Kiss at Your Own Risk (25 page)

Mari snorted. “He’s always dying, and he’s always fine. Unlike Christian, who’s not that tough. I really want to get back. I’m worried about him—”

“This is different.” Angelica took a step toward the building, suddenly afraid for her favorite warrior. He’d bled aquamarine smoke only twice before, and each time, she’d been certain it was the end. It was only when she got in his face and gloated about how happy his parents would be to know that she’d finally killed him that he’d fought back from the edge. How she’d hated pulling that card on him, but it had been for his own good. “I need to go up there—”

The tulip in her left hand began to smoke, and she realized Smutty’s flower was turning brown on the edges of the petals. “Smutty’s hurt.”

Mari held out her hand. “My fingernails are turning gray.”

Angelica realized her own cuticles had gone black. They were starting to tingle. “By all that’s merciless and bloody, Napoleon must have him. The smut’s leaking back already.”

“Dear Lord.” Mari went pale. “I’ll kill Christian if I get my smut back. You know how crazy it makes people.”

“I know.” A loud shout of agony echoed from above, and Angelica looked up as another burst of teal-colored smoke cut across the sky. And then a dark shadow flitted into sight and perched on the edge of the roof. One of Death’s harvesters. Waiting.

“I’ve hurt Christian enough.” Mari slid back into the driver’s seat. “Come on!”

Angelica couldn’t wrench her gaze off the carnage taking place so far above her head. “But Blaine—”

“Call off the dogs.”

“I can’t.” Angelica’s throat felt dry. “Once I unleash them, they’re on their own. They stop only when they die or their prey dies. It’s up to the boys to save themselves.”

“So it’s going exactly right.” Mari revved the engine. “Or are you going soft?”

Angelica tensed. Dear Demon in a Black Hat, who was her loyalty to? The men who still weren’t worthy of her darlings, or her sweet girls who needed her protection? She looked over and saw Mari’s lips had gone black as well, and her eyes were getting sunken.

There was no decision to be made.

It was her precious protégées who mattered.

“Let’s go.” She jumped in and grabbed hold of the door handle as Mari gunned the engine and the Ferrari took off down the street.

And when an earthsplitting scream rent the day, she refused to look back.

***

On the plus side, there was nothing like pain to reinforce a man’s self-image as a badass warrior.

Blaine sucked in a groan as he crawled away from the bathroom where Jarvis and Nigel were using the antique footed bathtub as a shield from the schnoodemgons. The damn things felt no pain. Didn’t stop flying when they lost their wings. Didn’t seem to notice when their heads got whacked. It was like each body part was a segmented being all on its own. Even the teeth were still pinching them when they got knocked out of the things’ heads.

“This would make a great Halloween movie,” Jarvis yelled as he decapitated a flying fang. “Crack dragons from hell. They never die, they just keep on killing.”

“You making any progress, Trio? Your bathtub’s getting beat to shit.” Nigel’s voice was strained, and Blaine knew the ninety percent severed left arm had to be hurting like hell.

Blaine swore as another dragon bodyslammed him. They’d hit him with water repeatedly, and it had an extra kick it hadn’t had last time. Wasn’t sure what was bleeding out of his pores right now, but it felt kind of like acid mixed with razor blades. He had no fire left. Couldn’t summon even a spark. It had wiped him, and they knew it.

Sensing that Blaine was no longer a threat, the schnoodies were focusing on Jarvis and Nigel, which had given Blaine the chance to slide away. To the one thing that might save them.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, then finally reached his wall safe. He shoved his way to his knees, and the room began to spin. He braced himself against the wall, fighting against the nausea. This was even worse than when he’d been in the piranha feeding frenzy, and that had been no field trip through a bed of daisies.

Water was streaming down the wall from his palms, pooling on the wood floor. And that just pissed him off. He loved those floors. Water stains would never come out.

“Any day, Trio! Quit admiring yourself in the mirror!”

“A couple of pansies, always needing rescuing,” Blaine shot back. He tried to focus on the padlock, tried to remember the combination, but his mind kept blurring. Shit. “Nigel! Knife!” He moved aside to make room for a flaming dagger to slide through the metal.

“No more left, Trio. They’re all playing with the fanged birdies.”

“Tell me you didn’t forget the combination,” Jarvis shouted. “Not impressive!”

“Shut up.” Blaine shoved his hand in his pocket. Pulled out a wallet and a phone. Other pocket. Motorcycle keys. A cross-stitch needle. He started to throw it aside, then looked at it again. It was one of his reinforced ones, designed to survive even a blue ball blast, so he could find solace even in the middle of a battle. Hot damn.

Nigel shouted with pain, and Jarvis swore. Explosions came from the bathroom.

Blaine fisted the needle, focused what strength he had left into his upper body, and then slammed the weapon into the lock. The needle went right through the metal and the door sprung open. “Rock on.” He tossed the needle aside, then reached inside the safe.

Three blue balls. “You guys ever see
Lethal Weapon 2
?”

“You kidding?” Jarvis yelled back. “Never looked at a condom commercial the same way again.”

“Remember the bathtub scene?”

Silence. “You serious?”

“Got three blue balls and a hard-ass tub.” There was a roar from outside, and Blaine looked up as a new wave of salivating butterfly-wannabes came streaming in through the window. “You guys ready?”

“What about you?” Nigel shouted. “You’re too close. It’ll take you out!”

“No chance.” Blaine braced his palms against the wall and rested his forehead against the plaster, summoning his strength. If he died now, Trinity would go free, and that was unacceptable.

Trinity Harpswell, I’m coming for you.

A schnoodemgon launched itself at him, and Blaine let it hit him. Too numb to feel its claws rake across his throat. Barely noticed the blood pouring from the wound. “I’m engaging!” Blaine shoved himself off the wall and began to run toward the balcony. Threw the first ball into the bathroom. The second into the living room. The third went outside into the approaching swarm.

“Three seconds until detonation,” he shouted as he shoved his way toward the landing. Had to get out of there. Couldn’t be there when they went off. Would blow him up. Had to get airborne.

Claws went for his eyes. Teeth ripped at his flesh. Acid burned his skin. Didn’t stop. Didn’t care. Fought to take one more step. Getting too hard.

“Two seconds,” Jarvis yelled. A loud thunk indicated that the bathtub had just been inverted over their heads. The air began to hum, and he knew Jarvis was channeling the energy into his sword. He needed to absorb enough blast with his sword or the bathtub wouldn’t be able to save them. Joint effort: blade and porcelain.

Blaine went down on his knees. Palms braced on the floor. The winged cannibals cackled as they ripped apart his body. Then Trinity’s face flashed into his mind. The way she’d focused those weepy green eyes on Christian and lied. The look of pity on her face just before she’d ditched him.

“One second,” Nigel yelled.

Screw that. It wasn’t over. He wasn’t some four-year-old boy anymore. No one had the right to betray him. Not anymore.

Trinity Harpswell, you don’t get to walk away from me.
Strength surged into his body, and he shoved himself to his feet and broke into a run. Hauled ass across the carnage of dead horn-dogs and assorted body parts.

“Blast off!” Jarvis yelled.

Blaine was still twenty yards from safety when the blue balls detonated.

The moment Trinity looked into Death’s dark eyes, she knew she’d met him before, and that she had once loved him. She didn’t know how. She didn’t know when. But she knew for an absolute fact that the man before her had once held a place in her heart, and dealing with another guy she loved was the
last
thing she had time for. “Who are you?”

The master of the universe stared in disbelief, then a huge smile broke over his face. “Trinity? Little Trinity Harpswell? Is that you?” He rushed across the room and wrapped her up in a giant hug. “You look fantastic! I can’t believe you found me.” He kissed her forehead in what could only be described as a paternalistic gesture. “You must stay for dinner. We can catch up. What have you been up to?”

Trinity felt something building inside her. But it wasn’t dark and dastardly. It was warm and fuzzy. “How do we know each other?”

Death’s smile faded. “You don’t remember? I used to babysit you.”

Trinity glanced over at her mom, who was looking stunned. “Mom? Something you forgot to tell me?”

Olivia was gripping the edge of the doorframe so tightly her knuckles were white. “Sorry, dear, but I really think I’d remember hiring Death to change your diaper and sing lullabies to you.”

“Not when you were with her.” Death jerked his magnificent chin toward her mom. “When you were with my grandma.”

Trinity frowned. “Your grandma? Who is she?”

“Angelica, of course. Do you remember how I changed the words to ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ for you?” He was playing with her hair now. “What was it? Oh, that’s right, Trinity had a little spider, little spider, little spider—”

“Stop it.” Trinity’s heart was hammering now. Death was Angelica’s grandson? Talk about a powerful family. “You were nice to me. You were my friend. I remember.” It hadn’t been romantic love. It had been the love of a child to a father. To an uncle. To a big brother. A love that had been a warmth in a scary, scary world. Not the kind to trigger the curse.

Well, that was good, almost enough to trump the weirdness of learning that Death had changed her diaper—

“You do remember!” Death beamed. “Gram didn’t want you seeing what she was doing in her lab, so I babysat you while she was working. You were too important to be left with anyone else.” He cupped her face. “You were the only baby I’ve ever known. Didn’t even like babies. Still don’t. Except you. My sweet Trin. When you used to fall asleep on my chest after Gram had injected you—”

“Well, this is all well and good,” Olivia was suddenly standing behind her, “but Trinity has a little problem. Can you help her?”

Trinity blinked at her mom’s sudden interruption. Oy, what was she doing, reminiscing about the days of being kidnapped? Her mom was right. Now wasn’t the time to fill in the missing gaps about her abduction. But she would so be taking Death up on his dinner invitation when this was all over, assuming, of course, she was still alive and sane.

“Well, of course I’ll help her.” Death sat down on his desk and tried to pull Trinity onto his lap. “Anything for my sweet Trin Trin.”

“Um, no thanks.” She twisted out of his grip. Just something kind of creepy about having the lord of souls want to have you on his lap. For all she knew, he was going to whip out a pacifier or something. “Listen, my dad’s in trouble.”

“Elijah? What’s he done? Sold one of his sculptures to the wrong guy?”

Trinity blinked. “You know my dad?”

“Sure. He—”

“About Trinity’s problem,” Olivia interrupted. “We’re running out of time.”

“Right. Keep talking.” Death was still grinning at her, and there was a softness to his eyes that seemed so familiar. It felt like an oasis in a world that was spinning out of control.

“I can’t find him!” Reina ran into the room, her cheeks flushed. Then she skidded to a stop, and her eyes widened. “Trin? Are you okay?”

“You know Reina?” Death’s smile faded. “Reina! Why haven’t you told me that you’re friends with Trinity Harpswell?”

Reina’s gazed darted from one to the other, clearly trying to figure out what was going on. The salon was still going strong behind her, and none of the women seemed to be paying any attention to the revelation that their demanding lover had once been a babysitter. “You’re interested in Trinity?”

“Of course.” Death pulled out his wallet and began to flip through it. “We go way back.”

She blinked. “You do?”

“I haven’t told you the story.” He pulled a wallet-size photo out and held it up. Trinity recognized herself immediately, a tiny bundle cradled in the arms of a man who looked way too tender to be the same power-monger who ruled by terror. “This is my favorite picture. I keep it with me all the time.”

Reina peered at it, and she raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but made no comment.

Trinity’s chest tightened. “That’s so sweet you kept that picture of me.”

“A little creepy if you ask me,” Olivia muttered. “You aren’t his daughter.”

“But she was my little Trin Trin.” Death reached into his desk and pulled out a box. He flipped the lid. “Cigar anyone?”

“Later.” Trinity declined the offer, desperately aware of Blaine fighting for his life against Angelica, of her dad waiting to die, of Augustus searching for her. “My dad was killed to save my soul, and I need to kill a big baddie to save him. But if I do it, then that’s my fifth kill and the curse will take me.”

Death’s grip on his cigar faltered, but he recovered so swiftly that she wouldn’t have noticed if she wasn’t watching so closely. If she didn’t know him well enough to recognize that she’d just said something that had rocked him.

He lit the cigar and took a long puff.

“Death—”

Reina shushed her with a head shake.

Trinity bit her lip and waited for him to blow six smoke rings. He watched them drift toward the ceiling, then finally turned to look at her. “I can’t help you.”

“But—”

“This is between you and Angelica.” He took another puff. “I can’t interfere.”

“But what about ‘Trinity had a little spider’ and all that?”

“A memory I will treasure forever.” Death’s face softened, but then he shook his head. “But it doesn’t change anything. Gram’s going through a difficult time right now, and she needs my help. Saving you from kill number five would cause her undue stress, and I can’t do that to her.”

Trinity stiffened. Was he going to try to force that last hurdle on her?

“Oh, no, don’t look so worried, my dear.” Death twirled the cigar between his long fingers. “I’m not going to free you from the curse, but I’m not going to quicken your fall either. I’m staying out of it.” He grinned and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s a girl fight, and you know how we men like girl fights.”

“Excuse me.” Reina spoke up. “Just so you know, Trinity’s going to get kill number five anyway, because she’s fallen in love with someone, so your grandma will still get what she needs from Trinity.” She glanced at Trinity, and Trinity saw Reina’s belief that Trinity could still prevail, even though she wasn’t sharing her confidence with Death.

“Really? You’re in love?” Death looked skeptical. “Is he good enough for you? I want to meet him first. Not just anyone is worthy of my little Trin Trin. What’s his name?”

“You’re not her father,” Olivia snapped. “She has a dad already.”

“One that’s about to die, from what I gather,” Death shot back. He smiled at Trinity. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

“She needs your help,” Reina interrupted “Doing this favor for her will be of financial benefit to you.”

“Really? A deal is always possible when I’ll reap financial rewards.” He turned to Trinity, and he had a different expression. One that was hard, focused, and all business. “Talk, my dear.”

“No one can kill the Chameleon.” Reina walked forward, taking over the conversation. “The Triumvirate is desperate and would probably pay a lot of money to have you get rid of it. It would be great for the reputation. You know how corrupt governments are. Once they realize you’ll hasten death for a price…” Reina shrugged. “Word gets around.”

“Hmm.” Death rubbed his jaw. “Tell me more. What’s this creature?”

Trinity answered this time. She hurried over toward her old babysitter. “It’s this serial killing shapeshifter that can morph between a man, a girl, a zillion cockroaches, and a demon dog—”

“Shit!” Death jammed out the cigar. “You were sent to kill Gram’s smut receptacle?”

Okay, so it wasn’t like there were enough surprises already. “You know him?”

“Of course I do.” Death yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed. “Voicemail. Gram has
got
to start carrying her phone with her more often.” He sat down at his desk. “Linnea! You have one minute to find out how saving Smutty can be a financial boon to me, because I need to go help Gram keep him alive, and I need to make money off it.”

“On it.” Linnea ran out of the office.

Well, excellent. That had been the exact plan when they’d shown up at Death’s door: Get him to declare himself as the powerful protector of the monster that she had to kill. Brilliant.

“Hey.” Reina picked up a fountain pen and gripped it like a weapon. “Does anyone else smell banana bread being made?”

Trinity caught the whiff of rotten fruit and spun toward the door as Augustus stepped inside. He smiled. This time there was no Blaine to protect her.

“Stop.” Isabella was suddenly in front of him, a small dagger at Augustus’s throat. “No men allowed in here.”

Death hadn’t even bothered to look up. He was tapping an email on his phone, apparently entrusting the defenses of his inner sanctum to the well-dressed women in his employ.

Augustus bowed. “My name is Augustus. I’m here to—”

Death looked up sharply. “You’re Augustus?” He inspected Augustus with great interest. “You’ve taken some of my clients out from under me.”

Augustus gave him a toothless grin. “You’re no match for me, newbie. I amuse myself watching you chase my tail. I’ll always get the most lucrative contracts.”

Death tucked the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “What do you want? A partnership? I work alone.”

“I want Trinity Harpswell.”

Death looked over at her, and she could see him contemplating the financial reward of handing her over. She began to sidle toward an orchid plant in the corner, humming “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” and her mom quickly joined in. Reina did backup humming
a cappella
.

Death’s face softened at the tune they’d bonded over, and he shook his head at Augustus. “Can’t do it. She’s not mine to sell.”

“Then I shall just help myself.”

Death narrowed his eyes. “No one kills in my home except me.”

Augustus pulled his shoulders back. “I can kill wherever I want. You’re a peon. You can’t control me.”

“I’m the most powerful man in creation.” Death rose to his feet, towering over the hunchbacked stinky guy. “I own you. I could pluck the life right out of you in a heartbeat.”

Augustus puffed his chest out, and his hand went to his pocket. “I could kill you faster.”

“You don’t get it,” Death said. “I can’t be killed, because I own death.”

Trinity was almost to the plant.

“I’ve been killing people since before your mama came to this earth,” Augustus spat. “I can kill anyone.”

“Don’t insult my mama.” Death’s face got dark, and pain flashed across his features. “She was a good woman—”

Trinity, Reina, and Olivia grabbed the orchid, and they began to fade.

The men were so involved in their standoff that neither of them noticed them leaving, until the last second when Death looked over. Respect flashed in his eyes, and he nodded.

She realized he’d intentionally distracted Augustus so she could get away.

Their babysitter bond might have let her live, but they were in a race for Smutty now, with opposite goals. She had to get back to Blaine. He was her only chance to save her father, and they had to get there before Death showed up to protect Smutty.

And she hadn’t missed Death’s affection for the witch. No way was he going to allow her to be murdered. Which was fantastic. If there was an enemy
not
to have when you were in the middle of a highly complicated battle revolving around offing an assorted number of beings, it was the head honcho of all things death-related.

Augustus finally noticed she was leaving, and he howled with fury. He began to race toward them. If he touched any of them before they disappeared, he would come with them. “Hurry, Mom!”

Augustus launched himself at them, and she felt the cold rush of his fingers a split second before they disappeared.

Were they too late?

***

Blaine had always thought the penthouse suite would be a good fit for him, but he’d never considered the benefits of a thirty-six-story freefall toward the Boston Common. Must have been his natural warrior skills that had prompted him to buy a place that came with the benefit of high winds and a suicidal straight shot down to the pavement.

His skin was raw and burned, and his clothes were on fire—unfortunately, from the blue balls and not his own sparkplug of a personality. He spread his arms and let the wind rush over him, wicking away the moisture that had extinguished his fire like a waterfall on a bad-quality match. He watched the earth rush up at him, counting the seconds until impact.

Normally, face planting at 125 miles per hour wouldn’t be a problem for him. Now? As waterlogged as he was, there wasn’t going to be a lot of post-impact healing going on for him. It’d be splat, and then that was pretty much it.

He took the heat from his burns, channeled it into his tattoo, and tried to ignite his pilot light. Still wet. Not good.

Not really feeling the love for his playtime in this world to end today. Had too much to do. He was aware of a few schnoodemgons chasing him. No clue how many had escaped. Or if Jared and Nigel were alive. “Come
on!
”

He kicked off his burning shoe, caught it as he fell past it, then shoved the flaming leather against his chest. The fire burned like Nigel’s branding irons, and he grinned. Nothing like the direct application of blazing cowhide to get things going.