Just One Bite (17 page)

My heart stopped. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hardly. This particular demon was once a serial killer back in the seventies. He faced off with the cops, they won, and he took a bullet to the head. The body went six feet under and the spirit headed straight to Hell. He’s been serving the Big Guy for the past couple of decades. He escaped a few weeks ago and I’ve been chasing him ever since.”

“But he hasn’t actually killed anyone since the escape, right?”

“Wrong. Once he settled into a new body—it took about a week for him to overpower the guy’s spirit—he sliced up a woman from Long Island and two girls from Jersey.”

“So he could be in Long Island or Jersey?” It wasn’t as specific as I would have liked, but at least it narrowed things down some.

“All three bodies were found in the city. We know from the past that he doesn’t like to make the actual kill too far from where he does his shopping.”

“And he shops where?”

“The two Jersey girls frequented the same club in lower Manhattan. That’s where he met them. The Long Island woman he picked up at a bar just around the corner. Both places were near Times Square, so we’ve been combing the clubs and bars in that area for some sign of him—a feeling, a smell,
something.
So far we’ve come up with zilch. He must be lying low.”

“Or watching
CSI: Miami
reruns,” the words came out before I could stop them. “Or, you know, whatever.”

He went silent for a long moment before he murmured, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“No.” I was most definitely NOT holding some
thing
back. Rather, I was holding a lot of somethings back. Guilt niggled at me and I decided to launch my own offensive as a diversion. “Is there something
you’re
not telling
me
?”

“Hell, yes.”

My curiosity was piqued. “Like what?”

“Don’t worry about it. Just be careful and keep your eyes open. If you see anything remotely suspicious,
do not
interfere.”

I crossed my fingers. “I would never do such a thing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“No, really.”

“Keep your nose out of it.”

“Your wish is my command.”

He went suspiciously quiet again, as if he didn’t buy my cooperation. Smart guy. “I mean it, Lil. We’re talking torture and mutilation here. This demon is extremely dangerous. He’s just settled into a new body, which buys us a little time before he gets homicidal. When the possession is still in the early stages, there’s an internal struggle going on. The battle will keep him busy for now. But once he wins the fight, he’ll start killing again. Guaranteed.”

“Even if he’s possessing someone who’s kind and sweet and has really fantastic computer skills?”

“What?”

“What if this person has such a good spirit,” I rushed on, the words tumbling out before I could stop them, “that he won’t be able to take complete control and do anything really awful?” I held tight to my hope. “That could happen, right?”

“Unless we’re talking a bona fide saint, the answer is no. He’ll overpower whichever human spirit he’s battling right now, and then he’ll kill again. And again. And he won’t stop until I stop him.”

“By chopping off his head and cutting him into tiny pieces?”

“The body is his vessel. His source of strength. If we destroy the body, he has no protection.”

“Unless he jumps into another body, right?”

“Exactly. That’s why it’s important that you don’t interfere. You’re just as vulnerable to him as any human.”

“Then why didn’t he possess me when I tackled him outside the church?”

“Maybe you didn’t hold on to him long enough. Touching is key in the transfer process. Anyone’s fair game if they touch him, even a vampire. It’s not as likely, of course, because a vampire’s spirit is much stronger than the average human’s and, therefore, harder to suppress. But it
has
happened. My brothers and I are the only ones not susceptible to him.”

“If you guys are all that, then how come he escaped in the first place?”

“A fluke. We’d just arrived on the scene when he had the run-in with you. After that, Mo and Zee were dragging him toward the sanctuary so he would be trapped—a demon can’t escape a religious dwelling or any space marked with holy water or religious symbols. That’s when the maintenance man showed up. He accidentally bumped into the demon, and just like that he was gone. We didn’t realize it until after the fact. By the time we realized what had happened and tracked down the maintenance guy, the demon had already body-hopped again.”

Straight into Evie.

“We’re retracing his steps and trying to pinpoint when and where the demon bailed,” Ash went on. “We can’t risk another escape. That’s why my brothers and I have to be the only ones involved in the takedown. A demon can’t possess another demon.”

Nor could he possess anyone pure of heart (see the saint reference above). At least, that’s what I’d learned during the demon marathon. That, and the average minion of Satan could levitate furniture and cuss like a sailor and do Olympic-worthy projectile vomiting.

“Can’t you just cast him out of the body first and then take him back to Hell?”

“And how do you suggest I do that? A spirit is intangible. I have to have something tangible to take back.”

“Why not force him into a bottle?”

“He’s a demon, not a genie.”

“A Ziploc baggie?” I was grasping, I knew. But I had to figure out a way to help Evie.

“He’s not a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. There’s only one way to take him back, and that’s via a sliced and diced tangible body.”

“Then how did he escape the flames of Hell in the first place?”

“A near-death experience. People don’t always see the proverbial light. Sometimes, they take a right turn and end up seeing hellfire and brimstone instead. In this case, a certain bad guy doomed to Hell arrived a little too soon via a near-fatal car accident. The demon hopped a ride when the Big Boss sent the new arrival packing.”

“I still don’t—” I started, but Ash cut me off.

“I mean it, Lil. Don’t interfere.” And then he hung up.

I mulled over Ash’s words for a split second and then I nudged Vinnie’s arm. “Wake up.” When he didn’t budge, I pinched him.

He bolted upright, his disoriented gaze bouncing around the inside of the car. “What the fuck?”

“Let’s go.”

“Home?” He looked so hopeful (and tired) that I almost nodded. Almost.

But I’d already made up my mind to help Evie and I wasn’t changing it, no matter if Ash had given me the heebie-jeebies.

I know, right? Super-vamp, invincible, yada yada. Still, my heart pounded and my stomach jumped and I felt as if I’d swallowed one of my dad’s golf balls.

“Times Square,” I forced the words out. “And hurry it up. We don’t have much time.”

Seventeen

I
t was half past midnight and we were on our fifth club when I finally spotted Evie.

I stood just inside the doorway of Ladies Night, a popular lesbian martini bar on West Forty-third, just around the corner from the Hard Rock Cafe. It was a far cry from my favorite haunts (Butter and the Beatrice Inn), but it definitely fit with the demon’s MO. The place screamed chick magnet.

Pink walls accented a mirrored bar that ran the length of one wall. A sizable dance floor dominated the far end of the room. The crowd was a mix of blue-collar and professional, the women dressed in everything from business suits to jeans and tees. The air reeked of estrogen and cigarette smoke.

My gaze sliced through the hormonal fog, to the couple at the far end of the bar.

Evie stood with a buff redhead wearing a tank top that read
FOREVER FITNESS.
I sent out a silent vibe and the woman glanced up.

Jean Crowder. Twenty-eight. Personal trainer and editor for
Bitch Beat,
the official newsletter for the New York chapter of Women for the Advancement of Lesbian Culture. She was actively looking for that one special woman (or two) so that she could give up the bar scene and party in the comfort of her own living room (complete with video cam). She thought the female in front of her had terrific camera potential. She wasn’t too thrilled with the bad breath, but a few tic tacs and
poof,
no longer an issue.

Evie laughed and the redhead retreated a few inches.

Make that several tic tacs and a year’s supply of Binaca.

“Can I get you something?” The voice drew my attention and I turned toward the six-foot-plus brunette who towered behind the bar. “Lemon martini? They’re our specialty tonight.”

“No, thanks.”

“Aw, come on. My treat.” The voice came from my right. I twisted to find a short, voluptuous Puerto Rican standing next to me. Her name was Maria. She was this month’s centerfold for
Lowrider
magazine and an advocate for same-sex marriages. She spent her days signing autographs for slobbering male fans and her nights searching for Miss Right. She eyeballed me and smiled.

Clearly her search was over.

“Two, please,” she told the bartender, “with two shots of lemon schnapps on the side.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” My gaze shifted back to Evie. My first instinct was to rush over, grab her by the arm, and haul her outside.

Definitely a bad idea, I decided, as I watched the redhead slide a possessive arm around Evie’s shoulders. There was no way I would make it two steps without a catfight.

Not that I couldn’t hold my own. A little fang and some preternatural strength, and Red would most definitely back off. But drawing attention to myself by playing the vamp card was the last thing I needed. It was bad enough that Evie might start sliming Red at any moment. I wasn’t adding crazed vampire to the
SLOBBERING DEMON
headline sure to appear in the next issue of
Bitch Beat.

As for overzealous extremist…that I could deal with.

“One drink,” Maria persisted.

“Sorry.”

“Then at least tell me how you keep your ass looking so good?” She leaned back and eyeballed my trunk. “Butt Buster? Crotch Cruncher?”

“Mother Nature. How about you?”

She slapped her right cheek. “Glute sculptor. Bought it off the QVC. By the time you make the four easy payments, bam, you’re bootylicious.” She smiled. “You sure you don’t want that drink?”

“Not tonight.” I gave her an apologetic smile and a mental
You’ll never meet someone in a place like this. If you really want to make a connection, you should try a dating service.

Her eyes widened as she read the thought and then her brown eyes calmed to a murky chocolate. She spaced out for the next few moments so that I could make my escape.

I slipped my card into her back pocket. Hmmm…that glute sculptor was definitely worth the money.

Leaving her staring into space, I headed for Evie.

“I’m Lil,” I said as I waltzed up to Red and reached for her hand. I gave it an enthusiastic squeeze. “We’re so happy to have you on board. I’m sure Evie has told you all about our organization and how you can join the fight to eliminate the propaganda that is poisoning our society.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You
did
tell her, didn’t you?” I turned my attention to Evie and arched an eyebrow.

Desperation sparked in my loyal sidekick’s gaze and I knew Evie hadn’t given up the fight completely. I held tight to a sudden burst of hope as the faint glimmer faded into the glittering black nothingness of the demon’s stare. “Get lost,” Evie said, her voice low and guttural. “I’m busy.”

“Oh.” My gaze ping-ponged from Evie to Red and back. “
Oh.
Sorry. My bad.” I shrugged. “I guess you haven’t told her yet.”

“Told me what?” Red looked puzzled.

“Who we are.”

Red’s gaze ping-ponged to Evie. “What is she talking about?”

I beamed. “We’re with the Society for the Preservation of Heterosexual Relationships—SPHR for short. I’m the head recruiter.” I turned toward Evie. “And this is our president.”

“Yeah, right.” Red put her back to me and focused on Evie.

So much for overzealous extremist.

My fingers were a few inches shy of closing over Evie’s upper arm when I heard Vinnie’s voice above the
boom, boom, boom
of the music.

“Just grab the dyke already and let’s get the hell out of here.”

The entire place seemed to come to a collective pause. Heads swiveled. Spines stiffened.

A heartbeat later, the three of us were being ushered toward the rear exit by a mammoth of a woman named Bertha. She had me by one hand, Evie by the other, and she was shoving us along behind Vinnie. I kept my gaze trained on my friend and prayed that her head didn’t spin.

Her eyes glittered with anger, but at the same time there was a distinct flicker of relief. Evie was fighting, all right.

Atta girl.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Vinnie grumbled as Bertha kept pushing us along. “Don’t get your jockstrap in a wad.”

A few more steps and the door opened. Bertha shoved us out into the alley.

“Heterosexual assholes,” Bertha muttered. The door slammed shut and I turned on Evie while Vinnie went to set the car.