by Reine, SM
It was a private moment, and Anthony didn’t know them nearly well enough to be there. Of course, Elise did know them well enough, and she still had the frightened appearance of an animal who wanted to flee. She hadn’t even stepped through the doorway.
“Took you long enough to get here,” Leticia said, kissing McIntyre.
“Sorry. I got held up.” When his wife gave him a Look, he just shook his head. He couldn’t stop grinning at the baby. “I’ll tell you later.”
“We should get going,” Anthony said.
Leticia turned her exhausted stare on them. “Don’t you dare. Come meet the new family member.” Elise edged toward the door, but the witch wasn’t having any of it. “Now, ma’am. Move it.”
Anthony had a lot of cousins, and just as many nieces and nephews. Babies were nothing new to him. He thought that they were all the same at birth—like tiny, angry old men. The McIntyre baby was no different. It was much smaller than his cousins had been, and attached to an oxygen machine by a nasal cannula. The fist that stuck out of the blankets could have belonged to a doll. An ugly, wrinkly doll.
“Beautiful,” he said, because he learned that his actual opinion wasn’t welcome after Aunt Graciela gave birth to a creature resembling President Roosevelt. “What’s with the nose thing? Is she okay?”
“Just fine,” Leticia said. “A little early, but they said she can breathe on her own soon.”
“Where’s Dana?” Elise asked from six feet back.
“She’s been with grandma and grandpa all week. Come on, Debora’s not going to bite. Not you, anyway.”
Elise shuffled a little closer, just near enough that she could peer at the newborn over Anthony’s shoulder.
He waited for a reaction. She had never shown any indication of maternal instinct before—in fact, she referred to students of James’s preschool dance classes with flattering names like “snot face”—but women always melted over babies. It was a girl thing. There was no way she could resist.
Her brow pinched. “Nice,” she said emotionlessly.
Leticia gave McIntyre an exasperated glance, and he laughed. He sounded a little giddy. “Don’t look at me, Tish. I don’t know what you expected.”
“Here, Elise. Hold her,” Leticia said. “I need to use the bathroom.”
The shock on Elise’s face made the entire trip to Las Vegas and Silver Wells worth it. “No way. I’m not going to—”
But Leticia had already shoved the bundle of blankets into the kopis’s arms and struggled to her feet with her husband’s help. She hung onto her IV pole as she hobbled toward the bathroom with a groan. “Remind me why I did this?” she muttered.
“Masochism and a broken condom,” McIntyre said.
“Yeah, right. That.”
They both went in the bathroom and shut the door behind them. Elise held Debora away from her body, as though the baby was a grenade with the pin removed. The cannula wasn’t the only thing attached to the tiny infant. A feeding tube led into her mouth, too. It forced Elise to stand awkwardly beside the incubator.
“Take it,” Elise said. “Put it in the plastic cage thing.”
Anthony grinned. “Why? Scared of a preemie?”
“It feels like a marshmallow. I’m going to break it.”
“Aunt Graciela says babies are rubber, not glass,” he said. “Trust me, you can’t break her. Not even a preemie. I’ve dropped all of my cousins at least once and they’re still running around.” He angled himself behind her back so he could shift her arms into a more comfortable position. “Head in your elbow, arm under the butt—”
Elise grimaced at him. “She smells.”
“You can handle it. I have faith in you.” He circled his arms around her and made adjustments until it almost looked like she was comfortable holding the baby. It was like positioning a mannequin—she was completely rigid. He hugged Elise’s shoulders in one arm as he stroked a finger over the baby’s wrinkled fist. Debora’s face scrunched tighter in sleep. Her lips smacked.
He expected Elise to soften once they were cozy, but she remained stiff. How could she feel nothing toward such a helpless little creature? Why couldn’t she do anything normally?
“Okay. I held it. I’m done,” she said.
“Enjoy the moment.” Anthony’s voice had a slight edge. “You did a good thing. McIntyre is only here to see his daughter because of you. Don’t you feel proud?”
“The baby had nothing to do with it.”
“They seriously owe you for this. I know that if you were having a baby and I was arrested—”
“Anthony.”
“—it would mean a lot—”
“Anthony.” She stepped away from him and turned around. Even with the baby settled against her chest, she didn’t look like the kind of person who should be allowed to hold an infant. Her expression was pained. “I’m never going to have children. I can’t.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in.
I’m never going to have children.
Elise had told him that before, but he assumed it was just stubbornness talking. She had never said it was because she couldn’t.
“You… can’t?”
The bathroom door opened. McIntyre helped Leticia into bed again, and then took his baby from a grateful Elise. “Hey, beautiful,” he murmured at the wrinkled newborn.
Anthony felt numb.
“We need to get to the airport,” Elise said, composed once more.
“Thank you. For everything. We’ll come visit you and James once I’m back on my feet,” Leticia said. “Save some couch space for us. A lot of couch space, actually. Our family’s growing.”
Elise grimaced. “Yeah. Okay. We’ll do that.”
She shook hands with McIntyre somewhat stiffly. Leticia insisted on kissing Anthony’s cheek.
They left the hospital and didn’t talk all the way back to Reno.
There were three messages waiting on Elise’s answering service when they returned to Reno. The first was a rather optimistic update from James, who was letting her know that his flight would be late—not that she was planning on seeing him when he returned—and the second message was six seconds of silence, followed by a click.
The third message had been left just a few minutes earlier. Elise couldn’t understand the first thing the caller whispered, but what she did make out was chilling: “He’s back.” Neuma’s voice was muffled. Judging by the sound of rubbing cloth, the phone must have been in her pocket. “Please, Elise—he’s back. He’s got the club.”
And then it cut off.
Elise considered the phone in her hand. Neuma had known it was coming. She had asked for help, and Elise had refused. Her choice had left the casino and the gate beneath it exposed to attack.
Guilt wasn’t productive. She took a deep breath and went into the bedroom. Anthony dumped the contents of their backpack on the floor before tossing the empty bag in the closet. It was his idea of organization.
“Feel like beating up some demons?” Elise asked as she donned her spine sheath and twin falchions.
“You have no idea.” His words smoldered with unvoiced anger.
Since their new apartment was so close to Craven’s, Elise didn’t even bother concealing her weapons before going out. They jogged through an alley, took the back entrance to the casino, and sneaked downstairs.
Eloquent Blood was full for a Sunday night, but not because of partiers. There wasn’t a single human on the premises. The floor was packed with demons—every single one an employee of Craven’s, which was dark and empty upstairs. They cowered in a cluster on the dance floor.
Elise studied the situation from the spotlight scaffolding. There was an ugly demon on the stage, leather-skinned and clawed, and he wore a crown of iron spikes. It had to be Zohak.
Neuma stood beside him, eyes lowered, legs bloodied, and a tray of drinks in her hands. He had been snacking on her again.
“If I jumped to the next scaffold, I’d be in range for
a clear shot,” Anthony whispered, pulling the shotgun from his scabbard.
It was tempting. But shooting the leader would leave the employees at the mercy of his minions, who were positioned around the room with blunt swords. Zohak’s legion was populated by hunch-backed creatures that would never pass for human. Elise recognized them as a breed of lesser fiend—not quite as strong or sturdy as the ones she had fought in the spring, but a little smarter, which made them a dozen times deadlier.
One of his fiends climbed on stage. It spoke in the demon tongue.
Zohak grabbed Neuma’s wrist. “They tell me there is no sign of the Night Hag in the Warrens,” he growled in a guttural, thickly-accented voice. He obviously hadn’t been on Earth for long.
“I told you, she’s out for the week,” Neuma said, her voice high and panicked. “She’s visiting the San Francisco territory.”
“But she has left behind no army. Not a single daimarachnid. I think you are lying to me, succubus.” He used her arm to jerk her down to his level. His rubbery lips were already stained with blood. “Lies make me hungry.”
Elise hurried across the scaffolds and silently dropped backstage, concealed behind heavy black drapes. Anthony followed.
A fiend was positioned to protect Zohak’s back, but it faced the wrong direction. She slipped behind it, slit its throat with a dagger, and dropped it off the back of the stage before anyone could hear the gurgles.
It left nothing between her and Zohak—nothing but the curtain and six feet of stage.
Elise drew one sword with her good hand, and glanced over her shoulder to make sure Anthony was in position. He jacked a round into the shotgun’s chamber.
Sometimes, it was important to make an impression.
She stepped from behind the curtains.
“Elise!” Neuma squealed, and the demon-king turned.
Before Zohak had a chance to react, Elise jumped. She knocked him to the stage and kneeled on his throat.
Someone in the crowd screamed with surprise. The fiends lifted their swords and stepped forward, but she pressed the point of one falchion to the demon-king’s chest. “Stop,” she said, and they froze. “Get out. All of you.”
“Or what?” Zohak asked.
She leaned more of her weight on his throat, and he gagged. “Or I will kill you and every one of your followers.” His eyes flashed with anger. She pressed harder, and the anger turned into a hint of panic.
He couldn’t speak to give orders, but he nodded and wiggled a finger. The fiends scattered.
Zohak kept gesturing. “I think he wants to talk,” Anthony said, standing at the edge of the stage with his shotgun aimed at the nearest fiend.
She lifted her weight. Not much—not enough for him to break free—but to the point where he could gasp a breath of air. “Who in the seven hells are you?” Zohak squeezed out.
“I’m Elise,” she said. “And this is my city.”
A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
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