Dead Reaper Walking (10 page)

“Did you miss the part where that thing has one of my men?” he demanded, anger on his face, and his body tight with tension.

The rest of the room, our surroundings dropped away as I focused on him. On the here and now. Adrenalin surged. If he was going to start something, I was
so
ready.

“That thing has Troy,” I spat back. “And if you hand over that book, we’re gonna be neck deep in more of them, which means we’ve fucked all chance of getting him back alive.”

Reilly snarled in frustration, hand in his hair, mussing up the short locks. “So, what? We just send you in and hope you can manage not to get him killed. You got your ass kicked by the demon before. I don’t fancy recovering two bodies amid a demon prison-break.”

My voice dropped as my Grimm came to the forefront, the sound too expansive to have been made by a human throat. The screech of a thousand deaths in battle merged with the soft sigh of a thousand…tens of thousands of last breaths. It was dangerous and terrible, terrifying, all at the same time. And that was just
me
listening to it.

“It’ll have to go through me to kill Troy,” I promised. “Killing me? That’s gonna be hard, even for a demon, and it will bring retaliation. Terrible retribution. Enough to make any demon cowering in the third hell hope like fuck my family don’t find them.”

Reilly had reared back, that same fascinated apprehension in his eyes. I was right, he’d gone past the fear of death and now looked forward to it. Great, a cop with a death wish and a demon all in the same day. Go me.

I got up close and personal, right in his face and dropped my voice to a whisper. “That’s the thing about reapers. You can lock yourself away, hide in any hole behind any amount of doors, but it doesn't matter…We. Always. Get. In.”

He shivered and swallowed, fear stark on his face for a few seconds. Then he recovered, nodding. “Okay, you can make point.”

The laugh barked from me without warning. “Point? Sheesh, Reilly, do you ever unwind?”

“Not often, and never when we have demons in town,” he dead-panned, reaching into his desk and withdrawing a hand-gun. It disappeared under his jacket and he nodded at me. “You drive, I’ll organize backup.”

“Make sure you add a couple of dragons and maybe a warlock or two,” I threw over my shoulder as I headed for the door, my shadow swishing like a cape in my wake. This was one fight I was not going to be late for.

The shit hit the fan in a big way. Troy lay on his side and tried not to whimper in pain. His body didn’t seem to have gotten that memo, so the sound escaped anyway, in a strangled murmur against the dusty floorboards.

His body wasn’t his own, it had been transformed into a mass of hurt, each injury inflicted by the demon-possessed sisters as they dragged him into the house kicking and screaming, throbbing like a bitch. His gun had been no use at all against their hell-enhanced strength.

Old ladies.

He’d been beaten up by old ladies, and they’d handled him so easily that his male ego might never recover. And he’d all but walked into the lion’s den. Fucking idiot. Given that the demon had manifested as a little old lady at the Kaufman place, a host they still hadn’t identified, he shouldn’t have been surprised it had possessed the Barnett sisters. It just hadn’t occurred to him. All the horror films he’d seen, the demon possessed the hot chick,
that
was how it was supposed to go. Instead Troy got the one with the old lady fetish. He groaned again. His life sucked.

Right now though, he didn’t care whether the demon was wearing an old lady or a hot chick. He needed to concentrate, try not to piss himself or pass out from the pain, and find a way out of this. Preferably alive.

Piece of cake. He rolled his head on the floor, forehead against the wooden boards. One eye was swollen shut and his arm was broken in at least two places. Breathing deeply, he struggled to a sitting position, using the wall as a support. Beads of cold sweat broke out across his skin, agony flaring in protest at the movement.

Finally he sat mostly vertical against the flowery wallpaper, panting as he recovered. His head swimming, he fought the bile rising from his stomach. Everything else might have been out of his control at the moment but he wasn’t throwing up. No way. No how. Holding his arm close to his chest, he scanned the surroundings.

He was in the Barnett’s dining room. What remained of it, anyway. The door hung off its hinges and there was a hole in the wall next to it, part of the hall visible, as though someone had been too lazy to walk the extra few steps to the door. The carpet was ripped, most of it missing, apart from a section by the door.

All the furniture had been shoved to one side of the room under the window. Half of it was smashed or broken, as though it had been thrown against the wall by a giant, one with a hell of a temper. Which didn’t make sense, because the windows were intact. But as Troy was quickly learning,
nothing
made sense with demons.

His gaze fell onto a bundle of rags by the ruined furniture. Bloodied clothes by the looks of it. Turning his head to get a better look, he squinted with his good eye to bring it into focus.

“It was wearing her.” At first Troy thought he’d imagined the horrified whisper. But then it came again, from his left, the side he couldn’t see out of. “Like a suit.”

He turned but couldn’t see all the way around. He tried to look further but the room swam and he slid halfway down the wall. It worked. Tiffany Clarke came into view. She was tucked into the corner by the fireplace, arms around her knees and her wide, dark eyes said she was well into shock.

Despite the agony doing its best to derail his thought processes, his police training snapped into place. He swept a look over her. She didn't seem to be hurt, just scared. He didn't blame her. The Barnetts were scary enough—but demon possessed to boot? He'd need a change of pants if he were her age. Hell, if they came back, he might still need one.

"Hey, Tiffany. I'm Troy. Everything's gonna be okay. Okay?"

Great. Two
okays
. Now he sounded like an idiot as well as looking beat to hell. Real confidence inspiring, huh?

He didn't expect her to laugh, but she did. High pitched with a manic edge, it was the kind of laugh that had people moving sharp objects out of the immediate vicinity. The tone of hysteria was understandable but there was nothing he could do about it. She probably had years of therapy ahead of her,
if
they got out of this alive. All bets were off on that.

"It was wearing her like a jump-suit," she carried on. "Not one of those cute ones from Liliana's. You know the ones, with the little studs on the pockets?"

Troy’s knowledge of teenage fashions was limited at best, but he nodded anyway. She was talking, and talking was good. Last thing he needed was for her to retreat deeper into shock and unable to run if they got the chance. Because if they did, he planned on giving Olympic sprinters some competition.

She gave an irritated little shake of her head.

"No, it was more like ugly-ass coveralls. Like workmen wear, but it looked like a grandma." A tear welled up and slipped down her cheek. "But all over her face. Coveralls on her f-f-face."

Her speech began to falter and she looked away. "It unzipped her and...and... And took her off."

Troy’s gaze followed hers across the room to the pile of fabric. It couldn't be the grandmother body at the Kaufman house, surely? It was too flat for a body. But his mind had already latched onto the pale colors, feeding him images of a pair of skin coveralls.

"Shit."

An old lady suit. He swallowed hard. Anything to keep the contents of his stomach down.

"
Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.
"

Tiffany moaned and slammed herself backward into the corner. Her face had drained of blood, but the blue-ish vein at her throat pounded like a frantic butterfly desperate for release, visible even to him. She turned to the wall, hiding her face. A low moan trickled from her, the sound of a wounded and terrified animal.

A chill swept the room, the hairs rising on the back of his neck and a sense of dread almost froze him in place. They were being watched. As a cop, he was used to people watching him. Here? That didn't bode well.

Turning his head, he locked gazes with the demon in the doorway. It was Gladys Barnett, the elder of the sisters. Correction,
had
been Gladys. Now it was just a puppet operated by a creature from the pit. He didn't let his expression falter, despite the terrified noises behind him.

''You're gonna die, Mr. Policeman," the demon sang in a childish voice.

It wasn't a child. Couldn't be a child, surely? He had no idea how demons aged, but if it was in demon hell then it had to be an adult. One who had done something to warrant being in there.

He didn't want to think about that. Demons were bad enough. But demons who were bad enough for
other
demons to lock up? He had a feeling it would make him long to be back in homicide with normal, perverted human killers.

"Yeah? Cool."

He gave the bitch a blank face, his raised eyebrow merely hinting at interest rather than the bowel-clenching terror that had his ass twitching like a bunny's nose.

The demon blinked. That obviously hadn't been the answer it expected. He tried not to let his gaze slide down to the big, bloody patch on what had been a crisp, white nightgown. It had probably been starched as well.

"How strange. You seem unconcerned about your imminent demise. Most humans soil themselves and start calling on your pathetic gods."

"Yeah? Pussies." With no cards left to play, he chuckled. Nothing like laughing in the face of danger or going for the insanity plea.

The demon drifted closer, toes still a couple of inches above the dusty floor boards. Strangely, since he had way more important things to consider—like how the hell to get out of this alive—the sight really pissed him off. What was wrong with walking like the rest of them?

"You find your own death amusing?" it asked, curiosity replacing the childish tone. Curiosity was good. The longer the thing found him interesting, the longer he and Tiffany stayed alive

He looked up to meet its eyes. They were black. Soulless.

"My death?" He shrugged. "Not particularly, but Death? Here?" He cracked a grin. "I think that's gonna be a blast."

The demon's eyes searched his good one and it tilted its head. Way too far. Vertebrae crunched and he swallowed again.

"You've been locked up a long time in the third. Haven't you?"

Its lips curled back in a hiss, revealing blackened, sharpened teeth. They weren't human. Crap, what was in there?

Skinsuit. The word shivered in his mind like the clang of a solitary bell. Unwelcome thoughts of what a creature that fit inside a human body would look like crowded into his brain.

"Long time. Too long." Its skin shivered like a nest of snakes lay within. "I'm free now. Free to run and kill and feast and fuck."

Old lady demon porn. That was
so
not an image he wanted. Pretending he hadn't heard that, he lifted the shoulder on his good side in a shrug.

"Well, while you've been out of it, things have changed around here." He dropped the grin and gave it his best badass combined Reilly and Laney look.

"You can kill me and Tiffany here if you like—" His words were almost drowned out by a moan from behind him. "But when you do...that'll put this place on the map and you're gonna have one pissed off reaper breathing down your neck."

"Reaper?" It blinked at him myopically. Perhaps it was limited at least a little by its human body? "You mean that pathetic almost-human I first escaped?"

Its laugh was amused and terrible, promising horrible, painful things to come. Shoving its face closer, it grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the wrinkled mouth.

He couldn't look away. Fear flooded his mind, kept him immobile as those teeth got closer. The memory of the girl without a face at the Kaufman house swam uppermost in his mind. With those razor sharp teeth in front of him, he knew how she'd gotten that way.

Biting back a whimper, he yanked his head to the side. Fetid breath heavy with the stench of corruption washed over him.

"You're going to die."

He didn’t want to die. Not here and certainly not now. The realization crystallized within him, stealing his breath and weakening his limbs. Laney's face filled his mind and regret jostled out some of the fear. He didn’t want to die with their last words being of anger. Without telling her how he felt.

"And she'll die with you." It cackled, releasing another wave of corpse breath. Perhaps he should suggest a breath mint or two, especially if it was looking to get laid. Ugh, there was the old lady demon porn again.

He surged to his feet, fury overriding both pain and any sense of self-preservation.

"You fucking touch her and I'll tear your skinny little demon ass right out of that skin you're wearing."

The backhand knocked him across the room to crash into a broken table. Tiffany screamed, trying to make herself as small as possible. He blinked away the stars in his vision. Fuck. He hadn’t even seen it move.

"No," it decided, hovering over him, expression suddenly duplicitous. His stomach dropped. This wasn't going to be good. "No, I think she'll die first. I thi...nk," it intoned, "the last thing she sees should be your face. As you kill her."

Longer than human fingers caressed the sides of his face as sick anticipation twisted its borrowed features.

"She was pretty." It shivered, eyes half-closed in pleasure. He was sure it was going to have some kind of demon orgasm on the spot. "I want to watch as you hold her down. I'll make you fuck her first. Let you watch from within as I use your cock to rip into her. Tearing up her pussy... Oh, and her ass. Nothing sweeter than the screams they make from a good ass-fucking. Then, when she's broken and crying, I’ll make you kill her. The last thing she sees will be you, holding her still-beating heart."

At its words he discovered there was something in this world worse than his own death. A world without Laney was one he didn't want to experience. Pain wrapped around his very soul. Without her nothing mattered. Nothing at all.