by Lexi George
“Found it.” Huffing from exertion, Collier held up a velvet pouch on a length of leather cord. “It was down the street on the floorboard of a sports car.”
He noticed the Kir and flushed. “Pardon me, ladies. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
The blond Kir arched her brows. “Why is this human not stabilized? The Directive—”
“The human is with me.” Grim took the necklace from Collier. “Excellent work.”
“Glad to help.” Collier gave the blonde a nervous glance. “That one seems a mite cranky. What are they, special ops?”
“I do not—”
“Sweepers. Supernatural cleanup.”
“Ah.” Grim nodded. “Yes, that is an apt description. They are Kir.”
“They hunt demons, too?”
“Of a certainty.”
“They any good at it?”
“Quite good.” The admission galled. “Thank you for coming to our aid.”
“You’re welcome.” Rocking back on his heels, Collier surveyed Sassy. She was eating another pie. “Tetchy situation. You figured out how you’re gonna get that necklace on her?”
“No. I will think of something. I must. Someone could walk in any moment.”
“I can see how that would be a problem. Be kind of hard to explain this.”
Indeed it would. The Directive was detailed and specific, and with good reason. Mortals tended to be excitable.
Sassy finished off another pie. She would make herself sick. And she was unclad, a circumstance that disturbed Grim on multiple levels.
When had Sassy’s well-being, not to mention her state of undress, become so vital to him?
I am no expert in matters of the heart, lacking the requisite organ—or any organs, for that matter, Dell said, but in my observation you were smitten from the first. What does it feel like to be in love?
I would not know.
Then why not leave? Slake your lust in the House of Thralls and forget this place.
You know I cannot. I gave my word.
Conall will release you from your vow. Let the demonoid take care of Sassy.
No. I do not trust Evan.
Conall, then.
No. I will see the matter through.
Very noble of you, I am sure.
Dell was patronizing him. Grim opened his mouth to retort, hesitating at a low rumble from the bakery case. Sassy’s distended belly undulated in waves. She belched a violent discharge of sugary gas that shook the room, rattling the light fixtures and the tin roof. Twittering in alarm, the flock of sparrows streaked out the broken window.
Sassy’s stomach growled again, and she clutched her abdomen with an expression of acute distress, her purple tresses writhing in alarm.
“Fire in the hole,” Evan yelled, ducking under a table.
Sassy vomited a fountain of airy froth that transformed the paralyzed humans and the Kir into figures from a snow village. Grim and Collier, standing near the door, escaped the worst of the blast.
Grim wiped the goo from his eyes. “Sassy?”
His frantic gaze sought and found her, a small, miserable figure huddled on the floor in an ocean of fairy foam. The untamed elemental was gone. Sassy was Sassy once more.
She lifted her head. Her face was white as bleached muslin, her limpid blue eyes unfocused. No, not blue. Grim admitted the truth at last. Sassy’s eyes were amethyst combined with the azure of a cloudless summer sky. A demonoid’s eyes; Sassy was a daughter of the race that had killed Gryff.
Grim waited for revulsion and outrage to swallow him. Instead, his overriding concern was for Sassy’s welfare.
Dear gods, he and Conall were afflicted with the same madness. Dell was right. He should ask to be released from his vow. He should leave.
Stay and he was lost.
Sassy whimpered and slumped to the floor. Covering the space that separated them in two strides, Grim lifted her in his arms. A faint pulse fluttered in the smooth column of her throat.
Unconscious but alive, thank the gods.
Evan crawled out from under the table. “Down for the count, huh? Not surprised after a binge like that. Bet she feels like hell when she wakes up.”
The door jingled and Muddy Collier walked in. Dressed in a pair of crisp white pants that exposed her slender ankles, a brilliant blue jacket, and silver jewelry, the woman exuded vitality and a zest for life. Whatever her age, Muddy Collier would never be old.
“Darling, you’re a pluperfect mess,” she said to Collier. “What on earth you been up to?”
“Demon hunter b’ness.” Mr. Collier held up the dripping divining rod. “Things got a little gooey.”
“I can see that. The ants are going to carry you off.”
“Reckon I could use a shower.” Collier saluted Grim with his divining rod. “You need my help, holler. Happy to be of service. See you at the house, Edmuntina.”
He marched out of the eatery.
“Lo-ward,” Muddy drawled. She surveyed the destruction in the café. “I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Dalvahni, but I took the liberty of handling a few matters on your behalf while I was out. Cell phones don’t work worth a flip in Hannah, so I called the phone company and told them you’ve got a line out. They’re sending someone over.”
Grim frowned. “How do you—”
“Know your name?” Muddy chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not a spy for the dark side. I was born with a veil over my face. I have the sight.”
“Christ,” Evan said. “Another nut.”
“Not that I’d have to be psychic to know you aren’t rooming at the Hannah Inn,” Muddy continued, unfazed. “That place is a hole. Folks who stay there leave with crotch crickets.”
She sauntered out the door.
“Drive the mechanized carriage to the house,” Grim told Evan. “I am taking Sassy home.”
Focusing his mind on the house by the river, Grim stepped into the void.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sassy swirled out of blackness and into liquid warmth. Every inch of her body hurt. Mother-of-pearl, her eyelashes hurt. What was the matter with her? She didn’t get sick.
She dragged her eyes open and tried to focus. It took a moment to get her bearings. She was in the garden tub in the master bedroom. Somehow, she’d gotten from the restaurant to Trey’s with no memory of the trip.
Grim knelt beside her, a soapy washcloth in one hand. Her girl stuff was on display and he was giving her a bath. From his resolute expression and clenched jaw, he found the job a chore.
Sassy yelped and sank beneath the water. The movement sent a blaze of agony through her head, and a thousand knives of pain stabbed her back and shoulders.
Grim yanked her, coughing and sputtering, to the surface.
“What are you doing, woman? Are you trying to drown?”
She crossed her arms over her breasts. “I’m naked.”
“I noticed.” He caressed her cheek with his damp knuckles. “I like you naked.”
“You do?”
She sounded asthmatic. The guy had a way of leaving her breathless. A few more days around Grim and she’d need an oxygen tank.
“Very much. You have a lovely body.”
“Thank you.”
To cover her confusion, she grabbed a towel from the edge of the tub and unfolded it. The bottom of the terry cloth settled across her torso.
“You are blushing. Has Wesley never told you how beautiful you are?”
Grim said Wesley’s name like it was something nasty. Mr. Gri-malicious was jealous.
Sassy’s spirits soared. If she weren’t engaged . . . If she didn’t feel like death warmed over . . .
“Of course,” Sassy said. “Wes is a perfect gentleman.”
In public and in private, she thought with a sigh. Sex with Wes was perfunctory; polite and restrained.
“Good. Were it otherwise, it would not go well with him.” Grim’s stern expression softened. “Does your head ache?”
“Something a
wful. And there’s a lizard in my mouth where my tongue used to be.”
He chuckled, a low, rumbly sound. “I know well the feeling. I experienced a similar degree of discomfort this morning.”
“You did? Oh, you mean from the chocolate. Dell told me.”
“Dell should keep certain information to himself. ’Twas not my finest hour.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, cross my heart and hope to die. Was that your first hangover?”
“First and last. Sit up. I would wash your hair.”
“I can do it.”
He placed his finger across her lips. “That was not a request, Sarah Elizabeth. You are ill and in pain. You will let me do this for you.”
He was using his Mr. Bossy Pants tone of voice. And he’d called her by her full name. Grim meant business.
She sat up and tucked the wet rectangle of cloth under her arms. Her fingers brushed metal and she looked down. Grim’s silver chain and medallion hung around her neck. The iridescent disk was crusted with black and purple stones.
“This isn’t mine,” Sassy said. “Why am I wearing your necklace?”
“Your talisman was found on the floor of the mechanized carriage,” Grim said. “The nibilanth—Mose, as you call him—was quite insistent that you wear it. I made you a new one using the stones from the pouch. This chain will not break or come unclasped.”
Sassy traced the rough stones and the shimmering disk with wonder. “It’s beautiful.”
“The circlet is a dragon scale. My brother Gryff saved a town from the beast. This was their gift to him.”
“Your brother fought a dragon?”
“A most evil worm.” Grim’s expression grew distant. “The creature had tormented the people of the town for generations, demanding tribute in flesh and gold. Gryff happened upon a young shepherd whilst pursuing a demon. The lad mourned his sister, the dragon’s latest victim. She was eleven when taken.”
“How horrible.”
“My brother thought so. He turned aside from the hunt, slew the dragon forthwith, and freed the town. The necklace was a gift from the grateful town fathers, forged in the heat of the dying dragon’s heart.”
“I can’t keep this.” Sassy reached for the necklace. “It’s too precious. Gryff—”
“Is dead, killed in battle with the djegrali.” Grim covered her fumbling fingers with his hand. His touch was warm. “The necklace is yours.”
He picked up the bottle and squirted some shampoo into his hands, his handsome features set.
O-k-a-a-y. The subject of Gryff was closed.
Sassy winced as he lathered her hair. Her scalp felt like Michael Flatley had riverdanced on her head.
“How’d I get here?” she asked. “The last thing I remember, we were in the Sweet Shop.”
“There was an incident at the eatery.”
“What sort of incident?”
Meredith appeared on a gust of perfume. “You turned into a purple whatzit with wings and claws. I heard Emo and Fire Crotch talking about it.”
Sassy wiped a trickle of foam off her cheek and stared at the ghost. “Shut up.”
“I kid you not.” Meredith hopped on the counter and crossed her legs. “And that’s not the best part. You scarfed down the entire dessert case and blew your groceries.”
“I what?”
“Horked your guts out. Had a Technicolor yawn.” Meredith opened her arms wide. “You spewed fairy barf all over the Sweet Shop. It was epic. Big Red recorded the whole thing.”
“What?”
“Chillax, boo. It hasn’t gone viral. Apparently, Big Red is some kind of fixer. She and her bitch squad clean things up when Sugar Ass and the rest of the bodacious Dalvahni bros screw the pooch.” Meredith bobbed her high-heeled foot up and down. “Ain’t that right, Sugar Ass?”
Grim shot the ghost a look of dislike. “Go away.”
“Ouch. Sugar Ass is grouchy.”
“Be gone. Now.”
“Fine. Be that way.” Meredith stuck out her bottom lip. “But you know I’m right.”
She vanished.
Sassy searched Grim’s face. “Is it true?”
“Yes. The Kirvahni are adjusters.” Grim rinsed her hair. “Their meticulous nature makes them well suited to the task.”
“That’s not what I’m asking. What happened at the Sweet Shop? Did I really turn into some kind of thing?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Grim shrugged. “You ingested the essence of dozens, perhaps hundreds of fairies. There were bound to be repercussions. When you lost the necklace, you lost control.”
“Get Taryn.”
“Sassy, I do not think—”
Sassy gripped the edge of the tub. “Grim, get Taryn—now. Please.”
He rose to his feet and looked down at her with a frown. “Very well, I will fetch her. Do not move. When I return, I will help you dress.”
He dematerialized.
Help her dress, indeed. What was she, two?
Sassy opened the valve on the tub and got to her feet. O-r-r-r maybe not. Her ears roared and her legs shook.
The wet towel plopped into the travertine tub with a dull splash. She lifted her legs over the edge, one at a time, hanging on to the wall as the floor and ceiling did a funhouse whoopsy.
The worst of the dizziness passed. Moving slowly, she dried her body and hair with a clean towel, an effort that left her trembling and queasy. She wiped the steam from the mirror and peered into the glass. Her once-straight hair was a tangled mass of damp blond ringlets. Otherwise, same old Sassy—a little pale, perhaps. And she felt like death on a shingle, but the same.
Thank goodness.
She staggered out of the bathroom and across a heaving floor. Somehow, she made it to Trey’s dresser and pulled a white tee shirt out of a drawer. The simple act of shoving her arms into the garment exhausted her. A little more rummaging yielded a fresh pair of panties. Sassy stepped into the panties and pulled them up, a chill racking her body. Bunny rabbits, she was cold.
The walls of the room expanded and shrank, and the floor dipped and swayed. Sassy gazed with longing at the bed. It seemed miles away. She took a tottering step. The room tilted and she fell into the mist.
She came to on Trey’s bed with the covers tucked around her. Mose sat at the end of the king mattress, his spindly legs crossed at the ankles. In one hand he held a box of Cheez-Its; in the other, a carved wooden goblet.
Yellow crumbs dotted his clothes and the comforter. His head was back and he was singing at the top of his lungs.
Oh, I’m Scottish, you know, and I always wear plaid,
’Cause my balls are so big, and I am so bad,
And my legs only reach from my butt to the ground,
And I fart all the time, ’cause I just like the sound.
Sassy pushed to a sitting position. She felt a hundred years old; make that a hundred and ten. Pain banged around in her skull. Mose’s caterwauling didn’t help.
She leaned against the bank of pillows and closed her eyes. Mother-of-pearl, she felt awful.
“What an interesting song,” Sassy murmured without opening her eyes. “I had no idea you’re Scottish.”
“Not—learned it from a Red Cap.” Mose took a loud slurp from his cup. “Jings, the times we had scattering the sheep.”
He burped and launched into another verse.
Oh, I’m Scottish, you know, and I always wear kilts,
And the lasses all like the way that I’m built.
And I blow my butt trumpet through valley and dale,
And the lasses all say that I sing with my tail.
“Bollocks and flatulence? You have plumbed the depths,” a cool voice said. “Go somewhere and sleep it off. Preferably somewhere far away.”
Sassy opened her eyes and saw Taryn sitting in the armchair by the window. The huntress seemed relaxed, her long legs stretched in front of her. She held a knife in one hand, a thin, wicked-looking blade with a l
eather-bound handle. The Dalmatian was stretched out at her feet. He sprang to all fours and barked at Sassy.
“Welcome back,” Taryn said. “We have been worried about you.”
“Thanks,” Sassy said. “I see you and Trey have met.”
“When the shrew spoke of a dog named Trey, she failed to mention he was the shade of your brother and her spouse.” Trey growled and the huntress cocked her head and listened. “Former spouse, you say? I beg your pardon.” She gave Sassy a look of amusement. “I take it theirs was not a happy union. He chooses this form to avoid her in death.” She gave the dog a look of empathy. “Having met your lady wife, I can empathize.”
“You can understand him?”
“Of course. You cannot?”
“No.” Even dead, her brother shut her out. The knowledge rankled. “How long was I out?”
Taryn aimed the tip of the knife at Mose. “Long enough for that foolish creature to get pixilated on milk.”
Mose snapped his fingers. “I could turn you into a tadpole like that.”
Taryn arched an auburn brow. “You could try, little man.”
Mose gave her a drunken leer. “You’re tough, Red. Bet you’re a tiger in the sack. Marry me?”
“Tempting, but no.”
“Aw, Red.”
Sassy cleared her throat. “Um . . . how’d I get in the bed?”
“Grim.” Taryn flipped the knife end over end in a glittering arc, and caught it. “He found you lying on the floor, unconscious. He seemed quite put out that you did not wait for his assistance.”
“Grim can be notional. Where is he?”
“A human male came to the door.” Taryn tossed the knife again. “Something about repairing a communication device. The badge on the human’s shirt read Behr Telephone. Grim went to ensure it is not some trick of the djegrali.”
“A telephone repairman?” Sassy frowned in puzzlement. “How on earth did the phone company know we have a line out?”
“A woman in town took care of it.”
“How thoughtful. Aren’t small towns wonderful?”
“Delightful.”
“I know, right? What’s her name? I need to write her a thank-you note.”
