With the utmost care, I peeled my shirt and bra off to find a scorched, puckered burn line matching the now-melted underwire. As a natural disaster show connoisseur, I knew that metal conducted electricity but, come on! My girls demanded underwire.
I pressed a fingertip to the red angry skin with a hiss. Seems right now they demanded burn lotion. I rummaged through Josh’s cupboard but he was light on first aid products, so I tossed the bra in the trash and eased back into my shirt, flinching as the soft material made contact.
It was too much.
Wobbly from a cocktail of exhaustion and pain, I pressed my head to the cool glass of the mirror. Giving myself a moment to get my jumpy pulse under control and let the throbbing in my tits subside enough to be able to walk because that basic motor function seemed an impossible dream.
I had no idea how much time passed before I was able to move, though moonlight now streamed in through Josh’s bedroom window as I dressed. No drunken ramblings were heard from homeward-bound revelers, the city deep in slumber.
I shrugged on my jeans, unable to shake my sense of unease. Sidling over to the window, I peered outside through the slats of the bent plastic blinds.
Some guy stood in the alley framed in a pool of light cast by a poster-plastered streetlamp. Hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, he seemed every bit a relaxed bystander, but I wasn’t deceived.
The question was, was he here hunting Josh? Or me?
I widened the blinds a touch.
Startlingly gold eyes bored straight into my soul, rooting me to the spot. His hair, several shades darker than his light brown skin, was kind of shaggy, curling thick and sexy around his ear lobes. He had to be a demon. My hand didn’t tingle or anything in recognition but ordinary mortals were not created this ridiculously gorgeous. I’d know. I trolled the internet plenty looking at hot dude Pinterest boards.
Plus, perched above him on the telephone wire was a white crow, albeit a weirdly stocky one. Contrary to popular opinion, white crows were not an albino rarity but demons who, once fixated on their prey like this one was on me, dive-bombed a person feeding off their blood and flesh. I had never been so glad for a pane of glass. And when Alley Dude trained his sights on the bird, the white crow exploded off the line with a panicked “caw,” flying away so fast that it trailed feathers.
Some primal survival sense screamed at me that whoever or whatever this guy was, he was a million times more dangerous than Josh. But it also kicked me into gear.
I jerked away from the window, pressing myself flat against the wall. My heart threatened to explode out of my chest. Had Josh’s death set some demon phone tree into motion and now they were all after me? Keeping low so the guy couldn’t see me, I gathered up my backpack, smelling the lingering scent of Josh’s cologne from when he’d carried it home for me.
He’d never carry anything again.
I pressed my fist to my mouth. I’d killed a man. Demon. Barkeep. Panic flared hot and bright. I jammed my feet into my shoes then raced for the front door. Fleeing the scene of the crime while cradling one arm against my chest to keep my poor burned babies from jiggling.
As I reached for the lock, my hip bumped the small white plastic table next to the door. The green sides from yesterday’s shoot–the small, color-coded script pages for that day–fell to the ground and I bent to pick them up, not wanting to leave his place in worse shape than I found it. Other than its loss of occupant.
Josh had been cast as the happy-go-lucky playboy of the group. In this scene at least, no woman could resist his charm. That was one word for it. I shivered, remembering the unsettling tugging right before Josh had orgasmed. In retrospect, his “let go” was probably a command, not a suggestion. Had I not been Rasha, they would have been last words I ever heard.
I dropped the paper like it was a hot coal, fumbling in my pocket for my phone and punching in Ari’s speed dial number. The call went straight to voice mail.
“Ari,” I mewled. I slid down the wall, hugging my arms to my chest, paralyzed between fright and flight.
Shortly after, there was a frantic pounding on the door. “Nava!” The cavalry had come. I scrambled to my feet, unlocked the bolt, and flung open the door, launching myself into my brother’s arms.
He patted me awkwardly. “Nee, what’s wrong?”
The story poured out of me. Ari let me ramble, leading me to the sofa in Josh’s cramped IKEA-themed living room and listening in silence as I described killing my hook-up.
“Say something,” I begged, clutching the leg of his blue plaid pajama pants.
Ari hadn’t even gotten dressed. Just stuffed his feet into slippers and thrown on a sweatshirt in his haste to save me.
“You washed your hands, right?” he asked.
I punched him in the arm. “That’s the sum total of what you have to say?”
He punched me back. His was harder than mine and I pouted as I rubbed the sore spot. “You,” he mimed giving a hand job, “a demon to death. I think I need therapy.” He shuddered.
“You think you need therapy?” I screeched. “How do you think I feel? You know what my big plan for today was? A nap! Instead I’ve made you hate me and my hand is a red light district instrument of destruction.”
I paused for him to interject that of course he didn’t hate me, but he didn’t. So I babbled the rest of my story, punctuating my words with flailing gestures. That just sent a fresh shaft of pain through my boobs.
“I mean, what happens when I meet a nice guy that I like and things start to get intimate?” I said. “Will my hand know the difference? Because I’m not sure there is an appropriate greeting card to apologize for penile third degree burns!”
“I’d say it with flowers,” he pronounced.
The clock on the wall ticked once. Twice.
We burst out laughing. A brittle manic laughter that morphed into way-over-the-top snorting guffaws complete with shaking body and streaming tears. Cathartically spent, I sagged back against the couch.
Ari stood up, rolling out his shoulders. “You ready to quit running away from home now and go deal with this?”
I scrunched up my face. “How’d you know I’d run away?”
“I always know.”
A wistful pang hit me square in the chest. I rubbed my hand over the back of my neck. “Right.”
“Dumbass.” He boffed me across the head. “I don’t hate you.”
My relief swam clear down to my toes. “That’s because I’m Twin Amazing and I brighten up your life,” I said.
He shot me a look of fond exasperation.
I could have kissed him in a sister-appropriate way for it–e.g. raspberried his cheek. “Think you can help me not get killed?” I asked.
“Up to a point. But we’re going to have to call Rabbi Abrams.”
“And get our heavily edited stories straight,” I added.
Ari pulled me up. “That’s your area of expertise.”
My right hand gave an aftershocky jerk. I placed my other one on top of it to stop the shaking. “You may need to carry me.”
“You need electrolytes.” Ari went into the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards. “He doesn’t have any salt,” he said, coming back and finding me slumped over the top of the sofa. “Come on, I’ll buy you a Gatorade.”
I threw my arm over my brother’s shoulder, letting him support me. He grabbed my backpack and helped me out the door. Any comfort I took in having Ari’s forgiveness disappeared when we hit the front sidewalk outside Josh’s three-story stucco apartment building and saw the hot platinum blonde leaning against the glass front door, all long limbs and porn star mouth in this slinky gold halter dress I coveted.
“Hey, lover,” she said to Ari, ignoring my existence.
I was so not in the mood to deal with some west side chick on the pointless make for my brother.
He gave her a polite smile, maneuvering us past both her and the broken furniture someone had left out for garbage pick up.
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br /> “You think you could help me?” she asked, catching up to us and waving her cell. “My friend stood me up and my phone is dead.”
I stopped, forcing Ari to stop with me. I couldn’t in good conscience leave this woman stranded in the middle of the night. Especially outside this dump with its sketchy lighting. I dug out my phone, shuffled a few steps closer, and handed it to her. “Here. Use mine.”
“Thanks,” she said, latching onto my wrist with a talon. My phone tumbled to the concrete as her mouth elongated into a distorted sneer. “Have fun with my brother tonight?”
I tried to scramble back, terrified her jaw was about to unhinge and swallow me whole, but she held me fast. Good thing because I still hadn’t recharged and lack of energy plus fear equaled my knees buckling.
I batted at her with my right hand, which was totally failing to shock her.
“Bitch,” she snarled, her stilettos morphing to crow’s feet, “I liked him. He was the only one of my siblings I hadn’t eaten.”
Ew. Phrasing.
A surge of adrenaline raced through me and I snapped my knee up into her crotch.
She gasped, doubling over.
That’s when I head-butted her, a technique learned while hanging with this hockey player I’d wanted to bang. The demon’s nose made a satisfying crunch as the cartilage shattered. I snatched my arm loose with a laugh. “Booyah, mother–”
With a roar she puffed up into an ogre. A solid muscle demon ogre with a now-tattered dress hanging off her body. Her shiny mane of hair erupted into white feathers and her nose transformed into a pointed beak. The crow/ogre hybrid grabbed me by the throat.
My powers were still in absentia and all thoughts of electrocute the bitch, were supplanted by get air to brain as she continued to squeeze. Spots danced in front of my watering eyes, my vision tunneling down to the narrow pinprick of her bumpy chin. I flailed my limbs.
“Get your own sibling,” Ari said, “I spent years training this one.”
SPLOOSH! Murky goo splattered all over my face.
She dropped me like a hot potato.
I stood there wheezing, staring in incredulity at my brother. Not only had he jammed a standing lamp through the demon’s neck, he’d taken advantage of her clawing at the thing to whip out a knife from an ankle sheath, firing it into her just below her navel.
A scream ripped from the demon’s throat, her skin blistering in a way that made me think of crackling. I might never eat bacon again. Yeah, who was I kidding? Tendrils of smoke wafted off her bubbling flesh. She screeched a high-pitched, inhuman cry of pain and rage.
“Nee, finish her!”
I stared at him blankly. Ari grabbed my hand and, hauling me over to the demon, placed my fingers around the knife so they touched her rubbery skin.
A tingle deep inside me rippled into a concentrated bolt of lightning, firing straight into the demon.
She exploded. The lamp and the knife clattered to the ground.
Shimmery gold dust floated down from the star-filled night sky. It coated Ari, turning him into a sparkling hero.
“How?” It was all I managed to stutter out.
He shrugged and picked up his knife. “Training.”
“But…” I pointed at the weapon.
“Iron blade coated in salt. Two things demons hate.”
“And…” I made a thrusting motion with my hand.
Ari stared at me for a second before he clued in. “Ohhh. The lamp. Again, training.” He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out the dust as he walked along the sidewalk. His slippers made soft padding sounds with each step.
Avoiding the trail of demon dust on the sidewalk, I scooped up my phone with my thumb and index finger, not touching any more of it than I had to, then hurried after him. I punched his shoulder. “Don’t fight demons without magic.”
“I didn’t. You were right there.”
I growled at him. “Your own magic.”
Ari turned the corner, pulled his key fob out, and beeped it at our father’s blue Prius parked at the curb.
“I know you, Ace. Magic or no, you come across someone in need of saving from a demon, you’ll rush in. You can’t.”
He shrugged as he opened the passenger door and helped me inside.
“Unlike me,” I said, “you possess that stupid selfless gene that Rasha are supposed to have. Tonight proves there’s been a colossal mistake.”
“You killed the demon,” he said. “No mistake.”
“You killed that demon. I was merely a tool.” I forgave him the small smirk at my word choice as he shut my door. Didn’t lessen my desire to throttle him, though.
Ari got in the driver’s side, tossing the blade into the pocket on the door.
Pushing him about staying safe would only spur him in the other direction. “Why are you not more excited about this? Or upset about it? Or something resembling anything?” I asked.
My brother placed the key in the ignition and started the engine with the press of the power button. He pulled out into the street to the strains of shitty soft rock. Dad must have been the last one to drive the car. “Big deal. Another assist. Not like I got to score on goal directly.”
I rested my feet on the dashboard, slouched in my seat. “Not enough excitement for you, brother dear?”
He shrugged. “Eh.”
I stuffed my fists under my butt, the sight of my hands still troubling. “That disturbs me about you.” As did the fact that the idiot was going to get himself killed.
“Sucks a bit less since it was only a PD.” He flicked on his blinker, pissing off the chick behind us who honked multiple times.
I lowered my window to shoot her the finger. The cool night air streaming over me was invigorating enough to keep me upright so I kept it unrolled. “What kind of a demon is a PD?”
“Old Rasha joke. What do you call a half-demon?”
I shook my head.
“Practice. Practice demon.”
“PD. Ooh, bitchy. But she was a hybrid.”
“Yeah. Probably some genetic throwback on the demon side. Still just half-demonic. Half-human.”
“How do you know?”
“Dust ’em and you’re gold. Literally. PDs explode into gold dust. Josh was a halfie as well.” Ari made a sharp left, pulling into a convenience store parking lot. “Back in a sec,” he said, leaving me in the car with the motor running.
I fiddled with the stereo knob, unable to take any more musical torture.
Moments later he was back with a plastic bag. He pulled out a blue sports drink, cracked the cap, and handed it to me. “Drink. You need the electrolytes.”
I wasn’t a fan of these things so my first sip was tentative, but the liquid hit my system like a rush of cocaine. I chugged the rest down in one go. “More,” I breathed.
He handed me the other drink that he’d purchased, this one a yummy orange-esque flavor. Once I’d downed that too, I sighed in satisfaction. “That was amazing.”
Ari backed out of the spot, shaking his head. “Don’t ever make that sound in my presence again.”
I twisted the cap shut, jamming it back into the bag with the other empty bottle. “If I could give the power back, I would. It should be you joining Demon Club.”
My brother merged back into the light traffic, homeward bound. “I know.” He ran a hand though his bedhead, spiking his blond tufts. “But it doesn’t seem like either of us are going to get what we want.”
There was nothing I could say to that, so I channel-surfed, looking for a song to reflect my mood. The only thing that came close was “Bound,” an angsty charged hit from a few years ago by Fugue State Five. I sang along to the last verse.
“You know the words?” Ari didn’t sound impressed.
I shrugged, betting he did too since we would have had to been living in a cave during our teen years not to know the emo boy band that had taken the world by storm. Also, Leonie had been obsessed with them, playing their music incessantly.
Ari shot me a sideways glance. “Gotta say I’m surprised you’re not celebrating. Finally having a tangible way of keeping people at bay and all.”
I slapped my feet onto the car mat. “I don’t do that.”
My brother snorted. “Right. You welcome them in with open arms.” He pursed his lips. “These last few years? It’s like you decided to make yourself this prickly ball of chaos.”
“The PC among us call it ‘hot mess,’” I quipped.
“Kinda ironic that your power is a physical manifestation of that.”
The vein at my temple throbbed. “You’re wrong. My sucky superpower is just that. Sucky. Not some kind of subconscious desire made real.”
One hand on the wheel, he waved the other around, speaking in a mock scary voice. “Whooo, don’t get too close to me, I might shock you.” He dropped his voice an octave into horror movie voice over. “And this time, it’s deadly.”
“I’m not the only deadly one,” I said waspishly. “Got any other weapons strapped to your body?”
“Nah. The knives were something I started playing around with a while ago. Doctoring up the best high salt concentration, finding the most effective method of coating the blade.” He flashed me the thick silver ring on his middle finger with a ruby or red garnet in the middle. “See this? Iron poison ring. Literally.” He spared another glance at the ring before his hands tightened on the wheel. “I was playing around with stuff for when I took my rightful place and all that.”
My anger deflated at the reminder of what he’d lost. “You, Ari Katz, are my hero.”
My brother took his eyes off the road long enough to give me a crooked grin. “And you, Nava Katz, are a really shitty demon hunter.”
4
The lights were blazing in every room in our house when we pulled into the car port out back. It kind of kiboshed my plan to sneak in and then hide out in my room until my parents cooled down. Ari, the keener, bounded off ahead of me. My walk had more of a “headed to the guillotine” vibe to it.
The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz Book 1) Page 4
