Charm City (The Demon Whisperer Book 1) (6 page)

"Would you?" She turned back to him and peered into his eyes. "You think that children are incapable of harboring shadows?"

"They are the innocents."             

Chiara snorted. "Hardly. Okay, some are. But they are human and, as children, they lack the moral training, the life experience to know the difference between right and wrong. They're basically psychopaths."

He barked out a laugh that squeezed his belly more than what was comfortable. "Oh, I bet you're a real trip at kids' parties."

"I wouldn't know. Never been to one."

"How dreary a childhood you must have had."

"You assume I had one." She shifted in her seat, reaching across the aisle to grasp the back of the seat across from her, as if bracing him for a sudden stop. "Look. He's changing. Get ready."

He raised the scrying lens again. Nothing. What did she see? "What's going on?"

A subtle change swept over the boy, like a wave of chills travelling down his body. It left a sullen red glow in its wake.

"Aw, fricken a." Simon lowered the glass. The kid was going to manifest, right now, on a bus full of people.

"I told you he's an open door, didn't I?" Chiara glanced back at him. "Well, something on the other side just got really curious."

Simon instinctively reached into his shirt, feeling for his amulet, and drew a breath. It was going to take a big spell to keep the others on the bus from seeing a demon manifest. And everyone knew, what you can't see can't hurt you.

Most of the time.
He couldn't stop that last sarcastic thought.

He murmured the first words of a Macedonian protection spell.

"Shh." Chiara stayed his hand and put a hand over his mouth. "I'll do this. It's best it doesn't notice you."

Simon pulled her hand off. "So what if it does?"

The look she gave him would have stopped a waterfall in its tracks. "Angels aren't the only messengers."

She pulled the stop cord and stood, smoothing her skirt over her hips, and sauntered up the aisle, smiling flirtatiously. There wasn't a single soul that didn't look up and stare. Dragging her fingers against his shoulder, she swiveled her head and crooked her finger at the guy before moving to the front exit, a world of wiggle in her walk.

The kid sprang from the seat followed her up the aisle like a dog as the bus slowed to a jerky stop at the corner.

"Aw, hell." Simon slipped out the rear door and scanned the sidewalk, not wanting to lose visual contact.

Not to worry. She was easy to spot. They'd already started up the street. She bounced along beside the host, giving him full view of her feminine assets, and tugged him toward a side street. It would take an iron will to ignore her. He'd vouch personally for that.

A twenty-year-old guy with a head full of hormones had little room to spare for an iron will. Fed by the host's lust, the demon continued to manifest. A slightly acrid odor tinged the heavy city smells of exhaust and subway. Chiara drew him away from the bulk of people, flirting and smiling, twirling her hair, licking her lips, and lured him around the corner.

Simon blew out a tight breath. Hell, he would have followed her, even if he hadn't been hunting with her. He kept a cool distance and did his best to watch only the kid.

Jesus, that was really hard to do.

He stayed at the corner, lens up to his eye, monitoring the manifestation while trying to remain unnoticed. That was hard, too.
Unnoticeable
just wasn't his thing.

Halfway down the deserted service street, Chiara swung the boy's hand and leaned in close to him, whispering to him, a smile on her lips like she was talking dirty to him.

But it wasn't the start of a steamy hook-up. It was the beginning of a battle.

The demon-struck kid struggled, straining to get away from her. She never broke a sweat. Her actions were smooth and calm, as if there were no conflict at all. She gripped the host's wrists, eyes locked with his, commanding his attention.

The wind shifted toward Simon and he inhaled, sniffing the air. An ionic bite stung his nose, making him rub it. The air felt heavy with the oppression of charged power.

This demon was fighting back. And that couldn't be good.

Her voice became a little louder, more insistent. He could finally hear what she always seemed to be whispering.

"You know your place. Your place is below. Go back to your place below." Chiara repeated the phrase, chanting in smooth firm tones.

Simon ruffled his hair and shifted his weight, from one foot to the other and back, uncomfortable with the whole thing. The power discharge, the unwillingness of the demon to give it up. His chest felt like he'd been straitjacketed, tight and anxiety-ridden.
Come on, come on, come on—

He flexed his fingers, itching for something to hold. His "worry stick", for example. A nice, powerful, magic-packed wand, one that had a kick like a double-barrel shotgun.

No, no. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to still them. No good. His Peruvian binding rings were in there and it would be so easy to slip them on...

No. He crossed his arms, pinning his hands under his armpits. She said not to use a charm. He had to trust her. But dammit, this was taking too long—

The demon issued a low growl that rolled out like summer thunder. It wasn't going to give up. Its agitation was nearly palpable. The ground under its feet began to crack and split, the air shimmering as it gave off heat. The demon snarled and snapped its teeth at her, the host's lips distorted and pulled back inhumanly thin.

She didn't even seem to notice how critical things just got. Or didn't care—

Simon paced like a caged wolf, watching them, scanning the busy street behind him. If this demon let loose, no telling how many people would get hurt.

Suddenly, the kid broke the hold she had on his wrists. With a strike almost too fast to follow, it grabbed Chiara by the throat and lifted her. The tips of her toes scraped the pavement.

That was it. Line was crossed. He couldn't wait a second longer. Sliding his fingers into his shirt, he reached for his amulet. The Macedonian protection charm would still work from a distance.

The moment his fingers made contact, the amulet sparked. He snapped his fingers away, blowing on them to cool the sting. Too much demonic energy in the air.

The demon whipped its head around, spotting Simon. It raised its free hand and pointed at him. Its mouth opened and a roar of voices screamed out.
IS THAT WHY YOU BRING HIM?

Wait.
Simon had heard that voice before. The demon who'd taken Bobby. The one who had said his name.

Chiara seemed too busy trying to pry its fingers from around her throat to answer. She rolled her eyes toward Simon, her look heavy with reprimand.

The demon lowered its chin like a bull on the charge and curled its empty hand into fist. It drew Simon closer, pulling him with the sheer force of his power.

Simon scrabbled, dug in his heels, almost plowing up the ground, unable to fight.

With the demon's attention diverted, Chiara finally broke its grip. Rubbing her throat, she backed out of reach, a wary eye on Simon. "You have a choice. Balazog never told you, did he?"

Horror slammed into Simon like a train. He sputtered and wind-milled his arms, a new desperation in his attempt to escape the demon's grasp. All the heat drained from him, a cold buzz washing down his limbs. "Bala— Chiara, get out of here. He's—"

"He's going to make a smart choice. Aren't you?" Chiara stepped between the demon and the man. "Because you have quite a selection of choices to choose from."

She started to tick off her fingers.

"You can leave the way you came and close the door behind you." She wiggled her thumb. "Relatively painless choice."

She raised her index finger next. "I can force you out—and you know I can. Might hurt, much to my own regret, since you've never personally done me any wrong."

She twisted her wrist, displaying three fingers, and regarded the demon with a thin-lipped glare. "Or, I can have this man here shove you out with his chanting and smoke and—" She sniffed the air and shrugged. "Mandrake root, it would seem. Doesn't look like much, I know, but he's got power. And that makes the third option a relatively painful choice."

Laughing, the demon dropped its grip on Simon and swiveled its head toward her, like a cobra in sway.
YOU THINK THIS ONE HAS ANY POWER? CHARLETAIN. SCHOOL BOY. WEAK.

Chiara circled the host, ignoring him. "Or...I suppose we can call my father, and he'll show you the error of your ways. And that will be the most excruciating choice of all. I guarantee it."

The demon-infested man huffed out a big breath, smoke curling out of his nose.
ALL THIS TALK OF CHOICE. WE HAVE NO CHOICE. WE HAVE NO WILL OF OUR OWN.

"Speak for yourself," she said.

YOU ARE A DISAPPOINTMENT TO HIM.

"Don't presume to know him...or me. And insulting me really isn't the way to go." She raised her hands. No longer ticking choices off her fingers, she splayed both hands, which took on an eerie glow, as if flames rolled beneath the surface of her skin. "And I may have understated myself. The 'me option' is really going to hurt."

The demon stepped backwards.
CHIARO—

"Shhhh," she hissed. "No more talking."

She lunged, grabbing the host by the shoulder and driving him back against the wall. She slapped her other hand onto his forehead. The sounds of searing flesh, a wet sizzle like a steak on a hot grill, made Simon's stomach quiver.  

The demon screamed and fought, shaking, thrashing, convulsing. But it was no match for the lady, whose eyes blazed as fiercely as had the palms of her hands. The demon struggled but failed to shake loose from her grip.

Chiara grimaced and pushed the host to its knees.

The host threw back his head and wailed, a moan of a multitude of voices. A swirl of black fog slithered out of his open mouth, bellowing out into a swirling column of sullen heat and pitch-black smoke. It condensed into a dark, rumbling mass that tumbled into and upon itself until it disappeared with a thunderclap and a retina-searing flash.

The host collapsed. Clean. Exorcised.

Surprisingly, still alive.

Chiara picked up his baseball hat and tossed it down at him.

The kid pushed up on his hands, looking around, confused. "What happened?"

She squatted beside him, tin in hand. Without answering, she smeared the jelly on his head, then into his eyes, mouth, ears, everywhere.

He sputtered and pushed her hands away. "What the hell are you doing, lady?"

Standing, she glared down at him. "You were possessed, you fool, and it was your own damned fault. I suggest you find a church, confess your sins, and find the good in your heart before Hell takes you for good. And I promise, they'll do more than burn your face."

The jelly sizzled and smoked, smelling like burned hair and incense. He groaned and gingerly reached up to his face.

"Remember that pain," she said. "It's just a taste of what an eternity of Hell will feel like if you don't find the light." She coldly turned away and left the boy on the ground, and left Simon staring holes in her back as she walked away.

Stubborn fool.

Chiara busied herself with a handkerchief, wiping the last of the chrism from her fingers. If she wasn't careful, she'd accidentally rub her eyes or something and then it would really burn.

She scowled, thinking about that young man.  It would only be a matter of time before he opened himself up to darkness again. All the chrism in the world wouldn't be enough to burn the stupidity out of him.

And for all the demons to break through—

Chiara couldn't make herself look at Simon. She knew that he knew. This one little possession just pushed the two of them through a doorway she knew she'd never find her way back through. She didn't want that with him.

She didn't want that
for
him.

It wouldn't do any good to walk away, not now. But there was nothing wrong with trying.

Simon followed silently behind her. She could sense his turmoil, sullen and brooding, a storm beneath the surface.

At least he waited until they were safely out of sight of the passersby before he closed the distance between them and spun her around to face him.

She didn't expect to see all that suspicion, heavy and accusing, glaring back at her from behind his pointed finger.

"You banished that demon with hellfire."

Chiara looked away and shrugged away from him. What could she say, besides
yes, I did
.

"And not just any old demon, now, was it? That was a minion of Bal—" He broke off, unable to say it. "He serves a general. Of Hell. And you used hellfire on him. Of all the—"

He was sputtering mad. "You don't just get to throw that stuff around. I think there's a story you mean to tell me."

"Is that what you want?" She spread her hands, suspecting nothing she could say would make him feel any better. "A story? I've got a universe full of them."

"You're sassy, sweetheart, but it's not enough to get you out of this. What are you? Demon?"

Her lips curled in disdain. "As if. If I were demon, don't you think your angel buddy would have drawn on me?"

"Backstory, then. " Simon regarded her shrewdly and slowly nodded his head. "And I will have it. I just don't know what I want you to tell me first. Do I ask about how you came to wield hellfire? Or do I go right to the heart of what's bugging me and ask why do you know that demon?"

She rubbed her brows. Why did this man have to be so damnably curious? It had been ages since she even tried to connect with another human being. He was special. He was...open-minded. But no one could be that accepting. Not considering the truths she held.

Not even the man who stared at her now, the man with pockets full of charms and secrets and an unforgiveable past. She saw the resolve in his eyes, the demand for answers.

"Okay, you want to know?" She swallowed hard. "First, swear your silence."

Simon rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. I solemnly swear—"

Flippant man. Have mortal men truly lost respect for an oath? He needed to be encouraged to take this seriously.

She lowered her barriers, the ones that hid her divinity from humans, and allowed her power to physically manifest. Her eyesight dimmed as the power surged, causing her eyes to glow.

"Not words, Simon." She bared her teeth, her voice rumbling into a growl. The power was a thing of its own, a force that disdained mortal control. "Swear. With your soul."

His eyes grew wide and he backed up a step. Was he afraid? Would he run? Her resolution stumbled. Why did it bother her that he might? Her barriers sulked back up, as if she were ashamed for him to see her, as if she stood bare before his scrutiny.

He didn't run. He just stared at her, hard, and set his jaw.

For a moment she thought he'd reach for one of his innumerable charms, the pocketful of magic he carried around like so much change.

But he surprised her.

He merely nodded. "I give you my solemn word."

She felt the words when he spoke them. He hadn't even reached for an amulet. His oath had bourn a solid conviction and a silent trace of magic enforcing it.

Hmm. Just shy of a blood oath. She released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Suddenly, he had new value, most deserving of a reassessment.

"I have a lofty heritage," she said.

"I'm listening."

"I'm...Enochian."

That made his eyebrows shoot up. He rocked back on his heels and shoved his hand deep into his trouser pockets. "Well. You now have my full and riveted attention. The Enochians were the offspring of angels and humans. But they don't wield hellfire."

"True. But only my mother was Enochian. My father..."

"Ah." Long silence. "The darkness you left behind when you riffled through my brain."

Yes. The darkness she left behind. As much as she tried to distance herself from it, that particular aspect of herself wasn't something she could simply turn off.

"I assumed he was a dark mage, which would give you that oily stain." He chewed the side of his thumb.

Oily stain. It made her feel...soiled. Wounded, she lowered her eyes. "If that's what you want to call it."

"But he isn't a mage, is he? That darkness comes from demonic influence. No wonder you said I know him. I'm a demonologist." He spit to the side. "Of course I would. So. A half-demon who exorcises demons. That's a new one."

"Don't trivialize it." She couldn't keep the edge out of her voice.

"There's no possible way to trivialize any of this. Are you out of your mind? You have a direct connection to hell. You can't go making enemies like this, especially not that one."

"I'm not afraid of him."

"You should be. No wonder Mack was ruffled when he saw you. You shouldn't even exist. Angel blood, and demon—it's not a matter of disagreeing on holiday plans. It's bad chemistry. Plain and simple."

"I have a purpose, Simon. I know what I have to do. I've never shied away from it. I know you find me...an abomination—"

"Now, wait." His whole demeanor changed. "I never said that."

"You don't have to. I see it in your eyes. There is so much in your eyes, Simon. Such despair, such guilt. Such condemnation for what you see as a failure in another person."

He looked away, a shadow casting down over his expression. Hurt and trying to hide it.

But not for long. He rolled his shoulders and slowly looked back at her.

"I just watched you exorcize an officer of Balazog Corinthian," he said." A demon of no small influence. And you did it without even breaking a sweat. If we're gonna work together, I think I deserve to know who I'm working with. You really need to tell me who your father is."

Not a chance, on this plane or any other. "My father is a collector. A connoisseur of the strange and wonderful and impossible and damned. And one of the things he collects is offspring. He's not really a family man. Bad relationship with his own father, I guess. Left him with screwed up family values. He chose my mother because of her exquisite genetics. They probably should have tried to get to know each other a little first before jumping into the whole parenthood thing."

"You're a divinity. I gotta be honest. I'm having a hard time wrapping my brain around it, and my brain is stretchier than most. Half demon, half Enochian—"

"I am mortal." Her voice went nearly hoarse with conviction. At least in part. These days, more theory than anything else. "There is a piece of me that is mortal, a piece that is all my own. And that is why I fight to keep humanity free of divine influence. I fight because I know how precious mortality is. All these corrections—it kicks the power back to where it belongs but it's just not enough. I cannot make them unsee what they saw. I cannot make them forget what it feels like to be a divinity."

He nodded and dropped his head. "I can."

She turned. "What?"

With a sigh, he met her gaze. "I said, I can. I can make them forget. And I do. When I complete an exorcism, I cast a little follow-up disremember spell. It's easy, actually."

He shrugged. "A rapid hypnotic induction, a few words of a spell I learned in Guatemala and a pinch of mandrake root under their tongue. I mean, I've just ripped a demon out of their body, out of their psyche. They are usually quite open to suggestion after an experience like that."

"And..." She pulled at her lower lip, thinking. She never thought it possible. Memories were part of a mortal; embedded with scents and sounds and emotions. So many parts of the human brain were wired for memory storage, making it difficult to isolate any one spot. From a scientific view, erasing a memory was complicated. From an emotional standpoint, it was probably impossible. Even the things a person thought they forgot could resurface with the right trigger, conscious or unconscious. "You do that to every one you exorcise?"

He scratched his hair, ruffling it. "More or less. Some guys, they might be useful. I let them keep the experience if I think they're worth it."

"Worth what?"

"Joining the fray. I'm not the only mortal out there fighting. I don't know too much about the big wigs, now. They have their own organization and rules and credit union memberships. I'm a bottom feeder, a freelancer. I just kick a new recruit their way every now and then."

She mused, staring at the fire until it was a blur, lost deep in her own thoughts. "So that's where the money comes from. You get a... referral fee."

Simon suddenly smiled, cheeky and wide.

"Clever girl, you are. You didn't think I made a dishonest living, did you?" He shook his head. "Show a girl your mug shot and she never forgets it."