The Unlikeable Demon Hunter Collection: Books 1-3 (Nava Katz Box Set)

by Deborah Wilde

  Ari laughed, a devastating sound. “You could say that.”

  “Night terrors can manifest as a result of post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s a paralyzing experience where the sleeper feels helpless, unable to scream or open their eyes.” There was way too much compassion in this woman’s voice for her to be a demon. “Those symptoms are called ‘felt presence.’”

  “Huh,” Ari said. “Didn’t some cultures attribute these symptoms to demons?”

  “Yes,” I could practically hear her smile. “If you meet Mara, you can ask her about it. She lives for those tales.”

  I stiffened because a mara was a type of nightmare demon.

  “I’d love to hear them. Is she around?” he asked.

  “Not right now.” Dr. Alphonse went on to explain some of the physical attributes of sleep paralysis, such as difficulty breathing due to the controlled respiration of REM sleep. From there she outlined some of the ways that her clinic could help alleviate the symptoms.

  Minimizing the database, I poked around until I found a Word doc helpfully labeled “Employee contacts” and snapped a photo of Mara’s information. The clinic was closed on Sunday and Monday so tomorrow morning would be the perfect time to try and catch her.

  I hurriedly concluded my search, restored the screen to the way that I’d found it and hustled out of there. Gay Cutie gave me an odd look, like going into the bathroom after me was probably going to require nose plugs, but I hadn’t been caught.

  I flipped through half a magazine without seeing a single page, practically grabbing Ari by the elbow when he emerged to hustle him out the door faster.

  I thrust the photo of Mara’s address at him.

  “Not bad, newb.”

  “What are those?” I fished my keys out of my pocket, casually craning my neck to take in the title of one of the pamphlets he held–Sleep Disorders–before he just as casually stuffed them in his pocket.

  “Convinced her,” he said.

  “Great.” I started the car. If Ari wanted to discuss this, he would.

  I lasted three blocks.

  “Why didn’t you tell me the nightmares never stopped?” I pinched my lips together.

  Ari jabbed a finger at me. “Because that.”

  I flicked on my right turn signal, waiting for the crosswalk to clear of pedestrians. “Are you considering seeing Dr. Alphonse?”

  “I’ll deal.” His voice was flat.

  I slowed to a stop at the red light. This was one of the longest lights in Vancouver and with my hands not needed on the wheel, I worried I might do something I’d regret, like haul off and clobber the stubborn bastard. PTSD had to be pretty common amongst our bunch. I’d bet good money Rohan was neck deep in it after Pakistan.

  “If the Brotherhood has massage therapists on call, they must have someone you can speak to. A Rasha psychiatrist or something.” The second the light changed to green, I gunned the car forward.

  Ari was quiet for a long time, staring out at the rain. “That’s part of how they train us.”

  “You need to be a bit less cryptic. I never got the program.”

  He rummaged in the leather messenger bag that lay at his feet. “When we initiates hit our teens, we’re exposed to the harsh realities of demon hunting. Shown photos of carnage, hear firsthand testimony about demon attacks. We work with specially trained Rasha on how to live with the stress.”

  I clenched the wheel. Another thing I’d missed out on. “That’s what you were doing each spring break in high school? That intensive you did?” It explained why my brother had always come back quieter than usual from “Camp Rasha.”

  Not finding whatever he was looking for, Ari opened the glove compartment and rooted through it. “They flew me out to different crime scenes or to spend one-on-one time with hunters describing what they’d lived through,” he said. “What they’d lost.”

  Who they’d lost?

  “If they took the trouble to prepare you before you started hunting then they’ve got to have Rasha on staff to help you cope now,” I said.

  “They do.” He fished out a black pen and dropped it into the messenger bag.

  “But you won’t go see them.”

  “No. And not because I’m stubborn, which is what you’re thinking right now.” He slammed the glove compartment shut. “If we went into therapy for every single thing that was going to mess with our heads? We’d never be out there. So we deal with it. We talk to each other and do whatever we have to to claw some sunshine back into the world.”

  “You could talk to me. As well.”

  “It’s not the same. Kane has gone through everything with me. So much about our lives are similar. Initiates, being gay.”

  Fascinating that Ari’s general “all Rasha talking to each other” had suddenly gotten so specific. I shrugged off my sting of hurt and renewed my commitment to seeing him and Kane together. If they could figure out their bullshit, they’d be good for each other.

  “I’m glad you have someone to confide in,” I said. “As for me, I managed to get into their files. Only Davide was a patient.”

  “It was worth a shot. Turn left here. Ellen Chen’s family should be at the end of the block.”

  I slowed to a stop in front of the house he indicated and cut the engine.

  “I’m going to take this one on my own.” He fished a pair of glasses out of his jacket and slid them on, then picked up the messenger bag.

  “Why?”

  “They believe I’m her agent’s assistant in town to settle up some paperwork.” He rummaged in the bag and pulled out a business card.

  “Millner and Associates Literary,” I read. It had an embossed logo and everything. “Is this for real?”

  He nodded and tapped the name. “Right down to Simon Kelly. Her actual agent’s assistant.”

  “Well, go get ’em, Simon.”

  “Thanks. I’ll make my own way home.”

  I hadn’t expected to be on my own this afternoon but maybe that was for the best. I could get on with my plan to track down the spine. “Hey, Ace, the contact guy for the snitch? You wouldn’t happen to have his phone number, would you?”

  I could have asked Leo, but I felt kind of weird asking for that favor from her.

  “No clue. Why?”

  I started the engine. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Is this about the witches? I’m not helping you bite off more than you can chew and accidentally endanger my brothers. Especially not after you lied to me about what the witches are up to.”

  “Montague deliberately endangered you, endangered the entire chapter house, when he took down the wards.” In addition to his intimate and interactive time with the jax, Montague had been the Rasha who took down the wards around our original place at the bidding of Asmodeus, Prince of Lust. Ari had been captured and tortured in the fallout. “You’re focusing on the wrong loyalties, bro.”

  “So are you.” He opened the door.

  I released the parking brake, muttering under my breath about deliberately obtuse individuals.

  Ari slid out of the car. “I know what you meant, Nee. I always do when it comes to you. But sometimes I wonder if the reverse is ever true.” With that, he shut the car door and walked away.

  What a ridiculous thing to say. So I hadn’t realized his insecurities around the way he’d been inducted until Kane had told me. Why would I have assumed that he was bent out of shape about it? What did it matter that his becoming Rasha hadn’t happened exactly according to plan? It had still happened, hadn’t it? I’d risked my life to get him exactly where he wanted to be and he was going to pout about it?

  And he had the gall to doubt my loyalty?

  I sped back to Demon Club, making one quick stop.

  “A mocha latte no whip,” I said, presenting one of the two cups I held to Ms. Clara with a flourish. She was in her office, located on the ground floor of the chapter house next to the conference room and other offices kept for visiting Rasha or rabbis.

&
nbsp; Tasteful photographic prints of the city from Pacific Spirit Park to neon signs in Chinatown framed her white walls. The office wasn’t large but it was bright and organized with a near mania.

  While the Brotherhood was a secret organization, it wasn’t secret from families of the rabbis and Rasha. That’s how Ms. Clara had come to work for us. Her dad had been Rasha.

  She was dressed in iron-gray slacks and a matching sweater that she managed to make soft and feminine looking. “Thanks, doll. What do you need?”

  “That obvious?” I sat down.

  “Kind of.” Ms. Clara leaned back in her black and brushed steel Aeron chair that matched her desk and sipped her coffee. “Mmm.”

  “There’s this guy.”

  Ms. Clara raised an eyebrow.

  “Really not like that. This old guy. Obsessed with UFOs.” I drank some more of my own mocha.

  She nodded. “Harry. Our go-between with the informant.”

  “I need to find him.” I paused, ready with a lie, but she simply drank some more coffee, waiting for me to continue. “Ari was the one who’d originally gotten me to him, but when I swung by Harry’s house, he’d moved and Ari doesn’t have a number for him.”

  I’d hoped Harry could get me to the witches. Now I hoped he could find the spine.

  “I’m not sure how to reach him. Why don’t you just ask Leonie?”

  I spat mocha all over her desk. Still coughing, I grabbed a handful of tissue from the box and mopped up the liquid before she broke out some dominatrix moves for messing up the sanctity of The Desk. “Leonie?” I squeaked. “Why would I do that?”

  “Nava, I know she’s half-goblin. And our resident informant.”

  I shook my head “no” hard enough to rattle my brain. My heart thudded in my ears.

  Ms. Clara came around to my side of the desk and, grasping my shoulders, crouched down to meet my eyes. “Breathe, doll. She’s in no danger.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Xiaoli.” The previous head Rasha here in Vancouver.

  “Who else knows?”

  “No one.” She stood up, opened her top drawer and peered inside. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  I knew a dismissal when I heard it. I threw the soggy tissues out into the trash, praying I could trust her about Leo. “Yeah, sure. Sorry to have bothered you.”

  She brushed past me, headed for the door, coffee in hand. “Not a problem. I’m going upstairs to get a cookie to go with my mocha.”

  I pointed at her desk. “You left your drawer open.”

  “Did I? I’m opening and closing that thing three hundred times a day.” She left the room.

  I edged around the desk warily, not sure what I’d find given that blatant set-up. There was a plastic cube containing paperclips, a bundle of multi-colored pens and a neat stack of pastel Post-Its. Also an envelope filled with petty cash.

  I smiled and plucked out three crisp one hundred dollar bills. Harry liked his payouts. And Ms. Clara was truly a bamf.

  I texted Leo to see if she was around. I’d made it up to the foyer, rooting through my bag for my lipstick when she texted back a photo of a bunch of red squares.

  I sent her a series of question marks. Seconds later my phone rang.

  “Tell me you’re downtown,” she said.

  “I’m headed that way in a minute.” I applied the Rebel pink, running a finger along the edge of my lips to wipe off any excess lipstick.

  She squealed. “Really? How come?”

  “Coming to see you.” I stepped outside onto the front porch, squinting against the sun’s glare. My favorite pair of sunglasses had been broken in a demon encounter and my back up heart-shaped ones had been dumped in the Great Lolita Purge when I’d rid myself of the undercover persona I’d used in Prague–and Rohan’s nickname for me.

  “Good. Paint chip 911. Can you come to the hardware store by my place?”

  “Sure. Be there soon.” This visit necessitated yet another stop. The bribe train just kept adding more cars.

  Leo had commandeered the two high school employees into holding about thirty-seven paint chip samples up to the front window and was barking commands at them to turn this way and that.

  “I’ll take it from here,” I assured the terrified kids. They fled, scattering paint chips in their wake.

  “Argh!” Leo pulled on her hair. She looked about sixteen in her striped jumper with the cap sleeves and a jean jacket. Not that I was stupid enough to mention that.

  I waved the giant, fake, shiny ruby ring surrounded by “diamonds” that I’d purchased at the dollar store down the block. “Look deep into the gemstone. Let its cut edges–”

  “Facets,” Leo said primly. Goblins and their gem fetishes.

  I rolled my eyes. “Let its facets calm you, you psycho.”

  She snatched the ring from me and slid it on her finger, admiring it.

  “Working?” I asked.

  “As a placebo, sure.” She regarded the rows of paint chip samples and whimpered. “Or not.”

  Ten minutes later we’d narrowed the selection down to seven different shades of red and one green. “You know my vote,” I said.

  “I can’t paint my wall this color just because it’s called ‘Olive-ia Newton John.’” She was beginning to vibrate.

  I slung an arm over her shoulders. “I’m going to say this with as much love as I can, okay?” She nodded. “Your bedroom trim is white. And if you paint the walls red, my diminutive demon friend, you will look like you live in a toadstool.”

  She snatched the green chip out of my hand and marched up to the front counter.

  I waited until she’d placed her order for a gallon of paint and we were browsing the aisles to ask my favor. “So, hey. I was wondering if I could get Harry’s phone number.”

  Leo picked up a utility knife. Casually examined it. “Why do you know his name?”

  “Uh, Ms. Clara told me.”

  “I see.”

  “No one else knows any identifying info on him.” She didn’t put her weapon down so I picked up a wide putty knife and brandished it in front of me. “The guy obviously consorts with demons so I’m hardly a threat.”

  “What do you need to talk to him about?” She popped the blade out.

  I scrunched up my face. “Witches.”

  “Right. I can’t see how pulling my friend into whatever this Brotherhood-witch animosity is could possibly be a problem.”

  I brushed the blade she jabbed at me aside with my putty knife. “I promise you–”

  “Maybe I don’t trust your promises.” Leo threw the knife back onto the shelf and stalked out of the aisle.

  I laid down the putty knife and followed her, cornering her in the back by the bookcase of wallpaper samples. “I was a shitty friend, okay? There are not apologies enough for cutting you out of my life, but the number of people I trust are pretty much standing in front of me.”

  “Don’t be such a drama queen. You have Ari.”

  “He’s pretty firmly committed to Team Brotherhood right now. That’s part of why I need to talk to Harry. He seems connected in certain circles…?”

  Leo gave a slight nod.

  No one was nearby, still, I lowered my voice. “The demon that attacked me in Prague had been modified. I’m hoping if I find the external spine that had been rigged onto it, I can do some kind of spell to test for magic indicating binding and use that to figure out if the attack was ordered by the witches or the Brotherhood.” I rubbed my forehead. “I know you help fight the good fight, and believe it or not, I’m really conscious of not crossing this line between us. I don’t want you to think that I’m using you for your friends and contacts, but I don’t know where else to turn.”

  “The thing is, Nee, it’s not just your life that you’re playing with anymore. It’s not even just mine.” Leo flipped through a rack of shower curtains, each one cheaper and uglier than the last.

  “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you again.�
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  “Not consciously. But you’ve changed. You’re a lot more willing to cut and run.”

  I willed myself to respect what she was saying and swallowed the snarky comment I wanted to make about some people willing to give up on others pretty fast. “Okay. You need time to trust this again. Trust us. Forget I asked.”

  This wasn’t worth my friendship.

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  The employee called out that Leo’s paint was ready.

  “Go pay,” I said. “I’ll help you prime your walls.”

  Leo fiddled with the fake ring. The employee called her to the counter again. She took two steps, stopped, and pressed her phone into my hand. “Two seven three three one six,” she said and headed for the counter.

  27-33-16. The combination to the locker we’d shared in grade twelve. I smiled.

  I unlocked her cell, and got Harry’s number from her contacts, leaving him a message using the burner phone I’d purchased when I’d gotten back from Prague. The Brotherhood had given me an encrypted phone which they could track and probably use to monitor all my calls, so I’d bought another cell.

  We lugged all the paint and supplies back to Leo’s apartment, threw open the windows, blasted her Girl Power playlist, moved her furniture away from the walls under plastic sheets, and rollered our little hearts out.

  “What is Harry to you?”

  Pouring more primer into the tray, Leo wiggled her hips to the Beyoncé playing. “My boss.”

  “He owns the P.I. firm?” I dipped my roller in the primer, slapping it against the tray to get rid of the excess.

  “Yup. Is that good?”

  “It’s even better than I expected.” I’d been hoping that he could get me to someone who could get me to someone who could find out what had happened to the spine, but if he was a seasoned P.I., he could very well be able to get it for me himself.

  “Nee.” I glanced up at Leo, holding an angled corner brush in her hand. “I’m conscious of the line, too.” She resumed painting, singing “Crazy In Love” at top volume.

  I hugged her and went to work on my own wall.

  8

  Just as we were finishing up, Ari texted me to come back to Demon Club. I scratched my cheek with primer-covered fingers. “I gotta book. You okay for the rest of this?”