Dead Demon Walking (28 page)

I did want to get off my feet - not
that I’d admit it. He dropped his hand and moved past me. I stayed
at his shoulder as we went to the dining table and chairs, then put
on speed to get ahead and pull a chair out for him.

His brow creased. “I won’t let you
treat me like an invalid.”

“
Try and stop me.” I patted
the chair.

He eased into the chair. I stood over
him. “Do you want coffee? Something to eat?”

“
Ah, coffee.”

I started for the kitchen, with all
the furniture pushed together just a few paces away.

He stood. ”Sit
down
, Tiff. I can get my
coffee.”

I flung my arms out, and
wished I hadn’t. “No,
you
sit down.” I made a face. “You don’t look so
hot.”

“
I’m fine.” He sounded
exasperated. “Just tired, but that is natural.” He gripped the hem
of his shirt and pulled it up a few inches.

“
What are you doing?”
Dismayed, I went back to him and grabbed both his
wrists.

“
I want you to see this so
you will stop babying me. You can help me if you like.”

I stared him in the eyes, my mouth
flat. “I don’t want to see. I saw enough in the
infirmary.”

He pulled on his shirt, taking my
hands up too. Worried he would do himself some damage, I gave in,
rolling his shirt up little by little. When it bunched under his
armpits, I reluctantly got behind him.

An ugly bruise in colors I didn’t know
existed covered his entire back from shoulders to waist, with
ridged scar tissue like latticework pushing through the
discoloration. I inhaled deeply, but not because the doctor told me
to. I let his hem fall.

“
Okay, so it’s horrible on
the outside, but you look whole. What about the inside?”

“
Everything in its place
and functioning perfectly.”

What the medical profession, the
government, wouldn’t give for a sample of Dark Cousin
blood.

My palm hovered at his side. Touching
Royal was automatic; I had to exert my willpower to bring my hand
down.

He faced me with a grin of white
teeth. “I showed you mine, now you show me yours.”

“
Ha ha. Now
sit
!”

He sat, and I sat in the chair next
him, close enough I could put my hand over his where it rested on
his knee.

“
Do you want to talk about
what happened?” he asked.

Should I repeat what Gia told me, how
Dark Cousins healed themselves? Did he already know?

I’d have to think about it. Whether he
knew or not, it would trigger an animated conversation and I wanted
him calm. I couldn’t convince myself he wouldn’t keel over at any
moment. “We already did, on the phone. Now close your mouth and
rest.”

He had other ideas. “You know you are
the talk of the High House?”

“
I am?”

“
You put me in awe, and I
am not alone. I’m told they speak of nothing but the human woman
who felled the monster when their best warriors could not touch
him.”

“
Huh. Like all monsters, he
made a mistake. He left me till last ‘cause he wanted to take a
better look at me.”

“
What makes you think
that?”

“
He told me so.” I rubbed
my forehead with my free hand. “He said, ’I have never seen your
like before.’ Freaky, huh?”

I looked up to see his eyelids flutter
as if blinking back tears. Were his eyes moist?

Something was wrong. “Royal? Are you
okay?”

His gaze skipped away. “Who can fathom
the mind of a crazed man?”

He stood, again. I didn’t bother
saying anything this time; he’d ignore me. He moved his chair so it
touched mine, retook his seat and laid his arm along my shoulder. I
heard a sigh in his voice. “I wish I could hold you, but I don’t
want to hurt you.”

I leaned to the side so my shoulder
nested under his arm. “This is nice, Royal. We can
wait.”

I thought he said something under his
breath, I felt it as a burr in his chest, but when I sought his
eyes, they were closed, so I let him alone.

We sat together, in silence, and it
was enough.

Chapter
Nineteen

“
Someone’s in the front yard,” Mel
said.

I tried to lighten the mood. “They’re
not wet, or naked, or both?”

She had her spectral nose to the
windowpane. “No. A rather nice-looking man.”

I glanced at the clock. He was early.
I would wait till he knocked.

I poured another coffee as I reached
for the sugar canister. A high-pitched, panicked voice suddenly
shrieked across the room. “Don’t let him in!”

Not exactly a shriek, more like a
hoarse attempt at one.

“
He’s coming up the path,”
from Mel.

Jack zipped to the hall, and promptly
zipped right back to the kitchen window. Then off he went
again.

I put my coffee mug on the table and
started across the kitchen. “Jack! Calm down!”

“
I am calm!” he said,
halfway back in the kitchen now. He stopped mere inches from me;
his tone changed from panicked to pleading. “Please, Tiff, don’t
let him in.”

Mel said. “Is he
dangerous?”

“
Phht!
He’d faint if he stepped on a spider.” Jack ground his hands
together. “He’s so old! What happened to him?”

I looked out the window to see Dale
Jericho, who stood hesitantly on the path to the front door. “You’d
be the same age had you not taken that hike.”

Jericho didn’t know where to put his
hands. First he stuck them in his hip pockets, then his back
pockets, next he folded his arms. He spotted us - I mean, me -
watching from the window.

“
Jack?” I said as I
turned.

“
He’s lurking in the hall,”
Mel said.

Jack’s voice whispered from the hall.
“I am not lurking.”

I walked in the hall to see him
looking through the glass next the front door. “Talk to me, Jack.
One minute you want to see him, now you’re in a dither. What’s
going on?”

Up came his chin and away he went back
to the kitchen. “Nothing’s going on.”

“
Then I’ll go out there and
ask him in.”

His head came through the wall. “Don’t
you dare!”

I opened the front door and went
outside. I moved fairly fluidly, I thought, for a woman whose ribs
were cracked just over two weeks ago. My doctor was pleased with my
progress. He said he had never known ribs to knit this
fast.

Jericho stiffened as he saw me come
through the door. I went to him with my hand out. He took it in a
limp grasp. His skin felt like ice. His face looked pale. “Mr.
Jericho, are you okay?”

He couldn’t meet my eyes. His gaze
darted everywhere but at me. “I’m not sure I want to do this, Miss
Banks.”

“
How come?”

“
On the phone, you didn’t
sound happy. You have bad news.”

I drew in a soft breath. “I’m sorry.
You’re right. Let’s go inside and talk.”

He swung his head. “I’d rather hear it
now.”

Early morning air chilled
my face. A breeze with ice in it came off the mountains, an omen of
the winter to come. I plunged hands in pockets and shivered with an
uncanny and irrational feeling nothing would ever be the same
again.
Creepy
. I
shook it off.

During the past few days, Jack had
wavered between wanting to see Jericho, not wanting to see him, and
not knowing what he wanted to do about his old buddy. In the
meantime, Dale Jericho called me twice to verify our meeting. I
wanted it over. I had to get the man inside the house and get this
business done. “It’s not quite what you think. We should go inside
where we can talk.”

He hung his head. A sigh seeped out.
Then he looked up sharply. “Yes, let’s do this.”

I hoped he would not freak
out when I
explained
.

He followed me through the open door
and I stood to one side to close it. We went in the kitchen. Partly
merged with the tiled wall, Jack stood in the corner nearest the
back door. Lord, he was anxious. Mel waited next the refrigerator,
her body vibrating ever so slightly with excitement.

I should have taken him in the living
room, but now I had a nice room for visitors, I found I wanted to
keep it private for me and Royal, our special place.

I must be getting sappy.

I pulled a chair away from the kitchen
table, asked Jericho to take a seat and went to the opposite side
to sit in my preferred chair. I would get through this in as
professional a manner as able, though pretending to be a medium
went against the grain. Yes, cool, calm, professional, and it would
be over.

Unfortunately, professional and
MacKlutzy are not compatible.

In an immense sulk, the beast in
question lay against the back door, chin on his big red rubber chew
bone, which lay across his front legs. You see, Mac thought I owed
him after being away so often during the last few weeks. He thought
I should atone by feeding him treats nonstop and playing
you-just-try-to-get-my-rubber-bone-away-from-me.

Jericho spotted the menace on four
legs, leaned over his bent knees, dangled his hand down and wiggled
his fingers. “Aren’t you a cute little guy.” He lifted his head to
grin at me. “It is a boy dog, right?”

I sprang from the chair. “No! Don’t do
that!”

“
Don’t worry. I love dogs
and they know it.”

Mac trundled around the table like a
small locomotive, ears perked, eyes bright. He didn’t fool me. We
arrived at Jericho at the same time, Mac from his left, me circling
in from his right. I bent and snatched at Mac’s collar, but I
couldn’t move fast enough. He avoided my hand and his teeth
fastened on those wiggling fingers.

Oh, shit.

The man screamed. I mean
he
screamed
.

I went to my knees and grabbed
Jericho’s wrist. “Do not move!”

I swear, he was nearly in tears. “He’s
eating me!”

“
What a big baby,” Mel
said.

I eyed Mac sternly. “Drop it,
Mac!”

Mac rolled his eyes in my direction.
His ears flattened.

“
Pull him off!” Jack
wailed.

Sure, if you want your
buddy to lose a couple of fingers.
“Mac,
drop
it!”

Odd. “That usually works,” I told
Jericho.

“
I knew he’d do serious
damage one day,” Jack said as he stood over me, twisting his hands
together.

I lightly squeezed
Jericho’s wrist. “Listen to me. He’s not biting, just
holding
. You’ll be fine
if you keep still. I’m going to the pantry for a doggie treat.
Please don’t move.”

I released his wrist and went to the
pantry, dipped up a handful of kibble and brought it back to my
fearless companion. “Here, Mac.”

The little monster ignored me, and the
treat.

I frowned down at him before going
back to the pantry.

Milk Bone.

Didn’t work.

Marrow Bone.

Didn’t work.

Liver treats. “You sneaky little
terror!” I declared as Mac let go of Jericho’s fingers and gobbled
the tiny pellets. This did not bode well. Mac never ignored that
command before, but it looked like he had blackmail down to an art.
He knew precisely what he did when he latched onto the
man.

I took Mac to the living room and shut
him in. Back in the kitchen, I got a few ice-cubes from the
refrigerator and wrapped them in a clean dishcloth. I offered them
to Jericho. “There could be a little bruising, this might
help.”

He took the wadded cloth and balanced
it on back of his fingers.

“
You should do something
with that little cannibal,” Jack said.

Back to business, and I didn’t see a
way to do this except plunge in. I regained my seat opposite
Jericho and waited till I had his focus. “Mr. Jericho, there’s no
easy way to say this. Jackson Trewellyn died in 1986.”

All color washed from his face,
leaving bleached planes and angles of tight skin. His eyes dewed
with pain. I think he stopped breathing. The dishcloth hit the
floor, ice cubes clattering on tile like pebbles. He forgot his
bruised fingers as the nails of one hand dug fiercely in the back
of the other.

He dropped his head in his hands. “Oh
God!” His shoulders shook. He lifted his head to show me a man in
emotional agony.

I let him be, until he shuddered and
said, “I’m sorry. I don’t know why it took me like that. I knew
Jack must be dead.”

Someone behind me gulped
loudly.