Devil Take Me

by Karilyn Bentley

  “So now what?” My gaze pings between her and Smythe. “We know now what happened but what are we supposed to do about it? How do we ferret out the demon influencing the Agency? Does it still want my justitia? Does it have anything to do with the despair demon killing people here in Dallas?”

  “So many questions.” Eloise shakes her head. “I don’t know. Yes, we need to stop the demon. Both demons. We’ll probably have better luck with the one here than the one at the Agency.”

  “A double pronged approach.” Smythe drums his fingers against his muscular thigh.

  “What do you need me to do?” T asks.

  We three look at him. From our expressions, we all think the same: how to tell him “nothing” without hurting his feelings.

  Eloise breaks the silence. “I’m not sure. Unless you can talk to a ghost about who the demon is in the Agency.”

  By the set of his jaw, ghost talking is not on his looking-forward-to-do list. His words, though, say nothing of his unease. “I can try.”

  Eloise nods. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

  “Guess I’m calling in sick.” Instead of sounding excited, a hint of resignation threads through his voice.

  “I vote Gin and I stop the despair demon while you two see what you can find out about the demon in the Agency.” Smythe leans forward. “Sounds like it’s been there for years. Perdix, on the other hand, is actively killing people. And will probably kill more. We’ll hunt while you ferret out more clues about the Agency demon.”

  “Okay.” A game plan. One that throws Smythe and me together. I take in his broad shoulders, the strong set of his jaw, the amount of willpower mixed with magic electrifying the air around him.

  Weeks ago he lost his trust in me and now I can’t give my trust to him. Okay, that’s not true. I trust him to keep me safe. To help me fight demons. It’s the trust in our romantic relationship I’m having a hard time piecing back together.

  As if he feels the heat of my stare, his attention focuses on me. Heat smacks my cheeks as all sorts of not-appropriate-for-work thoughts zing through my brain. Did he send me a telepathic suggestion? Could he want me to participate in a little horizontal action? Do I want to?

  Hell, yeah. Just not now. As shallow as it sounds, I’m not done with being mad at him. He hurt me. His actions were part of the reason I relapsed.

  I drop my gaze to my lap.

  Come on, Gin. Face the truth. You are responsible for your own actions. Passing the blame causes relapses and hurt feelings. My self-talk fails to help the trust issue.

  Maybe one of these days.

  “Dinner?”

  T’s voice pulls my head up. Everyone stares at me like I have the answer. Embarrassing. “What?”

  “I said, did you want to have dinner?”

  “You mean, did you want me to cook?”

  “Same thing.”

  Twins. “Sure. Everyone staying?”

  Everyone nods. Dinner it is.

  Chapter Sixteen

  My alarm wakes me by blaring in the darkness at 5:30 a.m. Why is it going off so early? Smythe isn’t coming over until eight. I slap a hand on the off button, roll over, and continue snoozing.

  A rap at my bedroom door wakes me. I mumble something, pull the covers over my head, and roll onto my side. The knock grows louder.

  “Go away.” The covers muffle my voice. Which clearly explains why the door opens.

  “Why are you still in bed?”

  What was Smythe doing here? He wasn’t due until eight. I roll toward the door, lifting the covers enough to peek at the clock.

  “Yikes!” I throw the covers off, heart pounding an “I’m late, I’m late” race.

  Smythe leans against the door jamb, arms crossed, one brow raised as I stumble out of bed.

  “Sorry.” I rub my hands down my face, through my hair, trying to scrub away the tiredness as I talk. “My alarm went off at 5:30. I turned it off and went back to sleep without resetting it.”

  “Why did it go off at 5:30?”

  I shrug. “Maybe it malfunctioned. It’s not my day to—”

  And then I remember. Work? My breath hitches. Oh my god, I’m supposed to be at work. At seven. It’s now eight. What the hell was I thinking? How could I forget to show up for work?

  Smythe’s eyes widen as I go into full panic mode. “You were supposed to be at work today?”

  “My phone.” Where did I leave my phone? Oh my god. “I’ve gotta call in. She’s going to fire me.” No way will Nurse Hatchet keep me on staff if I don’t show up and don’t call in. How could I have forgotten about my job? My income? A shot of panic ricochets through my system, churning my stomach contents into a ball of writhing snakes.

  I’m going to be fired.

  My phone lies where I always put it, right by the alarm clock, but when I move to grasp it, my shaking hands knock it onto the floor instead. Damn it. Tears spring to my eyes. I’m so screwed. Smythe picks the thing up, unlocks it, brings up the phone app, and hands it to me.

  Thank God he’s around to help.

  Panic rides me hard enough that the idea of him knowing my phone’s PIN fails to faze me. Despite my trembling fingers, I manage to dial Ruth, a.k.a Nurse Hatchet. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I don’t want to be fired.

  My breath comes in short hitches as I blink away tears.

  As soon as she picks up with a gruff “Hello,” I start talking. More like gushing non-stop.

  “It’s Gin. I’m so sorry. My alarm didn’t go off. I can be there in thirty.” I hold my breath, as if it will help my ass not get canned.

  A long pause ensues, during which the speedy, hard rhythm of my heartbeat echoes in my ears, a pounding of doom.

  “Gin.” Patience and concern lace her tone. The same tone I use when dealing with a difficult patient. It might hold concern, but doesn’t bode well for my state of employment. “I’ve worked with you for years and you’ve always been a stellar employee. But lately, something has been off.

  “You’ve missed work, you’ve been calling in excessively, you even had your brother call for you on Wednesday. I don’t know what is going on with you but we can’t have it. An emergency department cannot be staffed if personnel do not show up for work. Now, you are one of our best nurses and until recently have never had a problem. Because of your past work history, I’m willing to cut you some slack.”

  My breath comes out in a whoosh as I sag against the bed. “Thank you—”

  “Don’t thank me yet.” Her tone hardens into inflexible resolve. Yep, I’m definitely screwed. “If you want to continue working here, you are going to need to go talk to a counselor. Either a psychiatrist or psychologist, I don’t care which.”

  I gap at the phone for a second before putting it back against my ear.

  “You mean at Blue Shores?” No way. I’d rather be fired than have another in-patient stint in a psychiatric hospital.

  “Only if you want to. I have a friend in her own practice I could get you in to see. That is the condition to keep your job. And until she releases you, you will be on medical leave. If you don’t accept these terms, you don’t need to bother coming back to work. What do you say?”

  See a shrink or be fired. Was there really a choice? The Agency won’t pay me. Hell, the Agency might not even exist after we take down the demon haunting its esteemed halls. Provided we can kill the creature. Shrink it is. At least I’m not an in-patient this time.

  The knowledge doesn’t make me feel better. I’m so screwed. More like, I’m such a screw-up.

  “Okay.” My voice is small, tiny, scared.

  Ruth says she’ll call her friend then text me the name, number and time of my appointment, before she lets me go.

  Right when my life seems like it is heading upward after taking a tumble into a deep grave, I fuck things up royally. My job as a nurse is my life. Or it was until the justitia found its way onto my wrist, until the entity in the bracelet wormed its way into my nervous system. What would I do
without my nursing career? Without going into the Emergency Department? Without the rush of knowing I helped someone?

  “What happened?”

  Startled, I drop the phone onto the floor. Smythe is in my room? Lost in my own little pity party, I forgot he stands at the door, a concerned sentinel.

  I sniff, my gaze focusing on the floor halfway between us. “She said if I see a shrink I can keep my job. She could set me up with a friend of hers, but if I don’t talk to someone, then I can kiss my job good-bye.” My voice cracks.

  Dammit. I hate looking weak in front of Smythe.

  I continue to look at the phone on the floor. Maybe if I crawl under the covers the day will start over.

  Good luck with that wish.

  “Did you agree to it?”

  My gaze lands on his. “What do you think? Of course I agreed. I worked hard for my nursing degree and because of this Justitian gig I’m going to lose everything I accomplished. I can’t let that happen.”

  He nods, hands raised in a placating gesture. “It’ll be okay.”

  “No. It won’t.”

  “What’s going on in here?” T sticks his head in the door.

  “I forgot I had to go in to work today.” The words stick on my tongue, thick, heavy and full of failure.

  T’s eyes widen. “How can you forget your work schedule?”

  “I don’t know! My alarm sounded and I turned it off and wondered why I set it early. I’ve never missed a day until recently, which was my saving grace. Ruth didn’t fire me, but she’s making me see a shrink.”

  My phone beeps its text message sound. Right on cue. My appointment time.

  I snatch the phone off the floor, unlock it and read the message. “The counselor’s name is Kathy Funk. I’m supposed to be at her office this afternoon. 4PM sharp.”

  “We should be back from our hunt by then.” Smythe pries the phone from my white-knuckled grip and places it on the nightstand.

  Hunt? He still thinks I am capable of hunting a demon?

  My expression must have given away my thoughts. Or I projected telepathically. Which I’ve been known to do on accident.

  Yet another lack of capability.

  Smythe and T give each other the quick glance men do when not sure what to say to a hysterical woman. I’m not hysterical though. Resigned maybe. Depressed, got it covered. Feeling like an utter moron? Yep. Most definitely. But hysterical? Nope. Not at all.

  I sit on the bed. Before my legs shoved me into greater embarrassment by collapsing.

  “You are a great demon hunter.” Smythe bravely takes a step closer. “You killed two in the first couple of months wearing the justitia. That’s a record.”

  “Yeah,” T chimes in. “You do a bang-up job on those demons.”

  “Cut the bullshit. Just leave me alone guys, okay?”

  Smythe runs his hand down my arm in a gesture meant to show support. In a rare instance, he opens his emotions, allows me to feel his sorrow, his incompetence at fixing my current emotion.

  I grab his hand, bringing it to my lips for a quick kiss on his palm. While I appreciate his actions, I really don’t want him in here with me. I want to grieve my potential job loss in silence.

  “I’ll go cook breakfast.” He touches my cheek with the hand I’m not holding, a lover’s touch, a touch I’d crave if not for my current stupid mistake.

  I release his hand and he slips out of the room. T takes his place.

  “Chin up, Gin. You’ve lived through worse.”

  “Thanks. You’re so encouraging.”

  He sits beside me on the bed. Wraps his arms around me in a stiff hug. Stiff from my side. Nonetheless, the peace felt in his arms surrounds me, relaxing me infinitesimally. I put my head on his shoulder, returning his hug as my muscles relax.

  “You can’t let a little thing like a lack of a job get you down.”

  I snort. Right. Lack of a job means lack of money which translates, eventually, into lack of house.

  “Don’t laugh at me. We both worked hard to get where we’re at, but there are always other jobs out there. And besides, you’re needed to take down the evil Agency. If not you, then who?”

  “You sound like a motivational kid’s cartoon.” But it did make me feel better. A smidgeon better, but it’s something, right?

  “You know I’m right.” He pats my back, once, twice, three times. He pulls back, holding me by the upper arms as he looks me in my teary eyes. “Now, go get dressed. We have a demon to catch. Make that two demons.”

  A hug later and he pulls my bedroom door shut behind him. Maybe he’s right. The ER is just a job. Never mind it’s the only job I’ve held since graduating from college, the only work situation I’ve been in, it’s only a job. There’re plenty more out there. At least a dozen hospitals in or around Dallas. Plenty of openings.

  I bury my face in my hands for an ugly cry.

  I’m a screw up. Eloise might think I’m needed to help find the demon in the Agency and Smythe believes I can find Perdix. But I know better. Not only have I made mistakes as a Justitian, I completely spaced on my work schedule.

  A wisp of warm air ruffles against me a second before the justitia forms a sword. Somehow it misses my head. I drop my hands at the same time a voice sounds. “I can get rid of your problems if you’ll let me.”

  I release a gasp. Perdix leans against the doorjamb to the bathroom, arms crossed. In person. Not a projection. A demon stands in my bedroom.

  I’m so shocked he’s in person and not in my mind I sit frozen on the bed, tears dripping off my chin. Clearly this day can get worse.

  “You wear his mark.” I assume, by his bony finger pointing at my neck, the “his” refers to Zagan since it’s Zagan’s mark below my hairline. “I should kill you.”

  One thing in life you can always count on: a demon making death threats.

  Before I can respond, he continues. “But, it is more fun to encourage you to capitulate to my thrall.”

  Whatever, demon. I might be a screw-up of epic proportions, but I have killed demons and know what to do with the pointy end of my sword.

  I spring forward, slicing through the air, aiming for his neck, only to embed the justitia in the door frame as Perdix disappears.

  Damn it. Wonder how much the repairs are going to cost?

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

  I twist at the sound behind me, unable to pull free to turn. The demon stands on the other side of my bed shaking his head.

  Great. Now two demons are disappointed in me. How big of an idiot do you have to be for two demons to get upset with you?

  I look back at the sword buried in the doorframe. Yeah, not answering that question.

  Using my free hand to grasp my opposite forearm below the silver links of the justitia, I use the extra force to yank on my arm, hoping to free the sword from the wood.

  “You don’t have to be so violent about it.”

  Yank. The sword moves a wee bit.

  “All you have to do is ask me to free you from this life.”

  Yank. Will the damn demon not shut up?

  “Despite you belonging to my rival, I will happily welcome you into my arms.”

  Yank, yank, yank. Oomph. I land with a thud on my ass as the wood releases its hold on the sword.

  “What grace. What poise. You are truly the most elegant servant Zagan has ever made.”

  I shove to my feet, pointing the sword at the smirking demon.

  “Why did you kill all those people? I thought you fed on the dying, not those who still wanted to live.”

  “Power, my dear, power. Do you know how tasty a soul is when they don’t want to die?” He smacks his lips. “Much better than the soul who dies by despair alone. Despair mixed with fear is quite the energy giver.” He smacks his lips again.

  “And what, you absorb all this energy to be able to stalk more victims?” I take a step backward toward the door as I speak, stopping when the knob touches my backside.

  A smal
l smile curves his lips. “Not victims, my dear; hasn’t your master explained this to you?”

  “He’s not my master.” I reach behind, twist the knob, and step forward, opening the door. “Smythe!”

  During the brief time my head turns to yell at my mentor, the demon pulls a vanishing act, leaving with the same wisp of warm air on which he arrived.

  My sword still points at the empty space on the other side of my unmade bed when Smythe, T, and Eloise run into the room.

  “What?” Smythe puts a hand on my shoulder, his touch radiating heat.

  The justitia morphs into a bracelet with a tiny snap, drawing everyone’s attention to my wrist.

  “Perdix popped in for a visit.” I wave my hand at the demon’s last known location.

  Smythe raises a brow. “Popped in? As in he was here and not invading your mind?”

  “Yep. In person.”

  Anger radiates off T as he fights to keep his “your job is dangerous and you need to quit it” thoughts to himself. So much for him thinking me necessary to fight demons.

  “Why didn’t you kill him?”

  I rub the back of my neck and sniff as heat splashes my cheeks. “He was standing by the bathroom and I swung, he disappeared, and the sword caught in the frame.”

  Smythe walks over to the frame, his shoulders shaking as if he’s laughing at me. Okay, no “as if” about it. My mentor was laughing at my expense.

  But when he turned around, all the mirth was gone. “Let’s go.”

  He’s halfway through his portal forming words before the shock wears away, freeing my thoughts.

  “Go? I’m not dressed.”

  Once he opens the portal, his gaze draws down my body and back up, leaving behind a wash of warmth. “We need to make sure the demon hasn’t returned to his lair. Come on.”

  What is it about Smythe yanking me through portals when I’m dressed for bed? I wore this same outfit when we first met and he took me to the Agency. Good way to meet my new employer.

  Lesson learned: stop sleeping in boy shorts and a tank top.

  “Do you need us?” T asks, his voice a low growl. He gestures between him and Eloise.

  Smythe shakes his head while grabbing my hand. “We’ll be back. The house is in this neighborhood.”