ENTANGLED
Page 10
I’d forgotten he stood with me during the battle, and tripped into his chest as I turned. When he caught me close, I realized I still held the digital recorder in my hand.
“Here,” I said, shoving the device in his chest. “I think it ran for that whole event.”
“Uh, that’s great, but are you all right?” He peered into my face, then looped an arm around my sagging shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you another bottle of water and a snack.”
I stood straighter and shook my head. “No, Brick, not now. I just need to get home.”
“Then let me drive you. Don can follow and bring me back.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I just, well, I hope you got what you wanted tonight because I won’t be doing an encore.”
o0o
Two days later, I’d more or less recovered my strength. Da informed me I’d lent more of my own energy to the ghosts than I realized. That’s why I’d been so wiped out.
Brick hadn’t contacted me, but Martha called to say her home was blissfully quiet again, and that Zavier had found another piece of jewelry she’d been hunting.
I smiled at her message, but not so much at the spate of calls to cancel consultations and interventions. Of course, I’d known that hauntings might subside when the local spooks no longer felt threatened, but I was left with precious few clients to see in the coming weeks. I needed an infusion of funds fast.
I also needed to stop thinking about Brick, my attraction to him, and his lack of communication. So, when Saturday dawned cool and clear, I threw on my oldest work clothes and headed to the garage to sort through generations of what I hoped might be valuable junk. If I didn’t unearth a treasure or two to help pay my taxes, I’d invade the attic next.
By noon my back yard was pot-marked with furniture pieces, over fifty boxes, and old bicycles. Only a few items appeared to qualify as vintage or antique so far, but I held hope for what the boxes might be hiding.
I traipsed in the back door to grab a bite of lunch, and had just entered the living room when the front door burst open and a man holding a huge bouquet of fall flowers stumbled over the threshold.
“Brick? What are you doing here?”
“Call off your Da,” he ground out, “and I’ll tell you.”
I snapped the order to cease, and a chuckle echoed.
Brick straightened his blue polo shirt, closed the door, and strode across the room. “How are you, Colleen?”
“Surprised.” And desperately working to deny the thrill of seeing him again.
“Recovered from our big night?”
Something about the sparkle in his eye said more than words. “Did you come to tell me you got paranormal evidence from Halloween?”
“We got a mother lode of it, and the team is urging me to put it on YouTube. But that’s not why I came by,” he said as he paced closer. “It’s not why I brought you flowers.”
He stood so near that a petal of one deep orange mum tickled my chin, and his breath fanned my face. “Then why are you here?”
“I had to apologize again. You may not like the term, Colleen, but you are a rare medium. One who is the real deal. One I’d work with again any time, if you’re interested in a limited partnership.”
“How limited?”
“Let’s discuss it over dinner,” he said with a slow, sexy smile. “Is seven o’clock tonight too soon?”
As it happened, seven was perfect. As perfect as the kiss we shared on my doorstep at the end of the evening.
A promise of more to come.
Author note and bio:
A cancer diagnosis is shocking, devastating, life changing. My grandmother’s fatal illness began with breast cancer, and far too many of my family members and friends have battled or will battle this disease. My short story is dedicated to all those sisters. Please do breast self-exams, have yearly mammograms, and be health proactive in every way. Survive and Thrive!
Nancy Haddock is the national bestselling and award-winning author of the “Oldest City Vampire” series published by Berkley, available in trade paperback and e-book formats. Her mystery-romances are set in her beloved St. Augustine, Florida where she often meets visiting readers for coffee.
To find Nancy in cyberland, check out these links:
Website
Newsletter
Facebook
Twitter
Sweet Demon
Misty Evans
Chapter One
We save what we love. I love humans, even though I'm not one, and while I can't save them from themselves, I can protect them from supernaturals like me. My name is Kali Sweet and I’m a vengeance demon. I run Sweet Investigations and work for the Bridge Council, the supernatural world’s version of the Justice Department.
A week before Halloween in the Windy City, the trees were leafless skeletons against a murky sky, bare branches dripping rain. One storm was done, another moving in, and the atmosphere was tight and leaden. In two hours, the Chaos Demons rock band would take center stage at The United Center, a.k.a. the Madhouse on Madison, and the place was already jumping. Fans clogged the parking lots, security was heavy. High pressure shoebox lights laid a haze around the building. A breeze kicked up, scattering a confetti of wet leaves around my feet.
Head down and clinging to the shadows, I passed two tour buses, both emblazoned with the Greek god Chaos logo. In spite of the cool night air and approaching storm, scantily clad female groupies surrounded the buses. Hanging around the women were assorted tattooed and pierced males trying to look badass. A few appraised me, eyes gleaming and heads titled with interest, but not so much as a snicker or a whistle accosted me. While I looked like a male fantasy come to life in my short leather skirt, thigh-high boots and Red Riding Hood cape, they knew a true badass when they saw one.
As I passed one of the ginormous plate glass windows in the front, the dull roar of drums, electric guitars and keyboards thumped against it like a lion trying to roar its way out. The band was warming up, the lure of music tantalizing. I wanted nothing to do with the Chaos Demons, but my MP3 player was in the pocket of my cape, along with my weapons, tempting me to listen to my latest playlist. Tonight, though, I had to keep my senses clear and my wits on high alert. Music would only distract me.
I kept walking.
One of the things I love about humans is their power to create. Music, literature, movies... their ability to invent and design new worlds fascinates me. I covet that ability, perhaps valuing it more than they do.
Finding the service door I was looking for at the rear of the building, I also found a six-foot-five, two hundred and sixty-five pound security guard blocking it. Beefy hands settled on his nonexistent waist when he saw me. “Kali Sweet. What’chu doin’ here, girl?”
“Hi, Hone.” A cross between a Hawaiian fire dancer and a sumo wrestler, Hone could intimidate an entire NFL team. Me? I saw a teddy bear under the immense brawn and glowering attitude.
Even though he knew who I worked for and my status among the supernatural crowd, I'm a stickler for doing things by the rules. I flashed him my badge, gave him my most professional face. “Bridge Council business.”
Security guard, bodyguard, bouncer, you name it, Hone had been my muscle on a couple of jobs in the past, some for the Council, a few for Sweet Investigations. The outer package was just for show—he could read minds, and that's what made him the better fighter, no matter who he was up against.
He scratched the top of his buzzed head. “Here? Tonight? Before the concert? It's not one of the band members, is it? Boss ain't gonna like that. Bad for profits if the lead loses his voice right before the show.”
If I ever got hold of him, the lead singer of the Chaos Demons was going to lose more than his voice. But that wasn't Council business, that was personal, and I wasn't allowed to exact personal revenge. Ever. Period.
Hone’s boss still wasn't going to like me. “I'm delivering a warning tonight, and it isn't to one of the band members.”
&
nbsp; Hone studied me for two seconds before he guessed my mission. “Nudra? No. Way.”
I nodded, and Hone’s gaze swept the shadows behind me, looking for my backup. “You alone?”
Two little words, but his tone suggested it was a crazy idea to face the vampire king without some muscle. I fingered a short stake, sharpened to a nice point, inside my cape. “Nudra and I are just going to have a brief conversation. That's all.”
I had the coming encounter planned out in my head down to the last detail. I’d deliver the Council’s message with my usual Italian flair mixed with a touch of American snarkiness, Nudra would try to seduce me with his East Indian charm. When that didn't work, he’d threaten me with his typical vampire king bluster. In the end, though, no blood would be shed. I'd wrap things up and be back on the South Side to celebrate my friend Neve’s birthday before she finished her first beer.
Moving aside, Hone opened the door for me. “Nudra doesn't like the Council stepping on his toes.”
Vampire kings craved power as much as they craved human blood, and they always considered themselves above the laws of both human and supernatural worlds. “I'm the messenger this round, not the enforcer.”
“You know what they say about shooting the messenger?” Hone's teeth flashed a bluish white in the dim glow from the overhead light. He waved me through the door with a dramatic flourish of his enormous arm, looking like Chicago's most dangerous doorman.
“Things go bad…” He tapped the side of his head as I passed through the door. “You call me.”
Nice to know his loyalties lay with me even though he was working that night for Nudra. Human or supernatural, times were tough. Jobs were scarce. I’d drink a gallon of holy water before hanging a sign around my neck that said, “Will work for vamps,” but I didn't blame Hone for taking any job he could get. “You still treating Renee well?”
He laid a hand over his heart. “Aphrodite set me up with the perfect woman this round. Renee’s amazing. We’re talking about getting married.”
Told you he was a teddy bear.
I squeezed his arm. “I'll tell Di. She'll be thrilled, and we'll both be expecting a wedding invitation.”
“You got it.”
When the door shut behind me, my happiness over Hone’s good news fled, my confidence wavering, and a sense of dread attaching itself to my back like a horny teenage boy. I hadn't confronted a vampire of Nudra's level in fifty years. My last experience with one had ended in a lot of blood. Mine, his and a couple of humans. The memory still made me sick to my stomach.
Evading inside security, I circumvented the elevators and took the stairs. My heeled boots sounded like gunshots on the concrete, echoing in the stairwell. I silenced them with a touch of my fingers, the magic coating the shoe soles, and I made my way to the management level where the offices were located. The tha-wump-wump-wump of drums and the whine of guitars vibrated over my skin. A hard-driving rock song was hard to resist, but this one, like all the songs the Chaos Demons had built their successful career on, made me want to gouge my eyes out while jumping up and down barefoot on hot coals. Thinking about Radison Beaumont in any capacity, his role as lead singer of the Demons no exception, always resulted in the same visceral response.
Big girl panties, Kali. After nearly three hundred years, I shouldn't even remember il pistolino’s name, much less how much he’d hurt me, but hearing the music the half-human, half-chaos demon created, feeling it vibrate over my skin, was like the touch of his fingers on my body all over again. My pulse throbbed in tune with the drum and my heart squeezed with the same sharpness as when Rad had left me.
In some ways he never had. Every night, the past and Rad haunted my dreams. One dream, really. The only dream I ever have. Rad kissing me, swearing his love for me against my lips as he peels off my corset. Me, heart thumping and hands shaking, swearing mine in return. But just at the moment our physical union affirms our emotional one, Rad snaps his fingers and a silver knife appears in his hand. He shoves the blade through my heart and I wake, screaming his name. Every. Single. Night.
Which is why I work nights now instead of days. A few years ago, I’d hoped changing my sleep and dream patterns would throw my subconscious into new territory. Didn’t work. Every day, it’s the same rerun. Rad, love, silver dagger.
Shows you what the heart, even one belonging to a demon, is capable of.
Shoving all thoughts about Rad into the hole of scorn I’d dug for him years ago, I refocused my thoughts. Warning or not, I was about to go head-to-head with a vampire king twice my age. You didn’t get to be that old without having a few tricks up your sleeve. Best to stay focused and on my guard. My magic allowed me certain advantages with supernaturals, but vamps were in the super supernatural category and could match me in almost every one of them.
The hallway was carpeted. Two sets of elevator doors on the right, three closed office doors across from them. Framed concert posters as big as the refrigerator in my loft hung in between the doors. Taylor Swift, Gaga, Black-Eyed Peas. Not my taste, but obviously big names that brought in lots of cha-ching.
An elegant eighteenth century table with a marble top dominated the end of the hall. A giant cut-glass vase filled with blood-red orchids and corkscrew willow limbs sat on top, looking like a floral monster ready to grab unsuspecting visitors. Knowing Nudra’s perverse sense of humor, it might well have been.
Of course, the door closest to the floral arrangement had the name Raj Nudra inscribed on it in flowing Old World script. I took a deep breath and centered myself, making sure I stayed out of reach of the willow branches.
Show no fear. Act like an equal. Those two rules had kept me alive for centuries. I called up my power by rubbing the tips of my ring fingers against my thumbs and mentally stating my mantra, vengeance is mine. A warm glow, invisible to anyone but me, suffused my body from head to toe.
Ignoring the dread leeched to my back, I flung the door open without knocking.
Chapter Two
Raj Nudra, Vampire King of the Central United States, was waiting for me.
Seated behind a mammoth black desk, Nudra appraised me with flat reddish-brown eyes. Two of his minions flanked his sides, arms crossed, weapons in plain sight. Low level demons, good for muscle but who couldn’t think their way out of a coffin.
Nudra leaned back in his chair, long black hair falling across his shoulders as his feminine lips curved up into a smug smile. “Kalina Dolce, what brings you here? Hoping to score front row seats to the concert?” He pointed to a couple of tickets on his desk and then to a bright orange lanyard with a plastic ID protector. “Or perhaps a backstage pass? Word has it, you were once sweet—no pun intended—on Rad Beaumont. If you’re looking to hook up again…” He let the suggestion hang in the air.
No one had called me Kalina Dolce since I'd left Rome in 1910. Kali Sweet was more modern, more American, and it didn't remind me every day of what had happened to my family and friends. Didn't make me catch my breath in fear when someone called me by it, or make my gut cramp with guilt when I saw it written on a random envelope in the mail pile.
I shut down the bloody memory the name called up. Now wasn't the time to revisit the past. In fact, it was never a good time to visit the past. Under the circumstances, however, I recognized Nudra’s one-two punch. He'd caught me off guard with his use of my old name and knowledge about my relationship with Rad. He obviously had anticipated my visit and planned accordingly.
Blood-sucking bastard.
Rule one when dealing with vampires, always have a ready escape. Leaving the door open, I removed my Bridge badge from the inside pocket of my cape, regaining my composure as I did so. The weight of the shield reassured me. The way the overhead light bounced off the gold reminded me of the responsibility I held. Nudra was king of a bunch of undead vamps. Big deal. I was a member of the Bridge Council and the best damn vengeance demon on the face of planet Earth.
I shoved my badge in his face. Sniffed the air
as if he stunk as I flicked the hood off my head. Italian flair, check.
Offense taken, he straightened ever so subtly as I glared down at him. “You've crossed the line with humans again, using them as blood slaves. Trafficking them across state lines and selling them to the highest bidders. That's two strikes this year. One more, and...”
“You’ll send me to my coffin for a time out?”
East Indian charm, check.
“One more, and the next time you see me, I’ll have pliers in my hand.”
His flat eyes sized me up, and then he tsked. “Such an inhumane way to remove my fangs.”
I fished the written warning out of my back skirt pocket and tossed it on the top of his desk. “They're not for your fangs, buddy boy.” American snarkiness, check. “They’re for your balls.”