A Demon Bound (Imp Book 1) (12 page)

“You just said no one has ever survived a fight with an angel. So isn’t this rather suicidal?”

“I’m special,” I replied.

“Special, like maybe stupid? Or reckless beyond all belief? Or with a death wish?” Wyatt was beginning to sound angry. He was right on a few of those points though.

“I don’t have much choice, Wyatt. I killed one of them and now I owe the werewolves a service.”

“This isn’t service, this is suicide,” he interrupted. “Tell them no.”

“I’ve been exposed. They know who and what I am and have threatened to bring the angels to my door. I can’t hide from them, they can identify me no matter what form I take. I’ll never be able to return. This way at least I’ll have a chance of staying, or coming back.”

Wyatt shook his head, unconvinced. “No. Tell them no.”

“If I do this, they’ll cover for me, they’ll run interference with the angels, they’ll make it so I actually have a chance to stay here. Plus, they’ll protect you. You’re in danger from the angels, too.”

“Just because we’re friends?” Wyatt asked. “I thought angels were loving and forgiving. They’d really hunt me down and kill me just for being friends with you?”

I didn’t want to let him know that I’d marked him. When I’d almost Owned him, I’d left enough of my signature on him that he was clearly identifiable as mine. He could have had a big fucking sign on his forehead and it would have been less noticeable.

“Angels are psychotic assholes,” I told him. “They’ll kill everyone who has associated with me.” Not true, but it might make him feel better. Like he was in good company.

“Sam, how are you going to kill an angel and survive? You can’t even stay on your horse.”

“I’ve been locked down pretty tight in this world, so you don’t realize the extent of my abilities. Besides Candy is calculating beyond belief. She’s an information warehouse, and she’s anal about details. I think with her dotting the ’I’s and me exploding stuff, we’ll make this work.”

Wyatt stared at me. He was mad, and worried.

“I’m in on this. I’m coming with you.”

“No fucking way. Absolutely not.”

“I’m not staying back here like a swooning maiden, safe in my house, while you ride off and battle angels. You’re my best friend. No way you’re going to do this without me.” He looked me straight in the eye. “I’m not being your proxy unless you include me.”

Humans were fragile. Soft and squishy. He’d get caught in the crossfire, he’d be in danger. Plus if an angel saw him with me, then they’d definitely connect the dots on our relationship. I didn’t give a flying fuck if Candy got killed, but I couldn’t bear the thought of Wyatt dead.

“Sam, the past two years that I’ve known you have been the best in my life. I should have abandoned my house and run screaming after Friday night, when you explained to me what you were and what kind of things you do to us humans. I know you’ll probably eventually do that to me, too, and if I had any common sense I’d never see you again. But, you
are
my best friend. You make me feel alive, like I want to do crazy stuff. I want to do crazy stuff with you. I’m not leaving you to face this thing, friendless and alone.”

We stood silent for what seemed like hours. This was beyond stupid, but I couldn’t say no to Wyatt.

“Okay, you’re in.”

Chapter 9

I
strolled into The Eastside Tavern and grabbed a quiet table out of the way. Some people appeared to have never left the place. Maybe they had a cot set up in the dry goods storage area for naps. The guy with the Rip Van Winkle beard was propping his chair against the wall in a corner and I truly don’t think he moved since Friday night. The pretty leggy woman was playing pool this time. I guess there were regulars and there were super regulars here.

I figured Candy for a prompt kind of woman, so I had come a bit early to scope out the place and make sure I grabbed a private table. That way no one would hear us discussing killing angels and think we needed guys in the padded van to come haul us away. Wyatt was to come in a few moments after she arrived. I wasn’t sure she’d come in if she saw me sitting with him, so he was back in the banquet area socializing with the staff. As soon as I had plopped into a chair, a waitress sat a cold shot of vodka in front of me and beamed at me happily.

“My name is Kelly, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

I looked at the waitress. She had to have been over two hundred and fifty pounds with light blond hair in a pony tail and smooth glowing porcelain skin. She was really pretty, and I thought it was unfortunate for her that fashion right now did not favor a generous build. I wondered what “taking care of” encompassed. Back home, that phrase would have meant she was mine to do whatever I wanted with for the evening, but here those things would be frowned upon. Pity, because I found her very attractive.

She smiled at me expectantly, glancing alternately between my face and the vodka encouraging me to drink it up. The older woman behind the bar was nodding and smiling too. I felt like one of those celebrities in a foreign country that have to eat the raw pig’s testicles or they’d insult their host. I wasn’t fond of the lemon vodka they’d brought me, but at least it was cold. I raised it in a toast to the woman behind the bar and threw it down as fast as I could. Ugh. Nasty.

“Can I get a Bud Light?” I croaked resisting the urge to suck down my water. I remembered asking for cold vodka before, but I can’t believe the bartender would have remembered. She’d barely acknowledged my presence. Of course, I had left with Wyatt, and he seemed to be a bit of a favorite son around here. He must have called ahead for them to have had it chilled like this. It was such a sweet, thoughtful thing to do; I was astounded.

“I’ll bring you a piece of cherry pie too. It’s homemade,” the waitress said before hustling off.

Cherry pie and Bud Light? Maybe she would bring a cup of coffee too and I could have a Twin Peaks déjà vu moment. Where was Agent Cooper when you needed him? Or the log lady. Bet she could kick some angel ass.

My waitress was just putting down my beer and pie when Candy arrived. She raised her eyebrows at the combo putting a large tote bag stuffed with papers on the seat beside her.

“Please bring my friend a slice of cherry pie and a cup of coffee black as midnight on a moonless night.” I told the waitress waving my fork majestically as if I were issuing a royal proclamation. Candy shook her head no at the waitress and sent her away without ordering anything.

The werewolf didn’t appear to get the reference, which was a shame. Wyatt might, but he’d been a bit young for Twin Peaks. And speak of the devil, there he was in his worn Levis and t–shirt sliding in the chair beside me.

“Look, Wyatt,” I said excitedly. “They have cherry pie. You must have some with coffee black as midnight on a moonless night.”

Wyatt looked for a second like he thought I’d gone insane.

“I can call you Agent Cooper?” I prodded. “We’ll discuss the Laura Palmer case?”

He finally smiled. “Will the log lady be joining us? She was my favorite.”

I squealed in delight and planted a kiss right on his lips almost knocking him backwards off his chair in my enthusiasm. Sexy as hell, familiar with cult TV classics, and he arranged to have cold vodka for me. Wyatt rocked. Life would be just horrible without him.

Meanwhile, Candy was looking as if she’d stepped into another universe.

“What is
he
doing here?” she asked, regaining her composure.

“Wyatt will be joining us in our adventures,” I told her. She opened her mouth to protest and I told her “my kill, my rules.”

That shut her mouth. She glared at Wyatt as he stuffed his backpack under his chair.

“Fine.” She dug in her bag, pulling out a stack of glossies and a little box–shaped magnifying glass. “These are photos of the last twenty kills, with ascending order numbers, locations, and dates on them. I didn’t include any of the earlier ones. Althean’s kills from five years ago back were pretty routine. Basically for offenses against the existence contract like attempting to breed outside our species, assuming wolf form in front of humans or outside the dates specified, not registering, living in a non–designated area without approval, congregating in groups larger than ten without special dispensation, etc.”

I was appalled. Who’d agreed to this shitty existence contract? No way would I have put up with that restrictive crap.

“Althean tended to execute in the traditional manner back then, too,” Candy continued. “They’d have a tiny wing mark on their forehead as a warning and notice of the justice delivered. As you can see by the photos, the kills have become bloody, and the victims are being genetically altered before death.”

If I’d been a werewolf, my ears would have perked up at that one. I didn’t think angels could do that. I didn’t think any but our kind could do that.

“The DNA markers that indicate loupism, or werewolf species, are removed and replaced with strictly human ones. He is basically turning them human, either before or after killing them.”

“They still have the wing marks on their foreheads,” I noted.

Candy nodded.

“They mark the victims as deserving of death, of violating the contract in some way,” she said. “By marking them, Althean is showing that he believes they truly should die. That his actions are justified.”

Why would he turn them human, though? What was the purpose in that?

If this were indeed a genocide, if this angel thought the whole werewolf species should be wiped out, then I doubted he’d turn them human
before
killing them. Then he’d just be killing a human, plus he’d be removing them from his scope of control. No, I was pretty sure that turning them human happened after their death. But even then, why? Were they such an abomination that even their dead bodies should not be allowed to litter the earth? That all the markers of their species should be removed, to eventually wipe out all trace that they even existed?

I looked at the pictures as Wyatt peered over my arm. They were professionally developed and I wondered if Candy had a photo finishing lab in her basement. I envisioned her stopping in Walmart to pick the gory prints up and snickered.

Candy looked offended, no doubt thinking I found the crime scene photos funny. I didn’t care.

“Okay, so what do these people all have in common? They are mostly female, but no one under twenty years old to date it seems. They are from all over the country. Could they have committed the same offense?” I asked.

Candy shook her head. “I can’t see that they have anything in common beyond their species.”

I frowned. This angel couldn’t be just randomly roving around the country killing werewolves. If he were human, I’d suspect the killing locations coordinated with business travel. Maybe we could access the angel’s travel itinerary for the next few weeks.

“Any ideas?” I asked Wyatt.

He reached into the backpack under his chair and pulled out one of those tablet computers. I’d seen them in the stores and they looked very cool, but I wasn’t sure what I’d do with one. Wyatt swept his fingers over the screen and there was an amazing blur of boxes, shapes and colors. He tapped at the screen, and then waved his fingers around some more. Like Merlin. Without the hat.

“Okay,” he said turning the tablet so we could all see it. “I’ve plotted the last twenty years of werewolf kills against this map and loaded the details into a statistical program. I know twenty years is way outside our window, but a big sample is critical when trending. The bigger the data set, the more accurate the predictions are.”

I stared at him. What the fuck? How did my lawn–mowing, eye–candy, neighbor turn into a math geek?

The map was a mess of colored dots, more concentrated in some areas than others. I couldn’t make sense of it at all. It reminded me of those ink blots tests. Was it a butterfly? Maybe, a polka dotted phallus? Candy glanced at the map, and then glared at Wyatt.

“Did you hack into my computer and get this?”

Wyatt looked smug.

“Your smart phone communicates with your network, no doubt to synchronize your appointment schedule. I just pulled the network IP address, impersonated your cell phone to get a toe in, and
voila
!”

Whoa. Wyatt did more than kill zombies in his spare time.

“I have passwords, and firewalls! I paid a lot of money to an expert for security from this kind of breach,” Candy said, more angry at her security dude than Wyatt.

“Yeah, it looks like Barrett’s work,” Wyatt commented. “He talks a good line, but he sucks. If his dad wasn’t connected he wouldn’t get any work at all. I know one company who hired him because they wanted to get in good with his dad, then promptly replaced the whole system. Go with Edmonds Smythe next time. I can still get through, but it will take me a lot more than ten seconds.”

“I might go with you, next time,” she said to Wyatt.

I admired her ability to take a hit to her pride and move on. And Wyatt was proving to be very useful. Useful beyond moral support and hopefully good sex.

“We have restrictions around where we can live, mainly to keep us from forming large groups and becoming a threat,” Candy said, returning her attention to the map. “In cities, we’re allowed a greater density. We need to be especially careful in urban areas to avoid detection and a violation of the existence contract. In wide open spaces, we’d be more likely to formulate rebellion and go undetected since we wouldn’t need to restrict ourselves so much.”

Clearly, the angels liked the werewolves to be confined to the cities, outside their preferred habitat. So they must have been more worried about organized action than public safety. If the angels had been concerned about protecting humans, they would have rounded up all the werewolves and stuck them in some remote area. Like a werewolf concentration camp. Interesting.

“Does the map of the kills reflect the overall distribution of werewolves?” Wyatt asked.

Candy looked again and nodded.

“It seems to. An equal percentage of the population in each area, but of course, we’d need to run numbers just to make sure.”