Dead Vampires Don't Date (11 page)

"Yeah, we know him." Snake answered. "Haven't seen him recently. Don't expect to either."

I leaned forward. "Why not?" Did they know they wouldn't see him ever again because he was already dead?

"Because the asshole stole my girl." Terry slammed his beer onto the table. "You see him, you tell him I'm lookin' for him." Terry patted his side. "And I don't forgive."

15. The Devil I Don't Know.

"
What do you know about demons?"

I set a cup of tea in front of Aunt Tabitha and sat down in the other brown wicker chair, my own cup in hand. After last night's adventure I'd doubled up on my herbs. Aunt Tabs doesn't have special senses either, so I felt fairly confident she wouldn't pick up on them and ask questions I couldn't answer.

"Why do you want to know?" Aunt Tabitha took a sip, eyeing me over the rim.

My mom and my aunt were identical twins. My mother's death had been as hard on my aunt as it had been on me. We'd clung to each other afterwards. We've always been close. My aunt had never tried to mess around with the family curse, so I was not only an only child, but also the last line in our coven.

Growing up, we'd done everything together, my mother, my aunt and myself - family vacations, holidays, weekly coven dinners and the monthly Wiccan ceremonies.

My mother's death had left an empty place inside us that we hadn't quite been able to fill. At least, I hadn't. Sometimes I'd see my aunt looking at a photograph of my mother and know that she had the same hole.

"I've seen this demon around a few times and I'm curious." I shrugged, playing it casual. "You know they don't often come to our realm."  

"You're curious?" Aunt Tabitha raised one eyebrow.

Damn, I hadn't fooled her in the least.

"A little."

She leaned back in her chair, took another sip and crossed her legs. The stones on her three-inch heels glittered in the morning sun.

If I could look and dress like anyone in this world, it would be my Aunt Tabs, über-coordinated Barbie aside.

Today she wore pale, gray, silk pants and matching slate heels with bright pink crystals that adorned the crisscrossing straps. She'd topped it with a sleeveless, draped fuchsia top and sparkling, magenta, dangling earrings.

Aunt Tabitha is a size four. I have no idea what happened to me. Honest.

Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in a gleaming, sunny waterfall. Not a single curl or hint of frizz marred her perfection.

She looks exactly like an updated and totally hip version of Elizabeth Montgomery from the sixties. I would totally hate her on principal if we weren't related.

On the exact opposite hand, after careful consideration of my choices, I had managed to squeeze out any hint of color from my attire. I'd paired my usual dark, clunky biker's boots – my feet were still too sore to consider anything with even a hint of a heel – with black jeans and a button down black top with a pretty ruffle down the center.

I don't care what anyone else says black
is
slimming. I might be a sometimes size ten, but today I looked as close to an eight as I was going to get.

My hair curled in a somewhat controlled manner, both the frizzy and the not-so frizzy curls.

"What does this demon look like?"

"He's a demon." I casually shrugged my shoulders. "You know, dark skinned with horns." I gulped my tea.

My aunt's lip quirked. "Anything else?"

"He has a tattoo and a few scars." Aunt Tabitha knows about my weakness for muscles, but I don't think she knew about the tat and scar love affair.

"What kind of tattoo?" She frowned.

"Uh, a large one that curls around most of his arm. It looks Celtic."

Aunt Tabitha set her cup down and leaned forward. "Does it start at his shoulder and wind down to his forearm? And is he quite a bit bigger than your average demon?"

My mouth dropped slightly. I had no idea that my aunt had such intimate knowledge of demons. "Yes, it does and yes he is. Why? Do you know him?"

"No." Her hair glistened as it moved. "And you shouldn't either. You're describing a demon lord. The less you know, the better."

"A demon lord?" Wow. That actually sounded sexy - Ash, Lord of the Demons.
Oooohhh.

"Yes. There are seven of them. Each one has a tattoo marking his station and his sin." Her fingers gripped the tea-cup tightly enough to turn white.

"His sin?" I echoed. I don't know why I was surprised. With the family curse hanging over my head, if I was going to find trouble, I would find it in a BIG way.

Aunt Tabitha rubbed her hand over her forehead. "I wish Samantha had at least let you read the Bible." Uh-oh, anything religious was a major hot topic in my coven.

"You can't blame Mom for her issues, Aunt Tabs. I'm surprised you're more open-minded about it all."

My mom and my aunt had both been accused during the Salem Witch Trials. We're very long lived, but we are still mortal, a drowning would have killed them quite dead and my mom held a mean grudge.

"There are seven deadly sins in the Bible." She held up her hand. "No, I don't know them all. Gluttony and greed are the only two that I remember. But I do know that the demon lords each represent one." She paused. "Even their minions are known to be cruel and enjoy torture. You don't get to Hell by helping little old ladies cross the road. You need to stay away from him, Kate."

I
knew
that. I kept telling myself that and yet . . . it was like an addiction. I craved him more every time I saw him. Talk about being attracted to bad boys, I was determined to take it to a whole new level - a demon lord that had his own sin?

I bet Morgan knew exactly which sin too. She'd conveniently flown off after we left
Spike's
last night. The conversation she had with Ash was finally beginning to make sense.

"Do they have nicknames?" I asked.

Aunt Tabitha gave me a distinctly puzzled look. "I suppose they could. I never asked."

Back it up a minute. "You've met a demon lord before?"

She blushed. "His tattoo looked more Egyptian and I never really found out his exact name."

Well, pass me the ruby slippers. I was discovering new aspects of my friends and relatives all around.

"Did you find out his name at all?"

Aunt Tabitha tossed her hair over one shoulder. "No. It was only one night and it happened a couple hundred years ago." She sighed. "Demons came out more back then."

Call me Wicked, she sounded disappointed.

"So, I'm guessing you know about demons from personal experience?" Riveted didn't begin to describe my state.

"I thought we were discussing you."

"Oh no, Aunt Tabs." I laughed. "You don't get to drop a bombshell like that and expect me to duck. Spill."

She studied her crimson nails. "There isn't anything to "spill". I met him while traveling. He sort of robbed my coach and I sort of put him under a spell." I gaped at her. "It happened all the time back then." She fluttered her hands dismissively. "Afterwards we went to his place."

"His place? You went to the demon realm?"

"There is no need to shout, dear." Aunt Tabitha picked up her cup, took a small sip. "Yes, I went there and yes, it is as bad as everyone says. Ghastly. I left as soon as his back was turned."

"Why did you have to wait until he wasn't looking?" This was worse than pulling the bristles from my broom.

"He may have mentioned making me his consort."

"He wanted to keep you in Hell?" Shouldn't things like this be brought up at our witchy get-togethers?

"Yes. But I didn't want to stay. I decided it would be best to wait until he was distracted to make my farewells." Meaning he was just as big as Ash and she knew she wouldn't be able to escape if he was onto her.

I flung myself back into my seat, stunned and even more impressed with my aunt. Sweet Glinda, I loved witches. This was so cool.

"You don't have to worry about Ash wanting me to be his consort." I said. "I don't think he has anything that permanent in mind." Sneaky, probably underhanded and hopefully sexual, but not permanent.

"Ash?" Aunt Tabs asked.

"Yeah Doll, wanna tell me about this demon Ash?" Shit. Big Al had woken up. I wondered how long he had been listening. "Cause I gotta tell ya, Doll, you don't need no stinkin' demon lord."

He'd been listening long enough.

My aunt picked up her cup, gave me a sympathetic glance and said, "I'll leave you two alone." She went inside, leaving me with one pissed off Chihuahua.

"Where did ya meet the demon?" He jumped onto the chair Aunt Tabitha had just vacated then landed with all four tiny paws squarely planted on the table. The fur along the back of his neck bristled with his anger.

I told myself I had no need to justify my actions or my attraction. I reminded myself that although he channeled a lethal hit man, Big Al was still a very small dog. I steeled my nerves with the thought that I had never made him any promises right before I made the mistake of meeting his glare head on.

"I met him at a bar."

His brown, bulging eyes did me in every time.

"Is that why ya won't take me with ya?" His lips curled back to reveal sharp, tiny teeth. "Cause ya wanna meet up with this chump?"

"No Al, it's because dogs are not allowed in bars."

"Ya keep saying that and now I find out you're meetin' a demon behind my back."

As usual, he completely ignored the reality of our situation.

"I am not meeting anyone behind your back Al." I made a strong effort to unlock my jaw. "We're not . . . we don't . . ." Shit, were his eyes watering more than usual?

"Have ya kissed him?"

"Yes, Al, I have." I wasn't going to lie to him.

He sat down as if all the life had gone out of him. "Ya really kissed him?" He asked quietly.

My stomach twisted in knots. This was my faithful companion, my dinner buddy, he looked out for me and I was slicing him into pieces.

I cupped his face in my hand. "Al, you know this won't work between us." He licked my hand then stood up.

"Ya haven't given me a chance, Doll." He accused.

I sat back, arms crossed over my chest. If he didn't watch it I would pull out the species card and let him have it.

"That's because it won't work, Al." I flicked my hand back and forth between us, a not-so-subtle reminder that he was a dog and I was a witch.

"If I'd been with ya, this demon never woulda stood a chance." His small body trembled from head to tail, but his deep voice lashed out at me. Typical. He showed a complete disregard to my reminder.

"They don't allow dogs in bars, Al!" My voice rose, just a smidge.

"Yeah, ya keep sayin' that, Doll." He said, voice flat, as he swished his tail, turned, hopped down and went inside. I heard him ask my aunt to let him out.

This was our first argument.

I hated it. I hated hurting him. It's crazy, I know. We aren't even the same species, but the hit man didn't understand that. Or if he did, he turned a blind eye to it. I didn't know which it was.

Al ignored every reference I made to the fact that he was a dog, however, he had to know. I let him out to pee on my yard, for Wicked's sake.

My own personal theory is that Big Al just can't deal with the fact that he is now a Chihuahua. I can't blame him. One moment he's a very large, gun toting hit man, then he dies and next thing he knows, he's a very small, furry dog.

I'd ignore the facts of my current existence too.

In a way, his feelings for me were a way for him to cling to that humanity he had lost. I was Al's lifeline in a world that had gone totally crazy for him.

And I'd just severed that line.

I blinked rapidly several times.

I sat back in my chair, staring at the mountains in the distance over the rooftops. Icy patches of snow still lingered on a few of the peaks. I imagined it was cold and desolate in those areas. Sort of like pieces of my heart.

16.
We Meet Again.

The bell over my door tinkled, its shrill warning chafed my already raw nerves. So help me, if this version of Ken turned out to be as bad as the last, I might have to consider some adjustments, witch-style.

My bad mood hung over my head like a giant thundercloud lined with depression and stuffed with anger. I couldn't shake it.

Al hadn't said a word to me since we'd spoken that morning.

To top it off, the hit man had channeled away and the Chihuahua had peed on my bed. Dead center.

I headed towards the reception area to greet Barbie's next possible match. I didn't think any of my supplemental herbs were working.

With my best fake smile pasted on my face, I held out my hand to the newest Ken. "Hi, I'm Kate Storm. It's nice to meet you."

His hand was dry, his grip firm. It was about the only thing he had going for him so far. He'd either just come from the golf course, or his sense of fashion had been misplaced somewhere in between birth and the first five minutes of his life

He wore blue, white and green plaid chinos with a thread of metallic silver running through them. His Polo shirt was a horrible shade of green that I'd only seen once on Lolly's bathroom floor after someone had partied a little too hard. It also had three purple polka dots in the center.
Purple
. A gray hippo had been embroidered on his shirt pocket, two large white teeth poked out of the Hippo's mouth.

The white loafers on his feet were fringed and he'd matched the entire ensemble with a silver belt that actually glittered. I had several belts with rhinestones on them in my closet, but no glitter. All of my glittery belts had been left behind once I left high school. I'm fairly certain that
everyone's
belts with even a hint of glitter on them had been left behind in high school. Except his.

"I'm Larry."

I kept a wary eye on the Hippo, shook his hand and whispered a truth spell. Larry was straight, reasonably intelligent and had no family history of either mental illness or being color-blind.

And there went all of my theories out the window.

"Why don't we go into my office?"

I offered him a drink, which he declined with a short "no", while I poured myself a large tea with an added extra shot of herbs. I glued my eyes to his face as we began our interview, his clothes made my eyes start to cross and I couldn't look at that Hippo. It gave me the willies.

Larry had brown eyes, a decent nose and lips that were neither too thick, nor too thin. His blond hair had been feathered and just reached the collar of his shirt. He was not bad looking, as long as a person's eyes strayed no further South than his chin.

Sadly, Larry had not come from a round of eighteen holes. He didn't work at a golf course either, or even remotely close to one. Larry owned an electronics store.

On the plus side and per Barbie's list, he was well-educated, had a healthy income and liked to play racket ball. On the way-out-in-orbit side, he liked Hippos, had a collection of them at home and had embroidered them on all his clothes.

I couldn't get my mouth to operate while he volunteered all of that information.

I didn't bother to work another truth spell and I began to think that my familial curse wasn't such a bad thing. No wonder there are so many single people in the world. We're all either cursed, super picky or just plain weird.

I wondered in what group the demon fell.

****

I went back to my list of suspects after Larry left. I'd added him to Barbie's list. His manners were lacking, but his income was not and Barbie had not said a word about Hippos. I planned to warn her nonetheless.

I had a total of seven potential murderers on my list. That added to my desolate mood - one night, a few interviews and a significant list of people who, by their own admissions, would commit murder. The real question was could they?

And what the hell was the world coming to?

Tommy topped my list, but several of his buddies were close enough behind to tie for first. After listening to their stories, I didn't exactly blame them. They all had legitimate complaints against the prince, most of them worthy of prosecution.

Why hadn't at least one of them pressed charges? They weren't the shrinking violet types, far from it. I also didn't see embarrassment over their lifestyle as an issue. I had seen many things last night, most of them utterly shocking, although everyone had appeared comfortable with what was going on. Not just comfortable, they had embraced their lifestyle with wide-open arms.

However, one doesn't always enjoy having what happens at night exposed.

The humanly-challenged have certainly gone to extreme lengths over the centuries to make certain their world, and their activities, stayed secret. Murder was the least of the things they'd committed. Humans, outward appearances aside, weren't that much different.

Terry hit my list at number five. Neither he, nor most of his other friends, had anything pleasant to say about Xavier. I wondered if Xavier might have been schizophrenic. I got a different view of him, everywhere we went. At
Spike's
, he appeared to have been a cheat, gambler, girl-friend-stealer and owed close to a total of five thousand dollars to various bar patrons.

Crimes of passion and greed fill the papers. Granted, Terry truly did seem to be comfortable with his gun, but that didn't mean he couldn't have used a tree branch and then lied about it. Sadly, I am now all too familiar with the ease of lying one's ass off.

I toyed with my pen, studying the list. There was one name that I had not added. Ash.

Until Morgan pointed out certain facts last night, I hadn't considered him a potential threat to anything other than my heart.

Fact one: Ash had shown up a few hours before the prince was killed.

Fact two: Ash knew my whereabouts, seemingly at all times, and without my knowledge.

Fact three: I knew next to nothing about Ash.

I knew he had ulterior motives. I'd thought those motives had something to do with me. What if they had nothing to do with me and everything to do with a dead prince?

What if I was simply a pawn, a convenient scapegoat in a murder? What if he was setting me up to take the fall for that murder?

My heart gave a painful jolt.

In too short of a space of time, I'd gone from telling myself to keep my distance to somehow caring about the big demon. At this rate, I wouldn't have to wait for the curse to doom us. I could take care of that all by myself.

I was quickly sliding past depressed and straight into the Depths Of Despair.

****

I closed the lid on the Styrofoam container. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, but the usually enticing scent of the manicotti did nothing except turn my stomach. On any other evening, Al would be sitting across from me, chewing on a meatball and making a pass.

Aunt Tabitha had assured me he was fine. Quiet, but fine. I hadn't worked up the courage to go home and face those watery eyes.

My ostrich routine was out in full force.

Part of me said, "He's just a dog, a very small one at that," the rest of me said, "You've just hurt one of the few people who really cares for you."

When Big Al was in control, I did not see him as a dog. We talked about a wide variety of things. He's my constant companion and I'd just brutally crushed him.

My head flopped to my desk.

The front door bell tinkled. Damn it. I thought I'd locked that. It was after seven, so the rest of the block had already closed for the day.

Morgan and I had plans to continue my investigation in another couple hours, as soon as the sun set. We were bypassing the bars tonight in favor of an organic coffee shop.

The Prince had eclectic tastes to say the least.

In addition to bondage, some spanking and big Harley's, he apparently enjoyed a quality cup of java and was religious about recycling.

It put a new twist on the manner of his death and the term tree hugger. He hadn't exactly hugged that particular branch, but his insides sure had.

Despite Tommy's possible confession and Terry's intent on revenge, this new information had me thinking we might come across the true killer tonight. I didn't know what would motivate an environmentally conscious, coffee-drinking individual to murder someone, but the tree branch certainly seemed symbolic.

Of course the branch could have just been convenient, something Tommy or Terry found close at hand when he saw the prince. Or any of the other suspects from the bars could have found it nearby as well.

This Witch Detective business was not an easy one.

I got to my feet slowly, my worries pressed down on my shoulders like a steel encased boulder. All those worries disappeared as soon as I saw who had invaded my reception area.

My lungs tightened and a cold sweat broke out over my skin.

Familiarity does not breed relaxation of any type with Ivan Romanov, in fact he managed to appear
more
sinister and evil now, than he had when I first met him, although I'd swear he wore the exact same outfit, right down to that big-ass sword.

Berating myself over not locking the door was a mute point. If Ivan wanted in, he'd get in.

I was abruptly very thankful that Al and I had our fight. I didn't want him anywhere around Ivan.

Unfortunately, that left me completely alone.

I stood stiffly in the doorway of my office, calculating escape routes. Ivan stood between me and the front door, which meant the window at the back of the HC office was my only alternative.

I could throw myself through the window if needed. It really wouldn't make much difference. If he had decided that I was guilty and had come to kill me there wasn't much I could do about it.

My magic couldn't save me against his speed and strength.

And my stakes and harness were on the floor in my office.

I wet my lips. "Mr. Romanov, I wasn't expecting to see you again." Not so soon, at any rate.

He quirked an eyebrow at that, "Ms. Storm."

"Have you found the prince?" My cleverness astounded me. My nerves jumbled about in such a chaotic dance, I couldn't tell if it came from an overdose of the herbs or sheer desperation.

"No."

Of course he hadn't. I was still alive.

"Any clues as to where he might be?" My jaw started to hurt with the wideness of my smile.

"No." He paused significantly. "No one has seen him since he left your office, Ms. Storm."

Like I needed that reminder.

"Well, is there something that I can help you with?" I am fairly certain I intended that to come out cheerful and helpful. It had more of the gauntlet effect.

"I believe there is. You see I keep coming back to the fact that you are the very last person to have seen the prince alive." Ivan didn't bother to hide his fangs.

"The last person to have admitted it you mean." I was not the killer, just the poor schmuck to have found the body. And bury it. In the forest. Where, hopefully, no one would ever find it.

Ivan smiled, displaying both large fangs to their fullest extent. Probably to intimidate me.

It worked.

"I haven't heard anything from the prince." Why would I? I'm a witch, not a ghost whisperer. "I'll be sure to call you if I do." Yeah, like that would happen.

As far as I could tell, as long as I stuck to my guns, Ivan could not pin the murder on me. He had the same problem that I did. No actual proof.

Morgan wouldn't double-cross me. Aside from being UDBFs, we were partners in our body disposal side job. Which left my Aunt. She wouldn't betray me anymore than Morgan would, but I'd told a completely different set of lies to Aunt Tabs, if Ivan spoke with her, I'd be caught better than any gasping, desperately wiggling fish on a hook.

I'd slipped an amulet into my Aunt's purse before she left that morning. In addition to the protection spell, I'd added a sort of . . . vampire alarm. If Ivan contacted Aunt Tabitha in any manner, I would know.

And Ivan had no knowledge of Al, other than as my Chihuahua.

"You see that is where I have a problem." He settled back. One shoulder propped against the wall, arms causally crossed over his chest, his long coat opened just enough to reveal a few of the Chinese throwing stars.

Bastard. I had to hand it to him. He had intimidation down better than anyone I'd ever met in my twenty-five years.

"What problem?"

"I doubt very much that you would call me." He cocked his head slightly, enough to reveal the hilt of his sword. The ceiling light reflected off the gleaming steel. "You don't have any loyalty to the supernaturals at all, do you?"