Not waiting for a response, he pulls me in my skimpy sleeping clothes into the portal. This is definitely the last time I’m wearing this attire to bed.
Chapter Seventeen
We land on the side of the same demon-infested house we explored yesterday. Since my justitia remains in bracelet form, I assume the demon picked another place to haunt.
“It’s chilly, can we go home?” I raise my wrist, give the bracelet a shake to show Smythe it wasn’t a sword.
Brows furrowed, he stares at me as if I spoke in some weird language. “Chilly? It’s sixty.”
“Sixty is chilly for Texas and this outfit.” I gesture to my goosebumped legs under my boy shorts. “You should’ve let me change. How am I supposed to fight a demon looking like this?”
Smythe pauses, giving me another down-up raking gaze, setting off another round of goosebumps having nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with heat of a whole different kind. “Come on. We’ll check the demon trails from inside the house so you can warm up.”
The missing-a-hinge gate to the backyard offers him no pause as he shoves the squeaky thing open, striding into the weed-covered yard as if he owns the place. Grass brushes against my legs as I follow. Hopefully everyone is already at work and won’t notice me hurrying through the yard in my sleep clothes.
When we get to the backdoor, Smythe pauses, “ready for action” written in his cocked-brow expression. I nod. Might as well get this over with.
He shoves open the door, palm facing forward, ready to throw a spell if needed. Since my justitia remains in bracelet form, his readiness probably wasn’t needed. Unless of course Perdix pops into the room through a portal.
I follow behind my mentor, searching the corners for fresh trails or any other evidence of a recent demon presence while ignoring the touch of cold creeping down my spine.
Nothing pops out to scare me.
Except for my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Yikes. Instead of worrying about my skimpy outfit, I should’ve been worrying about a grade A case of bed-head.
Running a hand through my hair, I trail Smythe into the master bedroom.
“He’s not here.” My mentor looks like someone stole his favorite toy.
“The demonic trails are almost faded too. Looks like he hasn’t used this place for several days.”
Smythe’s eyes narrow. “The Agency computer should’ve reported his appearance.”
“The thing is off more than it’s on. They need to replace it.”
“They think it works fine.”
Further proof something fishy is going on at the Agency. How can they not realize the demon-finding program is faulty? Unless…
“Maybe someone tampered with it. After talking to Eloise we both know it could happen. If there’s a demon in the Agency, and I’ve been saying all along something odd is going on there, then maybe the demon tinkered with the program. Made it so the thing doesn’t always report a demon appearance.”
Smythe stares at me for a moment before rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I can’t believe a demon hides in the Agency and no one has caught on. Eloise is talking about a demon being there for over seventy years. Seventy years. Surely someone would’ve caught the thing by now.”
“It sounds wily and good at hiding. Rather like Perdix is turning out to be. Where do you think he went?”
The Agency demon has been around for years. Perdix is killing people in my city. He’s going down first.
“Another house? He could be anywhere since he visited in person.” Smythe gestures around the room. “I thought he’d be here now.”
“It was a good thought. Here’s another one. Let’s go back, change clothes—well, I’ll change, you look fine—eat breakfast and then we can try to chase this demon. After I’ve had my coffee.”
Ah-ha. No wonder I couldn’t think of a place the demon could be. I was running on empty and needed a large dose of caffeine.
Smythe pauses, giving me his “you’re such an addict” look. “Okay. Deal. Then we’ll hunt until your appointment.”
My whole body stiffens at the thought of going to the counselor, an involuntary flinch my ever-watchful mentor notices.
“No need to worry. She’ll ask you questions. You’ll answer. No problem.”
He doesn’t understand.
“What don’t I understand?”
Geesh, not again. “You think you can teach me how not to project my thoughts?”
“We’ve been through that lesson.” His lips twitch.
“I need a touch up.”
“Try telling me what I don’t understand.”
Goosebumps prickle my flesh as my words escape in a rush. “I don’t like shrinks, okay? Bad experience. Can we go home now?”
“Tell me about it.” A trace of compulsion laces his words, but I manage to shake it off.
“Not now.”
He crosses his arms. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”
I swallow, glancing at the dirty carpet. The fibers hold no answers, only grime. What harm would it do to tell him? Would he think different of me if I told the whole truth? He might. Although he deserves to know.
Little white lies, Gin, little white lies.
“I was sent to a psychiatric ward when I was a teenager. It wasn’t pleasant and I don’t want to repeat the experience. Any part of the experience.” A shiver cascades through my limbs as memories threaten an appearance.
“Because you’re an empath?”
“You mean, were my empathic abilities the reason I was sent?” He nods at my question. I draw in a breath. “Yeah, something like that.”
I pause, my memory tripping backward in time. “After my father d”—oops, not mentioning the “dead” word. To cover, I clear my throat—“disappeared, I had a, um, breakdown,” more like got high at school and went nuts, but who wants to admit major screw-ups? “At school. I was raving about how I could see everyone’s thoughts.
“Which didn’t go over well and long story short, I wound up at a psychiatric unit for troubled teens. I wasn’t there long. Once I stopped saying out loud what others were feeling when I touched them, they let me go.” I offer him a half-grin. “I’m a quick study. Can we go home now? I’m cold.”
Cold permeates my soul, shaking my insides. Not the chill from the outside air—no matter what Smythe thinks sixty degrees in Texas is cold—but the chill that comes from opening up to someone, from baring my past.
His hand on my shoulder jerks my gaze to his. Fingers stroke with a feather-light touch down to my wrist where he grabs my palm, offering me a squeeze of support.
“I’m sorry. It must’ve been hard for you.”
He has no idea. To convince a trained professional nothing was wrong, that I hadn’t gone tripping to cover murdering my father—or as I called it at the time, liberating us from his abuse—or had any empathic tendencies took some effort in the form of lies and redirection.
I’ve been caught in those lies and redirection ever since.
None of which I mention. “Yeah. It was. Enough sharing. Really, I want out of these clothes.”
Giving my palm another squeeze, Smythe releases me, holding his hand in front of him while speaking his portal forming words.
A few seconds later we’re back in my bedroom. Smythe leaves me alone, pulling the door shut behind him. Voices sound from the kitchen, muffled through the wall, but enough to let me know he’s telling T and Eloise about our lack of finding Perdix.
Yet another thing I fail at, finding demons.
I give myself a mental smack. Snap out of it, Gin. Until recently, depression had never been on my playlist. The sooner we put down the damn despair demon, the better I’ll be.
Maybe eliminating Perdix won’t absolve me of my mistakes. Only I possess the ability to forgive myself for killing Donny. And I’m not yet sure I’m ready to stop punishing myself for his death.
I run a hand through my bed-head as I head toward the dresser for a
bra and panties. Perhaps seeing the counselor this afternoon is for the best. All these thoughts of Perdix, Donny, and depression running through my mind on a continuous loop can’t be good for me.
On the flip side, I can’t tell the shrink any of my demon huntress experiences. Mentioning anything about demons or killing Donny will put me in the loony bin. If the would-be killer hadn’t been blamed for Donny’s death, I’d face jail time for admitting to killing the football star. Even if I admitted it, the counselor might decide I was half-crazy and have me committed to Blue Shores psychiatric hospital.
Which means I should come up with something plausible for the counselor as to why I’ve been missing work.
Good thing I’m skilled at lying my ass off.
Chapter Eighteen
A shower and some clean clothes later, I step into my bedroom dressed and ready to meet the day. A glance in the mirror shows determination plastering my face into a semi-normal expression. A gnawing ache sets up residence in my stomach, unease and revulsion fighting for dominance. Why, oh why, did I forget my work schedule? What an idiot.
Stop it Gin. Those thoughts can only lead to another visit by Perdix.
I’d rather spill my guts to the shrink.
My phone starts ringing the moment I reach for the bedroom doorknob. The number for Blue Forest Emergency flashes on the screen. Why is work calling after telling me to stay home?
“Hello?”
“Gin? It’s Will. Why aren’t you at work?”
I draw in a deep breath. Since when does Will call me? Didn’t Smythe give him his number to call? Could he be calling about starting his mage training lessons?
“Long story. Whatcha need?” Because he clearly needs something. He might be my friend, but he hasn’t called me in over fourteen years since we went to high school together.
He lowers his voice to a whisper. “Have you caught the demon yet?”
“Not yet. Working on it. Why?”
He pauses, the sound of his fingers tapping against a hard surface echoes through the phone. Tap, tap, tap. “If you haven’t caught it, I want to help you do so. He killed my dad, the man who practically raised me. And a minion killed my mom and probably my birth dad too, so I owe the bastards some payback.”
Yep, I was right. Will is confirming his decision to become a mage. I should be happy he wants to embrace his heritage. Instead, my first thought is to protect him from the demon-killing life.
“And how exactly do you plan on doling out revenge? You have to learn spells, you can’t just go in half-cocked and expect to win against a denizen of hell.”
“You do.”
My chuckle sounds evil. “Right.” I draw out the word. “I come equipped with a fancy demon-fighting sword. And I never go in half-cocked.” Which is a lie, but hey, I have a point to make and don’t want him to get hurt.
“The guy you hang out with, what’s his name?”
Sure, Will forgot. How can anyone forget Smythe? “Aidan Smythe.”
“Yeah, him. Anyway, he said he’d call to set up my training lessons but I haven’t heard from him. I’m ready to fight. The least he can do is call.”
“Can you hang on a minute?”
“Why?”
“Just wait.” I stick the call on mute, open the bedroom door and yell for Smythe.
Who comes running like the place is on fire and I’m the only one with a fire extinguisher.
“What?”
I wave the phone. “Will’s on mute. He says you never called him to set up training lessons and he wants to help us take down this demon. What do you want me to tell him?”
Blue eyes blink in surprise. He holds out a hand and I put the phone in it. After unmuting the line, he hits the speaker button.
“Will, this is Aidan Smythe. Gin says you have questions?”
Will pauses. Despite him being miles away, I know the thought flowing through his mind: Smythe and Gin are together?
Hate to tell him the answer is currently nope.
Lucky for me, he keeps his “are they or aren’t they” thought to himself. “Yeah, man, you never called me back. I’m willing to help take this thing down. Do you want my help or not?”
“Of course we want your help.” Assurance fills Smythe’s tone. “These things take time. I haven’t heard back from my superiors about the training. But if you want to stop by Gin’s tonight, I’ll teach you some spells.”
“What time? I don’t get off work until around four this afternoon.”
Smythe raises a brow at me. I nod. Why not let Will come over? I’ll be at the shrink. A thought continuing to give me a case of nausea.
“That’ll work.” Smythe nods. “You know where she lives?”
“Nope. What’s her address?”
I give it to him along with directions. In case his GPS breaks.
“Thanks. See you then.” Will hangs up without waiting for us to say “bye.”
Smythe hands me my phone. “He can’t go hunting with us.”
“Duh. I know that. I don’t want him hurt anymore than you do. But I am glad you’re going to train him.” A thought pops into my brain. I give him a saucy smile. “While you’re at it, maybe you can teach me the compulsion spell? Not only how to fight it, but also how to use it.” I raise my brows twice, pasting a smile on my lips.
He rolls his eyes. Shakes his head. “It’s a hard spell to master. You have to work up to it. You aren’t anywhere close.”
Dammit. So much for compelling others to do what I say.
He pats my shoulder, eyes full of mirth. “Sorry. Breakfast is ready. We can plot our day.”
“Thought it already was plotted.” I grin, giving him a playful whack on the arm. “But I can always use the coffee. Not to mention your bacon and eggs are to die for.”
He follows me into the kitchen where we heap food on our plates, grab coffee—me in my extra-large mug and him in a normal sized, a.k.a tiny, cup—and join T and Eloise at the table. The kitchen feels cramped, but in a good way. Friends getting together and bonding type of way. Friends who plot demon killings and takedowns together make a house feel homey.
Who knew?
“I’ll take T to the Agency after we finish eating and see if there are any ghosts he can talk to,” Eloise says.
“How are you going to get him past the guards?”
I’m assuming Smythe means the teenagers manning the computer stations in the white landing room. His opinion of their skills ranks higher than mine.
Hardness tints her grin. “Who said anything about guards?”
“The only way in—”
“Come on, Smythe,” I point a piece of bacon at my guardian mentor. “You know well enough she pops into the infirmary without going through the landing room. Hell, she portals in and out of the Agency rooms at will, despite wards prohibiting portal forming anywhere in the building except the landing room. You really think she can’t sneak T inside?”
Smythe glares. Not my fault he can’t handle the truth.
T looks at the two of them, what-the-hell furrows lining his forehead. “The Agency is that well guarded? What difference does it make if a human gets in?”
“Secrets, my dear brother. The place crawls in secrets.” I swear hidden machinations line the walls of the Agency like macabre paintings.
Smythe huffs. “The less humans know about demons, minions, and mages the better. It’s for protection.”
“You say protection, I say it’s a great way to hide secrets from the masses.” I nod.
“Either way, it still doesn’t explain how she”—Smythe gestures to Eloise—“manages to get inside without going through the landing room. Care to explain?”
“Not really.” Eloise takes a bite of egg.
T presses his lips together, eyes crinkling with suppressed humor.
“Eloise.”
“Aidan.”
Smythe stares at her for a two count. The turn of her lips indicates that despite her blindness, she knows exactly his e
xpression her lack of an answer provokes.
“If we are going to do this, if we are going to go on a witch hunt—”
“It’s not a witch hunt, Aidan, it’s a demon.”
His eyes narrow. “It’s an expression, Eloise. As I was saying, if we are going to go on a…demon hunt, then we need to know each others’ skills. You already know mine. I thought I knew yours. Trust is mutual.”
Eloise’s red eyes blaze. “Suffice it to say the wards surrounding the Agency aren’t strong enough to stop me. Any of them. If I want to enter, I can. From any location. Same with leaving. As far as trust, you have more reason to trust me than not to trust me. Unless you believe something changed?”
“Not with me.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll take T to the Agency, let him look around, see if the ghosts are the kind who talk. You take Gin and try to stop this demon. Oh, speaking of Perdix, you never did tell us what he said to you this morning, Gin. Why did he appear in the flesh?”
I glance at my plate and swallow. “He came for me again.” His visit gives me a topic to speak on besides my idiocy and shame.
“Perdix wants me because he thinks I’m Zagan’s servant. Apparently the servant thing makes me a hot commodity on the demon market. I asked him about the recent suicide victims and why he was killing them as opposed to waiting until they wanted to die. He said it was a power trip but disappeared before I could ask him what he meant. Oh, he also said something along the lines of ‘My master should have explained this.’ I’m not sure what ‘this’ is. Are you?”
Eloise and Smythe exchange a look. I glance at T, who shrugs. A closer glance shows his jaw tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. A light brush against his mind offers insight. Fucking demon trash plays over and over again. Which is an opinion he usually has no problem expressing.
Except when Eloise is around. Apparently he wants to hide his temper from her. My brother, in love with the healer. He might have the hots for Eloise, but no way could he completely be healed from Jackie’s untimely death.
All questions for later.
Smythe clears his throat. “We’re not certain what he means.”
Devil Take Me Page 14
