Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (31 page)

V
erbena was an enhancer. Beck thought back to Charlie’s comment at the gathering.
The Skinners are late bloomers.

No duh.

Beck would be willing to bet the Skinners’ rise in the moonshine trade coincided with Verbena’s birth. Then there was the kith attack in the woods. The four of them—Beck, Verbena, Toby, and Hank—had taken on dozens of shifters and won, and handily at that. After the fight was over, Beck had planted Earl and his buddies up to their elbows in dirt, easy as pie, in spite of being exhausted and hurt. At the time, she’d attributed it to adrenaline and the proximity of the underground spring.

Maybe it had been Verbena, instead.

Verbena had been with her yesterday during the demon attack in the store. Beck remembered her glowing makeshift sword and her confidence and feeling of invincibility. Maybe that had been Verbena, too.

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Verbena was a walking talking generator the Skinners had been running off for years. A few days away from Verbena and the best Earl could manage was a half-ass shift. The Skinners had lost their one and only good luck charm. The Skinner goose was cooked, although they didn’t know it. Heck, even their
dogs
didn’t want anything to do with them.

Served them right as far as Beck was concerned.

She examined the bruise on Verbena’s cheek. “Your face is starting to swell,” she said. “You’d better put some ice on it.”

“Banana peel,” Toby said. “Pulp side down. Good for cuts, too.”

“You heard the man.” Beck pushed Verbena in the direction of the door. “Go stick a banana on your face.”

“Any sign of the zombie?” Conall asked Toby after Verbena had gone inside.

“Oh, yeah.” Toby rubbed the end of his long nose. “Signs all over the place, but that zombie don’t want to be found. He walks in circles and he never stops moving. My nose is sore and I’m plumb dizzy from trailing him.”

Beck walked over to the Tundra and opened the door. “You can come out now,” she told Annie. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“I don’t want to meet him. He’s mean.” Annie folded her arms and stared straight ahead. “He doesn’t like me.”

Beck held out her hand. “Toby doesn’t know you, not really. I want you to give him another chance.”

“He’s a
dog,
” Annie said with an unmistakable air of feline superiority. “He hates cats. I heard him say.”

“He doesn’t mean it. That’s just his way. Do you know what my go-to animal form is?”

“No.”

“A panther,” Beck said. “A black panther.”

Annie gave her a look of disbelief. “Really?”

Beck nodded. “And Toby’s still my friend, my oldest friend. He’s more than a friend. He’s family. You’re my family, too—if you want to be. So, you two need to get along. You
do
want to stay with me, don’t you?”

Beck held her breath while Annie digested this.

“Okay, I’ll be nice to him,” Annie said with a scowl. The knot of tension in Beck’s belly eased. “But only if he’s nice back.”

Beck smiled. “Nice is a relative term. Toby puts on a good snarl, but he’s all bark and no bite.”

“He bit Pretzel Dick in the butt,” Annie pointed out. “It hurt. Pretzel Dick screamed. What if Toby bites me?”

Pretzel Dick? Beck winced. She’d better clean up her act with the kid around.

“The man’s name is Earl, and Toby bit him because he hurt Toby and tried to hurt me,” Beck said. “Toby is very protective. He takes care of family, and you’re family now.”

Annie gave her a look that said
if you say so
and climbed out of the truck.

Beck led the child over to Toby. “Toby, this is Annie.”

“Annie who?”

“
The
Annie,” Beck said. “You know, meow?”

His eyes widened. “You don’t mean to say that she’s—”

Beck nodded. “Yep.”

“Great jumping Jehoshaphat,” Toby said, looking floored.

Verbena stuck her head out the back door. She had a banana peel pressed against her bruised cheek, sticky side down, like some kind of hungry alien life form. “Telephone for you, Beck.”

Beck took the call in the kitchen. “Beck Damian,” she said into the phone.

“Hello, Cookie.”

Her hand tightened around the receiver. “Evan.”

Conall was at her side in a heartbeat, his eyes like chips of black ice. “Let me speak to him.”

Beck shook her head. “What do you want, Evan?”

“We need to talk.”

“I don’t think so, bro. I stopped listening to you after you fed those two kids to the demons.”
And tried to feed Toby to a troll.

“Where’s Hagilth?”

“Where she can’t hurt anyone.”

He was silent for a moment. “You’re not being very friendly, Cookie. I tried to come see you, but I couldn’t get in.”

“I know. You sent Tommy to do your dirty work. He did what you asked. Now let him go.”

Evan sighed. “Still yammering about the zombie? You’re good, real good—even now, I almost could believe you care. What’s your angle?”

“I don’t have one.”

“Everybody has an angle. I just haven’t figured out yours.”

“Knock yourself out,” Beck said. “Hope you give yourself an aneurism.”

“Same old sweet Cookie. Want to know what I’ve been wondering?”

“Not really.”

“I’ve been wondering if you broke into Peterson’s safe.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Too bad. I was hoping we could work together.”

“I don’t think so. I don’t like the way you do business, and I sure as hell don’t like your friends.”

“I’m not crazy about your friends, either. Why didn’t you tell me your boyfriend is a demon hunter?”

“Oh, let’s see,” Beck said. “Maybe because it’s none of your damn business.”

“It occurs to me that you may be smarter than I thought.” There was an edge to Evan’s silky voice. “How much are they paying you to be the demon hunter’s whore? Are you supposed to screw him stupid, like Delilah did Samson, so the demons can kill him?”

“What do you know about the Bible?”

“Plenty. My ‘parents’ possessed an evangelist and his wife when I was fifteen. Had their own cult for a while—fun times.” He paused. “Or do the demons want you to do the job yourself?”

Beck hung up the phone. She looked down at her hands. They were shaking.

“Rebekah?” There was concern in Conall’s rough voice. “What did he say to upset you?”

“Forget it. He’s just trying to get under my skin. What’s this about somebody breaking into Peterson’s safe?”

“It seems Trey Peterson found some papers his grandfather left behind. Based on the information in those papers, he had the Key Man make a number of special bullets packed with crater dust. Bullets, I believe, he hoped to sell to the djegrali. Before he could accomplish his goal, however, someone broke into his office and stole the papers and the ammunition.”

“I don’t understand,” Beck said. “What’s the crater got to do with it?”

“Everything,” Conall said. “I believe the crater is the source of magic in Hannah and the very reason the djegrali and other supernatural beings are drawn to this place. They find it . . . irresistible. I have thought on the matter, and I also believe the crater’s unusual properties explain Latrisse’s sudden and unexpected reappearance after so many years.”

Beck’s eyes widened. “The urn Song kept her ashes in was made from Hannah clay. Something about it kept Latrisse from regenerating.”

Conall nodded. “Exactly. Until the thieves burglarized Song’s house and the vase got broken. The knife that almost killed Ansgar was fashioned from crater rock. The crater has some quality, some deep magic, that renders the Dal vulnerable to harm—perhaps even death, should the wound be severe enough.”

“Holy cats, the crater’s like Kryptonite,” Beck said. “You’ve got to find that thief before the demons do.”

“I concur. I have assigned Duncan the task.”

The back door slammed, and a clean-shaven bear of a man in olive fatigue shorts and a crisply laundered crewneck T-shirt lumbered into the kitchen. Beck stared at him in surprise. It was Hank, without the scruffy beard. His bushy black hair had been cut short, and curled at the ends. With his hair trimmed and the facial hair gone, he looked years younger.

He eyed Annie. “Who’s the whippersnapper?”

“I’m Annie. You got anything to eat?”

“You just had breakfast,” Beck said. “You can’t possibly be hungry.”

Annie shrugged.

“How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?” Hank asked.

Annie wiggled on the bar stool. “Peanut butter, banana, and sweet pickles?”

“You’re weird, kid,” Hank said. “I like you.” As he went about making Annie’s sandwich he talked to Beck about the menu. “I was planning to make red beans and rice tonight, but there ain’t a can of beans in the place.”

That’s because the beans had gone to feed a certain zombie.

“You sure you feel up to cooking?” Beck asked. “It’s only been a few days since you were injured. I don’t want you to relapse.”

“Duncan said I’m fine,” Hank growled, sounding more like his old self. “Never better.”

Beck looked at him closely. His color was good. For somebody at death’s door a few days ago, he looked remarkably fit. Duncan had the healer’s touch. She glanced at Verbena. And Duncan had help from the Enhancer.

“Sorry about the beans,” Beck said. “We’ll make do with burgers and dogs. Tomorrow’s Thanksgiving and we’ll be closed.”

She braced herself. Hank
hated
cooking what he called “that trash food.” To her surprise, he didn’t explode.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “We’ll come up with something, ain’t that right, Verbena?” He noticed the banana against her cheek and frowned. “Why you got a banana on your face?”

Verbena lowered the spotted yellow peel, revealing the discolored swelling underneath.

“Who did that?” Hank said with a low rumble of fury. “Somebody hurt you?”

“That piece of crap brother of hers showed up this morning while nobody was here and smacked her around,” Toby said.

“Earl and me ain’t kin.” Verbena tossed the banana in the trash. “Charlie weren’t my daddy and Earl’s mama was the old man’s first wife.”

“Good,” Hank said. “Then you won’t mind if I kill him.”

“Take a number,” Toby said. “Folks are lining up to kill that douche bag.” He winced as the sound of piano music drifted from the bar into the kitchen. Throwing his head back, he gave a low, moaning howl. He lowered his head again, looking embarrassed. “Sorry. Sometimes, that pi-anny hurts m’ ears. Reckon that Dalmatian must be hard of hearing.”

“Dalmatian?” Beck blinked in surprise. “What Dalmatian?”

“Junior didn’t tell you?” Toby said. “He’s got him a dog. Figured you were okay with it.”

Beck left Annie in the kitchen eating her sandwich and hurried into the bar. Junior Peterson was seated at the piano. His long fingers flew across the black and white keys to the notes of a fancy tune Beck didn’t recognize. A large black-and-white-spotted dog sat beside him, his head resting on Junior’s knee.

“Where’d you get the dog?” Beck asked Junior.

He gave her a beatific smile. “This is Trey. Son, say hello to Beck. She’s our host.”

The dog lifted his head and barked.

“By the sword,” Conall said, joining them in the bar. “Is that the shade of Trey Peterson?”

“Yes.” Beck shook her head in confusion. “The paper said he shifted before he died. Why’s he a dog in the afterlife?”

Meredith appeared on a burst of perfume.
“William Blake Peterson!
What do you think you’re doing?”

Junior’s song ended with a discordant bang. “There’s your answer,” he said, giving Meredith a fulminating look. “Can you blame him?”

“Well?” Meredith tapped an elegantly shod foot. “Answer me.”

Trey barked.

Meredith’s face stretched into a hideous mask. “I cannot believe this. I missed my door to the other side to be with you, and this is the thanks I get, eternity with a stupid mutt?” Her voice rose to a piercing shriek. “I. Don’t. Think. Sooooo.”

Junior waited until Meredith’s siren wound down. “Go haunt a toilet somewhere and leave us alone,” he said. “I hear there’s a dandy one with your name on it at the high school.”

“The Peterson Memorial Powder Room,”
Beck said. “I read about it in the paper.”

“Shut it, you backwoods skank,” Meredith snarled. “Nobody asked you.”

“Mind your manners, shade, or I will lock you in the Pit with the djegrali,” Conall said. He paused. “Almost, I pity the demons at the thought.”

“Try it, buster, and see what you get,” Meredith said, swelling. “I’ve learned a thing or two since I bit the big one. I’ll ectoplasm your ass.”

“Whoo, somebody’s got sand in their twat.” Beck looked at the Dalmatian. “Is she always this unpleasant?”

Trey yipped.

Junior interpreted for the dog. “Trey says yes. Trey says Meredith could skin the hide off a rhino with her bitching.”

“You know, it’s a shame to let all that hostility go to waste,” Beck said, considering Meredith. “There must be something productive she could do with it.”

Meredith snapped her fingers. “Hey, shitheads, I’m right here.”

“There is one thing . . .” Junior hesitated and shook his head. “Nah, she’d never go for it.”

“Go for what?” Meredith demanded. “W
hat?
Talk to me, for God’s sake, you pitiful, piddling excuse of a piano player.”

“I’ve agreed to a haunting.” Junior’s expression was deceptively bland. “But I’m not having much luck scaring the target.”

“Oh, please,” Meredith said. “You couldn’t haunt your way out of a grammar school funhouse. Who’s the client?”