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

by Deborah Wilde

  “What is it with the bad boys?” He jabbed the e-cig at me.

  “Pardon?”

  “I mean really. Emotionally unavailable, game playing, where’s the appeal?”

  “Nice guys have a lot to recommend them.”

  He groaned. “You’re not selling it.”

  I shrugged. “I’ve had the nicest guy be a bastard when I needed him most and someone who has that mad, bad, and dangerous vibe be there for me again and again.”

  Aw, crap. I dropped my head into my hands.

  “Maybe it’s too simplistic to say men are nice or they’re bad boys. Maybe you just gotta judge each one on their individual character,” he said.

  I raised my head to glare at him.

  “Debate club alum. Sorry.”

  I picked up my purse. “Thanks for the help. If it’s any consolation, not only will we not hire Malik, I have a feeling that he’s going to get everything he deserves.”

  Burner gave me a sad smile. “Karma is just a fantasy. Guys like Malik arrange their lives exactly as they want them and nothing gets in their way.” He stood up, making his way back to the office, then paused and turned back to me. “If I were you, I’d dump them both and start fresh.”

  “Noted.”

  “Get anything?” Ari asked when we got outside.

  More than I’d bargained for. “Not really.”

  The artist’s collective where Malik painted out of was a three-story building adorned with a colorful mural depicting its vibrant Mount Pleasant neighborhood that was loaded with cafés, local designers, antique shops, and a diverse population.

  Ari and I entered the small gallery on the ground floor. It featured a selection of work by the artists in the group, from black and white portraiture to landscapes in soft watercolors and video installations.

  We stopped to admire a selection of delicate filigree jewelry displayed in a case to one side. I nudged my brother, drawing his attention to an elegant handcrafted ring. “That star pattern really screams ‘this way there be evil,’ huh?”

  “It could be deliberately deceptive. All malignant jewelry presents as beautiful.”

  “Yeah, they also tend to boast big ass diamonds or something blatantly worth coveting. I doubt that this,” I checked the description, “celebration of Gaia’s bounty is gonna elicit some Faustian bargain.”

  “They couldn’t just give us a demon spidey sense.” Ari wandered over to the lone volunteer, engaging him in conversation.

  I strolled through the space looking for Malik’s work, finding it in a single large canvas hanging on a far wall, depicting the merest suggestion of a female form. Arms stretched above her, she faced the spectator. A fall of black to denote hair. Facial features dashed off as haphazard circles and smudges that still managed to convey incredible personality. Here was a woman who wouldn’t back down. The artist’s warm regard for her was evident. I checked the title. “Lila: on waking.”

  I hoped this Lila wasn’t another victim of his, because, grisly.

  Ari rejoined me. “Malik has been a member of this collective for five years now.”

  “Quiet guy? Last person in the world they’d peg as a serial killer?”

  “Nope. Mr. Personality. The other artists adore him.”

  I gestured to the painting. “He’s really talented, too. Is he around?”

  Ari nodded. “He’s upstairs in his studio but apparently he’s painting and not to be disturbed. When I phone him I’ll see if I can get a tour. His workspace might yield some insight.”

  Tempting as it was to go in with magic a-blazin’, we needed concrete proof of his demon status. Antagonizing him off the bat without it wouldn’t help our cause. There was nothing more to be learned here so we ran back to the car, dodging puddles as the rain pelted down on us.

  “This entire case has been so random,” Ari said. “Even when we do get a break? I feel like we go one step forward two steps back. A demon artist? Is that relevant to the deaths? A weird personality quirk? What?”

  I turned on the motor so that we could get some heat. “Leo said something interesting to me the night I discovered she was the snitch. She said that all Rasha saw things in terms of black and white and that we’d never navigate the demon world with that attitude. And she’s been right. Asmodeus came after me because I’d killed his kids. Revenge as a demon agenda? Sure. But it was more personal than that. He’d meant to hurt me the way I’d hurt him.” My eyes slid away from my brother.

  “What happened to me wasn’t your fault.”

  I nodded, grateful he could say that with a straight face. “Anyhow, his actions implied love on his part or as close to that as demons get.”

  “What about Samson?”

  “His agenda was pretty straightforward, feeding off the envy he so carefully cultivated. But he had this make-up artist Evelyn. She was a kumiho demon and she helped keep his glamour intact. Drio killed her but he never managed to break her.”

  “Loyalty.” Ari cupped his hands over the vent to catch the hot air.

  “In part. I think she loved him. Samson felt something for her as well because his plans for Rohan were payback for believing Evelyn had left Samson to hook up with Ro.”

  Ari shook his head. “Even if we’ve been wrong about only ascribing negative emotions to demons instead of examining their motives through other lenses, it doesn’t change the fact that demons are evil. Doesn’t matter what drives them. In the end, evil is all there is.”

  “What about Leo?”

  Ari stared out the window. Silent.

  “Will you come with me to see her?”

  “I’m not ready.”

  My heart sank. “We’ve got a situation with a demon artist creating beautiful paintings. Motive does matter, because to understand this demon is to perhaps stop another one in the future. If Malik is the one responsible then we need to figure out his reasons beyond ‘sucks the life out of his victims.’”

  “That’s very open-minded of you.”

  I shrieked at the words spoken by Malik from our back seat. The demon, because only a demon could have manifested back there, had muted his sex appeal somehow. Sure, he was still dark and luscious, with sparkling black eyes, wearing rumpled, paint-splattered, casual clothes. A look that would have won him the internet. But it was regular sexy, not “take me now” demonic compulsion.

  Ari, furious, lunged for him, but Malik eased him back into the passenger seat. “Relax, Rasha. I’m not here to hurt you. If I were, you’d be dead already. Especially since there are few shadows in here for you to draw from.” He chuckled at our twin expressions of stupefaction. “I keep track of who and what is in my city. Now you, petal.” He wagged a finger at me. “You’re really stirring things up.”

  I let my magic coat my hands, keeping them below the window so any passersby couldn’t see. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. Though sending the Brotherhood into a tizzy is a point in your favor.”

  “Who are you?” Ari asked.

  “What are you and how can you possibly know all this about us? Because if you are some kind of incubi-offshoot, they aren’t even that high up in the demon hierarchy, never mind privy to Rasha business. No offense,” I said.

  “None taken.” Malik slung an arm along the top of the back seat. “Succubi get all the glory whereas incubi are seen as the second-rate gigolos of the demon world. Suffice it to say, I’m not the one you’re looking for. I don’t kill humans.” His lips quirked. “Anymore.”

  “Right,” I said. “You’ve discovered a deep love of humanity.” I snapped my fingers. “Or wait. You’re lonely. Looking for companionship. Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  Malik scratched at dried patch of yellow paint on his cheek. “Hardly. Don’t ascribe some romantic notion to me.” His gaze turned shrewd. “Love troubles getting you down?”

  “Hardly,” I said. “Don’t presume you know me.”

  “Back at you,” he said.

 
; “Fact. You drain your partners dry,” Ari said. “It’s how demons with sexual compulsions survive.”

  “Rasha have all the answers, don’t they?” Malik smoothed a hand over his shirt. “We’ll discuss exactly what it is you think you know at dinner tonight, Ari. Eight sharp. La Bella Trattoria.”

  The roll of his “R’s” in that upper-crust accent sent a small shiver through me.

  “Hold your breath,” Ari said.

  Malik smiled. “You’ll be there. Besides, you owe me for that little labradorite stunt.” His smile widened, his eyes licking over my brother’s body. “Clever boy.”

  I punched off the heat, deeply uncomfortable watching this. Especially since Ari’s eyes darkened, just a fraction, but still.

  “You can make it up to me with scintillating conversation. I’ll even pay for the extremely expensive Italian cuisine.” Malik clapped his hands together, the sound sharp as gunfire in the tense car. “All right. Enough lolling about. This painting won’t finish itself.”

  Malik hopped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. His gait back to his studio across three lanes of traffic was hands-in-pockets leisurely, even drivers of the big-ass SUVs scrambling to stop for him–presumably recognizing him on some level as the greater threat.

  “Why would he bother to protest his innocence?” I said. “Evil reps are oxygen to demons.”

  “Do we know Malik is telling the truth and he doesn’t kill humans? I doubt it. No, he’s the most likely culprit. Some twisted sentiment towards humanity evidenced by writing the Arabic word for love on his victims before murdering them.” Ari opened his door. “Come on. We’re going up to his studio and finish our chat in private.” A hard smile slid across his face.

  I bounded out of the car. I liked chats that ended in bloodshed. And even better, started that way, too.

  We practically collided with Daniel at the front door to the artists’ collective, dressed in his navy police uniform. He jerked back. “What are you doing here?”

  “We’re in the mood for some art,” I said.

  Ari cocked an eyebrow. “And you?”

  Daniel reddened. “No reason.” He stomped off.

  My brother watched him leave, a thoughtful look on his face.

  “That boy has it bad. Five bucks says he would have told Malik he was just in the neighborhood,” I said. The grown-up version of cutting class to detour three floors up to a crush’s locker. “Is he our next victim?”

  Ari broke into a run, giving me my answer.

  I looked down at my heeled boots, sighed, and ran after him, cursing that stupid emotion that was just as dangerous as demons. You think we humans would learn.

  Daniel hadn’t spotted us trailing him. He got into his cruiser, sitting in the passenger seat and staring out the front window.

  From behind a mail truck where we crouched, Ari and I had a clear view of him. Daniel’s partner, a wiry blonde showed up about five minutes later bearing a cardboard take-out tray with coffees, a brown bag balanced on top of the cups.

  “What time is it?” Ari asked.

  I checked my phone. “Two-thirty. Why?”

  “Daniel won’t be off shift until seven. He’s safe until then.” And we’d be at dinner with Malik soon after.

  “I’m trying very hard to come up with a reasonable explanation for you knowing police shift times and can’t get any further than loving a man in uniform. Literally.”

  Ari scoffed. “The VPD lists the various shifts on-line. Twenty-four hour serve and protect coverage from our fine men and women in blue. I had to memorize certain operational details about them as part of my training. In case we had to call someone in.”

  We waited for the cops to drive off, then stormed Malik’s studio. The dimly lit corridor on that floor provided Ari with tons of shadows to draw upon, while I stepped through the doorway with my electricity blasting.

  The demon must have heard or sensed us coming because our magic was absorbed by a fire shield around him. The blaze didn’t spread, didn’t cause any of the multitude of paint tubes or turpentine splatters on the concrete to catch flame, just crackled away, pouring off incredible amounts of heat and keeping us from him.

  Holy. Fuck.

  “Now,” Malik said, not even looking up from his easel, “I really do need to finish this painting today, so if you could get on with whatever futile errand you came here for?”

  “Killing you. Ridding the world of another evil spawn. Pretty opposite of futile,” I said. Ari and I tried to attack him with our magic through the flames. Each time, the fire rose up to harmlessly absorb our hits. Totally and absolutely futile.

  Inside the ring, brush between his teeth, Malik grabbed a small knife, scooping tiny amounts of blue to mix into the yellow blob in the middle of the palette he held in one hand. His quick flicks were reminiscent of a longtime artist comfortable with all aspects of his craft. He possessed that same lazy assurance that I’d had with my dancing. A way of holding oneself, of quickly yet efficiently doing a movement that was as familiar to the body as breathing, and requiring as little conscious thought.

  But to stay so focused on that task while holding us at bay? This was some crazy strong power. No matter what we tried, we couldn’t breach the fire. Couldn’t reach Malik. The air heated to blistering proportions, forcing Ari and I to look away or risk eyeball meltage.

  Too bad there was no way to prevent the familiar acrid burning smell from doing permanent damage to my nose hairs.

  Ari jerked his head toward the hallway.

  “Until tonight, Ari,” Malik called after us.

  We stopped halfway down the corridor. I wiped my still-streaming eyes, pitching my voice low. “Um…”

  “Yeah.” Ari pulled me into the stairwell. “Best guess? He’s a marid. Kill spot, right shoulder.” Marids’ nefarious activities had a larger scope than merely that of an incubus. The root of their name “mar” meant ocean, or in English “mer” like “mermaid.” They had water magic in addition to their fire abilities, but dealing in sex was fairly common for them.

  I sniffed, hoping for some fresher air to clear out my nose. “He was also at the graveyard. I recognized his scent. He probably sent the ghoul after us. Now what?”

  Ari’s booted heels made ringing thuds as he headed downstairs. “We figure out how to kill him before cocktails are served.”

  20

  La Bella Trattoria was an upscale Italian restaurant, all gleaming gold accents and plush leather seats. I gave Malik’s name to the hostess and was immediately ushered into a private dining room which boasted an enormous temperature-controlled wine rack and a long table seating twenty but set for two, positioned under inset spotlights throwing off a muted glow.

  The hostess shut the door behind her as she left, giving us our privacy. And leaving me alone with Malik, who stood by the window, drink in hand, framed by the soft indigos and oranges of dusk.

  Malik had cleaned up, once more wearing what had to be a tailor-made suit. He quirked an eyebrow, so carelessly arrogant. “You’re not the one I invited.”

  “Yet here I am.” I whistled. “Private back room and everything. How schmancy.”

  While Malik got top marks for the lengths he was going to to charm Ari, I kind of felt bad for the demon, because no way was my brother ever going to get involved with his kind. At the same time, this full-court press was incredibly flattering, and if anyone could get Ari to fall, it was probably Malik. Which, back off, buddy, because Kane.

  I glanced out the window. “Nice view of False Creek. Now, be a gracious host and offer me a drink.”

  “I’d rather not.” He shooed me away.

  I eased onto the maroon leather banquette against the window, slapping my purse down beside me. “Come on. Let’s chat. You can give me your best villain monologue and then try to kill me.” I arranged my features in a suitable expression of rapt interest, folded my hands, and propped my chin on them.

  Malik laughed. “Fair enough.” He sank i
nto a chair across from me with feline grace. “I assume as the ‘hero’–”

  “You don’t need the air quotes, dude. Also, get your genders straight.”

  “Apologies. ‘Heroine’ of this little interlude, that you have a question you want answered?”

  I cleared my throat and shook out an imaginary list. Malik’s lips quirked as I pretended to read. “Why did you send the ghoul after us?”

  “Guess.” Malik winked at me. “It’s ever so much more fun, petal.”

  “Was it as simple as we’d figured out the connection between your victims or were you raging at us finding something so private with the word you’d penned on their bodies?”

  Malik took a sip of wine. “You can’t expect a scorpion to change its nature.”

  Seems I couldn’t expect a straightforward answer either but I kept trying. “Jane Doe. What’s her name?” I wanted to give any family or friends of hers closure so they wouldn’t spend their lives wondering what had happened. Where she was.

  “I couldn’t tell you.” He ripped off a piece of focaccia bread.

  I grabbed his arm before he could dip it in the plate of olive oil and balsamic. “Couldn’t be bothered to find out who she was before you killed her?”

  Malik’s eyes flashed then he smoothed out his expression. “Something like that.” He removed my hand.

  “Now, that’s a shame. Ari?”

  My brother appeared, having used his EC teleport abilities and my location hints over our open phone line to catch Malik off-guard. He drove his shadow magic like a spear into the demon’s kill spot on his right shoulder.

  Malik dissolved into pure flame before the magic hit him, a dancing blaze of gold and orange contained within a human outline with the merest suggestion of a face. It was surreal and beautiful and I locked my knees together so the demon couldn’t see them knocking in the presence of his incredible power, even as I added my magic to Ari’s.

  Malik burned brighter, hotter, our power infusing his. He was like a glorious sun, dazzling, fearsome, but in no danger of losing control.

  Of the three of us, only two gaped open-mouthed.

  Malik laughed. “I can stay this way indefinitely but it might scare the serving staff.”