Personal Demon (17 page)

Christopher believed the other’s ignorance. He was just a young nest vampire learning to make his way in the world. Dating.

“What about Ivy?” Christopher heard himself ask. Wasn’t he trying to ignore her? “Know anything about a mortal called Ivy?”

All the colors of the other vampire’s emotions began strobing, and he gave a silver-blade-sharp laugh. “Poison Ivy? You don’t want a taste of that, dude. Bad blood. Very bad blood.”

Christopher grabbed the youngster’s throat, crushing out any more insults. The lad choked and clawed at him.
Christopher tossed him aside after a moment. Let him go back to his
date
.

Christopher turned and walked up the street.

I
t wasn’t hard to find the spot in the park because it was the place where life was absolutely absent. The trees and grass and little critters didn’t count. Christopher hadn’t physically been there before, but he knew it well. He had tasted it in Ivy’s tears.

Never mind that there was police tape up around the grove where the bodies had been found. Never mind the lights set up to help the forensic technicians continue their work into the night.

Whatever they found wouldn’t be the truth. Maybe the hows, certainly not the why. And the who? They wouldn’t believe it.

It mattered that the mortals didn’t find out or believe. To Ivy’s people, to Ivy. Still not his problem. This was a mortal atrocity, at least it was an atrocity being perpetrated on mortals, but no vampire was involved.

No vampire but him. If it wasn’t for Ivy, he wouldn’t be there, hiding behind a tree and trying hard to recall something that was wrong with the picture of this place in his memory. He didn’t want to be spotted, which meant he should keep part of his attention on the outer world, but night was getting on, as it always was. No matter how vulnerable it made him, he let all his senses out into the world.

It was the taste of tears that told him all he needed to know. It was the memory of the stone knife that told him what was going to happen.

And, now, no matter how he fought it, he had to find Ivy before it was too late.

F
eeling better?” Lawrence asked. “Selena said to be gentle with you when she dropped you off.”

“Selena also told Aunt Cate not to let me out tonight. We both know Aunt Cate’s going to kick me out to go look for crazed murderers as soon as she gets the chance.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

“The good witch of Cook County thinks I’m the one to handle this problem.”

“Well, she could be wrong,” Lawrence suggested.

Ivy looked up from the kitchen table at Lawrence. She was holding a cup of tea between her palms. There was a book in her lap, but for once she had no interest in reading. She’d been staring into the amber liquid, appreciating the warmth, the fragrant scent. It reminded her of Christopher.

Oh, Goddess.

It didn’t help that he’d showed up in an erotic dream
earlier in the day that still had her nerves jangling with yearning for sex. At least she’d stopped crying.

“I’m doing fine,” she finally answered Lawrence’s question. “How are you doing?” she asked the one-armed vampire.

“I am always improving. More tea?”

He’d made her the tea. Aunt Cate had sent her upstairs to the apartment over the magic shop. It was busy down there. Not in a good way.

The media had linked the murders to Satanic rituals—just because they were sort of right didn’t mean they should be stirring up people’s fears of magic. The stirring had brought the usual suspicious don’t-suffer-a-witch-to-live folk out in numbers to protest the very existence of a store that catered to magic practitioners. It had happened before, but there was a dangerous vibe emanating from the protesters that night. Murder made you scared, and the scared could lash out. Aunt Cate was counting on the cops to keep an eye on the crowd as, to the folks outside, putting up even the usual magical wards would have been seen as an evil spell aimed at them.

Lawrence went to look out the kitchen window, down at the alley behind the building. “People out there, too.”

“Waving pitchforks and torches?”

“One has a flashlight.” Lawrence laughed. “And he’s waving it.”

The Brits called flashlights torches. Ivy closed her eyes and shook her head. Lawrence was looking at her when she opened her eyes. “What?”

“What’s his name, this strigoi of yours?”

“Christopher. Not mine. You know that can’t happen. Thank goodness. No offense.”

“None taken. Christopher. Hmmm.” Lawrence rubbed his manly square jaw. “Never heard of him. And it’s not like we’re the largest ethnic group in the world. We’re all blood relations, in a way. What’s he look like?”

Lawrence was a good-looking fellow, as vampires tended to be. Christopher wasn’t handsome, but he was fascinating. And that smile—

Ivy put down her cup and sketched a crude cartoon of Christopher, using a pad of paper on the table. Lawrence looked over her shoulder to study the drawing. “He has nice eyes,” she said, almost apologizing for Christopher’s other physical faults. “And a beautiful voice.”

Lawrence smiled and shook his head. “What is it with American girls being turned on by English accents?”

“He doesn’t like my knowing he’s English,” Ivy said. “That bit of information got me in trouble.”

“Sorry I spoke up.”

“Sorry I repeated the information to him. What’s the big secret? Do you know why I’m in trouble?”

“I really don’t. Maybe it’s some secret the old-world ones are keeping, that’s my guess. They live in a very paranoid, insane culture over there, worse than even our deep underground nests.”

“Your what?”

He shook his head. “What’s in this tea? I shouldn’t have said anything about that, either.”

“I heard nothing,” Ivy assured him.

“I wish. And my worry.”

“You have to watch out living with us mortals. We’re tricky and worm things out of you.”

“I’ve never been very good at being secretive,” Lawrence said. “My opinion about you and Christopher is that you are connected the way Cate and I are. I don’t think you can do anything but blab around him. He’s like you, isn’t he? A fount of geeky information dying for someone to share it with. You’re a magpie who’s found her mate.”

Lawrence meant well, but everything he said was hurtful. “Stop it! You know I can’t have a vampire. I mean—I won’t.”

“But you’re starting to want one.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry about that.”

Well, it didn’t matter. She probably wasn’t going to survive this demon-hunting thing anyway.

Before she could manage to get into a deep feeling-sorry-for-herself funk, Aunt Cate came into the kitchen.

Cate looked out the kitchen window. “It’s clear out there,” she said.

“Have the protesters out front left?” Ivy asked. There had been quite a crowd on the sidewalk outside the shop entrance when she’d come in. The fear and anger in the air was nauseating. And it wasn’t just the usual suspects; the fear was spreading across the city, settling like a blanket.

When she had entered the magic shop, she’d been yelled at and called ruder words than
witch
by the angry group outside.

“They’re being escorted away,” Aunt Cate said. “Somebody threw a rock through the front window. I don’t like the dark energy that’s growing. It was time to disperse it, so I called the police. They already had a car outside.”

“A Bailey called the cops?” Lawrence clapped his hand over his slow-beating heart. “If you keep doing law-abiding things like that, I’m moving out.”

“I’m sure Great-grandpa Eamon’s rolling in his grave,” Ivy added.

“I doubt it,” Cate said. “The villagers who buried him drove a silver spike through his heart to pin him to the ground. I’ve been meaning to dig that up and sell it on eBay.” Aunt Cate poured herself a mug of tea and sat down at the table. “Why do they have to picket my place whenever there are rumors of Satanism? As if I would knowingly sell even an herb or tarot deck to a Satanist. I do not deal with amateurs.”

Lawrence and Ivy shared a look, and laughed.

“All right, I am a witch, and I keep a vampire in the
house.” She gestured toward the street, where scared people had been protesting witches living in the neighborhood. “But they don’t know that.”

“Keep me? You make me sound like a gigolo,” Lawrence said.

“Well, aren’t you?” Christopher asked.

Everyone whirled to face the doorway. Ivy rose to her feet and took a step toward him. At least she hadn’t screamed and run to throw her arms around him. Or dropped the mug to crash dramatically at her feet. She still quivered at the sight of him, at the sound of his voice. Shit.

He stood with his arms crossed. Who knew for how long?

No one had noticed him come in. Not the vampire or the senior witch, or Ivy, who at least imagined she had some sort of connection to the English vampire.

“You’re very good,” Lawrence said.

“You’re in pain,” Christopher said to Lawrence. He looked angrily at the mortals staring at him. “Are you being held against your will?”

“Well, I never!” Aunt Cate rose indignantly to her feet.

Lawrence grabbed her arm. “It’s a valid question, love. If you’re a vampire.” He didn’t take his gaze from Christopher’s as he spoke. “All is well here,” he said. “I am exactly where I want to be.”

“What happened to you?”

“These mortals are my friends and allies. That’s all I intend to tell you. You weren’t invited here,” Lawrence reminded Christopher. “You are not the Enforcer of the City.”

S
anity at last! Christopher grinned at finally finding a proper strigoi who knew the established rules of vampire society. “May I ask your name and affiliation?”

“Are you going to tell me yours?” the one-armed vampire answered. “Since you entered my nest uninvited.”

“Christopher Bell. You wouldn’t know me.”

“Lawrence,” the other answered. “My lady, Caetlyn,” he introduced the witch. “Ivy, you already know.”

Christopher had gone directly from the park to the shop where he’d found Ivy a couple of nights before. He hadn’t had to trace her aura; he’d simply known where she was. He hadn’t been surprised to discover a crowd situation when he got there. The police were there as well. Somehow, he was not surprised to find Ivy and chaos within rock-tossing distance of each other. And from the glass he’d stepped on as he went to the door, some of that had been going on. He had not enjoyed the walk. Mortal fear scratched his senses, the stench of it burned. It teased at faint memories.

But all the ugliness faded from his mind when he closed the magic-shop door behind him. The wards—the protective spells shielding the interior from evil—were not completely in place, but the residue of earlier ones didn’t draw on anything but light magic for protection. This was not a house of dark magic, no matter what the fools outside were shouting. It was a wonder even the faint wards had let him enter. Perhaps they’d accommodated his entrance because he was here on righteous business.

Or perhaps it was his connection to Ivy, and the guards on the place were arranged to accept the bit of darkness in her. Whatever the reason, he’d had no trouble quietly ascending the stairs. About halfway up, he’d encountered the pain of one of his own kind. He’d almost rushed to the rescue, but restraint had won out. He now saw that the wards were used to having vampires around.

“Strigoi and witches and vampire hunters—”

“Oh my,” Ivy added.

“You’re an odd lot. Probably even odder than I imagine. What exactly are the Covenants?” he asked Lawrence.

It was Ivy who replied. “You can look them up on the Web site.”

“Where’s Ariel?” Once again he spoke to Lawrence.

“In Vegas,” the woman he’d felt come up behind him answered.

The others had all been aware of her approach but had controlled their physical and psychic reactions enough to bluff a normal strigoi. Which he was not, in so many ways.

Christopher stepped aside to let her pass. She was tall, with freckles and long red curls. There was vampire blood in her veins, but her energy was powerful enough on its own to rivet attention.

“The legendary Selena,” Christopher said.

She lifted an eyebrow sarcastically. “You never heard of me until a couple of nights ago. And I’d certainly never heard of you before a couple of days ago. What do you want with Ariel?” She glanced protectively at Ivy. “More importantly, what do you want with my cousin?”

How had he let himself get involved with this odd group of mortals? How had the strigoi of this territory gotten involved with them? These mortals shouldn’t know who Ariel was. They shouldn’t—

His attention went back to Ivy. “What do you mean, look them up on the Web site?”

Oh, bugger all! Never mind.

He grabbed Ivy and left. The mortals couldn’t stop him, and the vampire didn’t try.

T
his is the third time you’ve abducted me, you know.”

“It grows tedious, I agree,” Christopher said. They’d stopped at a busy street corner waiting for a red light long enough to bicker. “And the first time wasn’t an abduction, it was a rescue.”

“So you say.”

He had his arm around her shoulders. Not just to keep control of her but because once again he’d dragged her off without her having enough layers of clothing for the Chicago weather.

“You know it was a rescue. I’m rescuing you from your dangerous family now.”

She didn’t argue with that statement. The light changed, and he rushed her forward.

“You have no idea where we’re going, do you?” she asked.

“No. But we’re going to have a long, honest talk wherever
we end up. You know more than you think you know, as well as knowing more than you want to tell me.”

“You’re strigoi, a stranger in this territory.”

“Don’t talk like a vampire when you’re not one.”

“Don’t get involved with demon hunting when you know you can’t and don’t want to.”

Some honesty at last! Even though it meant she knew about the noninterference agreement between the strigoi and the extradimensional creatures. They’d fought wars with each other in the past. Now it just seemed prudent to leave each other alone.