A Demon's Desire (9 page)

* * *

Olivia lingered in the shadows of the stone
wall marking the perimeter of the graveyard, her heart racing. Her
eyes were pinned to the shadow demon she’d sent across the street
to the caretaker’s shed, where a light still shone. One of the
witches in her coven had scouted the area and claimed the caretaker
was always gone by sunset. It was past midnight; no one should’ve
been there.

The shadow demon disappeared through the wall
of the shed. She heard a surprised shout and then the sound of
thrashing. It stopped. Silence. She waited a minute before hurrying
across the road to push open the door.

The caretaker was alive and held under the
weight of the shadow demon sprawled on top of it.

“Mistress, your command,” the shadow demon
said. The caretaker twisted to look at her, surprise crossing his
face. She knew it was her newfound beauty; it would stun any man
into silence.

She hesitated and smoothed the sweater over
her hips. The middle-aged, stocky caretaker’s life was in her
hands. She should be benevolent, as people with power generally
were, and let him live with a warning.

Kill him.
Jeffrey’s voice entered her
mind again, ill-timed as usual.
He’ll report you, and they’ll
find you long before you have Adam.

“I don’t
want
to kill him. He’s just a
…” she argued out loud.

A nobody? A threat? I see his thoughts. He
thinks you’re weak.

“I am not weak,” she grated.

Do it, Olivia.

“Fine, but this is not what I want!” She
shook her head, marveling briefly at the long, blue-black tresses
that crossed her vision. “Kill him, slave.”

“How shall I kill him, mistress?” the shadow
demon asked.

“Quickly. We have things to do.”

Slowly. And you will watch,
Jeffrey
corrected her.

“No, I-- ”Pain radiated through her. It drove
her to her knees. Startled, she sat back, uncertain what had
happened. Blood trickled from her nose to her designer jeans.

Do as I say,
Jeffrey ordered.

“Slowly, slave,” she said, eyes on the wide
eyes of the caretaker.

“How shall I kill him?” it said again.

Anger and fear filtered through her. She was
here for Adam; she didn’t have time for this. Olivia launched to
her feet and grabbed a shovel from the wall.

“Move, slave,” she snapped. “Hold him still.”
The shadow demon obeyed. She gripped the shovel’s rough wooden
staff, hesitated again, and then slammed it onto the man’s head. He
grimaced. She hit him again.

The new fire in her body-- Jeffrey’s fire--
flared and consumed her. She slammed the man’s head over and over
with strength that wasn’t hers, growing more frenzied as blood
splattered everything around her. Only when his head resembled a
smashed pumpkin did she drop the shovel and step back, horrified
and satisfied at the same time.

“I will find Adam,” the shadow demon
said.

Olivia wiped blood from her face and turned
away, unable to face what she’d done any longer. She left the shed
and breathed in the ocean air deeply. Her hands shook.

He was in the way. He would’ve taken Adam
from you,
Jeffrey said, his voice gentle once more.

“Yes,” she agreed. “Nothing can stand between
me and Adam.” She steeled herself. She’d done what was needed to
clear a path for her future with Adam. Even so, the image of the
man’s bloodied body made her feel ill.

“Mistress, he is here,” the shadow demon
called.

Her head swiveled toward him at his words.
She ran, the caretaker forgotten. The shadow demon stood in the
middle of a grassy area surrounded by tombstones. She’d walked
through the cemetery many times, willing Adam’s spirit to recognize
her and tell her where his body was. She’d accepted Jeffrey’s offer
of finding Adam for her, and was surprised at how easy he made it
seem.

Olivia approached the grave marked “John Doe”
with apprehension. He’d had no family come forward after he threw
himself off the bridge. She hadn’t known he was dead until a few
weeks after their final fight. A couple out on their boat in the
Chesapeake found his body on the shore near the bridge, and the
police ruled his death a suicide. Olivia couldn’t help but feel
guilty. She’d left him again after the Emma episode. He’d claimed
to be sorry and begged her forgiveness, but she’d walked away. If
she’d forgiven him, as her heart urged her to, maybe he wouldn’t
have taken his life.

She knelt in the grass before his grave. She
had eternity to make it up to him.

“Soon, my Adam,” she murmured, a new kind of
excitement lighting her blood. “Dig him up, slave.”

She had Jeffrey to help her raise Adam, and
now she had Adam’s body. Jeffrey was dealing with Emma. Everything
was as he promised: perfect.

The shadow demon disappeared into the ground.
She rose and stepped aside. A few minutes later, the demon
reappeared clenching a body that reeked with the scent of death.
She didn’t care; she stepped forward, gaze taking in her lost lover
hungrily. She saw him not as he was in his decomposed state but as
he had been and would be again.

Her eyes glowed.

Chapter Four

Tristan stood in Emma’s cluttered living room
the next morning, taking in her jewel-toned apartment. Mama had
intended to drop by Emma’s for clothes, but he’d convinced her to
stay with Sissy and send him on the errand. While he felt bad about
entering her apartment without knowing, he needed to know what she
wouldn’t tell him. He didn’t know what he was looking for but hoped
his shadows keyed on something.

The apartment was larger than his but not by
much. Her collection of … things made it feel cozy and small. He
gazed around, growing more amused. Books took up what space
trinkets and brass and ceramic figurines had not already invaded.
There was no smooth surface left untouched. The TV in the
entertainment cabinet was stacked high with DVDs despite the mostly
open DVD rack beside it. The window sills were burdened with
trinkets, some of which had blown onto the floor, and even the
dining room table was a depot for mail, two purses, and a small
basket of junk.

He moved into the kitchen and almost
grimaced. There was nothing natural about the processed food she
preferred. Appliances were aligned haphazardly according to which
she used last, and her fridge was cluttered with cheerful magnets
holding up two different calendars turned to two months-- neither
of which was the current month.

He avoided the cabinets, suspecting what kind
of messes he’d find. Instead he went to her bedroom. The bed was,
unsurprisingly, unmade. The room smelled like her. He relaxed and
breathed deeply. She slept with a teddy bear. Somehow it didn’t
surprise him. According to Mama, Emma hadn’t dated in a couple of
years.

He entered the walk-in closet. She liked
clothes and shoes, all of which were piled or stacked in the
closet. Tristan’s eyes settled on two small shoeboxes scrawled with
the words
don’t lose!
They were stacked on one shelf, and he
walked over to them. The first box contained her passport, birth
certificate, and photos of her family.

The second box contained three letters, two
addressed to her from Adam Merchant in Baltimore and one addressed
to Adam that had been stamped
unable to deliver
and
returned
.
Interested, Tristan opened a card from Adam
Merchant. It was a birthday card with nothing more than a signature
and a picture of the two of them in daylight making faces at the
camera. Adam was a handsome man with dark blond hair, friendly
brown eyes, and a lean frame.

Tristan ignored the stirring of agitated
darkness at seeing Emma with her arm around another man’s waist.
The shadows within him growled, joining the male part of him that
wanted no man within a mile of the woman he claimed as his.

This,
his shadows told him. He didn’t
know why, but he listened. He pocketed the picture, replaced the
card, and opened the second card, drawing out a letter sent from
Adam to Emma.

Emma –

I’ll always love you with all my heart. I’m
sorry about Olivia and the others, but you weren’t exactly perfect,
either. I tried a few times to tell you I wasn’t happy in the
relationship, and you just ignored me. What was I supposed to do?
Anyway, I’m sorry, and I love you. I promise, if you come back,
it’ll never happen again.

Adam

Tristan’s anger flared. What kind of weak man
would fool around on a woman like Emma?

Adam is dead
, the shadows told him,
and Tristan fingered the letter, wondering if Emma knew, or if she
had walked away and never looked back. While he didn’t fully
understand it, his dark side was satisfied with the information.
How he would learn more was less clear. He replaced the card in the
box and the boxes on the shelf before exiting the closet. He
removed the backpack from his shoulder and crossed her dresser,
recalling the mission Mama had sent him on. Emma had gone to the
grocery store while Mama was supposed to pick up clothes. Mama had
admitted she was out of work and low on funds, and Tristan couldn’t
help sympathizing with the pleasant woman.
Dark angel,
she’d
called him again.

He smiled. He did his best to choose matching
clothes and set them on the bed as he went from closet to
drawers.

Tristan, I don’t want to go with the
snowman.
He drew a breath, startled to hear Sissy’s complaint
clearly in his thoughts. He’d taught her quiet mind how to call to
him when it awoke and was thrilled it worked.

“Tell him to wait for me,” he whispered, even
more pleased that his work had drawn out the evil spirit at
last.

He’s in your chair.
Sissy was angry.
Tristan smiled, placed Emma’s clothing in the bag, and strode
out.

Tristan said they won’t hurt me
. This
voice was Emma’s. She had to be quite distressed for her thoughts
to be so loud. He checked his cell to make sure he hadn’t missed
her call. She hadn’t called, still didn’t trust him. Disappointed,
he hoped she would one day. He debated calling her and then thought
of Sissy. The shadows chasing her were almost powerless during
daylight. He’d check on Sissy first then go help Emma.

He returned to Amber’s apartment. Voices in
Amber’s room indicated the presence of both Amber and Mama. Tristan
entered the apartment and placed Emma’s bag on the couch before
moving to Sissy’s room. Her large green eyes were open and staring
at the shadow man she dubbed the Snowman, who did indeed sit in
Tristan’s rocking chair.

Tristan eased the door closed, recognizing
the dark spirit for what it was despite its human appearance. The
man was tall and lean in a light gray suit with eyes the
silver-gray of clouds. The air around it was cold, and shadows
clung and danced around it, left briefly to welcome Tristan, and
returned. It was a shadow demon, one of the lesser demons from
Hell. He’d read about them in his occult research but never met
one.

“Brother,” Snowman greeted him. A shiver went
through him as he realized his mother wasn’t lying about him being
half-demon.

Tell him I won’t go with him.
Snowman
looked at Sissy, hearing her words as Tristan did.

“Who caged you?” Tristan asked and perched on
the bed beside Sissy. While unnerved, he didn’t fear the dark
spirit. It did only what its master bid, knew it only knew what its
master willed it to know. If it wanted him dead, there would’ve
been no greeting.

“Witch,” was the shadow demon’s response.

“Where is she?”

No response. The witch must’ve forbidden it
from answering questions about her whereabouts, Tristan
reasoned.

“What name?” he asked.

“Olivia.”

“Go back to your master; you are on my
territory,” Tristan commanded, recalling the name from Adam’s
letter to Emma.

“Who caged
you
?” the shadow demon
asked.

“I’m not caged,” Tristan answered. He felt
icy shadows probing him.

“We are not alike,” the dark spirit said.
“You are free but trapped in this weak form. How?”

“I don’t know.”

The dark spirit looked to Sissy again.

“She is mine,” Tristan said more firmly.
“Tell your master it is so.”

“Very well,” it said.

Good-bye, Snowman,
Sissy said
angrily.

The room grew colder. The air around them
became heavier until it weighed down on Tristan’s shoulders. He
reached for Sissy instinctively and touched her arm, watching as
the form before him faded, grew dark, and absorbed the shadows of
the room like a sponge. A snap of icy cold, and the dark spirit
eddied and eased out of the open window like smoke. Tristan waited
until the air in the room returned to normal before closing the
window. He still sensed a shadow somewhere in the room, the
lingering evil a sign confirming his suspicion something in the
room had been tagged.

Sissy watched him, too weak to speak, and he
touched her face gently.

“He’s gone, Sissy,” he murmured.

Mama.
The girl’s eyes welled with
tears, and Tristan soothed her before going to the door.

* * *

Emma began to wonder if being afraid of the
dark still made sense. After all, she only saw creepy freaks
following her during daylight. In the dairy aisle.

She’d overstayed her welcome, she suspected,
but lingered over the cartons of soy milk, torn between doing
something somewhat nice for the demon in her house and bypassing
it.

The feel of eyes watching made her tense
enough to snap. She glanced over her shoulder, where Cat-eyes, with
no apparent intentions of shopping, leaned against a bread stand
and stared at her.