Nightsoul

by McKenzie Hunter

  Was I crossing a line? Meddling too much? Making a mistake that would change my relationship with Cory? But as Cory’s look of disappointment and despair flashed in my mind, I pressed the call button.

  “Erin?” Alex’s voice piqued with curiosity.

  “Yeah. Um…Cory—”

  “What about him? Is he okay?” he rushed out. The level of concern in his voice eased my apprehension. I was doing the right thing.

  “He’s fine…sort of…well, yes and no. He hasn’t been physically hurt but…when is the last time you talked to him?”

  “This morning,” he offered in a strained voice.

  “Oh,” I sighed softly. Silence lingered as I debated how much to tell him.

  “But I was thinking about calling him later. I’d like to see him.”

  “I think that’s a good idea,” I said, thanking the fates for all the things I disliked about shifters and their preternatural perception finally working to my advantage. “I think that’s a really good idea.”

  “Okay, then I’ll do that.”

  I relaxed back in the seat. I had made the right decision. I hoped.

  CHAPTER 12

  Resting my head back against the seat in my car before going into my home, I tried to corral all the thoughts running through my head. What had happened at Harrison’s sent shivers through me. I was drowning in so much new information. At what point did it get to be too much?

  That was what I was thinking when I got out of my car. I was finding it difficult to ease the tension building in me. People could Wynd near me, use magic against me, and attack. Cautious as I moved up the walkway to my apartment, I scanned the area again before I neared it. At the sound of light footsteps behind me, I whipped around with my karambit, ready to strike. A hand grabbed my wrist and instantly I was against the side of the building just inches from my door, the arm with the karambit pressed overhead, my other with the exposed push blade pinned at my side.

  Mephisto. When I relaxed, his hold on my arms eased, too.

  “Next time announce yourself. You almost got hurt.”

  “Ah, I almost got hurt.” His brow rose. He lifted his head slightly to look at my pinned arm, then at the other secured at my waist. “Yes,” he said in a low husky voice, “I feel in harm’s way. I should be quivering in fear, shouldn’t I?” His lips lifted into a sensual smirk with traces of amusement.

  “Because I let you get the upper hand,” I countered.

  Chuckling, he leaned in. “Of course, because you always give in to me so easily,” he teased.

  “Look where my knee is.” I moved it just a smidge to let him know how vulnerable a position he was in.

  “You did warn me that you fight dirty.”

  “No, I fight to win,” I corrected.

  “I do, too. And I have no problem getting down and dirty. Perhaps someday we should test how dirty we can get.”

  “Why do I get the impression you’re not talking about sparring?”

  “It’s whatever you want it to be, Erin,” he said, but my smile and the way he said my name in a deep growl made it apparent he definitely wasn’t talking about sparring.

  Before I could respond, Ms. Harp peeked her head out her door. She took one look at Mephisto with his dark pants, heather-gray shirt, and slightly mussed dark hair. Then she looked back to his shirt and frowned. Following her gaze, I noticed a small splatter of blood on the edge of his shirt but wasn’t sure if she could see it from her position.

  “There’s blood on your shirt,” I whispered.

  “No worries, it’s not mine,” he said as Ms. Harp continued to glower at him. She dipped back into her apartment and returned with her cane in hand. Literally. It was nestled under her arm, held horizontally. She started in our direction, flashing a smile so dulcet it was impossible not to return it. But her eyes glinted with devious intent as they narrowed in our direction. Her paper-thin lips stretched wider into a forced smile.

  “Pardon me, I need to get to my car,” she announced from a few feet away. Instead of taking advantage of the nearly ten feet of unobstructed path behind me and Mephisto, she stood near us, her brow raised, nonverbally requesting him to move away from me, so she could pass through.

  Returning her inauthentic smile with one that was mirthless but polite, he moved back a few feet.

  “Oh my, I forgot my keys.” When she turned, her cane whacked Mephisto in the side of the hip. He grunted from what I suspected was surprise rather than pain.

  “I’m so sorry,” she gasped.

  Sure you are. Her subsequent performance was worthy of some form of acknowledgment. Tony? Oscar? Golden Globe? I considered applauding and throwing roses at her feet. She touched her hand to the injured area, but after seeing him barely respond to being sliced by Kai, I suspected he was delivering his own performance as well. Everyone’s a thespian.

  Hand pressed to her chest, she continued her act of being terribly sorry for hitting him as she backed away toward her apartment. “Please forgive me, that happens sometimes.”

  “It’s difficult to get the gait pattern correct with the cane. I see it used incorrectly all the time.” I could sound cloying and sweet, too. I pinned her with a glare, but she continued with her look of wide-eyed innocence.

  You are an artist. We are not worthy of this performance.

  Borrowing her cane, I said, “I’ve seen people use it like this.” I demonstrated, planting the cane tip on the ground then walking up to it. “Or you can do it like this.” Holding the cane in my right hand, I moved my left leg and the right hand together. After hearing Cory complain about people using the cane in the wrong pattern, I had him show me the patterns, useless information I’d never need. I was glad I’d paid attention. Or rather, that Cory made me pay attention.

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, taking the cane from me and grasping it in her hand as if she was about to use it.

  “I can wait for you to get your keys and walk with you to your car. Just to make sure you’re okay,” I suggested in a hollow gesture.

  “No worries, I’ll get it later.” She turned and seemed pleased by the distance remaining between Mephisto and me. She trekked to her apartment, barely touching the cane to the ground as she “used” it.

  The corners of Mephisto’s lips moved into a small deliberate curl as Ms. Harp kept the door slightly ajar for a few moments once she was in her apartment, peeking back out before closing it.

  In silence, we both slipped into my apartment.

  “Whose blood is on your shirt?” I asked, closing the door and placing my weapons on the table.

  In response, he handed me the blade I’d left with him. Cleaned and sharpened to a razor’s edge.

  “We’ve ensured that your mother doesn’t have an army any longer. Or if any are left, there aren’t enough to be of any use to her,” he informed me. Something dark, ominous, and dangerous lingered behind his midnight eyes, discouraging me from asking further questions.

  What did I need to ask? How’d they do it? They were the Huntsmen from Hell. I’m sure it was violent, efficient, and probably bloody. I didn’t need specifics. It was one less thing I needed to worry about and for that, I was grateful.

  I licked my lips. They’d become increasingly dry, along with my throat. My hand ached. I went to the kitchen and ran water over the open area, giving it a better cleaning than the quick swipe of a damp paper towel I’d given it at Harrison’s. Without any of the red stains from the poorly cleaned dried blood, it didn’t look as bad as I’d thought. Especially since it hadn’t been magically healed.

  After tending to the cuts, I grabbed a bottle of water and drank most of it.

  “She doesn’t have an army or a way of making one, so she’ll definitely come for me now,” I pointed out in a remote voice, keeping my face emotionless. I could feel the color slowly draining from my face.

  Moving in that unnerving way, Mephisto swallowed the feet of distance between us and took my hand into his to examine the c
uts.

  “She wasn’t with them,” he said, “so I suspect she has been in contact, instructing them to bring you to her. She’s never worked from the shadows before. This is a new approach. I suspect it’s because she’s weaker. And we’re here. God to god. She doesn’t have the same advantage she once had and that probably bothers her. Whether we took her army or not, she’d want you dead because you make her weak.”

  He frowned at my hand. His long fingers traced along the outside of the cuts as his eyes held mine during the languid movement.

  “She must not know I’m a magical dud.” I gave him a half-hearted smile. It was wearing on me. It wasn’t just a craving or a desire, it was a genuine need. I needed magic or undoubtedly I was going to die from the lack of it. Based on everything I knew of Malific, I couldn’t imagine surviving an encounter with her without magic. Even without an army, it would be me, virtually human, trying to ward off a god.

  “I can’t continue to be without magic,” I said.

  He sucked in a sharp breath, aware of what I was asking. But his emotions were unreadable. Was he considering it? Evaluating the cost/benefit? Or formulating a kind way of rejecting me?

  “I know,” he whispered, gliding his finger over the cuts. The familiar cooling breeze of his healing magic wisped over my palm, numbing the throbbing that lingered and healing the wound. I snatched my hand away. “Don’t remove the scar.”

  His expression became a mask of curiosity. No doubt he thought it was a weird thing to ask. I doubted it would leave a scar but I wanted it to heal on its own. I had the memories and couldn’t explain why I wanted to hold on to the proof, but I did.

  I shrugged, displaying more bravado and nonchalance than was actually in me. “Kind of a little reminder of my first encounter with a demon.”

  His expression faltered, his mouth parted, and dark intense eyes bore into me like spikes. “What?” he asked sharply. “You summoned a demon?”

  “I can’t summon anything. I don’t have magic, remember?” So, give me some of yours.

  “Cory?” Shock and disappointment replaced his usual calm, professional demeanor. In that moment, he moved so far away from me it was jarring, the distance he’d placed between us in just a blink.

  “No.”

  “Erin, what are you doing? Why aren’t you sharing information with me?” He fumed with wary sharpness. His professional neutrality and stoicism were nowhere in sight.

  “Because it happened today.”

  A knock at the door interrupted the rest of my explanation, and Ms. Harp’s raspy, distressed voice pierced the silence that her knock had created.

  “Erin.” She sounded so pitiful only a special type of monster could ignore her. As I moved to the door, fully aware that she wasn’t nearly as distressed as her voice would have me believe, I still couldn’t summon the hardness needed to leave her where she was.

  “Yes?” I asked, opening the door. Her phone in hand, she barged into the apartment. “I can’t get it to work. I don’t remember anything Asher told me.”

  I find that highly unlikely, but please go on with your rendition of the helpless geriatric.

  When her eyes cut to Mephisto, I knew my suspicions were correct.

  “Do you remember what he said I should do to unlock it?” she asked, her voice oozing helplessness and dismay. Not helping her felt like kicking a puppy. Oh, she was good.

  I looked at the locked screen, vowing to call Asher and tell him to give her the flip phone back and find another way to track her.

  “All you have to do is put your pin number in,” I told her. “Do you remember what it is?”

  Her hands clamped on each side of her face. “Oh my, I don’t. Should we call Asher and see if he knows?”

  I’m sure he knows it and there’s no way I’m calling him.

  I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of showing I was on to her. So, I stood back and enjoyed the performance like I was at Hamilton, while she put on her Tony award-winning act.

  “No, let’s try to figure it out. If we problem solve it, then we’ll know the pin and we can write it down and put it in a place where we both can find it.” I gave her the most innocent saccharine sweet smile I could manage without breaking character while she shoveled me her BS.

  “That’s a good idea. But it might take a while.” She looked straight at Mephisto. His impassive eyes held steady on hers.

  He had hundreds of years on her but he still nodded respectfully in her direction. “I can wait,” he said.

  With great effort, Ms. Harp kept on with her little show.

  “Try your birthday,” I suggested.

  It didn’t work. We tried it without the year and several more variations.

  Arms crossed over his chest, Mephisto waited patiently. Periodically I’d look up from the phone to meet his amused eyes.

  “Maybe he put it in wrong. He seemed so distracted when I came over here. I can’t believe he had the audacity to visit you looking so unkempt. His hair was in shambles and his clothes in disarray. I’ve never seen him look so disheveled. I wished he would have come to see me first. I would have straightened him right up because when he answered your door, he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed.” Her eyes quickly flicked in Mephisto’s direction.

  Keep it up, old lady.

  I forced a tight-lipped smile.

  “Have you used the pin before to unlock your phone?”

  She nodded.

  “Then the pin is right.”

  “This mind of mine. Getting old has its challenges.” Especially when you’re full of crap.

  “Maybe I should go,” Mephisto suggested.

  “That would probably be best. This might take a while,” Ms. Harp said without looking up from the phone.

  He stepped forward, probably to give me a departing wave, shoulder touch, or something. Whatever it was, Ms. Harp wasn’t having any of it. For such a short woman, she seemed to be everywhere, keeping Mephisto at a distance from me. Finally, he stepped back and simply gave me a small wave before leaving.

  A few minutes passed after Mephisto had left and she took the phone from me. “Let’s see.” She tapped on the screen and made an excited gasp. “We fixed it.”

  “Uh-huh. We ‘fixed’ it.” Giving her a sharp knowing look, I said, “How fortunate that you remembered the number.”

  “I know.”

  You’re going to keep with this schtick, huh?

  “I think if it wasn’t for your wonderful line of questioning, my memory would have never been jogged. It’s the year I retired from teaching.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  “You’re such a dear to help me. I’m sorry that your friend had to leave. Maybe he’ll come back.” Insincerity drenched her sweet words.

  “Probably, but not tonight.”

  “Aw, that’s a shame.” She started backing toward the door.

  Backing. Not doing her geriatric shuffle. Not tiny steps that would make a person think she wasn’t quite going to make it. No, she was walking back with the ease and grace of someone two-thirds her age. It might have been a moonwalk.

  “Ms. Harp, you forgot your cane.” I brought it to her. When she reached for it, I held on to it until she lifted her eyes from it to meet mine.

  Before I could confront her, she said, “You know who I’d like to see you with?”

  Let me guess, Asher?

  “No, who?”

  “Cory.”

  My eyes widened. “What?” I choked out.

  “I really like him. He’s kind, caring, and whenever he sees me, he always stops to ask me how I’m doing.”

  Yes, he does and the last few times he did, you pretended that the battery in your nonexistent hearing aid was on the fritz and rushed away to change it. But I’m sure you conveniently forgot that part, didn’t you?

  Giving her a faint smile, I said, “We’re just friends and he’s seeing someone.”

  “Well that’s too bad. The good ones are alway
s taken.” She gave my apartment a considering look. Returning her attention to me, she flashed a practiced smile. “I think Asher’s single, and you two get along, don’t you? Seems a lot better than what’s-his-face.”

  “His name is Mephisto,” I said.

  She made a disapproving scoff. “After the devil?”

  “Or from Faust, I’m not sure.”

  “Well if that’s not a red flag, I don’t know what is. His name just screams ‘run girl, you’re in trouble,’ but I’m not one to meddle in other people’s business.”

  Really? When did that start?

  “What are you doing, Ms. Harp?” I asked, a serious edge to my voice.

  “I’m not sure what you’re asking.” Her voice was filled with such sincere innocence and curiosity, for a brief moment I second-guessed my own question.

  “Asher and I are just friends. That’s it. Nothing more.”

  “I know that. But just because that’s the case now doesn’t mean it should stay that way. He’s a good man. A little bossier than he needs to be.” She rolled her eyes. “He acts like his wishes aren’t ever ignored or rejected. Making commands as if he expects them to be followed without question. Even if he adds a ‘please,’ it’s still a little too autocratic for my liking.”

  “He’s an Alpha. His world is almost an autocracy. It’s not often that his pack disobeys his orders.”

  She made a face. “Well then, it’s a good thing he has us. A person needs to hear that once in a while, don’t you think? And you’re just the person to let him know he’s not the Alpha everywhere he goes.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t think I have enough ire in me to teach him that lesson.”

  “Sure you do.” She tugged her cane from me. “If you were next to someone about to be hit by a speeding car, would you push them out of the way?” she asked quietly, her expression pensive.

  “Of course.”

  Giving me a knowing look, she smiled. It was tight and expressive. “Me too.” Those were her parting words and they left me in a state of contemplation. Even if she didn’t shift, she had some of their instincts, and probably heightened perception. Did she see something in Mephisto that I had missed?