Devil May Care: A Muse Urban Fantasy (The Veil Series Book 2)

by DaCosta, Pippa

  “You’re an asshole.” Eloquent, that’s me.

  My insult barely scratched him. He’d heard worse from me. “You’re looking at another six months before I can even consider restoring you—”

  I jerked out of the seat and slammed my hands down on the desk. “Give me my demon back, and I’ll tell you what you need to know. Until then, I’m not telling you a damn thing.”

  He looked up at me. “People are dying, Muse.”

  “And I’ll be one of them if you don’t restore me.”

  Chapter 4

  The workshop lights buzzed and blinked on, one by one. The carcass of a 1970s Dodge Charger occupied most of the room, although a dust-sheet protected the car’s identity and dignity. A breeze gusted in through the open door behind me and rippled the sheet. Dust bellowed into the air.

  Adam’s words rang in my head as I hesitated in the doorway. People are dying... Telling the Institute about my past wouldn’t save anyone, but it could get me locked up, and I couldn’t afford for that to happen. The workshop looked exactly as it had the day Stefan left. Ryder hadn’t attempted to clear it, and he wasn’t brave enough to broach the subject with me. So it stayed a moment captured in time. A tactile memory. A sanctuary.

  I stepped over the threshold and into my past. Sometimes, buildings are ripe with so much history, that memories crowd the air. Stefan’s workshop felt that like that. I could almost hear his voice from the back office, that dangerous tone lifted only by his crooked smile. I ached to see that smile again, to hear his voice for real.

  I pinched the sheet and flicked it back. The Charger had been stripped to bare metal. The panels were missing, and the interior had been gutted. The car was little more than a skeletal chassis. Stefan had been restoring it when he’d crossed the veil.

  I ran a hand over the cold metal frame and plucked Ryder’s Leatherman from my jacket pocket. A little blood would seal the link between my physical being and the memories in the metal. I reopened the cut I’d made at the crime scene and rubbed my bloody fingertips together. As soon as my fingers made contact with the chassis, a barrage of images cascaded over me. Sunlight streamed in through the double doors. Dust motes danced in the air. Stefan lay on his back beneath the car with one leg drawn up. His loose, faded and torn blue jeans sported a few smudges of oil across the thighs. I couldn’t see his torso, hidden as he was beneath the car, but I heard his voice.

  “I didn’t say that. I said... I’d like to see you try.” The familiarity of his voice wrapped around me like a security blanket. Nothing fazed him. He was a half-blood like me, but he’d known the truth about a half-blood’s limitless power, whereas I’d had a lifetime of lies stacked atop one another, creating a mountain of self-disgust.

  Ryder’s image shimmered into view as he leaned against the car. His hair was longer and his eyes brighter. He teased a toothpick around his lips with his tongue then plucked it free and used it to punctuate his words. “I could, y’know. They’re ugly bastards, but they’re slow. Distract it— that’s where you come in—and I’d have it running back through the veil in a heartbeat, cryin’ for its bitch of a mother. If it has a heartbeat. Do they have heartbeats?”

  “Two.” Stefan chuckled from beneath the car. “How you’ve survived this long is a mystery.”

  “Professionalism...” Ryder grinned. “Or luck.”

  Stefan shoved himself out from under the car. His image wavered as he let go of the metal, but it came sharply back into focus as he leaned against the chassis. He wore a snug-fitting white tank top, torn in places, and carried himself with a relaxed fluidity that seemed at odds with his lean muscular build. I knew his body intimately, the ripple of his abs, the strength and power coiled in the muscles of his arms. Wiping his hands on a rag, he arched an eyebrow at Ryder. “If you ask me, your partner has a lot to do with your success rate.”

  Ryder blustered and grinned. “What? Hey, if I remember right, I saved your ass on that last call. You were too busy buttering-up the victim’s daughter to notice the demon wasn’t dead. I told yah, you gotta check the son’s-of-bitches by poking them in the eye. If it ain’t dead, it’ll damn well blink.”

  “C’mon, poke it in the eye? Next, you’ll be tellin’ me they can’t breathe if they stop moving.” Stefan’s chuckle stirred an ache within me I thought had died months ago. As he tossed the dirty rag at Ryder’s head, I focused on his eyes. Startling in their clarity, the azure radiance of those winter-sky eyes never failed to entice me. I knew the power at his core, the bitter chill of his ice element. But despite the immense amount of chaos energy he was capable of wielding, he hadn’t been cold.

  Reluctantly, I withdrew from the images and lifted my hand from the car to sever the link to the past. The brilliant sunlit workshop dulled to somber dust-covered reality. The retreat of the warm memory left me shivering. The ghost of Stefan’s voice lingered for a few beats, but that faded until only the sounds of my breathing and the murmur of the city outside remained.

  A weighty sadness siphoned the strength from my limbs. It had been a mistake to delve into the past. The memories only served to remind me of what I’d lost—of the mistakes I’d made.

  A splatter of blood dripped onto the dust sheet, followed by another. I felt wetness on my top lip and tasted the coppery twang of it in my mouth and grunted a curse. Pain lashed up my spine, and a cry burst from my lips. I staggered back and bumped into the workbench, rattling the tools. A second slice of agony rode up my spine. This one turned my legs to liquid and dropped me to my knees. Blazing heat burned through my limbs and radiated up my back, over my shoulders, before drilling through my very core. The agony built, crawling beneath my skin as though it could burn my flesh from my bones. A third wave broiled up. Fire rolled across my flesh. I had a moment to realize my element had somehow broken through the Institute’s drug-induced cage before the surge of chaos energy snatched my consciousness away.

  Chapter 5

  The beep of a heart monitor punctured my dreams and hauled me from the depths of unconsciousness. My thoughts still slumbered, reluctant to make sense of the scene around me. I tried to lift my arm but couldn’t. Someone was holding me down. Damien, no... I gasped and jerked up. I was at the Institute. The heart monitor’s sound accelerated, attracting my blurry gaze. A bank of monitors blinked and flashed down at me. Graphs jumped, and numbers ticked. I tried again to lift my hand. When it refused to move, I peeled my head from the pillow and saw why. Leather restraints fastened me to the bed. From my right wrist, an intravenous drip wove its way up my arm to a clear bag suspended beside me.

  Ryder slouched asleep in a chair, his leg stretched out, and his head back. I swept my gaze around the small room as my molasses thoughts gradually organized themselves. I was in the Institute’s medical facility. A normal hospital wouldn’t have had a one-way observation window.

  “Hey, Ryder.” My voice came out more a hoarse growl than actual words.

  Ryder woke with a start, saw me glaring at him, and smiled a sleepy not-quite-there grin. He sat forward and pulled a hand down his unshaven face to drag away the vestiges of sleep. “You look pissed.”

  I tugged on the restraints and arched an eyebrow. “You have about three seconds to untie me before I lose my cool.”

  His smile grew, and his eyes brightened. He’d actually been worried, which in turn worried me. What exactly had happened? He glanced at the vast mirrored window then back at me. His smile faded away. I wasn’t getting out of here.

  Dropping my head back, I scowled at the mint-green ceiling. The light wavered, and the room tilted. I blinked to refocus. “What did they give me?”

  “Somethin’ to keep you calm.” Ryder bowed his head, finding his hands fascinating rather than meeting my eyes. “What happened?”

  “I have no idea. How did I get here?” I remembered the workshop and mining the metal of the unfinished Dodge for memories but nothing else.

  “I found you at the workshop.”

  I hadn’t im
agined the tremor in Ryder’s voice. Nor did I imagine the worry lines pinched around his eyes. For once, he met my gaze and didn’t attempt to hide his concern. Whatever he had seen, it scared him.

  “I’m fine.” I tugged on the restraints. “Or I would be if they’d let me out.” A quick scolding glance at the window cleared my thoughts. I had no idea if anyone watched us, but it was likely. They were always watching.

  Ryder rose from the chair, knees cracking. Considering that he always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, he’d upped his game. His wrinkled shirt, rolled up sleeves, and creased jeans were the smartest thing about him. His ruffled hair jutted out in tufts, and his usually bright eyes were ringed red and bloodshot. “They reckon your demon is trying to... break out. That ain’t ever happened before. Not during their experiments with Stefan, anyway. They...” A quick glance at the windows. “The docs aren’t sure how to deal with it.”

  I snorted a laugh. “If my demon is trying to break through, I’d know it. She doesn’t try to do anything. She does it.”

  Ryder shrugged. I frowned and instinctively reached into the void inside where my demon had once coiled like a cat in front of a hearth, but she wasn’t there. Nothing of her remained. PC34—the drug the Institute used to inhibit her—did a damn good job. I’d not felt her presence since I’d almost swallowed enough elemental power to level half of Boston and nearly killed myself in the process. She was gone.

  “She’s not in there, Ryder. I’d know it. I wish she was. Whatever happened, whatever you saw when you found me, it wasn’t her.”

  He searched my expression. “It ain’t me you gotta convince.”

  Great. Adam. This was all he needed to lock me behind bars for another six months.

  I growled and tossed my head back. “Dammit. I’ve done everything they’ve asked of me. Everything. Played their games. Danced to their tune. All the assessments and tests. The constant monitoring. I don’t deserve this.” The longer they kept me strapped to this bed or locked behind bars, the less time I had to retrieve Stefan from the netherworld. I had to believe he was still alive, but with every passing day, the chances of him surviving became less and less. He was powerful. I knew that, but he was also half human. I’d been raised there. He hadn’t. I bit into my lip and blinked back tears. “They’ve gotta let me out, Ryder.”

  He clamped his jaw shut and laid his hand over mine. The sadness in his eyes told the same tale as the thoughts running through my head. He understood. He’d seen me fight my way through the Enforcer training, ignoring the jeers from my so-called peers, and I’d excelled to prove a point. Even without my demon, I wasn’t to be trifled with. But where had it gotten me? Strapped to a hospital bed with another probationary period looming over me. That’s where.

  I squeezed Ryder’s hand before letting him go. He left the room without another word. This was hard on him too, caught as he was between the right thing to do and the Institute. I didn’t blame him for any of it. He’d tried to help me. He’d taught me everything to make me a damn good Enforcer. We both wanted the same thing, but until the Institute gave my demon back, I was a blunt instrument in their toolbox.

  Closing my eyes, I thought of Stefan again. He’d lived like this, at the Institute’s beck and call, all his life. Their pet hybrid. He’d hinted at how they’d used him. I could only imagine the hell he’d been through, and now they were going to let him die, knowing full well I could cross the veil and find him. Figuring out how to get him back was another problem. He’d trapped a Prince of Hell in the netherworld with him, using blood to seal the deal and preventing either of them from crossing the veil. I’d searched the Institute’s library books but hadn’t found a way to break that blood-bond.

  I reached for my demon again, mentally calling out to her, but only silence waited.

  After the Institute captured me and as time had worn on, I’d stopped calling her. The void at my center, once so debilitating, had become a necessary evil. I’d pushed all of the pain aside and focused on winning, but it had been so long that I’d become accustomed to her absence. They say time heals. It doesn’t. It masks. I wore a mask of confidence—a mask of determination—because it was all I had left. Inside, I was a wreck, and Adam knew it. How he knew it, I had no idea, but he did. I could excel at all the physical tests, but none of it convinced Adam I was safe. Because I wasn’t safe. I hadn’t been safe since the night at the waterfront when I’d drained Akil, the Prince of Greed, of his power. I’d summoned enough of my element from beyond the veil to ignite a near-nuclear reaction and then snuffed it out instead of unleashing it. The fact that I was still alive was a miracle, and I suspected it was something to do with PC34. That night, my demon had ridden high on a wave of energy so vast, so consuming, she might as well have been a goddess. I’d slapped her right back down, shoved her in a box, and stuffed her away in some dark mental hiding place. PC34 kept her there.

  When she came back—and she would—she was going to be pissed.

  Chapter 6

  “There’s been another murder.” Ryder peered at me from the driver’s side of the car.

  I climbed into the passenger side. “Then what are you waiting for?”

  He peeled the car away from the curb outside the Institute and eased into evening rush hour traffic. I watched the city drift by my window: people going about their lives, unaware of the existence of the netherworld just a thin veil away. Ignorance is bliss, right? But ignorance can kill. Another murder. Could I have prevented it? Was I a coward for not telling Adam the truth?

  I’d been out of my room—cage—for all of three days without incident. A few minor demon sightings had occupied my time, some house calls, note taking, report writing. All basic stuff. Ryder had worked the bigger cases, the demon interventions; when a demon needed its wrists slapped. Behave, go home, or die. The Institute didn’t mess around.

  “The victim is another woman.” Ryder reached behind his seat and groped about in the foot well, found what he was looking for, and dumped a file into my lap. “Cheryl Munro. Another trainee.”

  I flicked open the file as Ryder maneuvered the car through traffic. A smiling headshot of Cheryl beamed up at me. Standard ID pose. She appeared to be in her early twenties, about my age. Her eyes were bright with the eagerness often seen in fresh Enforcers. They volunteer. Mostly. Many Enforcers, perhaps all, had witnessed the worst demons could do. That’s how they found out about the Institute.

  Ryder steered the car with his knees as he unwrapped some gum. “Coleman’s on scene. Same MO. Same murder weapon.” He popped the gum into his mouth.

  “A chain...” I said, a little too softly.

  “Uh-huh.” Ryder tossed the packet into my lap. “You don’t have to read it.”

  “I should.” It could help. Just because I suspected I knew the demon responsible didn’t mean I knew how to catch him. Any new information would help.

  “You gonna be okay with this?”

  “Yup.” I popped a piece of gum into my mouth and bit down hard.

  * * *

  When Ryder pulled up outside the Atlantic Hotel, I kept my mouth firmly shut and my emotions nailed down. The Atlantic Hotel had played a large part in the chaos six months ago. It had changed hands since then, but memories still haunted it. I couldn’t help wondering if the location was significant.

  “You good?” Ryder checked me again as he climbed from the car.

  “Uh-huh.” I slammed the car door and jogged up the steps beside him. The foyer gleamed from floor to ceiling the way all luxury hotels do. Marble tiles, leather chairs, and glass doors bounced light in all directions, dazzling visitors with overt opulence. There was no sign that anything untoward had taken place. No doubt the hotel management wanted to keep it that way. It wasn’t until we reached the eighth floor that things got interesting. Flashing our ID badges gave us entrance from the elevator area into a corridor. Cops loitered, giving us cursory nods of acknowledgement. Well, Ryder anyway. I was still the new face on the
block and largely ignored.

  Detective Coleman didn’t look pleased to see me when he stopped us outside number 52b. He raked his gaze over me, measuring me for any sign that I was about to run screaming from the premises. Apparently satisfied, he slid his gaze to Ryder. Coleman was probably still angry because I was a) not entirely human and b) not telling him the truth.

  “I need to warn you. It’s not pretty.” Coleman’s voice held an abrasive edge as though he’d been up all night.

  “Forensics finished?” Ryder asked, as if not caring in the least for Coleman’s warning.

  “Yeah. We’re just waiting for you to take a look.” He looked down at me, clearly not trusting that I could handle any of this. I grinned brightly. “Perhaps Miss Henderson should sit this one out?”

  Ryder shoved my shoulder in a macho display of affection. “She’s good.”

  I tried to plaster something resembling professionalism on my face but failed at hiding my smile. Coleman pressed his lips together, biting back whatever he might have next, and opened the door.

  A stench like pennies and sewers wafted over us. I coughed and covered my mouth and nose with the crook of my arm. Whether it was the size of the room or the heat, I wasn’t sure, but the carnage appeared ten times worse than the previous murder. The victim, or what was left of her, sat slumped against the bed. Much of her skin had been peeled from her muscles in methodical strips. Those strips had dried and coiled where they’d been arranged in orderly rows beside her. She’d been butchered—sliced up like a piece of meat.

  My stomach lurched. I resisted my gag reflex and briefly closed my eyes. A flurry of guilt and fear crowded my thoughts.

  Ryder hesitated ahead of me, unsure where to step. He glanced back, covering his mouth and nose in the same way I had. “Watch your footing.”