Interview With a Gargoyle (10 page)

Melodie shrugged, and Blake obeyed, forcing himself to move out of the growing circle of incense smoke. Calypso took his place opposite Melodie with the coffee table between them. She clasped the other woman’s hands in hers and began to chant formless words under her breath.

Had it not been for the curse, Blake wouldn’t have put much stock in witchcraft. He’d never been a believer in the paranormal, but he’d seen a lot in ten years—or five, if one considered he’d spent half that time unaware of the world around him. The surge of power that swirled around the two women, linked like yin and yang across the table, didn’t startle him, but it did make the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

When Calypso finished her spell, Melodie swayed a bit. Blake moved to steady her, but a fast-moving blur got to her before he did. Palmer Van Houten appeared out of nowhere, looking like a blond Clark Kent. He guided Melodie to the couch and glared up at Blake.

“Nice to see you again, DeWitt.”

Blake surveyed the apartment. “Did you let yourself in, demon hunter? Because I didn’t hear the bell ring.”

“I was in the other room checking the locks on the windows.” There was a definite challenge in his words. In this small place, there was no doubt the “other room” meant Melodie’s bedroom. So the demon hunter was laying some sort of claim. Blake would have been amused, except the stakes were too high right now for him to get into a pissing contest with Palmer.

“Blake, you should apologize to Palmer for dusting him. It really wasn’t necessary,” Melodie said. She waved incense smoke away from her face and took a deep breath.

He couldn’t help but rise to the bait. “You’re right. I’m sorry Palmer isn’t really necessary. If I’d known, I never would have dusted you…so easily.”

Palmer glared. He might have conjured up a scathing comeback eventually but the witch cut in, literally. She handed Blake a white-handled knife, thin-bladed and razor-tipped. “Is this for the burgers?” he asked.

Calypso ignored him. “Palmer, can you spread the towel out on the table? Mel, hold your hand out, palm up. Don’t be nervous, hon. It’ll all be over in a minute.”

Blake stepped back. “Whoa. What’s going on? This isn’t some kind of blood rite, is it? Or an exorcism? Because that won’t work with the curse. Believe me, I’ve tried that.”

Calypso’s dark eyes assessed him. “Wish I’d been there for that. No, this isn’t an exorcism. It’s a test. Take Mel’s hand and cut her palm, not deep. Just a scratch will do.”

He met Mel’s resigned glance over the table. “Is she kidding?”

Melodie shook her head. Her hair, loose from the ponytail she’d worn it in the day before, cascaded around her shoulders. “If I have the Cabochon, you can’t hurt me.”

A cold knot of dread settled in his stomach in the spot he’d been saving for a cheeseburger. Did the witch really believe Melodie had the gem?

“I can’t…cut you, lass.”

“There’s no other way to be sure.” Calypso folded his fingers around the cold bone handle of the knife. “It’s very sharp, and it’s been sterilized by flame. One quick cut, shallow and straight. It’ll heal in a day.”

Melodie held her hand out. Clean pink nails tipped her delicate fingers. Her skin was translucent and unblemished, inviting a gentle touch, not the harsh slice of a blade.

Blake had often thought, in his darkest moments of despair that he might kill to end his curse, but now, faced with this relatively simple task, his heart protested. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Do it. It’s okay. I need to know.” Her conviction galvanized him. Did he need to know? What he would do with the knowledge, he couldn’t say.

He held his own palm out, and she placed her hand on top of his. Her skin was warm, and the contact made his nerves tingle all the way up to his shoulder. She had power. She had something, and for once, he prayed it wasn’t the Cabochon.

She closed her eyes, and the muscles in her arm tensed.

“DeWitt, we don’t have all night.” The witch nudged him, and the demon hunter stared him down.

Quick, clean and straight.

He drew a steadying breath and ran the tip of the boline over her skin.

She winced but didn’t open her eyes. Blake stared, dumbstruck at the bright line of blood that welled in her palm, and his heart fluttered aimlessly, unsure whether to sink or soar.

Chapter Eleven

A pregnant hush descended, followed by a swift sigh of relief from Calypso. Ignoring the sting of the wound Blake had inflicted, Mel opened one eye. Normally the sight of blood left her light-headed, and this time she swayed just a little before Palmer jammed a rolled-up towel over the thin cut.

A nervous laugh erupted from somewhere deep, and she met Blake DeWitt’s incredulous stare. “See? I’m fine. I’m not a demon. This is…
great
.”

Silence. Palmer stared at the bloody towel he’d removed from her hand. Calypso gasped, and DeWitt’s jaw dropped.

Uncomprehending, Mel glanced at her hand. The cut was gone. Not even a scar remained. She’d healed instantly.

“Uh…is this a bad thing or a good thing?”

Cal grabbed the knife from DeWitt and without warning jabbed the tip into the pad of Mel’s thumb. She yelped and pulled her hand away, shaking drops of bright blood across the white towel Palmer had spread on the coffee table.

Cal squeezed Mel’s thumb, and another dot of blood formed. Pain from the tiny wound radiated into her wrist. “Give it a minute. See if it heals.”

They all stared, and a moment later, another small drop of blood formed on Mel’s thumb.

“It’s not healing,” she said.

“Let’s try a bigger cut.”

“No!” Mel snatched her hand away from Calypso. “This is plenty, thanks. And it hurts. Look, there’s still a red spot there.”

“Cut her again.” Cal jammed the bone-handled knife back into DeWitt’s grasp.

Fortunately DeWitt hesitated. His bewilderment mirrored her own. “But I spilled her blood. Look at the towel.”

“The cut healed. Maybe the wording was off. Maybe you can
spill
her blood, but you can’t kill her.”

“Could we not try to find out, please?” Mel asked.

With a fierceness Mel had never seen before, Cal snatched the knife back and gestured with it. “This is important, Mel. Everything depends on us knowing whether or not you have the Cabochon.”

All eyes followed Cal’s movements. The knife blade flashed as she ranted. “If you have it, your life is in danger. Now, that first cut could have just been…an anomaly.”

“I don’t heal anomalously, Cal.” Mel stared at the spot where DeWitt had cut her. Palmer cupped her hand in his and ran gentle fingers over the soft, unbroken flesh. Under other circumstances Mel might have found the touch soothing, even sexy. She shivered but not from desire.

DeWitt pulled her hand away from Palmer. His voice went harsh, matching Cal’s tone. “Give me the knife.”

“I’m not a pincushion, you know. Cal, you said you would do a healing spell on me. Maybe—”

“
Would
do. Haven’t yet. Cut her.”

DeWitt obeyed, and Mel whimpered. Would this go on all night? After the blade sliced her skin again, she pulled her hand back. Palmer stood ready with the bloody towel, but there was no need. As they watched, the thin red line running from the base of her index finger to the heel of her hand faded to nothing.

“It still hurts, you know,” she announced just in case they decided to try best three out of five.

“It’s in you.” Cal’s conclusion silenced them. A cold sense of doom gripped Mel’s innards. “It has to be.”

Her shivering increased. “What does that mean? Are demons going to follow me for the rest of my life?”

“No. We’ll find a way to keep you safe.” Palmer didn’t sound convinced. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The weight of it should have been comforting, but instead Mel felt smothered. She slithered out of his grasp.

“Cal? Tell me what I’m supposed to do now.”

“I don’t know. Of all the witches I talked to today, the general consensus was that this test would prove you
didn’t
have the Cabochon. It wasn’t meant for a human. No one wanted to consider the alternative.”

Anger bubbled inside her, hot and icy at the same time. “Well now they’d better consider it.” Her words ended with an odd growl, a snarl, and she covered her mouth with her fingers. “What the hell was
that
? Oh my God, I’m a demon. I’m a demon!”

She rounded the coffee table and scurried toward the bedroom. DeWitt’s heavy footsteps followed her, and his grim reflection met hers in her bedroom mirror. “You’re not a demon.”

“Yes, I am. I have to be. Palmer can’t remember me because I’m a demon. I absorbed the Cabochon because I’m a demon, and now I’m growling
because I’m a demon
!”

“That was your stomach. You’re hungry. Have a cheeseburger and calm down.”

“I’m not hungry. I haven’t been hungry since this happened, and I haven’t slept either.” She held out her hands for his inspection. “Do my nails look longer to you? Am I going to grow a tail?”

He raised one dark brow. “You’re going to end up in a straitjacket if you don’t calm down.” He put his hands on her shoulders, and his touch centered her. Her heart raced in her rib cage, and her whole body trembled as he pulled her back against his broad chest. “Palmer’s right about one thing. We’ll take care of you. We’ll figure something out.”

Mel nodded. It all seemed so simple. For a split second, the burden lifted, and the way seemed clear. They would help her. Between Palmer and Calypso and DeWitt, they would free her from this, and everything would be normal again. Then the crushing sense of doom returned with a vengeance. “Oh no.”

“What? A tail?”

She turned in his arms and spied Cal and Palmer watching from the bedroom doorway. “This means the only way to end your curse is for me to die.”

From the moment of Melodie’s realization, things went swiftly downhill. She panicked and threw a bit of a tantrum, which in all honesty, Blake couldn’t blame her for. He was somewhat pissed off himself. Fate had thrown a curveball he never could have anticipated. Killing a demon to retrieve the Cabochon had never posed a moral issue for him. Now, not only had he discovered he couldn’t kill the demon who held the gem, he couldn’t kill another human being to end his curse. Not that he’d actually considered it.

Why couldn’t it have been Van Houten?
There
was a moral dilemma he might have enjoyed grappling with for a while.

As it was, he sat now with the demon hunter in Melodie’s microscopic kitchen, eating cold cheeseburgers and drinking diet soda from plastic glasses.

He almost preferred his granite exile to making small talk with Joe College.

“So about how big would you say the Ak’mir was?” Palmer asked between one burger and the next. The All-American could certainly pack away food.

The faint sounds of a feminine argument drifted from Melodie’s bedroom, and both men paused to listen for a moment. “Maybe I should go in there…”

Palmer shook his head. “I have sisters. I never, ever get between them when they argue.”

“But they’re friends. They shouldn’t be—”

Something heavy hit the wall that separated the kitchen from the bedroom. Sobbing ensued. Blake tensed. Could this sudden attack of temper be a side effect of the Cabochon?

Palmer dug into another burger. “So this Ak’mir…?”

“It was huge.” Blake embellished. “Largest one I’ve ever seen.”

“How did you kill it?” The question had a skeptical lilt to it.

“I never reveal trade secrets.”

“And your trade is demon hunting now?”

Blake allowed himself a smirk. “Someone has to pick up your slack.”

All-American dropped his burger and scraped his chair back. “Hey, I was doing just fine until you came along. You blew out some valuable memories when you dusted me, and like Melodie said, it wasn’t necessary.”

“No, but it was fun.” His smirk morphed into a grin. Not much brought Blake pleasure these days, but seeing Van Houten all flustered and annoyed certainly did the trick. Blake braced for a tirade, prepared to match his nemesis insult for insult, but Melodie appeared in the kitchen then, looking reasonably calm and collected. She’d changed from her virginal white shift into an ensemble that virtually screamed Demon Queen.

Black boots laced up her calves, and skillfully faded jeans hugged curves he hadn’t realized she possessed. Skull beads dangled from the fringes of her leather belt, and she wore a tooled suede vest over a ruffled shirt. Silver earrings sparkled beneath her now voluminous chestnut curls.

Palmer’s eyes bulged, and his Adam’s apple bobbed.

Blake would have gaped also, but with Palmer practically drooling on the linoleum, he wanted to at least hold the illusion of being a little more sophisticated. “I didn’t realize getting changed could be such a battle.”

“I was upset.” She tilted her chin up, daring him to comment on her understatement. “I’m okay now. Calypso is going to talk to the witches again and find a way to get this thing out of me. She also promised to ask them about breaking the curse.”

“She promised, did she?” Blake had his doubts about Ms. Smith. He’d yet to meet a witch both capable and amenable to putting the vengeance against Percival Blake to rest.

Behind Melodie, Calypso appeared looking rather haggard. “I keep my promises, DeWitt. It’s not about you, though, so don’t get any warm fuzzies about it. If the Cabochon can be absorbed by a human, then humans will be at risk. You might not be able to hurt Melodie, but someone else acting on your behalf could. That interferes with the intent of the curse.”

“I often wonder what the real intent of the curse was. Percival Blake’s own son, Rene, was only twenty-four when his father died and the curse transferred to him.
His
son, Paul, was only twenty-seven. There’s no evidence that either of those young men hunted witches, yet they suffered for decades because of it. I’ve been at this half-life for ten years now, and I don’t know how much more I can take.” He glanced at Melodie, who might have been over her tantrum, but she looked anything but content at the moment. “At the risk of you all thinking less of me than you already do, if putting a human in danger will finally convince the esteemed Witches’ Council to end this…torture, then I’m all for it.”