For a Few Demons More th-5

by Ким Харрисон

  "I think she's doing great," Jenks said. "There are eighteen weapons in this place, and not one has gone off yet. Nineteen if you count the one in Patricia's thigh holster."

  Exhausted, I glanced behind me to the slight Were. Yeah, with that slit skirt, a thigh holster would work really well.

  Kisten touched my elbow. "I'm not leaving this room," he said, his blue eyes almost fully dilated. "But this is your run. Where do you want Steve and me?"

  I slowed my steps, pleased to see that Mr. Ray had seated himself opposite Mrs. Sarong—a good five feet between them. "The door?" I asked. "One of them probably called in more people, and I don't want this to become a population contest."

  "You got it," he said, and with a soft smile he slipped away. He spoke to Steve, and the large vampire went out to the parking lot, a cell phone in his thick hand and his fingers busy.

  Satisfied, I headed to the table. Nineteen guns? I thought, gut clenching. Nice. Maybe I should put myself in a bubble and say "go." Call whoever's still standing in five minutes the winner.

  "Jenks," I said as I neared the table, "stay back, will you? Work communication between us? It's only supposed to be me and them. No seconds."

  Still hovering, he put his hands on his hips. His angular features seemed pinched, making him look older than he really was. "No one counts pixies as people!" he protested.

  I met his eyes squarely. "I count you, and it wouldn't be fair."

  His wings flashed a pleased embarrassment, and a sprinkling of dust slipped from him. Nodding, he zipped away in a clatter of dragonfly wings.

  Alone, I took the chair with my back to the kitchen door, confident no one would be coming in that way with Steve outside. I could smell the odor of dough rising for pizza, and the tang of tomatoes. Pizza sounded really good for tonight.

  Forcing the thought from me, I settled myself, opening my bag as I set it on my lap. The heavy weight of my splat gun was comfortable, and I tried not to think about the weapons Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong probably had on them.

  "First," I said, trembling inside from the adrenaline, "I'd like to extend my condolences to both of you on the loss of your pack members."

  On my right, Mr. Ray pointed rudely at Mrs. Sarong. "I won't tolerate you harassing my pack," he stated, cheeks quivering. "The death of my secretary was an out-and-out declaration of war. Something I'm prepared to see through."

  Mrs. Sarong sniffed, looking down her nose at him. "Murdering my aide is intolerable. I will not pretend that it wasn't you."

  God! They were at it again! "Both of you stop it!" I exclaimed.

  Ignoring me, Mr. Ray leaned across the table to Mrs. Sarong. "You don't have the balls to warn me off of what's mine by right. We will find the statue, and you will sit at my feet like the bitch you are."

  Whoa! I thought, and a sudden wash of cold reasoning shocked through me. This was about the focus, not their respective dead. I glanced at David, and his lips pressed together. Case solved. They were murdering each other.

  But Mrs. Sarong was inching her hand to her waistband and the one-bullet gun she probably had there. "I didn't kill your secretary," she said, keeping Ray's attention on her face and not her hands. "But I'd like to thank whoever did. Killing my aide to feign that you don't have the focus makes you a coward. If you can't hold it by strength and must rely on stealth, you don't deserve it. I have more control over Cincinnati than you do anyway."

  "Me!" the incensed Were shouted, bringing Steve in for a quick look around. "I don't have it, but I damn well will get it. I haven't so much as sniffed the footprints of your dog-infested pack, but I will take every last member of it if you keep up this farce."

  From the corner of my sight, I watched David take a threatening grip on his vamp killer of a weapon. The two factions were getting antsy.

  "That's enough," I said, feeling like a playground monitor. "Both of you shut up!"

  Mr. Ray turned to me. "You're a thieving, mewling bitch!" the pudgy Were exclaimed, his supremacy firmly entrenched in his mind.

  David hefted his rifle, and the Weres brought for muscle started to shift on their feet. From my other side, Mrs. Sarong smiled like the devil and crossed her legs, saying the same thing as Mr. Ray without uttering a word. I was losing control. I had to do something.

  Pissed, I drew myself up and tapped a line. Immediately my hair started to float, and from the middle of the room came an uneasy murmur. I focused on the two of them, unable to break eye contact after I took it. "I think you mean witch," I said softly, my fingers moving in nonsense as I pretended to set a ley line spell. But they didn't know that. "I suggest you relax. And that fish was a rescue, not a theft," I added, my face warming. Okay, maybe my conscience was still smarting.

  "You're both idiots," I added, staring at Mr. Ray. "Killing each other for a stupid-ass statue when neither one of you has it. How lame is that?"

  Mrs. Sarong cleared her throat. "You know he doesn't have it… how?" she drawled.

  A good dozen answers fell through my brain, but the only one that they would believe would be the one that was the most impossible. "Because I have it," I said, praying it was the answer that would keep me breathing for another day.

  Silence greeted my claim. Then Mr. Ray laughed. I jumped when his hand slapped down onto the table, but Mrs. Sarong's gaze was fixed on the Weres behind me, her face paling. "You!" the heavy Were said between guffaws. "If you have the focus, I'll eat my shorts."

  My lips pressed together, but Mrs. Sarong spoke next. "You take ketchup with your silk, Simon?" she said sourly. "I think she's got it."

  Mr. Ray stopped laughing. His brown eyes noted her ashen hue, and then he looked to me. "Her?" he said in disbelief.

  My pulse quickened, and I wondered if I had made a mistake and they'd band together to take it from me before turning against each other once more.

  "Look at her alpha," the slight woman said, pointing with her eyes.

  We all looked. David was sitting half on a table with one foot on the floor, the other draped down and hanging. His duster was open to show his trim body, and his rifle was in his hands. Yes, it was a big gun, but there were—as Jenks said—nineteen other weapons in the place. Yet there he was holding two aggressive packs still and silent.

  David had always been an impressive individual, having the standing of an alpha and the mystique of a loner. But even I could see the new expectation in his manner. He wasn't just capable of dominating another Were; he expected it to happen without a complaint. It was the focus's magic trickling through him. He had gained the power of creation, and though it had resulted in the deaths of innocents, it didn't lesson the magnitude of what that meant.

  "My God," Mr. Ray said. Eyes wide, he turned to me. "You have it." He swallowed. "You really have it?"

  Mrs. Sarong had taken her hands from the threat of her weapon and set them on the table. It was a submissive move, and a chill took me. What have I done? Will I survive it?

  "You were there, at the bridge, weren't you? When the Mackinaw Weres found it?" she said coolly.

  I leaned back to distance myself. What I wanted to do was run away. "I had it before that, actually," I admitted. "I was up there rescuing my boyfriend." I fixed on her eyes, wondering if they were a shade chagrined. "The one you think I killed," I added.

  My pulse hammered when she dropped her eyes for an instant, then returned them to me. God help me, what have I become?

  Mr. Ray wasn't convinced. "Give it to me," he demanded. "You can't hold it. You're a witch."

  One down, one to go, I thought, scared, but to back down now would end my life more quickly than publicly claiming the stupid thing. "I'm his alpha," I said, nodding to David. "I say that says I can."

  The man's eyes narrowed. Looking as if he had cracked a rotten egg, he said, "I'll make you part of my pack. That's my best offer. Take it."

  "Take it or what?" I allowed a touch of sarcasm into my voice. "I have a pack, thank you. And why does everyone keep telling me I can't do
things? I've got it. You don't. I'm not giving it to you. End of story. So you can stop killing each other trying to find out where it is."

  "Simon," Mrs. Sarong said caustically, "shut your yap. She has it. Deal with it."

  I would have tried to find a compliment in that but figured her support would only last until she found a way to kill me.

  Mr. Ray met her gaze, and something I didn't understand passed between them. David felt it. So did every Were in the place. Like a wave, they all relaxed. I felt ill when both packs shifted and every weapon was put away. My worry tightened. Damn and double damn. I can't afford to trust this.

  "I didn't target your aide," Mr. Ray said, his thick arms going to rest atop the table.

  "I didn't touch your secretary," the woman said, taking out a compact and checking her makeup. It snapped shut, and she met his eyes squarely. "No one in my pack did either."

  Just peachy damn keen. They were talking, but I didn't think I was in control. "Fine," I said. "Nobody is killing anybody, but we still have two murdered Weres." The two of them had given me their full attention, and my stomach knotted. "Look," I said, very uncomfortable, "someone besides us knows the focus is in Cincinnati and is looking for it. It might be the island Weres. Has either of you heard of a new pack in town?"

  As I thought of Brett, they both shook their heads.

  Okay. Swell. Back to square one. I wanted them to leave, so I leaned back as if in dismissal. I'd seen Trent do it a couple of times, and it seemed to work for him. "I'll keep looking for the murderer, then," I said, glancing at their thugs. "Until I figure out who's doing this, will you two let go of each other's throats?"

  Mr. Ray sniffed loudly. "I will if she does."

  Mrs. Sarong's smile was stilted and clearly false. "I can do the same. I need to make a few calls. Before sunset." A pointed look at her daughter and the young woman excused herself, cell phone in hand as she went outside. Mr. Ray gestured, and one of his men followed her.

  I wondered what Mrs. Sarong had planned for sunset, then dismissed it. I didn't like the two of them fighting, but I liked this cooperation even less. Perhaps it was time for a little personal CYA. "The focus is hidden," I said. Sort of. "It's in the ever-after," I continued, and they stared at me, Mr. Ray's fingers twitching. Liar, I thought, not feeling a twinge of guilt. "Neither of you can find it, much less get it." Lie, lie, li-i-i-ie. "If I go missing, neither of you gets it. If any of my friends or family go missing, I'm going to destroy it."

  Ever the one to test the limits in as crass a manner as possible, Mr. Ray harrumphed. "And I should take you seriously because… ?"

  I stood, wanting them to leave. "Because you were ready to hire me to do something you couldn't. Kill Mrs. Sarong."

  Mrs. Sarong smiled at him and shrugged.

  Just a bit more, I thought, and maybe I can sleep tonight. "And because I have a demon who owes me a favor," I added, my pulse quickening.

  No, a small part of my mind whispered, and I stifled a surge of fear for what I was doing. I was accepting that Minias owed me. I was accepting his bargain. I was dealing with demons. But the thought of these two people descending upon my life, setting fire to my church and burning it to the ground in search of that stupid statue filled me with a more immediate fear. Fear for myself, I could deal with. Fear for others, I couldn't.

  "If something happens I don't like," I said, "he's going to come looking for you. And you know what?" My pulse pounded, and I held the table for balance as vertigo took me. "He likes killing things, so he might be a little overzealous about it. It wouldn't surprise me if he took you both out to be sure he gets the right person."

  Mr. Ray's eyes dropped to my wrist, my demon mark clearly visible.

  "Make your calls," I said, ready to dissolve into the shakes. "Calm your people. And keep your mouths shut. If the word gets out I've got it, it will decrease your chances that you'll find a way around my demon and get it yourself." I took a moment and captured their eyes. "Do we have an understanding?"

  Mrs. Sarong stood, her purse in her tight grip before her. "Thank you for the drink, Ms. Morgan. It was a most enlightening conversation."

  Kisten came out from behind the bar as she headed for the door, her entire entourage flowing into her wake. The sun entered in a flash as the door opened, and I squinted, feeling like I had been at the bottom of a hole for three weeks. Mr. Ray looked me up and down, his fleshy cheeks slack and unmoving. Giving me a nod, he made a gesture to his people and followed her out, their pace slow and provocative, weapons tucked away as they filed through the door.

  I stood where I was until the last of them passed the threshold. I waited a bit longer until the door slipped shut and put me back in darkness. Only now did I give in and let my knees buckle. I could hear Kisten crossing the room, and I put my head on the table and sighed.

  I had a reputation for dealing with demons. I didn't want it, but if it would keep those I loved safe, then I was going to use it.

  Nineteen

  Kisten's boat was big enough that the wake from the tourist steamers just smacked into it, never making the sleek cruiser move. I'd been on it before, even spent a couple of weekends learning how well voices carry over dark, still water and to take my shoes off at the dock. It was three decks if you counted the highest where the controls were. Big enough to party on, as Kisten said, but small enough that he didn't feel like he had extended his reach.

  Well, it's beyond my reach, I thought as I sopped up the last of the spaghetti sauce off the lightweight china with a corner of grilled bread. But if you were a vampire whose boss ran the uglier parts of Cincinnati's underground, appearances mattered.

  The bread had been swiped from Piscary's kitchen nearby. I had a feeling the sauce had been, too. I didn't care if Kisten was trying to pass it off as his own cooking by warming it up on his tiny stove. The point was, we were having a relaxing dinner instead of arguing that I had put my job before his plans to take me out for my birthday.

  I looked up and across the candlelit, sunken living room, my plate balanced on my lap. We could have eaten in the kitchen or out on the spacious veranda, but the kitchen was claustrophobic and the veranda too exposed. My encounter with Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong had me uneasy. Add on Tom's shunned invitation and you could color me paranoid.

  Being surrounded by four walls was much better. The luxuriously appointed living room stretched from one side of the boat to the other, looking like a movie set, with wide windows showing the city lights and moon shining on water to one side, curtains closed on the other so I didn't have to look at Piscary's parking lot.

  Technically Kisten was working—which was why we were here and not at a real restaurant—but when we had slipped into the kitchen to snatch a bottle of wine and the bread, I'd heard him tell Steve that he didn't want to be bothered unless blood was in someone's mouth.

  It felt nice to sit that high in his priorities, and with my face still holding the pleasure from that thought, I lifted my eyes, finding Kisten watching me from across the low coffee table between us, the candlelight giving his blue eyes an artificial, dangerous darkness.

  "What?" I asked, flushing since he obviously had been watching me for some time.

  His contented smile deepened, and a thrill of emotion lifted through me. "Nothing." His voice was soft. "Every thought you have crosses your face. I like watching."

  "Mmmm." Embarrassed, I set my plate atop his empty one and leaned into the couch, wineglass in hand. He stood and in a hunched motion shifted to sit beside me. Easing back, he exhaled in satisfaction when our shoulders touched. The stereo changed tracks, and light jazz came on. I wasn't going to say anything about the incongruity of mixing vampires and a soprano saxophone but sighed, enjoying the scent of leather and silk blending with his scent of incense and the lingering odor of pasta sauce. But my smile vanished when my nose started to tickle.

  Crap. Minias? I don't have my scrying mirror. In a panic I sat up and out of Kisten's arms. My wineglass hit the cof
fee table just in time for a sneeze.

  "Bless you," Kisten said softly, his hand curving about my waist to draw me back, but when I stiffened, he leaned forward. "You okay?" he added, real concern in his voice.

  "I'll let you know in a minute." I took a careful breath, then another. My shoulders eased. Not wanting to worry Ivy or Jenks, I had shut myself in my room before sunset and set my password. Damn it, I should have scribed the glyph on a compact mirror.

  Kisten was peering at me, and I said, "I'm fine," deciding it was only a sneeze. Exhaling slowly, I slumped into his warmth. His arm went behind my neck, and I pressed into him, glad he was here, and I was here, and neither of us had to be anywhere.

  "You've been quiet tonight," Kisten said. "Are you sure you're okay?" His fingers began tracing a path along my neck, hunting for my demon scar, hidden under my perfect skin, and the light touch tickled.

  He was asking after me, but I knew his thoughts were on Ivy's kiss. And with his fingers bringing my scar alight to mix the memory of it with the sensations he was pulling from me, I stifled a shudder of adrenaline. "I've a lot on my mind," I said, not liking how his touch and the memory of Ivy's kiss combined. I was confused enough already.

  Turning in his arms to face him, I drew out of his reach, scrambling for something else to focus on. "I'm thinking I've gotten in over my head this time, is all. With the Weres?"

  Kisten's blue eyes went soft. "After watching you curb two of Cincinnati's more influential packs, I would say that no, you aren't over your head." His smile widened, taking on a tinge of pride. "It was great watching you work, Rachel. You're good at this."

  A puff of disbelief escaped me. It wasn't the Weres that had me worried, but how I'd gotten them to back off. Exasperated, I threw my head back against the top of the couch and closed my eyes. "Couldn't you see me shaking?"