Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (15 page)

Trey looked embarrassed. “I’m not doing business with the Skinners, Merikins. Stop making a scene and come inside. I can explain.”

“I doubt it.” Meredith flounced after Trey. “Here I am, spilling my guts to a therapist, doing my best to make our marriage work, and you’re hanging around in the woods with the People of Walmart. What’s next, Neck Car? I am telling you, I absolutely despair that you will ever—”

Trey bolted into the house and slammed the door.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” Meredith said.

She sprang after him, a pint-size velociraptor in designer high heels, and shot through the closed door, ghost fashion, leaving Beck and Evan alone on the front porch.

Beck considered Evan, trying to reconcile his sulky bad boy demeanor with what she now knew about him. He didn’t just see dead people; he played with them.

“You sent Tommy to the bar to find me?” she finally asked.

“Who’s Tommy?”

“The zombie. You don’t know his name?”

Evan shrugged. “Why bother? They’re lumps of rotting meat.”

“Tommy’s different. He knows what he is and he
hates
it. He’s suffering. You need to let him go.”

“He’s not suffering. He’s
dead
.”

“You’re wrong. He’s very much aware.”

“Forget the stupid zombie,” Evan said. “What matters is I found you.”

“You mean Tommy found me. How do you two communicate, anyway? Zombie telepathy?”

“I get flashes of what they see and hear. That’s how I knew you were going to the wedding.”

“What do you want, Evan? Why are you here now, after all these years?”

“Don’t you think I wanted to find you sooner?” To Beck’s surprise, Evan grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. “I couldn’t. I never had a chance.”

Stunned by his outburst, Beck looked down at his hands. Tattoos writhed in sinuous loops across the pale canvass of his skin.

He looked past her at something and pushed her away. “They’re here. We’ll talk about this later. Keep your mouth shut and do what they say, Cookie, and you’ll be all right.”

“Who’s here?” Beck said, turning to look. Two shambling figures stepped out of the woods on the far side of the clearing. “Who are those people? Do you know them?”

Evan’s mouth twisted. “Oh, yeah. I know them. They’re my parents.”

C
onall paced the length of the empty bar, nervous as a hart at the scent of a pack of hounds on the wind. Something crackled beneath his foot. He bent down and picked it up. It was a discarded bag of some kind. The lettering on the torn package said
Select Brands Variety Pack
and the words
Nerds, Smarties,
and
Sweet Tarts
were emblazoned across the front in bright colors. He wadded up the package and slammed it into the trash with unnecessary force. It was this damnable waiting. He was ill equipped for it.

’Twas ironic, this sudden lack of fortitude. He’d laid siege to cities until they crumbled and stalked the djegrali for centuries with the relentless persistence of water upon stone. Yet, he had no patience for an evening’s wait.

Puzzling in the extreme.

His worry was rooted in inactivity and his eagerness to uncover the djegrali’s secret. Certainly his restive mood had nothing to do with Rebekah. Granted, she was beautiful in spite of her demon blood; perhaps
because
of it.

Memories of the evening before made his blood race. The taste of her had been sweet, he admitted, remembering the way she’d come apart in his arms.

He wanted her. The Dalvahni were renowned for their sexual appetites and he had denied himself physical ease for too long. Rebekah was a fire in his blood. He lusted after her, plain and simple. The fact that she was forbidden fruit only added to her appeal.

He wanted her. There; he’d acknowledged it and felt better for it. Lust he knew and understood.
If this be nothing more than desire, why the gnawing ache in your belly, like some great animal consumes you from within?
a sly voice whispered.

Perhaps he was ill. He considered the possibility and rejected it. The Dalvahni did not know sickness or disease. They were famed for their regenerative powers. Physical hurt was but a brief sensation, quickly forgotten in a moment’s healing.

Not so humans. Images from a hundred battles rose unbidden in his mind, soldiers, broken and spent, their mangled dying bodies littering the blood-soaked fields. Mortal flesh was fragile, as easily crushed as the tender folds of a flower beneath a booted heel.

Rebekah is half human,
the voice of worry whispered in his mind.
You sent her unprotected into the unknown.

“The shifter is with her,” he said aloud. “He will protect her.”

With a roar, Conall smashed the room to bits, breaking chairs and tables and blowing out the windows, taking care, even in his rage, not to shatter the glass counter and release the demons. Chest heaving, he surveyed the damage, his ire unsatisfied. His gaze moved to the bar and the demons floating within the confines of their translucent prison.

He could free the djegrali and engage them in battle, destroying them one by one. ’Twould be an epic battle, a song written in flame in the Great Book.

The warrior in him longed for the physical respite. He raised his hand to destroy the bar and lowered it again. Such a thing would be the act of a child indulging in a tantrum, not behavior behooving the leader of the Dalvahni.

Conall cursed, loud and long, dredging up every swear word he knew. His vocabulary was extensive and he was fluent in a multitude of languages. He had seen and heard much, and he had a very long memory.

When his anger was spent, he went about the business of setting the place to rights. He was putting the finishing touches on the job when the woman and the talking dog walked into the bar.

“Man. See man, Cassie?”
the dog said, straining at the leash.

“I see him.” The woman’s hand tightened on the strap. She was beautiful, with smoky purple eyes and shining blond hair that brushed the tops of her shoulders. “Settle down.”

An aura of magic hung around her, confirming Conall’s suspicion that she was a demonoid. Clad in tan trousers, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and sturdy, sensible shoes, the golden-haired stranger was an alluring mixture of femininity and practicality.

“Nice dog,” Conall said, giving the animal a dispassionate perusal. “It talks.”

“ ‘It’ is a she, and, yes, she does. I must say, you’re handling it well. Most folks would be freaked out.”

Conall shrugged. “A talking dog is unusual, but not unheard of.”

“Glad you’re okay with it.” She looked around. “Is Beck here?”

“No, she is at a meeting.”

Her eyes widened in dismay. “Don’t tell me she went to the gathering.”

“Yes. Tobias accompanied her.”

She sank into a chair, her expression distracted. “Oh, dear. I meant to call, but Dooley ran away and it took me hours to find her.” She patted the dog’s yellow fur. “You led me on quite a wild goose chase, didn’t you, you bad dog?”

Dooley wagged her tail and gave the woman a black-lipped grin.
“Dooley not chase goose. Dooley chase squirrel.”

“You scared me half to death,” the woman scolded. “How could I face Addy if I lost you?”

Dooley’s ears perked.
“Addy? Addy here . . . and Brand Man?”

“No, Dooley. They’re still gone.”

“Gone?”
The dog flumped to the wooden floor.
“Dooley hate gone. Want Addy and Brand Man home.”

“They’ll be back soon. I promise.”

“Go-oon-ne,”
Dooley repeated with a mournful yowl, laying her head on her paws.

“She misses her owner,” the woman said. “I’m Cassie, by the way. I’m dog-sitting for my friend Addy while she’s on her honeymoon.”

“Adara Corwin?”

She smiled at him, her eyes brightening. “Yes, although she’s Addy Dalvahni now. You know her?”

“I am Conall, Brand’s brother.”

Her smile faded. “Oh. You’re a demon hunter.”

“You do not care for my brother?”

“Brand? I hardly know him.” She got to her feet. “I came to see Beck. Since she’s not here, I’ll be on my way.”

“Hold,” Conall said. “You are kith. Why are you not at the meeting?”

“What’s a demon hunter doing in a demonoid bar?”

“That is my affair.”

“Ditto.”

He processed the strange term.
Ditto, meaning the same.
He clamped down on his impatience. She knew something, something that might affect Rebekah. He felt it in his gut. Something fluttered in his chest, an odd sensation that made his heart race and his thoughts scatter.

Panic,
the hateful voice whispered.
You fear for the demon wench.

He took a deep breath and willed his galloping pulse to slow. “You came to warn Rebekah of something? If so, you must tell me.”

She hesitated, her dislike and distrust of him plain on her face.

“Please,” he said, pushing the word past his unwilling tongue.

She straightened her shoulders and gave him a challenging look. “I see things sometimes, okay?”

“You are a seer?”

“That’s one word for it,” she said. “I found the invitation this morning in a pile of junk mail. I opened it and this awful smell hit me, like rotting meat. I caught a glimpse of woods and dark shapes and then I went cold. It was like every good thing had been sucked out of the world.” She shivered. “I didn’t want any part of it. I came to warn Beck, but Dooley ran off. Looks like I’m too late.”

Too late. Too late.
The words rang in Conall’s head.

His desire to smash things returned in full measure. He drew another deep breath into his lungs. There was something he should remember. Something important . . .

The ring—of course! By the sword, how could he have forgotten? The ring would lead him to her.

Opening his mind, he sought the ring and found it. It showed him a jumble of images—a thick stand of trees, a curl of smoke against the evening sky, a crowd of drunken people. A man and woman shuffled out of the woods, ghoulish and loathsome in appearance.

Demons; and he had sent her among them. Rebekah had the heart of a warrior. She would challenge the fiends and be hurt or killed.

“This meeting,” he said. Calm; he must remain calm. He could not help Rebekah if he gave in to the killing rage. “Can you tell me where it is?”

“I can do better than that. Let me drop Dooley off at the house, and I’ll take you there.”

Dooley sat up and wagged her tail.
“Dooley ride? Dooley like ride.”

“Not this time, girl,” Cassie said. “It may not be safe. You’ll have to stay, I’m afraid.”

Dooley flumped back to the floor.
“Dooley HATE stay. Stay make Dooley sad.”

“Be a good girl and I’ll cook you a cheese omelet for supper.”

Dooley’s ears lifted.
“Dooley like cheese
.”

“I know,” Cassie said. “Come on. Let’s get in the truck.”

Seething with impatience and a gnawing sense of urgency, Conall exited the building with them. “Your abode is not far?”

“It’s a little out of the way,” Cassie said. “But I’m not taking D-o-o-l-e-y. If something happened to her, Addy would never forgive me.”

“Addy?”
The canine launched into a panting ecstasy about her owner.
“Addy, Addy, Addy?”

Conall clamped his jaws together to keep from roaring in frustration. Each passing moment was an agony of worry. Where was Rebekah? What was happening to her? Would he reach her in time?

Was she already dead? His mind recoiled.

“I thank you,” he forced himself to say. He was Dalvahni, an unemotional creature of logic. “I am in your debt.”

“Forget it. I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Beck.”

Conall wondered briefly who or what had made this woman so bitter, and pushed the thought aside.

It mattered not. All that mattered was Rebekah.

 

“Your
parents
?” Beck shook her head in confusion. “No way.”

The creatures crossing the lawn were thin and wasted, with filthy bodies and clothes, matted hair, and sunken cheeks. Demon-possessed humans, gross caricatures of the people they’d once been, before the fiends twisted and consumed them.

“Not a pretty sight, are they?” Evan spoke without emotion, as though he were commenting on the weather. “They get this way at the end of a cycle. They’ll shed soon, and then it’s not so bad. For a few months, anyway. The morkyn go through bodies pretty quickly, because they’re so powerful.”

“Morkyn?”

He gave her an odd look. “You don’t know much, do you? There are different castes of demons. The morkyn are at the top of the food chain.”

“I know enough to stay away from them, which is more than I can say for you.”

“You think I wanted this?” Evan’s mouth tightened. “They found me in a flop house where our bitch of a mother dumped me. I didn’t have a
daddy
like you, princess.”

“Princess, my ass,” Beck said. “I was raised in a bar by a man who could hardly stand to look at me.”

Evan laughed. “Please. You had a home and plenty to eat. I’ll bet your mean old daddy never broke your arms and legs or burned you with cigarettes until you begged him to stop. I’ll bet you got to go to school and learn to read and write, instead of running from place to place to avoid the police.” His eyes glittered feverishly in his white face. “I’ll bet he never took you to a crack house and locked you in a room with a dead man for three days while he got high. Did he?” His voice rose. “Did he?”

“No.” Beck wanted to weep for the young Evan, abandoned, unloved, and abused. “He never did anything like that.”

Clasping her trembling hands together, she felt something hard rub against her finger. Conall’s ring; his stern, implacable face rose before her, steadying her.

“H-how old were you?” she asked.

Evan slammed his fist into a porch column. “Six. The guy was already dead when they threw me in with him. He was my first zombie. I was so scared. I just wanted someone to talk to. Instead, he tried to eat me.”

“What did you do?”

Evan laughed. “I learned how to control a zombie in one hell of a hurry, that’s what. I used him to break down the door and I ran. Almost got away, but they caught me. That’s when they—”

He stopped.

“When they what?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“You could have left,” Beck said. “You didn’t have to stay with them all these years. You had a choice.”

“Did I, Cookie?” The rage seemed to leave Evan in a rush, leaving him deflated. Rubbing his bruised knuckles against his thigh, he watched the gruesome twosome approach. “Like I said, you don’t know much.”