Charm City (The Demon Whisperer Book 1) (10 page)

"Two exorcists, one demon." He clucked his tongue. "You really need to be careful who you try picking up in a bar, sweetheart. Didn't someone teach you about stranger danger?"

He held up his hands, the arc of magic sizzling between his rings. The air tasted like a lightning storm.

"So much for a night off, huh." He glanced over his shoulder at Chiara. The light from his binding rings illuminated the alley, chasing back the shadows. That's what his magic did. It beat down the rising darkness.

"Stay back, kid." He reached for the demon, his smile jagged and humorless. "This one is mine."

The demon snarled, a shredding glimpse of sabre-sharp teeth, and swiped at the wall. Sparks scattered under the tips of its talons. Sullen streaks of light appeared, bleeding through the break in the bricks.

The heat that rushed out caused the arc of magic to sizzle out. His concentration was broken. That was all it took for the spell to falter.

He backed off in a hurry, pulling Chiara away with him. "Bitch can open portals. Get back, Chi—"

The demon pried the edges of the portal back and climbed through the gash. The tattered edges began sealing back up as the portal slowly closed in on itself.

Chiara turned to him, mouth open in protest.

"Aw, let it go," he said. "We need to regroup, rethink what we're up against."

"Oh, Simon." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "When will you learn?"

She bolted headlong toward the wall, smashing through the nearly closed portal. The rippling edges melded back together and disappeared, leaving no more than ordinary wall.

No portal. No demon. No Chiara.

"Oh, hell." He lit a cigarette. "Women."

Stowing his lighter, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Nothing to do but wait.

He didn't have to wait very long. A few moments later, the portal opened in a flash of eerie green light and a pair of people stumbled out. The jagged hole in the fabric of reality snapped shut with a muffled boom that made his eardrums bulge.

He checked his watch. "You know how to keep a guy waiting, don't you?"

The girl collapsed. All signs of demonic possession were gone.

So were signs of life.

Simon knelt over her and leaned close to her face. No breath against his cheek. The redhead's eyes were closed, her face slack with a terrible peace. Simon jammed two fingers on to the side of the girl's neck. No pulse. "She's not breathing."

Chiara wavered on her feet, looking more tired that he'd ever seen her. She dropped down to her knees, head too heavy to hold up. One look at her face and Simon knew he was on his own for this part.

He pinched the girl's nose closed and tilted her chin, giving her two breaths. The chest rose. He started compressions. What was the song they used to keep the rhythm? Staying Alive? What a stupid song.

Elbows locked, he gave compressions until his back started to ache, the lagging adrenaline leaving exhaustion in its wake. Two more rescue breaths.

The girl coughed.

Simon sat back on his heels and licked his lips. Watermelon. Things could have been so much fun tonight, if she's actually been in her right mind.

The host took a deep, shuddering breath just as the terror took hold. She scrambled back against the wall, looking like a psychotic monkey in a cage. Eyes close to popping out, she babbled like a madwoman. "Where—what was that screaming? Fire, fire everywhere—I was in hell! Oh, my god. Hell! Who are you?"

"Good Samaritan," Simon replied.

Chiara crawled over to anoint her. "G'won," she slurred. "Get out before it decides to fight to get you back."

The girl grabbed her hand and peered into Chiara's face, chin trembling. "Was I…dead?"

"Yeah. And that guy saved you. Another reason to leave. You owe him a favor now."

The redhead scrambled to her feet and lurched away, snatching glances of them over her shoulder.

"Next time you jump through a portal after a host, warn me. Mortals don't travel well the first time." He hunched down next to Chiara and hooked his hands under her arms to hoist her up. "You okay, kid?"

She gasped in pain.

"No. I'm really not." She took a shallow, whistling breath and turned her face toward him. Blood ran from her hairline, dripping down the right side of her face. "Get me home. Before—"

She pressed her hand to her waist. It came away dark and wet. She whimpered, a sound of pain and fear. She crumpled against him, her head drooping.

"Chiara?" He gently shook her. "Honey, wake up."

No response. She was limp and heavy in his hands. Home. She had to get home.

He hefted her and started running. At the end of the alley, he uttered a chant, trying to cloak them from passersby. Couldn't do the full spell without burning a stick of chicory and he couldn't do that carrying her.

At best, the spell would blur them, make them less noticeable. And right now all he could hope for was the best.

Getting her through the door was a challenge he didn't need. He chuffed out a charm that blew the door flat against the wall, the clatter ricocheting across the street. Adrenaline and sheer force of will propelled him up the stairs. He kicked the door open.

"Upstairs." Chiara's eyes fluttered. "The end of the hall."

Her shirt was crimson, sopping with blood. It slapped wetly against him when he moved. "You need a doctor."

"No. The pool."

He staggered up the staircase, unable to feel his legs. "You've lost too much blood. I don't think a swim is what you need."

Chiara gasped, each breath seeming to bring new pain. "It's the only thing."

He turned the corner and spied the door at the end of the hall. It swung open, smoothly and silently, as he rushed toward it. Once inside, he skidded to a stop, nearly dropping her.

He'd only glanced in here, briefly, the first night he stayed over. A marble bath, thirty foot ceilings, a glass tiled sunken bath. The water was milky, a blanket of steam snaking across its surface.

The décor had a mystical, murky feel to it, like oil on wind, and he struggled to remember what had ever made him consider spending time in here the last time he visited.

"Hurry," she whispered. "Get me in. Don't touch the water, don't touch."

"Dammit, what am I supposed to do? Just tell me!"

"Set me down. The edge."

He knelt and gently laid her at the water's edge. The grey pallor of her face made his heart pound even harder.

She looked up at him, grabbing his shirt. Their gazes locked. "Whatever you do—don't get wet."

He nodded wordlessly.

She rolled off the edge and sank out of sight. No bubbles, no splash. The water swallowed her like it was a pool of molten metal.

Simon screamed at the surface.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

The surface stilled.

Time passed, but just how much time, he hadn't a clue. There was no sense of movement. His breaths barely stirred the air in front of his face. And, although initially it had taken many long, dragging moments, he eventually had detected a scent in here, subtle yet pervasive.

Was it the water? The steam slicking its way across the mirrored service? Or was it something that burned in the braziers glowing in the corners of the room? The incense was acrid, scraping his sinuses and throat, leaving rawness in its wake.

This was a terrible place to spend any time. Why someone would put a pool in a room that stank like a chemical fire—

Wait a minute, Simon, try using your pea brain a minute. She's not swimming, is she? She's lying on the bottom of a pool that doesn't have actual water in it, bleeding out from a devastating wound. If she's not dead, she soon will be. Should be.

He banged his head against the tiles. And there wasn't a goddamned thing he could do about it. She said
don't get wet
and the tone of her voice, even in pain, promised him she meant it. He took that part seriously.

He hunched against the wall, knees drawn to his chest. Various charms lay scattered about him, each one considered but discarded. There was no amulet that would be any use to her, not now.

Now, he sat motionless, staring with vacant eyes at the still surface, the steam rising in vague shapes that left him quietly terrified.

A soft sound from the pool roused him. Chiara slowly emerged, rising to the top, floating still and silent, face slack, eyes closed. The milky liquid streamed down her skin in thick rivulets.

Simon crept toward the edge, fear in his eyes.

"Chiara?" he whispered. "Are you—"

Her eyes snapped open and she sucked in a loud lungful of air. Panting, she looked wildly around like she didn't know where she was. But then she saw him. Her gaze locked on his face, she gradually calmed.

He remained perfectly still, unwilling to spook her.

Swallowing hard, she nodded, as if reassuring herself. She waded toward him, her breaths loud against the tiled walls, and draped her arms on the edge.

He drew back from the water that dripped from her skin, forming a small puddle beneath her arms.

She drooped her cheek onto the back of her hand.

"Chiara." His voice was ragged, the screaming and the dry acridity of the room roughening his speech. "What can I do?"

"I could use a shower." She smiled wanly. "Hand me a towel?"

Wrapped in thick towels, Chiara dozed on her crummy couch, her head on Simon's leg. He'd dragged it over to the grand fire place to help keep her warm. He stroked her damp hair, absent-mindedly, having an oddly peaceful moment.

Maybe he needed a bath, too. Her blood had run down his waist, soaking his pants, making him look like he'd been the one who was hurt. His clothes were still marred by dried, dark brown streaks that had stiffened as the blood dried. It made him itchy.

All this reminded him of past experiences. Back then, there'd been no magic pool. Those who had bled didn't survive. He'd been terrified that she wouldn't, either.

Now, she slept, her shoulders rising and falling with each breath. She was alive. And he never had felt more relieved in his entire life.

She stirred, slowly opening her eyes. She pushed herself upright and sat next to him, drawing her bare legs up onto the couch.

"Ah, there she is." Simon reached for a throw pillow and snugged it against her for support. "Feeling better after your tub?"

She laughed gently and ruffled her fingers through her hair. "Much."

"Let me have a look at that wound. I thought you would have bled out by now."

She leaned away and parted the towel enough for him to see her bare waist.

There was no wound. The skin was perfect.

Wow. Just—wow. He had not the words, for once. Simon whistled in astonishment. "No need for a reeking but mind-blowingly effective poultice, I see."

She re-secured the towel and tugged a fleece throw off the back of the couch. "I did say I was much better."

Better. Back from the dead was more like it. Simon snorted. "Angel magic, eh? I should have guessed."

She scooted away. The smile she wore was thin and bittersweet. "You would have guessed wrong."

Poor kid. Her dual nature truly tortured her, didn't it? The last thing she needed was to feel bad about circumstances beyond her control.

"Maybe," he said. "But I guess that's because I try to look on the bright side of things." He pulled a lofty face at her. "I am, above all things, an optimist."

"You?" She scoffed, the line of her mouth hinting at a wry smile. "An optimist?"

"Sure. I firmly believe that things will absolutely, positively, without doubt, go to utter and complete shit. But, but—" he continued, talking over her chuckling. "I also believe that all this can't be for nothing. There's a reason why I can do what I do, why Mack singled me out. Things will go to shit, over and over, but I'll just keep kicking it back at them. I'll fight. And I'll do it beside you because I absolutely believe in you."

Her expression lost some of the weight it had been carrying. "I've always done this alone."

"You're not alone. Not as long as I'm around."

"Yeah." She patted his leg. "Too bad you couldn't be here forever."

"Not going anywhere at the moment. I kind of forgot my van."

"Not what I meant, but still." She reached for his hand. "Thank you."

"Where did that portal go?" Simon leaned over for his pack of cigs. "Kid was in rougher shape than you were when you came back through."