Accidentally Demonic (39 page)

Hildegard drew a polished red nail over Casey’s chin, then flicked her lips. “What will I need Bendy Bob for when I have Clay? You’ve tapped that, right? So you know exactly what I mean. It’s finger-lickin’ good.” She popped the very finger she’d so arrogantly drawn over Casey’s chin into her mouth and sucked it with a wet slurp.

Okay, people skills now officially could be considered an epic fail.

Casey’s head spun with angry swirls of light and sound while Nina jammed her face in Hildegard’s, letting her fangs elongate. She grabbed a fistful of Hildegard’s sweater and yanked, jarring poor Arch. “Back off, sistah. Back off now or you and this Bendy Bob are gonna be more than just strange bedfellows, you freak.”

Wanda stood behind Nina, and Marty moved around to the other side, forming a protective circle around Casey.

And the mob of demons moved closer. Slithering, crawling, crowding the women until she almost couldn’t breathe from the surge of raw fury. Nina growled, feral, sending out a warning signal. Archibald still hung from Hildegard’s shoulder, unmoving to the point that Casey began to fear he wouldn’t ever move again.

Casey’s heart crashed, her adrenaline pumped, her pulse erratically punched her skin from the inside out. No matter how strong, no matter how paranormally skilled, her sister, her friends, Archibald would all be killed if she didn’t act.

Oh, but they were fucked, well and good. Hildegard didn’t need Casey’s deal because Clay had given her exactly what she’d wanted. Hildegard would have what would never be hers without having to put the screws to Clay, and Naomi would suffer because her father would be miserable.

For eternity.

And Hildegard knew it. It was written all over her fantastical features as she arrogantly gazed at Casey.

And that made Casey want to throw her ass to the ground and stomp all over her smug, self-assured face.

Something protective, innate, wild, and furious swelled in her. At all costs, what Clay had been so against had to happen, and it had to happen now, before Hildegard could find him. Wherever the fuck he was.

And if it was the last thing she did—she’d stop the crazy bitch.

Unfortunately, from the looks of things—it probably would be the last thing she did.

But it’d be hella memorable.

Casey let out a sigh of boredom, pausing the tension as they stared each other down. “You know what, Hildegard? I think you’re right. The deal thing? It’s just not gonna work. But there’s one thing you’re wrong about. . . .”

She winked her long lashes. “Don’t be silly. I’m never wrong.”

“But you are. You said it was your anniversary. But you forgot to include me, and that leaves me soooo hurt. I mean, technically, Clay’s my mate, too. What if I told you I don’t much like to share?”

Her chiseled chin lifted upward in defiance. “I’d tell you you’d better be prepared to die for that statement.”

Casey took a step closer, ignoring Archibald’s wild, frantic eyes and bumping chests with Hildegard. “Okay. Well, what if I told you that you’re a crazy bitch, and you’ll have Clay when Hell is an ice rink in Antarctica?”

“I’ll kill you,” she whispered between thin lips.

“Not if I kill you first,” Casey singsonged, gritting her teeth before grabbing the long strand of Hildegard’s hair and yanking it, making her lose her grip on Archibald, who slumped to the floor before Wanda or Marty could stop it.

Casey watched him slither to the ground in a helpless lump.

Fuck it all if that didn’t really hack her off.

And so, yeah.

More madness erupted—but she’d adjusted to this sort of thing now. It seemed it was the only way these demons liked to settle things.

She was down with that.

CHAPTER 19

Launching herself at Hildegard, Casey paid no heed to the demons that jumped from the ceiling, latching onto every available surface of her body and screeching their rage, ripping at her flesh, sinking their talons into her skin so deep she felt blood ooze from various places on her body her in a hot rush.

She didn’t hear Nina, Wanda, and Marty when they roared, shifting, turning, doing whatever their supernatural bent was in order to protect her. She didn’t see them taking out demons like they were dominos only to have more appear.

All she could see was Hildegard’s face. The face of a woman who wanted her man—even if he was hers by proxy. He was still hers.The face of a woman who would take a father away from his little girl.

Casey, fueled by her uncontainable rage, clawed at Hildegard, shoving her fingers into her mouth and jamming them downward until she screamed her anger, tearing her jaw free. “I’ll kill you, you bitch!”

Like Casey was nothing more than a feather, Hildegard flung her, sending her with a harsh crack into a pizza oven. Her neck snapped back on contact, knocking her eyeballs sideways when she slid to the ground.

That incessant niggle of rage that began as a slow, steady climb didn’t waste any time today. Instead, it roared through her, jolting her body so hard, she was launched upward until she was airborne.

The carnage below her left Casey seething.Archibald lay in the corner of the pizzeria, out cold. Wanda and Marty’s clothes were shredded, scattered across the floor, their shoes discarded haphazardly.

Wanda and Marty—omigod, they really could turn into werewolves. Two hairy, multicolored beasts rose on their hind legs, shooting like bullets at a group of writhing demons, canines dripping with saliva. They tore into three of them at once with bone-chilling howls.

Nina held two demons in either fist, raising her arms high and flinging them across the room only for them to crash together, then turn into one gelatinous entity. Each demon the girls attacked regenerated into something more horrifying than it originally was. They were like tribbles, multiplying by the dozens, cackling, giggling their maniacal joy at the game.

Fear turned to a hopelessness that seared Casey’s quivering gut. What had they been thinking when they thought they could take on this mass from Hell? No matter how strong they were as a group, you couldn’t thwart what kept regenerating and coming back in droves.

She read books all the time. Her nose had always been buried in a book. Why hadn’t she researched how to kill a demon?

From the corner of her eye, Casey caught skulking shadows. Prepared to pin them to the far wall with her fireballs, she stopped just in time to realize the men had finally arrived.

A dark man, tall, imposing, hauled a long, black hose.

Which would be great if flogging these fuckers about the head and neck had any effect. Darnell was close behind in a yellow rain slicker, galoshes, and hat, with a frilly pink umbrella shadowing his head.
“Fry the mooootherfuuuuuckers!”
he screamed at the man, pointing his finger forward as though he were about to lead a charge.

“Casey, Nina, Wanda—get the hell out of the way!” tall, dark, and as yet unnamed roared, releasing the spigot and spraying the room, washing it with gushes of water.

Casey dove for the bathrooms, soaring through the air to crash into the men’s room, splintering the door as she did. Scurrying to her feet, she crawled out of the bathroom sheltered by a short hallway, where she watched this man with Heath and Greg behind him wield the black hose like he was wielding a weapon.

Piteous screeching ricocheted off the walls of the pizzeria when the water sprayed them. One by one scaled, horned demons turned to trembling Jell-O like globs, plopping to the floor in gooey masses, sinking into the floorboards.

But another group cropped up by the large, boarded front window, swirling around Nina. Her mouth opened wide, her fangs gleaming under the light, she howled, charging them. And then Greg was by her side, peeling each demon off and casting them behind him with a mere flick of his wrist, to Heath, who scooped them up and chucked them toward the unknown man. “Keegan!” His bark was gruff. “Hose the assholes!” he bellowed.

She knew that name. It was Marty’s husband, and whatever he was wielding rocketh.

Marty and Wanda began to pluck demons from the walls with their doglike jaws, shaking their heads with violent shudders when they threw them toward Keegan, who sprayed them until they sizzled with crackling pops.

It was like watching a sick game of Asteroids, picking off demons one shot at a time.

And then she saw Archibald, still lying in the corner, crushed between the chairs and a table. Droplets of water from the shower of the hose fell on her, setting her exposed skin on fire. Crawling toward him, shoving her way with care through the toppled chairs and tables, she latched onto his pant leg and tugged him to her, moving him with a slow pull so as not to jar his crooked ankle. Tears streamed down her face—he would never survive being tossed about like this. He was at least eighty years old, for Christ’s sake.

His head lolled at an awkward angle, but his eyes opened, warm and solemn. “Miss Casey?”

“Oh, thank God,” she sobbed, pushing her matted hair from her face to see him more clearly. She cradled his limp body against her shaking one.

“Thank
Him
later,” he replied, muffled against her chest.

“Trust me when I tell you, Miss, all is well. I’m playing possum. Now leave me be. Please. Go, help the others!” His face was distraught with panic, his jowls quaking when he urged her to leave him on the floor.

“Possum . . . but you’re hurt! Your ankle . . .”

“I’m fine, and I’ve located Master Clay,” he panted.

“Where the hell is he?”

Archibald gasped for air. “In the refrigerator, Miss. He sleeps the sleep of the innocent.”

Or the dead, for all the howling and raging going on. “Does Hildegard know where he is?”

“No! But you must hurry if you’re to drink from him. Now you must go help the others!”

She ran a hand over his face, fear for him coursing through her veins. “I can’t just leave you here. Let me pull you somewhere safer.”

“Miss?”

“Look—behind—youuuuu!” he yelled.

It was never good when someone said that because it usually meant there was some bad shit back yonder. It was just like when you watched a horror flick and while the too-stupid-to-live heroine went down in the basement to see what the noise was, you screamed, “Dumb ass! Don’t go down there!” at the movie screen.

Yep.

That was exactly what it was like, Casey reflected.

But only briefly.

It was all she had time for before Hildegard slugged her so hard with a fist of iron, she heard bones crunch in her face.

Casey’s head flew back on impact, snapping like a twig while Hildegard attacked with a rebel cry, tearing at fistfuls of hair, hauling her upward and dragging her across the floor while everyone else was distracted with the business of demon whacking.

Casey reared up against Hildegard, slapping against her long body, digging her nails into her hip, but her grip was like steel. The first tingle of her fingertips was a welcome burst of heat. Rolling her wrist, she shot upward, aiming it at Hildegard’s gloriously blond, Pantene hair.

Her screech of pain didn’t just bring a satisfied smile to Casey’s lips, but allowed her the leverage to squirm free. Dropping to the ground with a hard thud, Casey fought for balance, rising up and steamrolling her flaming menace. With one hand, she sent Hildegard screeching into the nearest wall, holding her fingers as though she actually had them around her neck.

The wall collapsed behind her from the force of Casey’s blow, and there lay Clay. Doing the narcoleptic vampire thing. Sound asleep, like the world hadn’t gone mad around him.

Emotions, deep and so sharply sweet they cut her like a knife, rose to the surface of Casey’s heart. This impossible man, so strong and powerful when awake, was defenseless against this heinous, spiteful monster, and she knew it left him helplessly infuriated.

Seething anger for Clay, for Naomi, whooshed through her.

And then things got freaky. Her horns shot from her head, but they felt much heavier than they ever had before, making her head wobble momentarily. When she caught a glimpse of the hand that held Hildegard in place—well, that was pretty freaky- deaky, too. Covered in shades of variegated green, her hands were no longer hands, but claws, razor sharp and long.

Her feet, which had raced toward Hildegard like she owed her money, were no longer an average size eight, but webbed and, in her opinion, butt- ass ugly. Long-toed and wrinkled, they’d stomped their way toward Hildegard, leaving gaping holes in the floor as she went.

When she screamed Hildegard’s name, she sounded a whole lot like Darth Vader.

Jazzy.

Bolts of a powerful wrath she’d not known she was capable of, not even since she’d been turned, exploded in her. Determination pushed her. Incited, she slogged toward the bitch who wanted to take her mate from her.

And all this but for one goal: to keep Hildegard from getting to the opening of the refrigerator before she did.

But more than anything, to see Hildegard pay—painfully.

Archibald appeared from the debris of the littered chairs, dragging, grunting, pulling himself toward the hole in the wall—toward Clay. His eyes caught hers, sweat glistening his forehead, he held something up in a flash of coppery metal. Each square inch he covered, his ankle dragged behind him, scraping the hard floor.

The others were too busy fending off flying demons to help him, and that meant she had to get this right. Two for the price of one. Whatever Archibald was up to, his eyes had sent a desperate message she had no time to decipher.

Approaching Hildegard, Casey howled, high, screeching, throwing her shoulders back and looking to the Heavens before her gaze settled on the woman who’d wrought so much terror and pain for centuries. “Didn’t you hear me when I said he’s mine, you
bitch
?” The words that flew from Casey’s mouth left behind a hot stench, blowing Hildegard’s hair like the out-of-control wind of a tornado.