Tempting the Dark

by Michele Hauf

  “Didn’t even notice them last night,” she offered airily.

  “They’re not all-purpose, but they’ve served me well. I’ll loosen them up for you anyway.” Because she probably still had residue from Daemonia on her. “And feel free to tuck your new purchases into a drawer. Make yourself at home, Jett. My place is your place until you feel like you need to get the hell out. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  He signed the check, then stood, and thinking he should shake her hand or something, he decided that was stupid. And would she get the friendly double-cheek-kiss thing? It wasn’t something he ever did—why was he fretting about this?

  Abandoning his ridiculous thoughts, he tossed out a “See you later?”

  “I look forward to it.”

  So did he. Because those beautiful, sad brown eyes made him hungry for things other than food. A man shouldn’t have such thoughts for a woman he hardly knew. And yet he did know her. The nine-year-old Jett. The intrepid, laughing best friend he’d promised to someday marry. Seemed like a long shot now. She was different. Could she get back to the usual? Did she want to? What had she been through?

  He wanted to help her. He really did. And he needed to protect her. Things that came out of Daemonia might be required to return, no matter their species. Might someone—or something—come looking for Jett?

  * * *

  Jett wandered the cobblestoned streets and sidewalks through Paris, inhaling the smells of gasoline, cooked food and ancient limestone. The sounds of rushing cars, chattering tourists, Notre Dame’s bells and the laughter of children lightened her mood.

  The sights were both historical and contemporary. The old buildings that had been around for centuries, and that she could recognize, gave her comfort. The city had not changed in her absence. And the people had only marginally changed, fashionwise. But there were so many cell phones now. Did everyone carry them always? Including the children? How bizarre to want to walk down the street having a conversation with a person on the phone while your family or friend walked next to you, doing the very same.

  The city was as she’d remembered, and yet those memories were so old everything had become new again. She found herself smiling despite not having used those muscles around her mouth for a long time. A satisfied sigh followed.

  She could make this her home once again.

  As she was weaving through tourists who crowded the sidewalks, the scent of roasted meat lured her to draw in the savory aroma. But she didn’t feel hungry. After one bite of Savin’s pastry, she had realized it tasted like stale paper. It was not what she’d eaten in Daemonia. All senses had been engaged during meals, lush scents and flavors combining to satisfy in the most bizarre manner. The humans would not know what to call the demonic foods, and some dishes might even repulse them.

  She could grow accustomed to roast chicken and potatoes again. She must.

  Savin had taken her bags back to his place, so Jett swung her arms as she crossed a busy intersection. The river was close. The water smelled dark, yet much cleaner than anything she had known in a while.

  A passerby rudely brushed her shoulder and kept on walking, his attention on the cell phone at his ear. But the sensations Jett got from that quick contact shocked up her arm. Demon. It was an innate knowledge. He didn’t turn to regard her. He couldn’t know acknowledgment was required. Rather, submission.

  That was a good thing. Maybe?

  Part of her decided it was. The darkest part of her crossed her arms and gave a huffy pout. Really. Where was the subservience? Should not all demons know and fear her? It was going to take time to adjust to being just another face in the crowd.

  Shaking off the surprise of having been so close to a demon—and not feeling compelled to follow—Jett wandered to the river’s edge and leaned over the wide concrete balustrade. If demons walked the streets without notice, that meant surely the city must be populated with all species of paranormals. Something of which she’d not been aware when she was an innocent child.

  And now knowing so much served her both bane and boon. All grown up and in the know, she could be smart and protect herself from anything that wished to harm her. If that anything knew who she was. Something she intended to conceal as long as physically possible.

  Holding a hand out over the water, Jett closed her eyes and drew in the power of nature. Flowing water had always strengthened her. She harkened it to that fateful plunge over the falls. Rather, that push. She’d initially thought Savin had caught up to her and shoved her screaming and flailing over the edge. But she’d corrected that after the long fall. He hadn’t been close enough. He could never have known what had occurred during that fall.

  Similar to the fall an angel makes from Above? It was a tale she’d made up, a secret belief that had helped her through hard times. Innocence falling to destruction and ruin, and all that fantastical stuff.

  But that truth wasn’t something she could share with Savin. Maybe? No, she wasn’t nearly so ready to completely trust the man. It had been twenty years. So much had happened. Both had changed and been altered by their stays in that nightmare place. Jett would be wise to tread carefully around the man who could reckon demons out of this realm.

  Hearing the loud chatter of a woman next to her, Jett turned, expecting to find her conversing with another, and only saw the one woman.

  “Technology,” she muttered Savin’s explanation. “What else has changed?”

  For one thing, the movie screens. Or were they television screens? Whatever they were, there was one set up in the parvis before Notre Dame just across the river; it played a film on the cathedral’s history. The screen was so large, and the images remarkably clear, even from where she stood.

  The cars that zoomed past on the bridge were the same as she remembered, save newer and probably faster. The people all looked the same. Fashion in this touristy district still left much to be desired. Jett could spot a true Parisian by her smart, elegant style. Or there, the woman riding the bicycle in a skirt, with her high heels tucked in a side bag. Definitely a city native.

  The food all seemed familiar. The Notre Dame Cathedral was still an awesome monument. The whine of tired children tugging on their parents’ legs was familiar, as well. So much remained familiar to her, and that was heartening.

  Yet where were the bowing sycophants?

  Jett’s eyes sought someone, anyone who might recognize her importance. And she realized her sheen was beginning to wane, allowing her darkness to rise, so she tightened her hold on it and spread her focus over her skin once again. Mustn’t drop her mask. No matter how good it felt, or how much she desired recognition.

  After walking awhile, Jett shrugged her achy shoulders and yawned. The crowd and the bright sunlight taxed her energy. She was beginning to require more focus than usual to stay in this form. So she headed back toward Savin’s place, wandering quickly past the Montparnasse Cemetery and then the Luxembourg Gardens, taking in all things, but also looking forward to rest. She’d breathed enough fresh air for today.

  Most of all, she looked forward to seeing Savin again.

  The only friend she had ever known had reentered her life. And that was remarkable.

  But what he’d told her about her parents. They’d divorced. And he had no clue where either was right now? Besides the memory of her best friend, her parents had been her only connection to this realm. For the longest time she had whispered the Catholic prayers her mother had taught her, until the words had begun to literally burn on her tongue. And long after she’d learned not to invoke the Christian God in that place, the simple image of her mother or father had worked to keep up her spirits.

  She needed to find them to truly return to this realm she wanted to once again call home.

  Arriving at Savin’s building, she took in the vibrations cloaking the immediate area. Like Savin, she could read the air and sense d
emons when nearby. As well, she could vibrationally map out the living beings in the area. Sort of like sonar, she supposed. Savin was above in his home, already returned from his task. She knew it because his scent carried to her. That delicious essence of man that she’d slept wrapped in all night.

  There were wards outside the limestone-faced building. Invisible, yet she could feel Savin’s signature sealing them. Wards against demons and a few other species, perhaps vampires and werewolves. They tugged at her musculature, as they had last night, when she mounted the inner stairs and climbed up four stories, but it wasn’t anything that would rip her apart or send her screaming.

  Facing the wards drawn on Savin’s front door, Jett rechecked the sheen she wore, a masterful disguise. She’d need to relax and let go soon. Just an hour or so. A means to recharge.

  Yet the last place she could do that was inside a fully warded reckoner’s home.

  Or maybe, it might serve as the safest place possible.

  She knocked on the front door, then tried the knob. It was open, and as she popped her head inside the flat, Savin called for her to enter. A fierce tug at her skin pulled and prickled as she crossed the threshold, but she made it inside and closed the door behind her, thus squelching the ward’s seeking force. It sought to repeal a demon. She was still strong enough to thwart the weakened repulsion.

  Now she dropped her shoulders and exhaled wearily. “You beat me back,” she commented.

  Savin sat on the couch, a glass of what smelled like alcohol in hand, which he tilted to her. “It was a quick call. Four more demons sent back to where they belong. And you have been out the whole afternoon. You walk around the city?”

  She sat on the wooden-armed chair across from the couch and pulled up her legs to hook her feet on the leather cushion. It was cool and not so bright in his place, and she appreciated that. “Paris is beautiful. I never appreciated the architecture when we were kids. So many people, though. I’m tired out!”

  “Yeah, it’s August and the tourist crush is ridiculous. No wonder all the locals head out of town this time of year. I left your new things in the bedroom for you. You want a drink?”

  “I recognize the smell of whiskey from when my father used to have a ‘sip’ after an evening meal. But I’ve never tried alcohol. At least, not anything made in this realm.”

  “Really? I suppose.” He swiped a hand across his jaw.

  She sensed he tried to be tactful and not ask about her experience, which she appreciated.

  “Want to try some?”

  “I’d never refuse a challenge from you.”

  And while that statement was something that she would have said as a kid to Savin’s challenging glint in the eye, now it felt bold and powerful. Adult. And in response, Savin’s gaze seemed to slip across her skin in a welcome manner. Jett wriggled on the chair, lifting her chin. She liked to be admired by him.

  He stood and collected another glass in the kitchen, then returned to pour her a portion from the bottle.

  “Do you play all those guitars?” she asked as he handed her the glass. She sniffed it. Very strong, and not too appealing.

  “Most are collectibles,” he said. “A few are prized possessions. That one is signed by Chuck Berry. Saw him at a concert a decade ago and met him when he was exiting out the backstage door. I like to play my own compositions. A little blues à la Chuck Berry, a little Southern rock. Some headbanging riffs mixed with a touch of classical. I’m also teaching myself musicomancy.”

  Jett sat up a little straighter. “Is that some kind of magic?”

  “Using music. But it’s slow going. Hell, I tend to sit and drink far too much whiskey, and then my playing gets looser and more random. I suspect that’s a good reason why I have yet to accomplish musicomancy.” He winked and tilted back the remainder of his drink, then poured some more. “I use the diddley bow for the magic stuff.” He gestured over his shoulder, and Jett noted a strange guitar-like instrument with a turtle-shell-sized body and a long, thin neck and only one string. “Made that one myself. That’s another hobby of mine. Fiddling around with making things. Made a bunch of navigational devices that I use for my work, as well. Guess I got the creative gene from my dad. You remember when I took apart your Nintendo controller?”

  “I don’t think I forgave you for that. And I wouldn’t necessarily call destroying things being creative,” she teased. “You tended to take apart anything you could get your hands on.”

  “Yeah.” He chuckled. “Now I put things back together. I figured out how it all works. Now I’m all about restoration and creation. No destruction.”

  Destruction. The word felt comfortable to Jett’s senses. It had been so easy to destroy that which annoyed her. But just as she noticed herself smiling about such memories, she chased away the thought. She would not slip around Savin. She must not.

  She sniffed her glass, then took a sip. It burned down her throat, but it was actually tasty. As she drank more, the burn lessened. Another sip and the dark liquid smoothened on her tongue. “I like this.”

  “Much as I hate to be the one to corrupt you, I can’t argue an appreciation for a good aged whiskey.”

  “I am beyond corruption, Savin. So don’t worry about that.”

  “Everyone is corruptible.”

  “Yes, well, there’s nothing about me that can get any more corrupted. So trust, you won’t harm me. No matter what vices or sinful challenges with which you should tempt me.” She held out her glass toward him. Her voice thickened into a husky tone. “More.”

  Glass clinked as he poured her another portion. Then he topped off his drink. The lingering look he gave her was in reaction to her sensual tease. Good boy. He understood her. She could work with that.

  “Can I ask you one thing? It’s personal.”

  “I don’t have any boyfriends, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Jett chuckled softly and pressed the cool glass against her lower lip. The man was so sexy. And she understood the meaning of that word now. How quickly she relaxed around him. And desired. She was feeling...sensual. Must be the whiskey. Yes, she did like this drink.

  “No, that’s—” Savin looked over the rim of his glass. “Could you have boyfriends...you know...there?”

  He wanted to know about her love life in Daemonia? Ugh. “Is that the question you wanted to ask?”

  “Do I only get the one?”

  Jett sighed and allowed her shoulders to relax against the comfy cushions. She crossed her legs, and with a slip off of the heel, she dangled her shoe on her toes. “Fine. Ask me anything. But I’m allowed to refuse any answer.”

  “I don’t want to grill you, Jett. But I am curious. In turn, you can ask me anything.”

  “You’ve been open with me so far. I owe you that much.”

  He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the whiskey glass dangling from one hand before a leg. “How did you survive in that place? Was there shelter? Buildings? Towns? A place of safety?”

  “There’s never safety in Daemonia,” she said curtly. The whiskey slid quickly down her throat and she slammed the glass on the chair arm. “But there are dwellings. And cities and citadels. Castles, hovels and all means of residence. I...had a place to live.” She couldn’t tell him everything. She’d never get out of this flat in one piece if she did that. “And I was generally free from the treacherous elements that I’m sure you remember.”

  “So someone took you in? That’s good. I couldn’t imagine you wandering that horrible place for so long and on your own.”

  “There is no alone there.” Jett cast her glance up toward the windows fitted in the ceiling. The sky was darkening. Thankfully. “Nor was there a sun. But you know, the many moons were pretty. Save for the fire moon. That one hurt if I forgot myself and walked out beneath it.”

  “Like a sunburn?”

  He might never underst
and that in Daemonia everything was multiplied, magnified, extremely enlarged, enhanced and so, so dangerous. He’d had but a taste as a child.

  “A bit,” she offered quickly. Now she stood and grabbed the half-empty whiskey bottle and refilled her glass. Growing more confident, she sat on the couch, snuggling up about two feet from where Savin sat and facing him. The whiskey warmed her, and the exhaustion she’d been feeling earlier cooled to a comfortable relaxation. “Any more questions?”

  “So many. But I won’t inundate you. I genuinely thought you were dead after that fall, Jett. Were you angry with me? For not coming after you?”

  He lifted his chin just as their eyes met. Alpha in his command, and unwilling to show any weakness. She’d dealt with men like him. And yet she could feel his heart beating rapidly. He was frightened at his own emotions.

  And she, well, she had long ago abandoned the sillier emotions such as fear, shame and empathy.

  “I was never angry with you,” she said truthfully. “And I hoped for so long that you had made it back home. My wish came true. I’m glad for that.”

  “I should have leaped over that cliff and tried to save you.”

  “It would have been a suicide leap, Savin. You were wise to stay put. Trust me on that one.”

  How she had survived the lava falls was a question she’d never gotten an answer to. And really, she’d decided long ago she didn’t want that answer. There had been a reason she was whisked into Daemonia. A wicked, selfish reason for which she could never forgive the perpetrator.

  Savin considered her words. Surely his next question would be, how had she survived? So she would redirect his thoughts. “What about you? Do you have any girlfriends?”

  His brow quirked; then his lips dallied with a smile before he shook his head. “I’m not so talented with the suave and smooth. All that dating stuff feels awkward.”

  “A man so handsome and kind as you has trouble with women? Surely, you’ve dated.”

  “I have. I do. Eh. It never lasts. I’m human, Jett, but this demon inside me makes it difficult to relate to human women. I’m different than most. I know things I shouldn’t know about things that shouldn’t exist. And I have to protect that side of me from discovery. You know? I did date a vampiress once. I don’t like the idea of getting bitten, though, and that did seem to be a requirement to a happy relationship.”