by S. M. Reine
The spider lunged. A half-second later, Elise jumped too.
She knocked into her boyfriend an instant before the spider would have. They rolled across the desert as the demon hit sagebrush.
Getting up again took too long. She whirled, bringing the knife to bear, but one of those huge legs struck her in the chest again.
Elise was airborne.
Her back hit the Jeep. Her lungs emptied. Her cheek hit dirt.
Anthony cried out. She got to her feet, gasping and wheezing and empty-handed. She had dropped her knife.
The spider darted at him. It moved at a ridiculous speed given its size, blurring through the night to slash with its fangs. He tried to roll out of the way, but a heavy leg pounded into the rock and blocked him. He kicked its face. The pincers caught his leg.
Elise sucked in a hard breath. “Don’t let it bite you!”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” Anthony grunted, snapping his free foot into its face.
It shrieked and reared. She dived onto its back.
The spider bucked beneath her, and Elise pressed her cheek into its furry carapace and clung tight to its abdomen. When it tried to bite Anthony again, she wrapped a hand around its pincer and yanked.
It ripped free with a wet crunch. Venom sprayed on the dirt.
“Find my knife!”
Anthony squirmed out from beneath them. The spider thrashed. Elise almost went flying again, but she wrapped her fists around its thick black hairs and hung on.
Each of the glistening black eyes rolled around to stare at her.
It flung itself sideways. She lost her grip and rolled across the dirt. The spider pounced, spraying venom and ichor from its open wound, and it stung like sparks of flame where it landed on her skin.
She punched her fist into its clacking mouth as hard as she could. It wasn’t hard enough. The spider reared back to bite again, and Elise grabbed the first thing she could reach—the remains of the tent.
Elise flung the canvas in the spider’s face. Its pincer tangled in the rope.
“I can’t find it!” Anthony shouted.
Her hand fell on a broken piece of tent post.
Elise drove the splintered end into the spider’s body. At first, she thought it wouldn’t be able to pierce the exoskeleton, but then the metal slipped. It buried into the knife wound and kept going.
She silenced its scream by shoving with all her weight. The bar cracked through the other side.
Its legs flailed wildly, and she had to crawl away to avoid getting hit.
Elise picked up the other tent pole and plunged it into the spider’s head. She pushed so hard that the tip sank into the earth and pinned the demon to the ground.
It finally stopped moving after that.
Elise let out a long breath. She was soaked in sweat even though it couldn’t have been more than sixty degrees in the cool desert night, which quickly approached cool desert morning. A sliver of blue glowed over the hills.
“Hell of a wakeup call,” she muttered. The spider’s foreleg twitched once.
Anthony crashed through the sagebrush again and grabbed her arms. “Are you okay? I couldn’t find your knife.”
She gave her body a quick inspection. She was wearing underwear instead of pajamas, so she could see where bruises were developing, which was most of her body. The contact burns from the venom were worse, but none of them were too bad. She would recover quickly.
“I’m fine.”
Anthony handed her a flashlight from the Jeep. “Is this the same as the other ones? It seems a lot bigger.”
She located her knife by its glimmer in the bushes. He had been searching in the wrong place. “Yeah. It’s a daimarachnid. Big fucking spider.” Elise rolled the demon onto its back and knelt by its body, pushing the legs away to examine the branded underbelly.
Most demons were like animals with a temper problem: stupid and directionless. But powerful demons could mark them with brands and control their behavior to some degree. If she could find who “owned” those symbols, she would find out who was responsible, much like a rancher and his cattle.
Elise began slicing along the edge of the brands.
Anthony recoiled. “Jesus! What are you doing?”
She focused on trimming the leathery skin from the shell underneath. It was tough work. She sawed back and forth with the serrated edge of the knife until a strip of flesh two feet long and four inches wide came free.
“Get a plastic bag from the Jeep,” Elise said, studying the strip with the flashlight. Someone had slashed crosses through each of the brands and made them hard to distinguish.
He handed a bag to her. Elise sealed the skin inside.
“What are you going to do with that?”
“I’m going to find out who’s letting their minions loose and have a talk with them.”
“And by ‘talk,’ you mean…”
“I’ll kill them,” Elise said. She put the skin in the cooler where they had kept their food all week. There was nothing left except melted ice and a couple cans of beer. “Still want to keep going hunting with me?”
To his credit, Anthony thought about it for a moment before answering. “Yeah. Camping has been fun.” He grinned. “And, you know. The attack was kind of hot. Watching you fight in your underwear was…” He pushed her back against the Jeep and growled against her neck. She didn’t react. “Aren’t you kind of hot?”
“No.”
He kissed down her collarbone and traced a finger along the tattoo on her hip. “Are you sure?”
“Getting attacked by demons doesn’t excite me.” She planted a hand on his chest to prevent his kisses from straying lower. “I’m not going to tell you again.” She left the unspoken threat hovering over them.
“Would you stab me? Is that what you’re saying?”
The corner of her mouth quirked up. “Would that turn you on, too?”
“You’re sick,” he murmured into her lips. Elise leaned against the car door with a sigh as he kissed her. His lips traveled to her earlobe. He nipped it lightly with his teeth.
“You think I’m sick?” She stretched her arm back to drop the knife in the Jeep’s backseat, and he traced his hand down her exposed ribcage. His fingers found a path under her bra to graze the curve of her breast. “At least demon attacks don’t get me horny.”
Her cell phone alarmed. She peered over Anthony’s shoulder to see it glowing blue underneath the tent canvas. He ignored it and pushed a knee between her legs. She stiffened, but he caught her wrist and pinned it to her side. “Ignore it.”
Elise shoved him. He stumbled a few steps back. “It’s time to leave,” she said, turning off the alarm. Anthony groaned.
“But we were just—”
“I have a meeting with a potential client this morning and it’s a four-hour drive from here.”
He adjusted the waistband of his sweats. Elise gathered their broken tent and threw it in the back of the Jeep. “I think you like to torture me.”
She planted a kiss on his chin as he passed. “It’s an unintended bonus.”
Anthony tried to glower, but Elise didn’t acknowledge him as she finished packing. His mood lost steam without her attention.
After a week of camping, their clothes were crusty with sweat and dust. Elise gritted her teeth as she pulled on dirty jeans. “What are we going to do with that?” Anthony asked when the only thing remaining in their camp was the body of the demon.
Elise kicked it in the side. It didn’t move. “We’ll let the coyotes have it. I’ve got what I need.”
They got in the Jeep and drove away, leaving the carcass of the demon to rot.
Elise stopped at home long enough to say goodbye to Anthony, take a shower, and slip into a clean skirt suit. Then she went into the office.
Since scraping together enough credits to graduate from college, Elise had done business as a certified public accountant. Cold, objective numbers were a comforting reprieve from life and death dec
isions, and there was decent money to be made in handling payroll for demon-owned businesses.
She rented a cheap suite in an old building by the airport, which was primarily occupied by failing businesses and nonprofit organizations that couldn’t afford a nicer location. She had fewer neighbors as the months wore on. The economy was killing businesses faster than she killed daimarachnids, and the parking lot was never more than half-full.
Which was why she was confused when she arrived shortly before eight and had to park on the street. The parking lot was crammed with police cars, and a perimeter of emergency tape blocked the entrance. The employees who couldn’t get inside were gathered on the sidewalk.
Elise approached a man she recognized as a therapist from the third floor. “What happened here?”
“I think it’s a fire. They won’t let us in.” He dry-washed his hands and glared at the nearest police car. “I’ve already had to cancel my morning appointments!”
She checked her watch. The meeting with her client was ten minutes away, and she didn’t have a number at which she could contact them. They had only emailed each other. She needed her computer.
Pushing through the crowd, Elise waved over a police officer. “Excuse me!”
“We can’t let you in,” he said, writing something on his clipboard. “It’s going to be at least another half hour.”
“All I need is my laptop. If one of you could …”
She trailed off. There was a shattered window on the south end of the first floor, where photographers and investigators were working.
It was her office.
Her stomach clenched with dread. The fire was in her room, and police were searching it. They would find the weapons in her desk.
She ducked under the police tape and sidestepped the officer’s grabbing hand.
“Hey! You can’t go in there!”
“It’s my office,” she snapped as she stomped into the building.
The therapist was right. There had definitely been a fire, and it spread all the way down the back wall from the entryway to her suite. Smoke left brown-gray stains on the yellow wallpaper. The toxic green carpet squished under her heels as she hurried to her door.
Even though the fire had only consumed the left side of her office, her filing cabinet and ficus in the opposite corner were destroyed, too. Her desk had been pushed over. The base of her chair was snapped. The bookshelf was gutted, papers were spilled across the floor, and the nearest pile had something reddish-purple poured on it.
The police and firemen left no standing room inside, but shock rooted her to the doorway anyway.
It wasn’t an accidental fire. Someone had ransacked her office.
She picked up a page and sniffed it. The stains were wine.
“Hey there,” said a gruff voice from the hall. The officer had followed her into the building. “I have to ask you to step into the hallway. You’ll interfere with the investigation.”
“Okay,” Elise said, letting the paper fall. “It’s just—all of this belongs to me.”
He studied her with a round, sympathetic face. The badge on his chest said Fred Turner. “You better sit down before you fall down.”
“I’m fine.”
Ignoring her protestations, he took her elbow, and Elise bit the inside of her cheek trying not to strike him. “Come on, take a seat. I’ve been robbed before. I was twitching for weeks. Let me get you a cup of coffee.”
Robbed. No, it wasn’t a robbery.
It was a message.
Elise sat on a chair in the lobby. She didn’t want to be inside the building anymore. Hell, she didn’t want to be in the state. Her nerves were ringing like a gong and everything was suddenly too loud, from her heartbeat to the footsteps down the hall.
Was it Him? Had they been found?
Her cell phone was in her hands before she realized what she was doing. She rubbed her thumb over the touchpad. James was number two on speed dial. He needed to know. They needed to pack, they needed to run—
She took a steadying breath. No. If James and Elise had been found, it was too late to run.
“Ma’am?”
It took her a moment to focus on the speaker. Officer Turner had returned with a cup of coffee. She took it. “Thank you.”
“Could I see your identification?” he asked. She handed her driver’s license to him. He scanned it with a confused furrow of his brow. “Your business is listed as being owned by ‘Bruce Kent.’”
“I’ve filed the paperwork to operate under a pseudonym. It’s completely legal. I could show you the documentation, but everything burned.”
“Why use a fake name?”
She took her license back. “Do you think I set fire to my own office?”
“You’re not a suspect. But considering what’s happened, I don’t think you’ll be leaving town for a few weeks. Right? If we need to interview you later and you’re gone, we’ll be concerned.”
“I’ll be around,” she said, her voice dead.
“Good.”
Fred Turner left, and Elise took a slow sip of her coffee.
Her hand was trembling.
II
The body thudded to the floor. A hand whipped the hood off of the man’s head, and he blinked at the sudden light. His bare skin pebbled with cold.
A woman probed his torso for injury, pushing down the shorts that barely shielded his modesty, and then rolled him over to expose his arms. They were bound behind his back. His shoulder blades were red and irritated.
Portia Redmond sniffed as she returned to her seat at the table.
“It’s wearing an intake bracelet. You said your stock is clean.”
Mr. Black leaned forward. He was dressed to minimize the physical signs of age, such as a slight paunch to his belly and a sloped back. His hair was wolf-white with accents of gray, and his eyes were blue, very blue, with no hint of warmth.
“Is that an intake bracelet?” he asked, his voice a cool baritone.
Portia’s spine straightened. “I think I would recognize the vehicle of my son’s death.”
A man shifted behind Mr. Black as though to remind Portia of his presence. He was slightly younger than Mr. Black, although he was wiry instead of stocky, and his rust-colored hair was barely touched with white.
There was a gun at his shoulder. He had removed the strap keeping it in the holster.
Portia forced herself to relax.
“Your son was an addict?” Mr. Black asked. “How old was he?”
“Old enough that I couldn’t have another heir.”
“What a shame. Miss Redmond—Portia—I don’t lie to my customers, particularly those as loyal as you.” He smoothed his wrinkled fingers over hers. “You asked for spirited, so I brought the most spirited. That kind of fire doesn’t come without cost. Controlling him can be… difficult.”
“Lethe is a stimulant.”
“For demons, yes. You’ll find it has quite a different effect on his type. I’ll supply enough to keep him under your gorgeous thumb for a year.”
“How much?” she asked.
“Do you think I would nickel-and-dime an old friend? After we’ve known each other for so many long years?”
She pulled her hand back. “Yes.”
“How predictable of me.”
“What do you want?”
“I want use of your shipping fleet.” Mr. Black waved his hand again, and Alain handed Portia a sheaf of papers. She unfolded them and began to read. Her expression darkened with every line. “I’m bringing in a few archaeological pieces from my personal collection, so I’ll require unlimited use of your trucks.”
“Unlimited use?” Portia slapped the contract on the table. “What about my needs? What about my suppliers?”
Mr. Black smoothed out the contract and flipped to the third page. “I have accounted for that: I will compensate you for the estimated loss of business. See here?”
She refused to look. “I don’t know why you’re bothering
to ask. I know I have no choice.”
“Of course you have a choice.” He took a pen from his breast pocket and offered it to her. “Your son had a choice, too.”
Her lips trembled.
“Let me inspect them closely. Both the contract and… that.” Portia indicated the man shivering on her floor with a careless wave of her hand.
“He’s yours. You can command him.”
“The terms of our deal have changed. I won’t take custody until I fully agree.”
“This is why I love you, Portia. Just adore you. You don’t tolerate nonsense in your business, and I have to say, I appreciate that.” He snapped his fingers. “Nukha’il, stand up and turn around so she can see all of you.”
The man picked himself up. Shimmering red-brown hair fell to his back in soft waves. His body was delicate, yet strong, and the top of his head was nearly level with the doorway. Nukha’il spun slowly. He was sheer perfection, despite the fact there might have been no muscles under his olive skin. The lines of his back were unearthly.
He looked a lot like Portia’s son.
Her fist tightened, crumpling the contract.
“I’ll take him,” she said, her voice hoarse. Nukha’il raised his chin, giving her the kind of look that said he wouldn’t go down easily.
The moment she signed the last curl on her surname, the papers were gone and the pen was whisked from her hand. Alain tucked the contract into his coat once more. Mr. Black smiled like the Cheshire Cat, his too-white teeth glowing in the lamplight. “It’s always a pleasure doing business with you, my dear.”
“Yes. Of course. You’ll have to tell me your real name one day, Mr. Black.”
He placed a kiss on her knuckles. The suit fit him even better when he was standing. Under other circumstances, she might have sought him out to become her third husband. He was wealthy and certainly attractive. But he was also a cold bastard, and he did dangerous business. She didn’t want to be witness to the day it caught up with him.
“How do I contact you?” she asked.
“I’ll be in town visiting some… shall we say, old friends. I’ll be in touch. Don’t worry about that.”
