Demons Don't Always Tell The Truth (Kate Storm Series Book 3)

by Meredith Allen Conner

  I slid onto a bar stool and set Al down on the counter.

  "Not a word, remember?" I rubbed him between the ears.

  He blinked his bulging watery eyes slowly. He knew the drill. Talking was totally fine at Got Fangs?. In fact, it was expected. But Spike's was a human only bar. We'd either get kicked out for pulling a stupid dog stunt or someone would try to steal him.

  "We'll be right with you." The deep voice reached us through a door at the back of the bar.

  Jake sounded a little breathless and I worried a bit until he walked out, tucking in his shirt with Sandra a couple steps behind him smoothing her blonde hair.

  Honeymooners.

  "Kate!" Even their voices were in unison.

  I pushed down the tiny twinge of jealousy and grinned. "We didn't mean to stop by at an inopportune moment."

  They didn't bother with blushes. Jake pulled Sandra in close to his side, his thumb smoothing up and down her waist as they walked toward us.

  "No worries. I would have been put out a half hour ago, but I should have locked the door too." They stopped just on the other side of the bar. Jake let go of Sandra and grabbed me by the shoulders to lift me up and over for a kiss.

  Sandra's arms came across my back at the same time and pulled tight.

  When they released me, I had to blink several times.

  Acceptance is a rare thing for me. And their open and genuine affection hugged me like a warm blanket I'd feel for days after.

  "You two look happy, how are . . . Wow, Sandy, you look, uh, different." I'm not at my most diplomatic when I'm surprised.

  I hate to admit it. I'd been ogling Jake. But in my defense he is totally ogle worthy. Not in Ash's league, but, hey, eye candy is eye candy.

  Jake is well over six feet with tousled dirty-blonde hair, sea blue eyes and lots of muscles easily visible through his customary t-shirt.

  Today the shirt was black, the biceps big and the blue jeans were tight. Like I said, totally ogle worthy.

  When I'd first met Sandra, she'd reminded me of Barbie. Smooth buttery blonde hair, blue eyes, big breasts, tiny waist and matchy matchy outfits. Over-the-top matchy. Barbie-never-even-looked-that-good matchy.

  Now Sandra looked more like biker Barbie. I honestly don't think there is a biker Barbie. I love Barbie. I still check her out in the toy aisle. I'm telling you, I'd know if Barbie had a biker persona.

  And after checking out Sandra, she should.

  A black leather scarf split her hair with two perfect blonde curls framing her face and the rest flowing in luscious waves down her back. She'd tied the ends of the scarf on her left side and allowed the tails to rest over her left breast.

  She wore a sleeveless black leather vest with a deep vee in front followed by three large silver buttons. The vest ended just above her waist displaying an inch of flawless skin. Tight leather pants took off from that point. I couldn't see her shoes from behind the bar, but I was willing to bet they were heeled.

  She had one pink leather cuff encircling her upper right arm. No spikes. Just a line of gold studs.

  The woman put Barbie to shame.

  She made me want to suck in my stomach. Hard. Sadly, I was still panting slightly. I'd just endure my teeny waist envy as my stomach pressed against my jeans.

  I wondered if my aunt Tabs had somehow thrown them in the wash without me knowing about it?

  Sandra winked at Jake. "Jake said no sweater sets allowed in the bar." She laughed, relaxed and happy and not a bit bothered by Jake's declaration. "Plus I got to go shopping."

  "You two out for a walk?" Jake scratched Al behind his right ear.

  I smiled and nodded. "It's warm out today and we got a little thirsty." I decided not to mention my weary legs. My breathing was almost back to normal.

  Jake moved away and poured a glass of water for me and found a small bowl for Al. Sandra and I chatted.

  "So, what did Désirée need with Snake?"

  The question came from so far out of left field that it took me a moment to realize I was supposed to be in the same ballpark and make sense of what Jake was asking.

  "Désirée Norma-Sue? My secretary Désirée Norma-Sue?"

  With a name like hers I shouldn't have to clarify, however I was at a complete loss.

  "Yeah." A small wrinkle formed as Jake drew his brows together. "She came in two nights ago and wanted to speak with Snake. He wasn't here, but I gave her his number." Jake's frown grew. "She doesn't look like the kind of girl who would want to hang out with Snake."

  Jake hadn't seen Phil.

  But I knew what he meant. I'd met Snake a month or so back when I'd decided to play Witch Detective. I'd learned several things back then: 1. Snake was a genuine motorcycle club member. He was the VP of the Devil's Due MC. I knew they didn't mind bending, or flat out breaking, the law. 2. Snake might be a rough and tough motorcycle rider, but he was also rather lonely. I'd taken him on as a client a week after I met him. I was still looking for the perfect Mrs. Snake. 3. I sucked as a detective.

  Why would my secretary need to meet with Snake?

  "I don't know. I thought you would know." I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud until Jake responded.

  Al rubbed against my arm with his tiny head. He'd never met Snake, but he knew when I was upset. I scratched his head.

  "You're sure it was Snake?" Jake knew his customers, I understood that, I just couldn't connect any dots that would lead Désirée to Snake or vice versa.

  Jake nodded. "She seemed kind of desperate too."

  Clearly, I needed to do some snooping into my secretary's life. Whatever was going on wasn't good.

  ****

  I met Morgan at Got Fangs? just after sunset.

  Lolly, the rotund warlock owner, had started karaoke on Thursday nights. He'd decorated Got Fangs? in a serious Goth manner - dark walls and furniture and dim lighting. I didn't think Goth decor and Karaoke went well together.

  The gnome belting out 'Girls Just Want To Have Fun' clearly disagreed with me. I wasn't entirely sure the gnome was even female. I also wasn't sure if gnomes even had different sexes.

  You certainly couldn't tell by looking at them.

  I winced at a high note. Or by listening to them either.

  "Remind me why you wanted to come here tonight?" I gulped my beer and turned my back on the stage.

  "Karaoke is fun. And Drake took Ash hunting." Morgan took a sip of her blood. She was drinking from a martini glass tonight. A yellow umbrella stuck out on one side. Her usual thermos of blood sat in the middle of the table.

  Red sunset curls slid lovingly around her perfect face and shoulders as she nodded her head in time with the song. Her pure green eyes sparkled.

  Tonight Morgan had on a dark green, fitted, long sleeved leather top with a mandarin collar. Slits along the front and shoulders allowed her pale, pale skin to shine through. A matching bra with amber crystals winked at me periodically through the openings. She wore tight, dark green leather pants and thigh high boots in amber with yellow laces running down the front.

  She made the stories about vampires being mesmerizing seem all too real.

  We were still working through our issues. Morgan with her guilt and me with her lies.

  Morgan was trying to comes to terms with the fact the curse really wasn't her fault and that knowledge of an event doesn't mean you are responsible for said event. She'd been little more than a teenager when her world fell apart. She had not been to blame. All of her sisters were.

  I'd alternately find myself angry she hadn't told me the truth - she should have told me we were related right from the start and that she knew all about the curse I was searching for answers to - fearful she might be hiding something else from me and almost bitter she hadn't done something about the curse herself.

  However, she hadn't needed a reason to break the curse herself since most curses don't work on vampires. And Morgan had gone centuries thinking she was the last of our line. Aside from the scary bad witch.
/>   After watching everyone I loved die, I would have run long and hard myself.

  My mom has been gone for seven years and it's a wound that has yet to heal.

  We'd get through this. Morgan is my best friend. My one and only UDBF. I don't and never will take our relationship lightly. I'd put whatever effort into healing us as needed.

  "I beg to differ about karaoke being fun." Someone was now wailing about checking for ticks. Oh, for Spirit's sakes. Now it was country karaoke. And I'd thought 80's karaoke was bad.

  I drank some more beer. "When are they supposed to be back?"

  Morgan was now tapping her foot as well as nodding her head. She truly did like this stuff. "Drake said they'd be home late tonight or early this morning." She sipped her blood, one long pale finger holding the yellow umbrella in place. "I think it has something to do with time zones."

  Neither Drake nor Ash had been too clear on the specifics of their hunt. I hadn't wanted to know the exact details involving what poor animal they planned to kill, where the hunt was taking place, or what weapons they planned to use.

  Witches are generally nature lovers. Hunting upsets us.

  I think Morgan was jealous. Vampires love a good kill.

  The enormous troll at the table next to us got up and moved toward the karaoke line. I shuddered.

  "Have you talked to Désirée lately?"

  Morgan licked a small drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. "Yesterday. She showed me the new ring she bought from BTV."

  "BTV?" I'd never heard of any realm by that name.

  "Bling Television. She's been watching it most nights. Something about having trouble sleeping."

  That took me back I must admit. Although why, exactly, I'm not sure. Fairies love sparkly things. I've yet to see a rhinestone-free outfit from Désirée.

  "Did she say anything about being in trouble?"

  Morgan turned her head sharply at my question. "No. Why?"

  "Someone called today and she seemed very upset. Then, later, Al and I stopped in at Spike's and Jake said Désirée was looking for Snake."

  Morgan flicked a sharp fang. "Snake's not a bad guy. And he does have a lot of contacts. If I needed help, he'd be at the top of my list to call."

  Morgan leaned back in her chair as she pondered the possibilities. It didn't surprise me that Morgan knew more about Snake than I did. Morgan has a lot of contacts herself. As well as several Twitter and Facebook accounts. She's always in the know.

  "Did you ask her what was wrong?"

  I shook my head. I hadn't seen Désirée since earlier in the afternoon and this wasn't a subject I would trust to an un-secure cell line.

  "I plan to talk to her tomorrow."

  Morgan nodded. "Let me know what you find out." Her shoulders were now moving along with her head and foot. Three gargoyles were belting out 'Peacock'.

  Let me tell you, Katy Perry had no worries.

  They'd obviously been practicing. They had a dance routine.

  I turned my chair so I wouldn't catch even a peripheral view.

  "I think we should pick a song."

  I almost spilled my beer. "Morgan." I waited until she looked me in the eye. "There is no amount of beer, blood or magic that will get me up there."

  I had to be firm and make my position very clear. Morgan and I had a long and varied history in regards to . . . Let's just call them escapades.

  I was generally on board with her plans and vice versa. If I weakened at all, we could be the next Spice Girl wannabes humiliating ourselves in the Goth bar.

  A witch had to maintain some sense of decorum.

  "We could sing 'Witchy Woman'." Morgan snickered. "Or maybe the 'Monster Mash'?" She stuck her arms straight out, wrists bent downward and swung her arms gracefully from side to side.

  She managed to make Frankenstein look sexy.

  I stood, grabbed her thermos as well as one arm and tugged upward.

  "Time to go."

  Morgan snatched up her martini glass clutching it close. I leaned forward and took a cautionary sniff.

  She definitely hadn't added anything to her blood.

  We left the bar, Morgan following me to my car in the parking lot behind Got Fangs?. Lolly had continued the Goth theme into the parking lot by not adding light bulbs to three of the four light posts.

  The HC have very few fears, if any. They're immortal. If the boogeyman shows up he's more than likely a relative or a friend.

  The parking lot gave me the creeps.

  I opened the door to my bright yellow Mini Cooper. Morgan leaned casually against the side, draining the last of her blood.

  We didn't say anything. The night calm with the evening chill just settling in.

  Morgan sighed heavily. I didn't have to look at her to know the haunted look was returning. She hid it well most of the time, but it seemed the moment she relaxed, the past came back with a vengeance.

  My Duck and Dodge routine is a totally inherited trait.

  Morgan had been running from her past for so long, it was as if she had made herself into a new being completely. She hadn't faced the truth of it when she'd tracked me down. Drake's re-entry into her life had forced the showdown.

  Old damaged Morgan versus capable has-her-shit together Morgan.

  It was a fight I hated to see.

  She'd always been the strong one in our friendship.

  "I'll talk to you later, Kate." Morgan handed me the empty martini glass and flew off.

  Now it was my turn to be the strong one. I couldn't hold onto my anger if I was going to help her.

  She's my aunt and my UDBF.

  My life would be less without her.

  3. Hot Demons and More Secrets.

  I was still ruminating over how to help Morgan and myself as I pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment. I turned off the ignition and slammed my door shut.

  I hate ruminating.

  I, personally, don't find it helpful.

  Then again my ruminating tends to follow the lines of: How am I going to help Morgan? I don't know. I have to get over my anger with Morgan. How? I don't know.

  Sort of a frustrating and not very helpful circle.

  Like I said, I don't find ruminating to be helpful.

  "You're home early. Girl's night a bust?" Big Al yawned as he met me at the door. I held it open for him as he came out and we went downstairs together.

  "Sort of." I pretended to look for something in my purse as he did his business. "Morgan wanted to sing karaoke and I didn't."

  I didn't mention the Big Issue. I figured if my ruminating wasn't going to be helpful, my Chihuahua wasn't going to be either.

  "Why not? Karaoke's a blast."

  My mouth dropped and my head whipped up. Luckily, Al had finished what he needed to do and was sniffing a small branch.

  The hit-man liked karaoke?

  I tried to picture it, but in my mind his gun holster kept hitting the microphone stand. The gargoyles were bad enough, but Al? Singing?

  Nope. I didn't want to know.

  "What do you like to sing?" Okay. Fine. I had to know.

  "Sinatra. Dean Martin." Now that I could see. Mob related singers. Made sense for a New Jersey mafia hit-man to like those guys. It just took me back that Al liked to sing.

  I've never heard him sing.

  "AC/DC. Garth Brooks."

  My mouth dropped again. "Garth Brooks?"

  Big Al blinked brown, moist, bulging eyes up at me. "Doll, I've got lots of friends in low places."

  I snickered.

  "By the way," Al tossed over his tiny shoulder as he preceded me up the stairs. "The phone's been ringin' off and on all night."

  Odd. If it was important, everyone I knew had my cell number.

  I opened the front door and Al headed down the short hall into the kitchen.

  My apartment consists of five rooms, and like I said, all of them are tiny. I have one euphemistically entitled second bedroom to the left of the hall which fits
my desk and a bookshelf.

  On the other side is my living room. It hosts my new couch - I have a bill written up for Bigfoot if I ever run into her again - a coffee table, a couple chairs and my TV.

  The itty-bitty bathroom stands between my office and my bedroom on the left side of the hall. It contains the basics - shower/tub, toilet and sink, plus one cabinet crammed full of hair products. Which have a fifty-fifty chance of working.

  My curls are an entity all on their own.

  My bedroom is large enough to hold a double bed, a small chair, a dresser and another bookshelf. As it doesn't hold those items very well, I have my doubts as to whether the demon will fit.

  Although as Al continuously points out - he fits perfectly.

  The kitchen connects to the living room on the right side of the hall. I followed Al into the kitchen and to the phone with the blinking light.

  I've been debating whether to give up my landline. I've added Drake's, Désirée's and Phil's numbers to my cell phone address book recently. Along with my aunt's number, Ash's, Morgan's and the Italian Restaurant's, I'm almost up to ten.

  In consideration, my landline seems a bit silly.

  However, I have always been a rather optimistic witch.

  I hit the play button.

  And listened to three hang ups.

  "No one left a message?"

  Al sat on his minuscule haunches next to his water bowl. "No. A few times the person hung up before the answering machine could pick up."

  Probably a desperate telemarketer.

  The doorbell rang.

  My heart picked up.

  It was too late for friends to be stopping by and Morgan had already flown home. Only one demon would be at my door at this time of night.

  I smoothed down as many curls as I could, ignored the majority that sprang back in opposing directions, pulled my shoulders back and sucked in my stomach.

  All the air rushed back out and my stomach pushed against my jeans again the moment I opened the door. I didn't sigh. These days, whenever I saw Ash, I was filled with equal parts frustration and pulsing desire. My exhalations either began or ended with a moan.

  I couldn't tell which. And it didn't matter.