For a Few Demons More (27 page)

Seventy-five…
I couldn't find enough air. “You don't understand,” I said, starting to sweat. “I can't.”
What if David finds out? Peter's death had been insurance fraud.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, her gaze going to her daughter. “Has Simon Ray already hired you?” she asked, her voice vehement. “A hundred thousand, then. Damn, he's a bastard.”

I looked at David, but he seemed as shocked as I was. “You misunderstand,” I stammered. “What I meant is, I don't do that kind of thing.”

“And yet,” she said, each syllable clear and precise, “people who annoy you seem to die.”

“They do not,” I objected, leaning until my back hit the chair.

“Francis Percy?” she began, ticking names off on her fingers. “Stanley Saladan? That mouse of a man…ah, Nicholas Sparagmos, I believe?”

Her spread fingers closed elegantly, and alarm hit me. “I didn't kill Francis,” I said. “He managed that all by himself. And Lee was dragged off by a demon he summoned. Nick went over a bridge.”

Mrs. Sarong's smile widened, and she patted my hand again. “Very well done on the last one,” she said, glancing at her daughter. “Leaving an old boyfriend to clutter future relationships is investing in trouble.”

For a moment I stared. She wanted me to kill Simon Ray? “I didn't kill them,” I protested. “Really.”

“But they are nevertheless gone.” Mrs. Sarong gave me a perfect smile, as if I had done a fabulous trick. She suddenly straightened, the comfortable companionability that had wreathed her expression shifting to blank questioning. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I watched her pull the air deep into her. “Simon!” she barked, rising to her feet.

I jumped up when her entourage dived into motion, heading right for us. She knew. She knew Mr. Ray was here.

“Rache!” Jenks shrilled, leaving my shoulder in a sparkle of gold dust. I backed into David, but Mrs. Sarong's pack wasn't concerned with me.

A shout quickly followed by a muffled thump shook the air. Kisten lunged in from the kitchen, his steps holding that eerie vampire quickness. He was headed for the back room, but before he could get there, Mr. Ray stormed in.

Great,
I thought when the rest of his thugs spilled out behind him with drawn weapons pointed at us.
Just freaking great.

“You pompous little
bitch
!” the infuriated Were shouted, red-faced and with his thugs backing him. “What are you doing here?”

Mrs. Sarong pushed past the men who had put themselves in front of her. “Arranging your removal,” she said, her voice sharp and her eyes glaring.

Removal? As if he were an overgrown tree clogging the sewer line?

The short businessman seemed to choke on his own breath, becoming choleric. Mouth gaping to look like one of his prize fish, he struggled to respond. “Like hell you are!” he finally managed. “That's what I wanted to talk to her about!”

From my shoulder came a small, “Holy crap, Rache. How did you become Cincy's assassin of choice?”

I stared at the two packs separated by little round tables.
Mr. Ray wants to contract me to take Mrs. Sarong out?

The clicks of cocking weapons startled me from my shock.

“Grab some air, Jenks!” I shouted, kicking over a table and filling the space it had been in.

Jenks left me in a dazzling burst of gold sparkles. A whiff of musk and David had my back, that freaking big-ass rifle in his grip making him look like a gunslinger out for revenge. Kisten leapt forward. Blond hair swinging, he stepped between the two packs, his arms up in placation but
his expression hard. The air pressure shifted, and suddenly Steve was there, too.

Everyone froze. My pulse hammered, and my knees went watery. It was too much like the time I had stormed in here looking for Piscary after he had blood-raped Ivy. Except this time there were a lot of pointed guns.

Sweating, I watched Kisten force the visible tension from his face and stance until he was the casual, confident bar manager on the surface. “I don't give a rat's ass if you kill each other,” he said, his voice carrying well. “But you'll take it out of my bar and into the lot, like everyone else.”

David pressed into my back, and with his warmth grounding me, I took a deep breath. “No one is going to kill anyone,” I said. “I called you here, and you are
all
going to sit down so we can settle this like Inderlanders, not animals. Got it?”

Mr. Ray took a step forward, a short finger pointing at Mrs. Sarong. “I'm going to rip—”

A burst of angst lit through me. “I said
shut up
!” I shouted. “What is wrong with you?” My bag was heavy on my shoulder, and though I could bring out my splat gun, I didn't know whom I'd aim it at. At this point no one was aiming at me. I think. And to tap a line and make a circle might just set them all off. No one was shooting—I'd work from there.

“I'm not going to kill Mrs. Sarong,” I said to Mr. Ray.

To my left, Mrs. Sarong stiffened, but she looked pissed, not afraid.

“And I'm not going to go after Mr. Ray for you,” I added.

Mr. Ray harrumphed, wiping his brow with a white handkerchief. “I don't need your help to pin the whiny bitch,” he said, and the men surrounding him tensed as if to rush her.

That just ticked me off. This was my party, damn it. Weren't they listening? “Hey!
Hey!
” I shouted. “Excuse me, but I'm the one you both wanted to contract to kill each other. I
suggest,
” I said sarcastically, “that we all sit at that big table over there, just you, and you, and me.” I looked at the weapons still cocked and pointed. “Alone.”

Mrs. Sarong nodded in a show of acquiescence, but Mr. Ray sneered. “You can say anything in front of my pack,” he stated belligerently.

“Fine.” I stepped from David, and he uncocked his weapon. “I'll talk to Mrs. Sarong.”

The collected woman smiled cattily at the flustered man and turned to give her daughter a word of instruction. She was just as stymied as Mr. Ray, but by calmly capitulating rather than insisting we do it her way, she looked more in control. Intrigued, I filed the wisdom away for more thought later.
If I have a later.

“You got this okay?” I murmured to David.

I could smell the musk coming off him, thick and heady from his tension. The depression was gone, leaving only a capable-looking man with a rifle that could blow a hole in an elephant. It was a vampire killer. It would work on Weres, easy.

“No problem, Rachel,” he said, his brown eyes everywhere but on me. “I'll keep them right where they are.”

“Thanks.” I touched his upper arm. He flicked his gaze to mine, then backed up a step, his duster furling about the tops of his boots.

My breath came out in a long exhalation. Pulse slowing, I stepped between the two Were factions and those guns, headed for the table at the foot of the stairs. Kisten was still standing in the middle of the room, and he was pulled into my wake as I passed him. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, but it was from the Weres, not him.

“I've got this under control,” I said softly, my lips barely moving. “Why don't you go fold more of those napkins?”

“I can see that,” he said, smiling despite the tension in his soft voice. Jenks joined us from the ceiling, and under their twin scrutiny I rubbed my fingertips into my forehead. Crap, I was getting a headache. This wasn't the way I had planned it, but how was I supposed to know they both wanted to contract me to kill each other?

“I think she's doing great,” Jenks said. “There are eighteen weapons in this place, and not one has gone off yet. Nineteen if you count the one in Patricia's thigh holster.”

Exhausted, I glanced behind me to the slight Were. Yeah, with that slit skirt, a thigh holster would work really well.

Kisten touched my elbow. “I'm not leaving this room,” he said, his blue eyes almost fully dilated. “But this is your run. Where do you want Steve and me?”

I slowed my steps, pleased to see that Mr. Ray had seated himself opposite Mrs. Sarong—a good five feet between them. “The door?” I
asked. “One of them probably called in more people, and I don't want this to become a population contest.”

“You got it,” he said, and with a soft smile he slipped away. He spoke to Steve, and the large vampire went out to the parking lot, a cell phone in his thick hand and his fingers busy.

Satisfied, I headed to the table.
Nineteen guns?
I thought, gut clenching. Nice. Maybe I should put myself in a bubble and say “go.” Call whoever's still standing in five minutes the winner.

“Jenks,” I said as I neared the table, “stay back, will you? Work communication between us? It's only supposed to be me and them. No seconds.”

Still hovering, he put his hands on his hips. His angular features seemed pinched, making him look older than he really was. “No one counts pixies as people!” he protested.

I met his eyes squarely. “I count you, and it wouldn't be fair.”

His wings flashed a pleased embarrassment, and a sprinkling of dust slipped from him. Nodding, he zipped away in a clatter of dragonfly wings.

Alone, I took the chair with my back to the kitchen door, confident no one would be coming in that way with Steve outside. I could smell the odor of dough rising for pizza, and the tang of tomatoes. Pizza sounded really good for tonight.

Forcing the thought away, I settled myself, opening my bag as I set it on my lap. The heavy weight of my splat gun was comfortable, and I tried not to think about the weapons Mr. Ray and Mrs. Sarong probably had on them.

“First,” I said, trembling inside from the adrenaline, “I'd like to extend my condolences to both of you on the loss of your pack members.”

On my right, Mr. Ray pointed rudely at Mrs. Sarong. “I won't tolerate you harassing my pack,” he stated, cheeks quivering. “The death of my secretary was an out-and-out declaration of war. Something I'm prepared to see through.”

Mrs. Sarong sniffed, looking down her nose at him. “Murdering my aide was intolerable. I will not pretend that it wasn't you.”

God!
They were at it again! “Both of you stop it!” I exclaimed.

Ignoring me, Mr. Ray leaned across the table to Mrs. Sarong. “You
don't have the balls to warn me off of what's mine by right. We will find the statue, and you will sit at my feet like the bitch you are.”

Whoa!
I thought, and a sudden wash of cold reasoning shocked through me. This was about the focus, not their respective dead. I glanced at David, and his lips pressed together. Case solved. They were murdering each other.

But Mrs. Sarong was inching her hand to her waistband and the one-bullet gun she probably had there. “I didn't kill your secretary,” she said, keeping Ray's attention on her face and not her hands. “But I'd like to thank whoever did. Killing my aide to feign that you don't have the focus makes you a coward. If you can't hold it by strength and must rely on stealth, you don't deserve it. I have more control over Cincinnati than you do anyway.”

“Me!” the incensed Were shouted, bringing Steve in for a quick look around. “I don't have it, but I damn well will get it. I haven't so much as sniffed the footprints of your dog-infested pack, but I will take every last member of it if you keep up this farce.”

From the corner of my sight, I watched David take a threatening grip on his vamp killer of a weapon. The two factions were getting antsy.

“That's enough,” I said, feeling like a playground monitor. “Both of you shut up!”

Mr. Ray turned to me. “You're a thieving, mewling bitch!” the pudgy Were exclaimed, his supremacy firmly entrenched in his mind.

David hefted his rifle, and the Weres brought for muscle started to shift on their feet. From my other side, Mrs. Sarong smiled like the devil and crossed her legs, saying the same thing as Mr. Ray without uttering a word. I was losing control. I had to do something.

Pissed, I drew myself up and tapped a line. Immediately my hair started to float, and from the middle of the room came an uneasy murmur. I focused on the two of them, unable to break eye contact after I took it. “I think you mean witch,” I said softly, my fingers moving in nonsense as I pretended to set a ley line spell. But they didn't know that. “I suggest you relax. And that fish was a rescue, not a theft,” I added, my face warming. Okay, maybe my conscience was still smarting.

“You're both idiots,” I added, staring at Mr. Ray. “Killing each other for a stupid-ass statue when neither one of you has it. How lame is that?”

Mrs. Sarong cleared her throat. “You know he doesn't have it…how?” she drawled.

A good dozen answers fell through my brain, but the only one that they would believe would be the one that was the most impossible. “Because I have it,” I said, praying it was the answer that would keep me breathing for another day.

Silence greeted my claim. Then Mr. Ray laughed. I jumped when his hand slapped down onto the table, but Mrs. Sarong's gaze was fixed on the Weres behind me, her face paling. “You!” the heavy Were said between guffaws. “If you have the focus, I'll eat my shorts.”

My lips pressed together, but Mrs. Sarong spoke next. “You take ketchup with your silk, Simon?” she said sourly. “I think she's got it.”

Mr. Ray stopped laughing. His brown eyes noted her ashen hue, and then he looked to me. “Her?” he said in disbelief.

My pulse quickened, and I wondered if I had made a mistake and they'd band together to take it from me before turning against each other once more.

“Look at her alpha,” the slight woman said, pointing with her eyes.

We all looked. David was sitting half on a table with one foot on the floor, the other draped down and hanging. His duster was open to show his trim body, and his rifle was in his hands. Yes, it was a big gun, but there were—as Jenks said—nineteen other weapons in the place. Yet there he was holding two aggressive packs still and silent.

David had always been an impressive individual, having the standing of an alpha and the mystique of a loner. But even I could see the new expectation in his manner. He wasn't just capable of dominating another Were; he expected it to happen without a complaint. It was the focus's magic trickling through him. He had gained the power of creation, and though it had resulted in the deaths of innocents, it didn't lesson the magnitude of what that meant.

“My God,” Mr. Ray said. Eyes wide, he turned to me. “You have it.” He swallowed. “You really have it?”

Mrs. Sarong had taken her hands from the threat of her weapon and set them on the table. It was a submissive move, and a chill took me.
What have I done? Will I survive it?

“You were there, at the bridge, weren't you? When the Mackinaw Weres found it?” she said coolly.

I leaned back to distance myself. What I wanted to do was run away. “I had it before that, actually,” I admitted. “I was up there rescuing my boyfriend.” I fixed on her eyes, wondering if they were a shade chagrined. “The one you think I killed,” I added.

My pulse hammered when she dropped her eyes for an instant, then returned them to me.
God help me, what have I become?

Mr. Ray wasn't convinced. “Give it to me,” he demanded. “You can't hold it. You're a witch.”

One down, one to go,
I thought, scared, but to back down now would end my life more quickly than publicly claiming the stupid thing. “I'm his alpha,” I said, nodding to David. “I say that says I can.”

The man's eyes narrowed. Looking as if he had cracked a rotten egg, he said, “I'll make you part of my pack. That's my best offer. Take it.”

“Take it or what?” I allowed a touch of sarcasm into my voice. “I have a pack, thank you. And why does everyone keep telling me I can't do things? I've got it. You don't. I'm not giving it to you. End of story. So you can stop killing each other trying to find out where it is.”

“Simon,” Mrs. Sarong said caustically, “shut your yap. She has it. Deal with it.”

I would have tried to find a compliment in that but figured her support would only last until she found a way to kill me.