Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (24 page)

B
eck dashed across the lawn and opened the door of the Tundra. Conall was waiting inside. The Flash had nothing on this guy. She climbed in without a word and cranked the truck.

Conall did not speak until they were on the road. “What has distressed you?” he asked.

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that I just found out you’re ten thousand years old? I don’t expect this thing between us to go anywhere but, I gotta admit, that intimidates the hell out of me.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Why? I’m thirty-one years old and I run a bar outside a hick town. You’re prehistoric and can talk to
cats,
for God’s sake.”

“And you are a shape-shifter and can suck demons out of humans with a metal spout. Such things are incidental. Why do you think what we have is temporary?”

“Because. How can it be anything else? We’re enemies and—”

“You are not my enemy. I do not have sexual congress with my enemies.”

“Sexual congress?” Beck snorted. “That sounds ever so much nicer than
I screwed the demon girl.”

The truck screeched to a halt without warning. “Hey.” Beck pressed the gas pedal, but nothing happened. “What’s the big idea?”

“I do not like this word ‘screwed.’ ” Conall’s face was tight with anger. “It is a cheap and common term for what we shared. You will not use it again in reference to us.”

The demon hunter was a prude. It should have annoyed her. But, for some reason, it cheered her up.

She shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. Bottom line, I’m sure there are rules against the two of us having sex.”

That shut him up. He released whatever spell he’d put on the truck, and the Tundra rolled down the road. So, there
were
rules against them being together. The cheerful feeling evaporated.

Beck seethed in silence for maybe a mile and a half. “So,” she said, unable to hold her tongue, “who
are
you allowed to canoodle?”

“I do not understand.”

“Run it through your processor and get back to me when you figure it out.”

“Now you are being a shrew.”

“That’s a fancy word for bitch,” Beck said. “And don’t think I’m too stupid to know it.”

“I do not think you are stupid,” Conall said. “I think you are confused and upset by your feelings for me. It is perfectly understandable. I have had some months to grow accustomed to my . . . attraction for you. You have not had that luxury.”

Oh, yay. He was
attracted
to her. What did she expect, undying love? This was about scratching an itch, for both of them. Why, then, did it feel like her belly was in her shoes?

She lifted her chin. “This thing between us has taken me by surprise. I may work in a bar, but I don’t sleep around.”

“That is a good thing. I do not share what is mine.”

“I never said I was yours.”

“Perhaps not in so many words, Rebekah. But you said it last night and this morning with your body in a thousand delightful ways.”

Her cheeks burned and so did the rest of her. Wow, he was some kind of smooth talker. He melted her insides like butter. Not that she’d let him know it. A demon girl had her pride.

“Nice line, Romeo,” she said. “I bet you say that to all the women.”

“There are no other women.”

She snorted again. She was starting to sound like a horse with a head cold. “Yeah, right. Next, you’ll be telling me you’re a virgin.”

“I am not a virgin,” he said. “I have slaked my lust in the House of Perpetual Bliss, as required by the Great Directive.”

“The what?”

“It is the creed the Dalvahni live by. According to the Directive, a Dalvahni warrior should avail himself of a thrall at regular intervals to rid himself of unnecessary emotion.”

He spoke in a monotone and used a bunch of highfalutin terms, but he was talking about sex, sex with someone else; some kind of paid companion. Little red dots danced in front of her eyes.

“Duty sex,” she drawled, holding onto her temper. “Man, sucks to be you. Most guys would kill for a gig like that.”

“Killing figures largely into our . . . uh . . . gig, as you call it.”

“So, what’s a thrall?”

“A species that services the Dal,” he said. “You encountered one the night the demons attacked and you intervened on Evie’s behalf. Her name is Lenora. Do you recall her?”

Beck stopped the truck. At this rate, it would take them a week to get to the bar, but she didn’t care. Remember Lenora? Was he kidding? Lenora Thralvahni was the most sexual creature Beck had ever encountered. She
oozed
sex. Lenora had jumped up on the bar and danced the hoochie-coochie in nothing but a few ribbons, sending every male in the bar—and a few females, too—into a frenzy of lust.

“I remember her,” Beck said tightly. She stared at her hands on the wheel. “Black hair, blowjob mouth, and a body that won’t quit. She’s married to Shep Corwin. Does he know you slept with his wife?”

“Lenora was not his wife until recently, and I did not sleep with her. I favored a thrall named Lhanna, a blonde with large—”

“Stop,” Beck said. She flung up her hand, palm out. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“—eyes and an interest in dragons,” Conall finished. “ ’Tis a subject we spoke of often.”

“Goody gumdrops for you and Lhanna. Let me guess. You loved her for her mind.”

Beck took her foot off the brake and pressed the accelerator. The truck tires scratched in the dirt, kicking up a satisfying cloud of red dust. Redneck therapy: way cheaper than paying for a counseling session.

“A warrior does not love a thrall,” Conall said. “Ours is a practical relationship. Thralls provide sexual release for the Dal. They, in turn, subsist on our emotions.”

It sounded very clinical the way he described it, but he was still talking about sex with another woman, a blond bimbo with a thing for dragons; Conall’s confidante. Beck concentrated on keeping the truck on the road. Not that easy when the red spots had spread and her vision was a bloody haze.

Time to change the subject before she burst into tears and shocked the shit out of both of them.

“So, yesterday at the party, I think I may have found out what the demons are up to,” she said, keeping her gaze on the road.

It was safer that way. Looking at Conall was habit forming. She didn’t want to run her truck into the ditch.

“Yes? What did you learn?”

His tone was bland, but she sensed his sudden alertness.

“It was a rally, a call to arms. Join the demons and take over the world.”

Conall grunted. “Divide and conquer. ’Tis an age-old tactic. The djegrali use the promise of power and wealth to sway the weak and desperate to their cause. They employed such a strategy in the realm of Gorth and would have conquered all, but for the Dal’s intervention.”

“This is different,” Beck said. “This time, they’re trying to enlist the kith. Think about it. We’re talking about an army of supernaturals.”

That
must have given him something to chew on, because he got quiet.

“I didn’t find out any specifics about this so-called super weapon the demons are supposed to have,” she said after a moment of silence. “But I think Trey Peterson may be involved.”

“Why?”

“He’s being haunted by his dead wife.” She guided the truck around a curve in the road. “Her name is Meredith and she’s a raving bitch.”

“Ansgar mentioned it,” Conall said. “A most unpleasant shade, by all accounts.”

“Unpleasant doesn’t begin to describe it. She makes old Hazel look like a walk in the park.”

“Who is Hazel?”

“The ghost of Sardine Bridge. Park on the bridge at midnight and call her name three times, and she’ll appear. But don’t cuss.” Beck shuddered. “Hazel hates cussing.”

“I take it you speak from experience.” There was a ripple of amusement in his rough, sexy voice. “How did you meet Meredith?”

“She showed up at the party and gave Trey all kinds of hell. Evan says Trey’s desperate to get rid of her.” Beck glanced sideways at Conall. “So desperate, he’s made some kind of deal with the demons.”

“A deal your brother has brokered, no doubt. It is as I suspected from the first. He has joined the djegrali.”

“Evan can’t help it,” Beck said. “The demons have had him since he was born.”

“Then he is lost. He is drenched in evil and has done evil’s bidding.”

“That’s not fair. Evan never had a choice.”

“There is always a choice.”

“Not for Evan,” Beck argued. “The demons put a curse on him, some kind of magical binding that makes him do whatever they say.”

“The
morkthyngeld,
” Conall said with casual assurance. “The djegrali often employ such a curse with humans, but I am surprised to learn it works on the kith. I should think your demon blood would make you resistant.”

“He was a little boy when they bound him, maybe that’s the difference. They’ve done terrible things to him, Conall. He’s been starved and tortured, and that’s the least of it. He raised his first zombie when he was six years old, because he was lonely and frightened. Can you imagine?”

“Your brother is the zombie maker?” Beck felt Conall’s dark gaze upon her. “How came you to know this?”

“I found out yesterday at the party,” Beck said. “Evan sent Tommy to find me. I know it sounds crazy, but I think Evan cares about me, in his own way.”

“He has a most peculiar manner of showing it. He invited you into danger and very nearly got you killed.” Conall’s voice was hard as granite. “He consorts with demons and trolls, and he attacked you and Tobias. Had he not gone to ground, I would have killed him.”

Conall saw things in black and white in a world that was mostly gray. Maybe it was stupid to feel loyalty to a brother she’d never known, a brother who’d threatened to feed Toby to his pet troll for dinner. But she couldn’t help it. She felt bad for Evan, and she felt guilty. She remembered all the times she’d bitched and whined about her shitty relationship with Jason, and felt ashamed. But for the grace of God, she would be the one bound to Hagilth.

“Haggy,” she cried. “Holy freaking crap, I forgot about Haggy.”

“Who in the name of the gods is Haggy?” Conall asked.

“The demon I captured yesterday.” She swung the truck off the road and took the bottle out of her pocket. The wraith clung to the glass. Her smoky form was thin and watery and peppered with holes. “Her name is Hagilth. She’s been in my jacket all this time. I can’t believe I forgot about her.”

Conall took the bottle from her and turned it this way and that. Hagilth skittered around inside the bottle. “What ails the fiend?” he asked.

“Hot sauce,” Beck said. “Demons are allergic to it.”

Conall looked suitably impressed. “By the sword,” he said, holding the bottle to the light. “What dark magic created this fell elixir?”

“It’s not magic at all—just habanera chili peppers. They’re super hot. Hot enough to burn a demon’s butt.” Beck grinned. “Looks like the Dalvahni have a secret weapon of their own.”

“You have done well, Rebekah. This is a remarkable discovery.”

Her grin widened. “You really didn’t know?”

“I really did not know.”

He set the hot sauce on the dashboard and snapped his fingers. An ornate bottle of blue glass appeared in his hand.

“What’s that?” Beck asked.

“A djevel flaskke.” He plucked the stopper out of the blue bottle and set it aside. “The Dal use them to transport the djegrali.”

“Careful,” Beck warned as he loosened the top on the hot sauce bottle. “She’s a nasty one.”

Conall gave her a look that clearly said
This ain’t my first demon rodeo
and removed the metal screw cap. Haggy leaked out of the hot sauce bottle in a thin, ragged stream and was instantly drawn into the djevel flaskke. Conall popped the stopper back in place and the flask disappeared.

“Nice trick,” Beck said. She guided the pickup back onto the road. “Hope you’ve got a buttload of those little bottles, ’cause you’re gonna need them. Hannah’s crawling with demons.”

“So I noticed,” Conall said with his customary calm. “Do not concern yourself. I know how to handle demons.”

Beck smiled to herself as she turned off the road and onto the narrow drive that wound through the trees to Beck’s. Conall might know how to handle demons, but he didn’t know everything. He didn’t know demons are allergic to hot sauce. She’d been the one to discover that juicy little tidbit, and it tickled her pink.

Her burst of feel-good lasted until she pulled into the parking lot and saw Charlie Skinner nailed to a tree. She slammed on the brakes and threw the Tundra in park.

“Holy shit,” she said. “It’s Charlie Skinner.”

Charlie’s head was bowed and his silver hair was plastered to his skull. The red and yellow boots were gone. He seemed diminished, somehow, shrunken without his fancy footwear.

Beck jumped out of the truck and raced across the empty lot. Conall blurred past her, reaching Charlie first.

“Stay back,” he said, barring her way. “It could be a trap. It would not be the first time the djegrali used a corpse for mischief.”

“Corpse?” Beck swallowed, thankful that she hadn’t eaten her breakfast. “You mean, he’s dead?”

She couldn’t stop staring at Charlie’s feet. They were shrunken knobs at the end of his legs. They looked
wrong,
like they belonged on a child’s body and not an adult’s.

“Yes.” Conall’s nostrils flared. “I detect a strong odor of spirits. I think it is fair to assume that Skinner was intoxicated when he died.”

It was a fair assumption, all right. Charlie stunk of booze.

“He was pretty drunk at the gathering,” she said. “I’ll use the land line in the bar to call the sheriff. Cell reception is spotty out here. And I need to check on Hank and Verbena.” She turned toward the employee entrance and stopped. “Verbena! We can’t let her see her daddy like this.”

“I will make sure she stays inside until the sheriff arrives.” Conall pulled her into his arms and held her close. “You are shaking.”

Beck leaned against him, letting his heat and strength steady her. “Hell of a way to start the morning.”

“Death sours the stomach,” Conall agreed. “Wait here while I make sure all is safe within.”

“No way. I’m coming with you.”

He released her and disappeared. He didn’t even use the door. One second he was there, and the next he wasn’t.

“Dammit, Conall,” Beck said, striding after him.

She opened the door and stepped inside, giving a startled yelp as Conall materialized in front of her.

“I hate when you do that,” Beck said, scowling at him.

“I searched the bed chamber, but no one is there,” Conall said. “Something is amiss. I sense the taint of the djegrali, but not their presence.” His dark eyes glowed. He shook his head. “I do not like it.”

“Evan.” Beck slammed her fist into the wall. “This is my fault. He’s taken them prisoner because I’ve got Haggy. I should never have left them alone.”

“They were not alone. Duncan was supposed to be with them.” His jaw tightened. “In any event, you do not have the fiend. I do.”

“Yeah, but Evan doesn’t know that.”

Conall took her by the hand and pressed a kiss on her palm. “Do not be dismayed. Your brother did not take them. He cannot enter the bar or your dwelling, nor can the djegrali. I placed protective spells around both days ago.”

“You did what?”

“I do not trust him,” he said. “I did what was necessary to ensure your safety.”

“Without asking me.”

“Yes.”

It had been a long time since she’d had anybody take care of her, other than Toby, and it felt great . . . and a little scary. Conall could be a scary guy.

“Next time, ask before you—” She paused, listening. “Did you hear that? I think it’s coming from the kitchen.”

She pushed past him. Somebody was pounding on the door of the walk-in cooler, from the
inside
. The fridge was equipped with a safety latch to keep anyone from getting trapped in there, but someone had pushed a loaded pallet against the door. Beck rolled the heavy cart out of the way and yanked on the handle. Verbena stumbled out wearing a pair of Beck’s old flannel pajamas—they were too big and didn’t fit, just as Beck had figured—and a pair of saggy cotton socks. She was shivering, in spite of the blanket around her shoulders.

Hank, still in bear form, was stretched out on a bed of flour sacks with a blanket over him. Stacks of beer and soda surrounded him. Raising his head inside the miniature igloo, he bawled at them.

“I will see to the bear,” Conall said. “Take care of the girl.”

He lifted the bear with ease—no small thing; Hank was no featherweight, as a man or a bear—and strode past them. Beck helped Verbena over to a bench and made her sit down.

A moment later, Conall came back into the room. “The bear is resting. He seems to be none the worse for wear. Where is Duncan?”

“Dunno,” Verbena said. She huddled closer under the blanket. “He was gone when I woke up.”

“What happened?” Beck asked.

“Hank and I was sleeping and this black guy come busting in,” Verbena said. “He kept babbling about demons a-coming and told us to hide. Hank was too weak to move, so we loaded him on the pallet and rolled him into the cooler.”

“Had to have been Tommy,” Beck told her.

Verbena shook her head. “Don’t know. He didn’t give us no name. He was riled up about something, so I done what he said. He seemed like a nice feller—treated me and Hank real gentle—even told me to bring along a couple of blankets.” Her face darkened. “Next thing you know, he’s done shut us in the cooler and blocked the door.”

“I think he was trying to protect you,” Beck said.

“Yeah? Then why didn’t he get in the cooler with us? Why’d he lock us in there and leave?”

“I’m sure he had a reason,” Beck said. Yeah, like he was already
dead.
Or maybe he was hungry and afraid he’d eat them. “How long were you in there?”

Verbena shrugged. “Hours. I thought me and Hank were goners, for sure. I was scared nobody would find us. Then the ruckus started and I was scared somebody would.”

“Ruckus?” Beck asked. She had a bad feeling about this. “What kind of ruckus?”

“I heard something crash and then this awful howling.” Verbena shuddered. “Like folks was being skint alive. There was a lot more noise a-and a really bad smell, like a dead animal. Me and Hank caught a whiff of it from inside the cooler.” Verbena rocked back and forth. “Then it got real quiet. Not the good kind of quiet, either, like when you’re down by the river in the evening and it’s just you and the crickets and the birds are calling, and you hear the fish a-floppin’. This here was the bad kind of still, the kind that makes your insides go soft and shaky.” She closed her eyes. “Something was in here with us, something bad. I heard it snuffling and scraping on the kitchen floor. Hank and me, we didn’t move.” She opened her eyes again. “And then it was gone. Knew it was gone, ’cause we could breathe again.”

“Verbena, why don’t you go lie down?” Beck suggested. The poor girl looked done in. She’d find out about Charlie soon enough.

“I am tuckered,” Verbena said. Clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she stood. “You sure you don’t need me?”

“Later.” Beck shooed her in the direction of the little bedroom. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a little while. I promise.”

As soon as Verbena was out of sight, Beck rushed into the bar. Or what was left of it. For the second time in less than three days, the place was a shambles, only this time it was worse. The windows were shattered, the porch doors torn off the hinges, and the furniture had been reduced to rubble. Broken liquor bottles were scattered about. The smells of alcohol and something rotten, like stewed garbage, were overpowering. Junior’s piano had survived the destruction, mostly. One of the legs was broken, and the instrument listed to one side.

Worst of all, someone had taken a sledge hammer to the glass bar.

“The demons,” Beck cried, staring in horror at the shattered glass. “Somebody let them out.”

“Perhaps the Skinner human released them,” Conall said. “And, to show their gratitude, the demons killed him and nailed him to the tree. Such treachery is typical of the djegrali.”

She frowned, thinking. “And Tommy came in and saw Charlie ransacking the place, and put Hank and Verbena in the cooler?”

“Perhaps,” Conall said.

“No,”
a muffled voice said from behind them. “The zombie did it.”

Conall swore and drew his sword. Beck whirled around. Junior Peterson leaked out of the piano in a smoky stream and solidified. He looked terrible, wan and pale and watery, not his normal solid self. His clothes, usually so neat and precise, were rumpled and his hair stood on end.

Conall lowered his weapon. “Oh, it is you.”

“Tommy did this?” Beck said. “I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it. He smashed the bar. I saw him,” Junior said. His thin form trembled. “Those
things
did the rest. There were so many of them. I hid inside the piano. I was afraid to come out.”

“Evan,” Beck said, feeling angry and sick. “He put Tommy up to this. He was looking for Haggy.”

“I agree,” Conall said. “When Evan discovered he could not enter because of the shield spell, he ordered the zombie to do it.”

“Poor Tommy,” Beck said. “I need to find him. He’ll be upset.” A sudden thought made her gasp. “The storeroom. I keep demons there, too.”

She ran back through the kitchen and wrenched open the storeroom door. Several dozen Mason jars had been pulled off the shelves and lay broken on the floor.

“They’re gone.” Beck stared in shock at the mess. “They’re all gone.”

Conall picked up a candy wrapper off the floor. There were a dozen more like it scattered about the storeroom. “Someone has a penchant for sweets. Verbena, perhaps?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Beck said. “The demons are gone, all of them. This is a disaster.”

“How many did you have?”

“Thirty or forty, at least.” Beck raised a shaking hand to her brow. “To tell you the truth, I’ve lost count. This is terrible. They could take over the town. We need to warn people. Not that anyone will believe us.”

She shut the door and retraced her steps.

“Do not worry. The demons will not tarry here,” Conall said, striding with her into the bar. “They will flee to lick their wounds. Nevertheless, I will send for reinforcements. If they do linger here, the Dal will be ready.”

“I’ll get word out to the kith.”

“Can you trust them? Some of them will have joined the djegrali.”

“Some of them, yeah. But, surely they didn’t all buy that load of crap Elgdrek was peddling.” Beck’s shoulders sagged. Suddenly, she was weary. “It was stupid of me to keep them here in the first place, but I didn’t know what else to do. A demon would come in wearing a human suit and I’d extract it. I couldn’t let them walk out of here, not
knowing
it was a death sentence for the poor norm. That would be like murder.”

“Do not chastise yourself. This debacle is on my head. I knew you kept demons at the bar. As leader of the Dalvahni, I should have removed them long ago, with or without your permission.” He gazed down at her in that intense way of his, like he saw right through her and into her soul. “Instead, I did nothing because it gave me an excuse to be near you.”

“Really?” She returned his gaze, her heart doing a strange little skip.

“Most definitely.”

Conall’s expression was odd, almost tender. He reached for her. “Rebekah, I—”

Duncan appeared without warning. Beck had seen enough of him the night before to know that he was big and handsome. Seeing him in the light of day confirmed that in spades. He had eyes the color of good scotch, a sensual mouth, and light brown hair shot through with golden highlights from the sun.

He looked around at the wreckage. “What has transpired here?”

Conall dropped his hands and stepped back, his stoic mask once more in place. “You tell me, brother. I left you in charge and return to this.”

Duncan held up a cloth bag. “I went in search of herbs to treat the bear’s ills, devil’s claw to fight inflammation and angelica root to build the blood. I had, of necessity, to travel afar.”

The metal door in the back clanged shut.

“Becky,” Toby hollered.

“In here, Tobe.”

Toby limped in and looked around. “What in tarnation’s going on? Who busted up the place and why is Charlie Skinner hanging in a tree like a gol-danged scarecrow?”

“Oh, my God,” Beck said. “I forgot to call the sheriff.” Hurrying toward the office, she spoke to Toby over her shoulder. “He won’t be able to find us because of Cassie’s spells. You’ll have to meet him at the main road and show him the way.”

Toby hobbled after her. “Don’t worry about that sheriff,” he said from the door to the office. “He won’t have no problem finding us. He’s kith.”

“What?” Beck paused with the phone in her hand. “Are you sure?”

“Course I’m sure. Knew it soon as he come up to us last night. M’ nose, you know.”

The sheriff was kith. Beck’s hands shook as she dialed 911. So much had happened, she was on overload. She heard someone speaking and put the receiver to her ear.

“Yes, operator, this is Beck Damian. My partner and I run a bar on the river a few miles south of Pell Landing. The address is One hundred Catman Road. The sheriff needs to send someone out here. We got a dead guy on our property.”