Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (3 page)

“He was attacked and wounded nigh unto death a few days later. He has recovered, but the wound pains him still and has left a scar.”

“He’s a demon hunter. I’ll bet he has lots of scars.”

Conall shook his head. “You are wrong. Death comes seldom to the Dalvahni. We heal quickly and we
never
scar. Do you not see the import of this?”

“Can’t say as I do.”

“Someone has developed a weapon against the Dalvahni. If this weapon falls into the hands of the djegrali, it could be disastrous. I need your help.”

“Guess you should’ve thought about that before you made the ‘You don’t stink bad for a demon girl’ crack, you narrow-minded ass.”

His dark brows rose. “My words were careless and spoken in haste. ’Twas not my intent to anger you.”

“Mister, just the fact that we’re sucking in air on the same planet pisses me off.”

“What can I do to make amends?”

“You can get the hell out of my sight. That would make me feel loads better. Other than that, I can’t think of a thing.”

Conall moved closer. “That I cannot do, not until I make you see reason.”

“You can’t
make
me do anything.”

To her astonishment, he smiled. “A challenge,” he said. “I like that.”

A part of her, the female, horny part she generally tried to ignore, sat up and took notice when he smiled, the shameless hussy.

Oh, no. She would not go there. She’d dry-hump a stump before she had anything to do with that stuck-up, sanctimonious, speciesist SOB.

To her relief, Toby interrupted them. Nudging the screen door open with his nose, the dog trotted inside. The silver chain around his neck jangled as he shook himself and resumed his human form. Like his doggie self, Toby was restless and energetic and never still for long. He wore his usual attire on his wiry frame: jeans and a faded T-shirt. His gray hair hung in a long braid down his back.

Toby shot Conall a curious glance. “What’s he doing here? Thought we got shed of him weeks ago.”

“I thought so, too,” Beck said. Something was wrong. Toby looked alert, excited even. “What’s up?”

“There’s a dead guy on the landing,” Toby said. “Thought you’d wanna know.”

“W
hat?” Beck hurried for the door. “I was just out there.

WI didn’t see anything.”

Fwppt.
Conall was in front of her, barring the way. Beck was used to beings with supernatural speed, but this guy was
fast.

“I will deal with this,” he said. “I am no stranger to death.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.” Beck tried to push past him, but no matter which way she went he blocked her. Frustrated, she shoved her hands against his chest. He was solid muscle and about as pliable as a steam shovel. “Get out of the way.”

“No. You could be in danger. It could be the work of the djegrali.”

“Djegrali? You think I’m afraid of demons?” Beck laughed. “Get real.
I’m
a demon, remember?”

“You are but half demon.”

“Same difference,” Beck said. “No good demon but a dead demon. That’s the Dalvahni motto, isn’t it?”

Conall’s expression hardened. And that was saying something, because the guy had a mug like granite. “The Dal were created to hunt down and capture or destroy rogue demons. That is our purpose.”

“Peachy,” Beck said. “Bully for you. Me, I’m trying to run a bar, not save the universe. So, excuse me while I go see about the dead guy on my pier.”

“You are troubled. I offer my sword arm in your defense.”

“What are you, dense?” Beck said. “I don’t need your help. I don’t
want
it. Get out.” She turned her back on him. “Toby, you’d better call Sheriff Whitsun. You’ll have to meet him at the end of the road and bring him in. Let’s just hope he doesn’t close us down for the night.”

“No need for that.” Toby’s mismatched eyes—one purple, the other as golden as topaz—shone with mischief. “It ain’t that kinda dead guy.”

That stopped Beck in her tracks. She stared at him in confusion. “ ’Scuse me? What other kind of dead guy is there?”

“That kind,” Toby said, pointing to the door.

A man shuffled in off the porch. His clothes were soaked and he was barefoot. He looked young, maybe in his early twenties, although looks could be deceiving, especially among supernaturals. He had a pleasant, open face that Beck liked immediately. There was an unhealthy ashy tinge to his brown skin, but otherwise he looked fine. In the crook of one arm, he held a ragged bit of black fur. A pair of copper eyes gleamed at them from a sharp feline face. It was the feral young cat Beck had been trying to coax out of the bushes for days.

“Hold.” Conall drew his sword. As blades went, the sword wasn’t pretty or fancy. But Beck had seen Conall in action, and knew that he was wicked good. He pointed the business end of the weapon at the newcomer. “State your name and business.”

The stranger’s brown eyes widened in alarm. “I’m Tommy Henderson,” he said. He had a rich, fluid voice and a distinctive accent. Southern, definitely, but not from around here. “I’m looking for a job. Something temporary.”

“Have to be real temporary, ’cause he’s
dead
.” Toby tapped the end of his nose. “Dog snoot. The nose knows.”

“You can smell me?” An expression of genuine horror flitted across Tommy’s features. “He said the spell would keep me from stinking. I should’ve known that lowdown no-good mofo was lying.”

“What mofo?” Beck asked.

“The zombie maker. Damn, I hate this.” Tommy sniffed his damp sleeve. “You got any air freshener, or maybe one of them Stick-Ups handy?”

Beck stepped back. “You’re a
zombie
?”

As part owner of a bar for supernaturals, she’d seen some pretty strange things over the years, but the walking dead was something new and unsettling, even for her.

Toby grunted. “Told ya he was a stiff.”

“Don’t be rude, Tobias.” Beck considered Tommy. He didn’t look dangerous. “I never met a zombie before. Gotta say, you’re not what I expected. I thought zombies ate people and went around saying
unh uhn
. You talk just fine.”

“Brains,” Toby said, giving Beck a
duh
look. “Zombies eat brains. Everybody knows that.”

“I don’t eat brains.” Tommy shuddered. “I’m a vegetarian. I hate this. I wish I was dead.” His face crumpled. “Shit, I
am
dead. I’m worse than dead. I can’t go home like this. I’ll give my poor mama a heart attack. And Robyn’s gonna be pissed.”

“Who’s Robyn?” Beck asked.

“My girlfriend,” Tommy said. He made a face. “Ex-girlfriend, more like it, seeing as how I’m dead.”

“Maybe Beck can help you,” Toby said. “Jimmy Earl Flynn’s wife caught him messing around and put the whammy on him. The poor sap broke both legs and an arm before Beck removed the curse.”

“You are an undoer?” Conall gave Beck a look of appraisal. “That is a most useful talent.”

“It was a simple klutz curse,” she said. “I’ve never tried to unzombie somebody before.”

“I understand if you don’t wanna help me,” Tommy said. “I ain’t nothing to you. I shoulda stayed at the bottom of the river and let the gators eat me.”

Damn, Beck thought. Tommy seemed so lost and miserable. She knew what it was like to be different, to be an outcast in her own family. Tommy the zombie couldn’t go home and neither could Beck the demon girl. Daddy had married Brenda, the God-fearing, Bible-thumping Holy Roller, and had a couple of kids,
human
kids, leaving no place for her in his new life.

“It’s not that I don’t want to help you,” she said. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You are wise not to attempt it,” Conall said. “Such a course would be inadvisable and possibly dangerous for someone not well versed in the magical arts.”

Translation: he didn’t think she could do it. She didn’t think she could do it, either, but that was beside the point.

“I’ll give it a try,” she said, ignoring Conall’s growl of protest. “But, I’m not promising anything.”

Closing her eyes, she sought the still, quiet place within her, letting her agitation with Conall the Super Jerk and the unsettling happenings of the morning fall away. When she opened her eyes again, she could see the spell surrounding Tommy in a reddish-brown haze. Lines of power, delicate as the shimmering strands of a spider’s web, writhed inside the nimbus. If she could find one end of the spell, perhaps she could unravel the whole thing. An impossible task, when the tentacles of the enchantment were constantly moving and changing, crossing and entwining with one another like a writhing bed of snakes.

Maybe if she broke a line of the spell the whole thing would fragment. She gingerly touched one of the humming fibers with the tip of one finger. The spell formed a mouth bristling with teeth and snapped at her.

“Yeow,” Beck yelped, jumping back. She stuck her bleeding finger in her mouth. “It bit me.”

“Rebekah, perhaps it would be better if you did not—” Conall began.

Furious, Beck reached out and grabbed a handful of lines at once. Power shot up her arm and knocked her to the floor. She stared up at the ceiling, dazed, and tried to catch her breath.

Conall loomed over her. “I warned you, did I not?” he asked, helping her to her feet. “This magic is beyond you.”

She opened her mouth to argue with him and shut it again. He was right, dammit.

“I can see the spell, Tommy, but I don’t know how to undo it,” she said. “But I’m not giving up. In the meantime, you can stay here until we figure something out.”

“Inadvisable,” Conall said, drawing her aside. “He is the undead. A creature bound to do his master’s bidding, a sorcerer of great power as you have already discovered. The zombie cannot be trusted.”

“Lower your voice. You’ll hurt Tommy’s feelings.”

“He is dead. He does not have feelings. He is a soulless minion of evil.”

“He does, too, have a soul,” Beck argued. “You can see it in his eyes, in his expression.”

“You are mistaken.”

God, he was arrogant.

“Maybe he died suddenly and didn’t go to that big Happy Meal in the sky,” she said. “Maybe he got stuck, somehow. Ever think of that?”

“Highly unlikely. Necromancers raise the dead after the soul has departed.”

“So now you’re a zombie expert?”

“I do not have to be versed in the ways of the undead to know that the arrival of such a creature bodes no good. In all likelihood, he is a fiend garbed in human flesh.”

“A real glass half full kind of guy, aren’t you?” Beck said. She tapped her chest. “If he had a demon in him, I’d know.”

He gave her one of his superior I’m-a-demon-hunter-and-you’re-so-
not
looks. “How?”

“The same way I can see the zombie maker’s spell. Demons are like a dark spot, a cancer inside a person.”

To her satisfaction, his condescending expression faded, replaced by curiosity. “Interesting,” he said. “Do all the kith have this talent?”

“I have no idea. Take a poll, why don’t you?”

He grabbed her by the arm as she started to turn away. “You cannot allow the zombie to stay here. ’Twould be foolishness in the extreme.”

She jerked away from him. “Yeah, well lucky for you, it’s not your problem. Besides, the cat trusts Tommy. Animals can sense things about people.”

“You would make a decision based on the supposed intuition of a stray animal?” He shook his head. “Such a thing is beyond illogical. It is nonsensical.”

There he went again, rubbing her the wrong way, like steel wool on a baby’s behind. “I don’t have to justify myself to you,” she said. “Now, for the last time, go away.”

“No.”

“No?” Beck’s blood pressure rose. All the dive bars in all the world and he walks into mine, she thought. “I’ve had about enough of this shit and you. This is
my
place. Leave. Now. Before I have Hank and Toby throw you out.”

“They are most welcome to try,” he said with a lethal smile. “I will endeavor not to hurt them too badly, as they are your friends.”

Something like panic welled inside Beck. Ridiculous; she
never
panicked.

“Why are you doing this?” she cried. “There are plenty of demonoids who’d sell their own mothers for the money in that wallet of yours.”

“I do not know them.”

“You don’t know
me,
” Beck said. “You don’t know anything about me.”

From across the room, Toby raised his brows at her as if to ask
You okay?
Beck shook her head at him in warning. Toby was a tough old bird, but he was no match for a demon hunter, particularly this one. Conall might seem all cool and calm on the outside, but Beck had seen the savage current of violence that ran beneath his placid surface.

“You are wrong,” Conall said. “I have watched you carefully for weeks and I do know you. More importantly, I think . . .” He hesitated. “I believe I can trust you.”

The words sounded forced, like rusted gears grinding back to life.

“Well, I don’t trust you,” Beck snapped. “Go find somebody else.”

Turning on her heel, she walked away.

Conall watched her saunter off. The garb she wore hugged her long legs and round bottom in a most indecent fashion. The females of this place and time frequently donned breeches, but few of them looked as delectable in masculine attire as Rebekah. She had a strong, lithe body and moved with a fluid, sensuous grace.

Fluid, indeed, he thought, recalling her sudden and unexpected transformation a few moments before. He’d held a woman in his arms, a supple, jasmine-scented creature of delight, and then she’d slipped from his grasp, as elusive as a
naiad
returning to its elemental form.

She was the most frustrating, annoying, fascinating creature he’d ever encountered. He’d handled things badly, and now he would have to start all over again. Find a way to get back in her good graces.

Back? He had not been in her good graces since they’d met. Their first face-to-face encounter had been less than a month ago; though that was not the first time he’d seen her. He’d frequented Beck’s Bar for weeks prior to their “introduction,” watching her from his table in the corner. Studying her, but never speaking. She intrigued him from the start, and that had unsettled him. What was it about her that drew him? True, she was comely, but it was more than that. He had known countless beauties through the centuries. None of them had disturbed his equanimity like Rebekah.

After a few nights of sitting alone in his corner, he’d realized with a surge of satisfaction that she returned his notice. She darted furtive glances his way; he made her uneasy. Good. He wanted her on edge, off balance, like him. It gave him an advantage, or so he’d thought.

Until the night she had come to Evie Douglass’s defense, a woman she scarcely knew, taking on a demon single handed. He could see Rebekah still, facing the loathsome creature with naught but a bottle in her hand, her violet eyes ablaze. Springing to her aid, he’d slain the fiend with his sword. To his surprise, she had chastised him most roundly for it. Then she’d shocked him further by removing a demon from a possessed human, like a physic lancing a boil.