by Celia Kyle
Hell Can Wait
Caith Morningstar
Celia Kyle
Contents
Hell Can Wait
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
About the Author
Hell Can Wait
I’m Caith Morningstar: bar owner, leather wearer, shoe worshipper, werewolf, Orlando’s resident ass kicker and… Satan’s niece.
The dead are rising in the land of that famous mouse and apparently, I’m the one who has to deal with the mess. Forget movie night with my kid. I have to kill ghouls who have decided to make some new undead friends in the morgue. Eh, killing things is easy. Generally. Oddly, these guys have glowing blue eyes and are way too good at butt kicking. Thankfully, I’m better. I manage to get rid of them, but one gets in a shot or two of his own, and now I’ve got a foot-long wound in my side that glows blue. Kinda like the ghoul.
Now the dick who made those ghouls is trying to turn me into his puppet, which so isn’t going to happen. My loved ones are trying to cure me, my angel mate is off on some super-secret mission for On High, and I’m stuck in bed “resting.” Not that I’m staying there.
I’d rather die than become anyone’s puppet, which might be my only option left. I just hope I can come back from the dead later.
Chapter One
Some people were just too stupid to live and I had my eyes trained on one of them. This little slip of a girl decided it would be the greatest idea ever to go wandering in a graveyard in the middle of the night. It was like she wanted to get chopped up into a million pieces and then sent to the very bowels of Hell.
The full moon illuminated her path as she picked her way across the twigs and dried leaves that littered the ground. A breeze picked up, rustling the branches hanging above her and casting jagged shadows on the ground. A snap stabbed at her from a distance and the girl froze in place. Instead of taking those sounds as a warning, she ignored them, and continued through the headstones. My heart rate picked up with her every step, blood thrumming in my veins while she crept deeper and deeper into the graveyard.
More leaves rustling, a jolting crack from the girl’s right, but it was hard to gauge the distance between her and that sound. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe I was panicking for nothing.
Doubtful.
Part of me wanted to call out to her, warn her, but that was foolish. The girl stumbled farther and farther into the dark and still hadn’t realized that turning around was a good thing.
Too. Stupid. To. Live.
The girl stumbled and fell to the ground, the heel of one of her stilettos snapping off in that split second. I wanted to slap the ever-loving shit out of her for her choice in fashion alone. Stilettos? Really? The chick had worn a chaste white dress with stilettos.
One of these things is not like the others. Either go balls to the wall whore or stick with the good girl look. Mix and match was not working in her favor and now her fashion choices were gonna kill her.
Sad, really. The chick had a nice rack. I bet guys would have liked to get up close and personal with her.
A wolf howled in the distance and the girl froze once more. She spun in place, gaze darting around her midnight surroundings. Tears flooded her eyes and it seemed the chick finally realized the truth. She was gonna die.
She yanked off her shoes and tossed them to the side before she broke into a mad dash across the cemetery. Her feet pounded over the overgrown grass as she cut between the graves.
I sighed. Stepping on graves was not the greatest of ideas as proven by what happened next…
A rotted hand thrust up through the dirt, bony fingers gripping the girl’s ankle and halting her race to freedom. The chick screamed as the undead horror yanked her to the ground.
I screamed right along with the her. The shout burst from my chest and I jolted in my seat, spilling popcorn all over the couch.
Jezebeth jumped too, but I’m pretty sure it was in reaction to me and not the undead-ish thing on the screen.
My best friend then flashed me a dark glare and punched my arm. “Seriously? You’ve killed thousands of zombies and a horror flick scares you?”
“Didn’t hurt.” I rubbed my arm and glared at Jezze in return. Okay, it hurt a little. The witch must have put a little something extra behind her hit.
Bryony—my adopted son—rested on the floor in front of the couch, stretched out on his stomach with his own bowl of popcorn nearby. He glanced over his shoulder and got into the Let’s Make Fun of Caith game. He threw his head back and cackled. “Mom’s a fraidy-cat!”
I glowered at my kid, not sure if I was angrier at being called a coward or a cat. My inner wolf—the beast I had inherited from one of my five fathers (don’t ask)—snarled and growled at the comparison.
“Hey, Jezze,” I lifted a single eyebrow, my eyes on Bry, “I think it’s after a certain someone’s bedtime. Don’t you?”
“The cat thing was a mistake, kid.” Jezebeth mumbled.
“Nooo!” Bryony pushed to his hands and feet and crawled closer to the TV. “I wanna see how it ends, Mom. Please.”
I clutched my popcorn bowl in one hand and picked up the scattered remains of my snack with the other. “Are we done with the kitty references? Or do I need to turn off the TV and call your Grandpa Al so he can explain the differences between werewolves and cats?”
Not that I’d actually call Alrick Fallon—High Wolf of North America. Papa Al wouldn’t help my cause. He’d scoop Bry up, tell him he was a good boy for annoying his mother and then they’d eat themselves into a food coma.
But I didn’t have to tell Bryony his grandfather was a pushover.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I swear.” Those big brown eyes were locked onto mine and I sighed.
He wasn’t sorry, but at least he apologized. I’d have to teach him how to lie better. The only child of Satan’s niece needed to be better at being evil.
I’d been hesitant to even let him stay up and watch a horror movie with Jezze and me, but I figured after all the horrors he’d witnessed in real life—murdered family, nearly kidnapped by a demon god, brainwashed into a prophet child by a goddess’ evil cult… he was probably desensitized to scary shit by now. Really, the movie was more like a kid’s cartoon when compared to Bry’s experiences.
“Park that butt and finish your movie. I’ll be right back.” I grumbled the words, adding a little of my wolf’s snarl, and my kid gave me a gap-toothed grin in return.
He lied when he apologized and I lied when I acted angry. And obviously, neither of us was very good at it.
I pushed to my feet and headed toward the kitchen for a beer. I smiled at Esmeralda—Bryony’s new nanny—as I made my way to the fridge. She had folded Bry’s laundry while we relaxed and watched the movie. I’d invited her to join us, but she wasn’t interested. Honestly, the woman never seemed to be interested in anything fun. The only thing she did, other than work, was read, and she didn’t read cool books either. No comic books, horror novels, or even s
uper steamy romance novels when she had a literary itch to scratch. Nope, she read literature. Gag. She had bookshelves of crap that had scared high school students for generations in her room.
I retrieved a beer and tipped it toward Esmeralda in greeting before I retraced my path to the living room. I strode around the corner in time to watch the dumb blonde actress attempt to climb an old tree to escape the zombies chasing her. Rookie move.
I rounded the end of the couch, intent on reclaiming my spot, but the heavy thud of a fist against my front door froze me in place. Nothing good ever came from late night visits. As for people visiting me late at night? It was either a lost pizza delivery guy or the world was ending. And in my experience, the world threatened to end fairly often.
I reached behind me with my free hand, fingers tingling in anticipation of wrapping around the handle of the blade strapped to my back. Except… I’d taken it off before the movie. Dammit.
At least I kept weapons on the wall. To the casual visitor, they were decorative. To me, they were sharp, deadly, and readily available. I never let myself get too far from some method of destruction. Too much shit had happened to me over the centuries for me to be unarmed.
Esmeralda got to the door first, revealing the visitor while I headed to the nearest wall-mounted sword. I almost told her to wait a damn minute—I really didn’t feel like interviewing for a new nanny—but then I remembered what I liked so much about this nanny. Esmeralda was a dhampir—half human, half vampire. She got the best of both worlds that way—all kinds of badass strength and speed without the whole blood craving ickiness and painful poof when she went into the sunlight.
I followed her to the door and stayed just out of sight, searching the shadows to identify my late-night visitor.
Fuck me sideways with an Energizer Bunny powered purple dildo, I would never have expected him to show up on my doorstep.
I would have known how to deal with an angel or demon—gels or dems. Gels didn’t talk to me at all. Something about me being the niece of the devil and the controlling evil presence in Orlando. They were picky like that. As for the dems, they knew better than to bother me at home. They had a problem? They could show up at my bar, Hell’s Chapel, and whine at me there. My home was my magically protected castle.
I would have been better prepared to handle a frantic tweener—creatures that lived in the world between On High and Hell—at this time of night.
I wasn’t sure how to react to this guy— a human—Robin Boyd, mayor of Orlando at that.
“Mr. Mayor,” I drawled, unable to hide my hate for the annoying little man. “What an unexpected pleasure to see you. At my home. In the middle of the Hell-damned night.”
We had a sort of working relationship that generally existed in the Monday-through-Friday, eight-to-five arena. Not after midnight on a Saturday.
Boyd was one of the few humans who knew about dems, gels, and tweens, and his office actively fought to keep the truth about nonhuman events away from the public. I ruled Orlando’s nonhuman population and made sure they didn’t turn humans into Sunday dinner. In exchange, I got to handle my business without being sent to jail. Like, when I killed an evil warlock intent on sucking out the souls of the local populace. No jail time for this immortal chick. Boom.
“Caith.” Boyd straightened and adjusted his disheveled tie. The little patch of hair on his balding head stuck out at all angles, adding to his frazzled appearance. “I don’t normally make house calls, but—“
I rolled my eyes and leaned my sword against the wall before crossing my arms over my chest. “Lemme guess. You need my help.”
Couldn’t I get one night with my kid without having to kill and-or maim someone?
Boyd nodded like a bobble-head doll. “There’s an issue at the coroner’s office.”
I ran a hand through my black and violet dyed hair, fingers sliding through the strands until I reached the ends. I paused and frowned at the split ends. I seriously needed a haircut and probably a color touch-up. Maybe this time I’d go—
“Did you hear me?”
Pushy little human. My hair color wasn’t any less important than his “issue.”
“Coroner’s office? Did one of your guys pack up a vampire again?” I shook my head. “I keep telling you to at least clue those guys in about vamps. It would save on the city’s health insurance costs if you weren’t constantly institutionalizing employees.”
He ignored my comment about healthcare costs. Apparently the opinions of non-voters didn’t matter. “I’m not sure what they are. None of them show bite marks. I assume it’s zombies.”
“You know what they say about assuming? You get a bite taken out of your ass.” Or something like that. “Let’s hope it’s only zombies. They’re easier to handle than vamps. A quick slice and dice and they’re out of commission.”
“Whatever they are, I need you to deal with them. Quietly. I don’t need another city-wide panic on my hands.”
I didn’t need to almost get killed by whatever caused the city-wide panic, so at least we were on the same page. “No promises, but I’ll check it out.”
He opened his mouth as if to add something else, but I was done listening. He’d ruined my movie night with my kid. I’d go kill whatever needed killing, but I wasn’t going to stand here and listen to him spout off any more.
I kicked the door closed and Esmeralda snapped the lock into place the moment the latch clicked.
I went to a nearby stash of weapons—tapping the wall to reveal the keypad and then entering the code so I had access to my toys.
“Jezze?” I called to my friend and listened as she gathered her things.
“Coming!” Jezze had her own bag of tricks, although hers were more along the lines of potion bottles and snarled words, while I leaned toward cutting things to pieces.
I strapped two swords to my back and tucked a knife into each boot. A small handgun rested in a hidden holster against my lower back. A headshot to a zombie would get rid of ‘em. It wouldn’t be as fun as chopping off its head, but it would do the job.
The soft patter of little bare feet reached me and I turned to watch Bryony shuffle toward me. I crouched down and waited for him to draw near before I tugged him even closer. I ruffled his hair and dropped a kiss on top of his head. He was cute, my kid. Not biologically mine—Bryony was a brownie, and I’m something altogether different—but that didn’t make him any less mine.
“You gotta go kill stuffs?” A slight frown marred his little face. In brownie years, he was a hint over three, but to humans he looked like a scrawny six-year-old.
“Momma’s gotta take care of some business, sweetie.” Momma, it felt good. There was nothing temporary about our situation, even if it had started out a little unusual. His parents had been killed, and while he was on the literal chopping block, I dispatched their killers. See? It was only a smidge odd.
Now, Bry simply called me Mom and I wasn’t sure if he made a distinction between his biological mother and me anymore. We didn’t talk about it. I’m awesome at avoidance.
“Be careful, okay?” He wrapped his little arms around me and hugged my neck tightly while I gently patted his back.
I hated worrying him, but it wasn’t like I could shelter him from all the crazy shit in Mouse Town. The famous mouse’s house is filled with demons and I’m the bitch who has to keep them in line. Which was why Esmeralda had joined our merry band of blood, death, and evil. She could keep Bryony safe while I ran off to kill the big baddies of the day.
“Don’t worry, kiddo.” I pinched his cheek and he batted my hand away. “I’ll be back soon. You better be in bed when I get home. No giving Esme a hard time, okay?”
I used the nickname I’d come up with for the nanny just to see if I could get a rise out of her. A glare, a frown, something. And I got… nothing other than her normal stern expression.
Esmeralda moved closer and placed her hands on Bryony’s shoulders. A silent show of support? Dear Lucifer, th
e woman might have actual emotions.
I stood and went to the door, my kid’s eyes on me as I left. I knew he understood that I was just doing my job. I’m not a hero or some selfless good guy. I have my own secrets and special brand of hellfire I like to stir, but I couldn’t stand around while people messed up my town.
Not because I cared about the ones who would be hurt. Mainly it’s because I’m a territorial bitch and Orlando is mine. It’s the wolf in me, I think. This bitch wants to piss on every inch of Orlando and warn others away. I don’t think I have a bladder big enough to handle the job, but the beast wants to give it a shot anyway.
Jezze and I climbed into my sleek black SUV. My old clunker had been torn apart once or twice… or a dozen times. Whatever. Now I had something fancy with four-wheel drive, a powerful engine, and big ass tires. All the better to run you over with, my dear.
I followed Boyd through the city toward the morgue, hoping this little problem wasn’t one that could spread. Zombies? All I had to do was slice and dice the rotting corpses and take out the witch or warlock who had decided it was a good idea to play with dead things. A zombie bite didn’t create other zombies. It created a nasty staph infection, though. Ick.
Hell help me if I had to deal with ghouls, though. They weren’t the typical horror movie brain eaters; they tended to stick with blood in general—not necessarily brains. One bite created another ghoul and one ghoul could turn as many as two dozen in a single night. Hundreds more if they got out of control and weren’t stopped early. Jezze had some spells that could help the bitten, but only if we managed to stop the transition within an hour of exposure. Longer than that and the only cure was a sword to the neck.
