The demon had taken one look at me and fled. Shit. What had I done to be so suspicious?
“Well, I hope he feels better. See you later, Mila.”
Mind barely registered that fake—as in, there was no way that was my bestie—Hadley and her fake fiancé had exited the shop, or that Mila was too perky of a name for Miss No-Alcohol and her sour disposition.
Nope, my mind was a hundred percent focused on determining what it was about me that had made a demon flee when I hadn’t received that type of reaction from him during our previous encounter.
Well, attention was on that and the persistent dings coming from the direction of my cell phone.
Not Maude. Wilcox. Wanting to know why I’d left home that morning without Trashae. Lovely. I typed off a quick response and went back to my pondering. Planning, actually. Barista Ryan was the potential demon encouraging the suicides of any young woman who even hinted at the word prophecy. Unless I had a vision, which I still wasn’t certain how to force, there was no way I’d know when and where the next victim would meet her deathly fate. So there was only one thing left to do.
Another text message dinged.
What do you mean you’re off to track down a demon?
It’s hard to read inflection in the written word, but I would assume there was both praise and admiration behind Wilcox’s text message. After all, I’d managed to locate a demon-possessed human that both he and Andrew, two highly trained and respected detectives, had been unable to do. Surely Wilcox was smiling away at my natural abilities to quickly locate the suspect and formulate a plan of apprehensive measures. Perhaps there’d be an honorary badge from the police department in my near future.
I tossed my empty cup into the trash and left the coffee shop. I’d found something even stronger than another dose of java… the adrenaline rush from the thrill of the hunt.
Chapter 14
Hunting was exhausting work. Much, much more mentally challenging than stalking had ever been. There was no cheat sheet, like the ones I’d coaxed out of Maude’s clients during their initial seeking-true-love application phase—the piece of paper telling me where I should begin my search for the facts they’d left off the application but Psychic Maude should already know.
Speculation was not my forte, and prophetic visions were apparently not on the day’s agenda. Fingers skimmed across the smooth surface of my cell phone as I sat in my desk chair at Fated Match, begging to dial a number that would not appreciate my frantic efforts should I cave to the temptation. My Hadley would not be on the other end of the ring. My Hadley wasn’t there to offer sage advice for an impossible situation. Who knew what fake Hadley would do should I call and pelt her with endless questions such as Is there a demon tracker somewhere who shows the GPS location of all evil beings? and Where’s the best demon hangout in the city? I couldn’t forget the most important question: Do I contain enough demon blood for me to show up on that previously mentioned tracker? followed by Hadley, where would I go were I running from me?
Because Hadley would know. She knew all and possessed some kind of inner-Oracle inside of her that put my sporadic visions to shame.
Except there was no Hadley, and I was alone in this. So it was left to me to plot, plan, and then conquer. Me. And back to… where the heck did my search begin? I shoved client folders across my desk and slammed back into my chair with a huff.
My last angle with the pursuit of potential victims had at least given me a face… the visual of the woman I felt reasonably sure was Ryan’s next victim. Her earning his undivided attention the night of the charity event was a strong indicator.
Or was she already dead?
Well, hell. Pulling out my cell phone, I shot off a text to Wilcox. His reply popped up on the side of quick.
No other suspicious suicides since Anna. Where r u?
The man had been trying to extract my twenty for the better part of an hour, and now he was flat-out going for blunt. I felt it prudent to remain somewhat mysterious when starting a new relationship. If playing coy was in any way whatsoever similar to preventing a sometimes stubborn, and most of the time overprotective, detective from putting a nix in my saving the day plans, it was purely coincidental. My response to Wilcox was simple.
Same place I was when you last texted
That answered the question. If it was to his satisfaction or not… his problem. But seriously, my location wasn’t that complicated to find. It wasn’t as if I’d snuck off to the fifth dimension and starred in an episode of The Twilight Zone. Checking Account demanded money. Money came from Maude. Therefore, my booty was firmly planted in my receptionist chair at Fated Match. Until Brain formulated a new plan for locating one runaway demon, at least. I was beginning to question Wilcox’s prowess of sleuthing since not once had he thought to stop by during his text message interrogation.
“This is boring. You’ve been clicking on links and muttering under your breath for an hour.”
My gaze turned away from my computer screen and traveled to the direction where the monotone voice originated. Miss Prim sat slouched in her seat, eyes staring in the direction of one empty chair in the reception area—a chair that was normally filled by my hellhound-sitter. Come to think of it, that particular seat had been vacant a lot since last Friday…
“Please don’t tell me you ran him off. Who’s going to watch my beast?”
“He’s too obnoxious to leave for good,” Miss Prim said, not even pretending to not know who I spoke of. The currently bored-out-of-her-mind ghost would be devastated should HG ever decide to abandon his declared post, a location which happened to be a mere foot in front of her own.
“Then where is he?”
“Looking for the safe box like you asked him to.”
Todd Ashford’s safe deposit box. The same one HG had sworn he’d locate three days ago… but hadn’t. How had I forgotten? I turned in my seat and faced Miss Prim. “And?”
“And?” She shrugged. “He’s looking for the safe box at the bank. There are a lot of banks.”
True. I sank down in my chair. Hopeful was I that whatever Todd had tucked away prior to his death, it would lead me to closing the portals of Hell in a simplified manner. Stress on the word simplified. If that was what I was supposed to do. I questioned everything anymore, but a lodestone was what I placed my bets on being discovered once the box was found. Lodestone was one of the very few words Todd had scribbled in a journal he’d left behind, along with the key to the safe deposit box. Now how exactly this magnetized mineral would magically make the entire situation with Hell turn into rainbows and sunshine…
I shoved my face into my hands and grunted.
“What are you doing?” Miss Prim asked.
“Looking for information on a barista named Ryan,” I said, settling back in my seat and refocusing on my task.
“What’s his last name?”
“No idea.”
“Huh.” Miss Prim leaned to the side of her chair that was closest to me and propped her chin up with a hand. “No wonder you’re not getting anywhere with your research. You need to know names when looking up a person.”
“I’m getting somewhere,” I protested. “I will, at least. Give me time.”
Crap. I wasn’t getting anywhere. Stupid last names. Why couldn’t tossing Ryan, barista, and Cozy Cups into a search engine produce desired results?
“Why are you looking for Ryan?” Miss Prim asked.
“Because he’s a demon.”
“Are you certain?”
I leaned back in thought. I hadn’t seen his eyes flash red like I once saw a demon-possessed human do. But I knew Ryan had watched the ghosts, and he’d taken a keen interest in my pendant, so… “Pretty sure.”
“Why?”
Sighing, I squeezed my eyes shut. With Miss Prim’s twenty questions, I really wasn’t getting anywhere with the information search. “Let’s say I wasn’t the only living being at the charity event Saturday night observing all details of the su
pernatural show.”
“A demon was at the Ghostly Ball?”
“Please stop asking so many questions. I’m trying to work.”
Silence filled the room. Blissful peace. Music to my—
“Why would a demon want to attend our ball?”
“He was looking for someone who is Irish, or perhaps a descendant from Ireland.”
“Oh, like Siobhan.”
“Who?”
“She works for the Irish Cultural Association,” Miss Prim said. “It was written on her name tag that she’s Irish. All of the people with the organization wore name tags, and hers said Galway, Ireland underneath her name.”
“By any chance does she have reddish hair and blue eyes?”
“That’s her.” Miss Prim leaned against the back of her chair with chest thrust out, a smirk playing at the corner of one lip. “She wore that lovely green dress. Were I alive, I’d ask her where she bought it. Hey?”
“What?”
“You could ask her.”
Choice of suitors—not dresses—would be the subject agenda once the woman was found.
“Oh, perfect!” Miss Prim shot to her feet, smiling in her obvious disregard for my lack of accord. Verbal or otherwise. “And this is why I tell Margaret a ghost should always have at least one human as a friend. Call Siobhan at the Irish Cultural Association office and… why are you staring at me like that? Your eyebrows… they’re stretched pretty high on your forehead. Perhaps you should—”
“Why didn’t I think of this?” Shaking my head, I redirected my Internet search until I had the organization’s phone number.
“Think of what?” Miss Prim asked. “You’re going to ask her about the dress?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
I held up my hand to shush the excitable ghost as the phone call I’d just placed was answered. By a female speaking with an Irish lit—one that put Aunt Kate’s Americanized mix to shame. Score.
“Hello, I’m looking for Siobhan.”
“This is she.”
“My name is Kiara, and I was given your name Saturday night as the person to speak with regarding volunteering with the organization.”
There was a brief pause. “Not a lot of people be wantin’ to volunteer, but I’m sure Shirley would love to have ya here.”
“Great. How about I stop by and—”
“Kiara.” Maude burst into the office like a gust of wind. Icy cold wind. Weird. When had she learned that trick? “Desiree has not returned my calls. What did you do?”
“I’ll stop by shortly,” I said into the phone before hanging up the receiver. Pushing back my chair, I stood up on trembling legs. “Desiree will call. I’ve spoken with her, and she’s not canceling her contract.”
Maude stared. A slight flare had lifted her nostrils before she sucked in a loud breath. “I expect you to have Desiree on a date this week with John… Jeff…”
“James Hogan.”
“Right.” Maude’s gaze snapped back to mine with narrowed eyes. “This date had better be perfect.”
“Ms. Taggart, I promise it will—”
“If Trashae wasn’t so keen on working with you, I would have fired you. Make no mistake about it.” Maude marched to her office door and then paused. “Why aren’t you working?”
“I am,” I said, spreading my arms wide to encompass the papers strewn across the surface of my desk. The fact that it was all lists and thoughts about how to track down Ryan was on a need-to-know basis. Maude most certainly didn’t need to know.
“We had two new clients last week. Where are my reports?”
“Uh, well…”
“You have nothing. I want something by five o’clock.”
Maude’s office door slammed shut, ending the hostile accusations, and I’d never before heard a sweeter sound. Except for when Miss Prim was able to shut up for five minutes straight.
I glanced over to the talkative ghost who stared back.
“I think she’s serious,” Miss Prim whispered.
Yeah, me too. That thought pounded inside my head ten minutes later while I pounded the pavement. Working was what I was doing all right, but it wasn’t in the form of deducing which information for Maude I wanted to acquire first: if Bridget Reynolds was a hot dog and baseball cap type of girl because she sure hadn’t struck me as the ex-sorority kind, or if Josh Malone preferred coffee shops for first dates. He hadn’t seemed the sports type.
Fifteen minutes later, the final destination of my stalking was reached. The building in front of me was comprised of dirty red brick and thick privacy film covering glass windows, disallowing a peek inside. Irish Cultural Association was spelled out on a small placard glued next to a paint-stripped entrance facing the street. The structure appeared to be one step away from being declared dilapidated. A most unwelcome sight, without a doubt.
I shoved hard at the door to the establishment, but it wouldn’t budge. Then I wizened up and pulled the handle. The hinges gave a piercing protest to my demands, but nonetheless, granted me entrance to a room crowded with desks, filing cabinets, and paper. Mounds of paper. Hopefully replanting trees was one of the charities the organization supported because the Irish Cultural Association had an entire dead forest filling the room.
A room that stood empty to the living. At least, that was my assumption. However, it was hard to determine if a person was hidden, tucked away behind one of the many stacks of documentation.
“Hello?”
A loud thud sounded from the other side of a closed door located on the back wall of the room. Tempted was I to add an Anyone there? but that never worked out well for the one who asked in horror movies. Mouth smartly kept shut in self-preservation. Brain chimed in with a you’ve got a sword and almost the strength of a half-demon. Booty kicking to commence.
Mouth was wise, yet Brain had a valid point. Logic, however, dictated that Siobhan was here, and no doubt the person who’d made the thump in the back room. Trust is what I would need from her in order to protect her life, and if our first meeting was via the tip of my sword being pointed at her chest because I thought she was a horror-monster wannabe, her trust would certainly be hard for me to earn. Yup, that was a very logical explanation for why my feet remained rooted to the front entrance of the office—until the door behind me jerked open, causing me to stumble backward, that was.
“Oh, hello.” A tall woman wearing a loose, drab dress stepped into the room. “May I help you?”
“Do you work here?”
“Yes, I do.” She pushed thin spectacles up the bridge of her nose. “How may I help you?”
“Saturday…” I cleared my throat. “I was at the event Sat—”
“What you saw was not rigged with wires or created by special lighting effects.”
“Excuse me?”
“You all come in hoping I’ll tell you the spirits who attend our charity event each year aren’t real, but—”
“I know they’re real.”
The woman’s mouth pursed as she looked me over. “You do?”
“Yes,” I said. “But that isn’t why I’m here.”
“Huh.” The woman held out a hand. “Shirley Evergreen.”
“Kiara Blake.” I shook.
“What can I help you with, Ms. Blake?”
“I have a few questions, but first, what is it your organization does exactly?”
“Oh, a little of this and that.” Shirley looked in every direction except for mine. “Why?”
“I thought about joining your meetings. Are there a lot of Irish descendants who attend?”
“Heavens, no.” Shirley’s hand flicked in a dismissal. “People join to either see if we’re always haunted or if… some other things.”
The woman’s gaze had fallen down to stare at a pile of paperwork.
“I came to see Siobhan,” I said. “We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“She should be here.” Shirley’s eyes darted around, and I had to wonder if
the frown lines marring her brow were because in this clustered room a person could be lost for days, and perhaps Shirley shared my concern. “Let me check for her in the back.”
“Thank you.” My smile held until the interior door leading to a back room shut behind her, and then I moved. Seconds was all the time I knew I had. My gaze skimmed over the documents lying on various surfaces. Some of the papers were obviously old, aged in yellow and creased. When I stepped closer to study the words scrawled across one of the pages closest to me, I noticed it. A book that looked quite familiar. The same Celtic Mythology tome as the one I’d temporarily misplaced. What were the odds?
Would they notice? The question begged to be pondered because, with all the documents and books and chaos the room contained, it was highly doubtful one single item would be missed. Tempting. Oh, so tempting. One hand reached toward it and—
The high-pitched scream caused me to jump. My damned nerves didn’t even have time to settle before I was moving. Through the interior door, I entered into another room that was much smaller than the first. Several closed doors lined white walls that formed a perfect square. Offices, most likely. Feet drifted toward the lone open doorway where the tall, thin bespectacled woman with a nice set of vocal cords hovered.
Blood. My vision filled with red as I approached. Siobhan sat slumped behind a desk with arms outstretched. A crusted single-edged razor blade lay next to the limp fingers of her left hand.
My eyes closed while my mind made useless attempts to block the horrific image I could never unsee. Too late. Too damn late. So much for me being some heroic savior. There would be no saving anyone that day.
Truth be told, with Siobhan’s no-show to greet me when I’d entered the office, it really wasn’t all that startling to discover I’d been too late with my mission. No, it was the dead body draped across the floor near the door that shocked the hell out of me.
Ryan.
The demon was dead, and there wasn’t a mark on his body.
Chapter 15
Destined to Reap (Reaping Fate Book 3) Page 16
