The Outlaw Demon Wails (3 page)

A chill ran through me at the certainty in his voice. Worried, I glanced at the people at the window, then looked over the store. Not much was standing. Outside, traffic began to move as the amber and blue lights of an I.S. car started playing over the buildings. My gaze fell on my mom and I cringed. I could usually keep the more lethal aspects of my job from her, but this time…

“Better listen,” she said, shocking the hell out of me, then clacked her heels smartly as she went to intercept the clerk's dash to the street.

A bad feeling knotted my stomach. If Al wasn't playing by the rules anymore, he'd kill me. Probably after making me watch him murder everyone I loved. It was that simple. I'd been living on instinct for the first twenty-five years of my life, and though it had gotten me out of a lot of trouble, it had also gotten me into just as much. And killed my boyfriend. So though every fiber of my body said to banish him, I took a slow breath, listened to my mother, and said, “Okay. Talk.”

Minias pulled his attention from my mother. A sheet of ever-after cascaded over him, melting the formal yellow robe into a pair of faded jeans, leather belt, boots, and a red silk shirt. My face went cold. It was Kisten's favorite outfit, and Minias had probably picked it out of my thoughts like a cookie out of a jar. Damn him.

Kisten
. The memory of his body propped up against his bed flashed through me. My jaw trembled, and I clenched my teeth. I knew I had tried to save him. Or maybe he had tried to save me. I just didn't remember it, and guilt slithered across my soul. I had failed him, and Minias was using it.
Son of a bitch demon.

“Free me,” Minias said mockingly as if he knew he was hurting me. “Then we'll talk.”

I held my right arm as it throbbed with a phantom pain, remembering. “That's likely,” I said bitterly, and the clerk jerked from my mother, her shrill voice hurting my ears.

Minias wasn't fazed, and he looked over his new attire with interest. A pair of modern, mirrored sunglasses misted into existence in his grip, and he placed them on the bridge of his narrow nose with a meticulous care to hide his alien eyes. He sniffed, and I felt sick at how much he looked like any guy on the street. An attractive, university kind of guy, who'd fit in on any campus as a grad student, or maybe a teacher still working for tenure. But his bearing was uncaring and slightly supercilious.

“The coffee your mother mentioned sounds equitable. I give my word I'll be…good.”

My mother flicked her attention to the noisy street, and seeing her
eyes glinting in approval, I wondered if this was where I got my need to live for the thrill. But I was smarter now, and putting a hand on my hip, I shook my head. My mother was nuts. He was a freaking demon.

The demon glanced over my shoulder at the sound of a car door shutting and a police radio. “Have I ever lied to you?” he murmured so only I could hear. “Do I look like a demon? Tell them I'm a witch that was helping you catch Al and I got in the circle by mistake.”

My eyes narrowed. He wanted me to lie for him?

Minias leaned so close to the barrier of ever-after that it buzzed a harsh warning. “If you don't, I'll give the public what they expect.” His eyes went to the people clustered at the window. “Proof that you deal in demons ought to do wonders for your…sterling reputation.”

Mmmm. There is that.

The door jingled open. With a cry of relief, the clerk shoved my mother away and ran to the two officers. Sobbing, she draped herself over them, effectively preventing them from coming in any farther. I had thirty seconds, tops, and then it would be the I.S.'s decision as to what happened with Minias, not mine. No freaking way.

Minias saw my decision and smiled with an infuriating confidence. Demons never lied, but they never seemed to tell the truth either. I'd dealt with Minias before, finding that for all his considerable power, he was a novice when dealing with people. He had been babysitting the ever-after's most powerful, insane denizen for the last millennium. But clearly something had changed. And someone was summoning Al out of containment and setting him free to kill me.

Damn. Is it Nick?
Stomach caving in, I put a fist to my middle. I knew he had the skill, and we had parted on very bad terms.

“Let me out,” Minias whispered. “I'll hold myself to
your
definition of right and wrong.”

I glanced across the demolished shop. One of the officers managed to disentangle himself when the clerk pointed at us, almost gibbering. Other people in uniform were filing in, and it was getting crowded. I'd never get a better verbal contract from Minias than that.

“Done,” I said, rubbing my foot across the chalk line to break the circle.

“Hey!” an incoming suit shouted as my bubble went down. The spare young man whipped a thin wand from his belt and pointed it at us. “Everybody
down
!”

The clerk screamed and collapsed. From outside came the sound of panic. I jumped in front of Minias, hands up and spread wide. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I cried out. “I'm Rachel Morgan from Vampiric Charms, Independent Runner Service. I've got the situation under control. We're cool! We're all cool! Point the wand up!”

The tension eased, and in the new calm, my mouth dropped open when I recognized the I.S. officer. “You!” I accused, then started when Jenks catapulted himself from my shoulder.

“Jenks, no!” I shouted, and the room reacted. A unified protest rose, and ignoring the calls to halt, I lunged to get in front of the man with the wand before Jenks could pix him and somehow land me with an assault charge.

“You sorry-ass hunk of putrid fairy crap!” Jenks shouted, darting erratically as I tried to stay between them. “Nobody sucker punches me and gets away with it! Nobody!”

“Easy, Jenks,” I soothed, all the while trying to watch both him and Minias. “He's not worth it. He's not worth it!”

My words penetrated and, with his wings clattering aggressively, Jenks accepted my shoulder when I fluffed my scarf and turned to the I.S. officer. I knew my face was as ugly as Jenks's. I hadn't expected to ever see Tom again—though who else would they send out on a call concerning demons but someone from the Arcane Division?

The witch was a mole in the I.S., working one of their most sensitive, highest-paying jobs while simultaneously laboring away as a peon in some fanatical black-arts cult. I knew because he had played messenger boy last year and asked me to join them. Right after he stunned Jenks into unconsciousness and left him to fry on my car's dashboard.
What an ass.

“Hi, Tom,” I said dryly. “How's the wand hanging?”

The I.S. officer backed up with his eyes on Jenks. His face reddened when someone laughed at him for being afraid of a four-inch pixy. The truth of it was, he should be. Something that small and winged could be lethal. And Tom knew it.

“Morgan,” Tom said, nose wrinkled as he breathed in the burnt-amber-tainted air. “I am not surprised. Summoning demons in public?” His gaze traveled over the trashed store, and a mocking
tsk-tsk
came from him. “This is going to cost you.”

My breath quickened when I remembered Minias, and I spun. True to his word, the demon was behaving himself, standing still as every incoming I.S. officer pointed their weapons, both conventional and magic, at him.

My mother made a puff of noise, her high heels clacking as she strode to him. “A demon? Are you insane?” she said as she tucked our purchases under an arm to take Minias's hand and pat it. I froze in shock. Minias looked even more surprised.

“Do you honestly think my daughter is so stupid she'd let a demon out of a circle?” she continued, her smile bright. “In the middle of Cincinnati? Three days before Halloween? It's a costume. This kind man helped my daughter repel the demons and got caught in the crossfire.” She beamed up at him, and Minias delicately removed his hand from hers, curling his fingers into a tight fist. “Isn't that so, dear?”

Minias silently sidestepped away from my mother. I felt a tug on my awareness as something was drawn from the ever-after to this side of the lines, and Minias pulled a wallet from his back pocket.

“My papers…gentlemen,” the demon said, giving me a smirk before he passed Tom what looked like one of those ID holders you see on cop shows.

The clerk slumped against the first officer, wailing. “There were two of them in robes and one in a green costume! I think that's the green one there. They trashed the store! They knew her name. That woman is a black witch and everyone knows it! It's been in the papers and the news. She's a menace! A freak and a menace!”

Jenks bristled, but it was my mother who said, “Get a grip, Pat. She didn't call them.”

“But the store!” Patricia insisted, her fear turning to anger now that I.S. officers surrounded her. “Who's going to pay for this?”

“Look,” I said, feeling Jenks shivering between me and the scarf. “My partner is cold sensitive. Can we wrap this up? I haven't broken the law as far as I can see.”

Tom looked up from reading Minias's ID. He squinted from the picture to Minias, then handed it to someone far older standing behind him with a curt, “Pull it.”

Unease trickled through me, but Minias didn't seem to be troubled. Jenks pinched my ear when Tom moved to stand before me, and I jerked out of my reverie.

“You shouldn't have turned us down, Morgan,” the witch said, so close I could smell a witch's characteristic redwood smell rolling off of him. The more magic you practiced, the stronger you smelled, and Tom reeked. I thought of Minias and felt a moment of worry. He might look like a witch, but he would smell like a demon, and they'd seen me let him out.
Crap. Think, Rachel. Don't react, think!

“Somehow,” Tom said softly, threateningly, “I don't think your friend Minias is going to have a record. Any record at all. Sort of like a demon?”

My thoughts scrambled, and I felt more than saw Minias ease up behind me.

“I'm sure Mr. Bansen will find my papers are in order,” he said, and I shivered when a chill ran through me, pulled into existence from the draft of Jenks's wings.

“Holy crap! Minias smells like a witch!” the pixy whispered.

I took a deep breath, my shoulders relaxing when I found Minias did indeed lack the characteristic burnt-amber scent that clung to all demons. I turned to him in surprise, and the demon shrugged, twisting his hand. It was still in a fist, and my lips parted when I realized he hadn't opened his fingers since my mother had taken his hand.

Eyes widening, I spun to my mother to find her beaming. She'd given him an amulet? My mother was crazy, but she was crazy like a fox.

“Can we go?” I said, knowing Tom was trying to get a good sniff of him as well.

Tom's eyes narrowed. Taking my elbow, he pulled me from Minias. “That is a demon.”

“Prove it. And as you once told me, it's not against the law to summon demons.”

His face went ugly. “Maybe not, but you're responsible for the damage they do.”

A groan slipped from Jenks, and I felt my face go stiff.

“She destroyed my store!” the woman wailed. “Who's going to pay for this! Who?”

An I.S. officer approached with Minias's ID, and while Tom held up a finger for me to wait, he talked to him. My mother joined me, and the people outside complained as an officer started to make them move on. Tom was frowning when the man left, and bolstered by his show of bad temper, I smiled cattily. I was going to walk out of here. I knew it.

“Ms. Morgan,” he said as he slid his wand away. “I have to let you go—”

“What about the store?” the woman wailed.

“Can it, Patricia!” my mother said, and Tom grimaced as if he'd eaten a spider.

“As long as you agree that demons were here because of you,” he added, “and you agree to pay for damages,” he finished, handing Minias his ID back.

“But it wasn't my fault.” My gaze scanned the broken shelves and scattered amulets as I tried to add up the potential cost. “Why should I have to pay for it because someone sicced them on me? I didn't summon them!”

Tom smiled, and my mother squeezed my elbow. “You're welcome to come down to the I.S. and file a countercomplaint.”

Nice.
“I'll accept the damages.” So much for the air conditioner fund. “Come on,” I said, reaching for Minias. “Let's get out of here.”

My hand passed right through him. I froze, but I didn't think anyone had noticed. Glancing at his irate face, I gestured sourly for him to go before me. “After you,” I said, then hesitated. I wasn't going to do this at the coffeehouse two blocks away. Not with the I.S. buzzing like fairies around
a sparrow nest. “My car is about five spots down. It's the red convertible, and you're riding in back.”

Minias's eyebrows rose. “As you say…,” he murmured, rocking into motion.

Looking proud and satisfied, my mother snatched my purchases up, linked her arm in mine, and like magic the crowd parted to show us the door.

“You okay, Jenks?” I questioned when the cool of the night hit us.

“Just get me in the car,” he said, and I carefully wrapped my scarf about my neck once more to snuggle him in.

Coffee with my mom and a demon. Yeah, that was a good idea.

The coffeehouse was warm, smelling of biscotti and brewing beans. Jenks went to my mom's shoulder when I loosened my scarf, but I didn't take it off, not knowing if my neck showed Al's fingerprints or not. It sure hurt enough to.
Al is out? How am I going to shut this down?

Gently rubbing my neck, I lingered at the door to watch Minias, Jenks, and my mother find their place in line. The heavy-charm detection alarm was glaring a harsh red—responding to Minias most likely—but no one in the crowded place was paying it any mind. It was three days before Halloween, and everyone was trying out their spells.

The demon looked tall beside my mother as she fidgeted. Her cream-colored leather clutch purse matched her shoes to perfection; I must have gotten my fashion sense from my dad. I knew I had gotten my height from him, putting me several inches taller than my mom and a shade shorter than Minias, even in my boots. And my athletic build had certainly come from my dad. Not that my mom was a slouch, but memories of afternoons at Eden Park and pictures from before he had died reassured me that I was as much my father's daughter as my mother's. It made me feel good,
thinking that a part of him lived on though he'd been gone twelve years. He'd been a great dad, and I still missed him when my life got out of control. Which was more often than I liked to admit. Behind me, the irritating heavy-charm detector gave a final pulse and went dark.

Relieved, I eased up behind Minias, making his shoulders stiffen. He'd been markedly quiet in the car, giving me the creeps as he sat rigidly behind me while my mother sat sideways in her seat to watch him. She had disguised the scrutiny by trying to engage him in conversation while I called Ivy and left a message for her to run across the street and warn Ceri that Al was on the loose again. The demon's ex-familiar didn't have a phone, which was getting tiresome.

I was hoping my mother's light banter had been a ploy to ease the tension and not her usual out-of-touch-with-reality mentality. She and Minias were on a first-name basis now, which I thought was swell. Still, if he had wanted to cause problems, he could have done it half a dozen times between the charm shop and here. He was biding his time, and I felt like a bug on a pin.

My mother and Jenks edged out of line to ogle the pastries, and when the Were trio ahead of us finished ordering and moved off, Minias stepped forward, glancing indolently at the hanging menu. A man in a business suit behind us huffed impatiently, then went pale and backed up when the demon eyed him through his dark glasses.

Minias turned back to the counter attendant and smiled. “Latte grande, double espresso, Italian blend. Light on the froth, extra cinnamon. Use whole milk. Not two percent or half-and-half. Whole milk. Put it in porcelain.”

“We can do that!” the kid behind the counter said enthusiastically, and I looked up. His voice sounded familiar. “And for you, ma'am?”

“Uh,” I stumbled, “coffee. Black. That's it.”

Minias looked askance at me, his surprise clear even through his dark glasses, and the kid behind the counter blinked. “What kind?” he asked.

“Doesn't matter.” I shifted from foot to foot. “Mom, what do you want?”

My mother cheerfully hustled back to the counter with Jenks on her shoulder. “I'll have a Turkish espresso and a slice of that cheesecake if someone will share it with me.”

“I will,” Jenks sang out, startling the guy behind the register. He still had that paper clip sword with him, and it made me feel better.

My mom glanced at me, and when I nodded that I'd have some, too, she beamed. “I'll have that, then. With forks for all of us.” She shyly looked to Minias, and the demon stepped back almost out of my peripheral vision.

The kid snuck glances at Jenks as he punched that in, announcing, “Fourteen eighty-five.”

“We have one more person here,” I said, trying not to frown, and Jenks landed on the counter with his hands on his hips. I hated it when people ignored him. And asking him to share simply because he wasn't going to eat much was patronizing.

“I want an espresso,” he said proudly. “Black. But give me the domestic blend. That Turkish crap gives me the runs for a week.”

“TMI, Jenks,” I muttered while I yanked my shoulder bag forward. “Why don't you find a table? Maybe a corner without a lot of people?”

“With your back to the wall. You got it,” he said, clearly doing better in the shop's moist, balmy climate. A sustained temp below forty would send him into hibernation, and though Cincinnati was regularly hitting that after dark, the stump he and his huge family lived in would retain enough heat to keep them warm until almost mid-November. I was already dreading his brood moving into the church Ivy and I lived in, but they would not hibernate and risk Matalina, his ailing wife, dying of the cold. Jenks was why I wore the scarf; it wasn't for my comfort.

Glad for the warmth of the shop myself, I unzipped my coat. I handed the kid a twenty, then dropped the change into the tip jar, making the businessman wait while I scribbled “client meeting” on the receipt and tucked it away.

Turning, I found my mother and Minias standing uneasily beside a table against the wall. Jenks was on the light fixture, the dust slipping from him rising in the bulb's heat. They were waiting for me to sit down before choosing their seats, so grabbing some napkins, I headed over.

“This looks great, Jenks,” I said as I edged behind my mom to reach the chair against the wall. Immediately my mother sat to my left, and Minias chose the chair to my right, shifting it a foot back before sitting down. He was almost in the aisle; apparently we both wanted our space. I took the opportunity to remove my jacket, and my expression froze when the bracelet Kisten had given me slipped to my wrist. Pain hit, almost panic, and I didn't look at anyone as I tucked it behind the sleeve of my sweater.

I wore the bracelet because I had loved Kisten and still wasn't ready to let him go. The one time I'd taken it off, I found myself unable to tuck it away in my jewelry box next to the sharp vampire caps he'd given me. Maybe if I knew who had murdered him I could have moved on.

Ivy hadn't had much luck tracking down the vampire Piscary had given Kisten to as a legal blood gift. I had been sure that Sam, one of Piscary's lackeys, had known who it was, but he hadn't. The human polygraph test at the FIB, or Federal Inderland Bureau—the human-run version of the I.S.—was pretty good, but the witch charm I had around Sam's neck when Ivy “asked” him about it was better. That was the last time I helped her question anyone, however. The living vampire scared me when she was pissed.

That Ivy wasn't getting results was unusual. Her investigative skills were as good as my ability to get into trouble. Since the “Sam incident,” we had agreed to let her handle our search, and I was getting impatient at her lack of progress, but my slamming vampires into a wall for information wasn't prudent. What made it worse was that the answer was buried somewhere in my unconsciousness. Maybe I should have talked to the FIB's psychologist to see if he could pull something to light? But Ford made me uneasy. He could sense emotions faster than Ivy could smell them.

Uncomfortable, I scanned the décor of the busy place. Behind my mother was one of those stupid pictures with babies dressed up as fruit or flowers or something. My lips parted and I looked at Jenks, then to the counter where the college-age kid managed the customers with a professional polish.
This was it!
I thought in a surge of recognition. This was the same coffeehouse where Ivy, Jenks, and I had agreed to quit the I.S. and work as independent runners! But Junior looked like he knew what he was
doing now, sporting a manager tag on his red-and-white-striped apron and with several underlings to handle the nastier parts of running the place.

“Hey, Rache,” Jenks said as he dropped down to dust my sweater with gold. “Isn't this the store we—”

“Yup,” I interrupted him, not wanting Minias to be privy to more of my life than necessary. The demon was unfolding a paper napkin and meticulously settling it across a jeans-clad knee as if it were silk. Unease flowed through me as I remembered the night I decided to leave the I.S. Going clueless into an independent bounty hunter/escort service/jack-of-all-magical-trades runner service with a vamp had been one of the most stupid and best decisions of my life. It went along with Ivy and Jenks's opinion that I lived my life to find the edge of disaster so I could feel the rush of adrenaline.

Maybe I had once, but not anymore. Believing I had killed Jenks and Ivy with one of my stunts had cured me one hundred percent, and Kisten's death had slammed the lesson home, hard. And to prove it, I
wasn't
going to work with Minias no matter what he offered. I wouldn't repeat the past. I could change my patterns of behavior. I would. Starting here.
Watch me.

“Coffee up!” the kid shouted, and Minias took his napkin from his lap as if he was going to rise.

“I'll get it,” I said, wanting to minimize his interactions with everyone.

Minias eased down without a fuss. I gathered myself to stand, then frowned. I didn't want to leave him with my mother either.

“Oh, for God's sake,” my mother said, standing to drop her purse loudly on the table. “I'll get it.”

Minias touched her arm, and I bristled. “If you would, Alice, bring the cinnamon with you?” he asked, and my mother nodded, slowly pulling from his fingers. She was holding her arm when she walked away, and I leaned toward Minias.

“Don't touch my mother,” I threatened, feeling better when Jenks took an aggressive stance on the table, his wings clattering menacingly.

“Someone needs to touch her,” Minias said dryly. “She hasn't been touched in twelve years.”

“She doesn't need to be touched by you.” I leaned back with my arms
crossed over my middle. My gaze went to my mother, who was flirting in an old-lady way with the counter kid, and I paused. She hadn't remarried when Dad died, hadn't even dated. I knew she intentionally dressed herself to look older than she was to keep men at a distance. With the right haircut and dress, we could pass as big sister, little sister. As a witch, her life span was a good hundred and sixty years, and while most witches waited until they were sixty before starting a family, she had had Robbie and me very early in her life, giving up a promising career to raise us first. Maybe we were accidents. Passion babies.

That brought a smile to my face, and I forced it away when I noticed Minias watching me. I straightened as my mom approached with a canister of cinnamon and her plate of cheesecake; the kid behind the counter was following with the rest. “Thank you, Mark,” she said as he placed everything on the table and backed up a step. “You're a sweet boy.”

I smiled at Mark's sigh. Clearly he wasn't happy with the title. He glanced at me, then Jenks, his eyes brightening. “Hey,” he said as he tucked the tray under his arm. “I think I've seen you somewhere….”

I cringed. Most times people recognized me, it was from the news clip of me being dragged on my ass down the street by a demon. The local news had incorporated it into their front credits. Sort of like that guy on skis pinwheeling over the finish line in the agony of defeat.

“No,” I said, unable to look at him as I pulled the lid off my cup of coffee.
Ah, coffee.

“Yes,” he insisted, weight on one foot. “You've got that escort service. In the Hollows?”

I didn't know if that was better or not, and I looked tiredly up at him. I'd done escort service before, not
that
kind of escort service, but real stuff, dangerous stuff. I had a boat blow up around me once. “Yeah, that's me.”

Minias looked up from shaking cinnamon on his coffee. Jenks snickered, and I bumped my knee on the underside of the table to make his espresso slop over. “Hey!” he shouted, rising up a few inches, then settled back down, still laughing.

The front door jingled, and the kid shot off his glad-to-have-you-here spiel and left. Minias was the only one listening.

My coffee was steaming, and I hunched over it while I watched the demon. His long fingers were interlaced about the white soup-bowl mug as if relishing its warmth, and though I couldn't tell for sure because of the sunglasses, I think his eyes closed as he took the first sip. A look of bliss so deep it couldn't have been faked slipped over him, easing his features and turning him into a vision of relaxed pleasure.

“I'm listening,” I said, and a mask of nothing fell between us.

My mother quietly ate her cheesecake, her eyes flicking uneasily between us. I had the distinct impression she thought I was being rude.

“And I'm not happy,” I added, making her lips press tightly. “You told me Al was contained.” I lifted my coffee and blew across the top. “What are you going to do about him breaking his word and coming after me? What do you think will happen when this gets out?” I took a sip, forgetting for a moment where I was when it slipped down, easing my slight headache and relaxing my muscles. Jenks cleared his throat, bringing me back.

“You won't have a chance of luring anyone into any agreements again,” I said as my focus cleared. “No more familiars. Won't that be nice?” I finished with a simpering smile.

His eyes on the delights of that fruit-baby picture, Minias sipped his drink with his elbows on the table and his mug propped up at mouth height. “This is much better this side of the lines,” he said softly.

“Yeah,” Jenks said. His espresso cup came up to his waist. “That burnt amber really sticks in your throat, doesn't it?”

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Minias, and a thread of tension entered his stance of relaxed idleness. I took a deep breath, smelling only coffee, cheesecake, and the characteristic redwood scent of a witch. I was sure my mom had slipped him a charm, and I wasn't looking forward to finding the cost of such an expensive amulet tacked on to the losses from the store. But if it kept him from smelling like a demon and causing a panic, I couldn't complain.