can change that.”

  So why did it feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop? Fucking Mandelbaum and his insinuations. I wanted to nail his hide to the proverbial door. I hopped out of the pool and grabbed the basketball sitting on the edge of the court. “Did you Skype your parents?”

  I fired off a quick lay-up. The ball hit the backboard and bounced off. Rohan stole it. “Yeah. Mom was running out to a session so it was a quick chat, but Dad gave me a detailed run-down of the golf tournament details.” He shot, but didn’t fare any better.

  We both ran for the ball, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the court.

  “I like your dad,” I said. Rohan collided into me and I rubbed my hip. “You, not so much, pushy.”

  Ro tossed me the ball. “I like my dad, too. I think he’s been travelling too much for work, though.” He bounced on his bare toes, arms out, blocking me from getting near the basket. “How’d it go with your mom?”

  I bounced the ball, looking for my opening. “I want to run an idea past you, but you have to keep an open mind.”

  “Score and you got it.”

  There was some universe in which I feinted right and put Ro in the dust, shooting a perfect basket from center court, but in this one, I pivoted and ran to the other basket that we weren’t using and flung the ball.

  It teetered for a precarious second on the rim then dropped through the basket, bouncing along the court until I scooped it up.

  I fist pumped. “Nailed it.”

  “Cheated it.”

  Something flashed through my head. I sauntered back to Ro. “Won on my terms.”

  I thunked the ball into his chest.

  He patted his pecs. “Strong like bull,” he said in a Russian accent. “You realize that Mandelbaum will now forever be Boris Badenov for me.”

  “You’re welcome. Will you listen to my idea?”

  “For the record?” He bounced the ball, dodging my every block. “I hate it already, but go ahead.”

  “In terms of everything we’ve been investigating about who is binding demons and the connection to Askuchar, we’ve been going about it in expected ways. You’re investigating the Brotherhood and I’ve roped Gelman into helping with the witches.”

  “How else do you want to do it?”

  “Demons.”

  “You tried the zizu. They didn’t know either.”

  I steeled myself and went for it. “Malik might.”

  Rohan fumbled his bounce, dropping the ball which rolled away. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Gelman’s promising leads could take weeks to pan out. If ever. We don’t have that kind of time. If there’s a demon who’s capable of narrowing down our search? It’s worth pursuing.”

  “No.” Rohan cleared the court in fast, angry strides.

  I jogged after him. “Why not? Like you said, I already dealt with the zizu.”

  “No past history there. You’re not going to see the marid demon who’s thousands of years old, who you almost killed, who almost certainly wants to kill you back. Who probably will.”

  “I learned a new word today. Autocratic. Look it up.”

  He stopped at the bottom of the back stairs, his expression grim. “I lost Asha because I was an asshole. But if I have to be an asshole to save you, I’ll do it.”

  “Then you’ll lose me anyway.”

  Rohan raked a hand through his hair. “‘He wants me dead.’ That’s a direct quote from your debrief.”

  “I remember. But Malik is also very interested in his own self-preservation and the goings-on in his world. He’ll have a vested interest in finding out who’s behind this.”

  “It’s a suicide mission.”

  “Every time we step out the door as Rasha, it’s a suicide mission. Take emotion out of this.”

  Don’t make me your new cause. It would be an easy mantle to assume for a man with an overdeveloped sense of responsibility towards those he wanted to protect, but our relationship had to stand apart from all that.

  “Fuck.” He shook his head, the fight draining out of him. “You’re a glutton for punishment.”

  “Not really. I like being alive.” I shrugged. “I do seem to see things differently from the other Rasha.”

  “Do we get to be in this together?”

  “I think that between what I have to tell him and his fascination with Ari, I’ll be safe. I can’t say the same for you and I won’t risk having you there.”

  “New word for you. Hypocrite.”

  “I can live with that.” I slid my arms around his waist. “Can you?”

  His lips flattened into a stern line before he shook his head with a weary sigh. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” His hold on me tightened. “People who keep their promises get very good rewards.”

  “Cuntessa is very happy to hear that.”

  “Cuntessa?”

  I screwed my expression into adorable confusion and pulled away. “What?”

  “Cuntessa? Nava,” he purred. “Spill.”

  “Tell me the Passover story.”

  His counteroffer was to tickle my hips.

  “It’s my clit,” I gasped, batting his hands away. “Cuntessa de Spluge.”

  “You named your clit Cuntessa?”

  “Like you’re one to talk, dude who is cheating on me with his car.”

  “Aw, Sparky, you’re a close second in my affections.”

  I shoved him away. “I’m leaving and you suck.”

  He snickered, then swung me in to his chest. “Promise me.”

  I kissed him. “I promise.”

  Man, was it gonna bite if he was right and I ended up dead.

  13

  “I love home delivery.” Malik lounged in his doorway, eyeing me the way the wolf must have with the three little pigs. His British accent was pure sin.

  “I love your arrogance that you didn’t bother moving after I almost killed you.”

  He laughed, flashing straight white teeth against his bronze skin. He was still the only being I’d ever met who could pull off a Caesar cut, and was still the stuff of billionaire romance cover fantasies in his soft gray trousers that were artfully tailored to the hard lines of his body and navy shirt, carelessly folded back at the cuffs. “Oh, petal. I’d say I missed you, but I didn’t. Now, unless you brought the more interesting twin?” He peered into the hallway. “No?”

  He shut the door, but I stuffed my foot in to block it. Not like he politely stopped trying to close it. “Ow.” I pushed my shoulder into the door to keep my poor bones from breaking. “If you weren’t wondering why I was here, you wouldn’t have let security buzz me up or let my toes cross the wards I’m sure you’ve got strung across this door.”

  “Ten seconds.”

  “That’s not–”

  “Five, four…”

  “Demons are being bound.” I rushed my words as he made a buzzing noise.

  Malik yanked me inside by my collar and slammed the door.

  I wrenched free.

  His penthouse apartment hadn’t changed. Still to-die-for sweeping views of the city, a massive glass wine storage unit in the open concept space, and a loft bedroom. He pointed at one of the leather sofas, custom made to hug the curved walls. “Sit and talk.”

  I told him about the gogota and the purple magic. I left out the spine modification, the yaksas, and Askuchar. I’d meant what I told Ro about enjoying my continued existence, and bringing up any Brotherhood involvement severely reduced my chances of walking out of here.

  Malik listened in silence. A look of crystalized rage flashed over his face,
but he sounded positively insolent when he said, “Why ever would you care about all this?”

  It was a good question, but I had a good answer. “Leonie.”

  Malik knew my bestie was half-goblin and I hoped that fact would make him amenable to helping me, because saying that I wanted to make sure humanity was safe from people binding demons and using their magic to further nefarious human agendas would just get me tossed out.

  He weighed my answer, rubbing a finger over his chin. “What do you want from me?”

  “A name.” I followed him to the kitchen.

  He removed two stemless wineglasses from a glass-fronted cupboard, yanked the cork out of the half-drunk bottle of red on his counter, and poured us both a liberal dose. He shoved the drink at me. “I have no love for my fellow demons. If they’re stupid enough to get caught, they deserve what’s coming to them.”

  “I got the better of you once and I’m not as powerful as a witch.” I took a sip of the wine and yes, it was as smooth and expensive as the fancy cream label promised.

  “Your concern is touching. Misplaced, but touching.”

  I savored one last sip. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Thanks for the wine. Have a nice life.”

  I crossed the room. Every hair on the back of my neck stood up, and my shoulder blades prickled, tensing for an attack.

  “Halt.”

  Malik prowled toward me, circling me. He had that gleam in his eyes, the one that spoke of an ancient intelligence, an inhumanity barely buffered by a thin veneer of civility, and a power too complex for me to comprehend.

  I forced myself to affect a semblance of nonchalance and a tight control of my bladder.

  “How did you do it?” he said.

  I flinched away from the whisper of his breath over my skin, even though he smelled yummy, like zingy citrus and spearmint. “Do what? Snuff you out like a candle? That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

  He stepped away from me. “But that’s my price, petal. That and a small job.”

  “What’s the job?”

  Malik studied me a moment longer, then laughed, returning to his wine. “You have no idea, do you? Could you hurt me a second time?”

  My heart hammered in my ears. My skin turned blue, electricity pouring off me. “Test me and let’s find out.”

  “As you wish.”

  I gasped, all the air forced from my lungs. My limbs twitched, muscles seizing as my magic slammed back inside me. I jerked up off the ground, my head snapping back, and my mouth howling a silent scream while my lungs burned and black spots danced at the end of my vision.

  “I’d say the answer is ‘no.’” He let me flail a bit more before flicking his fingers sending me crumpled to the ground. “An answer and a job and I let you live.”

  I had to get my lungs working and my heart beating again before I could form words. Meantime, I remained sprawled facedown, the floor muffling my words. “I don’t know how I did it.”

  “We’ll work on it.” Malik hooked a hand under my elbow and yanked me to my feet. He had to physically escort me to his couch, because when he let go of me, my legs trembled and gave way.

  “Then you’ll know my secret and I won’t know any of yours.” I twitched with the aftershocks of his assault.

  “I doubt you only have the one.” He went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water. “Salt. You need your electrolytes.”

  His knowledge about Rasha never failed to impress and horrify me.

  By holding the glass in both hands, I managed to keep my tremors at bay and drink most of the liquid without sloshing it on myself. I tried not to taste it as I knocked it back because salt water was the worst. “The job?”

  “There’s a painting of mine. It was lost to me centuries ago and I want it back.” Weirdly, Malik was actually a talented artist, beloved by all in the artists’ collective that he painted out of. I’d seen a few of his works. One of them, an abstract of a woman called “Lila: on waking” had stuck with me for the vibrancy, life, and passion captured in the half-suggested lines.

  “What’s its evil purpose?” I said. “Suck people’s life force? Turn the viewer to stone?”

  Malik crossed his arms. “It’s a very fine painting and I think it would go perfectly on that wall.”

  “Why can’t you port in and get it?”

  “Think about it for a moment and get back to me.”

  I almost laughed because that sounded like something I’d say, but I didn’t want to set off the psychopath who was barely tolerating me. “It’s behind a Rasha ward.”

  He slow-clapped me.

  “Whatever. Give me the address.”

  He scribbled it down, plus a few other things, but didn’t give me the list right away. “The canvas is stretched over a frame. Do not touch that one. Simply remove it from whatever other larger frame it was placed in. Bring pliers and a screwdriver to remove the canvas from the new frame. Wrap it in buffered, acid-free glassine paper, wrap it a second time with bubble wrap and put it into a cardboard box that’s at least three inches larger on all sides than the wrapped canvas. I’ve noted the dimensions down for you.”

  “Why can’t I just transport it as is?”

  “Because I said so. I don’t want it damaged.”

  He handed the paper over and I leveled him with an unimpressed look. “This is in Orlando.”

  “Very good. You’re functionally literate. That bodes well for a bright future.”

  “How am I supposed to get there?”

  “Ask your boyfriend. He’s got cash.”

  “Get a hobby that isn’t me, you stalker.”

  He picked up his wine again, running a finger around the rim. “Oh, petal. You flatter yourself if you think you’re the twin I’m most interested in.”

  I bared my teeth at him, stomped to the door, and wrenched it open.

  “Tick tock, Nava.” That reminded me about the prophecy, but I wasn’t about to share that tidbit with him. “You have forty-eight hours.”

  “I can’t pull this off in that time frame. I need a week.”

  “Seventy-two hours.” He shooed me toward the door.

  “Get stuffed.” We both knew I’d do it.

  I laced up my new beautiful tap shoes. “Why aren’t you predictably furious?”

  Rohan, once more in my “Tap Dancers Need Wood” shirt, plucked a string on his guitar, plucked it again, then tightened it. “I live to fuck with you.”

  “No, you live to fuck me.” I crossed into the center of the floor, my taps ringing out.

  “Don’t pigeonhole me.” He strummed a few chords.

  “Okay, but seriously. What gives?”

  “I looked up autocratic and was shamed into humble submission?”

  “Next.”

  He scooted forward on the sofa, the guitar in his lap. “You were right. It was worth pursuing and there was nothing you could have done differently. You’re alive and we’ll go get the painting together.”

  “Next time can we skip all the blustering and jump right to this part?”

  “How about next time we both agree to try and do better? Together.”

  I nodded. “I’d like that.” Fighting demons as we did, we’d find ourselves in critical situations where talking things out wasn’t going to be an option, but when it wasn’t life-or-death, then yeah, we had to face it as equals.

  “Good,” he said. “Now, you dictating the playlist or can I surprise you?”

  I batted my eyelashes at him. “You’re full of surprises tonight, baby. No reason to stop now.”

  We made it through “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and most of “Blank Space” when Drio showed up. He took in Ro’s shirt and his gleeful rendition of Taylor Swift and glared at me. “You’ve wrecked him.”

  I ended the song on a heel scuff. “Or I’ve thirty-seven percent improved him.”

  Ro ran a hand down his body. “You can’t improve perfection. Got the goods on Ferdinand?”

  Drio
had learned Ferdinand was killed outside Palm Springs. According to Golda, that’s where he’d been living. “Hell of a commute into L.A. every day.”

  “The L.A. affiliation is bullshit.” Rohan stuffed Ferdinand’s address that Drio had gotten in his pocket. “How’s Golda?”

  Drio brightened. “Still hasn’t forgiven you.”

  “She will.”

  “You’d have to face her first, chickenshit.” He knocked the wall twice. “I’m going off-duty. Don’t call. Don’t text.”

  I made a “squee” face and ran into the hallway after him. “Are you going to see Leo?”

  “No.”

  “Total lie. You’re all prettied up and you put on cologne. You like her. Do you like her?”

  “She’s great.”

  I jumped into the stairwell, blocking him. “I know she’s great, but that wasn’t my question.”

  Pain flashed across his face so fast, I wasn’t sure I’d seen it. “Leave it, Nava.”

  I blinked because he so rarely used my name. “Leaving it.”

  “I’m glad you and Ro are happy.” He rubbed his hand briskly over his hair. “Don’t fuck it up.”

  “Why do you assume I’d be the one?” That earned me a level stare. “Forget it. Thank you for going to Palm Springs. We’re going to get these assholes.”

  “Do you remember what I told you about the thrill of the fight? How we could get hooked and nothing else compared to this big noble cause?” He rolled onto the outside edge of one foot, his eyes growing distant. “Other shit matters. Don’t forget that.”

  I opened my mouth to press him further because you didn’t just drop something that heavy without context, when he caught me in a stare so ferocious, I took a step back, my hands up. “I’m not asking.”

  He stalked off.

  I fired Leo a quick text of apology for possibly making her booty call ragey and quickly turned off my phone.

  It took us another day to make a plan and arrange everything. Rohan and I headed to the airport on Thursday morning to fly to Orlando and retrieve the painting. The Shelby roared along Southwest Marine Drive, the windows down, and the wind streaming in our hair. Despite being blackmailed into working for Malik, I was in an irrepressibly good mood, singing along with “Can’t Stop The Feeling.” Rohan joined in for all the falsetto parts.