Devil's Paw (Imp Book 4) (18 page)

“Your body is human,” I assured her. She wasn’t fully in control of her demon abilities. As her powers began to mature, she’d be able to change her physical make–up, including the effects that drugs, alcohol, and poisons had on her physical form. That was probably a long, long way off though.

“Okay, but what if my demon side goes crazy and I kill my partner?”

That was always a possibility, although succubi and incubi were not anywhere near as violent as other demons. They tended toward pleasure, not pain. Leethu could happily dole out anything her partner desired, but she’d never been willing to participate in anything non–consensual.

“You don’t kill Wyatt when you have sex with him. What sort of things do you do? How do you keep your violent urges in check? Does he let you tie him up and stuff? Or maybe he ties you up, so you can’t hurt him?”

I made a choked noise and held the phone away from my ear, staring at it in horror. I was
not
going to discuss Wyatt’s and my sex life with his sister!

“Ummm, maybe abstinence is a good course of action for you,” I finally replied.

The irony of my recommending abstinence was not lost on me. I’d once taken a whole stack of church youth group pamphlets promoting teen celibacy and altered them to include graphic drawings and cheerful commands to “Go Forth And Fuck!”.

“I’m trying, but I don’t feel well. I feel brittle, like I’m on the verge of snapping. And I’m tired, like I’m getting a cold. I never get colds.”

“Vitamin C,” I urged. “And maybe a nap.”

“I tried exercise,” she continued, ignoring my suggestions. “But at the gym yesterday, there was this class instructor and I could hardly control myself. What made it worse was that he was clearly interested, eager even, to get it on in the locker room.”

“Wait. Raoul? That zumba instructor?” I’d been trying to get in that guy’s pants for the past year. He was a Latin god of a man. Every woman at the gym lusted after him. Sadly, in spite of his flirting, he was always resolutely professional.

“Yes. He gave me his number and somehow managed to find mine through the membership database. He’s called me three times begging to see me.”

Was he stalking her? A flash of anger sparked through me. No one fucked with my little family and lived to tell the tale. Although there wasn’t much I could do right now from Seattle.

“Call the police.” I urged. “Report him to the gym.”

“I’d rather throw him in the back seat of my car and ride him until he collapses from exhaustion. I’m just afraid he’ll wind up dead, with or without a smile on his face.”

Oh. My. Not a visual I thought I’d get from Wyatt’s little sister. Was this normal human crazy hormone stuff, or something else?

“Can you restrain yourself?” I needed to get a hold of Leethu and see what advice the succubus could possibly give her randy daughter. The sun was low on the horizon, and I’d hoped to check out this potential house of Baphomet’s before Gregory and I headed back to the east coast. I didn’t have a portable mirror to reach my household right now, anyway. Hopefully Amber could take a bunch of cold showers and keep from fucking anyone to death until I got back to Maryland and could contact Leethu.

“Yeah, I guess I can just use a vibrator, or that…”

“That’s a great idea,” I cut her off. Now I had images of Amber masturbating running through my head. “Just hang in there and let me check some info. I’ll be home in the morning. We can talk then.”

~14~

T
he sun was sending its last rays over the water as I stood in the Eastlake house and surveyed my surroundings. It was just as beautiful as I remembered — across the road from the famous floating houses on Lake Union. The place cost a fortune, even when Baphomet had originally bought it. Not that sufficient capital was ever a problem for us demons. Amoral beings tend to generate wealth at an astonishing rate. The house wasn’t necessarily a mansion, but in Seattle, location was king. And Eastlake was primo.

Baphomet’s residence was not as trendy as the other demon’s. Most demons moved every few months, but Baphomet had been here five years. That was practically unheard of, even though this was a house any of us would want to keep a tight hold on. Baphomet
was
particularly fond of his real estate purchases. I think he still had that place in London from three hundred years ago. And he’d had an absolute meltdown when his house in Sardinia had burned to the ground.

Except for myself, demons usually maxed out their stays at no more than three years. Baphomet had done an extended vacation before. We’d had a bet going on, and he’d been determined to win. Since then, he’d never stayed long, always expressing disdain for any visit more than two months. Why had he remained so long?

The only thing unusual my brief search revealed was a stack of papers on the table — some of them posters railing against demonic possession, and others letters filled with tiny handwriting. The letters all accused the reader of heinous acts and promised both banishment and an infernal afterlife. For a moment I thought I’d found some kind of clue to the killer, but then I realized the incoherent rambling was more likely that of a mentally ill person. They often recognized us demons and took especial delight in outing us to the rest of the public. Luckily, their accusations were usually just considered to be a symptom of their mental condition.

Another dead–end. This whole trip had been a bust so far. I hadn’t found anything on Baphomet’s corpse that would help me identify who had killed him, why, and where he might be. The restraint marks and traces didn’t make sense at all. Maybe if I spent more time in Baphomet’s house, searched it further, I could find something, but it was more likely I’d only find random information about his various business interests and demonic hobbies. Maybe there was no big plot. Maybe Baphomet and all the other victims had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sighing, I glanced over at the huge communication mirror on the wall, so like my own at home. Baphomet had been my friend, and I owed it to his household to let them know about his death.

“Baal, I’m so relieved. We’ve been trying…” his steward’s voice trailed off as he realized this was not his master on the line.

“It’s me, Az. Baphomet is dead.”

It probably wasn’t the most gentle death notification call in the history of the world, but we demons are not very good at this sort of thing. I heard his sharp intake of breath.

“Angels? I told him not to stay so long, told him it was insanity, but he said he would be safe. That he knew someone.”

I snorted. No one was safe from the angels except me and my household. Probably not me either, I thought, remembering the chase down Market Street.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told him, uncertain what to say. I assumed as the Iblis, I needed to do this sort of thing. And Baphomet had been my friend. Well, as much a friend as any demon could be.

“Iblis, I humbly ask that you accept us into your esteemed household,” the steward said without missing a beat. A household without a master wasn’t safe. They’d be picked off quickly without protection. I wasn’t much better than any other demon, in spite of my Iblis title, but I was the first available, and more likely to take them due to my friendship with the deceased.

“Sure.” I might as well. I seemed to be taking in every stray around lately. Thankfully I’d scored Haagenti’s funds when I’d killed him, or I’d be facing poverty with a household this size. It was a funny situation. Rich here among the humans, destitute in Hel.

“We’re grateful for your protection, Iblis. Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

An idea bloomed. “Yeah. How long was Baphomet here this time? And was there a demon he came over with? Somebody he mentioned living near him that he was friendly with?”

“Our former master had been on the other side of the gates for nearly seven years. He traveled over with Raim, and last I spoke with him, they were working together on a project of significance. I believe they’d become partners.”

Raim. I knew of him, although we’d never crossed paths. In Hel, he preferred an avian form — a sort of crow shape. He’d become somewhat legendary as a thief and made a hobby out of blowing up buildings. I hadn’t heard of any unexpected demolition in the last seven years, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been causing chaos in some other fashion.

“Can you contact Raim’s household? Inquire as to his whereabouts?”

“Yes, of course, Iblis, but the last I spoke with them, they had not heard from Raim. I inquired when I was unable to reach our former master, thinking they might have news of him. They too were concerned.”

Households got nervous when their heads remained away for extended periods. Could Raim also be dead? Gregory’s words echoed in my head, and I wondered if he’d snapped and began a devouring spree that would only end with his death.

“Did …did Raim devour? Were there any rumors?” It was like asking if a human were a serial rapist. Not many demons would admit to devouring. The line remained silent, and I felt the steward’s discomfort.

“There were rumors, Iblis, but no one has confirmed. I’m sure they are vicious lies told by his enemies. I’ve heard the same lies about you.”

Those lies about me were true. They were probably true about Raim too.

“Will you be continuing our prior master’s project, Iblis? Would you like me to continue sending Lows, or higher–level demons?”

I opened my mouth, but before I could ask the steward what he was talking about, the world lurched around me. With a wave of vertigo, I found myself dizzy and disorientated, being hauled along by a strong arm around my waist.

“What the fuck?”

“Your flight leaves in ten minutes,” Gregory announced. “I’m having the plane held.”

My eyesight cleared, and I saw us hustling right past the security line and the scanners, everyone ignoring the angel half dragging an imp.

“You didn’t have to summon me out of the blue like that,” I complained, trying to get my feet under me to halt our breakneck pace. “I’m sure there’s another plane in the morning.”

“We have a lead on the killer. You’re going home on this plane.” The angel hauled me past the gate desk and onto the jetway.

He had a lead? Excitement poured through me. A lead! Finally, after such a discouraging afternoon. There was no way I was going to go home now. No way. I grabbed the edge of a wall, recessed to allow the walkway to collapse, and held on with all my might, nearly wrenching my shoulder from its socket.

“I’m not getting on that plane. I’m coming with you.”

“You’re getting on the plane.” He stopped and tried to pry my fingers off the ledge.

“Fuck you,” I snarled. “I’ll crash the plane, jump out the window, blow a hole through the fuselage. I’m not getting on that plane.”

That gave him pause. He stood before me, his eyes completely black, his form shimmering with indistinct edges as he took a calming breath. “Little Cockroach, you need to go home to your human and stay there. I’ll go and confront the devouring sprit.”

“Like hell. I’m coming with you. This is personal. I’ll wind up being implicated; I’m in danger of being blamed for this whole thing. I’m going to make sure it gets resolved.”

I saw him waver, saw the conflict in his eyes — his need to keep me safe versus his understanding of how I must find this guy before someone decided I was the culprit.

“I knew him. I knew this last demon. He was an old friend of mine, and although he was a bit of a bastard, he didn’t deserve this.” At least I didn’t think he did. With Baphomet, one never really knew.

He paused, running a finger across my cheek and along a loose tendril of hair. “I know, Cockroach. I felt your sorrow about his death. I’m sorry you’re grieving, and I understand your need for closure and vengeance, but you will be safer at home. If this demon killed your friend, managed to overpower an angel, I fear he’ll do the same to you.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to budge, that my personal safety outweighed any need to deliver personal judgment in his mind. He was an angel, though, and there was one thing I knew he was a stickler for — duty.

“As the Iblis, it’s my responsibility to investigate these deaths and bring the murderer to justice.” I had no idea if that last part was true, but I knew it would make my case stronger in the eyes of an angel.

A warm light came into his eyes, and once again he caressed my face. “He is very strong. I fear you might need to resort to something unsavory if you face him.”

I understood the unspoken words. I was only an imp. And who knows if encountering another devouring spirit would set me off on my own course of destruction. Gregory had always been hands–off when it came to most threats to my person. The only time he’d intervened had been when an angel had caused me harm. This sudden protectiveness was both flattering, insulting, and rather suffocating.

“I am the Iblis. You are always lecturing me about duty and responsibility; well here I am, ready to step up to the plate. He’s killed at least four demons. That makes his justice my responsibility.”

“He’s killed an angel. That makes his justice my responsibility.”

I faced him, seeing the resolve in his face. It wouldn’t matter. He could tie me up and stuff me on a plane, but I’d keep coming back. He’d never been able to control me, never been able to get rid of me. And from the look in his eyes, he knew it.

“It seems we have a disagreement about jurisdiction. I propose we work together since we both want the same outcome.” It was an angelic solution. Normally I’d rant and rave, physically assault him and demand I get my way, but I’d found things went better when I played on Gregory’s terms. His eyes returned to normal, his form solidified as he considered my proposal.

“We’ll be more likely to find him working together,” I added. “And the quicker we find him, the less likely he is to do massive amounts of damage.”

“Your argument is a sound one.” Reaching out a hand, the angel took a lock of my hair and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, sending a tendril of his personal energy in to caress mine. “Don’t devour, little Cockroach. Promise me you won’t devour.”