Seventh Grave and No Body

by Darynda Jones

  “Doesn’t matter. He fought with us side by side yesterday. We owe him our trust.” Then I thought about Reyes’s words. He could have fought for an ulterior motive just as easily as anything noble. I had no idea what that motive would be, however. “Okay, but just in case,” I added before he came out of stasis completely, “what’s his real name?”

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Osh. Osh Villione.”

  He nodded. “The Villione is new, but his name really is Osh. It’s short for Osh’ekiel.”

  “Osh’ekiel. And because I know this, I have power over him?”

  “You do. Just like you do me.”

  I grinned, never believing for a minute I had power over a man named Reyes Alexander Farrow. Or an offspring of Lucifer named Rey’aziel. Either way. “What’s on your plate today?” I asked him.

  He gave me a once-over, his dark eyes shimmering in the early morning light. “You.”

  “Do I need to leave?” Garrett asked from the sofa.

  Reyes and I answered simultaneously, one with a yes and one with a no. Three guesses as to who said what.

  Garrett shrugged and went back to reading the news on his phone.

  “No,” I said to Reyes. “I mean workwise. I have several stops to make today, and if you’re going to insist on tagging along, we need to get our schedules straight.”

  “I don’t think now is a good time to be leaving your apartment,” he said.

  “It’s daytime. The perfect time. I still have a job to do, Reyes.”

  “I figured as much. I cleared my schedule. I’m all yours.”

  “Sweet,” I said, offering him a flirtatious wink.

  He bent to offer me a kiss on my earlobe and whispered, “He’s out,” a microsecond before he pushed me out of harm’s way and lifted Osh out of the recliner by his throat.

  Garrett had caught me to him and held me as Reyes threw Osh across my living room and against the wall to our bedroom.

  I screamed something unintelligible as Osh fell to the floor, landing on his hands and the balls of his feet like an animal. He had just enough time to look up from underneath his lashes, his gaze furious, when Reyes body-slammed him again, this time bracing him high against the wall.

  “Who summoned them?” he asked, his voice sharp with vehemence.

  Osh smiled down at him, as though he’d longed for the entertainment. Then he easily broke Reyes’s hold and attacked.

  What happened next defied the laws of physics. They moved so fast, too fast for my mind to register as they each fought for dominance. I made out a flip here that shook the building’s foundation, and a toss there that almost took out my west wall. I tried to yell for them to stop, but it did no good.

  Garrett scrambled out of the way as Cookie screamed in the background, but I couldn’t tear my gaze from the domestic dispute happening in front of me and all around me at once.

  Their movements were animalistic, agile and graceful and yet fierce, utterly deadly like those of a seasoned predator. And they moved so fast, they disappeared for split seconds at a time.

  Having no other choice, I filled my lungs with air and focused. “Stop,” I said, forgoing the Latin and getting down to business.

  When time slowed, the fighting began to look like an MMA fight I’d seen on TV. The MMA fighters were fast, but I could still see what they were doing. Now, everything froze except the two brawlers who were literally tearing my living room apart. They were moving at almost a normal speed. But they were still moving. So I took it to another level. I centered my energy, let it build, then sent it out in one solid wave. “Quiesce,” I commanded, and finally even the two prizefighters slowed until they didn’t move.

  It would take them a minute to realize what I’d done, to join me in my current time zone. Before that happened, I walked toward the frozen scene. Reyes had Osh on the ground, his fist barely an inch from plummeting into Osh’s face. But Osh was still grinning and it didn’t take long to figure out why. His elbow was headed straight for Reyes’s left eye.

  I should have just let them continue. If not for my apartment, a space I considered sacred, I would have let them rip each other apart.

  Either time began to slip, or they were adjusting to my shift and the fight would recommence any second. I couldn’t let that happen. I quickly knelt beside them, placed a hand first on Reyes’s chest, and said, “Rey’aziel, suffoca.” Then I placed my other hand on Osh’s head and said, “Osh’ekiel, dormi.”

  This would either work or I would die. I was rooting for the former. I was very pro-life.

  I bit down and said softly, “Redi,” commanding time to come back.

  And boy, did it. As always, time crashed into me hard. Stunned me. But I’d taken it further this time, and the bounce-back felt like a brick wall slamming into me. I held my ground. If I was as all-powerful as everyone kept telling me, I would soon have two very cooperative boys on my hands. If not, I was about to get the ever-loving crap knocked out of me. There was no way they could stop the punches they’d thrown that fast.

  As the brick wall shattered and I moved between increments of time, I felt like the world had splintered into a million pieces and gravity pulled at me from every direction until I would be ripped limb from limb. I braced myself and fought through it, tumbling back to the present where two men were in the midst of beating each other to death.

  I lowered my lids and waited for the blow that would surely end my life. At the very least, it would mess up my hair. The two demons in the room may have been strong enough to absorb such powerful blows, to shake them off and go back for more, but I had a feeling my delicate ass would crumble into dust after the first one.

  I clenched my teeth and waited. Nothing happened.

  Well, a lot happened, but I didn’t get hit. Instead, Cookie’s scream shot through me like a battle cry. The man under my left hand collapsed mid-punch, going completely limp under my palm, and the other one, the only one in the room with a fallen angel as a father, doubled over, gasping for air.

  I let him suffer awhile, just long enough to get his attention and for his face to turn red from either lack of oxygen or extreme anger, I couldn’t be sure.

  “Anhela,” I said, letting him breathe again.

  He collapsed onto his hands and knees, drinking in huge gulps of air, and in that moment, a flashback hit me so hard and so fast, I almost buckled as well.

  I lunged toward him, cradled his head, fought the images swarming my mind.

  The first time I’d seen Reyes in the alley that horrible night, when he’d managed to escape Earl Walker and collapsed onto the frozen ground by a Dumpster, he’d been on his hands and knees, gasping in pain, struggling to get air into his abused body.

  How could I do to him what Earl had done? How could I ever cause him pain? Refuse him air?

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my eyes stinging with emotion. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  He pulled away to look at me and flashed me a pained grin. “Good girl,” he said, and I felt pride well within him, a fact that astonished me. “You’re getting more and more powerful every day. Just like I said you would.”

  “I didn’t mean to do that, Reyes. I’m so sorry.”

  “No,” he said, coughing into a shoulder, “no, that is exactly what you need to learn to survive. You did the right thing.”

  Cookie’s scream slowly died down and ended with a little squeak as Reyes and I looked at the sleeping beauty on my floor.

  “He didn’t summon the Twelve, Reyes.”

  “Dutch,” he began, but I held up a hand to stop him.

  “I know what you’re going to say. He was the only one who could have. But there are others on this plane we don’t know about. For all we know, your father could be on this plane. He could have allowed them to escape, then followed them through the gate.”

  He stiffened. “It would be just like him to send the Twelve after us. He used them for his dirty work. They were created for his di
rty work. And his entertainment.”

  “See? Osh didn’t do it. I can feel his desire to help us just as easily as you can. His desire for us to win. He’s not exactly a fan of your father’s. Why would you attack him like that?”

  Still shirtless, Reyes lowered himself to a sitting position, his wide shoulders resting against Sophie, and braced an arm on one knee. I knelt beside Osh, touched his face. He looked like an angel. He looked like a child.

  “I don’t know,” Reyes said. “I’m getting desperate. If we don’t find out who summoned them, who controls them, we may never win this.”

  “We have to,” I said, matter-of-fact. “For Beep, Reyes, we have to.”

  “I know.” He nodded toward Osh. “What is it about him that you trust so much?”

  “I’m not really sure. I feel like he’s… important. That’s all.”

  “If you’d seen him in hell —”

  “The same can be said about you, Rey’aziel,” I reminded him.

  “Point taken. By the way,” he said, looking at the mass destruction he’d caused, “how the fuck did you completely incapacitate two of the strongest demons ever to walk through the fires of hell?”

  I shrugged. “Latin. Works every time. Though so does English and Ancient Aramaic and Farsi and pretty much any of the thousands of languages we know. Not sure why Latin. It just feels right. You know, when I wake him up, he’s going to be pissed.”

  The wickedest Cheshire grin I’d ever seen spread across Reyes’s lovely face. “I’m counting on it.”

  Cookie squeaked. I had to agree with her.

  Turns out, angry demons actually do wake up swinging. I was sure I’d heard that somewhere. Maybe growing up in church or at a séance in middle school where a girl named Rachel Dunn said she’d been in league with the devil since she was seven. Because she’d been so young, I always assumed she’d been talking about little league. Probably coach pitch, but one never knows. It could have been juniors. She could have been an aficionado.

  After I soothed an extremely angry OshKosh – at the same time learning that calling him OshKosh did not help his mood – he stormed out of the apartment, his temperament blisteringly hot. And a small part of him had been hurt by Reyes’s accusation. Not the attack itself, though. He seemed to thrive on violence, but I’d felt the same reaction from Reyes. They were like boys wrestling in a backyard called Charley’s apartment.

  “It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,” I reminded them when they literally growled at each other. “Or a testicle.” I stepped between them when they came within reach of each other. “Do not make me angry again.”

  Instead of challenging me, or possibly out of respect, Osh left.

  “Eggs?” a very nervous Cookie asked from the kitchen.

  Amber had come running with the sound of World War III echoing out of my apartment. I was surprised, once again, that no one had sicced 5-0 on us. Gawd, I loved calling the cops 5-0. It’s the little things.

  Fortunately, Amber had missed the best, most violent parts of the morning, but she saw Osh storm out and took it upon herself to glare at me all through breakfast. Me! Her favorite albeit only and not particularly blood-related aunt! To say the tension could have been cut with a knife would have been an understatement. A regular knife wouldn’t have scored it. Maybe a machete. A really sharp one. Like Kill Bill–katana sharp.

  As worried as he was, Garrett left soon after. He had a date with a skip and a cool five grand if he brought him in. Reyes took his leave to visit George, his deliciously sexy shower, as I opted for another cup of devil’s blood and a quick check to see what was on the agenda for the day. According to my online scheduler, which I never actually used, I was scot-free. I could whittle away the day if I wanted to. Sadly, that was not the case. Despite the raging state of my headache, I had things to see and people to do. I was just about to head to my own shower, the less spectacular but just as useful Roman, when Cookie barged in.

  “Turn to Channel 7,” she said, taking up my remote and turning to channel 7, leaving me to wonder why she told me to do it at all.

  The TV blared to life, causing my ears to bleed before she turned down the volume.

  “Though Reyes Farrow had no comment,” the newswoman said into the camera, the same one who’d assaulted Reyes in the bar, “he did assure me that his lawyers are looking into the matter. Back to you, Tom.”

  “What is she talking about?” I asked Cookie.

  “Robert. She said that Reyes and his lawyers are looking into suing not only the city, but Robert as well, since he was the lead detective on Reyes’s case ten years ago.”

  “Reyes is going to sue Uncle Bob?” I asked, confounded.

  “No, Reyes is not suing anyone.”

  I turned as Reyes entered the room in a towel.

  “But she said other things,” Cookie said, sending a worried expression toward Reyes. And I had to hand it to her. Her gaze dropped to the towel only once. Maybe twice. “She seemed to know an awful lot about you. About what you were like in prison. And how you reacted during the trial.”

  “Really?” I asked, pinning him with an accusing glare. “You must have had a lot to say yesterday.”

  He shrugged. “All she got out of me was ‘no comment’ and ‘stop touching my ass.’”

  Ugh. He just had to say that. He knew how I felt about other women fondling his ass. Normally it was kind of funny, since I got to touch it anytime I wanted, but for some reason, the thought of news chick touching those steely buttocks did not sit well with Betty White. Her right ventricle contracted in a jealous rage.

  Reyes sucked air in through his teeth when Betty’s reaction hit him. That kind of jealousy felt like microscopic razor blades slicing across the skin. It was painful and oddly seductive. That combined with the towel, and I’d never leave my apartment.

  “She showed up here this morning, hoping for that interview,” I told him.

  He frowned and a spark of anger flared to life inside him. At least I knew he hadn’t invited her.

  “What did you tell her?”

  “No,” I said, tearing my gaze away to address Cookie. “What kinds of stories? What exactly did she talk about?”

  Cookie turned off the morning news and put the remote back on the side table. “She said that he saved a man’s life during a lockdown and that he took out three assassins sent to kill him on his first day in the general area thing. Whatever that’s called.”

  “Neil Gossett,” I said through clenched teeth, hunting for my phone. “And it’s called gen pop.”

  “Deputy Warden Gossett?” Reyes asked me. “He would know better.”

  “No, he should know better.” I punched his name into my contacts and pressed the number to his cell. Phone. Not prison. They didn’t have phones in prison cells as far as I knew, not that Neil was actually inside.

  “Well, if it ain’t Charley Davidson,” he said, answering in a most chipper mood. If he’d seen the newscast, he had to know why I was calling.

  “Hey, Neil,” I said, being chipper right back.

  Cookie leaned in and whispered, “I’m heading to the office. Stop by before causing any trouble.”

  I gave her an incredulous look and pointed to myself in question.

  “What’s up, sweet cheeks?” Oh, yeah, Neil knew. He was being way too nice. We’d gone to high school together, and the only time he was nice to me was when he wanted to date my sister, Gemma.

  “Well, for starters, Reyes and I are affianced. And we have a bun in the oven. Her name is Beep.”

  “That’s not a name you hear every day.”

  I didn’t see Neil for ten years after high school, and when I did, it was only because of Reyes. Neil was a deputy warden at the state pen in Santa Fe, where Reyes was residing. But today would mark a new era in our friend-ish-ship. I was about to bust his hussy ass.

  “While we’re on the subject, did you just happen to spill your guts to a very pretty yet skankish newswoman latel
y who may or may not have been asking questions about the father of Beep?”

  “You make it sound so dirty.”

  “Neil,” I said, appalled. “Isn’t that, like, against regulations or something?”

  “Technically, yeah. But she wined and dined me.”

  “Meaning she got you drunk enough to spill your slutty guts.”

  “Something like that.”

  “You are such a slut.”

  “I am. I really am. But she was a charmer.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she was.”

  “No follow-through, though. After all the flirting and innuendo, she said she was saving herself for Superman. So, yeah, she was a nut. It’s become a pattern.”

  “Women looking for Superman?”

  “No, nutcases hitting on me.”

  “Can’t say I didn’t warn you. You’re one of those men who wants a lady in public but a whore in the bedroom.”

  “Um, that’s pretty much every man alive.”

  “Oh, right. My bad. Well, don’t get any STDs in your quest for happiness.”

  “Is that the only reason you called? To bust my balls?”

  “Duh.” I hung up. At least we knew who news lady’s source was. Not that it did anyone any good, but it killed the curiosity burning inside Betty White.

  11

  “A wine, please.”

  “Ma’am, this is McDonald’s.”

  “Okay, a McWine, please.”

  — MCDONALD’S DRIVE-THROUGH, 2 A.M.

  I let the scalding water wash over my aching head while dodging a stray departed animal that was part Rottweiler and part waterfowl. Sharing a shower with a hundred-pound Rottie was not my idea of sterile, even if she was incorporeal. And there were safety concerns. I could slip and break something vital.

  Alas, Artemis didn’t care. She jumped on a stream of water as it splashed against the tub floor, her ears cocked and ready. She growled at it, focusing all her attention on stopping the rogue water stream when another popped up and demanded her immediate attention. The water surged right through her, of course, but she didn’t seem to notice as she pounced, growling to give it a stern warning. To give them all a stern warning. No splashing allowed! So it is written. So shall it be done.