Personal Demon

by Kelley Armstrong

  The vacuum seal popped, filling the cabin with rich steam.

  "I apologize for interrupting your work." He handed me a white china mug. "It wasn't a council concern, was it? My daughter-in-law would not be pleased." Lucas's wife was Paige Winterbourne, witch delegate to the council.

  "It's not council work," I said. "But they'll expect a report from me--and my editor is expecting a story--so I need to get back before my sources wander off."

  He filled my mug, then topped off his.

  "I still feel responsible for the trouble you and Karl experienced with Tristan," he said finally. "I should have been aware of his activities. In recompense, I wanted to offer you and Karl a job--temporary, of course--and one particularly suited to your talents. You'd be paid, naturally, and I believe it would help you gain valuable skills for your work with the council. I hoped to talk to Karl first, but I have no way of getting in touch with him."

  His gaze settled on me.

  "I don't have his number," I lied, then added a truth. "Anyway, he's in Europe. Indefinitely."

  "Indefinitely?"

  "That's what he said."

  "How unfortunate." He took a long sip of his coffee. "Have you had any experience investigating street gangs, Hope?"

  I shook my head.

  "Still you understand the concept--youths banding together at a time when they feel the need to belong, when they're eager to explore their power. As a young supernatural, you probably have some sense of what that's like yourself."

  I didn't reply, waiting for him to get to the point.

  "We raise our children to hide their powers and fit into human society, and that doesn't always sit well with them. Some form criminal gangs--mostly male, late teens to midtwenties, when they're coming into their full powers. They're better organized than human gangs--more focused and less casually violent, though not above using violence to achieve their goals."

  Sounded like a youth version of a Cabal.

  "These gangs tend to be most prevalent in Cabal cities, because there's a high concentration of supernaturals there and because they know we'll cover their indiscretions to protect ourselves. We could disband them, but we've decided it's wiser to let them have their fun, safely. They get the rebellion out of their system, and when they come looking for a job..."

  "The Cabals are close by."

  He nodded. "The problem is that every now and then, their tolerance for us wears thin. One of those gangs--a particularly well-organized one in Miami--has been the source of some rumblings. I need to find out what they're up to."

  "So you want a ringer. A young supernatural with undercover experience who isn't well-known in the community. That's where I come in."

  Even as I spoke, my pulse quickened, thinking of how it could be done, how much I'd learn, how much fun I'd have. The last thought threw on the brakes. I was imagining what it would be like to lap up all that criminal chaos guilt-free because, hey, I was only fulfilling a debt, maybe even helping avoid a violent confrontation between this gang and the Cabal.

  For guilt-free chaos, I had to stick to my council work. With them I always knew I was working on the right side.

  "I've never done deep undercover," I said. "I probably couldn't even play gang material. My background--"

  "I know your background, Hope, and we'd work with that. You'd play a version of yourself. With Karl's help, you could pull this off easily."

  "I'm still not seeing how Karl fits in. He certainly can't pass for college age."

  "No, but he can protect you."

  "I can read chaotic thoughts. I might not have werewolf strength, but if someone's about to pull a gun on me, I'll know it."

  "You may need to break into an office or apartment..."

  "Karl's taught me the basics."

  Benicio eased back into his seat. "Perhaps you wouldn't need him, then. That would certainly be better. I'd rather not delay, tracking him down and jetting him back."

  "No, I--I didn't mean I'd do it."

  Benicio arched his brows as if to say "What did you mean then?" Even as denials sprang to my lips, the demon in my blood whispered "Why not? You owe him. Get it over with."

  I set my mug in the holder. "No. I'm sorry. I'm flattered that you'd consider me for this, but I'm sure you need it done right away and I have a training session next week--"

  "You'd be home by then. We'll fly to Miami now, you'll take the initiation test this afternoon and be in the gang tonight."

  In the gang tonight...I wet my lips, then swallowed and managed a laugh. "Today? That seals it, then. There's no way I could leave today. I'm expected back in Philly tonight with--"

  I glimpsed a transport passing on the left. We were on a four-lane major road.

  "Where are we? I said to circle the block--"

  "My driver is taking a longer route, giving us more time to talk."

  I hesitated, but he'd left his other bodyguard at the park, meaning he wasn't shanghaiing me.

  "As for your story," Benicio said. "I already have people investigating and they'll give you everything you need to write it. Then you can call True News later and tell them you're on the trail of a bigger, related story, the details of which I will also provide."

  I plucked at the sodden hem of my skirt, saying nothing.

  "As for Karl," he went on, "you're free to do this job without him, but I will insist on personally notifying Lucas and Paige, and having you speak to them to air any concerns. I'm not going behind my son's back. He's even welcome to come to Miami and supervise the operation."

  I was out of excuses. I should have just said "Sorry, I don't want it," but I couldn't force the lie to my lips.

  No matter what Benicio said, I owed him--and even if he never called it a debt, it gave him an excuse to keep making "offers." This would be an ideal way to get out from under the black cloud of this obligation. A week or less, starting immediately, all contingencies handled, with Lucas and Paige to ensure it was legitimate. I'd break not only the tie to Benicio, but my last one to Karl--the tie that bound us to this debt together.

  It would also be the opportunity I needed to test myself. A year ago I'd had a scare that still gave me nightmares. Thrust into a situation surging with incredible chaos, I'd seen a friend in danger and had, if only for a moment, felt the urge to just sit back and lap up the vibes. I needed to explore my limits, push them, learn how to handle them.

  I turned to Benicio. "I'll do it."

  LUCAS

  1

  SOME PEOPLE ARE BEYOND HELPING. They've dug a hole so deep that no rope is long enough to throw to them and I have to say, "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do."

  I had the shaman's file on my desk, his number right there so I could tell him I wouldn't represent him in his case against the Nast Cabal. But I hated saying no, so instead I was organizing paper clips. I sorted them by size, then by color, as I listened to the tapping of Paige's keyboard across the office divider.

  Why did we have so many varieties of paper clips, when most of our paperwork was electronic? Was it simply that you couldn't have an office without paper clips? Or did they serve a higher purpose--a frivolity to occupy the mind while one was supposed to be working?

  I pushed the clips aside. Postponing the task wouldn't make it easier.

  Just as I reached for the phone, the outside line lit up. Saved by the bell, which echoed down the quiet hall twice before I heard a drowsy "Good morning. Cortez-Winterbourne Investigations." Savannah, our eighteen-year-old ward and temporary executive assistant.

  I waited for my line or Paige's to ring, but the light continued to blink. If it was for Adam, Savannah should realize he wasn't in. Unless we had something exciting on the schedule, he never showed up before nine-thirty.

  Savannah appeared in the doorway. "The telephone is for you, sir," she said, and dropped a curtsey.

  A deep sigh fluttered from the other side of the divider.

  "Hey, he said I needed to conduct my secretarial duties 'in a more for
mal manner.'"

  "He said more businesslike," Paige's disembodied voice answered.

  "Whatever."

  Savannah marched over and perched on the edge of my desk, flipping her skirt over her knees. It'd been a struggle getting her out of blue jeans, but vanity had won out when she'd realized business attire suited her. She'd grown comfortable in the clothes, and in her role. Too comfortable, we worried.

  When Savannah had decided to take a year off after high school and work at the agency, we'd presumed that once she discovered how dull secretarial work could be, she'd eagerly embrace college life. But the deadlines for college application were fast approaching, and the forms lay on her dresser, untouched.

  As I reached for the phone, she said, "Oh, it's your dad."

  My stomach executed a familiar flip-flop. Paige peeked around the barrier, green eyes and frowning mouth framed by long dark hair. She shooed Savannah out, followed her into the hall and closed the door behind them. Their footsteps tapped away down the hall until I was left with the hum of the computer and that blinking phone light.

  I reached for my water glass and took a deep gulp. Yesterday's water--warm and brackish. I took another sip, then answered the phone. "Good morning, Papa."

  "Lucas. This isn't too early, is it?"

  "I've been in since eight."

  "Good, good. How's Paige?"

  And so it went for five minutes. How was Paige? How was Savannah? How was business? Was the new office working out? I had no objection to small talk with my father, but I knew it was only the preliminary step to some less pleasant subject. He'd called at exactly nine Pacific time--the earliest reasonable moment. That could mean it was important or just that he wanted me to think it was. With my father, either was equally likely, and equally a cause for concern.

  "The reason I'm calling..." he finally said.

  "Yes, Papa?"

  "It's Hope Adams. I've offered her a week of contract work investigating a local gang, and she's accepted."

  He went on to explain the situation, in far more detail than it warranted, hammering home the message that he wasn't hiding anything, which almost certainly meant he was.

  "Is this in regards to the debt Hope and Karl owe?" I asked.

  "They don't owe me anything, Lucas. I've told you that. This is an independent project."

  "And Hope in no way feels obligated or coerced?"

  "Absolutely not. She's here on the plane now. You can speak to her if you'd like."

  I flicked a stray paper clip back into the pile. "This seems very sudden. I haven't heard any rumblings of an impending gang insurgence."

  "They've been small so far, but they are there, and it's a problem best nipped in the bud."

  "Particularly if 'nipping it in the bud' provides an excuse to test a young Expisco half-demon, evaluate her powers and demonstrate to her the benefits of Cabal employment."

  He laughed. "I won't say I wouldn't love to have Hope on staff. But I know better than to poach her from the council."

  "Perhaps you should speak to Paige, then. She's the council member, so she's the one who should be apprised--"

  "Which is exactly what I hope you'll do."

  There was no reason to go through me--he was on very good terms with Paige. So what was he up to?

  "Are you concerned about the job, Lucas?" he asked after a moment.

  "Frankly, yes. Hope is a capable young woman, but this could be a dangerous situation, particularly without Karl as backup."

  "Having Karl would be ideal, but he's not available so..." He paused. "I know. Why don't you and Paige come to Miami? Finish up your work today and I'll send the jet for you tonight. You can provide Hope with backup and direct supervision."

  I pinched my nose as I pushed my glasses up. I'd leapt straight into that one.

  My father had done this before, calling with a case that would "benefit" from my attention. And while I was in Miami, he'd pester me to attend board meetings, client dinners, review recent organizational changes...anything to involve me in Cabal life.

  "That won't be necessary," I said. "I'm sure you'll provide her with direct access to Cabal security. I'll oversee her investigation from here."

  "If you change your mind..."

  "I'll let you know. Now, if you'll give me a moment to update Paige, we'd like to speak to Hope."

  HOPE

  GOBLIN ROMEO

  If the situation alarmed Lucas, there was no trace of it in his voice. He was his usual self--calm and serious, words chosen with care, as if he was addressing a courtroom.

  Lucas confirmed everything his father had told me about the gangs. He agreed I was a good choice to infiltrate one and he saw nothing suspicious in his father's proposal. He would monitor the situation from Portland and, if I had any concerns or questions, he was only a phone call away.

  Then Paige came on, and the tone changed. Was I comfortable with the job? How did I feel about it? Did everything seem okay? If the job bothered me at any point, even just a sense that something was amiss, I could call her, day or night--at home, at work or on her cell.

  Not knowing the root of my powers--the chaos hunger was my guilty secret--they saw nothing odd about me taking this job. I was relieving myself of an obligation while gaining some experience, and that seemed perfectly reasonable to them.

  Nor did they suggest the job might be more than I could handle. That would have been the first comment out of Karl's mouth. I chalked that up to age. Karl was at least fifteen years older than me--with a werewolf's slow aging, it was hard to tell exactly--but Paige was my age, and Lucas a year or two older. They could handle a job like this, so they knew I could.

  When I hung up, I relaxed, my mind able to refocus on the task at hand.

  "I need to know more about this gang," I said as Benicio sat across from me. "You said there were rumblings. Exactly what are we talking about? Causing more trouble than usual? Or planning a strike against the Cabal?"

  "The latter, I suspect, though at this point, it is only rumblings. I doubt they're considering anything specific yet. You're only there to get a better idea of the situation."

  He settled back in his seat and opened the window blind, as if that should be all I needed to know.

  "So what are these rumblings?" I pressed.

  He took a moment before answering. "This gang finds its recruits through an outside agent. That agent is also on my payroll, which is how I'll get you in. The gang leader, Guy Benoit, knows that this agent was an employee of mine, before an apparent falling out. Benoit has, of late, been asking him questions about the Cabal."

  "Pumping your guy for information?"

  The corners of Benicio's mouth twitched. "No, Benoit would never be so crude. He's a far cry from your typical street thug, Hope, and you'd do well to keep that in mind when dealing with him. Benoit is a brilliant leader. I sincerely hope to have him on my staff one day, but unfortunately he's not eager to embrace Cabal life."

  A young woman stepped from the back room, phone in hand. Benicio motioned for her to take a message, then waited until she'd retreated before continuing.

  "Guy Benoit is a sorcerer. His father started a small Cabal in Guyana twenty years ago. An ambitious project and one I would have been happy to support, if we hadn't run into a conflict of interest. The Benoit Cabal was disbanded and Guy's mother, a Vodoun priestess, fled with him to Louisiana. Five years ago, Benoit appeared in Miami and toppled the former leader of his gang in a masterful coup."

  "Masterful?"

  "Guy has a reputation for avoiding violence. Even his coup was bloodless. Ruthless, but bloodless. That's one reason I very much hope to hire him someday."

  "After what you did to his family? If he's set up base in Miami, he's obviously looking for revenge, not a job offer."

  Benicio only shrugged, unruffled by my bluntness. "In five years, Guy has given me very little trouble. Perhaps that was the calm before the storm--settling in and quietly getting the lay of the land--but he seemed to
be happy to exact his revenge simply by lining his pockets at our expense, taking advantage of the Cabal's willingness to protect the gangs. It's only recently that he's begun asking my agent vague questions about our security force and our general organization. That must be significant. As for what it portends..."

  "Finding out is my job."

  He nodded.

  FAITH EDMONDS WAS the undercover name Benicio had chosen for me. A rich college girl, Faith had quit school to enjoy a six-month stint of self-indulgence in Miami--parentally funded in exchange for a promise to return to her studies in the fall. The persona came with a South Beach apartment and a full set of ID, including platinum credit cards to buy a suitable wardrobe.

  First, though, I had to pass the initiation. That afternoon, I'd meet a gang liaison who screened potential recruits. Benicio assured me the test would be only a formality. A rare Expisco half-demon would be a prize for any gang, and I was coming highly recommended by the recruiter on Benicio's payroll. The path had been groomed for me--I just needed to follow it.

  ONLY IN MIAMI can you find a gang agent in a beach tent. Before I headed out, I bought suitable camouflage--bikini, sarong and sandals. In the store the bikini had looked lime green. Out in the sunlight, it turned neon. Another typical Hope Adams fashion disaster. I considered trying again, but a glance around the beach assured me I wasn't the most outrageously dressed. With a big pair of sunglasses, I blended right in. Even had the tan, though mine came with no risk of skin cancer.

  I'd been to Miami before, but there's something deliciously surreal about standing on the sand under the blazing sun mere hours after being splashed with slush. While I knew I had a job to do, I couldn't resist taking the longer route, strolling along the beach.

  As I wove through the carpet of rainbow-hued bikinis and umbrellas, I kept my face uplifted to the sky like a sun-starved flower, and almost tripped over a few outstretched legs. Sandals hanging over my arm, I scrunched through the hot sand to the shore, letting the ocean lap around my feet. When the breeze changed, the smell of empanadas broke through the heady mix of sea salt and sunscreen, and my stomach growled.

  I paused by a vendor selling Latin sodas, drawn by the bright, unfamiliar labels, throat constricting as I eyed the sweaty, ice-cold bottles. But walking into this meeting casually sipping a soda wouldn't set the right tone. So I pushed on and quickened my pace until I saw the tent ahead.