Green-Eyed Demon (Sabina Kane #3)

by Jaye Wells

  She frowned but was smart enough not to argue.

  I pulled my gun and entered the office at the back of the building. I stopped to listen, but the place was silent except for the echoes of the crowds of Bourbon Street. I made my way to the thick curtain separating the office from the store.

  I blew out a breath and silently parted the panels. The store looked like a bomb had gone off. I cursed. A quick scan revealed overturned tables, broken glass, and colorful debris littering the floor. Then my eyes landed on something sparkly by the stairs that made my blood go cold—a golden cobra atop a black wig. Luckily the cornrows weren’t still attached to a head, but since Cleopatra was supposed to have vacated the premises hours earlier, the sight sent me into full-on crisis mode.

  The old me would have charged in with guns blazing. But I held myself back. The intruders could still be in there. Given the recent run-in with a group of crazy-strong magic-wielding vamps, it wasn’t prudent to proceed without backup. I forced myself to back away from the curtain and go outside.

  Zen’s face was tense with worry. “What’s going on?” she demanded.

  “I’m not sure yet.” I didn’t mention the wig. No reason to scare Zen until I could get inside and assess the true extent of the damage. Instead, I pulled the cell phone from my pocket and punched the preprogrammed button. Adam answered on the second ring.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you. How far away—”

  The hair on my arms prickled a split second before Adam materialized not three feet from where Zen and I stood. I punched the “end” button. His eyes did a quick scan of the pair of us. Then, rushing up the steps, he said, “What’s the situation?”

  I glanced at Zen, not wanting to scare her but needing to be honest. “Someone broke into the shop.”

  Zen sucked in a breath. “Thieves?”

  I shook my head. “Not sure. But they definitely did some damage in the store. Couldn’t tell if anything”—or anyone, I silently amended—“was taken.”

  Adam turned to Zen, in full crisis-management mode. “You got any weapons inside they could find?”

  “Upstairs in my apartment. A shotgun.”

  “Shit,” I said. “Okay, I need you to listen—”

  Zen made a worried noise. “What about Brooks?”

  I schooled my features to hide my suspicions. “He’s probably at Lagniappe. Besides, Mac would have called if she got here to pick up Brooks and found this.”

  “Zen, you stay out here and call Georgia. She’s with Giguhl. Tell them to get here as soon as they can. In the meantime, do not come in there until we give you the all-clear. Got it?”

  Zen’s mouth worked and her eyes were a little wild. I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Adam and I need to go figure out what’s happening. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?”

  She swallowed and seemed to come back to herself. “Be careful.”

  I looked at Adam. “Let’s go.”

  Leaving the human in the courtyard, Adam and I reentered through the office. When he saw the disaster area that used to be the store, his jaw went hard. Through the drawn shades on the front windows of the store, the silhouettes of passersby, totally unaware of the drama unfolding a few feet away, paraded past at intervals. As my adrenaline surged, I found myself envying their ignorance.

  I motioned toward the stairs and the discarded wig. Adam saw it and jerked his gaze to mine. A brief flare of anger crossed his face before his expression returned to mission-ready. He pointed up, indicating I should take the lead.

  As quietly as possible, I climbed the stairs, careful not to put too much weight on the risers. An inconvenient creak might warn any remaining intruders. At the top, I pointed down the hall. While he moved to check out this floor, I continued up to the third story.

  My heart pounded in my ears. Underneath the fragrant herbs kicked up by the destruction downstairs and the musty odor of old building, the scent of fresh blood and lavender reached my nose.

  I prayed it didn’t belong to Brooks. That Mac had picked him up before all this happened. That maybe there was a logical explanation for him leaving behind the wig. But something in my gut told me my prayers were wasted. Because barring one of the intruders being fae, there was no other explanation for that telltale lavender scent. Not in the concentration I was detecting. As this realization hit me, I started praying death had come quickly for the faery.

  I’d just reached the top of the stairs when a creak sounded behind me. I swung around with my gun raised. Adam held up his hands on the landing below. I relaxed a fraction. As he climbed the rest of the way, he shook his head solemnly.

  I acknowledged this with a jerk of my head. Then I turned to approach the closed door to the attic apartment. The collision of boot heel against wood sent shock waves up my leg. The door exploded inward. I rushed in with gun ready for action.

  The living room was empty except for more signs of intrusion—bashed TV, ripped couch cushions, overturned coffee table.

  “Clear,” I whispered.

  Adam rushed in and went to check the kitchen. I covered him as my eyes scanned the room for anyone who might be hiding. A couple of seconds later, he came back shaking his head.

  My eyes moved to door number two. Something told me I didn’t want to see what waited on the other side. The scent of blood was stronger here. I glanced at Adam. His expression was determined but wary. He tipped his chin down and angled his gaze toward the panel.

  I blew out a slow breath as Adam’s hand gripped the knob. Twisted. I raised my gun. A squeak of hinges. The panel receded, revealing the darkness beyond.

  My better night vision meant I went in first. Blood saturated the air. I scanned the corners first, finding nothing but strewn clothes and toiletries. When no one jumped out at me, my eyes moved to the bed.

  A large body-shaped lump huddled under the bedspread.

  “Don’t you fucking move,” I said in a low, ominous voice. Adrenaline surged through me. I sidestepped to the side of the bed, my gun trained on the lump.

  “Get the light.”

  A second later, light flared. My sensitive eyes stung from the sudden brightness, but I gritted my teeth and kept the gun steady.

  The first thing I noticed was the stain set against the cabbage roses on the gaudy damask spread. The red blotch bloomed like a wound among the floral tragedy.

  My hand started shaking. I didn’t want to pull the cover back. The lump hadn’t moved through all the commotion. Dread pooled in my stomach. Adam stepped up on the other side of the bed. Our eyes met over the bloodstain. Resignation tightened Adam’s features. He grabbed the edge of the coverlet and whipped it back.

  The world tilted on its axis. A chill passed through me like someone had walked over my grave. “Goddess protect us.”

  The damage rendered the face unrecognizable. Bloated eyelids stained purple. Distended cheekbones split and bleeding. Nose bent and crushed. A gag smeared with streaks of red stretched the swollen lips into a grotesque facsimile of a smile.

  I wanted to pretend that battered body before me belonged to a stranger. But the inevitability of the truth mocked my hope.

  Adam ducked in and placed two fingers at Brooks’s neck. “There’s a pulse.”

  I was too busy trying to control my rage to feel relieved. My hands shook as I fumbled with the knots of the gag. Adam worked on the ropes binding the fae’s hands and feet.

  As I worked, I tried not to focus on the blood pooling on the white sheets. The metallic-lavender scent of his blood and the lingering stink of violence made my throat fill with bile.

  When I finally pulled the gag away, a thin whimper escaped his lips. I clung to the unsettling sound as further evidence he lived. But judging from the extent of his wounds, just barely.

  “Brooks?” I shook him gently, careful not to touch the lacerations on his arms. My voice sounded abnormally loud and panicked to my own ears. “Can you hear me?”

  His tongue darted out, prob
ing the corner where the gag had burned the skin. “ ’Bina?”

  I put a hand on his brow. He cried out and tried to pull away. My heart clenched. I couldn’t imagine the terrors Lavinia’s goons perpetrated on his fragile body. “Shh. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

  Because of the swelling, his eyes were sealed shut. But with a trembling hand, he reached out and grabbed my arm. I sat carefully on the edge of the bed and held his hand. The tips of his golden fingernails were jagged and bloody. His grip was so weak I tried to share some of my strength through our connected palms.

  I looked up at Adam. His eyes glowed with suppressed rage. My own insides felt like a cauldron of acid. But we had to make sure Brooks stayed alive before we released the valve on our anger.

  “Brooks,” he whispered, lowering to his haunches. “It’s Adam. I need to check your wounds, okay?”

  Brooks’s head moved restlessly on the pillow as he struggled to talk. Worried he might hurt himself more, I squeezed his hand. “Try to be still, okay?”

  He seemed to settle then—whether by choice or simply weakness, I didn’t know. It didn’t really matter, I guess. The important thing was Adam had a chance to look him over.

  After a few minutes, he pulled me away with a promise to Brooks we weren’t going far. “He’s lost a lot of blood,” he said. “I can try to help with the pain, but his injuries are too extensive for my healing abilities.”

  Biting my lip, I looked back at the bed. The faery’s complexion had the gray pallor of impending death. I clenched my fists until my nails cut half-moons into my palms. “We have to do something.”

  “Go get Zen.”

  “Okay,” I said and rushed toward the door. A heavy calm had settled over me. The ability to detach was a survival mechanism that had served me well many times in my life. Later, it would catch up with me and I’d use the rage to my advantage. “Anything else?”

  His gaze crept back to the bed. “You can pray.”

  19

  An hour later, I sat on a picnic table in the courtyard behind the store, praying to every god and goddess from every pantheon I knew. Giguhl sat in a nearby chair, his claws clasped between his legs as he joined me in silent vigil.

  Acidic guilt added fuel to my cosmic pleas. I’d been so wrapped up in the mission and my own drama I never considered the risk Zen and Brooks were taking helping us. But now Zen’s shop was destroyed and Brooks’s life hung in the balance. I clenched my fist against the dark stew of emotions simmering in my gut.

  Inevitably, my thoughts drifted back to another fae—my old roommate Vinca. Her funeral had been the first I ever attended. Not because I hadn’t known anyone else who’d died. But because all the others had died by my hand. Vinca was also the first female friend I’d ever had. And she’d paid for that friendship with her life.

  In the time that had passed since her death, I’d reached a stalemate with my guilt. My logical side maintained that Vinca knew the dangers when she’d insisted she be included in the raid on the vineyard where my first showdown with Lavinia had occurred. But my conscience constantly reminded me that if I’d only been smarter, faster, better, I could have prevented her death.

  Just as earlier tonight, I could have stayed with Brooks instead of leaving him alone and vulnerable while I pursued my own goals. Unlike Vinca, he hadn’t been fully briefed about the real dangers we all faced. Also, while Vinca died fighting in a battle she’d adopted as her own, Brooks had been ambushed and punished to send me a message. Hadn’t Lavinia promised as much? That those around me would suffer until I surrendered?

  I glanced over at Giguhl, whose head hung in his claws. When he’d stormed into the courtyard shortly after I left Adam and Zen to work on Brooks, he’d gone ballistic with worry. It took both Georgia and me to restrain him from going to Brooks. Once he’d calmed down enough to collapse where he sat now, Georgia left to go find Mac. The were hadn’t answered her cell when we tried to call her, which obviously was a cause for alarm. Georgia promised to get in touch once she had news.

  On the other side of Zen’s building, Bourbon Street’s Friday-night pre-Halloween party raged on. Tinny notes from brass instruments meshed with the pounding rhythmic basslines. Laughter and shouts punctuated the music.

  Part of me longed to prowl through that street like the predator I was raised to be. The scent of fresh human blood was strong even where I sat, so removed from the action. But another part of me, one I didn’t quite recognize, longed to just observe the humans. To try and understand how they could forget their mortality long enough to dance in the streets.

  Brooks was mortal, too. All fae were. That was the rub. They could heal themselves, and some fae species naturally lived longer than others. But when it came down to it, there was only so much damage magic could heal.

  The rusty hinges on the back door squeaked to announce Adam’s arrival. His stoic expression gave nothing away. I stood slowly, wiped my damp palms on my jeans, and waited for him to share his news. Giguhl came to join us, his face tight with worry.

  Worry lines creased Adam’s face, aging him. His white T-shirt was spattered with blood, like some sort of morbid Jackson Pollock painting. “The good news is he’s still alive,” he began.

  I blew out a relieved breath. “Thank the gods.”

  He held up a hand. “The bad is he might not make it through the night. He’s got extensive internal bleeding, and one of his lungs collapsed.”

  Blood drained from my head in a rush. I bit my lip with my fangs, hoping the physical pain would override the emotions enough to help me stay focused.

  “We have to take him to the hospital,” Giguhl said.

  Adam shook his head sadly. “Not an option. Brooks’s fae heritage might present itself in bloodwork. And even if it doesn’t, they’ll ask too many questions about how he got hurt. Maybe bring in the cops.”

  “How can you say that?” Giguhl demanded. “He needs help!”

  “I know. But there’s another option.”

  “Magic,” I said.

  Adam nodded. “But not what you think. My healing powers are too rudimentary for this sort of work.”

  “Voodoo?” Giguhl offered.

  “Nope. Voodoo remedies are a lot like homeopathy. For big healing magic, you need a mage.”

  I blinked. “But you said—”

  “I said I couldn’t do it. But Aunt Rhea can.” He jerked a thumb toward the building. “Just called Orpheus before I came out. Rhea’s in Chicago, trying to convince the mages there to join the others at the Queen’s court. It took some fast talking, but I convinced him to send her here.”

  “How soon?” I asked.

  Just then the air shifted. A window on the second floor lit up with a sudden flash. Without another word, the three of us hauled ass inside.

  Adam’s silver-haired aunt wasted no time in getting down to business. No warm greetings or demands for explanations. By the time we made our way into the room, she’d already taken the situation in hand.

  “I need dried sage, fresh sprigs of lavender, a bag of salt—sea salt, not iodized—and a pair of blue and purple candles—pillars, not tapers.”

  Zen nodded. “Got it.”

  “Adam, tell me what you’ve tried so far.”

  While he relayed the herbs and spells they’d tried, I stood beside Giguhl, holding his claw.

  A groan came from the table as Brooks drifted back into consciousness.

  Rhea stopped midsentence and bent over him. She placed a hand on his forehead and whispered something too low for me to hear. He settled immediately.

  Turning back to Adam, she said, “We have to hurry. You and Sabina will assist.”

  My mouth fell open. “What? I—”

  “None of that. Get over here and help us heal your friend.”

  One thing about Rhea, she may have looked like an earth mother, but when it came to giving orders she’d have given Patton a run for his money. I released Giguhl’s claw with a wan smile and went to stand nex
t to Adam.

  Zen rushed back in with her arms full. “I found everything you needed.”

  With an economy of movements, Rhea made quick work of placing the candles at the four corners of the table.

  “I’ll be in the hall if you need me,” Zen said quietly. Obviously, she didn’t want to be in the way. Rhea didn’t argue. Instead, she shot her friend a distracted but appreciative glance as she sprinkled Brooks’s body with lavender. “Take the demon with you, please.”

  Giguhl obviously heard her, but instead of leaving, he crossed his arms and glared at us with a mulish expression.

  “Giguhl, it’s okay,” I said. “We’ll call you back in as soon as it’s done.”

  He crossed his arms. “No way.”

  Rhea spoke up then. “Okay, but you stay out of the way and don’t make a sound. And whatever you do, don’t break the circle.”

  He zipped his fingers across his lips and tried to be as invisible as possible. Naturally, it didn’t work at all, given it’s hard to miss a seven-foot-tall demon in sweatpants and a hot pink shirt that read Laissez les bons temps rouler.

  I shot my minion an encouraging smile before giving Rhea my full attention. “Now what?”

  “Pour the salt to make the circle. Make it wide enough so we can both move around the table.” She turned to Adam. “The second the circle is poured, light the candles. Blue first and then purple.”

  While I cast the circle and Adam prepared to light the wicks, Rhea gathered the bundle of dried sage. She whispered something. The tip of the bundle sparked, and then tendrils of smoke curled up toward the ceiling. She walked clockwise around the table before turning and going the opposite direction.

  “Sage clears out the bad energy and purifies the ritual space.” Her tone was the same one she’d used when she gave me my lessons in New York.

  The circle was finished, so I set the bag under the table, careful not to inadvertently smudge the line. Adam quickly lit the candles as instructed. Then he took a spot across the table from me.