For a Few Demons More (48 page)

“Yup,” I said with a false brightness. I felt sick. Buying Kisten's and my safety from Piscary was so wrong. But it was either that or deal with a demon, and I'd rather keep my soul clean and let my morals get dingy. I guess. But I felt filthy. This wasn't who I wanted to be.

“Son of a bitch…” Al said as Piscary's long fingers stretched forward to take it.

“Rachel!” Jenks shouted from the ceiling. “Get down!”

My breath hissed. Not looking, I dropped. The flat of my arms hit the tile, and I saw Al's feet move toward me. I rolled under the table to Quen. But Quen was gone.

“Get down!” Edden's voice bellowed, strong and demanding. I was on my hands and knees under the table, and I tensed for a gunshot. It never came.

A guttural snarl erupted from the back of the room, and I gasped when Al fell into my sight on the floor. Piscary was atop him. The undead vampire had launched himself across the room. He was protecting me. I had paid him to keep me alive, and that's what he was doing.

Shocked, I scrambled up.

Quen and I had exchanged places. The warrior elf had Trent backed into a corner by the door. Edden was standing before them, gun trained on Al. The Weres were by the back counter, wide-eyed. Ivy was blinking
where she sat, looking at her reflection in the distant two-way mirror, oblivious to Skimmer's attempts to tug her upright and to the back of the room. The pretty vampire's eyes were black in fear, and her mouth was open in horror. I could smell burnt amber, and I patted at my clothes, looking for damage. But then I saw it. The doorknob had been melted. We weren't getting out of here anytime soon.

Oh, God. I wanted to live.

The lights were on in the room behind the mirror, and someone was trying to break the glass with a chair. Heart pounding, I backed up to the wall, my gaze on Piscary and Al.

“Jenks! Get back!” I shouted when I saw the sparkle of pixy dust. Snarling, fangs bared, Piscary grappled with Al. The demon was at a severe disadvantage in his witch body, and I went cold when I realized that Piscary had him. Hand covering my neck, I stood in shock as the vampire sank his teeth.

Al howled, managing to get an arm between them, then a knee. With a pained grunt, he tried to shove Piscary away, failing. Tears of remembered fear filled my eyes as the demon went limp with a moan, the vampire saliva starting to work.

My hand clutched my sore upper arm, and I looked away. My gaze found Trent behind Quen. He, too, appeared shocked. I don't think he knew until this moment the horror Quen and I had endured when we were attacked by an undead. They didn't care. They existed to feed. The walking and talking simply make it easier for them.

Edden was ashen-faced, but his pointed weapon stayed steady, waiting. The pounding on the mirror had shifted to a pounding on the door.

With a sodden thump, Piscary let Al drop. Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, then delicately cleaning even that from himself with a black handkerchief, Piscary rose. His eyes were black. He had just fed, but we were trapped in here with him. Al's hand lifted, then fell.

The room tensed, and Jenks landed on my shoulder. He was pale, as shocked as the rest of us. “It's not over, Rache,” he said, his voice frightened. “Get yourself in a circle.”

I drew myself up to tap a line and set an informal circle, but a hint of burnt amber brought my attention to the front of the room.
Shit.

A mist was forming over Al. Al wasn't dead. He was leaving Lee's
body now that it wasn't useful anymore. Piscary didn't know it, standing satisfied and full of himself, smiling benevolently. Any circle I was going to make had to have a real beginning to stand against a demon. My bag and its stick of magnetic chalk was on the other side of the table. Hiking up my dress, I crawled up onto the table to jerk my bag to me. Backing into a corner as Piscary advanced, I scrabbled in my bag, fingers fumbling.

“Rache! Hurry up!” Jenks shrilled.

Heart pounding, I found it, yanking it out. It slipped, and I cried out in frustration as it rolled under the table. I dove for it, but Quen got there first, and both our hands landed on it.

“The demon isn't dead,” the elf said, and I nodded. “I need this,” he said, jerking the chalk from my fingers.

“Damn it, Quen!” I shouted, then screamed when a set of fingers fastened about my ankle and dragged me out from under the table. I twisted and, flat on my back, stared up at Piscary. He bared his fangs, and my heart gave a thud. From my neck came a pulse of feeling, but I was too scared for it to feel good. Piscary's eyes closed in twisted bliss, soaking it in like sunshine. Behind him a sheet of ever-after swirled and condensed into a vision of the Egyptian god of the underworld, his smooth chest bare and bells jingling from his scarlet-and-gold loincloth.

I never thought I'd be so glad to see Algaliarept. Too bad he was likely going to kill me after he finished staking Piscary.

“Piscary,” I said breathlessly as the demon's goat-slitted eyes glinted red and a long canine tongue slipped out to catch a drop of hanging saliva, “You might want to turn around.”

“Pathetic,” the undead vampire mocked, and I stifled a gasp as he yanked me up.

“You only killed Lee, you stupid ass,” Jenks said from above me. “Not Al.”

The vampire took a deep breath, scenting the air. I shrieked when he shoved me away. I flew backward, hitting the cupboards. Struggling to breathe, I put a hand to my back.

“Rachel!” Jenks shrilled. “Are you okay? Can you move?”

“Yeah,” I rasped, almost cross-eyed as I looked at him inches away from me. I scanned the room for Ivy, not seeing her. Someone screamed. It wasn't me this time, and I staggered up.

“Oh, my God,” I whispered as Jenks hovered beside me. Al had Piscary. It was a vision from the depths of history as a jackal-headed god grappled with an Egyptian prince in royal robes who had set himself even with the underworld. The demon had his hands around Piscary's neck, his fingers pressing into the vampire's flesh as if it were dough, and he was trying to pinch his head right off. Piscary was fighting him, but now that Al was in demon form and pissed to the ends of the Turn, the undead vampire hadn't a chance.

Piscary couldn't die. It would ruin everything.

“Quen! Give me the chalk!” I wheezed, hand over my bruised throat. I had to save Piscary. Damn it, I had to save his worthless, stinking, perverted life.

From his corner, Quen hesitated.

“Who do you think Al will go after when he's done with Piscary!” I exclaimed, frustrated, and the elf threw it at me.

My heart leapt. Crap, why did people always throw stuff at me? I was a lousy catch. But I put my hand up, and the chalk hit it with a satisfying thump. Keeping one eye on the jackal-headed god and the dying vampire, I hunched over, tripping on my dress as I drew a circle around them, making it as big as I could to stay out of their way. Jenks went before me, and I followed the path he was dusting to get it circular.

“Ivy,” I gasped when I found her, standing blank-faced before the mirror, watching her faint reflection, oblivious to everything. “Go to Quen. Get over by Quen. I can't help you.”

She didn't move, and when Jenks shrilled at me to hurry, I lurched past her, praying she would be okay and cursing my helplessness.

I had to crawl under the table to finish the circle, and as I came out, the end of my silver line met the beginning.
“Rhombus,”
I breathed, tapping a line. The gold of my aura flowed upward, the black of demon smut following to coat it a breath behind.

“No!” Al howled, his eyes red with fury as he dropped Piscary an instant too late.

The vampire hit the floor. Still conscious, Piscary grabbed the demon about the calves and pulled him down. Piscary was on him in an instant, fangs tearing ribbons of flesh like a wolf 's. I scrambled up, shocked as he gulped them down to make room for more, trying to savage the demon into nonexistence. The sound was absolutely…horrifying.

“Let them kill themselves,” Trent said from beside the door, pale and shaking.

“Demon!” I shouted, unable to risk calling Al by his summoning name. “I have bound you. You are mine. Leave here and go directly to the ever-after!”

The Egyptian god howled, saliva dripping red from his muzzle and his neck reduced to ribbons of exposed flesh. He had returned to his demon form, and he was vulnerable.

“Leave
now
!” I demanded, and with his anger ringing within the room, Al vanished.

Piscary fell through the space where Al had been, his arm hitting the floor to catch himself. Hand against his crushed neck, he found his feet. The room was silent but for Skimmer's gasping breaths, sounding almost like sobs. The Weres were in one corner and the elves in another. Edden was passed out on the floor beside the door. Just as well. He would have tried to shoot someone, and that would only have given him more paperwork.

I turned to Quen, the chalk still in my grip. “Thanks,” I whispered, and he nodded.

Slowly Piscary collected himself, turning from a savage monster to a ruthless businessman, albeit one covered in blood. His eyes were utterly black, and a shudder rippled over me. Taking a step forward, he stopped at the edge of my bubble. He tugged down the sleeves of his elegant traditional dress robes and wiped the last of the demon flesh from his mouth, clearly waiting. My pulse slowed, and, praying I was safe, I slid a foot forward and broke the circle.

Hell, I had saved his undead life. Surely that meant something to him.

“You could have let him kill me,” Piscary said, scanning the room until he found Ivy, her back to him as she touched her reflection.

“Uh-huh,” I panted, scooping up my bag and tucking the chalk away. “But you're my ticket to normalcy, right? And the only way to get Kisten's blood gift reversed.”

Piscary raised one eyebrow. “I can't rescind my gift of Kisten's last blood. I wouldn't even if I could. Kisten needed to be reminded of his reason for existence. And besides, that would have been rude.”

Would have been?
I thought, going cold.
As in past tense?

“Kisten…” I stammered, suddenly feeling trapped. My hand
clutched at my sore arm, and I felt sick. Jenks's wings rose to a pitch that made my eyes ache.
Kisten.
“What did you do?” I took a frantic breath. “What did you do to him!”

The vampire dabbed at the black blood leaking from him. It smelled like incense, potent and heady. “Kisten is dead,” he said flat out, and I reached for the table, dizzy. “Not only dead but truly dead. Twice. He didn't have it in him to stay the course.” Piscary pressed his lips and cocked his head in a mockery of interest. “I'm not surprised.”

“You're lying,” I said, hearing my voice tremble. My chest clenched, and I couldn't get enough air. Kisten couldn't be dead. I would know. I would have felt it. Something would have been different, everything, and nothing was. Jenks had said he'd called.
He couldn't be dead!

“He went underground!” I exclaimed, frantically looking at everyone—wanting someone, anyone, to tell me I was right. But no one met my eyes.

Piscary smiled to show a glint of fang. He was getting too much joy from my despair for it not to be true. “You don't think I know when one of my own passes into undead existence?” he said. “I felt him die, and then I felt him die again.” Face showing a twisted pleasure, he leaned toward me and whispered loudly. “It was a shock to him. He didn't expect it. And I licked up his despair and failure, reveling in it. His entire life was worth just that one…
exquisite
moment of failed perfection. Pity his living bloodline ended with him, but he was always so careful. It was as if he didn't want anyone to follow him….”

Vertigo hit me, and I clutched at the edge of the table.
This cannot be happening
. “Who?” I rasped, and Piscary smiled like a benevolent, savage god. “Who killed him?”

“How pathetic,” he said, then cocked his head. “Or do you really not remember?” he said in speculation, dropping his bloodstained handkerchief and focusing intently on me.

I tried to speak, but nothing came out. Horror that he might be speaking the truth numbed me. I couldn't think. My arm throbbed under my fingers, and when he leaned closer, I did nothing, too shaken to respond.

“You were there,” he said distantly, reaching out to take my jaw in his hand and tilt my head so the light hit my eyes. “You saw. I can smell Kisten's final death all over you. You breathe it out. It lifts from your
skin like perfume.”

I was sleeping in the church,
I thought in denial, then felt my world shift with a nauseating spin as things added up. I had woken sore and hurt. I had a cut on my lip. The kitchen had smelled of candles and lilac—the materials for a forget potion. My damned foot was so swollen that I couldn't wear anything but my boots.

What had I seen? What had I done?

I stumbled back when Piscary took a step forward. I didn't believe this! I had given him the focus for what? Kisten was dead. Tears prickled.
Oh, my God, Kisten is dead. And I was there
.

Piscary reached for me, and I flung my hand up to block, only to have him capture my wrist. Fear spiked to my middle, and I froze. The room seemed to waver as the people in it drew their breath, and Piscary breathed deep, scenting me. Relishing my fear.

“You're stronger than Ivy let on,” he said softly, almost introspective. “I understand why she's fixated on you. Perhaps there's a use for you, if you can walk unscathed from a room where one undead vampire met his end and another barely escaped to see another night.”

I jerked away, my frantic gaze going to Edden. Tension crept along my spine as I backed up. There had been another? I didn't remember it, but I had to believe him.
What have I done to myself? Why?