Carpe Demon (Carus #3)

by J. C. McKenzie

  Plan A: Find Bola when he’s separated from his host and kill him. FAIL.

  Plan B: Summon Renenutet and Sobek and request divine intervention. FAIL.

  Plan C: Kill Christopher and return Bola to the demonic realm.

  I put the pen down. A heavy weight pressed against my shoulders. I shouldn’t feel this sad. A few months ago, Christopher tried to kill me by blowing some toxic mumbo jumbo powder in my face. At the time, I wanted to kill him. Had Ben not stopped me, I would have. Why should the realization I needed to take out Christopher now fill me with sadness?

  Why? Because I liked the Witches.

  Even if Christopher’s days were numbered, even if the Witches knew it was the only way, they would never forgive me. I’d lose them. And their killer karaoke nights.

  Oh, be honest, McNeilly, you’re scared to lose Ben. Next to Mel, he was the closest thing I had to a bestie.

  My phone rang. Officer Stan Stevens calling. My chance to procrastinate ripped away. I knew without answering the nature of the call.

  Bola had struck again.

  ****

  Bola hit the beach. Literally. This current massacre so deadly and prolific, I arrived in White Rock while the killing still took place. The media vans that had parked at a presumed “safe” distance, now overrun with blood-frenzy-induced norms, kept the cameras rolling. No one was in their right minds to turn them off, and even if they were, they’d probably leave them on anyway. Bloodshed equalled great ratings.

  The overly enthusiastic I’ll-take-any-opportunity-I-can-to-wear-my-bathing-suit-in-public beach goers strangled and hacked at each other as I circled above and assessed the situation. When a woman tried to murder a man I presumed to be her husband with the picnic basket butter knife, I dove into her. She screeched, and flailed her arms around. She missed clipping my wings by a fingernail’s width. Maybe the husband deserved some ass-kicking, but Bola’s ability to incite homicidal rage told me the punishment didn’t fit the crime.

  For once, I couldn’t waste time to take in the blood and guts or general horror of the scene. I visually tuned it out. Bola stood in a small clearing of bodies in the middle of the mayhem. With his arms spread wide, his head tilted back, and eyes closed, he looked like I did before I willed the change to falcon—absolute abandonment of humanity’s constraints.

  The open air filled with salt and sand vibrated with energy as Bola pulled it in his direction, draining his victims as they robbed each other of life, feeding off their rage and the tragedy of their deaths. I pulled my wings in and dove toward him. At the last moment, I flung my wings out.

  The air rose and pushed against my slate feathers, bringing my little falcon body parallel to the ground, saving me from colliding into the hard packed white sand with my head. I willed the change again, ignoring the brief flash of pain that came with shifting. With the change completed, four tawny paws hit the blood-soaked sand.

  As soon as I entered the clearing, Bola’s head snapped forward, and his eyes opened to focus on me. He must’ve sensed my energy.

  His lips twisted up into a smirk and I vaulted in the air, targeting his face with my wide open mouth and mountain lion fangs.

  A bulldozer of pain slammed into my side. I never reached Bola. My body flew as an invisible power barreled into me. Like being T-boned in an intersection, my head snapped sideways in a whip-like action from the sheer force of impact.

  My body hit the hard packed sand and everything went black.

  ****

  My eyelids fluttered open, scratching my eyeballs with gritty sand. The air stank of blood, bodies and guilt. My human vision focused and a familiar face leaned over me.

  “I’m sorry, Andy,” Ben wheezed. “I couldn’t let you. Christopher is my friend, my responsibility.”

  I grunted and rolled to my side. Sand stuck to my back, ass and thighs. Ben had covered my naked body with someone’s towel. “Was,” I said. “Christopher is no longer home.”

  “He’s in there.”

  My head spun like I’d gone around the merry-go-round one time too many. The power of Lucien’s bond flowed through my veins. Bones and muscles knitted together with little snaps of pain. “Yeah, he is. And he’ll have front row seats for our deaths.”

  Ben’s gaze cut away.

  “Or at least mine. I keep forgetting your den is safe from his wrath. Maybe that’s why you don’t give a crap that he’s mutilating the entire Greater Vancouver Regional District.”

  “I care.”

  “Really? What’s one man’s life worth? One Witch’s?” I struggled to my feet and wrapped the towel around me, clutching it at my chest. “Did you at least trap Bola in some magical hocus pocus spell?”

  “He got away.” Sweat ran down the side of his face, and he wrung his hands together. “There’s got to be another way.”

  “I’ve tried the other ways. Do you think this was my first choice? I’m not a complete asshole. I’ve run out of time for alternatives. Lucien will start taking my failures out on Wick. You haven’t been running around with much urgency to solve the problem.”

  “I have so! I went to the Elders.”

  “Oh.” The notorious Witch Elders. Damn. “How bad is it?”

  Ben ran his hand through his thick blond hair. “Bad.”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t know what to do.”

  About to say, “Me neither,” I clamped my mouth shut. There had to be another way. Some other way to separate Bola from his host. And fast. “I know someone who might know what to do. You’re coming with me.”

  ****

  The Poo-lude died halfway up the hill to the university. I got out, clutched my towel and kicked my front tire. As if that would make a difference. Ben got out of the passenger side and looked at me over the car’s canary yellow roof.

  “Like that’s going to make a difference,” he echoed my thoughts.

  “Not helping.”

  He shrugged. The yellow paint made him look pale and sallow. It also accentuated the dark bags under his eyes. I hadn’t noticed them before. Leave it to my car’s crappy paint job to make a point. Ben really had been trying. He probably slept less than I did.

  “Doesn’t help that you magically boosted it earlier,” I grumbled.

  “This again? I already apologized. None of us have a car and I needed to get to you in time.”

  I let my angry glare speak for me.

  “What do we do now?” Ben asked. “The elders told me they’d put a hit out on Christopher if one more massacre happens. That means they’re issuing orders as we speak. I don’t know who they’ll hire for the assassination, but we don’t have much time.”

  Christopher’s death warrant had already been signed and sealed. I could’ve saved the Elders an assassination bill, but Ben had slapped me with a spell to buy his friend a few hours, maybe a day or two. Precious time to find an alternate solution.

  I opened my mouth to rip into him when I met his desperate gaze. Blood shot eyes, pale complexion, turned down mouth as if he needed to throw up.

  The tension flowed out of my shoulders along with my anger. What had Ben said? We didn’t have much time. I nodded in agreement. “Bola has to know his time is running short. Not everyone cares about the host, and he knows that. He’ll want to go out with a big bang.”

  “Bigger than White Rock?”

  “Bigger.”

  Ben stretched his arms out over the roof and then rested them. He twisted his head to look down the road. “Don’t think anyone’s going to head this way. Should we walk?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’ll fly. You wait here, and call someone for a tow.”

  “Fly—oh.” Ben averted his eyes.

  With a flick of my wrist, I removed the towel and chucked it in the backseat. “You’re such a prude.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you?”

  “Being naked? No. Nudity doesn’t bother me at all,” I said. Vulnerability did. “Most guys don’t have a problem with my nudity, either.”


  Ben shook his head and studied the pavement. “I’m not a Were or a Shifter. Not everyone is as comfortable with others strutting around in the buff as you guys.”

  I shrugged. If Ben was so uncomfortable with my nakedness, he should’ve brought me clothes. Then again, probably too much to ask for Ben to sit in the car with my hot pink panties.

  “Do you think this professor Westman will be there?” Ben asked.

  “Oh,” I said. “He’ll be there.” He’s got nowhere else to go.

  I stretched my arms out, and willed the change. After a brief flash of pain and quick shift, I flapped my wings and launched into the sky. Ben waved, and got back in the car. He’d probably plug in his mp3 player and sing to himself. I hoped not.

  Sitting in a dilapidated, canary-yellow Poo-lude with an emblazoned cock and balls spray-painted in bright red to the side…no one would stop for that hot mess.

  ****

  After nabbing an oversized sweatshirt from an unwatched gym bag, I marched to the West Mall Complex to hunt down the Demon professor. The sweatshirt barely covered the private bits, but with some of the outfits undergrads wore these days, no one seemed to notice.

  The office was easy to find and without hesitation I pounded on the door. When Westman’s familiar voice bellowed, “Open,” I turned the knob and stepped into his office. He looked up from his desk with a haughty expression, then his eyes widened and he visibly stiffened. “Carus!”

  I resisted the urge to yank down on the sweatshirt. “Expecting some impressionable undergrad?”

  He slowly released his pen on a mountainous stack of papers, and pushed back from his desk. “As a matter of fact, yes. You have a way with interfering with my personal life.”

  His long lanky arms slid to rest on his chair, but the relaxed gesture didn’t fool me. His dark brows arched over his inset eyes.

  “If you’re waiting for an apology, you’re not going to get one. Those girls are looking for an easy A, not doggy-style with a Demon.”

  Westman sneered. “If you don’t do doggy, you don’t do Demon.”

  I held up my hand, palm out. “Please, stop there. You Demons really need to grasp the concept of too much information.”

  His mouth opened to say more, and I shushed him.

  “Is there another way?” I blurted out. “Any other way to rip Bola from his host?”

  Westman hesitated.

  “Tell me.” I slapped my hand down on his desk. My heart beat rapidly.

  Westman jumped. “When he’s summoned,” he sputtered. “If you summon him, his incorporeal form will be wrenched from his host.”

  Of course! How could I have missed it? How could Ben? The solution was so easy.

  “But you’ll have to fight his true form, and he won’t be vulnerable from feeding.”

  Well, okay. Not that easy.

  I needed to call for some backup and summon a Demon. How could I possibly best Bola in his true form? None of my feras were strong enough.

  Except one.

  Air caught in my lungs.

  The beast.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “A woman’s mind is cleaner than a man’s: She changes it more often.”

  ~Oliver Herford

  Smelling of sweat, pork rinds and hot sauce, Ben and I ambled into my building. My arms hung limp at my side, my head weighed more than a garbage bag full of diapers, and my soft pillows and duvet called out to me. Wanting nothing more than to answer their summons, I grabbed Ben’s phone and checked the messages. Yup. The boys were on their way.

  “I can’t believe that tow truck driver drove us all the way home, fixed your crap car and left without any payment,” Ben said when we got to my apartment door. His eyebrows dug trenches in the skin above his nose.

  “Oh, with the feast his eyes got of this,” I made a large sweeping gesture with one hand, while the other kept a firm hold on my towel for Ben’s sake. Maybe I should’ve kept the oversized sweatshirt instead of returning it. Regardless of my wardrobe, the tow truck driver had fallen victim to my powers and instead of requesting payment, he’d spent most of his time staring at my chest and drooling. The thirty-minute drive home had been a harrowing experience. “He got paid.”

  Ben snorted. “Sorry, Andy. I’ve seen the girls, and they’re not that special.”

  I punched him in the arm, and he squeaked. Ben clutched his shoulder and scrunched his lips up. I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. “You’re a Witch. You’re not susceptible to my charms like norms.”

  “Your animal magnetism, you mean?” He massaged his arm.

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Ever get you in trouble?”

  “You have no idea.” I handed him the phone.

  We paused outside my door and both stared at it. Staying in the hallway suddenly gained instant appeal. Going into my apartment meant my haywire plan would unfold.

  “We really going to do this?” Ben’s mouth turned down.

  “Is it 80s night on Friday?” I asked.

  He answered with a blank stare.

  “Of course, we’re going to do this. What other choice do we have?”

  “Exactly how strong is this guy in his natural form?” His voice wavered.

  “Pretty strong. Don’t worry. I called for backup.” Texted, actually, but I couldn’t say, “Texted for backup,” with a straight face.

  “Who’d you contact?”

  If he’d checked his phone, he’d know.

  The door to the building opened and citrus and sunshine flowed down the hallway in a giant, overwhelming wave.

  Ben turned back to me, and rolled his eyes. High school girls would’ve sold their best friend to pull off the look.

  “What?” I hissed at him before greeting Tristan with a big smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He leaned down and pecked me on the cheek. “Nice outfit. Are we going to stare at your door, or are we going in?”

  I unlocked the door using the spare key from under the mat, and pushed open the door. “You go ahead. We’ll be in shortly.”

  Tristan nodded, cast Ben a wary look and then sauntered into my place.

  “What’s his deal?” Ben turned to me, mouth twisted down. “We’ve met before. He’s been to my place for karaoke.”

  “He’s an Alpha. They don’t tend to give their backs to people. Makes coordinating a get-together a bit awkward.”

  “But he backed down to me?” Ben looked confused.

  “Hah! No. His inner leopard must’ve decided it was more important to enter my place first and scope it out, or deemed you as a non-threat. Or both.”

  “Bloody cats.”

  “I’ve seen you use a beer bottle as a microphone. So has Tristan. Don’t judge.”

  The building’s front door opened again and this time a stream of rosemary and sugar flooded my senses.

  Ben groaned.

  “Let’s do this,” Wick said as he approached. He enfolded me in his arms, and planted a kiss on my lips. His gaze rested on the knot holding my towel in place. He licked his lips.

  “Go on in. Tristan’s already here,” I said. “Ben and I need to have a quick chat.”

  Wick nodded, slapped my butt and then strutted into my apartment.

  Ben waited until Wick’s footsteps faded away before he reached forward and closed my apartment’s door, shutting us out. He turned to me. “Are you kidding me?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “They’re more likely to kill each other than hurt the big bad Demon.” Ben’s hands flew to his hips.

  “You’re such a diva.”

  “No. You are. Why didn’t you at least get them to bring their packs, or prides, or groupies, or whatever.”

  “Have you seen my apartment? No way they’d all fit.”

  “More would be better than none, and we could’ve done the summoning elsewhere.”

  “And risk Bola enthralling innocent bystanders? No way. The pack and pridemates would probably end up as liabilities, to
o. You’ve texted the elders so they’ll hopefully have their hit man on the way, in case we can’t contain the situation. We have the strongest Werewolf and Wereleopard in the GVRD sitting in my living room—”

  “Probably growling and hissing at each other.”

  I ignored him. “And you’re standing here bitching about the calibre of backup?”

  “If you tell me beggars can’t be choosers, I’ll—”

  “You’ll what? Fling a really nasty curse at me and knock me out? Oh wait!” I snapped my fingers. “You’ve already done that.”

  Ben huffed, and rocked back on his heels. “You’re never going to let that go are you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You were going to kill one of my denmates.”

  “For the greater good,” I said.

  “What if it had been Patty or Matt?” he paused. “Or me?”

  His question stumped me. My neurons stopped firing, and I stared at his face. Could I have done it? My heart hollowed out, leaving my chest empty and barren. I released a long breath. “I’m not sure I could’ve done it,” I said.

  Ben’s shoulders sagged, and he stepped in to give me a big hug. His warm witchy scent surrounded me. Then he stiffened, and pulled away. His lips compressed into a straight line. His look of concern melted my smile away.

  “What now?” I groaned.

  “Your boyfriends aren’t going to beat me up, are they?” he asked. “I forgot how sensitive all your noses are.”

  “For giving me a hug? You’re my friend.”

  “I know that, but do they?” He glanced at the door, and a shudder vibrated through his body.

  I reached out and grabbed his stiff hand. Giving it a squeeze, I leaned in. “I don’t have a lot of friends, Ben. If they try to harm one hair on your body, I’ll not only dump them, but I will make them pay.”