I hobbled to the convertible and leaned against it, gulping air in short gasps. It probably wasn’t safe to drive, but then, I didn’t exactly have allies coming out of the woodwork offering to play wheelman while I raided the local precinct. Hopefully Isabella felt the recoil from this Destroyer of Former Lovers curse, and would have to take a brief respite.
I gave her points for work ethic. She’d gotten right back on the horse today. But her obsession with killing me was quickly becoming a pain in the ass—and that was putting it mildly. It was like chipping away at an icy mountain—the first mark barely leaves a dent, but the hundredth triggers an avalanche. Sooner or later, despite my hearty demon constitution, my human side would fail.
And when my mortal half finally gave up the ghost, Isabella Kronos would have her revenge. And destroy my destiny.
I threw the door to the convertible open and climbed inside with a renewed sense of purpose. The thought of her winning pissed me off way more than the whole impending death thing.
Time to make a customer service call at the Cold Shot bar so I could get to the good part later.
Which would be telling her to fuck off in spectacular, bloody and very magical fashion.
*
Sam Reynolds had been watching the door like a hawk. As soon as I poked my head in the Cold Shot, the owner of Artifacts of the Essential LLC leapt up from his booth in the far corner.
“Thanks for coming, Kal.” Stevie Ray blared from the juke as he clasped me on the back. “It means a lot.”
Reynolds let go, his yellow eyes peering at me hopefully. Somehow he seemed smaller than yesterday. The preternatural calm had vanished, too, replaced by a nervousness. Whatever had him spooked was far scarier than staring down the barrel of my pistol.
Only reason I could think why a man of means would hole up here. The Cold Shot was a dive, with a faded pool table in the back, next to the rest rooms. Only one cue, so you had to take turns. Near the entrance, the small wooden bar attracted the afternoon crowd, who sat in a cluster, ignoring us on their teetering stools. The rest of the place was a ghost town, except for Reynolds’ faded vinyl booth. He’d been here for a while, by the looks of it.
“Sure, no problem,” I said, backing away. His breath was humid, smelling like a whiskey still. His lips were twisted in a sloppy grin. “Any time.”
“That’s the spirit.” Reynolds dragged me over to the bar, pressing between the throng to order two gin and tonics. “To catch our breath, you know.”
“Never start with the hard stuff at three in the afternoon,” I said, clinking his glass. I took a sip, then dumped most of it on the floor when he wasn’t looking.
“Whoa, slow down,” Reynolds said, uneasily leading me back to his booth, where he was apparently starting his very own shot glass collection. “You’re on the clock, buddy.”
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” I said with a cornball grin.
“I like you, Kal. Can I call you Kal? I think we’re that tight.”
“Sure.”
“To yesterday.” Reynolds tossed away the little straw and chugged the drink, liquid spilling down the front of his tight t-shirt. Ice bounced across the table as he slurped. The collection of empty glassware rattled when he slammed the finished drink down. “Another era.”
“I guess it was, technically speaking.” I couldn’t spend the afternoon shooting the shit. Marrack and Isabella were off planning my eternal servitude—or, worse, had jumped straight to “brutal, prolonged death that would ruin Kalos’ purported destiny.” Leaving the world in their hands was untenable. Today’s youth wouldn’t appreciate going from the wonders of social media back to the dark ages.
Not to mention I needed to figure out Ziva’s angle, and whatever plans she had for the Talon of Frost. I knew one thing: they likely conflicted with Reynolds’ job. He hiccupped, saliva dripping down his shaved chin. Scratching his bald head, he looked slightly embarrassed.
“I never drink.”
“I believe you.”
“It’s unprofessional,” Reynolds said. “It bothers people. Terrible form.”
“It’s fine,” I said, raising my empty gin and tonic in a weak air toast. “I’m sure there’s a reason.”
“Yes. Oh shit. Yes.” The reason. At least we were getting to it. “Did I tell you on the phone?”
“I believe the words face-to-face were used. Which is why we’re sitting here.”
The music played as Reynolds stared at his array of empty drinks.
“You can trust me,” I finally said to push things along.
“But—but you’re a demon.” The word came out a little louder than I’d have liked. Luckily, Stevie Ray was still shredding and spitting cannonball blues out of the speakers, so the rest of the drunks didn’t hear.
“Let’s not provoke the locals.”
“Sorry,” Reynolds said. “Usually I have more discussion—”
“Discretion.”
“That’s what I said.” His glassy eyes stared at me blankly, the light about to go out. Great use of time this meeting had been.
I rose to leave.
“Wait. You didn’t hear me.”
“Sleep it off, man. Fucking hell.”
“Don’t talk that way to me.” A long burp. I stepped back, in case things got wet. “I’m your boss.”
“You’re a client. Big difference.”
“You’re right, I’m being unprofessional.” Reynolds got up to follow, but tripped and landed on the dirty floor. Groaning and laughing, he made no effort to stand. “This one was a mistake, Kal.”
“At least we agree on something.”
“I collect trinkets,” Reynolds said, getting to his knees. He tugged at my pant leg like a child. “I didn’t sign up for this bullshit. Oh, Mr. Reynolds, you’ll receive a healthy finder’s fee if you act as a liaison to the demon. Help us fix our mistake. Not worth it. They want results. Demand them.”
“Sign up for what?” I said, frowning and trying to shake free of his grip. Now the rest of the regulars were staring, wondering what the hell was going on. “Let go.”
“I have a boss too, Kal.” His eyes grew wide. “The Blood Frost approaches.”
“I thought you were the owner.”
But Sam Reynolds collapsed to the grimy floor without a reply, the drinks finally catching up to him.
8
The Blood Frost sounded like a winter I didn’t want any part of. Slightly shaken by Sam Reynolds’ words, I tried to push the meeting from my mind. Just the words of a drunk. But it made sense someone had hired him to manage me. A layer of deniability—especially if they were, indeed, trying to correct a mistake.
The question, then, was whose mistake needed correcting.
The sky was the sort of cool blue you’d normally see on a winter day, but the air was stifling. As I hurried across the Cold Shot’s trash-strewn parking lot I heard a familiar voice. An angry one.
“You owe me some answers, Kal.”
I didn’t need to look up to know that Nadia Santos had finally come for an explanation. But I looked anyway, because it was sure to be a hell of a sight. And besides, I’ve never been one to back down from taking my medicine.
I fucked up. I’d own that.
She was wearing a tight red dress that set off her light brown skin perfectly. If her legs were any longer, there wouldn’t be any more room in the parking lot. Stylish shades were perched atop her luminous black hair. And those fierce emerald eyes that were one in a million looked ready to commit murder.
She strode across the parking lot in her flats, like a panther silently going for the kill.
“How’d you find me?” I said.
“I followed you from your apartment,” Nadia said, looking at the ground in slight embarrassment.
“That’s not creepy at all.” There was an
awkward silence. “Didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Didn’t know I was coming back until today. Fate, right?”
“Sure,” I said.
Flashing me an easy smile that showed all her white teeth without being the least bit friendly, Nadia touched the sports car’s black finish.
“Someone’s doing well.” She focused on me like I was a perp, her full lips pursing together. “Explain something for me, Kal.”
I scratched my neck, trying to will some spit into my dry throat. Directing my gaze back toward Nadia, I offered her a lame shrug.
“Explain what?”
“Kal.” Her fist banged against the window. I winced, but the glass didn’t crack.
“I have a lot of questions to answer.” I flashed back to the last time seeing her at the gas station. Not even looking back after I’d saved her from Isabella’s grasp. Offering no answers.
“And yet my mother’s necklace remains with the police and I’ve heard nothing from you.”
“You wouldn’t return my calls,” I said. “I stopped trying.”
“Did you get it back?”
“About the necklace,” I said, an insane plan beginning to simmer in the back corners of my mind. That had been next on the itinerary, anyway. I told myself she could wait in the car while I broke into the precinct. “You can help me get it back.”
Her lips curled she’d tasted a lemon. “And then what?”
“I don’t understand the question,” I said.
“Then I’m just back where I started.”
I’ll admit it: that one hurt. I stepped closer, but she didn’t back down. Beads of sweat coalesced on her perfect skin.
Breaking the silence, I said, “How far down the rabbit hole are you willing to go, Alice?”
“All the way to hell,” Nadia said, not looking away. This woman. Out of all the mortals I’d met, there was something different about her. Not quite an aura, but she had drive. A personal mission. Those could be dangerous. But they could also get someone to go further than they ever believed possible. “I’ve seen the Journal of Annihilation already, remember? How much crazier can this get?”
Way past the bounds of insanity, Nadia.
I kept the thought to myself. “I’d caution against going to hell,” I said with a grin. “Nasty place.”
“I can handle myself.” She said it with at least sixty-percent naiveté, but I appreciated the sentiment.
“Answers aren’t as glamorous as they might seem.” My heart pounded in my chest, reminding me just how often sudden changes were a turn for the worse. “You have an out. You can walk away.”
“Unlock the door.”
“All right, Nancy Drew,” I said, pressing the clicker, the car chirping merrily in the broiling sun. “But don’t say I never warned you.”
*
It’s amazing how you can condense the finer points of seven-thousand years into the span of a seven-minute car ride. Would have been ten, but my chest started feeling funny midway through. Wrapping my new ride around a pole wouldn’t help matters.
I pulled into the precinct’s lot and cut the engine, breathing heavily.
The explanation had been made a little easier by the fact that she’d read the Journal of Annihilation when Gunnar had dropped it off at the Trusted Steed Inn a couple months back. But her expression told me that the additional details were helping her shade in the margins.
“Didn’t know it was so emotional, revealing yourself.” Nadia’s green eyes looked through me. It was an eerie feeling, but not why I was struggling.
Somewhere in the ether, a hundred or a thousand miles away, I could sense Isabella trying a different tack. This variant of the curse began from my lungs, crushing them like paper bags.
Gulping like a beached fish, I managed to gasp out, “Don’t push it.”
“Wouldn’t want to make a demon angry.”
The sensation dissipated, leaving me alive in a sticky sweat. Pressing back against the cool leather, I said, “You’re taking all this in stride.”
“Remember when I told you I was dangerous?” She examined me closely, not in a sexual or concerned way, but more curious about whether I could actually deliver. Apparently satisfied, she finished her thought, saying, “My father, Javy. Estranged father, I should say.”
“The good wizard and delivery boy.” He’d dropped off the Journal of Annihilation and essence gauge. Apparently it was part of his family’s long-running destiny or fate—whatever you wanted to call it. He had not been impressed that his life’s purpose had been to deliver the priceless package to this particular half-demon.
“He always attracted a certain element.” She shrugged. “There were incidents.”
“Those are pretty common.”
“I thought it was strange when your dog turned on the water by himself,” she said, with a short laugh that could have melted me into the seat.
“Argos is a man of wealth and taste. According to him, at least.”
“And the fire?”
“What’s it matter?” I reached for my door handle. Her fingers wrapped around my other arm. Didn’t need to tell me twice. I stayed put.
“You owe me.”
I took a deep breath. “You remember the woman who kidnapped you?”
The look on her face clearly indicated she hadn’t forgotten. “I remember the bitch.”
With a small smirk, I said, “Well, Isabella tends to get a little jealous. She might’ve burned down your apartment.”
Nadia blinked twice, her gaze steady. Then she hit me. No open hand slap, either. Bare knuckles, closed fist, right across the mouth, hard enough to draw blood. She was about to follow up with the left hook, but I ducked. Her hand connected against the headrest with a hearty smack.
“And you showed up to the hospital with your fake sympathy.” She brought her hands over face, shielding her eyes. “Oh God. And that ex-boyfriend line. You really are a demon.”
Maybe reality was just hitting her now. In any event, there wasn’t time to console her or offer my sincere apologies. I had come to the hospital out of concern. But revealing my true nature at that particular moment—surprise, I’m a magical, immortal demon—was never gonna happen.
“Pull it together, Alice.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You’re the one who wanted to see Wonderland,” I said. “I could’ve done things differently.”
“And what, buried me in the desert?” Her eyes were still covered, but the words were tinged with defiance.
“Plenty of creatures would have done just that.” I rubbed my lip. It wasn’t going to swell up, but the blow still smarted. Maybe more than the physical pain Isabella was inflicting on me.
Don’t go soft now, Kal.
“But you’re so different.”
“Not really,” I said. “I just hate digging.”
She laughed and opened the door. A burst of dry, dusty air rushed through the interior. “I still have no idea who the hell you are, Kal.”
“I’m just surprised you came back.” I got out of the car, stretching my arms. “Most people would say fuck it after being kidnapped.”
“And some people want to drive a stake through the bitch’s heart that did it.”
“I can get behind that.” I furrowed my brow, the reality of the emptiness settling in. Not even a cruiser. If I didn’t know better, I’d say the precinct had closed for the weekend. “This look off to you?”
“I don’t spend much time at police stations. Unlike some of us.”
“Funny,” I said, still scanning the barren asphalt. “You got the time?”
“Four-fifteen. Why? You got a date?”
“Something like that,” I said.
“My offer still stands.”
I looked at her, over the roo
f of the car. Her shades were down, hair blowing in the light breeze. She looked like a temptress, one that had materialized from the dry soil. But I knew better. Things didn’t materialize. They took years to form.
It wasn’t Isabella’s brute-force seduction. But Nadia recognized her effect on boys.
“And what offer is that,” I said, knowing damn well what she was talking about.
A look of annoyance graced her lips. “In the car. Driving back from the hospital. You forgot?”
“I’m old,” I said with a shrug, heading around the hood of the car slowly. We walked toward the precinct’s glass entrance. “Remind me.”
“Help me find out who killed my mother, that date is still good.”
“Thought you were mad at me.” I opened the door for her, ushering her inside. She took two steps into the precinct before grinding to a squeaking halt. Her head cocked at an angle, like when Argos saw a rabbit in the distance.
I followed her inside and shivered. The AC was apparently turned up to full blast. Reminded me of the brisk chill in the policeman’s car the day before.
“It’s—it’s…” She pointed straight ahead.
“Cold,” I said, rubbing my leather jacket. “I’m as shocked as you are they’re not a bunch of cheap bastards.”
Then I actually looked where her finger was pointed.
At the front desk, the receptionist stood just as she was supposed to, ready to greet incoming personnel and visitors.
Except for one thing.
She was frozen solid in a block of ice.
And both her arms were missing.
9
“Well at least someone beat the heat.”
Nadia shot me an incredulous look. “You think this is funny? This woman is—she’s—”
“Quite dead,” I said, glancing around the empty precinct. Apparently the receptionist had been left alone to hold down the fort. A young woman, no older than thirty. Her short hair was frozen in place over one eye, the other open wide with fear of the unknown.
A scary motherfucker had done this, and my first bet was on magic. It wasn’t exactly a keen leap of stunning intuition. Liquid nitrogen wouldn’t freeze her in an actual block of ice, nor would your average industrial freezer.
Blood Frost (The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy Book 2) Page 5
