Demon Hunting In the Deep South (42 page)

“Oh, for God’s sake, you queen-size pain in the ass, mind your own business,” Meredith said.

Something inside of Evie snapped. “Shut up, Meredith, or, so help me God, I’ll have Ansgar put you back in the bottle.”

Meredith wavered and shrank in size. “No, you can’t do that. I hate it in there.”

“Then be quiet. Not another word. I mean it.” Evie realized she was on her feet and her hands were clenched into fists. Slowly, she took a deep breath and opened her fingers. “Now, what are you afraid of, Trey? Tell me.”

“I can’t. He made me promise not to tell.” He was trembling, and his complexion was gray. He sounded like a little boy, not a grown man. “He said he’d put me in the barker or throw me on the circular saw, just like he—”

He swallowed and shook his head.

“Like he did what?” Evie urged gently.

“I can’t,” he said. “I’m scared.”

Something Muddy had said drifted through Evie’s mind.
Blake, Junior . . . killed more than twenty years ago in a freak accident at the mill. A circular saw shattered and split his head in two.

Twenty years ago, Trey would have been a young boy.

“Your father’s death wasn’t an accident, was it?” Evie said, taking a stab in the dark. “Somebody murdered him.”

“Bingo, tits for brains,” Meredith said. “You ain’t as dumb as you look. But, then, how could you be?”

Evie narrowed her eyes at the ghost. “Bottle, Mer Mer.”

“Okay, okay,” Meredith said, holding up her hands in surrender.

“Who killed your daddy, Trey?” Evie asked. “You can tell me. We’re friends.”

Trey’s head drooped. “My grandfather.” A long shudder racked his body. “He hated my father because he thought he was weak. He despised him for it.
My son, the pansy ass musician,
he would say. He was always after Daddy to do what he called ‘man’ things, like hunting. He wanted him to take more of an interest in the mill. But Daddy just wanted to play his music.” He raised his head. “He was a wonderful pianist, my dad. I remember standing at his knee when I was little, watching him play. I could feel his music in my bones. I thought he was magic. And he was gentle and kind. Nothing like—like
him
.”

Tears streamed down Trey’s face. “He killed my daddy in front of me and made me watch. He’s strong, Evie, and he has power. And I’m not talking about money and influence. He can
do
things.”

“Because he’s a demonoid,” Evie said.

Trey’s eyes widened. “Yes. He picked up Daddy and threw him on that saw like he was so much meat. His own son. Said he’d do the same thing to me if I disappointed him. If I was
weak.
”

“Oh, my God.” Evie ached for that terrified little boy. “And your mother left you with him and took your sister to live at the beach?”

“That’s right,” Trey said. “Grandfather convinced her that I should stay with him as the
heir apparent
. And Mama let him have his way, for the money. But, the truth is, he didn’t dare let me out of his sight, in case I told.” His mouth twisted. “Like anybody would believe me.”

“I believe you.” Evie turned to Meredith. “But, eventually, Trey told you, and that’s why Blake killed you.”

“Something like that,” Meredith said.

“Why go to prison for a murder you didn’t commit?” Evie asked Trey. “Why not testify against your grandfather? He should pay for what he’s done.”

“No.”
Trey got to his feet. “I can’t. You don’t understand what he’s like. What he
is.
I’m safer this way.”

“Your grandfather’s not the only one with abilities. Ansgar and Brand are powerful warriors. They can protect you from him.”

“Leave it alone, Evie.” He dropped back on the cot as though his legs would no longer support him. “Even if I testified against him, there’s not a jail in the world that will hold him. I’m hoping, this way, that he won’t come after me. That he’ll let it alone and be happy that I’m taking the rap for him.”

Evie gave Meredith an imploring look. “Tell him, Meredith. Tell him he doesn’t have to do this. You don’t want Trey to spend years in prison for something he didn’t do. If you love him, you’ll want what’s best for him.”

Meredith hovered closer to Trey. “This is what’s best for him, and for me, too. I died a horrible death. I deserve something wonderful after all I’ve been through. This will be a fresh start for us, a second chance at happiness. We’re going to spend the next however many years together in prison working on our problems. He’ll never be lonely or alone. I’ll see to that.” She patted his hand again, making him jump. “Isn’t that right, Snookems? Death and prison are the best things that ever happened to our marriage.”

Bing!
Leonard Swink appeared.

Meredith bounced off the cot to greet him. “Here he is now! Swinky’s going to give us marriage counseling. Isn’t that right?”

Swink cleared his throat. “That is correct.”

“So beat it, Cheese Hog,” Meredith said, turning to Evie. “This is a private session.”

“Are you sure, Trey?” Evie asked. “This isn’t your only choice.”

“Yes, it is.” Trey’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and he waved his hand toward the door. “Go on. Get out of here, Evie. Live your life and be happy. It will give me something to think about besides”—he glanced at Meredith, who was busy chatting with Swink—“about . . . how things didn’t work out so good for me.”

“Good-bye, Trey,” Evie said, her mouth trembling.

It didn’t have to end like this. It couldn’t. There must be some way to help him. It went against everything in her to remain silent and let an innocent man go to jail. But what if he was right and his grandfather came after him for testifying against him? He thought he was safer in jail, but that was only an illusion. She suspected that Blake Peterson was in league with the demons. She remembered the smoky figure that had leaked through her bathroom window, and shivered. Trey would be helpless in jail if the djegrali attacked, with no one to come to his aid but Meredith.

Meredith. Evie wondered how long she’d had her memory back, the selfish, deceitful little witch. She’d probably convinced Trey to confess, preying on his fear of his grandfather to get her way. Meredith had gotten what she wanted, in death if not in life—Trey’s undivided attention, without the threat of other females. How could she be so conniving and mean?

Evie rushed out of the cell in tears.

“Evangeline?” Ansgar took her in his arms. “Why are you crying?”

She was very aware of Sheriff Whitsun watching her. She had to be careful or she’d give Trey away, and she didn’t want to do that. Not yet. Not until she was sure it was the right thing to do and that Trey wouldn’t get hurt.

She buried her face against Ansgar’s hard chest to hide her expression from the sheriff. Lobo was on the prowl again, and he had the scent of something in the wind.

“I’m too upset to talk about it right now,” she said in a muffled voice. “I’d like to leave. It’s been a really hard day.”

“I’ll walk you two out,” Whitsun said. “I want to see this fancy truck of yours that everybody’s talking about.”

“I would be most happy to show it to you,” Ansgar said. Oh, boy. Evie could hear the male pride in his voice. Men and their toys. “It is a piping hot ride.”

“Smoking hot,” Whitsun said, his eyes twinkling. “Piping hot refers to food.”

Ansgar’s expression became distracted, as if he were checking this information against his Dalvahni translator.

“Ah, yes,” Ansgar said. “My mistake. It is so smoking hot it will erupt your mind.”

The two guys were still talking truck when they stepped through the front door of the courthouse and they were attacked. Evie screamed as a black knife arched through the air and plunged into Ansgar’s chest. Blood spurted from the terrible wound and spread across the front of his starched blue shirt.

“Ansgar,”
she cried.

He groaned and fell to his knees, the light in his silver eyes fading. “Run, Evangeline.
Run,
” he said hoarsely.

She threw herself onto the steps beside him. “No, I won’t leave you. Let me help you.”

Invisible arms closed around her, lifting her away from Ansgar. “Let me go,” she screamed, kicking her legs and reaching for him.
“Ansgar.”

Their unseen assailant shoved a cloth over her face. She smelled paint thinner and cocoa, and everything went black.

Chapter Forty-one

E
vie coughed and sat up. Ansgar was dead. No one could survive a wound like that. She’d seen the knife sink into his chest and his expression of undisguised fear. Not for himself, for her. And the blood, so much of it, pumping out of the gaping hole and staining his shirt.

She was dizzy and queasy and her head felt like it was going to split, but she didn’t care.

He was dead. Nothing else mattered.

“Ah, so you are awake.”

Evie lifted her head, her vision blurred with tears. She sat on the floor of a richly appointed room with a high ceiling, arched, floor-length windows, and dark-paneled walls. Hundreds of knives in all shapes and sizes glittered in glass front cases. Blake Peterson sat on the other side of an enormous mahogany double pedestal desk with a leather inlaid top. He wore a look of smug satisfaction. Now would be a really good time to do the demon hunter bop, like she’d done the night of the Halloween ball. But she was too sick and weak from whatever evil cocktail Peterson had drugged her with to hold her head up, much less teleport.

“Feel bad, do you? Could have been the ether. I remember when I had my tonsils out. I threw up my toenails.” He paused. “I’ve heard, of course, that drugs don’t affect the Dalvahni. Don’t know if I envy them or pity them for that. Imagine my surprise when I learned that an innocent little thing like chocolate gets them intoxicated. I decided not to take any chances, though, so I mixed ether with pure cocoa, just in case some part of you is still human.”

“Cocoa?” Evie stared at him in dull incomprehension. Ansgar was dead. She should have made him understand how much she loved him when she had the chance, should have told him she forgave him for leaving, for everything. A dull weight pressed against her heart. There were so many things she wanted to say. Now she’d never have the chance.

“I put the word out that I’d pay for information about the Dalvahni,” he said. “Someone saw you at the bar the other night and noticed you got plastered on chocolate.” He chuckled. “Money is power, Miss Douglass, and I have a lot of money, thanks to dear old Dad. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that anything can be bought, for a price.”

Evie lifted a shaking hand to her brow. “Wait, how do you know that I’m—”

“Dalvahni?” He gave her a cold smile. He reminded her of a snake, with his smooth elegance and coiled watchfulness. “You are a silly piece. I noticed the change in you right away. You always were a pretty bit of goods, with that red hair and those big eyes and smooth skin. Nice tits, too. I like my women with meat on their bones.” His gaze drifted to her breasts and stayed there. “But after that demon hunter boyfriend of yours changed you, you practically glowed. Trey’s had his dick in a knot over you for months. You must have something mighty special between your legs. I’ve had a lot of poontang in my time, but none worth going to prison for.”

“You killed Meredith,” Evie said.

“Sorry, I can’t take credit for that one, though I’m not saying I didn’t think about it. Meredith was, shall we say . . . challenging.” Rising, he walked over to one of the cabinets and removed a wicked-looking hunting knife from one of the brackets. “I enjoy killing, Miss Douglass. I’m quite good at it. I enjoy the hunt and the feeling of power that comes from wielding death. Nothing else like it. The Dalvahni and I have that in common, I think, the joy of the hunt.”

“Ansgar is nothing like you, you sick bastard.”

Was.
Oh, God, Ansgar.

Peterson vanished in front of her. Evie gasped as she was grabbed by the hair and the knife was pressed against her throat. She smelled something sweet and fruity with woody undertones and, beneath that, the stench of something rotten.

Blake Peterson spoke in her ear, his voice honey smooth and deadly. “I’m a god, Miss Douglass. Your god because I hold your life in my hands. Do not despise a god.” The tip of the knife pierced her skin. “Have I mentioned that I like blood?” Evie shuddered as she felt the wet length of his tongue lap at the blood on her throat. “The demon in me likes the taste and smell of it, craves it. That’s why I kill.” To her surprise, he released her. Reappearing back at his desk, he opened a drawer and began to clean the knife with loving care. “Pity I can’t kill you. I would enjoy it. I’m extremely annoyed with you, you know. You’ve cost me my only grandson. He was a fool to take the fall for you.”

“You were there, in the office with me when I found Meredith. I recognize your scent. It’s frankincense.”

“Frankincense was used by the ancient Egyptians to embalm the dead. Did you know that? It was also used as a fumigant and it’s wonderful at masking odors.” He walked over and put the knife back in the case. “Yes, I was in the office with you that morning. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, I can make myself invisible. I was trying to figure out what to do when you so conveniently showed up.” He waved at one of the leather chairs that littered the room. “But, I forget my manners. Please, take a seat.”

“No, thank you. I’m leaving.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Blake said. He looked up as the door opened and Clarice stepped into the room on a heavy cloud of perfume. She was carrying a tray with glasses and a pitcher of iced tea. “There you are, my dear. Offer our guest some refreshment.”

Clarice waited until Evie rose with some difficulty from the floor and wobbled over to a leather chair.

With a vacuous smile, she offered the tray to Evie. “Tea?”

“No thank you,” Evie said. She wanted nothing to do with anyone or anything in this house. Blake Peterson was a psychotic mad man, and his wife wasn’t dealing with a full deck, either. Trey’s mother should be horsewhipped for leaving her son with these horrible people.