by Angie Fox
Dimitri glanced over at me. It amazed me sometimes how sensitive he was to my mood shifts. No doubt it had to do with the power we'd shared in the past, and the fact that we were married both legally and spiritually.
I nodded to him. Shiloh was right. There was something here. I just wished I knew where it came from.
The sun faded under the horizon as we snaked closer and closer to the city. With each passing breath, I felt the walls close in on me. The air felt thicker. The greenery dripped with shadows. Amid the brightly lit shops and glittering signs, darkness lingered, just out of reach.
We passed the lush green confines of the Los Angeles Country Club, the bronze-plated exterior of Cici's Couture. One minute, the inky blackness lingered, the next, it vanished. It scattered itself like buckshot.
With a jolt, the energy got worse as we passed the gold-lettered sign at the corner of Santa Monica and Moreno and entered Beverly Hills. Holy smokes. We followed it, making a right onto Burton Way. It didn't even bother to hide anymore.
Did it want us to follow? It could be a trap.
Or was it simply too overwhelming to hide anymore?
At least I knew one thing—I could shut down my bike and fire a switch star in 1.2 seconds or less. I looked forward to the opportunity.
My switch stars felt heavy against my hip as we traced down a smaller street, and then another. I didn't need Shiloh to pinpoint the location. I just had to follow the darkness to Saint Lucia Boulevard.
Ah, Saint Lucia, who was set on fire and then stabbed with a sword. I hoped my day would turn out better.
I turned one last corner and hit the brakes hard. The evil of this place screamed at me, and I realized with a start that it came from an old 1920s art deco movie house. It stood at the end of a small square. The stucco facade had been painted a strange orangish-pink, which should have looked gruesome, but appeared quite arresting instead. Parts of it almost seemed gold. A white and gold sign read: Salvation of the Hills.
At least it didn't say Temple of the Moon.
The building seemed to glow from the inside in a way that made me very, very uncomfortable.
I kicked my bike into low gear and took it slow. The rose-gold double doors were a work of art in themselves, with carved lotus flowers climbing twisted vines. A golden griffin presided over the gilded ticket booth to the right. I saw another similarly ornate window next to it, and a matching pair on the other side.
Posters advertising "spiritual beauty" seminars covered the glass. A broad awning shielded the entryway and above it, two arched windows stared like eyes. At the top, a slash of molded architecture thrust out, reminding me of something out of a Batman movie.
Dimitri had stopped a little ways ahead of me. "This keeps getting weirder and weirder," he said when I reached him. He pointed to a placard by the front doors. In bold, black letters, it read:
Looking for a sign? This is it.
Services 24/7.
Change your life NOW.
"It's a church," I said, not quite believing it. The place creeped me out.
"Feeling spiritual?" Dimitri asked.
"I might have the bug." In a let's slay some demons sort of way.
We headed across the street to a small park and found spots for our bikes on the other side. I could feel the dark powers streaming from the so-called church.
"Leave it to you to dress for the occasion," I said, easing off my bike. When I'd first met Dimitri, he'd had a hankering for tailored slacks and good-looking suits. He might have gone more casual lately, but given the choice, he liked looking slick. I'd gone from flowered sundresses and straw sandals to biker witch chick. It turned Dimitri on something fierce and I liked how it made me feel. Comfortable. Powerful.
Of course even I had never worn black leather to evening services, but hey, there was a first time for everything. I looped my helmet over my handlebars and began rooting around in my saddlebags.
"What are you doing?" Dimitri asked, as if he were afraid of the answer.
I held up two handfuls of baby food jars. "Spells. I made them myself."
"Because they worked so well this morning," he said drily, watching me stuff them into the pockets of my demon slayer utility belt.
"Have a little faith," I told him. I'd followed Grandma's spell recipes to the letter. I had two jars of Explosive Escape, one Lose Your Keys spell (you never knew when that would come in handy), and a jar with a live Mind Wiper spell inside. That one came out a bit flat. Or at least it didn't have the long, swirly look of Grandma's Mind Wipers. The black-and-silver blob of a spell had flattened itself against the glass, glittering, as if begging me to take it out and let it play.
Dimitri studied it. "It looks funny."
I tried to shake it down into the jar, but the little guy held on for dear life. "Maybe it has its own personality."
Live spells were more like creatures than enchantments. They behaved for the most part; at least, they did exactly what they were bred to do. Mind Wipers rendered a person or creature unable to focus on anything other than their one secret wish. They were great for neutralizing an enemy and I'd be willing to bet they'd work on security guards.
"I named this one Max," I said, tucking it into my belt. Max was a demon hunter I knew who had only one, suicidal, wish—to slay as many demons as possible. I found him quite charming in that way.
Dimitri frowned. "Because you can always count on Max not to go nuts, rebel and conquer everything in sight."
"Jealous much?" I asked as we started off across the park. It was no secret Max and Dimitri didn't always get along. "Listen," I said, shifting gears, "let me know if it gets dicey for you in there." It wasn't only me who found Dimitri tasty. Griffins radiated strength and light—and they attracted dark creatures that liked to feast on it.
He gave me a dark look. "Let's both be careful." He glanced at the glittering church. "I've got a funny feeling about this."
Yeah, I did, too.
Shadows flitted over the empty park benches. The palm trees rustled. We weren't alone in this park.
We kept walking.
"We'll be okay." I hoped. "We don't even have to pick a fight. As long as they think we're just here for some religion."
Unfortunately, when you're a demon slayer, there's always a catch.
Chapter Seven
I tried to keep the clanking of my jars down to a minimum as we approached the polished gold entry doors. "I don't know how the biker witches do it." At the very least, it made for a distraction. I needed to focus.
"Act natural," Dimitri said, holding the door open for me.
"Thanks for that." There wasn't anything "natural" about this.
A small crowd had gathered inside the art deco lobby. I breathed the scent of floral perfume, which was nice. Of course, it didn't hide the acidic stench of evil that permeated the walls.
At least we were in the right place.
My heels clicked against the marble entryway. Dimitri fit in perfectly with this crowd. I didn't.
In fact, I realized with growing dread that we had started to gather a few looks. I lowered my hands, resting them casually in front of my jars. Nothing to see here.
It didn't help that most of the women wore skirts or dress pants. Many of the men had dressed up, like Dimitri. Not everyone wore expensive clothes. Far from it. But nobody, it seemed, favored leather.
Part of me wished I could hightail it out of there.
If we hadn't been awakened by the visitor on our beach, if Shiloh hadn't followed a dark magic portal that led to this place. If we had any other way of figuring out what was happening in this pseudo church… I'd say we should go. But as it stood, this was our one shot. If we didn't tackle it now, my life would just get stranger. And somebody was bound to get hurt.
I nodded at an older woman with blond frosted hair and a broach on her blazer the size of Vermont. She couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from my over-the-knee boots. Her slack-lipped stare traveled slowly up my body. I w
ished I'd thought twice about the low-slung leather pants with the little silver skulls on each hip. "They're new," I said, trying to be pleasant. "Those too," I added, when her gaze fell to the jars clanking together on my utility belt.
At least she couldn't see my switch stars. I didn't want to freak her out.
She nodded slowly. Good. Because frankly, I couldn't think of anything else to do or say to make it better.
She gave a faltering smile while eyeing my bustier. "My granddaughter says corsets are good for your back."
Props to her for keeping an open mind. I couldn't help but grin. "Is she a biker?"
She considered the question. "I think she might own a Schwinn."
Ah, well, you couldn't win them all.
In the not so distant past, I would have been petrified to be wearing skintight leather around anyone, much less this church lady. Heck, I'd freaked out when my mother discovered I preferred bustiers to button-downs. But I'd loosened up a bit. I liked the new me, and it was liberating to do my own thing instead of trying to fit into someone else's world.
I just had to figure out a way to make it work here.
Dimitri and I moved on. "The church members themselves don't feel bad or evil," I murmured to him. "A little repressed maybe…"
My husband barked out a laugh.
I looked up at him. "What?"
"Nothing." He grinned as if he were in on some joke that totally eluded me. "I love you."
"You'd better," I said. Let him have his little joke. "You're stuck with me for the rest of your life."
He wrapped an arm around my waist. "Good."
I leaned into him. To keep up our cover, and because it simply felt right.
Beyond the chattering crowd in the lobby, two pairs of gold doors opened to what appeared to be a theater-turned-church, complete with a stage. More animated voices collided inside.
We headed that way.
"This place draws quite a crowd," I said, low enough so hopefully only he could hear me.
"At seven o'clock on a Monday," he said, his grip tightening on my waist.
I wondered what these people were really here to do.
They appeared human, only they felt too good, too pure. I didn't understand it. There was no mistaking the evil of the place. Malice, destruction, had seeped into the very walls. Every step we took felt like walking into an ever-darkening, ever-shrinking cave.
"I sincerely hope this isn't like Vegas," I said.
A shiver ran through my husband.
We'd run into an entire coven of man-eating succubi there. Griffins were one of their favorite snacks. We'd learned that the hard way.
He was guarded, his casual air precise. "Act natural," he said, low and close, as we neared the doors. "We're surrounded."
I nodded. We couldn't fight. There were too many of them. We had to blend in if we wanted to learn the truth about this place.
Ha. Me—blending. I'd laugh if it wouldn't torpedo our cause even more.
Don't mind us. Just a biker chick and her GQ date, wandering through a church that may or may not be from the devil.
I could almost hear the crackling of a portal nearby. If it wasn't on this floor, it was definitely on the one above it. I could barely make it out, like the low hum of a bug zapper on a warm summer's night.
It gave a sharp pop and I jumped. "You hear that?"
He scanned the room, not even risking a look down at me. "I'm not picking up anything."
So it was only me. Again.
Darkness had a way of easing into your heart and your mind. It could capture you before you even realized. My powers gave me a reasonable defense, and a way to fight back. But griffins like Dimitri fought the darkness with teeth and claws. His human form left him vulnerable. He might not even know if he'd been compromised.
We'd have to stick close.
A stunning woman with long braided hair waited by the door that led down into the theater. "You're new," she said, her voice deep, warm as molasses. The beads decorating her braids clicked together. "Mimi," she called to a woman just beyond the entrance, "could you come on up?" Her large almond eyes roved over us with abject curiosity. "Mimi is on our membership team."
"Great," I said, hoping she didn't see the thin sheen of sweat I felt breaking out on my upper lip. "We're all about membership."
Real smooth, Lizzie.
The woman gave an uncomfortable smile. "Are you a member of a church now?"
"Heck, no," I said automatically.
Truth be told, talking my way into evil fortresses made me uncomfortable. I preferred sneaking or blasting in—anything that required the least amount of small talk.
"Hello!" A voice said in a heavy Eastern European accent. Right next to me.
This new woman had short, teased-out hair dyed an unnatural yellow, and lipstick on her teeth. Despite that, she looked dazzling, lit up from the inside. "I am Mimi Monroe." The odd little woman gave me a squeeze. I swore I could feel her bones. "And you are?"
"Confused," I told her.
She smiled wider. "Then you have come to the right spot." She linked arms with me and I couldn't help it. I sidestepped right into Dimitri.
Mimi leaned closer. She wore an ankle-length linen shift with way too much embroidery at the neck, along with a half dozen strands of costume jewelry black pearls, and she smelled…dusty. "I don't want to scare you, but this truly is life-changing." She stared at me until I nodded. "Now first things first," she said. "We must get to know each other."
"We'd rather just check out the service," Dimitri said.
"You're interested too?" Mimi grew even more excited. "I love it. Two new members!" she announced loudly. A smattering of applause went up and to my dismay, a crowd began to gather around us. "Just step this way," she said, ushering us toward the far back section of the lobby. At least a dozen church members trailed behind. "You don't know how happy we are to have you here," she continued. All the while, she didn't let go of my arm. Maybe she needed it to stand up, although she seemed to have a lot of spunk. "You seem like perfect candidates."
"For what?" I asked.
"Change." She gushed. "Illumination!"
Mimi reminded me of an Old Hollywood starlet—in a Sunset Boulevard kind of way.
I sincerely hoped she didn't take us to see her dead monkey.
The top of her head barely reached my shoulder. She held on tightly, though. Like a pull line I couldn't shake. Dimitri walked on the other side of me.
"Now tell me your name," she prodded.
I stared at her, from her wrinkled dress to her black plastic pearl earrings. I couldn't tell her that.
"Starr," I said, trying to act natural as it kind of fell out of my mouth.
I sucked at lying.
A low moan rumbled from below. If it wasn't so vicious, I'd have thought it was Dimitri groaning—which he probably was. Damn.
I concentrated, trying to locate the source of the noise, but it ended too fast.
Mimi's gaze never wavered and I realized she wanted more of my name. My mind raced for something familiar. Something I could remember.
"Pirate," I said quickly, as if that were the solution to everything. "My last name's Pirate."
Dimitri let out a choked cough. "Starr. Pirate." he repeated slowly, as if he couldn't quite believe I'd said that.
That made two of us.
Mimi Monroe was going to think I was a porn star.
"I'm a rock star," I said quickly. That got a gasp from a few of the people behind us. In for a penny, in for a pound. At least it explained my outfit.
My husband cleared his throat. Some of the people in the crowd were pulling out cell phones.
"No photos!" I announced. And please don't try to look me up.
"A heavy metal babe. Isn't that nice?" Mimi said, as if she were used to crazies. Or maybe she could just speak the English language way better than I could at the moment.
Starr Pirate. I mean, really?
"Perhaps I have hear
d some of your songs, yes?" she prompted, as if she were truly interested.
"I'll bet you have," I said. If she'd stood outside my shower lately. Damn. I had to sell this. Fast. "I'm part of the whole eighties hair-band resurgence. Very underground stuff. Think Def Leppard meets Pat Benatar. With a dash of Twisted Sister." Mimi nodded, as if she'd heard this sort of thing all the time. "In fact, my hair used to be purple," I added, "but then during my world tour in Russia, I couldn't find my regular dye so I went black and told everybody I'd started a dark period."
I'd have to post some pictures when I got home.
"Fascinating," she gushed. "I must admit we have never had a rocker."
"He's my manager," I said, lobbing it back at Dimitri, hoping my husband could make more sense than me.
Besides, we needed to get him talking. If he clenched his jaw anymore, he was going to have a monster headache.
"I keep track of her when I can," he said, matter-of-fact. Hopefully I was the only one catching the dangerous vibe radiating from him. He held out a hand to Mimi. "I'm Dimitri." He paused almost imperceptibly, as if he couldn't quite force himself to say it. "Dimitri Pirate." Oh, our dog was going to love that.
And, hey, Dimitri had a choice. He could have hightailed it and run. Instead, he'd married into our little brand of crazy.
Mimi led us deeper into the back of the building. There were at least a dozen more churchgoers behind us, now that I'd outed myself as a rock star. Cripes.
I tried not to stare at the warrior designs on the walls or the sunbursts in the corners. The place was entirely too…hieroglyphic.
Oh, hell. Egyptian was bad, at least according to Shiloh.
Dimitri paused to check out an image of a two-headed cobra spitting flames. It was a symbol of the underworld. Above it hovered a circular orb.
Shiloh said the she-demons anticipated the arrival of a fenris, the rise of a temple of the moon.
"Is that a moon?" I murmured.
"Hard to tell," my husband said under his breath. "Stay alert."
"Come now," Mimi said, leading us farther back.
