All Hallows Night (Night Series) (21 page)

He smoothed a hand over my wrist where the worst of the damage had been.

“I can’t believe you were able to heal yourself—those bites were spelled.”

I nodded. “You’re telling me. I had no idea that Pestilence could do half the things he’s done, but maybe since his power is all about death and decay, he was able to counteract the zombie’s poison?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe. This is all new territory for me.”

“So what is this thing?” I tapped the vial.

“It’s a brew, cast by a level-ten witch.”

I whistled. Level ten was no joke and not someone you ever wanted to muck around with. Back in the day when humans used to burn the
brides of Satan
at the stake, these were the ladies they thought they were killing. What humans never realized was that all they were burning were other humans. A witch, even the lowliest one, cannot be found if she doesn’t want to be.

“And just how does Grace afford to keep a level ten on payroll?”

“There’s a lot about her you don’t know.”

“Then tell me.”

Grabbing my hand, he pressed a warm kiss to my palm. “They aren’t my stories to tell. But you should talk with her.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

“You’re exhausting,” he said, but I knew he was teasing thanks to his mile-wide grin.

“And you love it.”

“I do.”

My toes curled and I really had no idea what to say after that. I wasn’t sure that was really a declaration of love, but it’d been something.

“So what’d the witch brew?” I asked with a voice gone slightly breathy.

He nodded, instantly recognizing my desire to not dwell on that particular subject.

“One drop will negate the effects of any hex permanently.”

I took the unassuming vial from him and peered at it. Often it was the most benign that was also the most powerful. “You know, Ash, thinking about it now, no one other than myself and Lynx were injured. Luc had scratches and even a few bites, but I saw them heal. I was the only one who couldn’t.”

His brows dipped. “Are you sure about that?”

“Pretty positive.”

“Lynx was butchered, and they were ready to do it to me too and...” My words trailed off as the obvious punched me in the face. “That attack was for me.”

“What?”

“Right before it happened, I was visited by an old woman who screamed at me something like ‘war is coming for you.’”

“And you think she was a zombie, warning you of the attack seconds before it happened? Why would she do that? You don’t warn an enemy of an attack, that’s counterintuitive to the mission.”

Now that he put it that way... I waved my arms in a defeated gesture.

“But you might be right. In fact, I’d wager everything on it. The Order wants you dead.”

“Just like your people did. Why? Why are our paths so entwined?”

“Read the book.”

“Argh!” I punched him on the shoulder, not hard, more of a frustrated love tap, but still. “If you tell me to read that book one more time, I’ll scream. I’ve read it at least thirty times by now.”

“Look, you frustrating woman, I had to do a lot to get Mary to give you that book. Don’t let my sacrifice be in vain.”

“You gave Mary the book? I thought...”

“What?” His full lips twitched. “That the Order, out of the kindness of their hearts, would hand you, on a silver platter, anything that belonged to them?”

“Priest, you’re toeing the line here. I’ve killed for less.”

“Saucy wench,” he growled and then nudged me with his knee right in my ass.

I swatted at him. “I think you like getting me angry.”

“Mmm.” He nodded, tracing the lines of my jaw. “I like everything about you, little demon. Everything.”

He had the cutest habit of repeating things for emphasis. Some people might see it as annoying, but not me. It totally made my heart leap and spin and crave to hear it always.

“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow, or I guess it would be better to say today.” He glanced out the window. It was well past five in the morning; sunrise was less than an hour away at this point.

“Día de los Muertos.”

Nodding, he tossed an arm over his eyes. Deciding all I wanted to do now was sleep, I opened up a drawer in the nightstand to tuck the vial into it.

“That spell works only once, so it’s not a perfect solution,” he said, “but now that we know you can use Pestilence to counteract those bites, consider saving it for when you really need it.”

I snorted. “You know the last time I got a gift from Grace, it sent me straight to Hell.”

Shaking his head, he chuckled. “Are you ever going to trust me?”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“And yet you still let me share your bed.”

Snapping the drawer shut, I draped my arms across his chest. “It’s because you’re so darn pretty, but the second you screw me over, I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t doubt that, little demon. Not for a second.” His hand felt nice as it rubbed down my hair.

In my heart I’ve always wondered if my need for love would someday get me killed. Hugging tight to an instrument of death is about as stupid as it gets, and yet I’d never slept better.

T
he village was electric and buzzing when I walked down its streets the next night. Today was the start of the much-anticipated
Día de los Muertos
festival. The air was saturated with the spicy aromas of mole, tamales, and the bread of the dead.

Women and children, even a few men, were busy at work in the many graveyards, decorating and painting tombstones as elaborate shrines to their dead. Mexico was refreshing to me, the way they viewed death, not as something to fear, but as an inevitable fate that came to us all. Rather than be upset by it, they celebrated it, singing frolicking tunes as they strummed their guitars. The songs sounded happy and upbeat, but if you could understand the language, you’d recognize these weren’t love songs, they were death songs.

Some were funny, some more serious, but all of it done with an air of reverence and respect.

Several years ago, my family had begun a tradition of hosting a parade, one the villagers had taken to almost immediately. It was our own spin on things and a way to encourage the locals to come and stop by our carnival for even greater theatrics. Everything was themed, and we were all in costume. It was a lot of fun and for a celebration that honored both pagan and Christian influences, pretty much fit right in.

I’d smeared my face with a thick coating of white, painted on a black skull and then drawn intricate roses and vines through it. I’d pulled out my simplest black lace gown (straight from the Victorian era) with the thirty smoky-gray pearl buttons that went straight up my back to my neck. Every inch of me was covered, either in paint or in lace. With my long black hair hanging loose, I could have passed for
La Llorona’s
sister.

The cement-block pathways bisecting the city square had been transformed into gardens of art. Images were drawn everywhere of saints and crucifixes, skulls, and other symbols of death. It was all macabrely beautiful.

My black granny boots clicked clacked across the hard tile as I headed toward the
Mercado
and the start of our Mardi Gras inspired parade.

Every year we designed five floats, bringing in mariachi bands from all parts of the region. We’d set up booths full of food and the best tequilas and
Mezcal
. All our paperwork was in order and bribes had been made to make sure that this night and the next went off without a hitch.

Asher had disappeared before I’d even woken this morning. I knew he was headed to Grace. Right before falling asleep, he’d asked me again to go with him, but for now I was content to have him as my middle man.

Plus I was still royally confused and needed time to think through things without His Hotness constantly touching me, or looking at me and making me forget every bit of common sense I’d ever been born with.

I was an old Neph, not because I was brighter than most, but because in a lot of ways I was lucky and had always had an uncanny ability to understand what was real and what was fake.

It was part of what was bothering me so much about Grace. Never once had I pegged her as false—it’s why her betrayal had been so painful. But if Asher was right and Grace was actually not against me, then that would mean my instincts had been right all along. Which would also mean my instinct concerning my priest was spot-on.

Shaking my head, I growled at the convoluted mess my thoughts were becoming. Regardless if Grace was actually for me, there was still the issue that she’d ensured I kill Kemen.

Man, I was in a crappy mood. It would have been nice if the weather had mirrored it, but no, the sky was a beautiful, perfect blue, the type you might see in a painting. I wanted to stew and get my hate on and just allow myself to sulk, but the electric mood made that next to impossible.

For a second I caught a glimpse of Vyxen as she ran behind a stall, looking flustered and aggravated, red-faced as she barked at Bubba before running off again.

Discovering Luc had been making the nasty with Vyxen for so long might have devastated me in the past, but now with Asher...

I could see it had needed to happen. It needed to be someone else who finally drove that spike through us, because neither one of us was ever going to work up cojones enough to get it done. And now that it was, it was like someone had taken the weight of the world off my shoulders. I was Atlas and I was free.

I reluctantly smiled.

“What you smiling for, Dora?” Bubba’s country twang hijacked my thoughts as I neared his stand.

Glancing up, I noticed the big brute standing behind a cinnamon-toasted-almond stand. Dressed in a black mariachi suit with red-and-gold lapels and the skull face paint paired with his ruby-red eyes, he was stunning and immediately forced mortals to wonder whether those eyes could possibly be real.

“Because it’s a nice day, that a crime?”

“Couldn’t convince me of that after last night. You and Luc ever figure out what the hell all that was about?”

Luc had decided after our stint in South Dakota to not let slip too many details of what’d gone down that night. The family knew Kemen had died and they knew I’d been sucked into some giant Molech conspiracy/vampire ring.

What they didn’t know was that the Order had sabotaged us. Demons aren’t the most even-keeled on a good day; if they learned the organization we’d trusted to have our back had basically stabbed a giant knife in it, they’d flip, turn wild and rabid for blood and vengeance. And until we knew for sure just how deep the betrayal went, whether it was middle-management rank or went all the way up to the top brass, we weren’t taking the chance that the Order would decide to stop being secretive about their plans and just send monsters en masse to snuff us out for daring to blink at them wrong.

The Order might give us our marching orders, but everyone involved knew they held us by a leash only because we allowed it. Centuries ago, we’d been at war with the Order, and while they might know how to kill us, we knew how to kill them too.

Resting my hip against the stall, I shook my head. “Still no clue. We’re following up with Grace to try to see what, if anything, she might know. You burn all the bodies?”

“Yeah.” He poured a fifty-pound bag of raw almonds into the kettle and flipped the switch to begin the roasting process.

“How many humans died?”

“None.”

My brows dipped. Kneeling, he rummaged around for something heavy, yanking sacks of ground cinnamon and sugar out with a grunt before depositing them on the counter.

“I don’t understand, I thought I saw them getting—”

Flipping open a pocketknife, he ripped down the burlap. “Yeah, there were a few in the mix. At first I assumed they were getting hell like we were, but after I rounded up the humans and tranced them, I noticed that apart from a couple of scratches and scrapes, they’d been pretty much left alone.” Glittering red eyes drilled me. “The hive was clearly after us.”

I scratched my jaw. “That doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.”

Planting his hands on the counter, he nodded. “I buried Lynx behind the old water well. Thought you should know.”

“Thanks.” I tapped the wood and was just getting ready to turn when a muscular forearm was draped over my shoulder.

Asher’s fingers toyed on the sleeve of my gown. “Hot, little demon,” he whispered in my ear, making my heart and stomach jolt because he was a death priest and he was all over me. I immediately jumped and wrapped my arms around his neck, running on the pure instinctual need to protect him from a Neph’s blind hatred of death priests.

Asher laughed and rubbed my back. “Pandora, relax.”

That’s when I remembered he no longer had the silver hair. With just that one change, you’d never know he was anything other than human. Death priests, I’d learned, emitted no tingling wavelength like the rest of us monsters.

All monster kind broadcast a sort of low-wave frequency of power that was like a beacon to anyone who could pick up on it. But not the priests—it was part of what made them so dangerous. If you didn’t know the predator was around, you had no chance in hell of protecting yourself against it.