Demon Night (39 page)

“I have attempted it, as well,” Michael said. “Vampires could not feed from it any longer than they could animal blood.”

Charlie frowned, then tried another drop, and had to catch her breath against the torrent of sensation and sound. Deep, rich. “It's there,” she gasped. “And it's so beautiful…but
not
. Frightening and dark.”

She projected it, and Michael's brows lifted. “That
is
demon,” he said.

“Jake,” Ethan said slowly. “You take a vial to Mackenzie, see if he tastes it.”

Jake grabbed one and ran out; Lilith watched him go, then looked at Michael. “Why would it be different?”

Castleford had been quiet, frowning thoughtfully as he cleaned his eyeglasses on his shirt. Now, he put them on, and said, “They were dead. All of the demon blood we used, we could only get by first slaying the demon. Sammael still lives.”

Jake returned, his eyes wide, the vial empty. “I couldn't keep him from drinking all of it.”

Lilith sat back a little, her lips parted. She blinked, then looked down at her hellhound, and blinked again. “Well, fuck me,” she said. “Lucifer's demons don't know about this. How long have Belial's known?”

No one could answer that—and Charlie was thinking of Sammael, and his long-winded explanation in the SUV. “They're still researching the vampire blood, though,” she said, trying to work her way through it. “They're promising the vampires a food source like this, but they already have it. Why worry about the rest?”

Ethan sighed, scrubbed his hand through his hair. “I sure don't know. Maybe it's the same concern we talked about last night—not enough of it. But that doesn't sound right, does it?”

Charlie had no idea; as far as she could tell, nothing about demons seemed right.

 

Uncertainty followed Charlie back upstairs. Ethan walked quietly beside her, and his silence gave her time to formulate all of the reasons she should return to Seattle. When it came time to convince him, hopefully she wouldn't stumble over her words.

A few steps away from her door she finally felt as if she'd rehearsed them enough. “Drifter,” she said, “I was just thinking that because you've had to keep coming to San Francisco and feeding me, and spending the evenings here—”

“Just spit it out,” he said softly.

She stumbled, tried to pick it up again. “Well, with the nephilim threatening the vampires, obviously you need to be in Seattle more—”

He stopped, turned to her. She couldn't read his expression. “Spit it out, Charlie.”

“I want to go back to Seattle with you.”

“All right,” he said, and pushed through her door.

She blinked, then headed in after him. Her room was already cleared by the time she shut the door behind her, and she watched him walk into the bathroom to finish it.

When he returned, his gaze settled on her. “Before we go, we've got to get a few things straight.”

His voice was hard and soft at the same moment; she didn't know how to interpret it, only knew that it started a trembling low in her belly. “Okay,” she said.

“Firstly, you ain't going anywhere alone once we get up there. Not until I kill the nephil—and Sammael, too. But if you need privacy, you feel free to take it. Just tell me you're heading behind the shielding spell, so I know where you are.”

She nodded, tilting her head back as he approached her. “All right.”

“Secondly, we're going to make ourselves real obvious to everyone in the community, so they know where to come if trouble hits. It won't do me any good to fly around, hoping I run into the nephil. But if someone sees him, and everyone knows how to find me right quick, I might be able to track him down.”

“Okay. Can we also mention Jane?”

His smile made her stomach perform a long, lazy roll. “That was the next part. We'll keep searching for her, and we won't be quiet about it. Word travels quick, Charlie. If Sammael has hidden her away somewhere, eventually someone will hear, and they'll know where to find us.”

She sagged back against the door. “Thank you.”

“Which brings me to the last thing,” he said, bracing his hand beside her head. “You've got gratitude down real well, but you had best start complaining more. If something is making you uncomfortable, I can't do nothing about it unless you tell me what's bothering you.”

“But I don't mind being uncomfort—”

He leaned in close, his eyes blazing. “I
never
had such trouble as I do with you, Charlie. I sure as hell mind if you're uncomfortable—and it ain't leeching or ungrateful to say you need something different than what I think to give you, especially if it's something you normally provide yourself. And I can't figure you half the time, so I reckon half the time I won't be right. But I won't know to change it unless you tell me I've got it wrong.”

Her fingers curled on his suspenders so he couldn't pull away. “But you didn't get anything wrong. I was the one who brought that impression of prison into it.”

“Charlie, goddammit—” His lips tightened. His chest rose and fell on a long breath before he said softly, “Knowing what you do of my history, would you ever give me a noose—even if it was made out of gold?”

“Oh.” She closed her eyes. God, she really was slow sometimes. He hadn't been insulted, just feeling as ashamed as she had been for unintentionally hurting him. “I don't know what to say.”

“Just tell me when I've lain something on you that I didn't mean to give.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from wavering. If he asked it of her, she would. “And you will, too?”

He shook his head. “It ain't becoming for a man to admit he's hurting; I'll just moan a bit, and wait for you to figure out that I'm weak and in need of consoling. And considering I don't eat or sleep, I reckon the solution to soothing all of my ills will be real simple.”

Her laugh was soft and breathless. No, he didn't have many needs—and he was
so
strong. She slid her hands up to his shoulders and lifted herself up to his mouth, and he was steady.

But only for a moment.

With a low groan, he released her. “You want to feed here, or at the lake house?”

The bloodlust was rising. It'd probably be torture to spend the entire flight quiet in his arms, but she immediately said, “The lake.”

“That sounds mighty fine.” His smile was crooked. “All right, Miss Charlie. Let's bust you out of this joint.”

They didn't as much bust out as just walk past Jeeves, and Charlie's steps were lighter than she'd have thought, her heart thumping with a wild mixture of hope and fear.

She carried the same combination into Cole's the next evening.

Ethan walked beside her each time, and his presence made the crazy roll of her emotions easier to bear—and let her open herself up to them, knowing that he'd tell her if she veered too far one way or another.

Old Matthew stood behind the counter, studying her as she slid into one of the stools. “Are you coming in to work or to drink?”

She fought to keep her fingers still. “I guess that depends on whether the idea of my drinking freaks you out.”

“I ate dinner with the Emerald City Slasher every night for four years without freaking once.” He laid his meaty forearms on the bar and leaned in. “Show me what you've got.”

Charlie bared her teeth.

He stared, slack surprise smoothing his wrinkles before he shook his head. “Damn. A part of me still thought you were funning, Charlie girl.” He glanced at Ethan. “And him?”

“This is Drifter.” She fought to breathe. “He's got wings. No halo, though.”

Old Matthew straightened up, his hands huge and dark in the folds of his white towel. Finally, he said, “You'll be mostly in the office now, and when you're up front I think we'll be all right if you don't smile too much. Will we have to adjust your schedule?”

Her chest swelled, leaving her throat tight. Charlie nodded, but couldn't get anything out.

“She'll need a later shift and fewer hours when daylight runs long in the summer,” Ethan said. “And if it's acceptable to you, I'll be sitting here most evenings.”

Charlie found her voice. “He drinks the Balvenie. And he tips well.”

Old Matthew turned and selected the bottle from the top shelf. “If you've got someone to watch over you, does that mean you're still in trouble?”

“A little,” she said. “But Jane might be worse off. We haven't heard from her for two days now.”

“Anything from that boyfriend of hers?”

Charlie shook her head. They hadn't told Old Matthew about Sammael, but demon or man, it was equally frightening to say, “No, but we think he's got her with him. And if she could, Jane would make sure that I knew she was okay. So we don't think he's letting her talk to anyone.”

“That's bad news, Charlie girl.” Old Matthew heaved a deep sigh before setting the whiskey in front of Ethan. “If you're going to be sitting, son, it must mean you're waiting for information to come to you. Will you be bringing trouble in?”

“I aim to avoid it. But if I can't, I'll take it outside right quick.”

“
Very
quickly,” Charlie said. “If people see anything, it'll probably just be his coattails when he goes out the door.”

Ethan smiled slightly. “And it may be that folk like Charlie will be coming in for no other reason but curiosity. They won't eat much, though most know to buy a drink for appearance sake.”

Old Matthew nodded. “As long as their money's good.”

“It will be,” Ethan said. “And Charlie tells me you've been trying to set up a mutually beneficial arrangement with the Heritage Theater, but mostly getting a cold shoulder due to the sort of people you employ. But in a few months, I reckon changes will be taking place at the Heritage. Most of the employees won't eat, but it can be made real clear to those folks who'll attend the performances that Cole's is open across the street.”

Old Matthew's face wrinkled into a grin. “Well, then. Charlie girl, you and I had better head on back to that office, make room for all that Bobo cash.”

 

Old Matthew didn't stay with her long, but pointed out the various piles of paperwork, described their contents, and left her to familiarize herself with and organize it all to her liking. Ethan produced the new laptop that Savi had shipped to the house, and Charlie had a moment of astonishment when she realized all of her settings were intact, her setup exactly the same—only faster.

And so was she. Charlie listened with half an ear to the easy conversation between Ethan and Old Matthew, and had to stop herself from looking through the one-way mirror every time her name was mentioned in passing.

Until she realized where Ethan had steered the conversation. He'd offered Old Matthew an abbreviated version of his human history, and Old Matthew had seemed pleased by it, observing that Cole's was the right place for an outlaw.

“And for Charlie, too,” Ethan said quietly, and when she looked through the mirror she almost believed he could see her, his gaze was so direct.

“Yes,” Old Matthew said. “And no. Eight years ago, you couldn't have paid me to take her on, and it wasn't just what she'd done to the place.”

“What was it, then?”

Old Matthew stopped for a minute, braced his hands on the bar. “I saw her at the sentencing. If you'd asked me then, I'd have said she wasn't going to make it a year, and it wouldn't have mattered if she was locked up or free. Even if they're still walking, there are some people who aren't living—and you could tell she was one of them.”

“Like a zombie, I imagine.” Ethan's voice was rough, and he took a sip of his whiskey. “Like her whole world's been turned upside down, and just looking at her, you wouldn't think she'd ever pull herself upright again.”

Old Matthew made a sound of agreement, but Charlie couldn't see his expression. “And so you could have knocked me over when she came in two years ago. She wasn't looking as good as she does now, but there was more fight in her than I'd ever have guessed—though I don't think she had any idea of where to start, and a part of her just wanted to slide back to where she'd been. But while we were sitting here talking—she was on the same stool you are now—she was looking at all the bottles, looking at herself in the mirror, and I swear to sweet baby Jesus that I
saw
the second she decided not to buy a drink. A moment later, she told me that I was wrong, and she wasn't a rich girl, and went on with a story about playing a pipe to rats in the subway.” Old Matthew began chuckling, pulled off his kufi to rub his head. “It was one of the most ridiculous things I'd ever heard, but she told it like she meant it, and had me right there with her. So I offered her a position, thinking either that fight would keep on coming, or that one day I'd find her passed out on the floor with a bottle in her hand. It was about six months before I realized the second wasn't going to happen.”

“It took me a good while, too,” Ethan said softly.

Old Matthew's head tilted forward in a nod. “And now, I just like having her around. Never knowing what's going to come out of her makes life more interesting—and I'll tell you, this latest will keep me going for at least another two years.”

“At least,” Ethan agreed, then glanced at the mirror. “I don't reckon you'd best tell her any of this, though, even if she did happen to wonder why you took her on. She'd like to start crying and carrying on about how grateful she was, and how she doesn't deserve any of it.”

Charlie swallowed a laugh, wiped her cheeks. “Fuck you, Drifter,” she whispered.

 

Charlie took five more minutes to compose herself before joining Old Matthew behind the bar, briefly laying her cheek against his shoulder before tying on her apron.

Her fingers fumbled when he said, “I hope you've got great hearing to go along with those teeth and that cold skin, Charlie girl.”

She pulled the strings tight. “I do.”

“Good. Because I'd hate to think I told all of that to a man I don't know for nothing.” He smiled as she laughed and shook her head; then he added, “Did you get bored back there already?”

“No,” Charlie said, trying not to grin as she glanced from Ethan to Old Matthew. “I'm done. With the final project for my class, too.”

Old Matthew stared at her a minute before walking through the door to the back. Charlie leaned against the bar in front of Ethan, but had to present him with the top of her head, keeping her face down to hide her fangs when she couldn't hold back her smile.

She looked over at Old Matthew when he came back through.

“I haven't unburied that beige file cabinet in ten years; I forgot how ugly it was. Do you want to tell me where I can get a set of those teeth, Charlie girl?” He laughed when her eyes widened. “Well, not today. Today, I'm just going to sit back there and do nothing but look at how nice and clean everything is.”

“Okay.” She waited until he'd gone again, then met Ethan's steady gaze. “It was easier.”

“You think faster now, Miss Charlie. Things that gave you trouble still will, but you're quicker all around.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together. “I still can't spell.”

Ethan studied her, smiling slightly. “Are you figuring to cry or to laugh?”

“Maybe both. This is a really, really good thing. Better than getting a hit in on Jake now and then.”

“You say that after you've known him a bit longer.”

Her laugh finally escaped, and she touched his hand, squeezed his fingers lightly. “I know I'm not supposed to do this unless we're alone, Ethan, but I can't help myself.”

He held on when she'd have kept it brief and pulled away. “We ain't surrounded by demons right now, so the distraction's all right.”

“But doesn't it—” What had he called it? “Fuzz you up?”

“It ain't one touch that fuzzes me, Charlie. It's the buildup I get rid of; if I go too long or take in too much, then a touch like this would hit me so powerfully that I'd be hard pressed not to throw you on your back.” He grinned when her breath caught. “I ain't there yet. And I have to get rid of it more often now, but I sure ain't complaining. I'll just drift a little longer tomorrow.”

She knew he hadn't gone to Caelum that day. And with no one to tell him if trouble came, she didn't think he'd have sealed himself in another room while she was sleeping.

She searched his face, looking for any sign of the fuzziness—but he appeared as alert and focused as usual. “How are you going to drift if you don't leave me alone?”

“Well, Jake will be coming up most days, heading back during the evenings. So I suppose I could lock myself behind the spell while he's here. But the past two mornings I've been drifting while I've been in bed with you, and it's been just fine.”

Her mouth fell open. “When I've been in my daysleep?” At his nod, she shook her head. “I don't understand. If this fuzzes you up faster”—she moved her fingers against his—“then how can you drift with me there?”

“It don't make a lick of sense,” Ethan agreed. “But that's how it is. I can't seem to settle without you there, without knowing you're all right.”

“Oh.” That familiar emotion swelled in her chest, her throat, trying to push itself out. But she only said, “Sorry.”

“Miss Charlie,” he said, chuckling softly.

Her laugh was equally low. “Okay, I'm not.” It was impossible to be. She held his gaze, desire sparking through her. Not from bloodlust—just Ethan. “I get a break in a couple of hours.”

His focus shifted to her mouth. “And no one yet knows we're here, so I figure this is the one night we can sit on that swing for a spell.”

“You should have sat with me the first night you came to my rescue,” she said, grinning. “I was feeling really grateful.”

He seemed transfixed by her teeth for a breathless moment; then he closed his eyes and said, “By the time your break comes around, Miss Charlie, I'm certain I can think of a few other reasons you ought to be thanking me.”

She broke into laughter, certain she'd never looked forward to fifteen minutes more in her life. And certain that even if she was
just
sitting with Ethan, it would pass much too quickly. Always before, it had been such a struggle to fill that time, and she'd relied so heavily on her calls to Jane…

Her smile faded slowly, and she sighed. “It doesn't seem right that I'm laughing when Jane's missing. Like I should be crying all the time, even though it wouldn't help anything.”

Ethan traced her jaw with his thumb, lifting her chin. His expression was as tender as his touch. “I know it, Miss Charlie. And if you do feel like crying, you go on ahead. My shoulder cleans up real easy.” His hand rose to push her hair behind her ear. “And with luck, we'll hear about her soon.”

 

Luck didn't accompany Charlie over the next week, and Jane's absence continued to wail its note in the background, only completely fading when she was holding Ethan close.

Their days and nights had fallen into an easy rhythm. Charlie awoke to the soft murmur of Ethan's voice, his touch, his blood. Each night, a little earlier—and though they never talked about her weight loss, as if discussing her recovery might jinx its progress, the worry on Ethan's face seemed to lighten as the days passed.