InsatiableNeed (2 page)

“I don’t follow.”

She huffed and tucked a lock of her chin-length blonde hair
behind her ear. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you have a funny way of asking for
favors?”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re an annoying ass?”

“Every day of my life. It’s one of my better qualities.” He
grinned. “But about this thing… How does it work if people keep their wits
about themselves? Say you got this retail assistant who wouldn’t ordinarily
steal from the cash register. When they start pocketing Benjamins, if their
minds are still there, if they know they’re not acting according to their own
moral code and can’t stop, how does the guilt play in?”

“Harriet told me it didn’t work like that.” Raegan crossed
her arms. “I’m not really sure how it’s supposed to work, but it’s like…when
Jezebel shows up, the people she influences take whatever course of action they
have fantasized about but never acted upon. And it only counts for those things
that are in proximity. If that cashier in your example were anywhere else, his
actions would reflect his surroundings. Something they’ve contemplated doing
but
not really.
Fantasized about doing but
wouldn’t really.
It’s
like any given scenario, you take the person’s sense of right and wrong away
and suddenly their bodies are doing it, and their mind remains their own.
People can convince themselves of anything, so if they find themselves doing
something, rather than think ‘oh, witchcraft!’, they will reason it’s a choice
they made. Because they
have
thought about it.”

Zeth fell silent, his inner skeptic starting to lose its
voice. It wasn’t as though Father O’Brien was a standup member of society.
Hell, most everyone regarded him as a pariah, save the couple dozen sheep who
flocked to his Sunday sermons. In shithole towns like Highfield, Missouri,
though, everyone played at an angle…and as long as Zeth could remember, O’Brien
had been the stuff of smalltime folklore, a local legend in his own right. He’d
become the face of the boogie man for the neighborhood children and the
favorite scapegoat for whatever happened to go wrong. Granted, the good
preacher didn’t do himself any favors. His long face was perpetually set in a
scowl, his blue eyes always slanted, and the nostrils on his narrow nose flared
whenever he was particularly displeased. He dressed modestly and parted his
thinning silver hair the same way every day, which made him impossible to miss.

O’Brien was best known for preaching hellfire and damnation,
driving away parishioners he felt were unclean in God’s book, and his overall
lack of public tact. Just recently, in fact, an opinion piece had appeared in
the local paper regarding O’Brien’s Monday ritual, which was roughly composed
of targeting unwed mothers at the mall or grocery stores and explaining in
explicit, gruesome detail what the devil did to those who committed sexual
sins. Penance came with joining him for Mass so he could pray away the demons
afflicting the souls of the damned.

That tactic hadn’t worked. Neither had his much-publicized
family values campaign, though that wasn’t much of a surprise seeing as his
family values came out of the eighteenth century. If O’Brien wanted to scare
the devil out of citizens of Highfield, it wasn’t entirely unreasonable that he
would first have to invite the devil in and make people believe they were just
as rotten as he’d always said they were.

“Someone does something they’ve always thought about doing
and suddenly all this superstitious mumbo jumbo doesn’t seem quite so funny,”
Zeth mused, only half aware he was voicing his thoughts.

“Exactly,” Raegan agreed, her shoulders dropping. “So are
you going to help me, or what?”

“Help you?”

She gave him one of those looks that managed to make him feel
three inches tall and hard as a fucking rock at the same time. “I. Want. To.
Stop. O’Brien. Have you been tuning me out this whole time?”

“Well, I tried, but some things did get through.”

“I hate you.”

“To be fair, I know that.” Zeth sighed. “So what do you want
me to do? I’m your Deep Throat. You’ve only ever come to me for a good story.”

“Well, shit, Zeth, I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“I forgive you.”

Raegan’s eyes blazed dangerously, but she ignored the
remark. “Yeah, you’re my Deep Throat. You just so happen to also be the only
person I know who might be able to stop the crazy man from making everyone go
coo coo for Cocoa Puffs. Silly me for thinking you might actually wanna do
something nice for someone.”

A half a dozen retorts sat waiting on his tongue—little
things he could say that would get her to the point where she’d just as soon
leap across the desk and strangle him as accept any help he offered. And as
much fun as Zeth had in stoking the fire, he found himself now feeling the
beast called guilt raising its unwanted head.

As much fun as it would be seeing all of Highfield doing the
walk of shame, Zeth was a sucker for a damsel in distress. And Raegan was
definitely distressed.

Furthermore, Zeth wasn’t such an asshole not to understand
why. If Jezebel was summoned, if Jezebel did ride into town on the clouds of
chaos, it put everyone at risk. Sure, a person might rob a liquor store. A
person also might finally do in his boss. And Raegan had witnessed enough
death. She’d seen her fill the night her friend was ripped to shreds.

For the first time, Raegan Pritchett wasn’t here as a
reporter. Whether she admitted it or not, she was here as a friend.

And she was asking him for help.

And only a true son of a bitch could look into her pretty
brown eyes and say no. Try as he might, Zeth wasn’t a true son of a bitch.

“All right,” Zeth said softly.

She stared at him. It clearly wasn’t the answer she
expected. “All right? All right, what?”

“All right, I’m in.” He smiled, biting back a smirk when her
face fell, her defense mechanisms and ire melting in favor of genuine
astonishment.

Though that she was surprised at all to discover he wasn’t
the aforementioned son of a bitch smarted more than it should.

Raegan’s gaze dropped to the space between them. “Oh. I mean,
good. That’s good.”

“Yeah. So we off to church, then? That the plan?”

No response at first. Instead, her astonishment lingered,
faded, then disappeared altogether. Perhaps she hadn’t had a plan beyond coming
here and pestering him. His cooperation had seemingly thrown her for a loop.
“Yeah,” Raegan said, sounding every bit the part of someone forming a plan as
she spoke. “The church. Harriet said that’s where I’d find what I was looking
for. There’s a room there, or something. On the second floor. We go there, we
stop him, game over.”

“Game over.” Zeth bounced to his feet. “You lead the way.”

“I do?”

“Might be dangerous, oh captain my captain. And you’re the
boss.”

“You’re the werewolf!”

“That’s species-ism. Not a good color on you.”

“Bite me.”

Zeth grinned. “Don’t tempt me. And I might be the wolf,
cutie-pie, but like I said, you’re the boss. This is your rodeo. Far as I’m
concerned, I’m just the Deep Throat.”

Ah, the fire returned at that. As though right then she
remembered exactly who she was, who she was with, and the nature of their
working relationship. “I’ll deep-throat you,” she muttered, then squeaked, her
cheeks turning red. “I mean, um, asshole.”

Zeth chuckled as he made his way around the desk, doing his
best to bat away the array of pornographic images immediately flooded his
over-sexed mind. Hell, his cock was already hard just in talking with her.
Whenever she slipped up, whenever she made the smallest remark bordering near a
double entendre, his overtly male brain couldn’t help concocting a delicious
fantasy involving her naked on a bed somewhere, her legs parted and her mouth
open.

And since nature had given him a heightened sense of smell,
he knew when she got excited around him, and it was more often than she’d like
to let on.

“Just name the place,” he replied at last. “I’ll be there,
pants down.”

“I hate you,” Raegan said again, blushing furiously and not
looking at him.

“You’re welcome. Let’s go find your priest.”

Chapter Two

“Turn here.”

Raegan gritted her teeth and flexed her fingers around the
steering wheel. Every time Zeth hitched a ride with her to follow up a
lead—which wasn’t often, but more so than she liked—he became the personified
cliché of a backseat driver. And each time afterward, she’d make an empty
promise to herself never to allow his furry presence into her Kia again. Why
she had no resolve when it came to following through was anyone’s guess, though
she was content to blame it on his ability to twist her heart with his puppy
eyes.

“Trinity Church is on Main,” she replied, speeding by the
indicated street and shooting the bothersome werewolf an annoyed glance.
“Turning onto Pike will add ten minutes.”

“Not if you drive it right,” Zeth countered.

“I drive it with both hands on the wheel and the foot on the
gas. What more do you want from me?”

“Is this a trick question?”

She clicked her tongue. “Asshole.”

“Hey, I resemble that remark. I’m a loveable asshole. And
you should make a left at the light.”

“Have you ever driven anywhere in your life?”

Zeth chuckled, and Raegan did her best to ignore the shiver
that ran down her spine. “I’m good at driving you crazy,” he said.

“There we agree.”

“Good. So you concede I’m right. Now turn up here.”

“Zeth, I’m telling you, it’s almost five and driving through
the business district right now would be downright dumb.”

“If you want to go through life being completely wrong,
that’s your prerogative.”

She snorted. “This coming from the man who believes the
prequel movies outshine the original.”

“That’s not what I’ve said. I said that time will be the
ultimate test.”

“And I say you’re full of it.”

Zeth shrugged and leaned back. “When you’re this smart and
good looking, you can afford to be full of it.”

“Oh please.”

“Truth hurts, don’t it?”

“If you don’t stop yammering, something else will hurt here
in a second.”

He chuckled again, though she didn’t shiver this time. This
time, she fought the urge to hit the gas for the next few blocks, then brake
and see if he went headfirst out the windshield. Honestly, Raegan didn’t know
why she bothered.

Oh, sure, she knew what she’d tell herself. Zeth was the
only reliable contact she had. Zeth hadn’t laughed her out of his office. Zeth
sometimes proved himself useful, though she was almost certain those instances
were by accident.

Zeth was an enormous pain in the ass. But he was also the
only person strong enough to take on a Hell Demon, and the only other person
Raegan could go to with this sort of problem. It wasn’t as though anyone took
the tabloid nonsense seriously…or at least, the sort of people she’d willingly
be alone with for any length of time. And while it had admittedly taken quite a
few pep talks before she strode into his office, Raegan could confess when it
was time to put aside personal grudges.

Though lately, it had become more and more difficult to
blame Zeth and his entire race for Natalie’s death. After all, Zeth had been in
Raegan’s life for at least a year now, and not once had she seen him all
furry—well, except that one night, but even then he’d hightailed it before she
got a good glance. And aside from his annoying habit of undressing her with his
eyes, he hadn’t done anything to warrant a silver bullet.

And the whole “undressing her with his eyes” thing wasn’t as
irritating as it had once been. She really didn’t want to examine the reasons
why.

Raegan sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Things had
been so much easier in the beginning of their relationship. Back when she
thought he was human.

The first time she’d met him, it had been on her boss,
Higgins’, dime. He wanted a consultant on a series of cattle deaths some of the
town crazies claimed were a part of some satanic ritual. Zeth McDowell, Private
Investigator, knew his way around Highfield, knew its people, knew how to talk
himself into someone’s home without it occurring to anyone to ask for
credentials. Raegan hadn’t believed it until she saw him in action. The farmers
whose cows and goats had been slaughtered didn’t want to speak to anyone from
the media, but for Zeth, they threw their doors open and talked themselves blue
in the face.

After cracking the case—which didn’t have to do with ritual
sacrifice at all, rather a stupid prank committed by exceptionally bored high
schoolers—Raegan had invited Zeth over to her place for pizza and beer. Her way
of saying thanks. And she had to admit it—in the time before she discovered
what he was, she wouldn’t have turned down an invitation to check out his
mattress springs for durability. Or hers, for that matter. Zeth was what
Natalie would have called
sex on a fucking stick.
He was all shoulders
and chest, not so much to be mistaken for one of those guys dedicated to the
weights at the gym, but enough to know he did his pushups every morning. His
thick brown hair hung loosely around his ears, just long enough to curl around
one’s fingers. He had a strong jaw, warm eyes, and a smile a woman could get
lost inside. He was funny, charismatic, and he had the ability to make a girl
feel as if she were the only person in the world he cared to be with.

Why Zeth had consented to come over was beyond her. Perhaps
it had been his way of wanting her to know what he was, or perhaps he was a
giant moron. Or perhaps he’d thought since it had been several days out from
the full moon, and not the day itself, he’d be able to control himself. All
Raegan knew was she’d gone to get a bottle of wine, then screamed and hid in
the closet as all too familiar screams, cracks and howls erupted from the
living room.

Raegan didn’t know how long she remain huddled behind her
collection of winter coats before Higgins dropped by to make sure she was all
right. Seemed Zeth had made himself scarce after his transition, but had known
from her reaction that she’d been touched by his kind before. It took all the
strength she could muster to walk into his office again. To listen to his quick
explanation and apologies for not being more on top of his ability. To do
anything to keep from putting the silver bullets she’d purchased after
Natalie’s murder to good use.

“Rae?”

She looked at him briefly, shaking herself out of memories she’d
rather not carry with her tonight. “What?”

“You gonna turn, or what?”

A smartass retort sat waiting on her tongue until she
realized Holy Trinity had sneaked up on her during her reverie. She blushed and
flicked on her turn signal. “Yes,” she said, veering an incredibly intense
right into the parking lot. “I was just making sure you were paying attention.”

“Of course you were.”

“Shut up.”

“Whatever the lady says.” Zeth flashed her a grin, lurching
slightly as she put the car in park. “So we’re here. What’s the plan?”

“The plan is we stop O’Brien.”

He huffed and looked at her skeptically. “This is what I
like about you. Detailed, to the point, no stone left unturned.”

“I’m just playing it by ear. Harriet said the key was
inside.”

“Mhmm.” Zeth didn’t sound convinced. “Did my lovely ex tell
you where to
look
inside?”

Raegan unbuckled her seatbelt, trying to shove off the
butterflies dancing in her stomach. “She said Father O’Brien keeps a room on
the second floor. I’m guessing the reverse incantation or whatever will be in
there.”

“Reverse incantation?”

She tried and failed not to wiggle under his scrutiny. “Well
isn’t that how these demon summonings work? Incantation, circle of salt,
bargain of some sort?”

Zeth just looked at her a long moment. “Where the hell did
you get this stuff? The Idiot’s Guide For Satanic Rites?”

“No!” Raegan hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt. It
wasn’t as though she was an expert in these things. Sure, she did her homework
for the occasional conspiracy piece, but for the most part, that was all fluff.
Stuff Higgins made up and had her turn into something marketable to the
gullible masses. Her sources typically consisted of “that drunk guy at the
bar”. And whatever services or insights Zeth could provide, though more often
than not, she sensed he just yanked her chain. Researching demons and the means
by which to contact them, let alone which books and methods were penned by
hacks or the real deal, wasn’t something she did too much in her free time.

Though from the look on Zeth’s face, it might be beneficial
to reevaluate her research techniques.

At last, he turned away, a rich laugh riding off his lips.
“All right, then,” he said. “Inside we go.”

A quick search of the main chapel yielded no results, and
O’Brien’s office similarly produce nothing useful, aside from Zeth’s revelation
the man himself had left a few hours earlier.

Raegan wasn’t surprised or dismayed. She just wanted to
ensure she left nothing unchecked. After all, Harriet had told her where to
look. In the small room upstairs, where O’Brien kept his belongings.

Only Harriet hadn’t told her the room itself was the
proverbial haystack, no needles in sight.

Raegan made a face, kicking over a mound of dirty laundry.
“God, this place is filthy.”

Filthy didn’t really begin to describe the priest’s tiny
living space. Not an inch of floor was visible, covered with an assortment of
what seemed to be mostly discarded books and clothing. A smattering of crumbs
from unidentifiable food sources were gathered in the cracks and corners. A few
pieces of fallen or broken furniture rose like statues from mountains of ripped
fabric.

Honestly, Raegan was surprised it didn’t smell worse than it
did.

Zeth shot her a sideways glance. “Nothing says a priest
can’t be a slob.”

It was a reasonable observation, but it didn’t make whatever
felt
off
seem any more right. Raegan shivered, then bucked up and picked
a pile to start leafing through. If any of what Harriet had told her held any
water, they didn’t have much time.

Strange how once upon a time she would have laughed this
stuff off. How the prospect of approaching a werewolf she barely liked to thumb
through a priest’s dirty laundry and stop a crazed demon lady from sending her
small hometown into a cesspool of debauchery became old hat.

Though true, it wasn’t as if Raegan had ever done
this
before.
Broken into a church to rifle through the priest’s belongings. But the fact it
barely blipped on her
what the fuck
radar should have been more alarming
than it was.

Then again, nothing in her life had been normal since
Natalie died.

Correction—since the night Natalie’s throat was torn out,
her chest sliced open, and her face Picasso’d such that her parents had to use
dental records to identify her body. All at the hands—claws—of a wolf called
Razor.

Razor.

Raegan steeled herself, licking her lips and forcing her
spiking nerves to calm. Her mind had wandered into dangerous territory a time
too many already. The past couldn’t help her right now. Thinking of Natalie,
Razor, and that night—the night where everything went to shit in what had since
become a very familiar way—would do her no good. Tonight wasn’t about Natalie.
Tonight was about O’Brien, Jezebel, and stopping whatever was about to happen
before more people’s lives were ruined by things they didn’t want to know
existed, never mind understand.

Her gaze landed on the mattress shoved against the far wall.
It looked pristine in an otherwise filthy living space. Clean and unlived in,
as though O’Brien hadn’t yet taken it out for a spin. In contrast to the mess
at her feet, the mattress stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

“Zeth?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s a mattress over there.”

Zeth pulled away from whatever he’d been doing and peered in
the indicated direction. “And?”

“And look at it.”

“What? Is it gonna do a trick?”

Raegan rolled her eyes. “Stop being an asshole for five
seconds. Doesn’t it seem strange to you?”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine any man needing a corner to catch
some shut eye.”

“For fuck’s sake, Zeth,
you’re
the PI.” Raegan
muttered a slew of swear words and stalked over to the mattress in question.
“Look at this place, and then look at this. Dirty, clean, dirty, clean.
Anything catching on in that thick skull of yours?”

At last, it looked as though the lights were on in Zeth’s
head. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem as impressed. “So what?”

“He doesn’t sleep here.”

“Golly, Sherlock, another case solved.” Zeth snickered and
tapped the side of his nose. “Coulda told you that when we first walked in.
Place doesn’t
smell
lived in. Figure this is just where he keeps
his…stuff.”

Raegan frowned and looked back to the mattress. “That
doesn’t match what Harriet said.”

“Harriet doesn’t have all the answers. She sees things and
interprets them. That doesn’t mean she’s always right.” Zeth shrugged. “I’d
think the same thing if seeing this place was all I had to go on. But the smell
doesn’t lie. He doesn’t sleep here.”

“So O’Brien doesn’t have a house and the only place remotely
habitable, he uses like a junk drawer. But why make the mattress all clean-like
if he’s going to be a slob everywhere else? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Pumpkin, if your theory’s correct, this is the same asshole
who’s calling upon the services of a demon to make people come to church.”

She inclined her head. Point taken. Still, if what Zeth said
held any water, and the room lodged within the tiny church was indeed used as a
catch-all for O’Brien the Wonder Slob, it still begged the question as to why
he’d keep one corner from seeing a speck of dust.

Then again, having spent every other weekend of her
childhood with her father and very religious stepmother, Raegan could
appreciate that some of the more fundamentalist types had hang-ups when it came
to sex.