Carpe Demon (Carus #3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  He paused, but I didn’t rush him. Instead, I reached across the table and clasped his hand. Donny’s shoulders sagged.

  “She kept going to those lessons, expecting to get better, but when she came home, she never practiced. When her package ran out, she only had a few songs to show for it.” Donny’s tone developed more steel as he spoke. When he finished, his eyes bore into mine.

  “Hey!” I snatched my hand back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means you should practice.”

  “How?”

  “Try stuff out. Have you ever tried to re-embrace your fox and then shift into her form? Have you tried to do it in one fluid motion? After you tell her to dematerialize, try getting her to reappear when you call, then re-embrace, then shift.”

  Huh. As crazy as O’Donnell’s suggestion sounded, that might work. It would explain what happened with my bear when I fought Westman.

  “You look like you’ve thought of something,” Donny observed.

  “I think I’ve already done it once.”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  Donny’s face morphed into a thoughtful expression. A little too calculating for my taste. “What happened?”

  I quickly recounted my visit with the spawn of Satan and how Baloo had crashed into me. The size and strength of the black bear gave me the advantage I needed against Takkenmann.

  The knowing look didn’t leave Donny’s face the entire retelling of the story. When I finished and leaned back in my chair, silence consumed the small office.

  I cracked first. “You’re not going to drain my blood and use me in some pagan death ritual, are you?”

  Donny laughed, and shook his head. But he didn’t answer the question.

  I scowled at him and his cackling fera before letting myself out of the office.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “The hardest thing to learn in life is which bridge to cross and which to burn.”

  ~Bertrand Russell

  The hospital cranked the air-conditioning due to the daily influx of people and the sweltering heat outside, but no amount of disinfectant could mask the odour of unwashed bodies, dirty hair and an assortment of bodily fluids in the cool air. I hated medical buildings. Did Westman know that? Had he purposely led me to these buildings to torture me? I kept twisting my lips around in an effort to straighten out my wrinkled nose.

  The automated emergency entrance doors parted, and I stalked toward my car.

  Turned out, I’d wasted a day trying to track Bola down in hospitals. I’d visited all the ones in the Lower Mainland, and the sun set on another day of failure. I wanted to drive back up the mountain to the university and bitch-smack Westman for leading me astray, but he’d been truthful. Bola had been in this hospital, probably for an in-between-massacre-snack. But his scent ran cold, covered with layers of other filth and disease. Bola was nowhere in the building, and had he appeared in his true form, it wouldn’t have gone unnoticed.

  The sun beat against my black hair as heat rose in waves off the parking lot’s pavement and cooked my bare legs.

  Plan A: Find Bola outside his host while feeding and vanquish, rapidly disintegrated in my mind. It wasn’t worth the risk to keep wasting valuable resources, like time and sanity, when other options existed. Plan B looked inevitable. Divine intervention. I’d have to call in a favour. My chest tightened, and I forced my lungs to exhale. I wanted to make this call about as much as I wanted to renounce chocolate.

  I’d been saving my favour for my own personal interests—namely finding my birth family, but saving my hide, and potentially Wick’s as well, rated higher in importance.

  The bright red penis spray-painted on my canary-yellow Poo-lude glared at me as I wrenched open the door and flopped in, instantly sweating in the summer temperature. The thirty-minute commute home seemed to take three times as long, but when I checked the clock it appeared I made record time. I threw my purse on the counter and retrieved the weird miniature sculpture of a cobra-headed Egyptian goddess.

  The last time I’d seen my previous supervisor, Agent Booth, she’d handed this ugly figurine to me and said to hold it and say her name, her true name, Renenutet, and she’d appear to pay her debt to me. That had been months ago. Would it even work?

  I flopped on my couch, and turned the statue around in my palms. The energy drained from my limbs, and I couldn’t quite make myself say the four-syllable name. Even if it would solve my problems. Articulating “Renenutet” meant saying goodbye to the last lead on my parents or any surviving family. Brothers, sisters, aunts or uncles. What familial relations waited for me to find them? My parents supposedly died in the first year of the Purge, but part of me held on to the belief they gave me up for adoption to save me from the Shifter Shankings.

  If they’d died, why didn’t I go to family instead of the adoption agency?

  Then again, I’d survived almost eighty years without knowing. If family existed, they could’ve tried to track me down as well. No one had knocked on my door. No one called to inquire. That I knew of, at least. Working for the government gave me a new understanding of “the truth.”

  I squeezed my eyelids shut on my blurry vision and took a deep breath. “Renenutet.”

  At first nothing happened. I sat alone in my living room with the summer smells of hibiscus and bullileia. Then the air in the room stirred, and a woman appeared in front of me. I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’d only known Booth in her business appropriate attire, not as Renenutet, the Egyptian goddess with a cobra head who could destroy her enemies with a single gaze. But when the mist settled and the figure turned to face me, I found myself oddly relieved to see Booth’s familiar face.

  A middle-aged woman with graying black hair and a large hooked nose, she no longer wore her trendy purple-rimmed glasses, and her eyes distinctly looked like those of a snake. She remained scentless, but this no longer made my skin crawl. With a double plumed headdress and a white, Grecian dress, she looked more like a goddess and less like an SRD agent.

  Her lips pursed into a straight line. “Calling your favour in so soon? You mortals are so hasty.”

  My shoulders sagged. “I need some divine intervention.”

  Her eyebrow quirked up. Then she swayed back and forth, reminding me of a snake poised to strike. This must be how mice felt. “Speak,” she ordered.

  “A bunch of newbie Witches summoned the Demon Glasya Labolas and allowed him to take possession of one of their bodies in exchange for his help.”

  Booth snorted. “I fail to see how requires my aid.”

  “They forgot to specify the length of time.”

  Booth’s mouth dropped open to form a perfect “O.”

  “And now Bola has been busy causing mayhem all around town.”

  “Let me guess. Lucien commanded you to deal with it?”

  “So you have been paying attention up there?” I pointed to my roof, in case she needed a reference. “Why’d you make me explain all this, then?”

  Booth shook her head. “Silly child, I have better things to do than keep tabs on you mortals. It doesn’t take a lot of intelligence to figure out your situation. I bet the Master Vampire threatened that yummy piece of Werewolf ass to provide extra motivation, too.”

  “Well, you definitely have his number.”

  Booth nodded.

  I waited.

  She stared.

  I stared back.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Glasya Labolas is too powerful for me, or Sobek for that matter, to intervene.”

  “How is that possible? You’re an Egyptian goddess. I looked you up on the internet. You guys are badass!”

  “We were badass. Sadly, we’re only as strong as our worshippers, and not many worship the ancient ones anymore. Especially not in comparison to those who practice demonic worship. Bola has quite the following of perverted groupies.”

  My head swam
. I’d hoped this would solve my problems.

  “Why not kill the host?” Booth asked. “That will send Bola back.”

  “Last resort. The Witch is a…well, he’s not my friend, but he’s a friend of my friends. And I’d rather destroy Bola once and for all. I despise him.”

  Booth nodded, as if I made all the sense in the world. Maybe I did to her. Maybe she knew everything about me with her special goddess powers, whatever they were.

  “Is there nothing you can do?” I asked like a whiney eight-year-old.

  “I will try to help behind the scenes. Sobek and I might not be powerful enough to help, but there are others who are. And no one likes Bola. He’s an ass.” Without another word, Booth disappeared. Like the time before, she left no trace and gave no warning. My feras screeched in my head, and the beast stretched.

  I stood in the middle of my living room with only my thoughts and nattering feras to keep me company.

  The mountain lion paced in my head, back and forth. I didn’t need to ask her what she wanted. She didn’t have to say. She wanted to sink her claws into something—the tender underbelly of a deer, the bark of a tree, the soft soil of an old growth forest. She didn’t care which, she just wanted out.

  Me, too, growled the wolf and bear.

  Me, four, yipped Red.

  The falcon remained silent, but she sent me images of a calm night under a full moon and over a rolling ocean, the air laced with salt and pine, the wind currents perfect for soaring.

  I ignored them all and focused on what Booth had said.

  Did this mean I used my favour, or not? Had it been a good investment? Booth hadn’t really committed to anything. My heart pulsated in my chest, so hard it hit my bones and lanced pain across my chest. I might’ve given up my hopes of family for nothing.

  And if Booth couldn’t help me, who could?

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “Housework can’t kill you, but why take a chance?”

  ~Phyllis Diller

  After scouring the internet and SRD databases for hours, searching for clues or sightings of either Christopher or Bola, I admitted defeat. Besides, I only researched to avoid the inevitable. I had to take my momentary failure at locating Bola during his feeding frenzy as an opportunity to face Donny’s advice.

  Time to practice.

  Time to clear my head of some of the extra voices.

  With saggy jogging pants, an oversized T-shirt and flip flops, I trudged to the nearby forest with Baloo and Red in tow. Still early in the evening, people strolled along the sidewalk. The black bear lumbered along, snorting and huffing as she kept pace.

  How could no one see or hear the ruckus behind me? How could Baloo not trample the elderly couple I just passed? When I looked over my shoulder, the norms walked straight through Baloo. The old man shuddered and Baloo snorted, but otherwise no adverse effects.

  Only I could touch her. Only I could be squished when the two hundred and fifty pound black bear thought she was a lap-dog. As great as she was to cuddle, my life needed simplicity.

  Don’t be sad, Red told me.

  I wiped my nose with my sleeve. Who said I was sad?

  Your tears, Baloo said.

  Well, okay. I’m sad. What if this doesn’t work? What if I lose both of you?

  Can’t lose what’s been found, Red said.

  I better not. You’re both a part of me.

  I am you. You are me. We are one, Baloo and Red crooned the fera mantra. The ones in my head joined in. I rubbed my temples.

  You won’t be mad when I send you away? I asked.

  Why would we be mad? Red asked.

  We are always with you, Baloo said.

  Right. Like that made a lot of sense.

  As we walked away from the murmuring din of the city, the sound of the rushing river ahead carried through the quiet night. We entered the forest and made our way down to the river where I’d met Baloo for the first time. Red ran around like an overstimulated toddler on a sugar high.

  Why are you so excited? I asked.

  Why not? she replied.

  I needed an operator’s manual to deal with my split personalities. No wonder the previous Shifters with this “gift” went nuts. If all my feras were me, did that mean I talked to myself? How’d that work exactly? And how did the feras seem to know more than they let on. If they were me, are me, wouldn’t I know what they know? See what they see? Why would I keep secrets from myself?

  The wheels in my head wobbled off their hinges with each step. Once my feet entered the cool river, I stopped.

  Could’ve done this at home, Baloo muttered. She lumbered into the water to brush up beside me.

  I know. I like the forest.

  Baloo yawned and flopped her gargantuan weight down on her haunches. I reached out and scratched her nose. Though I hadn’t had much time to know my most recent fera, a couple nights spent spooning in bed, and the knowledge she represented part of myself, made me feel close to her anyway. I stopped scratching, and flung my arms around her. Face deep in bear fur, I inhaled her fruity scent. She rumbled and wheezed. As far as I could tell, the sound was the bear equivalent to a purr.

  Okay, Baloo. I hope this works, I told her.

  It will, Carus. Ask me to go.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Baloo, please dematerialize.

  I am you, you are me, we are one, she said. Her body shook, and my arms, still wrapped around her, got closer and closer together, until I held nothing but the night air.

  My eyes pinged open and took in the empty space in front of me. Well, that was easy.

  Told you, Red grunted.

  Baloo, I said. Baloo!

  The night air blew through the trees, rustling the drying out leaves and bringing the smells of late summer; autumn just around the corner. But no Baloo. No berries or strawberry shortcake, no grumbling or ambling black bear.

  Baloo!

  Try something else, Red suggested.

  “BALOO!”

  That’s the same thing, just louder, Red said. She pressed against my legs and shuddered.

  Baloo, come! I tried, pouring my so-called will and inherent love for the fera into the two words.

  A beastly bear call ripped through the night and a two-hundred-and-fifty pound black bear materialized two feet in front of me an instant before she rammed into me. I flew through the air and landed with a splash in half a foot of river water. Baloo landed on top of me, and a cold wet tongue slurped my face from chin to forehead.

  Ugh! I pushed her shnoz out of the way.

  It worked, Red exclaimed and sprinted circles around us.

  It worked, I agreed. Now what?

  I scrambled to my feet, and eyed the black bear. She mooed at me again.

  Did it hurt? I asked her.

  She cocked her head at me. Her cute little ears pinged forward.

  Did dematerializing hurt? I repeated.

  Baloo snorted. No, Carus. No pain. All I felt was your love for me.

  Where did you go? Did you like it there?

  She nuzzled my hand. Yes. Big forest. Lots of berries. Room to sleep. I liked it very much.

  I squeezed my eyes shut. So dematerializing my feras put them out to pasture? She said she liked it; did that make it okay? This situation probably called for some epic pangs of regret or guilt, but none of that flashed through my mind or my heart. The truth of her words flowed through my veins and warmed my body. She liked it there.

  Would you like to go back? I asked.

  Baloo sat up, eyes big and mouth opened in a toothy grin. Yes. Please send.

  I reached out and stroked her beautiful, fuzzy face. Her ears flicked forward and I wound my hands around her big head, and scratched behind her ears. Her eyes closed, and her chest rumbled.

  I’ll miss you, I said.

  Her eyes popped open, soulful and deep brown. If bad, call me back.

  I nodded. Baloo, please dematerialize.

  She leaned forward and slurped her giant tongue along m
y forearm before she vanished.

  Red zipped around my feet, yipping, Me, too. Me, too. Me, too.

  You, too? I gaped down at her. Is my company so terrible?

  She stopped running around and blinked up at me. No. You can call me when you need me. Baloo sent me images. I want to go.

  Something tightened in my chest. As if someone slung a belt around my heart, and yanked tight.

  Let me go. Red wagged her tail at me. Please?

  A long, tired breath escaped my lungs, my shoulders dropped. She wanted to go. I could call them back anytime I wanted. My mind would get some peace and quiet.

  The tightness around my chest loosened.

  Okay, I said. The words probably didn’t need to be said, now that I sort of had a hang of it, but I spoke them anyway. Red, please dematerialize.

  I vote for the Wereleopard, she said with a toothy grin before blinking out of existence.

  My mountain lion purred her approval.

  I stumbled back to the path and sat down. Empty and alone, yet still carrying around a head full of feras.

  RED! Come here! I bellowed, throwing command into my voice.

  The little fox shimmered into reality a foot in front of me. Body tense, eyes bugged out, stance ready. What? Where’s danger?

  Just checking. I half-shrugged.

  Red cackled, sounding a lot like Ma’ii. We’re here for you, Carus. The forest is divine.

  I nodded. With command in my voice, I spoke again. Okay. Go back.

  She winked at me before disappearing.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Don’t judge me because I’m quiet. No one plans a murder out loud.”

  ~Darynda Jones, Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet

  After dragging myself out of bed at the embarrassing time of ten in the morning, the need to make another list hit me in the face like a cold fish. I turned the coffee maker on, and once I possessed a steaming cup of joe, I curled up on my couch beside the bay windows, mug in hand, and started scribbling. With my tongue coated in the delicious flavour of java and cream, my nerves calmed and my mind focused.