Dark Hope (The Devil's Assistant) (30 page)

I backed away from the cell door, almost tripping over the crate.

“Hello, Uncle,” Mace said, entering the basement. “Is she well enough to travel now?”

Harry’s lips pressed together briefly before he answered. “She is.”

Mace appeared calm, which was its own joke. I prevented him from killing Junior. He failed because of me, and Mab didn’t strike me as a person who liked failure.

“Thank you, Uncle,” Mace said, nodding at Harry.

Harry inclined his head.

“Wait,” I said before he could leave. “You can’t just leave me with him.”

Harry eyed me but spoke to Mace. “I have no claim, as you know, Nephew, but I should remind you that my sister expects her property returned undamaged.”

Mace pasted a tight smile on his face. “Yes, Uncle. You have no claim. Thank you, again for the hospitality of allowing me to use your residence.”

“Of course, Nephew.” Harry’s nostrils flared. His cold dark eyes glowed with power.

Mace bowed his head and kept it lowered. “Thank you, sir,” he said, this time sincerely. “I acknowledge your advice. I will not damage Aunt Mab’s property. I swear it.”

Without another word, Harry turned away. The creak of the stairs echoed as he left the basement, leaving me alone with Mace.

Mace was livid when he faced me. Not that it would do me any good, but I stayed pressed against the back wall of the cell, as far away from the door and any open bars as possible.

He caught me with his will and moved me to the cell door. A frozen expression hardened his face, and the fake smile didn’t reach his eyes. Extending his hand through the bars, he touched my cheek. “You shouldn’t have interfered.”

He caught my face when I tried to look away and studied me. After a moment, his face changed. Maybe he saw something in my gaze—something that made a smile touch his eyes.

Sliding his hand around to the back of my neck, he pressed me flush with the bars then laid his other hand on my stomach. “I’m going to enjoy taking this away from you,” he said with a wicked grin.

I glanced down at his hand, at how he cupped my belly. “No. You’re lying.”

He chanted a few words of Demon, I think, and a white-hot pain shot through my middle. As the energy flowed, it danced around inside me until it coalesced on something deep within my abdomen. I cried out when it cradled the tiny ball within.

I fell to the floor when he released me and curled into a ball. My stomach thrummed as if he’d sucker-punched me, but it was worse than that. I wrapped my arms around my waist and willed myself to stop shaking.

“You’ll have nothing of his. Not unless I allow it.”

I couldn’t be pregnant, but if I was, had he just taken it? “You bastard. I don’t believe you. And forget about killing Junior. I saw Quaid at the fight. You’ll never get to him now.”

Mace’s smirk fell. Technically, everything I’d said was true. I had seen Quaid at the fight; I just never got the chance to talk to him.

After a few seconds, Mace roared with laughter. “That’s good, Claire,” he said chortling. “Some of it’s even true, but unlike the baby, which you’ll have to wait a few weeks to confirm, I can prove you wrong now about Quaid.”

Still amused, he took out his phone and typed a few words
,
then dropped it back in his pocket.

Ignoring him, I inspected my stomach. He said it would take a few weeks to confirm, which meant he hadn’t removed it…if it was real. I pushed myself off the floor. The pain had subsided, but I could still feel the knot in my stomach.

I heard movement from the top of the stairs. Heavy clomps came down at a quick clip. My mouth fell open.

“It was a good lie, Claire,” Mace said, turning to face our guest. “Do tell me which part was really true.”

I stood there gaping at the last man I ever thought would betray The Boss. Quaid—The Boss’s right-hand man
,
sauntered in, as if he owned the place.

“Why?” I snarled at him.

“You look like hell, Claire,” Quaid said, his grin more sneer than smile. He’d looked like one of the security team at the fight. Now he was dressed in a black on black suit, his short dark hair in a perfect military cut—his usual office look.

“Why?”

His lips dropped on one side, leaving a lopsided smirk. “I’ve got my reasons. Let’s just say he’s got it coming.”

“Apparently,” Mace interjected, “Junior killed his beloved. A thousand years ago, I believe you said.”

Quaid scowled at Mace. All humor was gone from his face.

“I have my doubts, of course, but others were convinced. Not that you—”

“I cleared security out of the way,” Quaid said. “This is what we agreed I’d do. You had your chance and blew it. The seer who came to me didn’t tell me where he saw the body—just that he saw Junior dead.”

Oh? “What seer?”

“Not Omar.”

“He’s not—” I cleared my throat when the spell wouldn’t let me say he’s not the only one I know.

“What’s wrong with you?” Quaid asked.

“She does that a lot,” Mace answered for me.

Quaid snorted.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Is that all you need? I have things to do.”

“You are in this until the end. You will accompany us to see Aunt Mab.”

Already shaking his head, Quaid started to speak.

“It’s not a request. The queen has commanded it.”

Quaid glared at me as if I had something to do with his problems.

“This is all you, big guy,” I said. He was the one going against The Boss.

“Leave,” Quaid spat at Mace. “I wish to speak to Claire alone.”

“No.”

“Why? Are you afraid she’ll beg me…to save her?”

“She’s mine,” Mace shouted. “My influence here is limited, but I’ll have complete control in Purgatory.”

Complete control. What the hell did that mean?

Quaid’s jaw tightened.

“She has sworn her allegiance to me. A bond with a pagan over Pagan cake is almost impossible to break.”

Quaid eyed me. “I was under the impression she belongs to Mab now.”

The cords in Mace’s neck tightened. “She will give her to me as a gift,” he said confidently.

Quaid didn’t hide his amusement.

Mace was a fool. I had no idea why exactly, but Mab would never give me up.

He scowled at Quaid. “You’re walking a fine line,” he growled. “If my father knew—”

“If your father knew you were trying to kill Junior,” Quaid interrupted, “he would not be pleased.”

“You should not be too quick to presume you’re in Mab’s favor,” Mace warned.

“I would suggest you take your own advice.” Quaid’s tone was smug.

Mace was silent for a moment, but the anger in his eyes was clear. I don’t think Quaid would have been so smug if he were an ordinary demon. His size was impressive, but hellspawn were more powerful than demons. Quaid, however, was protected from hellspawn vengeance by very strong spells given to him by The Boss. He would not have been very effective otherwise.

Mace had no choice but to back down. “Talk all you want, she will be mine.” He sneered at me before leaving the basement.

Quaid stayed behind although I had no idea what he’d want to discuss.

“Why are you here? I don’t believe that bullshit story about your beloved any more than Mace.”

Quaid shrugged. “I have my reasons.”

“Good for you. Now if you aren’t going to get me out of here, leave. I’m not in the mood.”

I dropped back onto the cot, lying flat and closing my eyes. I studied him with my presence. He glanced back toward the stairs and lifted his hand as if he were going to open the door. He lowered it, shaking his head.

“Which devil are you really working for?” I asked him, hoping it would prompt him as it had with Mace. He didn’t seem to notice.

He turned to leave the basement, pausing before he reached the stairs. “What has happened must happen,” he muttered then climbed and left.

What the hell was that?

Twenty

“Claire,” a woman’s voice said, but it didn’t sound like it came from a person. It sounded ethereal, if ethereal had a tone. “Claire,” it called again, and this time I opened my eyes.

I wasn’t in the cell in the basement anymore. Weightless, I was floating. Other than the voice, there was no noise in this place, only waves of glittery light cutting through the darkness.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

The pressure of the light weighed on me as if I walked out of an air-conditioned room into a hot, humid summer day. But the temperature wasn’t hot. It wasn’t anything but
an
empty, insubstantial nothingness to float in.

“A friend,” the woman said.

“Where are we? Who are you?”

I heard a small laugh, then she said, “Somewhere in your head, I suppose.”

What? “Who are you?”

“You won’t let me talk anymore. I’m lonely.”

Was this the voice? I took a calming breath. “Okay, just so I’m clear. You’re the voice?”

“I have a name.”

“No, you don’t. You’re my subconscious
that
was spelled
to
not let me forget. You don’t have a name.” I paused for a beat
, then added,
“Only crazy people give the voices in their head names.”

“It’s Jayne.”

“I’m not calling you Jayne…I can’t believe my inner voice thinks it has a name.”

“I’m not a result of the spell, but the spell did unlock me. You’re not crazy.”

“Right, the voice in my head assures me I’m not crazy.” I rubbed my eyes. “This is a nightmare, and I need to wake up.”

“I needed to tell you something, but you weren’t listening,” the voice admonished. “This was the only thing I could think of to get your attention.”

If I stop listening, will it go away
?

“No.”

Ugh.
The voice can read my mind. “Fine, what?”

“You must not eat or drink anything while you’re in Purgatory.”

“Why not?”

“It will give her too much control.”

“Who, Mab?” But instead of getting an answer, I was sinking away from the darkness. I fought to stay in the void, but nothing worked. “Wait,” I shouted.

“For what?” Harry asked.

My eyes shot open. He was standing outside the cell, studying me.

I sat up on the cot, dropping my legs over the side. I must have fallen asleep after Quaid left. “Nothing, just a bad dream,” I said. Either that or I’m crazy and there really was a voice in my head named Jayne.

There was a new power shake sitting on the crate. I would have rather had real food, but another healing boost wouldn’t hurt. The effects were more immediate this time. I was feeling them before I’d finished half the carton.

“Mace—the quads—are trying to kill Junior,” I said before anyone could interrupt us again. I couldn’t give him any of the specifics, but I could tell him what they planned.

Harry’s expression didn’t change.

“I guess that’s not your problem,” I said. Again, no reaction. I shook my head.

“Don’t try that jump again,” he warned. “I might not be there to save you next time.”

I glared at him. It had been him outside the hotel, and now he wanted gratitude. “Don’t pretend to care. I didn’t ask you to save me this time.”

His body stiffened, and his eyes flashed a wicked amber glow.

I still thought of him as Mr. Harrison, which was stupid. He was the Druid King, and I’d do well to remember that.

He took a deep breath. “I thought you might want this back before you leave.” He held up my watch.

My watch! I pushed myself off the cot and crossed to the door.

He pulled it back. “Don’t use this in Mab’s presence. She’ll sense it and take it from you.” He extended it again.

“Okay.” I took the watch and put it back on. It morphed into a black military-issue, ladies’ watch. Very utilitarian—practical—something to go perfectly with my standard-issue prison scrubs. I’d wanted this thing off for years, now I was relieved to have it back. “How did you get it off?”

“It’s one of mine,” he said. “I created it for you.”

Created it for me? “But I got this at the company.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

I thought back to the day I’d been kidnapped off the street. If it had been the mob—Harry’s boys—they could have put it on me before delivering me to The Boss. I could have been wearing it when I arrived. I was unconscious—who knows when I actually got the watch.

“Okay, fine. I don’t know where I got it, but why did you take it off?”

“The watch lets you access your power. When you jumped, you used too much of it and almost died,” he said. “I had to remove it so you could heal.”

“The Keeper said it was my power—”

“The Keeper?” Harry’s expression hardened. “You’ve spoken to the Keeper? When?”

“Why do you care?”

My conversation with the Keeper ran through my head. She’d talked of the seasons. I’d decided The Boss was Summer. Harry’s his opposite, right? Would that mean Harry was Winter? She hadn’t declared Winter’s sex, but Fall—the mysterious fourth realm—was a her, and Spring was a he. Mab wasn’t hidden, so she couldn’t be Fall and not Spring. She had to be Winter—which meant Harry had to be Spring.

Harry’s pet
? I let out a dry laugh. Better than Mab’s, I suppose.

“Are you Spring?”

His brow wrinkled. Shoulders that had been relaxed before were rigid.

“That makes total sense,” I muttered, more to myself than him. “You really do pass me around. First you, then him, now her.”

“You don’t have all the facts,” he said.

“Did you trap her—it—in the mirror?”

He became unnaturally still.

I took that to mean yes. “She called me your pet.”

“It means nothing.”

I snorted and sat back down on the cot. “Right.”

After a long pause, he sighed and rubbed his forehead. His eyes were closed.

Regret or pity—did I care?

When he opened his eyes, Mr. Harrison’s softer gaze met mine. “The power is yours, Claire, but—”

“I’m bound by Winter—yeah, I’ve seen the memo. Life sucks.” Winter’s blood will break the curse. Did he know that?