Devil's Paw (Imp Book 4) (25 page)

I watched, shocked, as the four hulking men shuffled out of their seats and began counting out money.

“And you,” she waved the spatula at me, and I looked at her, wide–eyed and respectful. “You get out of here and go cause trouble somewhere else. I don’t want to see you back here until after lunch. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” I replied, backing out of the room and heading upstairs to change.

The best way to explore a new place was on foot, and I was sorely out of shape. Candy and I hadn’t had much time for our regular jogs, and I needed to re–build my stamina if I had any intention of keeping up with her once I returned to Maryland. I threw on workout clothes, tied on my running shoes, and headed out the door, hoping I could find something interesting in this town. Gregory was still MIA (where the fuck was he?), and I’d still had no news from Wyatt. Waiting was not a strong skill of mine, but a good jog might serve to pass the time.

About half an hour into my run, my phone rang.

“Hello,” I wheezed at Wyatt. I could barely even manage that.

“Sam? You okay? You sound like you’re dying.”

I paused and tried to catch my breath. “I am. This fucking city is practically on the side of a cliff. I swear, less than a quarter mile of it is flat.”

“Well, I’ve got news, but it’s not exactly good.”

Great.
When was I going to get some good news?

“Paul Yong tried to get on a plane this morning around nine o’clock. He was buying a one–way ticket, had injuries and seemed very nervous, so they tried to detain him. He took off.”

Crap. “Any idea where he took off to?”

Wyatt’s voice was smug. “I thought you’d never ask. He caught the train to Vancouver. Small plane from Vancouver to Ketichikan. There he chartered a seaplane to Juneau. He’s due to arrive in an hour.”

Fuck! I hung up the phone, adrenaline spiking with the thought that I might miss my chance to nab this guy. Where had Gina said the seaplane base was? I looked at the sky, but no planes were visible, so I started jogging, only to halt and dial Wyatt back.

“Wait. You said he was injured? Injured how?” A demon should have been able to fix any injury. There had been blood around the hole in Seattle, and Gregory had said the demon had been injured at the gate. I’d just assumed it was due to his fight with the gate guardian. But he should have fixed himself by the time he got to the airport. It had been over twenty–four hours. Was he that low on raw energy that he couldn’t repair injuries, even slowly?

“There’s a video on YouTube from someone’s cell phone. I’ll send you the link. Evidently he made quite an impression at the airport. Dirty, torn clothing, limping from a bad gash to the right leg. He looks like someone beat the snot out of him too.”

“Thanks, Sweetie. I gotta run. I think the seaplane port is on the other end of the city, by the cruise ship docks, so I gotta haul ass.”

“Be careful, Sam. If this guy is hurt and desperate, he won’t think twice about using lethal force on anyone, Iblis or not. He wasn’t exactly sympathetic in the airport video.”

I ran, cursing the rolling terrain even in this relatively flat section of town as I headed south through back streets, past pizza places, office buildings, and various outfitters. I turned toward the Channel, putting on a burst of speed as I saw a small plane on the horizon. By the time I’d made it to the port, I was on the verge of a heart attack. But I’d made it.

The Cessna landed like a water skipper on the surface of the inlet the pontoons barely creasing the surface. It darted past the port, turning about once it had landed and slowed sufficiently. I struggled to catch my breath, hunched over with the worst side stitch in the history of the world. This fucker better be on the plane or I was going to have to yield to the urge to blow something up.

There was only one guy on the plane except for the pilot, thankfully, since I hadn’t had a chance to look at the YouTube video and didn’t know what the human form Raim was using looked like. He must have changed clothing. Tan pants and shirt were wrinkled, but didn’t seem like he’d been wearing them for an extended period or been fighting an angel in them. He walked down the dock, eyes darting around as if he expected an assassin at every signpost. He was clearly afraid, so I decided to take a cautious approach.

“Raim!” I shouted, waving at him from the parking lot at the end of the pier.

He jumped backward, his eyes narrowing.

“Dude! Bout time you got here. There’s an awesome fish place right up on the corner. Let’s grab some halibut and a cold one.”

He glared at me, clearly undecided whether to walk forward, run for it, or launch an attack. I took his hesitance for a good sign.

“Your household is frantic. Another demon saw you almost get dusted, down in Seattle, and told them you were trying to get home. They asked me to help you out.”

His body relaxed slightly, but he clearly didn’t fully trust me or want to drop his guard entirely at this point.

“Who the fuck are you?” He snarled, making an odd movement with his head, as if trying to crack his neck.

“Az.” I gave him one of my demon names, figuring he might recognize it.

His face remained wary, but he took a tentative step toward me. “How did you find me? How could you have known I was here?”

It was a valid point. “I’m the Iblis. There’s a sword, and it’s magical, and I can locate demons.” It was total bullshit, but I’m not good at making stuff up on the fly.

“That’s a crock of shit. You’re an imp. There’s no fucking way you’re the Iblis. How did you find me?”

I sighed, and put on my most suffering expression. “You haven’t exactly been stealthy. There’s a YouTube video of you at the airport all over the fucking Internet, and all your credit card activity is easily traceable. Dude, it’s the twenty–first century; you can’t take a shit anymore without someone putting it on your credit report and tagging you on Facebook.”

He took another step toward me. “I could take you with one claw tied behind my back. I guess if they wanted me dead, they would have sent something better than a piece–of–shit imp to take me out.”

I was a little insulted, but if it helped him drop his guard, I’d go along with it. “I’m just supposed to help you out. That’s all.”

He began to walk purposefully toward me, still making that odd movement with his head. The wary look had been replaced with a sneer.

“I need you to get me home. Right now, before they find me and take me back.” This demon was an arrogant ass. Less than five minutes and he was already ordering me around like I was part of his household.

“I
know.
You’ve come to the right place. This gate is virtually unguarded. Easy passage. Let’s get you some food and a cold beer, then I’ll help you get back home.” I hoped he didn’t ask me where exactly this gate was because I hadn’t a fucking clue.

I caught my breath as Raim drew near and tried not to stare. He was a wreck. His clothes hung off a gaunt frame, his eyes were fierce in bloodshot whites, greasy hair stuck to his head, clotted in places from some unknown liquid. Worse was his neck. It was torn and bloody, as if he’d dug something from it. Thick red caked his skin from chin to below his shirt collar. As he approached, he jerked his head to the side, making a clawing movement with a hand toward the bloodied area. What the hell had happened to him? Neither Baphomet nor the angel had shown this much physical damage. Raim wasn’t exactly a lightweight. Had the gate guardian done this to him? The humans in the airport? Had he burst into a bar with thirty werewolves?

“I want to go back to Hel. I don’t have any fucking time for food. I need to go home right now.”

“I know you do.” I tried for a servile tone. “The gate’s heavily guarded right now. We need to wait an hour. The guardian will head off for a lunch break, then we’ll make a break for it. We might as well eat while we’re waiting. You look like you haven’t eaten in weeks.”

“They didn’t feed us,” he snapped, as if it were my fault.

Who was “they”? There had been plenty of food in Baphomet’s house, and the Fremont place registered to Raim had shown signs of food preparation in the not so distant past. I shook my head. If he was the devouring spirit, maybe he had snapped, as Gregory had said, and was hallucinating.

There was a little seafood place four blocks down. I maneuvered him in that direction, thinking we could talk. I wasn’t fully convinced he was the murderer, the devouring spirit we were looking for. Just because he devoured, didn’t automatically make him guilty. Plus, something wasn’t right with this whole thing. He looked like he’d had the crap beat out of him, like he’d been half starved to death. Neither his house nor Baphomet’s seemed to have seen any kind of battle. Baphomet hadn’t had a mark on him, but Raim was in bad shape.

“Baphomet didn’t feed you?” I thought they were partners, but maybe something had gone sour and Raim had been imprisoned. Maybe Baphomet had deserved his demise.

“No, you stupid fucking imp. Baphomet was starving too. If I’d known it was going to go down like this, I never would have done it. I never would have agreed to help. That asshole Baphomet, it was all his fault. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him. This fucking crap is all because of him.”

Yeah, they all said that. When things turned to shit, it was always best to blame someone else, or claim you had no idea what you were doing. It didn’t work very often, but playing the innocent participant sometimes paid off.

“Did you kill that angel they found down in Mexico?” I asked admiringly. Killing an angel was a big deal. He’d be a superstar back home, and playing to his ego might get me a bit of the truth. This was the money shot. If he admitted to it, then Gregory was right. If not, well, then I’d need to find out some way around this whole thing.

He puffed up slightly then glared, again clawing at his neck. “Of course I did! I had to. He was going to kill me. Everything was in such an uproar after I killed him that I was able to escape.” His eyes narrowed, his mouth creasing to a bitter line. “Not that I can claim it or any status for it. You know …the manner of his death and all.”

Yeah, devouring didn’t carry the same cache as popping an angel’s head off or drowning him in a river of blood. I nodded sympathetically and cast him another admiring glance.

“And all the demons found dead and drained . . .?” I left the question hanging.

He laughed. “They were a bunch of stupid Lows. Lows and imps. Not like they mattered. Not like anyone even noticed they were gone. Baphomet orchestrated the whole thing, but he clearly fucked it up. I mean, look at me!”

My heart sank. Somehow I’d hoped that Raim was an innocent victim. Not that I relished being back to square one with no suspects, but I had hoped to find less of a psychopath. Raim hadn’t seemed to have snapped, but whatever his little project was with Baphomet, it involved thoughtlessly killing a slew of demons, and even an angel. He was strong enough to take down an angel and didn’t care to reign in his devouring urges. How many had he devoured? I didn’t even want to contemplate it.

The demon paused at the door of the eatery, his face resolute. “If the angels find me, they’ll take me back. They’ll kill me.”

“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “You devoured an angel. You’re in a lot of shit.”

“I’m in a lot of shit anyway,” he said, his face grim. “They broke me. I’m damaged, dying. I’m broken and I can’t fix myself. Maybe if I get home I’ll be okay. I’ve got to get through that gate.”

Unexpected sympathy lit through me. I pushed it away. Broken and dying didn’t excuse what he’d done, or his callous attitude toward the deaths of at least four demons. I might feel sorry for his damaged state, but that didn’t keep me from realizing what he’d become if he were allowed to return to Hel. There was no way I was letting this guy through that gate. He’d killed countless demons, killed an angel, and killed Baphomet. He’d leave a swath of death in his wake throughout Hel then devour all creation. I’d buy him a sandwich, lead him out of town into the wilderness, supposedly toward the gate, and then fight him in an unpopulated area. I reached up to my hair and felt the comforting hum of the feather barrette holding my hair back. Raim was far more powerful than I was, and I’d been forbidden from devouring. He hadn’t. I’d need an advantage to take him out, and my weapon, my symbol of office, was it. I’d lead him as far away as I could before I transformed the barrette into a lethal weapon to kill him, then shoot his head off. That way, no humans would get hurt in the crossfire. I had enough four–nine–five reports on my to–do list without adding more.

“Fix yourself and we’ll grab a quick bite to eat.” There was no way they’d let him in looking like a botched guillotine execution victim.

“I can’t. I fucking told you — I’m broken.” Raim’s eyes became glassy and unfocused, and he snarled once more, clawing at himself.

Crap, this was bad. This guy was more unstable than I’d thought. I needed to get him out of the harbor area right now before he lost it and launched himself at me or some passing tourist.

“Okay, okay,” I tried to calm him. “We’ll head for the gate. I’m sure the guardian has left by now.”

I led him across Franklin Street and into a densely wooded area. My map hadn’t indicated any houses up here, and I hoped to get him a bit away from the populated area before I blew his head off.

“How are you broken?” Why couldn’t he fix himself? And he seemed pretty mentally and emotionally unstable, even for a demon.

“I told you. They tried to kill me.” He choked, his words coming out in pained gasps as he clawed at his neck. I stepped up the pace, moving as quickly up the steep terrain as I could.

“The angel?” I remembered the white stuff Althean had shot at me last summer. If Gregory hadn’t been there to heal me, I would have died. Had the same thing happened to Raim? If so, no wonder he was so terribly injured.

“Two angels, and the others. We had a deal, but I should have known better. You can never trust an angel.”

“A deal? With an angel?” The guy was clearly deranged. He was a devouring spirit who’d killed off a bunch of demons, managed to get the upper hand in a fight with an angel, and was now seriously, if not mortally, wounded and on the run. I was beginning to think “broken” extended to his memory and cognitive process.