Getting Familiar with Your Demon: That Old Black Magic, Book 4

by Jodi Redford

  After tucking his billfold in his back pocket, he teleported to the rear alley of his favorite watering hole, Champions. The only ones around to witness his sudden appearance were the family of stray cats scrounging in the dumpsters, and they seemed more interested in the discarded scraps than they were in him. He rounded the side of the building and stepped through the entrance. Grungy heavy metal pounded from the jukebox, providing a welcome respite to his ears after the months of crappy disco music he’d endured. He edged through the sea of patrons and slowed to a stop when he spotted Ian and Jasper Quint sitting at the bar.

  A sharp spike of frustration slammed him between the shoulder blades. Of all the fucking nights to run into the two biggest pain-in-the-ass demon hunters known to mankind. To make matters worse, the last time he’d crossed paths with the brothers, Jasper managed to stab Sam in the shoulder. The flesh wound hadn’t been anything too serious, but it still chapped Sam’s ass that Jasper got the better of him.

  Any other night, he’d love the opportunity to even the score with the Quint brothers and prove once and for all that it’d take a lot more than fancy footwork and a damn KA-BAR blade to take a Gorasola down.

  Sam’s gaze tracked to the unmistakable outline of the knife strapped beneath the leg of Jasper’s jeans. Rather than give in to the urge to bid adieu to the bar and the two hunters who’d given him endless grief throughout the years, Sam hesitated, his words from earlier spinning in his head with taunting clarity. For devil’s sake, would someone damn well kill me already?

  Sam continued to stare at Jasper’s and Ian’s profiles until a cold, grim purpose spread through his chest. Well shit. Who said there was only one way to skin a cat?

  Or kill a demon.

  Chapter Two

  Sucking in a deep, steadying breath, Marabella Blanchard applied an extra spritz of Chanel to her plumped cleavage. If the ridiculously overpriced sultry scent didn’t do the trick, hopefully Trent Higgins would appreciate the overtime her Wonderbra was putting in.

  Gnawing her lip, she rearranged the girls until she was reasonably sure they wouldn’t pop out of the scooped neckline of her cashmere sweater. She hated having to resort to dressing like an upper-class call girl, but desperate measures were called for. She was sick of men insisting they didn’t want to take advantage of her because she was too sweet and innocent. Being the only twenty-five-year-old virgin in Savannah was getting old, damn it. Come hell or high water, she was getting laid tonight.

  After one last inspection in the ladies’ room mirror, she tucked the tiny perfume atomizer into the zippered compartment of her purse and exited into the crowded, noisy bar area of Champions. She headed toward her booth, her steps slowing when she spied Trent’s empty seat. A familiar sense of defeat washed over her. Great. Another one bites the dust.

  Yeah, she probably shouldn’t jump to the conclusion he’d ditched her, but after a multitude of her previous dates doing precisely that, she was prepared for the worst.

  Despite all those past assurances that her innocence was the problem, she knew the real truth. She was cursed. Initially she’d assumed the eccentric psychic who cornered her at a birthday party a few weeks ago and shared that crazy theory was a certified whackadoodle. Not that Marabella didn’t believe in curses. But ones that warded off sex? Yeah, definitely nutty. But after the tenth case of a guy hitting the high road when things started to get hot and heavy, she’d reluctantly admitted the psychic might be on to something.

  Now here she was—five additional failed dates later and no closer to losing her virginity. If that didn’t make a believer out of her, nothing would.

  She couldn’t deny it anymore—she was well and truly cursed to become a spinster virgin. Maybe she should just accept her sad fate and adopt fifteen cats. Start knitting them sweaters and jaunty little hats they’d grumpily comply with wearing while they secretly plotted to kill her in her sleep.

  The pathetic thought doing nothing to bolster the plummeting state of her mood, she trudged to the booth and slumped into her seat. Her gaze landed on the crisp twenty-dollar bill soaking up a ring of condensation near Trent’s unfinished beer. Well, at least this jerk hadn’t skipped out on her before paying the tab. Grumbling, she reached for her Cosmopolitan and took a fortifying sip. She immediately choked on the swallow as an unexpected wave of dark, intense energy wafted across her. She shivered, a colony of goose bumps dotting her skin.

  There weren’t many times she’d encountered this kind of energy, but she knew well enough what was responsible for it. Trying not to draw attention to her actions, she carefully scooted closer to the edge of the bench seat and peered at the patrons congregated around the bar.

  Where are you…?

  An enormous guy wearing a navy-blue tracksuit shuffled out of Marabella’s vision, and her attention fell on the tall, sexy and decidedly dangerous individual striding toward the bank of stools adjacent to her. A harsh breath lodged in her esophagus. With his carelessly tousled midnight-black hair and strong, beard-stubbled jaw, the stranger was the living definition of bad boy. The fact he was a demon only made his off-the-charts sex appeal that much more alluring to any unsuspecting female.

  Fortunately, she was more than aware of what he was, which made her reaction to him incredibly disturbing. Jerking her focus from his sinfully gorgeous features, she squeezed her thighs together, desperately willing away the hot, decadent arousal beating deep in her core. She sucked in a shaky inhalation. What the hell is wrong with me?

  She’d been attracted to her fair share of men before, but none of them came close to inspiring the same breathless excitement as the too-scrumptious-for-words demon standing across from her. If she pressed a hand between her legs, she was half terrified she’d find out just how dripping wet she truly was. For him.

  Lusting after a demon—it was the pinnacle of wrongness. The cardinal sin topping all others.

  She struggled against the overwhelming urge to peek at the demon before finally giving up the battle. Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly stopped beside a scruffy-looking dude wearing denim coveralls and a battered baseball cap. The man took one look at the demon and quickly vacated his spot. Apparently used to strangers giving up seats to him, the demon straddled the stool and snapped his fingers at the stressed-out bartender.

  Marabella tried not to notice the intriguing flex of muscles beneath the demon’s snug black T-shirt as he leaned toward the bar, but failed miserably. When she imagined sliding her hands beneath the cotton to feel the sinuous ripple of those muscles for herself, she grasped the delicate stem of her martini glass and slammed two large gulps of her Cosmo. The fruity alcohol provoked an unladylike sputter from her, but at least she had something else to concentrate on other than her traitorous attraction to the demon.

  I should absolutely get out of here before I do something stupid. Her mind was on the right track. Too bad her body refused to obey. She plunked her glass down with trembling fingers and fumbled for her purse. As she lifted it toward her lap, her attention locked on the two men farther down the bar who were staring at the demon with bloodlust glinting in their narrowed eyes.

  Oh. Shit.

  Ian and Jasper Quint. Although she wasn’t personally acquainted with the infamous hunters, she knew of their reputation. She shifted her scrutiny to the demon. He didn’t seem to be aware of the menacing interest he’d garnered from the Quint brothers. Sick dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. It made no sense why she should be fearful for the demon’s life. For all intents and purposes, they were on opposing teams. While she didn’t exactly condone Jasper’s and Ian’s methods, she should still applaud their quest to rid the world of dark, evil forces.

  Only right now, the idea of them doing harm to Mr. Buff and Brooding didn’t sit well on her.

  Her escalating anxiety continuing to fester, she watched the demon slug down a huge mug of beer before ordering another. Within the space of five minutes the demon chugged through four more rounds. If he was on a mission to tie one o
n, he was well underway. She’d long since abandoned her own drink. Her gut had enough to deal with, thanks to the uneasy queasiness sloshing around in there.

  Didn’t the demon realize the prime target he was making of himself?

  A perky young waitress bounced up to Marabella’s booth, momentarily blocking the view of the bar. “Would you like another drink?”

  Smothering a frustrated groan, Marabella lifted her gaze to the girl’s cajoling expression. “No, thank you.”

  “Are you sure? Our margaritas are on special tonight.”

  “I’m positive.”

  The waitress’s cheeriness intensified several notches. “How about dessert then?”

  “No, really. I don’t need anything.”

  The girl’s smile turned wheedling. “You look like you’re a fan of cheesecake, and ours can’t be beat.”

  “I’m lactose intolerant,” Marabella lied. “But thank you.”

  Looking disappointed at the prospect of getting a smaller tip than she’d hoped for, the girl uttered a grumpy “Fine” and moved to the neighboring table. Marabella returned her focus to the bar, her heart plummeting when she noticed the demon was gone. Her response to his departure churned her gloomy dread. Instead of moping, she should be rejoicing that he’d left. Not only could she stop worrying about her strange draw to the mysterious demon, she didn’t need to panic at the prospect of the Quints jumping him.

  Reminded of the hunters’ presence, she glanced toward the end of the bar. Her gaze collided with the empty stools where the brothers were supposed to be sitting, and the ball of dread in her stomach quadrupled in size. The timing of their departure couldn’t be coincidental.

  Blindly, she snatched her purse and stumbled from the booth. A sea of bodies pushed against her, combating her efforts to reach the exit. Her pulse a deafening roar in her head, she broke through the crowd and raced outside. Other than a few people milling around on the sidewalk, there weren’t many loiterers. She didn’t spot the Quint brothers or the demon anywhere.

  How could they have vanished so fast?

  In the middle of processing that thought, she spied Ian and Jasper hoofing it into the park square down the street. The brothers hurried past a hotdog cart blocked on either side by two large inflatable waving balloons before they disappeared from sight. Not waiting around to rethink her actions, she darted across the road.

  Other than the noise coming from the generators powering the balloons, an eerie quiet shrouded the park. Even the breeze rustling through the oaks seemed hushed, as if waiting for something sinister to happen. Praying that wasn’t a premonition, she hurried in the direction she’d last glimpsed the Quints. Pavement gave way to brick pavers as she ventured deeper into the woods. The shadows grew denser, threatening to swallow her whole, and her senses shifted to high alert.

  Wary of walking into a perilous situation, she inched forward—and winced when her heels made a soft scuff on the cobbled path. Although the sound was barely discernible, she was paranoid enough to believe the quarry she tailed would be able to hear it. She hesitated, debating the wisdom in taking off her shoes to mask further sound. Before she settled on a decision, a nearby voice broke the still night.

  “This is your unlucky day, Gorasola.”

  Heart thudding, Marabella scooted toward the forked section of the path. Just past the bend on the right, the Quint brothers stood facing the demon. She quickly ducked behind a hedge of yews to avoid detection.

  A slurred grunt fell from the demon. “Shit. You don’t know the half of it.”

  “You made a huge mistake showing up on our turf.” This time Ian issued the thinly veiled threat.

  “Your turf? For fuck’s sake, what is this, West Side Story? Who the hell talks like that anymore?”

  “You’ve got a big mouth, Gorasola,” Ian growled. “It’s gonna be my pleasure to permanently shut it.”

  “How about hurrying the fuck up with it? Standing here chatting with you two yokels isn’t helping my headache.”

  Jasper cautiously hunkered to one knee, and Marabella spotted the brief glint of metal when he rucked up the leg of his jeans. A knife. Renewed panic slammed into her. Oh goddess. She had to do something to stop this. But what could she do? Darting foolishly into the middle of a fight would be stupid and dangerous. Calling 911 was a possibility, but how long would it take the police to get here?

  Jasper slipped the dagger from its sheath and rose to his feet. The wickedly lethal blade gleamed in the moonlight. Marabella swallowed past a thick lump of apprehension and fear. Think, damn it. She debated zapping Jasper with a bolt of energy, but her magic had a tendency to misfire even when her hands were at their steadiest. Considering the rate they were currently shaking—better to keep them out of the equation. Accidentally electrocuting Jasper wouldn’t go over well. Doubtful she’d be able to explain that one to the witches’ guild. Particularly the part about defending a demon.

  Damn, looked like she’d have to rely on her mental magic for this job. Maybe she could conjure something to get the demon out of this mess. But what?

  Jasper and Ian began closing in on the demon, their steps measured and wary. For some odd reason, the demon stood perfectly still, a blasé expression firmly planted on his shadowed face. Why wasn’t he more perturbed by the situation? Or attempting to make a run for it? Her mind tracked back to the five beers he’d guzzled. Oh yeah. That’s why.

  She racked her brain for something suitably terrifying to conjure. Something so horrific, it’d automatically send Ian and Jasper screaming into the night and far away from here. Without warning, her mind latched on the silly waving balloon figures back at the entrance of the park. A fizzle of energy shuttled through her. Oh crap. No, not—

  Too late. An unmistakable whoosh of air sounded behind her. If that wasn’t enough of a clue of what she’d inadvertently conjured, the stunned befuddlement seizing the demon when his attention jerked in her direction filled in the blanks. Worried he might notice her, she crouched lower behind the protective screening of shrubbery. Twisting slightly, she glanced upward—and cringed when she took in the beaming smiles of the skinny green balloon people towering above her.

  Look out Freddy Krueger, there’s new competition in town. Stifling a groan, she watched the balloons hop over the hedge. Scooting sideways, she found a gap in the yews that afforded a decent view of the unfolding drama.

  The demon broke from his trance and shuffled back a step. “What. The. Fu-”

  Ian and Jasper took that as a sign to leap at the demon. A flash of metal slashed through the air, and Marabella bit back a scream. The two balloon people rushed at the Quints, their rubbery, buoyant arms beating and pummeling the clueless brothers in a whirling blur. She caught a brief glimpse of Jasper’s face as he dropped the knife and craned his neck to see who—or what—was attacking him. His eyes bugging, he let out a choked gurgle and banded his arms over his head in an attempt to dodge the balloon man’s blows. Ian was engaged in a similar activity.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Jasper bellowed. Still clutching his head, he lunged down the path. Ian barreled after him, the two balloon creatures bouncing along in the hunters’ wake.

  Clamping a hand over her mouth to smother her giggle, Marabella watched the odd spectacle of two pairs of wiggling, skinny green arms waving above the treetops. She’d give it a couple minutes before safely calling her balloon henchmen off.

  Dropping her arm, she blew a straggly lock of hair away from her eye and glanced toward the demon. Rather than looking relieved over his narrow escape, his face held the most miserably dejected expression she’d ever witnessed. Before she could ponder too long on the weirdness of that, his dark eyes suddenly glowed with a murderous gleam. She gulped. Thank goddess that look wasn’t directed at her. It’d be enough to make her pee her pants.

  Without warning, he blinked out of sight. Her breath expelled in a rush. “Damn it, he better not go after Ian and Jasper. Especially considering all the t
rouble I went to saving his sorry, drunk ass.” Grumbling, she pushed to her feet and plucked a few pine needles from the front of her sweater. Securing her purse strap on her shoulder, she pivoted. And yelped as she smacked right into Mr. Tall, Dark and Deadly. Blood drumming in her ears, she gaped up into his coldly menacing features.

  His lips pulled into a tight smile that was far from reassuring. “Sorry to break it to you, sugar, but saving my sorry, drunk ass was the worst mistake you ever made.”

  Chapter Three

  Sam glared into his rescuer’s big blue eyes, trying to piece together why the hell a white witch would charge to his aid.

  He knew without question that was precisely what she was—a white witch. The undiluted goody-two-shoes energy pouring off her in massive waves was a dead giveaway. He could feel it poking at his own energy, gliding over his skin. But instead of the typical irritation white magic stirred within him, this strange witch elicited a more basic response. His cock stood at attention, the damn traitor obviously happy to make her acquaintance.

  Fuck. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten laid if I’ve got a boner over Glinda the Good Witch. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

  She licked her lips, and he tried not to notice how exquisitely full and pouty pink they were. Or how her long, wavy blonde hair framed a perfect heart-shaped face with delicate features. He especially tried not to pay attention to the fact her creamy, porcelain-fine skin hosted a smattering of freckles.