Forged in Fire (3 page)

“The
what
is a Vessel,” he finally said. “And a Dominus Daemonum is a Master of Demons.”

“Do you mean like a…a demon hunter?”

He nodded. No smile.

“That is what I am,” he said.

“And what’s a Vessel?”

“That is what you are.”

“Okay,” I said, drawing the word out in that you’re-either-insane-or-stupid tone of voice. “Tell me what it is exactly that you
think
I am. What is this
Vessel
?”

He stepped closer. His presence suddenly became enormous and heavy. My heart picked up pace. Those eyes stared down, bewitching me again. His words were more terrifying than any demon at that very moment.

“A Vessel,” he said, his voice brushing against me like velvet, “is a unique being that demons may seek for centuries but never find.”

I scoffed, forcing a laugh from my completely constricted throat. “This is crazy. Absolutely insane. I can hardly register what you’re saying to me, because it’s just so…so freaking insane!”

I threw my hands in the air, exasperated. A guy walking by sped up, probably thinking he was witnessing a lover’s quarrel. I wish.

R-and-B stepped closer and peered down at me with something like sympathy in his eyes. I swallowed hard.

“Whether you can register what I’m saying or not is irrelevant. Whether you believe me or not is irrelevant. Truth is truth.”

“
Verum est verum,
” I whispered automatically.

His eyes narrowed. “You speak Latin?”

“Some.”

“Not surprising.”

“Why is that not surprising?”

“Because a Vessel would be drawn to the old tongue. You’ll need it as a tool to defend yourself.”

I closed my eyes, shutting him out. I needed a moment to come to grips with all of this. At the same time, I wanted to know more. Something inside itched to understand everything. I opened my eyes. He waited patiently. Watching.

“So,” I sighed, “why would demons want a Vessel? What does that even mean?”

I knew I didn’t want to know the answer. But I’ve always been too curious for my own good. His placid expression tensed with agony for a split second before straightening into a mask of indifference.

“Because once a demon bends a Vessel’s will to his own, he can possess her at any time and control her without interference from the Vessel herself or from a Dominus Daemonum. Her power becomes his power. The demon can commit untold horrors. There are no rules or limits barring what can be done when in possession of a Vessel. Hence, the demons’ attraction to her.”

My heart beat a feverish pattern in my throat. How I found my voice, I do not know.

“Rules?”

“Yes, there are rules.”

“For demons?”

“For demons. For everyone.”

There was more to that statement.

“If I’m a Vessel, why haven’t they been after me my whole life?”

“Because a Vessel will
aperio
on her twentieth birthday.”

I frowned. “Are you testing my Latin skills?”

He didn’t respond, just waited patiently. I had no patience, rolling my eyes.

“What does that mean that the Vessel will
open
?” I emphasized the word so he’d get that I was smarter than he thought. The left side of his lips lifted a fraction, barely a half smile. “And why on my twentieth birthday?”

“Aperio refers to the very moment you become exactly two decades old.”

I pondered this a second. My mother used to tell me how the full moon brought me early into her arms. I was definitely born at night. In the recovery room lit only by the luminescent globe high in the night sky, she sang to me a lullaby. She had painted this scene as she remembered it. The moment was frozen forever in shades of indigo, blue and pearly white over the mantel at home.

“I can only speculate about the age,” he explained. “In numerology, twenty represents a call for spiritual upheaval, political revolution or economic reform.”

“That can be bad or good, depending on what the upheaval or revolution is about.”

“Yes. A priest I once knew, an enlightened man, said it represents the source of all energy in the world, but he thought it ominous because it also represented the universal fight.”

“Universal fight? What’s that?”

“War.” His voice dipped low, soft, his obsidian eyes capturing mine. I didn’t breathe, couldn’t. An autumn breeze fluttered past, lifting wisps of hair around my neck. I heard leaves scraping along the pavement behind me, but I was transfixed, unable to break away. Someone passed on a bike. His gaze broke from mine to follow the biker, then he continued. “In Hebrew, this number is represented by the letter
caph
, in the form of an opened hand, meaning to seize and to hold.”

“I don’t understand.”

My mind reeled, trying to process everything he was telling me in his easy tone as if talk of universal turmoil was an everyday occurrence. Who am I kidding? Of course it was.

“Genevieve,” he almost whispered, stepping into my space again. He really needed lessons on personal boundaries. His scent invaded me, circled me in a woodsy heat that was all his own. “All I know is that at this exact age, the Vessel opens, and the opposing sides vie for her—the Dark and the Light. The demons will come for you. The light is already within you. Who wins will be determined only by you.”

“Are you kidding me? Who in the hell would choose to go with demons?”

His face darkened. His eyes grew distant, colder. His voice dropped even lower, a rumble of rolling thunder. “Many have. Many would.” A tingling chill crawled up my spine.

“But I don’t feel any different. Wouldn’t I know if I was a so-called Vessel?”

“You will.”

He was as certain as the sky is blue. I could see that in his determined expression. But I wasn’t so sure. I played along for the moment.

“Okay. So if what you’re saying is true, then why did that demon want to kill me last night? Why didn’t he just want to…to possess me?”

The thought made bile rise in my throat.

“I don’t know.” He glanced at the marks on my neck again. “That puzzles me exceedingly.”

I scoffed.

“Puzzles
you
exceedingly? Are you kidding me? In the past twelve hours, I’ve been groped by a red-eyed demon on a dance floor, nearly strangled to death in an alley, watched an actual demon being pulled from another man’s body, and
now
I’ve been casually informed by my new stalker, a Dominus whatever, that I’m like chocolate cake to every demon alive and all of them want a piece of me.”

He came back from that faraway place, studying me with a smirk on those pretty lips.

“Chocolate cake. That’s quite a metaphor.”

Gasp. Is he flirting with me?

“It was a simile,” I snapped back, not even blinking. “I have to go.” I clicked my keypad to unlock the door.

“There’s more we need to discuss.”

“Not today. Thanks for the pep talk. It’s been real. Too real, but I can’t take any more of this right now. I don’t know what to believe.” I tossed my backpack in the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. “That’s another thing. How do you know so much about me? How do you know my name? I don’t even know yours. I can’t keep calling you—”

Oops. I was about to say R-and-B. He held my door open.

“Dominus whatever?” he asked with the smallest of smiles.

“Yeah. Right.”

Whew.

“My name is Jude Delacroix. Call me when you catch your breath, Genevieve.” He passed me a business card. “I need to prepare you before the next one comes searching for you.”

The card was stark white with his name in all caps and a phone number. No fancy symbols or details of any business.

“Man of mystery, eh?”

“I only give it to those who know who I am and what I do.”

“Hmm. You could add some devil horns with a big X on it or something. Give it some pizzazz.”

He was trying so hard not to smile. Somehow that made me giddy. He stood up and closed the door. I started the car, then heard a light tap of knuckles on the window. I lowered it.

“Call me, Genevieve. Soon. There’s not much time to waste.” His mouth straightened into a somber line.

I nodded, unable to speak. I’d run out of smart comebacks. I shifted into gear and sped away. My mind reeled with the current state of affairs. If I could possibly swallow everything Jude had told me, I had several issues to consider. One—I was a Vessel, some mystical thing I’d never heard of before in my life. Two—demons would be hunting me and soon. Three—my new would-be protector was probably the hottest man alive.

Chapter Three

After a day of catching up on sleep and fetching Doritos, Easy Mac, a cold pack, four Advil, a brush and makeup for the invalid that is my best friend, I was ready for work.

I slipped on workout shorts with a white tank and headed toward City Park. Cruising down St. Charles Avenue, I turned onto a side street and squeezed into a parking spot across from my dad’s dojo, Drake’s Karate Institute. Times like these reminded me why I bought a small, fast car—a necessary commodity in New Orleans where traffic was endless and parking was nonexistent.

Walking through the waiting area, I saw Dad leading a high-level class through the kata. Their slow, precise movements were more like a dance than a karate technique. I hurried into the locker room to pull on my white gi.

A rhythmic sound came from the back alley.
Thwump, thwump
. The door stood ajar. I peeked out to find Erik throwing Chinese darts at a target in the long narrow niche that served as a break area. Besides a wrought-iron table with two chairs, there was the bull’s-eye on the wall.

Erik had been working for my dad since we opened the dojo ten years ago. I’d grown up around him after my mom died and always thought of him as an older brother. His lean, lanky figure was deceiving. I’d sparred with him on a number of occasions and been beaten by his wiry strength more than once.

“You know my dad hates it when you use those things.”

Erik nodded and smiled, spinning a silver dart through the air to hit right on the red rim of the dartboard. He stood arrow straight, no pun intended, as he aimed again. His neatly trimmed brown hair and perfectly fitted gi seemed a juxtaposition with his constant rule-bending.

“I know, I know. ‘It’s not a true art form,’ says the wise mage,” murmured Erik with a lopsided smile. He shrugged. “It’s just for fun.”

He picked up a four-pointed star that curved at the tips.

“Let me try,” I said, tying my black belt tight.

Erik passed me the star. I mimicked his asymmetrical stance, one foot in front of the other, then sent the dart sailing through the air. Bam! Right on the bull’s-eye. I grinned.

“Sweet! You’ve done this before?”

“Nope. I’m a natural, I guess.” I sauntered back to the door. “Gotta get to class.”

“Hey, Gen. Can you close up for me tonight? I’ve got plans and need to get home and shower and stuff.”

“Ooooo, hot date? Anyone I know?”

Erik blushed. He was so cute—the shy guy with a sweet smile, intelligence and a kind heart. The sort of guy who made me want to slap other girls upside the head to take a closer look.

“Gen, come on,” he said in that I’m-too-old-for-you-to-tease-me voice. He was about five years older than me, though he acted like he was eighty sometimes.

“Fine. Keep your secrets. I’ll close up. Have fun,” I said, making a catcall before ducking back inside.

My Kyu class, made up of mostly minor yellow and green belts, flew by uneventfully except when eight-year-old Devon tried to sweep me to the floor. I countered quickly, leaping out of the way.

“You’re really good for a girl.” He grinned up at me with his two front teeth missing.

“For a girl, eh?” I popped into a fighting stance. “I’ll show you what a girl can do.”

I attacked, but with no intent to harm him. We sparred for several minutes. He defended well.

“Very good, Devon. You’re improving. Pretty soon you’ll have your orange belt.” I gave him a wink, and he fled from the dojo in a state of glee.

I piled the grappling mats back against the wall where they belonged, pulling the Windex and cleaning rag out of the corner closet.

“Gen, I’d stay and help lock up, sweetie, but I’ve got to get to the bank before they close.”

My dad stood in the doorway with his keys and bank bag in hand. Though in his late forties, he was still in top physical condition. I suppose he should be from training students in martial arts every day. Though he was the picture of health, I often saw a sadness in his eyes. Don’t get me wrong. He laughed all the time, usually at me and my stupid jokes. But he missed my mother. I knew he did—even ten years after her death. I hated when I caught glimpses of that far-off expression, a sort of longing. Like I saw in his eyes right now.

“You’re not headed to your poker game, are you, Dad?”

The distance vanished. His face lifted into a smile.

“No, Gen. I’m not gambling with company money.”

“Just checking.” I swished my rag around before spraying the mirrors.

“See you Sunday, baby girl.”

“Bye, Dad.”

I heard him bolt the door from the outside after he left. I made short work of the mirrors, stopping once to pull down my gi’s collar to check out my healing bruise. The markings from last night’s attack were more visible after a sweaty workout, having rubbed off the concealer from this morning.

I finished cleaning the mirrors and reorganized the stack of Dad’s
Men’s Health
and Erik’s
Hot Rod
magazines. After passing the vacuum in the waiting room, I changed into a pair of jeans from my locker and stuffed my phone in my back pocket. I only carried a purse when forced, hating the damn things.

As soon as I walked outside, I felt it—that intangible foreboding when you should be alone, but you know you’re not. I glanced up and down the street. No one. I must be paranoid. Still, I quickly bolted the door, bracing my keys between my knuckles so they pointed out like daggers from my fist. The sun had fallen, but a dim light still lingered on the empty street. A dog barked somewhere. No one else was around. My car was right across the street. I took three long strides, then a man’s voice stopped me.

“Where you goin’ in such a hurry, sweetheart?”

I spun around. Three men in their twenties closed in around me. They were all different except for one commonality—piercing red eyes. The one who spoke was taller than the other two, muscular and tan. Light brown hair hung long around his shoulders. He looked like he stepped off the cover of one of those cheesy romance novels. One of his buddies was a shorter, stocky guy, sort of like a pit bull. The third was a slender black man with a predator’s gait, circling to block my way to the car. He had a tattoo that trailed up his throat, piercings in his face and gauges in his ears. He wore a spiked cuff on his wrist. I sensed he was the most dangerous.

Unlike last night’s incident with Sandy-hair, I was more than ready this time. Still, the three of them stalking closer sent a shot of adrenaline through my body. I wasn’t sure I could take them, but I sure as hell wasn’t going down without a fight.

“Can we play with her first?” asked Pit-bull boy.

I shifted my feet into a defensive stance.
Dream on.

Fabio shook his head. “No. He wants her unspoiled,” he said, letting his freaky red eyes linger over my body. “Pity.”

Gross.

“You guys all think alike. One of your buddies said the same thing before he tried to kill me last night.”

The leader frowned. I glanced back at the guy behind me. He hadn’t moved, legs apart and hands at his side. Flexing his arms, he was a tiger waiting to pounce.

“One of our buddies?” asked Fabio.

“Yeah. A demon-boy like you.”

“Tried to kill you?”

“Redundant much?”

My bravado almost convinced even me. Why, oh why hadn’t I listened to Jude? Shucking off the trembling sensation in my gut, I focused on who would do what first, trying to find my moment to act.

Fabio turned his head to say something to Pit-bull boy. I took that second of distraction to make my move. Leaping in two bounds, I punched him at the base of the throat, jabbing two keys into his windpipe. He bent forward and grabbed his throat. I spun and double-elbowed him in the ribs and face. Pit-bull boy lunged for me, leaving his groin open and vulnerable. Stupid move. I kicked him fast and hard like I would a soccer ball. He fell with a groan.

“Bitch,” he growled.

“You have no idea.”

I spun fast. Scary spiky dude was nearly on top of me. Ducking his attempt to grab me, I sprinted for the car. I wouldn’t have enough time to open the door, hearing his steps right on top of me. Turning, I kicked up toward his chest. He caught my leg and twisted. I fell face-first to the pavement. He landed on top of my back to keep me still. Hell no! I elbowed up into his ribs over and over again. He shifted a little, and I thought I would be free, but Fabio was there. Damn!

Spiky flipped me over, holding my legs, while Fabio sat on my chest to keep me still. “Feisty one, aren’t you?” He grinned as blood dripped from his nose and down his chin.

He wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand. I think I broke the cartilage in his nose. Good.

“No worries. He likes a little fight. Makes things more interesting.”

“Listen, Fabio. Don’t you dare bleed on me. No telling how many diseases you have.”

He gripped my throat. Oh, come on! Did they have any other move?

“I see someone has been here before me,” he said, rubbing his thumb over Sandy-hair’s bruise. “Who was he? Why did he try to kill you?”

“Get off me, you smelly bastard!”

I pushed, but he was heavy, almost unmovable.

“Oh really? What are you going to do?”

Someone cried out. Pit-bull boy? Fabio glanced over his own shoulder, still holding me down. Spiky released my legs. I heard scuffling and the sound of steel on pavement. Thankful for the diversion, I planted my feet and rolled my hips up hard. Fabio tipped sideways, releasing his grip on me to catch his balance. I rolled over and scrambled to my feet. He was up and in front of me just as fast, blocking my way.

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” He pulled a long knife from a hidden sheath inside the front of his jeans. “Why don’t you come quietly, like a good girl?”

Seriously? “I don’t think so.”

A sudden high-pitched scream drew our attention. Behind him, there was Jude, in all of his masculine glory, holding a long sword thrust deep into the chest of Pit-bull boy. Wait, a sword? What century was I in?

His victim screamed while Jude chanted something under his breath. He held his other hand out, palm flat in the air toward Spiky, who railed and beat against an invisible wall he could not pass. As Jude chanted, a faint reddish-gold light haloed his body, similar but brighter than the first night I met him. Electricity snapped in the air, raising gooseflesh on my skin. Then it happened again. The flaming light took form around Jude’s body. Wisps of gold swept into rippling arcs around his frame. So beautiful.

Was this for real? I knew I was standing there like an idiot, mouth agape, but I couldn’t move. My brain tried to process what I was seeing. Jude continued chanting inaudible words, his fiery aura growing brighter. Pit-bull’s body combusted into orange flames, shriveling and shrinking into a charred husk. With a wave of his hand, Jude swept the remains of ashy bone into the wind. He fixed baleful eyes on Spiky, who stopped beating on the invisible shield still protecting the demon hunter. Spiky staggered backward and ran.

I finally came to my senses, spinning a hard kick up toward Fabio’s head. He swiveled back to me, slicing out with his knife. It cut through my tank along my abdomen. Searing pain burned across my stomach. I screamed. Jude stalked toward us, swinging his sword in an arc, fixing a murderous gaze on Fabio, who stared wide-eyed at Jude for two seconds, then disappeared after Spiky.

I stumbled. Jude caught me in his arms before I hit the pavement. He lifted and carried me toward my car. His aura had vanished, and his eyes flashed storm-black. I marveled at how easily he held me. I’m not a small girl, never have been, but Jude lifted me like I weighed nothing. Funny the things your mind thinks of in traumatic situations.

Blood seeped through my white tank. A wet trail trickled along the line of my waist to my back. I couldn’t think straight, feeling my mind pull away. The worst injury I’d ever had was a broken arm from falling off the trampoline when I was seven. I had cried all the way to the hospital, still hurting when we left. That night, my mother settled herself beside my bed and painted Van Gogh’s “Starry Night” all the way around my cast. My arm became a piece of artwork for everyone to admire. Pain cradled in love.

“Where are your keys?” Jude’s gruff voice pulled me back to the present.

“Dropped them,” I whispered.

I’m not sure how, but he managed to bend and scoop up my keys without ever letting me go. I glanced over his shoulder, seeing nothing but a blackened spot of soot where Pit-bull boy had fallen.

Jude put me in the passenger seat, disappeared for about ten seconds, then slid into the driver’s seat, tossing the sword in the back. As if he’d owned the car all his life, he shifted from first to third gear in seconds. We zoomed down St. Charles, heading into the heart of New Orleans.

“You missed the turn for the Medical Center,” I murmured, watching a pool of crimson seep across my tank, coloring my blue jeans purple. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“We’re not going to the hospital.” He punched into fifth with violent force. “We’re going to my place.”