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

by Deborah Wilde

  Leo tapped the lid back onto the paint can. “Yeah. Go.”

  I washed off my roller, we wished each other “schmugs,” and I returned home.

  Ari was in the library, plugging in his laptop. He’d brought Szechuan take-out for dinner and the room was filled with the smell of chili and sesame.

  “Did you learn anything useful from Ellen’s family?” I pulled off the first lid, inhaling the delights of ginger beef.

  “Not really.”

  He pushed a package of Twizzlers my way without looking over. His go-to peace offering with me since we were kids. The tension in my shoulders eased.

  “Strawberry. Good boy.” I opened the other two Chinese food containers to find shrimp fried rice and spicy green beans.

  “Like I was gonna buy you the black ones and watch you throw them in the garbage.”

  “It only took one lesson for you to learn.”

  He dug out his phone. “I swung by Mara’s place–”

  “You went without me?” I shoved the licorice back at him.

  He tossed the package at me again. It landed on the table with a thump and a crinkle. “It was on the way home. I just wanted to do an initial recon. See what I could scope out.”

  “Without me.” I scooped rice onto my plate. “After I was the one that got her address to begin with.”

  “Will you stop bitching and look?” He shoved his phone at me.

  Sure, this was no big deal to him because he was the one getting to call the shots. I probably wouldn’t even have minded if he’d given me a heads up before he’d gone over there. Note to self: less of the free and easy with anything I learned in the future.

  I looked at his stupid photo. “It’s an ugly butterfly. Mazel tov.”

  “It’s a sphinx moth.”

  That got my attention. Certain types of mara demons were reputed to take the form of sphinx moths. I examined the insect more closely but unless mottled and brown had become synonymous with evil, there was nothing to definitively ID it. “Why didn’t you capture the thing?”

  “It flew away before I could get close. Tomorrow morning, when we go back there, if we can catch her transforming or better still, force a transformation?”

  “Then we’ve got her. Is that possible? To force it?” When Rohan, Drio, and I had taken down Samson in Prague, we’d performed a ritual to force his transformation back to his true body, but in that case, we’d had his demon name and, besides, moths were a shape these demons shifted into, not their natural form.

  “I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to check the library.”

  We spent the next couple of hours hunting through the library and Brotherhood database for any references to inducing a mara demon transformation.

  “I guess it was too much to hope for.” Between us, we’d inhaled all the food, so with no leftovers to place in containers, I dumped my dirty dishes in the dishwasher, then ripped into a bag of tortilla chips for our after-dinner-after-dessert-after-snack snack.

  “I need to think about how I want us to play this when we go tomorrow.” Ari removed a tub of guacamole from the industrial-sized fridge, snapped off the lid, and, tearing off the plastic sealant, dumped the entire thing into a mixing bowl.

  I smooshed up the tortilla chips, added them to the guacamole, and stirred, not saying a word. He could strategize; I could strategize. It had taken both of us to get this far: Ari learning about Mara in the first place and his keen eye for detail that had him spot the sphinx moth, coupled with me getting the connection between Davide and the clinic as well as Mara’s address. He wasn’t going to shut me out now.

  I tossed him a spoon and we dug into the guac and chips like it was a crunchy cereal. “We’ll get her,” I said around a mouthful.

  Kane wandered into the kitchen, peered into our bowl, and grimaced. “That’s disgusting.”

  “Disgustingly good.” Ari held up a spoonful. “Try it.”

  “No. That’s a line too far even for me.”

  Ari and I shrugged. Kane’s comments didn’t come close to our parents’ very vocal feelings on our culinary masterpiece, created by us at the tender age of six.

  “It’s comfort food,” I said, savoring the creamy, lemony texture with its crispy surprises in every bite.

  “It’s chunky sacrilege.” Kane tossed a package of popcorn into the microwave. “I’m going to watch Deadpool. You’re invited. That bowl is not.”

  Ari’s taste may have run to crime dramas not superhero flicks, but his gaze lingered on Kane speculatively when Kane’s back was turned. “Sure,” Ari said. He grabbed some beer and headed into the TV room.

  “Gonna get cozy?” I asked Kane, rifling through the cupboards for the stash of M&M’s that Ms. Clara had hidden away.

  Kane placed his hands on my shoulders. “For the last time, babyslay, I am not interested in your brother as a boyfriend. I don’t do those.” He smirked. “Well, yes, I do, but only other people’s.” He smacked my ass. “Movie in five.”

  I brought my empty calorie hoard into the TV room and got comfy under my favorite blanket next to Kane and my brother on the couch, wearing my “I’m sarcastic because punching people is frowned on” pajama top and black boxers with a giant yellow happy face that I’d won as some door prize. I seriously needed to do laundry soon. It was a massive injustice that I lived a reality in which demons existed and house elves didn’t.

  I arranged the snacks by proximity and order in which I planned to eat them: the salt and vinegar chips and one of the two-party sized bags of M&M’s stayed in front of me. The popcorn and other candy bag was positioned for the guys to eat.

  Where Rohan was, I had no idea, nor did I care.

  We’d just gotten to the pegging scene, with Ryan Reynolds on the receiving end of a strap-on dildo in a hilarious celebration of International Women’s Day, when Kane gave this breathy sigh.

  Awkward.

  He let out a somewhat more gutteral moan. Ari and I stared at him in confusion.

  “Oooh,” Kane gasped in a high voice. He smirked at me.

  That. Bastard.

  “Uhhhhhhhh,” I groaned in a lower register.

  “Ah. Ah. Ah,” Kane continued in falsetto.

  “Yeah, baby,” I said in my most manly voice, thrusting my hips, and pumping the cushions.

  “Oooh. More.” Kane sloppily thrust his tongue in and out of his mouth.

  “The fuck is wrong with you two?” Ari asked, turning up the volume on the movie.

  Kane stuck his tongue in his cheek, miming a blowjob while panting, which, for the record, sounded nothing like me.

  I bent over the sofa and slapped my own ass. “Do me.”

  Kane whipped a pillow at me. “The hell I’m bottoming.”

  My jump of triumph due to him breaking first became a stumble when Ari tossed out, “You’d bottom for me,” without even taking his eyes off the screen.

  Kane’s mouth fell open.

  I curled into a ball in the corner of the couch, and spent the rest of Deadpool that way, all thrill of victory gone, as I tried to concentrate on the movie and not on the absolutely serious way my brother had said that. Partway through The Avengers, I was yawning so hard I had to bail. I gathered up the detritus of the snacks when I left and loaded up the dishwater.

  I shuffled down the hallway, headed for the back stairs and bed.

  Rohan’s door was half-open. I couldn’t escape the lure, much like a mouse to a cheese-laden trap, or an alien enthusiast to an anal-probe-promising light beam. Just a quick peek from a safe, stalkerish distance.

  The light from his bedside lamp cast a warm pool over him. He sat on his bed in boxers and a faded green T-shirt, his hands pressing down on the mattress and earbuds in his ears. A broken piece of pale curved bone lay tossed beside him. He didn’t answer me, didn’t give any sign of my presence, lost to the thoughts responsible for his blank stare.

  I stepped toward the door, my hand raised to knock.

  Stepped back, dropping my ha
nd.

  Maybe if I hadn’t ended things, I would have asked him what was going on, given the nightmares and now this. We’d been friends if nothing else. But I’d set our boundaries and to muddy things up now wouldn’t be to anyone’s advantage.

  I went up to my bedroom, clutching my phone, unable to banish the image of him. I thunked my head back against my headboard twice before dialing his number, praying it went to voicemail so I could hang up guilt-free.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me. Nava.”

  “Oh. I didn’t recognize the number.” He sounded… empty. Running on autopilot.

  “It’s a burner phone.” I arranged the covers over my feet.

  “Prepping for your drug dealer debut?”

  Even that level of lame teasing from him sent relief swimming down to my toes. “Or adulterer. Keeping my options open.” I cast about for something to say as our silence stretched on for a beat too long. “Uh, what were you listening to? I saw you when I was walking past a minute ago.”

  His bed creaked. “Albinoni’s ‘Adagio in G Minor.’”

  “Ah. I’m not a classical music person. Jazz and big band.”

  “Because of tap.”

  “Yeah. Did you get into classical from your mom?”

  “My dad, actually. It’s all he listens to. He whistles a mean concerto.”

  “Impressive.”

  More silence.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Yup.”

  All righty, then. Compassion quota satisfied. “It’s late. I should let you–”

  “Have you been dancing a lot lately?”

  I jerked my head with a double blink. “Uh… Trying to.”

  “How’s it going?”

  I lay back on my mattress, allowing the call to play out. My initial caution quickly disappeared because when we weren’t at each other’s throats, Rohan and I could talk for ages without running out of topics. We discussed a dozen inconsequential things, from a Saturday Night Live sketch that had gone viral to whether the Empress of China had owned pugs (related to the sketch), until the conversation turned to Rohan telling me he had no idea what to buy his mom as a belated Mother’s Day present.

  I tucked the edge of the blanket cocoon I’d made for myself under my hip. “Ari and I bought ours a spa gift certificate, but that’s because I have zero desire to have an actual conversation with her and find out if she’s developed any interests outside her field of study and Ari’s lazy. But your mom is Maya Mitra.”

  A quiet chuckle cut across the line at my blatant squee. Rohan was well aware of how in awe I was of his music producer mother. “She’s impossible to shop for. If she wants something, chances are she’s already bought it. Or Dad has. I’ve never figured out if he loves to spoil her or he just really loves the fact that his engineering firm is successful enough that he can buy stuff without worrying about the cost.”

  I wrapped the sound of his fond laughter around me as tightly as my covers and tried not to wonder if his sharing mood meant I was something more than a convenient cover for a mission and a fuck buddy. It didn’t matter anymore.

  “You’re Maya’s only child and you actually like her,” I said sternly. “You do not get to descend into gift certificate territory. Write her a song. I’m sure you can think up something insightful.”

  I swear I wasn’t dredging up the whole “Toccata and Fugue” debacle but both of us must have gone to that place because I didn’t imagine how the silence went from the easy familiarity we’d achieved to loaded. I cleared my throat. “It’s the perfect gift for her.”

  “Hell no.”

  “Why not? Done that too many times?”

  “Actually,” he admitted, “I never have.”

  “Rohan Liam Mitra, what is your problem?”

  There was a rustle of sheets through the phone. “You know how scary her rep is,” he said. “She’ll mock it.”

  I smiled, switching the phone to my other ear. “Aww, kitten. She won’t mock it. She’ll love it because it’s something thoughtful from you to her.”

  Rohan growled in frustration. “Fine. I’ll write her a song.” His voice was warmer when he said, “You’re good. I will be exploiting you further.”

  I had a flash of Rohan bending me over the nearest surface and exploiting me until stars exploded overhead. I shivered. “I’m sure that sounds more intriguing than it will be.”

  “Perhaps it will be precisely that intriguing.”

  His cocky tone made my nipples harden. I screamed silently into my pillow. “What is that on the international intrigue scale?” I said.

  “Hmmm. Halfway between mysterious and illicit.”

  “That sounds positively naked.”

  “That’s your smutty mind,” he said in a prim voice. “I was only talking about help with gift options.” He yawned. “I should go.”

  “Okay.” I snuggled deeper under my blankets, my eyes falling shut. “Hang up.”

  “Ladies first.”

  “So I could keep you on the line all night if I refused?” I teased.

  His “you could,” made me catch my breath.

  “We can talk about Prague,” I said. “If you want.”

  “I want.” His words were only in relation to this mission and not us.

  A pang speared my chest.

  I want, too.

  The line went dead. Uh, okay.

  Two minutes later there was a soft knock at my door. “Nava?”

  I sprang out of bed like it was on fire, placing my palm against the wood as if I could feel Rohan on the other side, but I didn’t open the door. “What?”

  “You said we could talk.”

  My eyes darted to my bed. The one that Rohan had never been in and wasn’t going to sit on now. After Cole and I self-destructed, I’d had a shit time sleeping because I had all these memories of him on my bed: goofy, sexy, and just hanging out being a best friend. It had taken me forever to uncouple him from that place.

  It was all too easy for me to picture Rohan sitting there, taking up space and acting like he belonged there, like he belonged in my life.

  “Acting” being the key word. “Now?” I gripped the knob, holding it fast, not that he was trying to open the door.

  “Yes, now,” he said.

  “It’s really late.” I yawned loudly, the doorknob still in a death grip.

  “Oh. Yeah. I guess it is. Tomorrow?”

  I rested my forehead against the door. “Sure. Buy me lunch at Lotus.” Lotus was one of the most expensive and insanely delicious sushi restaurants in the city. I’d only been once but dreamed of going back many times.

  “Isn’t that kind of public?” he said.

  Exactly my intent. Years of tap performances had taught me how to keep a brave face in front of an audience. The attacks on me and Gelman in Prague were too bound up with all the other baggage that had gone down between Rohan and me. Given some of the things I expected to hear, I wouldn’t be able to keep it together if we were alone.

  Or say “no” if he wanted us to try being an “us.” Unless, of course, that position was already filled by Lily.

  “It’s private enough,” I said.

  “Lotus it is.”

  “Good-night, Rohan.”

  “Good-morning, Nava.”

  Right. Technically it was Sunday. The day that the two of us would have our talk. The day that could definitively settle things between us one way or another.

  I cracked the door to watch his back disappear down the stairs, wrapping my arms around myself to hide my trembling hands, even though there was no one there to see them.

  9

  Ari and I headed out for Mara’s place at the ungodly hour of 7AM. There was a chill in the air and I bundled into my coat, shivering and sipping my steaming café latte until both the car and I warmed up.

  Ari hadn’t come up with any kind of brilliant strategy beyond arming us with bug catching nets and a zapper fly swatter, but to be fair, neither had I. M
y chat with Rohan had kind of fried my brain. All that was forgotten, however when we pulled up to her aluminum-siding bungalow in a modest neighborhood and found an ambulance parked outside.

  Ari and I exchanged glances. “Did she kill someone at her house?” I said.

  “Do we have a folder or envelope or something?” he asked.

  We found a glossy UBC course catalogue of Ari’s that had slid under the front seat. Ari grabbed it and strode over to a small knot of bystanders.

  I followed him.

  “Did something happen to Mara?” he asked a blonde woman rolling a stroller back and forth.

  “Are you a friend of hers?”

  “We work together at the clinic.” He held up the catalogue, his thumb covering the mailing label with his name on it. “She left this at work and called me last night asking me to swing by before my shift.”

  Her face crumpled. “I’m so sorry. Mara passed away.”

  “What?” His shock wasn’t faked. Neither was mine.

  “Heart attack.”

  “Holy sh–” I swallowed the curse in the face of the mom’s disapproving stare.

  “Are you a coworker, too?” She popped the soother back into her fussing baby’s mouth.

  I nodded. If Mara wasn’t the demon, then who was? And why was the clinic the common factor between Davide and Mara when none of the other victims had ever frequented it?

  “Is any of her family here?” Ari asked.

  “No. But that’s her roommate.” The woman pointed out a shell-shocked man of Asian heritage in his late-twenties, standing on the front steps with a paramedic. “Daniel.”

  “Thank you.” Ari and I walked toward Mara’s front sidewalk.

  “How do you want to play this?” I asked. “The roommate might have met Mara’s colleagues before.”

  “Tell him you’re here to pick up the gift for Dr. Alphonse that Mara was arranging. See if you can get into her room. Search for anything out of place.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Ari glanced at the paramedic, now walking back to his ambulance. “Have a little chat.”

  “Good luck.” I headed up the walk, catching the roommate before he shut the door. “Daniel?”