Demon Bound (12 page)

“
We?
Way I remember, I just got dragged into whatever you were doing. So it seems to me they was mostly worried about you.”

“That is true,” Irena said.

“There, you see?” He turned to Charlie. “I never seen anyone so inclined to study and practice, but also so inclined to give our mentors shit for it. She'd screw up her face like she'd been sucking lemons, then repeat every bit of advice they gave to us, or start reciting passages from the Scrolls.”

“Come now, Ethan. Lemons?”

“Hugh once described you as a ‘challenge,' Alice,” Irena said. “He was being kind.”

“Oh, dear. Thank you so very much for your aid.”

“And she'd start in on me for saying ‘ain't' or ‘shit'—then go transcribe the kinky books in the Archives and pass them out as instruction manuals. I still got one.”

A rolled-up sheaf of paper appeared in his hand, and he gave it to Charlie.

“Ethan, no,” Alice protested, laughing.

Charlie peeled back a page. Her eyes widened. “Oh, Lord.” She glanced at Ethan, a hint of calculation in her expression. “So that's where you learned that.”

“You hush.” Embarrassment tinged his cheeks, and he pulled it out of her hands, vanished it.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Alice said. “That was very well done.”

“It was, wasn't it?” She smiled up at Ethan. “I'm surprised, though—that stuff like that is up there.”

“I've heard tell there was just the Scrolls, once. But then Guardians started bringing back books and newspapers and such for the rest of us. That was before my time, though.” Ethan looked to Irena, who frowned.

“It was not long after the printing press,” she said. “But I am unknowing of the exact date. And always there have been scholars who recorded their histories, or their experiences on Earth. A few poets.”

“Most of them tedious.” Alice studied the giant hamburger, wondering how best to eat it. She rarely consumed food and had never attempted anything of this size before—but following the example of the humans around them meant she'd have to unhinge her jaw with every bite. It simply would not do. “Irena—would you please?”

She pointed to the knife and fork lying unused next to the other woman's plate. Irena pushed them over, then resumed eating with her fingers.

“And the Archives are sadly lacking any mention of the one thing about which I would be most interested to learn: Belial's prophecy.” Even halved, the sandwich was too large. Alice made another cut, another, yet another . . . and made herself stop. “Ethan, I regret the necessity, but I must ask if there is anything you haven't shared with us.”

“I reckon there is.” His lazy drawl didn't deceive her; Ethan pretended to be slow, but his mind was always two steps ahead. “But I don't suppose you'll be sharing why it's such a necessity.”

Alice looked down, managed to cut a bite-sized piece from the bun.

“Goddammit, Alice. It ain't a stretch to figure Teqon is giving you trouble again. But your husband's dead by now, so it can't be about him. You got others in your family line to worry about?”

He'd pressed. She hadn't prepared for that. It was a minor miracle that she prevented her hands from shaking, that she didn't drop her utensils. That she held her shields, concealing her dread and terror.

“No, I don't.” Anticipating his next question, she added, “And I do not fear for my life at this time.”

Just her soul. Just the few friendships she'd created in the past century.

“But if you need help, you'll ask for it.”

She met his eyes. “I just did, Ethan.”

His jaw hardened, and he turned to Irena. “You know what this is about?”

“I do.” Irena delicately flaked a selection of fish from her fillet. “And I will tear your spine from your body if you do not provide Alice what she asks.”

Charlie's shock ripped through the room. “What the—”

Ethan touched her arm. “Don't fret, Miss Charlie. That's just Irena's way of easing my mind, saying she'll go to any lengths to help.” The corners of his eyes wrinkled with his faint smile. “All right, Alice. So long as you've got someone in your corner.”

“Thank you.” She prayed whatever he had to tell her was worth knowing—and that Irena wouldn't mention her intention to take Alice's head if Teqon couldn't be appeased. “So if you will explain—”

She paused; Ethan was shaking his head. “This ain't the place. We need a bit more privacy, considering that it involves Michael.”

Something in her chest twisted. “Oh.”

“Fact is,” Ethan continued, “I don't suppose you need me to tell you. You're heading out with Jake once you're done here. He can fill you in.”

“You've told him?”

“Course I did.” Ethan seemed surprised by
her
surprise. “Jake's out there risking himself with me, and his eyes are as sharp as any I've ever seen. So I figured he ought to know what all is grabbing my attention, and why I've been looking at a few things the way I have been.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, I don't think I'll have a private moment for a couple of hours. Charlie and I have to head on over to the theater, pick out curtains or paint colors or something.”

“I see,” Alice said, certain she did. Beside her, Irena stiffened as an excited buzz swept through the restaurant. Not sensing any alarm from the humans—just admiration and disbelief—Alice didn't glance away from Ethan. “How heartless you are.”

He grinned. “I'd have made it easier on you if you'd told me what your trouble was. Now, I figure you might want to stock up on those itching powders.” He raised his voice a little. “When you get done playacting, Jake, maybe you'll tell Alice about the trip to Hell that Charlie and I took.”

Charlie's gaze shifted over Alice's shoulder, and she let out a thin, strangled sound. Then she dropped her head into her hands. “Please don't kill him, Alice. This is my fault.”

Charlie's warning kept Alice from calling in her weapon when an unfamiliar man gripped her hand.

Jake. His psychic scent was unmistakable.

He tugged her up against his chest, wrapped his arm around her waist, and said loudly, “I just couldn't wait to see you again, babycakes.”

She'd had a response forming on her tongue, but the sheer absurdity of his greeting rendered her speechless.

He smiled with lips that were almost feminine, despite the thin mustache and goatee he now sported. His dark hair had the long, careless wave of a poet's. Handsome, but it was a refined, androgynous beauty.

Why in heaven's name would Jake trade his strong, boldly formed features for this? His smile was much more appealing when it forced a curve onto his chiseled mouth.

“You ready to go, babycakes? We've got booty to plunder.” His gaze bored into hers, and his palm slid low on her back. His head slowly descended. “And I intend to plunder all night long.”

Booty? Ah, yes. A pirate. Now she recognized the actor from movie posters and merchandise that she'd seen marketed to teenaged girls.

“Is—” She averted her face, and his warm lips landed on her jaw. Undeterred, he began to nibble. Oh, dear.

She would not shiver, Alice told herself. She would not.

“Is this necessary, novice?”

His deep voice was suddenly his own, soft against her ear. “Play along; it'll make Charlie happy.”

Considering that the young vampire was repeatedly thumping her forehead against the table, Alice thought that whatever Charlie had asked of him, this wasn't precisely it.

Irena rose to her feet. “Well then, Alice. You are getting what you need, and so I'll leave you to it.”

“But—” Dismayed, Alice tried to turn, but Jake held her fast. Tossing him across the room would create a bigger scene than they already had, so she merely looked over her shoulder. “Won't you wait to hear?”

“If this information regards Michael . . .” Irena shrugged, and pulled her white hood up over her hair. “I will not influence your decision, Alice, because the action you take will determine mine. So seek me out when you decide to act. Be well, Drifter, Charlie.” She smirked. “Jake.”

“Bye, Irena,” he said cheerfully.

Alice faced him again. It would be snakes and spiders and leeches this time. And squirming maggots. Devouring one another.

He wasn't looking at her, however, but studying the table with an amused expression. “So this is what happens when you get your hands on a man's meat.”

The mutilated hamburger. Oh, the images she could create from that. She glanced down.

Alice's hand flew to her lips, stifling her shriek.

A circus clown's head stared up at her from the basket, his mouth stretched in a horrid red grin. Less than a second later, the illusion vanished. Jake released her and stepped back.

Blast, blast, blast! He couldn't have missed how her heart had jumped, the gasp she hadn't smothered.

“I told you he learns real quick,” Ethan said mildly.

She looked up. Jake's grin was as wide as the clown's had been.

“Gotcha, babycakes.”

 

Certain that whatever came out would be more laugh than cackle, Alice didn't unclamp her lips until they were halfway across the lake, heading east toward Ethan and Charlie's home. Jake probably thought her silence came from anger—which was just as well. If he feared retaliation, he might tread carefully.

Except he looked more pleased with himself than wary. And more
himself
—at some point during the flight, he'd reverted to his natural form.

“I guess this means we're at war now,” he called over the rush of wind.

Alice held her hand out long enough to sign,
How juvenile that would be, novice
—then resumed plotting her next attack.

Guerrilla tactics would be most effective. Unexpected, brutal, and launched from familiar terrain. The Archives, perhaps. Or, considering how many decades of experience she had over him, the practice field or the sky.

Perhaps he expected
that
, though. Jake never flew ahead of her, even when she slowed and offered the lead. He allowed her the altitude advantage, and maintained his flanking position at eight o'clock—about forty-five degrees behind and to the left.

She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. His wingspan was longer than hers.

He caught her look and made a signal she'd seen thousands of times, while practicing countless hours of flight formation. Automatically, she altered her course, flying straight up.

It hadn't been raining, but the clouds piled thick. She broke through and hovered, the gentle wind teasing the hem of her skirt. The whisper-light silk was heavy now, saturated by the vapor and clinging to her legs, but there was no point in vanishing the moisture. She'd have to descend through the clouds, eventually.

Jake slipped through the surface, the vapor swirling and closing behind him. Mist coated his face, and he wiped it away with a swipe of his hand. He was chewing on his toothpick again.

“So,” he said, hovering in front of Alice, his wings beating a steady rhythm. “Charlie and Drifter's trip to Hell.”

“Here?” The clouds drifted by below their feet. They were high above the lake, and a psychic probe didn't reveal any demons or Guardians near enough to hear or to see them signing . . . but there were ways to be certain no one
could
.

Three of the demonic symbols—
silence, surround, lock
—scraped near the entrance to a room or building and activated by drops of blood prevented anyone from entering and every type of communication. Even someone watching their hands wouldn't be able to understand their gestures.

“I assumed we would use the shielding spell around the house,” Alice said.

“This'll work.”

“Yes, but—”

“I'm not such of fan of being stuck behind the shield. Not when you can't hear or sense what's coming. I've learned to avoid it, if I can.”

Because that was how the demon had tricked Jake before capturing Charlie, Alice realized. Jake hadn't been able to determine through the shielding spell whether the shape-shifted demon was a human. But his mistake was one many Guardians might have made, no matter their experience—when a demon was in human form and his psychic shields tight, a Guardian and demon could pass on a street, each unaware of the other. And they'd only had knowledge of the shielding spell for less than two years.

“Then it seems you have only learned to avoid the situation, instead of learning how to prevent the same outcome,” Alice pointed out.

“Ya think?” His face was suddenly expressionless, his tone flat.

What in heaven's name had offended him? Surely he hadn't interpreted her statement to mean that she thought he was too fearful of being in that situation again.

A gust of wind buffeted her toward him. She steadied herself, and tried again. “I don't intend to suggest that you are a coward for avoiding—”

“This'll work, Alice.”

“But I didn't—” She was on the verge of flitting her hands like a silly goose. Slowly, she brought them in. “Very well then.”

His gaze slid down her form, paused at her legs. “Unless your spider is getting cold.”

“Lucy?” The widow was curled up in a watertight pocket sewn into the lining of her skirt, cozy from Alice's body heat. “No. But thank you for taking her comfort into consideration.”

His brow creased for an instant. It cleared when he shook his head. “Okay, here's the thing: you know Michael was teleporting around Hell last spring, searching for the prison that Lucifer had kept the nephilim in, right?”