22
"You can change your mind, you know." Malachai 's voice came through the tiny earpiece behind my left ear. Woven into my plait, it was invisible to the naked eye.
"Why would I want to do that?" I plopped down on a bench a block from the lair. Mindful of the dollops of bird droppings and blobs of ancient chewing gum, I perched on the edge and pretended to scroll through a social media feed.
A man wearing a neat suit and blue tie sat down beside me, his laptop sleeve on his knees.
I resisted the urge to scowl and smiled sweetly instead.
"Oh look. Alan, the lead singer of Fandango Underground, got married." I showed the headline to the obviously disinterred man. "I wonder how long that will last. Don't you just love their latest song? What's it called again?"
"I have no idea," the man muttered. "I don't listen to that sort of thing."
"Oh, you don't?" I gushed. "I just love them. Here, wait, I have their song on here. You'll love it. Trust me." I ignored Malachai's chuckle in my ear.
I opened the music app on my phone and searched through the playlist, none of which was the latest in any genre. "Oh, I can't find it. Well, I bet it's online somewhere. Give me a minute."
"Uh, I have to go." The man stood and hurried off.
"Something I said?" I murmured under my breath.
"Evidently not a fan of popular music either," Malachai remarked. "There's no accounting for taste."
I bit back a smile as a pair of women walked past. Maybe it would be better to have a visible microphone and pretend I was talking hands free. I might look silly, but maybe not quite as silly as looking like I was talking to myself.
"When was the last time you listened to something released after 1973?" I asked once the women were gone.
"Are you suggesting my preference for particular music has stagnated?"
"Are you saying it hasn't?"
"I have been known to enjoy some modern music from time to time."
"Such as?"
"I like that redheaded English guy. What's his name?"
I was silent while a police officer walked by. He didn't glance in my direction, but I still held my breath until he rounded the corner and was out of sight.
"We should probably talk about this later. Is everyone in place?"
"Kannen should be just outside the lair in a couple of minutes. Damien is across the street. Smith is inside, imbibing an evening ale. Freya's ready. Seamus is still sick, so he's sitting this one out."
Even though he couldn't see it, I nodded. "Okay. Here goes, I suppose." I pushed myself to my feet and tucked my phone into my back pocket.
The phone was a cheap one, as all of mine were. There was no point in spending money on something which broke when I got knocked on my ass. Granted, this one lasted longer than most others, but none were demon-fighting proof.
I patted my hip where I kept one of three knives. I'd left my sword back at headquarters. Without it, I felt more vulnerable, but I wanted to appear less antagonistic. If Haigwood could be forthcoming without a need for force, that would be preferable.
"It's still not too late," Malachai said. He sounded worried.
"Unless you've thought up a better plan, then we'll have to stick with this one," I replied. I half wished he'd say he had. This wasn't the first time I confronted a demon directly, but it wasn't without a high level of risk.
My headphone crackled when he sighed. "Very well then. Be careful."
"Aren't I always?"
His pause said more in response than words ever would have.
"I will be careful," I assured him. I took a breath and started off down the street, my eyes on the cracks in the pavement, and the people going about their ordinary lives around me. Anything to keep from looking for my team.
I won't be very conspicuous if I see them and acknowledge their presence, I thought.
"Hey, long time, no see," Damien called out.
Yeah, just like that.
I blinked at him, my surprise genuine. "Hello, uh—"
"Fred," he supplied. His usual pseudonym; a nod to his love of old cartoons, especially The Flintstones.
"Right. Fred. How have you been?" My eyes said what I couldn't ask out loud. What the hells was he doing?
He responded with a dazzling smile. "I've been great. Say, I know this place nearby. It's a great spot for a drink. Care to join me?" He gestured toward the lair.
"It just so happens I'm going that way myself," I replied. "I work there." Apparently I wasn't going to get any answers out of him now.
"What a wonderful coincidence," he enthused.
"Yes—coincidence. Although, now I think about it, I wouldn't want to interfere with any plans you might have. I'm sure you have friends waiting for you." I gave him a meaningful look.
"Nope, no one," he said breezily. "Isn't that lucky?"
"That's one word for it." I frowned. Why hadn't Malachai said anything? Did they plan this? That would account for the lack of a surprised voice in my ear. Or perhaps he didn't want to distract me any more than Damien already was.
Either way, they both had some explaining to do when this was over.
"I guess we're both going in then," I said reluctantly. I took a few hurried steps toward the lair before I forced myself to slow and remember to look as though I belonged there.
The demons on the door were the same ones who had been there when Kannen and I had entered yesterday. I gave one a nod and stepped straight past. If they had a problem with "Fred" following, they said nothing.
"That was easy," Damien remarked.
"Really, Fred," I said sarcastically, "I was under the impression you'd been here before."
"Oh no." He waved a hand in dismissal, "I've just heard a lot about it from a friend."
"I see." I spotted Smith on a stool near the bar. He gave me a nod. At least I could acknowledge that connection. In fact, people might think it odd if we didn't. Assuming, that was, they were here last night and paid attention. Undoubtedly someone was watching. Maybe several someones.
"I'll buy us a round," Damien said.
"No thanks. I have to work, remember?" I eyed him, in case he was planning to argue. His being here was bad enough; I couldn't think of an excuse to have him tag along to Haigwood's office. Even Smith agreed that the fewer of us who went in, the less aggressive their direct approach might be.
"Righty-o. I'll see you around then." Damien grinned.
"I'm sure you will." I grimaced and slipped away toward the corridor leading to the office.
Sweat broke out on my palms. The air was cool, but not cold. No suggestion of a shade in the immediate vicinity then. Hopefully I wouldn't meet one coming or going. That didn't mean there wasn't something worse waiting, lurking, ready to—
I shook my head. This might be nothing more than a pleasant conversation, a confirmation he knew nothing about the curse after all.
"Benefit of the doubt," I muttered.
"I beg your pardon?" Haigwood must have heard me. He stuck his head out his office door and gave me a questioning look. "Ah, Juliet, isn't it?" His eyes were their normal shade, no sign of black apart from his pupils.
Yet.
"That's right, sir," I replied. I pushed my nerves aside and smiled.
He peered in the direction I'd come. "Where is your friend? Uh, Kannen?"
"Uh, he's scouting the area for any threats," I said quickly.
"I hope so." He frowned down the corridor. "I'm not the strictest employer, but I prefer staff to be on time for their first day." He stepped back into his office.
"Yes, of course." I followed him inside. No sign remained on the floor where Stefan died, not even a bloodstain. Either Haigwood was lucky, or he had incredible cleaners.
There's probably a spell for that, I mused to myself. I'd ask Smith about it when this was over. It would save hours in cleaning up after fighting with demons.
Clive was nowhere to be seen.
"So, I assume you'd like to know where
to start?" Haigwood asked. "I have a map here of the building with all the places marked that an attacker might hide. You should probably look it over and commit it to memory." He stepped over to his desk, opened a drawer, and started to rifle through it.
"Assuming the attacker actually bothers to hide," I remarked.
Haigwood looked up at me, then at the spot where Stefan had fallen. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Of course, sometimes they try to hide out in the open."
He pulled out a sheet of paper and handed it to me.
I glanced at it. "Can I take a picture of it, for reference?" When he nodded, I pulled out my phone, took a quick shot, and sent a copy to Malachai.
I handed it back. "Are you always so trusting?"
He tilted his head and blew out an exaggerated sigh. "So my mother used to say. One time I—" He waved a hand. "It doesn't matter."
"I'm curious now." I tried not to sound too eager. "I'm a good listener." Anything I could find out now might be helpful later.
"Let's just say I trusted the wrong person," he said with a shrug.
"Is that why you have that stone?" I pointed toward him. "To protect you from people who might screw you over?"
He glanced down and frowned as though he forgot it was there. "This was given to me by a friend." Haigwood's expression was vague.
I nodded and tried to appear nonchalant. "So you have no idea what it does?" Perhaps he was innocent in all of this after all. For some reason I couldn't explain, I wanted to think he was.
I took a breath and stepped closer, hand raised, palm facing him so I wouldn't appear aggressive. "I think it's affecting other people. Humans in particular. It's making them behave in ways they normally wouldn't."
Haigwood's face flashed with anger.
The stone around my own neck was suddenly searing hot. I flinched and pulled it out from under my shirt by the cord. Even with the fabric between it and my skin, it was uncomfortably warm.
"I think it's attached to your moods," I said hurriedly. "When you're angry, it's activated. That's why it seems to come in waves, and why sometimes it's worse than at other times. Maybe if you can think good thoughts and then—you know—take it off?"
"It…" he frowned. "It's…" His body jerked. He looked directly at me. Slowly, his eyes turned black.
"Uh, shit," I muttered. The air cooled considerably. I shivered. "Haigwood, can you hear me? Who's in there?"
The laugh came from his mouth, and sounded like him, and yet not. It was slightly higher, more manic somehow.
"I'm in here," he replied, "where else would I be?"
"Is someone in there with you?" I asked. "Or something?"
He blinked slowly. Long lashes brushed his cheeks, giving him a more innocent appearance until he opened them fully again. Twin pools of darkness seemed to have swallowed his soul, and tried to draw me in with it.
"Who are you expecting?" he asked. "There's no one here but us demons." He took a step toward me. "You and me. You are a demon, aren't you?"
I swallowed. "Of course. You really should take that necklace off though." I couldn't rule out the possibility it wasn't doing anything, and this was all Haigwood.
My movements slow and careful, I drew one of my knives. "It seems to be doing weird things to your eyes. It would suck if the wind changed and you stayed that way."
He cocked his head and looked confused. "Wind? There's no wind in here."
"It's just an expression. An old folk tale." Had he never heard of it? "It's—" I shook my head. "It doesn't matter. Can you take the stone off?"
He smiled. "Why would I want to?"
If I hadn't been watching carefully, I might have missed the slight turn of his head, the minute lowering of his chin. The way he looked past me to something else.
Or someone.
I whirled around, knife at the ready, but lowered it and exhaled in relief.
Damien stood in the corridor just outside the office, a bland expression on his face.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
Breath left me in a gasp when his eyes began to glow.
23
"What the hells?"
"What is it?" Malachai asked in my ear. "Is something wrong? Who's there?"
"You could say that," I replied, "It's—ouch!" I winced as Damien pulled the earpiece out and took a chunk of my hair with it. "Hey, that's my—"
He dropped the earpiece on the floor and stepped on it. It crunched under his shoe.
"Oops." He smiled, but his expression was cold and distant. "Malachai is so predictable."
"How are you a demon?" I asked.
His eyes glowed brighter. "I am what I am," he replied.
"That's deep," I said sarcastically. "Perhaps you can explain what the hells is going on here?" I turned so I wasn't facing away from either man…demon…whatever.
I shook my head slightly to clear it. It didn't help. I was as confused as ever. Nothing made any sense. I had to push it aside, focus on the here and now—
Before I could blink again, Damien leapt toward me, bare hands outstretched. He knocked the knife from my hand. It flew across the room and struck the far wall.
"Lucky that didn't go in blade first, or you'd be paying for the repairs," I joked. It was a distraction, and a poor one, but it gave me a moment to mentally regroup.
The quip got no response from Damien and only a snort from Haigwood.
"All right, serious it is then," I said. "I have more knives. It would suck if I had to hurt you. Or worse." I pulled a blade from a pocket in the side of my pants. "Stand down and let me deal with Haigwood's unlucky charm."
Damien drew a knife of his own from his hip. "You shouldn't have tried to interfere," he said coldly.
"And yet, here I am." I squinted at him. He was nothing at all like the man I knew. Or thought I knew. Was he really going to try to use that knife on me?
He lunged so quickly I didn't have time to register his intention.
I ducked and twisted away.
He staggered a few steps past me and almost ran into Haigwood. For a second, I hoped the lunge was a feint, designed to trick Haigwood before Damien struck out at him.
That hope was dashed when Haigwood grabbed Damien's arm to stop him from falling, then moved aside.
"Don't leave blood on the floor again. It cost me two hundred dollars to have it spelled away this morning. Exorbitant." Haigwood clicked his tongue. His tone was conversational, ordinary, but his eyes were still black.
"Well, as much fun as this has been," I said," there are places I need to be." I inched toward the door, my eyes on Damien. His were on my knife. A slight frown creased his forehead.
"You need to be here," he replied flatly. "Until he deals with you."
Now it was my turn to frown. He hadn't indicated that he was referring to Haigwood. No flick of eyes, no hand gestures, no tilt of his head.
"He who?" I asked.
Damien hesitated, his lips parted. "I—" He dropped his knife and threw himself at me.
Caught off guard, I was knocked back into the wall. I hit hard, the wind knocked out of me. The crack which accompanied the impact was probably my phone screen breaking into the gods knew how many pieces.
A knife was back in Damien's hand. After a moment I registered it was one of mine. His other hand pinned me to the wall, palm pressed so hard against the centre of my chest it hurt to breathe.
"Kill her," Haigwood ordered. "Kill her now."
I shot daggers at Haigwood with my eyes. "Damien." Each syllable was a struggle. "Damo. Come on, this is me, Jules. You don't want to do this. Let's just stop and go home. I'll share my chocolate with you. Or beer. Yeah, I'll buy you some beer."
Something in his expression changed. Just a flicker, but it was there, enough to verify that Damien was under some kind of thrall. Someone was controlling his actions. But who?
I couldn't think about that now. We had to survive this first.
"I said to kill her," Haigwood insisted. "If I
have to torture her, you're next."
Damien shut down tight, his face a mask again. He raised the knife to my throat. Stinging pain told me it had sliced the skin. The trickle which followed was definitely not water.
When I spoke again, my voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Please don't do this. We're friends. Buddies. You're not a killer." Unless you counted demons of course, and then only the bad ones. I didn't even think Haigwood was bad, just under the influence of gods knew what.
"Oh come on," Haigwood said. He sounded bored and frustrated. Not a good combination, especially in a possessed demon.
Damien blinked a couple of times and lowered the knife. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. Nothing in his face had changed, but somewhere inside he must be fighting against the thrall.
I wiped blood from my neck and grimaced at how much of it coated my hand.
Haigwood growled. He shoved Damien aside with a sweep of his arm.
The Demon Hunter was thrown a couple of metres. He hit Haigwood's desk with a grunt and fell to the floor.
"Why is it so hard to find good help these days?" Haigwood asked.
"Maybe stop being a dick," Kannen said from the doorway. Freya stood beside him, sword in hand.
Haigwood spluttered. "I should fire you for that." His face reddened.
The stone resting against my chest flared, hot enough to make me cry out. Freya did the same.
"Protection stones, eh?" A blur of movement, Haigwood pulled out a knife and severed the cord around my neck. He grabbed the ensorcelled stone and flung it toward Freya. She threw her arm over her face to defect it and squealed.
"Shit, it's hot."
The obsidian hit the floor at her feet with a soft thud.
The moment the stone left my neck, my vision began to blur. Everything went red. White hot rage filled every pore of my body. I tried to suppress it, to push it away, but I'd sooner have held back a flood.
With a grunt, I picked up a chair and swung it at Haigwood. He grabbed it by the legs, yanked it from my grip and swung it back at me. The arm of the chair took me in the same shoulder I'd injured the other day, and knocked me sideways, into the barred window.
Hunting Darkness (City of Darkness Book 1) Page 14
