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

by Jodi Redford

  He awarded Nikki a baleful glare. “Is there a reason you’re murdering my appliances and utensils?”

  “I was making breakfast. Except I’m not very good at it.”

  “Clearly.” Plowing a hand through his hair, he glanced around the glaringly white space. What the devil had prompted him to paint the walls in such a blinding shade? Not conducive to mellowing a nine a.m. hangover. Particularly without caffeine nearby to soften the blow. He snagged the stainless-steel carafe from the coffeemaker and flipped on the faucet.

  “I can make that if you want.”

  He slid Nikki another dark look. “No. I don’t need you exploding the damn thing.”

  She rolled her eyes before returning the broom to the pantry. When she sauntered back into the room, he gave her a purposeful stare. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

  “Pops hasn’t called me with a case yet.” Her shoulders hitched in a negligent shrug. “Knowing him, he thinks holding out on me is all it’ll take to convince me to go turncoat against Cass. But with Dominic neck-deep in a MIA soul case, Pops won’t be able to wait too much longer if he wants to keep Soul Collections, Inc. afloat.”

  Sam returned his focus to pouring coffee grounds into the filter. The sooner the Lassiters worked out their feud and got back to work so he could have his damn house to himself, the better. Suddenly reminded of the second sibling responsible for the other half of his headache, Sam shot Nikki a suspicious scowl. “Where’s your sister?”

  “In the dining room, working on a plan to break your contract to Pricilla.”

  Snapping his mouth shut, he tweaked the bridge of his nose and attempted to process that statement. Little good it did. Trying to understand the female race was an unsolvable mystery. “Why the hell is she wasting her time on the impossible?”

  “You know Cass. Once she has something in her head, she’s not going to give up until she figures out how to make it happen.”

  Yeah, stubbornness was a Lassiter trait. His jaw tight, Sam swung the basket closed on the coffeemaker and punched the brew button before striding in the direction of the dining room. Cassidy should damn well be concentrating her efforts on making up with her dad, not a fool’s mission.

  The youngest Lassiter sat hunched over her laptop at the dining table, her eyes glued to the screen. Cass blew a straggly lank of hair out of her eye before chewing her bottom lip and tapping the wireless mouse situated next to the computer. She still wore her flannel pajamas.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Cass tore her gaze from the monitor and granted him a distracted look. “Hmm?”

  He waved toward her laptop. “I’ll be the first to admit I’m not thrilled about my situation, but there’s nothing I—nor you—can do to change it.” Hell, he’d even resorted to baiting a pair of demon hunters into killing him. Look where that got him.

  “You’re wrong.” Cass scooted her seat back and stood. After indulging in a brief stretch that resulted in loud pops from her strained joints, she paced a path on the rug. “I was up all night mulling over what you said about Pricilla having plans for you. That means you have something she wants…needs.”

  He grimaced. “Long as it’s not my body, I don’t give a rat’s ass.” No amount of horniness would make him that desperate.

  Cass shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the case here. What is it you possess she doesn’t?”

  He grunted. “Season tickets for the Atlanta Falcons?”

  Cass’s expression hinted she wouldn’t be swayed by his sarcasm. “You’re a soul collector, Sam. That’s what Pricilla is after.”

  He rubbed his jaw, letting her supposition sink in. “Why would she need a personal soul collector? Hell, I’m at the disposal of the council. She could go that route without controlling my contract.”

  “Maybe that’s just it. Suppose she didn’t want to go through the council for whatever jobs she has in mind for you, so she circumnavigated that avenue completely.”

  Nikki plopped her butt onto the edge of the dining table. “Sneaky. Definitely sounds like something Pricilla would do.”

  He wasn’t entirely convinced. Not about Pricilla being sneaky. That was a given. But why go to these lengths? Or behind the council’s back, for that matter? Pricilla had Marcus Bahltair, the demon king, wrapped around her pinky. Not bloody likely he’d deny her anything she decided to put before the council.

  Sam scratched his beard scruff one last time before dropping his hand. “All of this theorizing is irrelevant. I’m under contract to the bitch. Nothing short of my death will alter that.” And he already knew the unlikelihood of that happening. But to be honest, he wasn’t completely against the idea of accidentally knocking a hairdryer into the tub the next time he took a soak.

  Damn, he didn’t own a hairdryer. Might have to put that item on the shopping list.

  A crafty smile curved Cass’s lips. “Actually, there is an alternative to death. We can corrupt and break your seal, thereby making you useless to Pricilla.”

  He frowned. “Corrupt? What the devil are you talking about?”

  “A few years ago I looked into the possibility of having my soul-collector code stripped so Dad would get off my back once and for all. Turns out it can’t be done because of my reaper DNA. But…” Cass’s grin widened, “…a branded demon is a different story. All of my research points at the very real possibility that you can be corrupted, Sam.”

  The words that’d just fallen from her mouth might as well have been uttered in a foreign tongue—they were that unfathomable for his brain to comprehend.

  Cass honestly thought there was a way to destroy his seal? He stared into his cousin’s eyes, his head spinning as he took in her obvious excitement. Holy hell. Could it be possible? There was a way for him to get out of this mess and give Pricilla the bitch a big fuck you at the same time? Okay, where did the punch line come in? “Let’s pretend for a second I’m taking any of this seriously. How the devil does my seal get corrupted?”

  “Yeah, I’m curious about that part too.” Nikki swung her foot, banging the heel of her combat boot on the leg of the table, marking the glossy black finish.

  A vein throbbed in his forehead in rhythm to her kicks as he checked the urge to wrap his hands around Nikki’s neck and squeeze. Not too hard. Just enough to make her pass out for the next hour or two—long enough to grant him time to pack her belongings and stow them and her unconscious body on the front stoop of her parents’ house.

  “It’s quite simple,” Cass said, breaking through Sam’s private grumblings. “It took a practioner of the black arts to seal your brand. That means it’ll take a white witch to break it.”

  He scowled. “Shit. I knew this was too good to be true.”

  Cass tossed up her arms. “Why are you being so negative?”

  “Hello? You’re talking about Sam here. Pessimistic is his middle name.” Nikki cocked her head to the side. “Or is it pissy? I always get the two confused.”

  Cass must have intuited his murderous thoughts concerning her sister because she cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. “Give this a chance, Sam. I know it’ll work.”

  “And how do you propose I convince a white witch to go along with it? Most of them aren’t lined up to do dealings with a demon.” Against his will, his thoughts shifted to his savior. For some weird, mysterious reason, she’d helped him last night. Maybe he was on to something about her being not right in the head. It’d explain her not running from him.

  “Well, that’s kind of the fortunate part. She wouldn’t actually have to know what’s going on.”

  Yet another thing that seemed too good to be true. He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Care to explain how that works?”

  Cass gnawed on the corner of her lip before responding. “What you need is a powerful enough energy spike from her to break through the seal.”

  “Okay, I’m with you so far. Still not sure how you think I can go about triggering her energy without makin
g her suspicious.”

  “Easy.” Cass offered a reassuring smile that made him feel anything but. “You have sex with her and give her one doozy of a climax.”

  He and Nikki simultaneously choked on a cough. He was the first to recover. “Want to pass that one by me again?” Fuck. And here he’d thought somehow sweet-talking a do-gooder witch into breaking his soul-collector seal was impossible. That’d be a cakewalk compared to getting one to spread her legs for him. Although he could sure as shit think of one he’d like to bury his cock inside for an hour or two. He gritted his teeth at the wayward thought. He didn’t like the odd attraction he’d experienced with his little witch. There were already too many things in his life he couldn’t control. Adding another to the list damn well wasn’t gonna happen.

  Cass held up her hand, tearing him from his grim musings. “I know what you’re thinking. But I’ve come up with a solution I think will solve part of the issue. Tomorrow’s the big Samhain ball at the Cosgrove mansion, which basically amounts to lots of witches in a relatively confined space. That works in your favor, since all their white energy should help mask your darker juju. You’ll be able to blend in pretty much undetected.”

  “Wow, smart thinking, sis,” Nikki said grudgingly.

  He hated to admit Nikki had a point, but it was smart. Still, there was a slight hiccup. “Unless I can convince her to sneak into one of the private rooms to do the dirty, sooner or later we’ll have to leave the party.”

  Cass gave him an encouraging pat on the arm. “Then I suggest you lay the charm on extra thick.”

  A snort shot from Nikki. “Oh man. You are so screwed.” She grinned obnoxiously. “Or not, in this case.”

  Chapter Six

  Sam took one look at the tube of hair gel in Cass’s hand and narrowed his eyes. “That shit isn’t getting anywhere near my head.”

  Cass uttered a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. But could you at least wear something classier than jeans and a T-shirt? The idea is for a woman to want to have sex with you.”

  “This is as dressy as I get. Take it or leave it.”

  Nikki stepped next to her sister. Rubbing her chin, she swept him with an appraising look that made him feel like a side a beef…that was getting an inferior rating. “I still think we should have gotten you a costume so you’d blend in more.”

  “I don’t do costumes.”

  Cass grunted. “Yeah, we kind of got that impression after you insisted on repeating your stance on it a few thousand times.”

  “Good. I’m glad we’ve got that straight.” He hadn’t trusted either of his cousins not to spring some hellaciously embarrassing getup on him, like Zorro or a fucking pirate. Just the thought of all those pansy-ass ruffles was enough to make his balls shrivel.

  “Well, I guess we’ll have to hope you pass muster with the ladies.” Cass plopped the tube of gel on the kitchen counter, something that filled him with immense relief. Cousin or not, things could have gotten violent if she’d tried to goop his hair to look like a damn hedgehog or some other bullshit artsy-fartsy style. She pulled a small spiral notebook from her back pocket and tore off the top page, which she promptly handed to him. “This is a checklist I put together for you. It should help you get through tonight easier.”

  He glanced at the paper and read the first line. “Make sure to smile and compliment your date once in a while.” He scowled. “She isn’t going to be my date. We’re having sex and hopefully breaking my seal. End of story.”

  Cass huffed a peevish breath. “Could you pretend you’re interested in more than just a roll in the hay? Women enjoy being wooed, you know.”

  Oh bloody hell. Maybe he should take his chances with Pricilla. He let the possibility sink in for a moment before determining even a week under the bitch’s command would be intolerable. “Fine, I’ll wax poetic about her blinding beauty.”

  Both Lassiter sisters gave him equally dubious looks. Their faith in him was heartwarming. He reached for his leather jacket and stuffed Cass’s cheat sheet in one of the pockets. “Can I go now?”

  “Hold on.” Cass snatched a plastic bag off the counter and rifled through it. A second later she extracted a small box and tossed it to him. “If all goes well, you’re going to need those.”

  He glanced down at the package and growled. “You bought condoms?” For shit’s sake. Was nothing sacred? The minute he left his house, he was wiping this entire memory from his mind. Stuffing the box in his other pocket, he pivoted and stalked toward the exit.

  “Have fun,” Cass and Nikki sang in unison.

  The muscle in his jaw ticking out of control, he stepped into the living room. Seeing how he didn’t have an established teleport link to the Cosgrove mansion, he’d have to go old school and drive. Actually, it was one of the few things he was looking forward to tonight. His vintage Pontiac GTO was his pride and joy. He might not get to ride her often—and certainly not lately—but racking up miles with the Orange Bullet was his favorite pastime.

  After glancing over his shoulder to ensure Cass and Nikki weren’t snooping on him, he stooped and grabbed his car key from the secret compartment he’d installed on the underside of the end table. He started to straighten as a familiar tingling shot down his spine.

  Pricilla’s nasally whine floated inside his head. Gorasola, Gorasola.

  Son of a bitch. Why did she have to summon him right now of all times? He tried to tune her out, ignore the implicit command, but there was no fighting it. Giving an anguished growl, he let the invisible conjuring chains band his forearms and ankles and tug him into the dark abyss of teleport space. Air whistled around him, vibrating against his eardrums. A ripple pierced the ink-black void, a shimmer of light folding outward. He was sucked through the gap and hurtled across the floor. Thick carpeting cushioned his fall. The chains dissolved and footsteps approached. He looked up and met Pricilla’s cold, haughty gaze.

  Her blood-red lips quirked up at the corners, testimony to how much she enjoyed getting to jerk him around. “Hmm, obviously I’m going to need more practice with this summoning business.”

  He wasn’t so stupid to believe that whole knock-and-tumble routine hadn’t been deliberate. Planting one hand on the floor, he hefted onto his knees. Between his new wound courtesy of Jasper’s knife and the six months of torture he was still recovering from, his impromptu acrobatic stunt was just one more battering that left him feeling like a crash test dummy. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Really, Samael. You’re going to have to learn to speak to me in a nicer way.”

  No, he wouldn’t. If things went according to plan tonight, his days of having to talk to Pricilla at all would be done with. Of course, there was also a good chance she’d call for his death for what he was about to do. Frankly, he didn’t give a shit. He’d rather be dead than be her damn errand boy.

  Pricilla moved away from him, and he used the opportunity to struggle to his feet. Pain splintered through his ribs, and he sucked in a sharp breath, unwilling to grant Pricilla the pleasure of hearing the sound.

  She picked up a brass letter opener and used it to slash through the flap of an envelope. “I’m leaving in the morning for the council’s semiannual retreat. I’ll only be gone for the weekend.”

  “Pity.”

  Her lips tightened. “I have an important mission for you to carry out while I’m gone. Tomorrow night I want you to travel to sector nine of the Death Wards and bring me back one of its resident souls.”

  The request was so unexpected it took him a moment to register it. Once he did, he narrowed his eyes and stared at her profile. “Sector nine is high security.”

  She shrugged. “Yes, but you obviously have clearance. You don’t have to worry about being apprehended.”

  “Like hell I don’t. You know damn well it’s impossible to traffic souls from sector nine.”

  Pricilla’s smile dripped with acid sweetness. “I have the utmost faith in your abilities.”

  Didn’t that just m
ake him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Who is it I’m supposed to bring back?”

  “That isn’t something for you to concern yourself with.”

  It took massive amounts of effort to unclench his teeth. “How do you expect me to fetch this soul if you don’t tell me who it is?”

  She tore off a corner of the envelope and jotted something on it before handing the scrap of paper to him. “This is the address where you’ll find the resident. That’s all you need to know at this point.”

  He eyed the number coordinates. They meant nothing to him. Not that he’d expected them to. In the seventy-eight years he’d been a soul collector he’d been dispatched to the restricted zone of the Death Wards a grand total of two times, and neither occasion had involved hauling back one of its denizens. As he’d already pointed out to Pricilla, that was a prohibited activity—one that would earn him a bullet in the brain. Or worse. Which only made him all the more suspicious of what Pricilla had up her sleeve.

  If not for the fact the Samhain ball likely held his only shot at getting out from beneath Pricilla’s thumb, he’d be sorely tempted to postpone breaking his seal and track down this soul. He’d have to settle for passing the address to Nikki and Cass and see if they couldn’t dig up some information on it. Although sector nine was out of the grim reaper jurisdiction, the Lassiters had connections thanks to their demon ties.

  He pocketed the slip of paper, stashing it alongside the box of condoms. “Your wish is my command, oh mighty master.” He resisted the urge to sweep Pricilla a mocking bow.

  A menacing gleam hardened her expression. “That’s right, Samael. Remember it well in case you have any notion of undermining me. The misery you profess to have endured under Nettie? It’s nothing compared to what I am capable of delivering. Understood?”

  Fuck, he was going to enjoy destroying this bitch’s plans. “Implicitly.”

  “Good. Now leave. I have a ton of packing that still needs doing.” She waved him off like a bug that’d been annoyingly buzzing around her head.