The Devil You Know

by Jena Gregoire

  But if the demons ever gained access to it…

  "Where is the stone?"

  "Cassandra has soldiers working night and day to locate it as we speak. The Guardians aren't exactly a social lot, and no one's heard from them in years. Cassandra and the others are tracking them down to make sure the stone is exactly where it’s supposed to be."

  Deziree's mind was a mess of thoughts in every direction. One stood out. "Wait a second." She was suddenly confused and a little angry. "Why didn't Cassandra call me about this? Why the secrecy?"

  Cassandra was a vampire and the priestess of the coven where Deziree had undergone her own training in witchcraft. Although she was born with natural ability, it still took a lot of time and practice to master it. She respected Cassandra more than almost anyone else and even saw her as a surrogate mother of sorts. Her own mother had committed suicide when Deziree was only hours old, leaving her with no memories of the woman. Cassandra had always been there to provide guidance in her mother's place.

  “She wants to see what's what before she sends everyone, especially you, into an uproar," he explained. "So far, this attack is an isolated incident. We could be dealing with something totally unrelated."

  “What about you? Do you think it was an attack?"

  He took a slow breath and replied, "Well, I wasn't able to prove it was something else. It looked like a classic demon attack. If someone was trying to make it look authentic, I don't know how they did it, but they did a convincing job. I've seen and cleaned up plenty of these scenes, and I found nothing which gave it away as a fake. I waited around for over a week hoping to explain this away somehow, and I came up with nothing. Once I determined I could be of no further assistance, I came home."

  Deziree turned her attention back to the fire, watching it sway and jerk as her mind poured over what she had just heard. A pureblood demon attack. She shook her head in disbelief. If this is real, the covens will be facing something they never thought they’d see again in any of their lifetimes. The last time purebloods walked the earth, they rained horrors down on the covens for years. The purebloods were a particularly nasty group with a tendency to murder for fun. No rhyme or reason. No motive. Just the desire for mayhem. If purebloods somehow found a way to reopen the gateways to the human realm, she had a sneaking suspicion they were in for the fight of their lives.

  His voice broke her out of her thoughts. "Try not to worry about it until we know what the score is. In the meantime, the covens are on alert for possible danger and have taken the necessary precautions. Those women have proven on more than one occasion they can take care of themselves."

  She knew he was right. A girl had died, yes, but death happened every day all over the world. One girl's death, although suspicious, did not mean the purebloods had found a way back. For all they knew, it was a case of a novice witch practicing a spell that was too far above her pay grade and it had backfired.

  Pureblood demon attack or not, a coven member had been murdered. Finding her killer would be the Council’s top priority. Until they knew for sure who or what had been responsible for her demise, there was no use getting worked up over something that may not even be a factor. She forced the negativity out of her head, determined not to let it ruin her night.

  "Not that all this isn’t important, but I wanted to talk to you about a temporary change of scenery. I wrapped up the Kingston job about a week ago, and I’m ready for a vacation. I want to get out of here. What do you say we go to Vegas, Vegas?"

  She smiled at him with mock innocence and anticipation. Las Vegas was one of their favorite places to go for a getaway, and one of their many trips had led to his nickname. They had spent an entire night drinking and playing the blackjack tables. After losing a good deal of money to the casino, they ended up arm-in-arm, strolling through the bustling crowd on the Las Vegas Strip. Sitting by one of the large circular fountains outside Caesar’s Palace, Michael had confessed his love for her. They were so drunk, in that moment she was convinced that he was just an overly happy drunk. She had explained to him it was the tequila talking, and when they woke up the next morning, the two laughed about the events of the night before. He claimed the confession was just an alcohol-induced emotional outburst and there really wasn’t anything to it. That morning, she started calling him Vegas as a teasing gesture. Over time, the name stuck, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she had always wondered if there was more to his confession than he had admitted.

  "I don't know," he replied apprehensively.

  She held up one finger, she said, "Do you have any open contracts?"

  "No,” he admitted.

  "Do you have any potential contracts you’re aware of?" she asked, holding up a second finger.

  "No," he replied, this time with a smile.

  "Do you have any prior engagements you need to be in the city for?" she said, throwing up a third finger.

  "No," he replied, his voice dropping low in obvious surrender.

  "It's settled then," she answered, grinning from ear to ear. "You have your cell and your burner phones. If you’re needed, you can hop the first flight to wherever you need to be. I'd even be happy to travel with you to keep you company. I wouldn’t be in your way. It would all be very James Bond and Vesper Lynd." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she'd said. She dropped her head and donned a nervous smile. “Seriously, put up your out-of-office and let’s blow this joint.”

  "Dez, we really need to talk about this." By the look on his face, she knew he wasn't running, so she couldn't either.

  "We probably should just get on with it," she responded with trepidation.

  "Do you regret it?" he asked hesitantly.

  She didn't think he knew what true regret even was. And for him to ask her if she felt it ... that was truly unexpected. But she had never regretted their night together; feared the results of it, maybe, but never regretted.

  "Not exactly." She stood up and started to walk away from the couch. He caught her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She looked down at his hand touching her skin and warmth flooded her body. He slid his hand down to hers and pulled her gently onto his lap so she was straddling him. He brushed a piece of her hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. It was a familiar gesture, but this time is was different. More intimate.

  “Talk to me.”

  “We made a decision not to start anything once. I'm not sure if we should let one night together cloud our reasoning.”

  “What was the reasoning exactly?” he asked. “I’m having a hard time remembering any valid excuse for not getting together, aside from not wanting to ruin our friendship. We both know now it hasn't ruined anything.”

  “That was it. That was the only reason. I don't want to lose you if it all goes south.”

  “So let's make a deal,” he countered. “If things don't work out for us as a couple, we just move past it and remain best friends. No harm, no foul. At least we will have tried instead of spending the rest of our lives wondering how good it could have been — wondering what we passed up.”

  “Is that possible? Could we really just get on with our lives like nothing happened?”

  “Dez, I don't think we'll have to.” She found it hard to not be swayed by the confidence in his voice. “I have spent the last two weeks thinking about this, and I honestly don't know what the hell we were waiting for. I don't know if there really are such things as soulmates, but I think we are probably as close as two people could get to being the definition of the term. I think we should give it a chance.”

  “Part of me wants to give it a shot,” she admitted. “A big part of me. There’s just this voice in the back of my mind screaming at me, telling me we would never be able to go back.”

  “Well,” he replied softly, “hopefully we would never have to test that.”

  After taking a deep breath, he held up a finger.

  "Do you have to worry about me shuffling off of the mortal coil any time soon?" His si
gnature smirk was back. He was mocking her. A smile spread across her lips.

  “Really?” she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You’re quoting Shakespeare now? Wouldn’t it be easier to just say you’re not going to die?”

  “You’re deflecting, but fine,” he replied. “Do you have to worry about me dying anytime soon?”

  "No," she answered, knowing this would be the moment which would undoubtedly change everything. Not a drunken night of mind-blowing, Earth-shattering sex, but this moment.

  Raising a second finger, he asked, "Do you have any reason to be dishonest and hide things from me?"

  "No." Her voice was almost a whisper. Was this decision quite as easy as a handful of questions?

  He raised a third finger. "Do you want to be with me?" His playful smile was replaced by hopeful anticipation dancing in his eyes.

  Deziree thought for a moment. She'd already weighed all of the ups and downs of being with him. In fact, in all of her internal dialogue, attempting to talk herself out of what she knew she truly wanted deep down, she had yet to find a single valid reason for why they shouldn't be together. Everything about a relationship with Michael worked. It would be easy. Together, they made sense. There would be no surprises or secrets.

  There really was nothing left to think about, nothing left to contemplate. As she stared into his golden eyes with their soft glow, she knew being with him was exactly what she wanted. She smiled and said, "Okay."

  His joy mirrored hers. "I've been waiting to hear you say that." He lifted his head to kiss her, and when his lips met hers, she melted. As their kiss deepened, he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace. For the first time in all her years, she felt as though she was home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Venice, Italy

  Furio was standing in an alleyway to meet the man who'd hired him a few weeks before. He wasn't exactly sure who he should be looking for. The stranger had never shown his face in their previous meeting, their only meeting. The man hadn't asked him to do much either. He just wanted him to watch a building on the Grand Canal. He thought the request was a little odd, but when one was offered a job for that much cash, one didn't ask questions.

  He grew restless standing there, bouncing from one foot to the other in nervous anticipation. He had been waiting for fifteen minutes, and no one had approached him. He sighed and leaned against the wall at the opening of the alleyway. He began debating whether he should stay or give up and leave, but was stopped by a voice from behind him.

  "I apologize for my tardiness," the stranger said in perfect Italian, his raspy voice sending a chill down Furio’s spine. "Do you have the information I requested?"

  Furio turned to reply. He squinted but still couldn't see the man's face. The figure stood enveloped in shadow. He tilted head and replied, "Yes. I stayed for three days and then came back randomly for the following week, as you asked." He pulled a picture out of his pocket. "The first day, there were two men. The first arrived in the early evening. He wore a long black coat and carries an expensive-looking cane. He was there for a long while and then left. He wasn’t gone for very long when a second man arrived. He stayed briefly and then left. He looked quite upset when he left. The way he moved ... ”

  “The way he moved?” The stranger’s voice was quiet as he asked the question.

  “Yes,” Furio replied hesitantly. “He moved faster than anyone I have ever seen. He looked normal, but no man can move that fast.”

  “What else?”

  Furio thought the stranger’s lack of interest off-putting. For his part, he was quite rattled at seeing a man move that way. “The evening of the third day,” he continued, “a woman arrived. She was there for a few hours and then left. The next day, the bald man you told me to expect showed up." He held out the paper, and the stranger took it. “He was there every time I came by.”

  "Is there anything else?"

  Furio shook his head. "No, that was all," he said, "If you need anything else done, you know where to find me." The investigator turned to leave but the stranger stopped him.

  "There is one more thing I'd like to know. Did you tell anyone about our arrangement?"

  Furio shook his head. "No, sir. No one knows we ever even spoke. Just like you said."

  "Thank you. Your services will no longer be required." The stranger stepped out of the shadows, revealing his face to the rattled man for the first time. Furio's eyes widened in horror at the sight of him.

  Gray skin stretched over severe cheekbones. Glassy black eyes shone in the scarce light and razor-sharp teeth glinted in a growing grin. No, he wasn't a man at all. The creature was terrifying. The being flashed a cruel smile and an icy chill ran through Furio's body as recognition dawned. The man with the long, black coat and the cane. The cold was abruptly followed by an intense heat and searing pain deep in his abdomen, then swiftly flowed through his entire body. As he let loose a blood-curdling scream, the stranger reached out with lightning speed and in one smooth motion, snapped Furio's neck, leaving his head dangling at an unnatural angle as the flames erupted from his lifeless body.

  The stranger pulled a cell phone out of his coat pocket. He dialed a number and as the line rang, he wiped his hands clean. When the person on the other end picked up and greeted him, he skipped the pleasantries and got right to the point. “One of the parasites was there. Not the one we were already aware of. I'm not sure how much this one would know. I think it best to accelerate our schedule.” He hung up the phone without speaking another word or bothering to wait for a response. He smiled to himself and strolled out into the night never thinking of the dead man again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dez

  Deziree woke up the next morning in a daze. And a whole lot of pain. As soon as she opened her eyes, she wished immortality included immunity from hangovers. Much to her dismay, it did not. Every joint in her body ached, a death metal band with a blown sound system had set up shop in her head, and she was pretty sure she could drink an entire swimming pool she was so thirsty. With great effort, she rolled over and realized she was alone — again. An unsettling sense of déjà vu washed over her, and if she wasn’t positive it would hurt like hell, she would have rolled her eyes.

  She sat up, put her feet on the cold wood floor, and hauled herself out of the bed. She grabbed a button up shirt belonging to Vegas and slipped it on. When she made her way to the kitchen, she found Vegas at the island with a mug and a laptop. He looked up and smiled.

  “Good afternoon. I didn't want to wake you. I wasn't sure how tired you were going to be. Do you want anything for lunch?"

  "Lunch?" With confusion, Deziree glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was just after one o'clock. "Oh, I thought it was a lot earlier than that. Actually, I’m not really hungry. I'm a teeny, tiny bit hungover."

  "Yeah, me too. And this stuff," Vegas said as he held up his glass and looked into it, "tastes like liquid death, which is not helping matters." The thick red substance swirling around in the glass was tempero, a concoction Cassandra had created to help curb a vampire's appetite for blood. Tempero wouldn't take away the need completely. However, it allowed a vampire the ability to go for months at a time between feedings, giving them plenty of time to seek a willing donor or purchase a supply from the local blood bank. The drink wasn't commonly used in the vampire community, but Cassandra had made it readily available to those who chose to live a tamer lifestyle, and Vegas had been one of the first to take her up on it.

  Although Vegas didn't choose to become a vampire, he had accepted what he was, and made the best of his supernatural abilities. His mother, a natural-born witch, allowed the covens to change both him and his brother to aid in the war against the demons. It was tough for both of them at first, getting used to the blood cravings, but he managed, and never once did he apologize for what he was. In reality, there was no reason to. A vampire's nature was to be a predator, and he found a niche in the world which allowed him to be just that. The down
side to his job was finding a suitable form of nourishment when on a fourteen hour flight to the opposite side of the globe. Without the assistance of tempero, his body would require he feed at least twice a day. If he didn't have tempero, and went too long without feeding, he would end up in a blood fever. A blood fever has only one result: death for anyone in the immediate vicinity of the vampire caught up in the whirlwind of blind rage and hunger. One glass of the viscous, foul-smelling red liquid every day ensured he wouldn't slip into a mid-flight feeding frenzy, killing all the occupants of whatever airbus he happened to be on.

  Dez wasn’t clear on the details because it was before her time, but as she understood it, Cassandra had set on her quest to create tempero for the sole purpose of using white magic. Vampires and witches usually didn’t mix because dark magics were fueled by blood. Adding blood to a simple spell like, for example, the one used to light a candle, and a witch could start a fire storm which would be close to impossible to get under control. Cassandra, with her beautiful heart and good spirit, did not want to be limited in what she could do by the fact that she had a set of fangs.

  "Yeah," she answered with a smile, "if you had the faintest idea of the long list of nasty ingredients that go into that little bottle of ick, you'd be draining the next human who walks by rather than accepting the alternative."

  "Ignorance is bliss." He sighed as he tipped his glass and emptied it in one swallow. As soon as he finished, he caught her watching him. After a moment of searching her eyes, not completely positive of what she was thinking, he finally spoke up. "Now that you've had a chance to get some sleep and," he smiled, "we don’t have our tongues in each other’s mouths, I need to ask. Are you sure about this? Don’t get me wrong, I’m on board, and I hope you are too, but sitting here drinking this shit is a heavy reminder of our differences."