Personal Demon (21 page)

“It’s not locked,” a woman’s voice came out of the speaker.

Ivy’d been hoping no one was home.

She pushed the gate open. It locked behind her. Lovely. It was a long walk up the diagonal brick walk to the house. She didn’t hurry along. She admired the gardens as she walked through them. Even so late in the autumn, the plantings were lovely. She knew there was much more than magnificent landscaping going on out here. There wasn’t a plant on the exclusive three-acre property that didn’t have specific magical uses. Wicked witching paid very well.

No one answered the door when she rang the bell. That would have been too normal. Of course, the door swung open for her. It even creaked.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Grandma!” Ivy shouted as she stepped into the entrance hall. Her words echoed in the huge space.

A normal person might seek out a grandmother in the comfort and warmth of her kitchen. Ivy headed upstairs to Brianna McCoy’s chemistry lab. If the neighbors only knew…

“Grandma, are you in there?” she called when she reached the lab door. There was no way she would, or could, walk in there uninvited. A cackle of mad laughter answered her from inside the lab. “Oh, please!” Ivy took this as permission to enter and pushed open the door.

“How’s business?” she asked when she saw her grandmother by a lab table, peering into a bubbling glass beaker. Ivy did not want to inquire what foul spell the black witch was brewing.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, it’s only crystal meth.”

Ivy hadn’t wanted to know that, either. She took a step back. “Isn’t that dangerous to make?”

Brianna McCoy gave a derisive snort. “Does this look like some trailer-park kitchenette I’m working in?”

“No.”

Grandma did have that doctorate in chemistry and another in botany to go along with all her magical training. Smart woman, Brianna. She was also still absolutely, magnificently beautiful, looking to be in her thirties when she was near seventy. Grandma claimed it was the best plastic surgery money could buy, plus great demon sex, that kept her young. She had the family’s red hair, in a shade of copper, worn short and spiky at the moment. Ivy had inherited her grandmother’s hair color, but dyed it blond just to be different from other Baileys, McCoys, Duchets, Crawfords and the rest of the familia. She’d tried goth black in her teens, but neither the look nor the outlook of goth culture suited her. All of her piercings had long ago healed over.

“You aren’t planning on calling the cops on me, are you?”
Brianna asked, as Ivy continued to stand hesitantly just inside the doorway.

There wouldn’t be any evidence of illegal activity in the house when the cops arrived, Ivy knew that. “Your secrets are always safe with me, Grandma.”

If she wanted to get out of there alive, that is.

“I need to concentrate. Have a seat,” Brianna said. She pointed toward the other side of the room. “Have some tea. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done here.”

Ivy went over to the table set in the space by a bay window. An Irish linen tablecloth covered the table, there was a blue-and-white floral china tea set and a plate of cookies sitting on the table. Ginger cookies. Her favorite. And she caught the scent of Earl Grey tea. Also a favorite. She’d been expected. Not that Grandma baked, or brewed tea, that’s what servants and security guards were for.

Ivy was still pleased at the thoughtfulness. Not that her wariness was in the least bit lulled, but she was still pleased at the familial gesture. She poured herself a cup, took a deep sniff of the bergamot-scented steam.

“Shall I read your future in the tea leaves?” Ivy asked after she’d finished two cups and checked her watch. A half hour had passed. “I’ve been practicing.”

“You’ve been drinking a lot of tea lately.” Grandma turned from her work. She took the chair opposite Ivy. “Fi Fie Foe Fum.”

Smelling the blood of an Englishman, was she?

“No one has added any foreign matter to the current mix in my veins,” Ivy said.

“Yet.”

Ivy took a bit of cookie, savored the flavor, wondered how a synesthete vampire would react to the spice. She tasted it, but did Christopher hear ginger? See it? Did all his extra senses help him survive? Or hinder his chances for
immortality? How did even a normal person handle immortality, anyway? It didn’t seem a pleasant prospect to Ivy. Especially when one of the Laws of the Blood was that you couldn’t continue a relationship with a companion after you’d turned them. They were cursed to be forever alone.

“Stupid curse,” she muttered.

“They totally need to get over it,” Grandma agreed. When Ivy gave her a confused look, she went on, “You are thinking about your vampire boyfriend, yes?”

“Yes.” Ivy sighed. She didn’t want to know what her grandmother knew, or how. Crystal ball, maybe. Family spy, more likely. “He’s not why I’m here.”

Brianna McCoy poured herself a cup of tea. “He should be why you’re here. I’m the only one in the familia who can give you any real, practical advice about romancing the dark side of things. Selena is far too romantic,” she added.

“It’s hardly a vampire romance when my blood will poison him, now is it?”

“Has he tasted you? How did he react?”

“He didn’t spit it out.”

Or have a seizure. Or throw her out of bed. Or break her neck. She didn’t know what was going on between them. Or even what she wanted to go on.

Christopher claimed she
belonged
to him but Ivy didn’t know what that meant. He’d said something about keeping her as a pet. She’d like to think of that as a joke on his part. But involvement with him was a life-or-death matter that she was going to have to confront seriously soon.

Duty first, though. Which was why she’d made that dangerous visit to her grandmother’s lair. And it was a black spider’s lair, no matter how nice the place was.

“How’s—Grandfather—doing?”

Brianna took a sip of tea, looking at Ivy over the delicate rim of her teacup. “Nice of you to ask,” she said after putting
the cup down. “He’s not responsible for the dark sacrifices, if that’s what your ridiculous aunt wants you to believe.”

“How’s he doing?” Ivy repeated.

“Not well,” Brianna answered. “He’s safely locked in the basement right now. You know I take good care of him when he’s disturbed.”

Ivy nodded. “What’s disturbing him at the moment?”

The demon in the basement—the demon who’d tainted her own blood—was not the most mentally stable of creatures. What demon was? But he was highly intelligent for one of his kind. He was a powerful manipulator of energy, a top sorcerer in his universe and this one. He was a prince of demons. He was a happily married old guy who lived in luxury in an expensive gated community in the Chicago ’burbs with the wicked-drug-lord witch of the north side. Most of the time he was fine. Although defining the word
fine
could be a bit complicated.

But being from one universe and dwelling in another was even more complicated than defining
fine
. The pressure got to him sometimes. Okay, he went batshit crazy and would have destroyed the world first and apologized to Grandma later if she let him. Which she never did. Her love for him, and her protecting the world from his bad days, was the saving grace that kept the white witches of this universe from taking her out. Since black and white needed to balance out, Brianna McCoy was the designated driver of the black car.

“What do you know about the demon spells getting people killed?” Ivy asked.

“I know that your grandfather is not involved.” She put a hand over Ivy’s, looked worriedly at her. “Someone using demon spells is trying to take over his territory. This isn’t good for him.”

“It’s not good for the people getting killed, either.”

“It won’t be good for the world at large if this wannabe demon lord succeeds. He’s taken over some magic users already, hasn’t he?”

Ivy nodded. While it was true that magic didn’t affect most of the population of the world, the people magic did affect could certainly be used to cause a lot of misery for those in the normal world. Ten, twelve percent of a population of nearly seven billion people reacting to magic, was a lot of people.

“Armageddon is not what I want for Yule, this year,” Ivy said.

“Or a vampire in your Christmas stocking?”

Ivy shrugged. “Do you know anything specific about this demon trying to take over from Grandpa?”

“You should ask him yourself. You should talk to him, see if you can make anything of the visions he’s having.”

I
vy almost choked on a sip of tea.

Ivy so did not want this proposed family visit. But there’d been lots of things she didn’t want to do in the last few days that were also absolutely necessary.

“He won’t bite you,” Grandma said. “Unlike your latest boyfriend.”

Ivy gave her a stiff smile. “Ha. Ha.” She stood. Better get on with it.

“A couple of things before you go down,” Brianna said.

Ivy waited, happy to put this off as long as possible.

“One,” Brianna said, “does your community know where every magic user in the territory is? I’ve heard you’re being stalked. Think about who from your past might want to do that.”

Ivy nodded. “Yeah. Good thought. Thanks. The second thing?”

“Leave your bag here, dear. The obsidian blade your aunt gave you will disturb your grandfather. We never, ever want to disturb your grandfather. Do we?”

To disturb Brianna’s McCoy’s demon lover would be to disturb Brianna McCoy. Ivy never, ever wanted to do that.

“I hope I can be as mean as you are when I grow up, Grandma,” Ivy said.

“I’m sure you will be. If you grow up.” She shook her head. “A vampire. Silly girl.” She waved Ivy toward the lab door.

Ivy took the elevator down from the second floor. The demon wasn’t kept in the basement during his bad spells, but held in a secure subbasement two levels below the basement. Everything in what was cheerfully referred to as the Cage Level was made of a cold, shiny black metal not of this earth. The guards on the doors leading to the Cage weren’t from around here, either. Ivy suspected that some of them had worked as orc extras in the
Lord of the Rings
movies, saving the production money on makeup. Best not to inquire of the sinister creatures who opened door after door for her. It was doubtful if any of them had a sense of humor—or a sense of anything other than complete and ruthless loyalty to their masters. They all sniffed her before letting her by, identifying her demon blood relationship to the demon and the witch.

She wondered which, if any of them, was responsible for baking those great ginger cookies.

You babble when you’re scared, inside or out. Chatter, chatter, chatter.

Christopher.

He couldn’t be here. In her head. It wasn’t possible. She stopped walking but continued slowly toward her goal when the nearest demon guard growled inquiringly.

She touched the black metal when she reached the next door.
Feel that?

It burned cold on her skin.

The guards who opened the doors all wore heavy insulated gloves. The place was protected, psychically, magically, physically.

I sense that no one is supposed to break out. I’m breaking in.

How long have you been—?

Ginger tastes red.

That makes sense.

She tried to recall if she’d wondered about Christopher’s extra senses before or after discussing vampires with her grandmother. She blocked the memory of earlier in the day from her consciousness. She would hide as much of herself from the intruder as she could for now. Other things required her attention.

Another door was opened before her. The next door in line was also black, but it was heavy, silver-bound ebony. Spells in beautiful cursive script were carved into the hard wood.

Beyond that door a demon was roaring in pain.

The sound broke Ivy’s heart. She began to cry for the animal agony pouring through the sound. She hadn’t expected that reaction. She wanted to help him.

He was a demon.

He is your blood kin. And a sentient being in need.

She wasn’t sure if the thoughts belonged to her, the vampire, or both of them.

She didn’t want to feel sorry for a monster, but she couldn’t cut off her emotions. No reason to be cold as long as you did what you had to.

She turned the key in the lock, heavy, silver, inscribed with runes and covered in ice. Doing what she had to do.

However, in Ivy’s opinion, no one should ever see their grandfather naked, no matter what species he was. Grandpa
was as red as Hellboy, but a lot better-looking. The size and prominence of his junk was hard to ignore.

Avert thine eyes, woman,
the vampire in her brain said.

The demon was manacled to the wall, wrists and ankles in heavy cuffs. An iron chain was around his waist. It looked cruel, but the restraints were of his design. He knew what needed to be done to keep his madness at bay. He did this to himself to keep from killing the world. You had to admire him, in a way. Oh, he caused plenty of damage in his sane state, but the violence was selective. He’d never practiced dark sacrifice to build power. Of course, he didn’t need to.

Ivy concentrated her attention on the demon’s face. The screaming ended abruptly. Glowing red coal eyes looked at her, into her.

The angry scream nearly tore her apart.
GONE! GET OUT! PARASITE GET OUT! GET OUT!

Pain in her head drove her to her knees. The demon hurt her, but he wasn’t shouting at her. She was empty when the pain stopped. Or the pain stopped when she was empty. Christopher’s presence no longer shared her mind.

“Thanks, Grandpa,” she managed to croak. Her throat ached, so she must have been screaming. Her gratitude was minimal, but she accepted that what he’d done was his way of protecting her. She hoped Christopher wasn’t seriously injured.

The demon was grinning at her.
Your parasite was strong. That was fun.

His eyes might be red coals, but they were really quite beautiful. The expression in them was lucid at the moment. On the edge of lucidity, anyway.