Demon Hunting In a Dive Bar (4 page)

Rebekah Damian was stubborn, independent, and reckless. She was magnificent.

She was also half demon.

He’d discovered her true nature the night of the demon attack and had been repelled and disgusted . . . and strangely fascinated. She represented a dichotomy, this new creature, this child of the djegrali.

His attraction to a by-blow of his enemy bewildered and disturbed him. She’d been quick to notice his reaction and had angrily ordered him from her bar.

He’d left, returning a few days later, telling himself ’twas his duty to discover what he could about this new race called demonoids. Having parted from Rebekah on bad terms, he’d made himself invisible, studying her, unseen, for weeks, searching for signs of corruption. How could strength, beauty, and goodness spring from evil?

To his frustration, he was unable to detect any wickedness in her, or the taint of the djegrali’s influence, in spite of her accursed demon blood.

He had soon grown impatient with his guise. She was too interesting, too intriguing a puzzle. He wanted her gaze upon him, her notice. It was most unsettling, this unseemly attraction. No doubt it was the result of unslaked lust and the lure of forbidden fruit.

He’d told himself to put her from his mind and focus instead on the disturbance in the ranks of the Dalvahni. Three of his finest warriors had fallen in recent months—not to death or djegrali treachery, but to a foe more insidious and subversive.

They had fallen in love. Conall had seen the evidence with his own eyes, though he still found it hard to grasp. Dalvahni warriors did not
love.
Battle rage and lust, these sentiments were known to them and easily remedied by a visit to the House of Thralls and the emptying clasp of a sexual companion. The thralls, in turn, fed on Dalvahni emotion. ’Twas a relationship that had served both races well for eons.

Until now.

Something was afoot here, some kind of strange dark magic. This place, this Han-nah-a-lah was to blame. Deep mischief was at work here, and the djegrali lay at the root of it. He would discover their twisted scheme and foil it.

And Rebekah would help him. What better place to unravel the enemy’s latest ploy than a beer hall that serviced nonhumans? Rebekah and her little place on the river suited his purpose exactly. He would linger here and listen. He would learn what he needed to know to defeat the djegrali. It was his duty.

Rebekah’s low, sultry drawl teased him from across the room. Her voice was one of the first things he’d noticed about her. Warm and husky, it whispered along his senses and invariably turned his thoughts to sex—with her. He had never been with anyone but a thrall, and then but seldom. He disliked the loss of control.

What would it be like to lose control with Rebekah? he wondered.

He took a steadying breath; best to keep his thoughts away from such things. Rebekah was conversing with the zombie. Perhaps the ghoul would reveal something important. He would join them and find out.

Rebekah was but another weapon to be used in the fight against the djegrali. He must remember that.

“I
can cook,” Tommy said in response to Beck’s question regarding his skills. He clutched the scrawny young cat to his chest. “I was saving up for culinary school before . . .” He swallowed hard. “You know.”

“Already got a cook,” Beck said. “There’s only one rooster on that dunghill, and his name’s Hank.”

“A zombie got no business being around food anyways,” Toby said. “He’s bound to start losing things, sooner or later. I don’t care what kinda spell that voodoo dude put on him. Zombie parts in the vittles are gonna be a gross-out.”

“Toby,” Beck said, giving the bouncer a repressive glare.

Toby shrugged. “I’m just saying. Course, some of the scavenger types might like it. In fact, I know them Skinners would.”

The Skinners were white trash, plain and simple. They didn’t come into the bar very often, but when they did, they always brought trouble.

Tommy’s brow crinkled in distress. “He’s right. Shoulda thought of that myself. It’s a health code violation to have me in the kitchen.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Beck said. “We’ll find something for you to do. Where’d you used to work?”

“I ran a Subway Shop in New Orleans.”

“N’awlins,” Beck thought with an inward nod.
Knew he wasn’t from around here.

Toby perked up. “You got management experience? Hot damn. He can help out in the office.”

Conall waltzed up to them like he owned the place. “Unwise,” he said in that haughty tone of his that drove her nuts. “You know nothing about the creature. Before you give him access to your accounts, you should at least query him about his Maker.”

God, he was irritating as a pair of burlap drawers, the big Dalvahni know-it-all. Beck longed to tell him off, but her practical streak made her hesitate. Much as she hated to admit it—really,
really
hated to admit it—he was right. They knew nothing about Tommy and less about his Maker. No sense opening the barn door and inviting the wolf in to bed down with the sheep.

“He’s got a point,” she said to Tommy, ignoring Conall’s grunt of surprise. “I need to ask you a few questions. I hope you understand.”

“Sure, I understand, Miss—” Tommy looked embarrassed. “Shoot, I just realized I don’t know your name.”

“I’m Beck, and this is Toby, my partner. We run the joint.”

Tommy gave her a shy smile. “Nice to meet you, Beck.”

“Enough,” Conall said. “Who is your master and why did he send you here?”

Tommy’s face went slack and his eyes filmed over. “Uhn,” he said, as though his tongue had suddenly grown too big and thick for his mouth.

“Answer me, fiend,” Conall said, lunging at Tommy with his sword.

Tommy squawked like a startled chicken and leaped halfway across the room.

Beck grabbed Conall’s arm. “Stop it. Don’t you get it? He can’t tell us about the Maker. It’s part of the spell. Right, Tommy?”

Keeping a wary eye on Conall, the zombie tried to move his head up and down without success.

“See? He can’t even nod,” Beck said. “He can’t betray the zombie master’s plans.”

Conall lowered his blade. “A convenient circumstance, but I will abide by your wishes. For now.”

“I’ll say one thing for him,” Toby said. “He moves fast for a dead guy. I could use him at the door on band nights. Keep the shifters from slipping in without paying the cover.”

“That’ll work,” Beck said. “That all right with you, Tommy?”

Tommy’s eyes cleared. “Yes, ma’am.”

He still looked shaken, and who could blame him? Conall had scared the bejesus out of the poor guy with his testosterone explosion.

“Good. Then it’s settled,” Beck said with relief. She felt bad for Tommy and wanted to help him. As an added bonus, hiring him to work at the bar would bug the crap out of Captain Smug Mug. “By the way, how’d you make friends with the kitten?” she asked Tommy. “I’ve been trying to coax her out of hiding for days.”

Tommy smiled and stroked the cat with gentle fingers. “Her name is Annie. Ain’t that right, pussycat?”

“Annie.” Beck rolled the name around in her mouth. “I like it. It suits her.”

Tommy shuffled his bare feet on the floor. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m hungry.”

“I knew it,” Toby cried. “Here we go. He’s gonna eat somebody’s brains.”

“I done tole you I don’t eat meat,” Tommy said. “Wouldn’t eat yo’ brains no how. I wouldn’t say no to some tofu, though, if y’all got any.”

“Don’t know,” Beck said. “Tobias, stop bouncing around like a Jack Russell terrier and take Tommy in the back and ask Hank if we got any tofu. If we don’t, tell him to get some, pronto. And see if you can find Tommy something dry to wear. There are extra clothes in the storeroom. Shifters are forever getting drunk and leaving their belongings lying around.”

“Oh, sure,” Toby said. “Send the dog off with the brain-eating zombie. Sacrifice the dog. The
dog
is expendable.”

“Don’t see what you got to complain about,” Tommy said as he followed Toby in the direction of the kitchen. “Some crazy dude just tried to bust me open with a sword.”

The lethal-looking blade in Conall’s hand vanished. “ ’Tis foolish in the extreme to offer succor to such a creature,” he said, frowning at Beck. “But as you refuse to listen to reason, I shall abide here until the Maker reveals his sinister purpose.”

“No.” Beck shook her head so hard in denial it was a wonder it didn’t fall off and roll out the door and into the river. “Absolutely not.”

“I detect the foul taint of the djegrali behind the zombie’s arrival. ’Tis my duty to investigate.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about your duty. You can’t stay here.”

He held up his hand. “You can thank me later. Right now, we have company.”

“Thank you?” A jolt of pain shot up Beck’s neck. Stress, probably. This guy was going to be the death of her. “Are you nuts? And what do you mean ‘we have company’? There is no
we.
”

The front door blew open, and a troop of fairies flitted into the room on lacy wings. The tiny creatures glowed softly in pastel shades, like Christmas lights through a frosted window. The fairy in the lead was a female with skin like chocolate milk and hair of spun silver. She flew up to Conall and said something to him in a thin little voice.

“I will relay the message, little one,” he said gravely. “I fear you are right and she has forgotten.” He turned to Beck. “The fairies would like me to remind you that Evie and Ansgar’s wedding is but an hour hence.”

“Tell the fairies to kiss it,” Beck said. “I’m not going. I hardly know the chick.”

She stomped over to the bar and made a business of checking the stock. It had shocked the hell out of her when Evie Douglass invited her to the wedding. They barely knew each other. Sure, part of her had been secretly thrilled to be invited to
the
social event of the year. But, she’d never had any intention of
going
. Social crap gave her the hives. A few of the kith might be there, but it would be mostly norms. She’d feel awkward and out of place, and who needed that? Besides, she didn’t have anything to wear.

The fairies darted after her, buzzing around her in agitated circles. They chittered nonstop, like a flock of miniature sparrows around an open bag of birdseed.

Conall followed and leaned against the bar. Beck pretended not to notice, but he was a hard guy to ignore. He was so big and so dang
male
.

“You came to Evie’s defense against the djegrali,” he said. “She and Ansgar are in your debt. It would please them both if you would come. The fairies also.”

“Uh-uh. No can do. It’s Saturday night. We got a band and the place will be packed. I can’t do that to Toby.”

“He has the zombie to help him now, thanks to your intercession.”

She took another swipe at the bar. “Tommy’s new. He hasn’t been trained.”

The fairy with the moonbeam hair flew up to Conall and said something in her brittle voice.

“I am afraid Silverbell insists,” Conall said.

“That so? Well, you can tell Silverbell for me that I am
not
going to—”

Beck never got to finish her sentence, because that’s when the treacherous little lightning bug smacked her right in the kisser with a honeysuckle-scented cloud of fairy funk.

 

An hour and a half later, Beck stood in the fellowship hall of the Trinity Episcopal Church along with several hundred other wedding guests—the whole freaking town was here, from the looks of it—waiting for the bride and groom to make their entrance. Correction: brides and grooms. Evie and Ansgar had gotten married in a double wedding ceremony with Addy Corwin, Evie’s friend, and Brand Dalvahni, another demon hunter.

The brides had been exquisite in their frothy wedding gowns, the grooms magnificent in formal attire—tall, supernaturally handsome, and muscle bound. Normally, the cloud of euphoria and oh-my-God-I’m-so-frigging-happy-and-I-love-you-so-much-smoochie-smoochie that had permeated the sanctuary during the ceremony would’ve made Beck hurl. But thanks to Silverbell’s burst of fairy feel-good to the face, Beck sat through the whole thing spellbound by the perfection of it all, like everybody else. Once, she’d almost
cried
.

Okay, she had cried. Twice. The first time was when Ansgar, the blond, gray-eyed demon hunter that Evie was marrying, had gotten choked up during his vows. There was something about a big alpha male revealing his inner mush that really got to Beck. She cried again when Ansgar and Evie kissed at the end of the ceremony. That kiss had been perfect, flipping fairy tale perfect. Beck could swear she heard little tinkling bells, and the air in the chapel went thick and hazy and turned all buttery and golden, like in a movie.

Conall wasn’t kidding when he’d said the fairies liked Evie Douglass. The little glow worms had been everywhere, flitting around the flower arrangements, in the stained-glass windows and on the altar, sliding down the silk ribbons at the end of the freshly polished, high-backed wooden pews, and hovering around the happy couples standing at the front of the church. Judging from the comments of the people around her, most folks had no idea the fae were among them. They thought they were flower petals tossed by the attendants.

People see what they want to see. The vast majority of the people in the church probably had no idea that the guy playing the pipe organ was a ghost. Nope, not a clue, and that was a good thing. In Beck’s experience, most norms wanted nothing to do with the supernatural. They’d rather put their fingers in their ears and say
la la la,
and pretend it didn’t exist.

Take her dad, for instance. He sure lived in denial. Live in a town where the weird factor is off the charts? Ignore. Shape-shifter ex-partner? Ignore, ignore.

Half-demon daughter? Ignore, ignore, ignore.

Beck yanked at the hem of her dress, a slinky above-the-knee garment of midnight blue jersey with a daring scoop back. Fairy magic, she thought darkly, giving the garment another tug. The dress didn’t belong to her and neither did the shoes she wore, a pair of glittery sapphire sling-backs with matching bows and four-inch heels that put her over six feet. Totally impractical and probably cost a couple hundred bucks to boot. If she was going to spend that kind of cash on footwear she’d buy something useful. Boots to muck around the bar in maybe, or a pair of sturdy hiking sandals to wear in the woods and along the river—not a pair of girly slut pumps.

She sneaked another admiring peek at her daintily shod feet. The shoes might not be sensible, but she had to admit they were the bomb diggity. Like something a fairy cobbler would come up with, shiny and sparkly. They’d been waiting on the end of her bed along with the dress. Her memory was patchy because of the fairy dust, but she remembered that much . . . as well as her squeal of delight when she’d seen them.

Princess shoes,
she remembered shrieking like a five-year-old girl, followed by a lot of undignified jumping up and down on her part. Her cheeks burned at the memory. Who knew she was such a
girl
? She’d never been into froufrou shit, never had the chance. Her dad had treated her like one of the guys growing up. She’d never been to prom or a high school dance. Never been on a date . . . unless you counted a hurried, fumbling grope in the woods with a passing shape-shifter when she was nineteen. Which she so did not.

The bar was all she knew, all she’d ever known. She’d been serving drinks before she was ten, running the office and ordering supplies for her dad by the age of thirteen. She knew how to talk down a mean drunk and break up a fight. But she didn’t know how to mingle with townies, and she sure as hell didn’t know how to make small talk at a wedding.

She looked around. The fellowship hall of the Episcopal church was narrow and long with arched windows along both sides and gleaming wooden floors. Candles glowed softly in the windowsills amid glossy bunches of magnolia leaves and white ribbons. At the far end of the room in front of three windows, two enormous wedding cakes commanded center stage. Additional cloth-covered tables flanked the wedding cakes, groaning under the weight of silver trays laden with a mouthwatering array of hors d’oeuvres, and a champagne fountain sparkled in one corner. Beck didn’t recognize half the fancy food on the platters. It was a far cry from bar food; that was for sure. Not a chili cheese dog or a chicken wang in sight.

The noise level in the crowded room was incredible. Guests swirled around the loaded tables in impatient eddies, eager for the happy couples to appear. Beck caught snatches of conversations as people brushed by. The subject of football reigned supreme, followed by talk of the wedding and the food.

Beck hung back near the door that led into the church garden, uncomfortably aware that she did not belong here.