Demon Marked (36 page)

“Andre! Emma! Open the fucking door!” It didn't sound like the first time Jace had asked, but Emma couldn't remember hearing him call out before.

That bathroom door must have been thicker than it looked, or at least pretty damned soundproof, which was good news. The last thing she wanted was for her sister and her husband and half the stunned criminals outside to have heard her screaming Andre's name midorgasm. Once the dust settled, she and Andre were going to find someplace completely private, where they could be with each other purely for pleasure's sake, without supernatural intrigue.

“We're coming. Hold on.” Andre was at the door a second later but paused before opening it, making sure Emma was wrapped up in her own towel before flipping the locks.

“What the fuck? Why did you lock the door, and where's ...” Jace trailed off as his eyes landed on Emma and then just as quickly looked away. “Oh. Okay. So she's better. Good.”

“She's better? Let me in.” Sam pushed around her husband, her eyes once again a deep brown. “Emma? Are you in here?”

“I'm right here. And I'm fine.”

Sam scanned the area slightly to Emma's right with a smile. “I can't see you anymore. Thank god.”

“Don't go thanking anyone just yet,” Andre said. “That spell book Francis wanted is still out there. The book in Emma's purse was filled with blank pages.”

“We think Ginger has it, but we can't be sure,” Emma said.

“She and Mikey are holed up together somewhere upstate.” Andre began to pace the narrow stretch of carpet between the queen-sized bed and the wall. “Near wherever the kidnappers were ordered to take Ginger.”

“Kidnappers?” Sam asked.

“Francis wanted to send all the people loyal to his father on a wild-goose chase. So he had a couple of his new Death Ministry allies kidnap Ginger.” Emma's eyes met Andre's, offering silent comfort for the death of the uncle he loved. “He was planning to use Ginger as a bargaining tool to convince me to work a demon spell.”

“I say we call Mikey and see if he can get her to cough up the missing pages.” Andre crossed to the phone on the wall.

“Are you sure it's a good idea to call Mikey?” Jace asked. “Why is he holding Ginger there if he's not in on this? For all we know, he could be waiting for orders from Francis to torture her until Emma cooperates.”

“I don't think so, but listen in and we'll see how he sounds.” Andre punched in a few numbers and hit the speaker button, filling the room with tinny ringing. “My gut tells me Mikey's trying to help. He said Ginger was really shaken up. He was afraid she'd have some kind of panic attack if he brought her back to the—”

“Hello? Who is this?” The man who answered wasn't Mikey. Even Emma, who'd spoken with Andre's other cousin only a few times, knew that much.

But the voice was still familiar, comforting.

“Who's this?” Andre asked, on the defensive. “Where's Michael Conti?”

The man on the other end of the line took a breath and cleared his throat. Even before he spoke again, the sounds were enough for Emma to make a positive ID. “Mr. Conti gave me his phone and asked me to answer calls from New York City. My name is Father Paul Whitaker. I'm a friend of Emma Quinn's. I was told she was—”

“Father Paul. I'm here. It's me. Emma,” she said, tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. It was so good to hear his voice, so strange, but somehow not as surprising as it should have been. After all, how many times today had she wished she could talk to him—four or five at the very least? Father Paul had told her once that wishes were like prayers, which was why it was so important to be careful what you wished for.

“Emma, I had a feeling we'd speak soon. You've been in my prayers. I've missed you.”

“I've missed you, too.” She wanted to say she was sorry, but her lips wouldn't form the words. Not here, not now. She wanted them to be alone; she wanted to look into his eyes and know that he understood just how much she regretted going against his advice.

“It's good to hear your voice, but sadly . . . there's been some trouble.” Father Paul cleared his throat again, and Emma would have sworn she could feel the pain in that small sound. “There's a woman here. Ginger Spatz?”

“Yes, she's my roommate,” Emma said, shocked to hear Ginger's name. How had Ginger and Mikey ended up at Father Paul's?

“She said she was a friend of yours. ...”

“What's wrong? What happened?” Emma clutched at the towel wrapped around her chest.

“I think she may have read one of the grimoire's spells aloud,” he said, his fear clear in his voice. “There's no other explanation for how she came to be here. She's nearly insensible, but Michael says she insisted on breaking through the gate and driving onto our private property. She said she was going to the place where it begins. I think she meant the caves.”

“Caves?” Andre asked. “Sorry, but I—”

“The caves where our parents first summoned the aura demons aren't far from where Emma grew up. Her caretaker bought the land to keep demon worshippers away,” Sam said. “But why would Ginger want to go to the caves, Father?”

“If she read the grimoire aloud . . . she could have invited a demonic possession.” Father Paul's grim words sent a shiver through the room. “She could be acting under the aura demons' compulsion. I've given her a sedative, and she's resting in the guest room now. Michael is watching her sleep, but I—”

“We'll have people up there to help as soon as we can,” Jace said.

“Thank you,” Father Paul said. “I'll be waiting, and Emma ... I . . . I should have destroyed the book the day I found it.”

“No, I shouldn't have stolen it. I'm sorry.” Emma forced back the tears in her eyes.

“See you soon.” Father Paul hung up, and the wall phone shut off with a loud beep that echoed through the silent room.

Jace was the first to break the silence. “Much as I hate to say it, I think I'm the smart choice to stay here and clean up the mess. I have a few freelance hunter friends I can call.” He turned to Andre. “If you're feeling up to it, you—”

“I'm up to it. I'll drive Sam and Emma upstate.” Andre squeezed her hand. “Just let us run downstairs and grab some clothes.”

“I'll meet you in the garage in ten minutes,” Sam said. “It's going to be fine. We'll get Ginger and help her through this, and everything will be fine.”

Emma held on to Sam's comforting words as she and Andre hurried out into the hall, stepping over half a dozen bodies to get to the elevator.

“Your sister's an amazing shot. Especially for someone who can't see.”

“She probably could see those guys,” Emma said as they stepped into the elevator and pushed the first-floor button. “I'm imagining they're getting ready to transition to a pretty miserable time in their lives. Will Jace and his friends let them live?”

“I don't know, and I don't really care.” Andre pulled her close. “This isn't your fault, you know.”

“Then whose fault is it?” The door dinged open, and she moved out into the deserted hall, bound for the gymnasium. Andre stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She turned, giving in to the urge to lean into him, to wrap her arms around his waist and lay her cheek on his bare chest. He felt so good, even now, even knowing another mess was waiting for them in the New York countryside.

“It's just . . . what happened. And we'll deal with it. Me and you.”

“So we're me and you?” she asked, knowing they were wasting time but unable to help herself. “Officially?”

“As official as we can get until I get a ring on your finger.”

Emma tilted her head back, searching his face. “A ring? Like a wedding ring? You aren't serious.”

“I am. I'm old.” He shrugged and grinned that dimple-popping grin that made him look about fifteen. “Old guys like to get married. Especially old guys who have finally kicked a decade of addiction.”

“You think ... you really think—”

“I don't
think
. I know.” The grin faded, replaced by a look that made Emma's breath catch. “I don't want anyone but you. If you don't like that, then you should have fallen in love with someone younger.”

Emma smiled, her heart beating so fast it felt like the Hamma had hold of her again. But it wasn't drugs. It was just Andre . . . and the amazing way he made her feel. “Yeah. I guess I should have. Too late now.”

“Guess so,” he said, taking her hand and leading her down the hall.

“But we're not having babies until I'm at least thirty.”

“I don't know. We didn't use a condom a couple of times. . . .”

“The timing's off. No way it could have happened.”

“Good.” Andre winked over his shoulder. “I want to do everything with you, but kids are going to have to wait. I need at least half a dozen years of fucking you without worrying about little eyes and ears.”

Emma followed him into the men's locker room, too full to know what to say. She knew only that she loved this man, that the thought of sharing her life with him made her happy even in the midst of tragedy, hopeful in times of crisis. He was everything she'd never dared hope for and more.

He stopped in front of a locker and spun the combination, pulling out clothes and shoes. She took the sweatpants and T-shirt he offered, standing on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” His hand brushed her cheek, touching her like she was something to be treasured, someone worthy of love and goodness. For the first time in her life, Emma believed he might be right, and she was going to prove it by cleaning up the rest of the mess she'd made. With Andre's help.

“You ready?” Andre asked a few minutes later, once they were both dressed.

“I am.” And she was. Ready for anything, so long as she had this man by her side.

 

I
t was a beautiful night, cool and fresh and filled with fireflies and magic. There was nothing better than evening in upstate New York in the summertime. Sitting in the porch rocker, sipping a bottle of Finger Lakes Chardonnay with the man she loved by her side, watching Sam and Jace walk hand in hand through the fields in front of Father Paul's house in the setting sun—it was almost possible for Emma to forget this had ever been a place of sadness for her.

It helped, of course, that her demon mark was under control, fed by love instead of violence, and as dormant as it had ever been. It was also nice that the few kids presently in Father Paul's care—twelve-year-old twin girls and a five-year-old boy—weren't particularly depressing cases. The girls suffered pain associated with their demon marks, but only when they were apart for too long, and the boy—an energy vampire much like herself—had, amazingly, learned to feed on plants. His hunger resulted in dead trees sprinkled throughout the forest behind the house, but the group home needed wood for the stove anyway.

Andre and Jace had already felled some of the trees for the aging Father Paul, putting up enough firewood to last the coming winter and beyond. And Father Paul . . . he'd been as amazing as ever. He'd welcomed her back without any anger or resentment, bringing home that “Prodigal Son” Bible lesson he was so fond of in a decidedly personal way. Once Sam and Jace had joined them there—Jace deciding it would be wise for the remaining, loyal Conti bounty members to lie low until the police finished their investigation of the arson at the Conti offices and the “disappearances” of half the Conti staff—the time upstate had felt almost like a vacation.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open and an angry Ginger in a borrowed blue dress stormed out the door and down the porch steps. A second later, Michael Conti slammed after her. “Ginger, wait. I'm ... I'm sorry!”

Almost
like a vacation, if that vacation involved purging one of your best friends of a minor aura demon possession with disgusting things like saltwater cleanses, mud baths, and a strict vegetarian diet that had Emma jonesing for a big hunk of meat.

“Just leave me alone. I want to go for a walk. By myself!” Ginger called over her shoulder, freezing when she saw Emma and Andre on the porch. “Oh . . . sorry, guys. I . . .” Her blue eyes glazed for a moment before sharpening once more. “I just need to take a walk. Will you tell Big Brother over there that it's okay if I take a walk?”

“It's okay if she takes a walk, Mikey,” Emma said.

“But it'll be dark soon, and she always gets lost in the woods,” he said, driving a frustrated hand through his dark curls. His hair was even wavier than Andre's. “I'm only trying to—”