For a Few Demons More (25 page)

Tom took his hand away, but there was a new determination in his eyes. “You won't survive on your own,” he warned. “Don't be greedy. Share what you've learned along with sharing the danger of summoning them. It takes a quorum of witches to control a demon.”

“Then it's a good thing I'm not trying to.”

“Rachel Morgan…”

A sound of exasperation came from me. “No!” I shouted. “And stop calling me Rachel Morgan. I'm Rachel, or Ms. Morgan. Only demons use every single damned name that a person is known by. My answer is no. No lifelines, no calling my best friend. That's my final answer. I do not deal with demons. I do not
want
to deal with demons. Go back and tell your architect that I am flattered for the offer but that I work alone.”

His eyes slid to Jenks in my lap, and I scowled. “Jenks is family,” I said darkly. “And if you ever hurt my family again, you and your little sorry-ass circle will find out there are worse things than demons to piss off.”

“The I.S. won't help you,” he said, backing up when I revved the engine and threatened to run over his foot. “They're a vamp-run institution controlled by self-minded individuals, not those seeking to elevate a closed mind.”

Pulse pounding, I said, “For once we agree, but I wasn't talking about the I.S. I was talking about me.” Foot letting up on the clutch, I pulled forward. I wanted to tear out of there like Ivy's last blind date, but in respect for the dead, I had to be content with a slow, careful crawl. I glanced at Jenks to be sure the jostling hadn't shifted him to snap a wing with his bodyweight.

Eyes flicking from him to the narrow road, I stewed, not just about Jenks but about Tom's request. It was never good to be offered a place in a wacko organization, especially when you tell them to shove their high ideals and their glorious work.

There was a soft pull on my chi, and my gaze hit the rearview mirror. My breath caught, and I almost drove right off the pavement when Tom turned his back on me and vanished.

Holy crap, he jumped to a line.
Worried, I adjusted my grip on the wheel, alternating my focus from the road to where he had been as if it had been a mistake. He was good enough to use the lines to travel, and he was only a minor member?

Damn, who exactly had I just insulted?

David's car windows were down, and the cool damp of the late afternoon felt good lifting through my hair. The complex scent of Were mixed with the smell of the riverfront, and I snuck a glance at David across the short width of his sports car. He had on his long leather duster and matching hat, and though he would probably be more comfortable with the air on, he hadn't suggested it—Jenks was on my big hoop earring, and quick temperature changes wreaked havoc with his small body mass. It was easier to sweat a little than listen to Jenks bitch about being cold. We were almost to Piscary's anyway.

Upon coming home from Spring Grove, I'd found a second message on the machine, the red light blinking like a ticking bomb. My first thought that it might be Ivy proved false. It was Mrs. Sarong's new aide. The owner of the Howlers wanted to meet with me, too. And seeing that the I.S. was blowing off the murder of her aide as a suicide, it was probable she wanted me to find out who had done it. Liking the idea of catching three paychecks with one job, I changed the location of my meeting with Mr. Simon Ray to a neutral place, then agreed to meet Mrs. Sarong at the same time. If nothing else, I'd find out if they were killing each other.

The tension in David's hands on the wheel increased as he made a right turn into the almost-deserted lot at Piscary's. The two-story bar/ tavern was closed until five, when it opened for the Inderland lunch
hour, and I thought it made the perfect neutral ground. Kisten had set new hours shortly after they'd lost their Mixed Public License—MPL for short—and went to an all-vamp clientele. The bar would be empty but for Kisten and a few waitstaff prepping for the day. Besides, doing this where Kisten could step in if needed was just good planning.

Nervous, I checked to see that I had my bag with my charms and splat gun, a fresh batch of sleepy-time potions in the hopper. David parked smoothly in an outer spot where he wouldn't have to back up to leave. Saying nothing, he popped the trunk and got out while I sat in the car and turned my phone to vibrate. It had been a very quiet ride over here; David's mind was clearly on his girlfriends, both living and dead.

I hadn't been keen on his coming with me, but he did have a car, and I was meeting with two alphas of Cincy's more prominent packs. Jenks said David had a right to be there as my alpha, and I trusted his judgment. Besides, I had worked with David before. Though distracted, he was better at reacting to violence than his easygoing looks would indicate.

“Ready, Jenks?” I whispered as David thunked the trunk shut.

“Soon as you get your lily-white witch ass outta this car,” Jenks said sarcastically.

Ignoring that, I dropped my phone into my bag and got out. I scanned the lot, enjoying the cooler air off the river that set a few strands of my hair to drift. Kisten's boat was at the quay, and I started to the front door with a slow pace. David fell into step beside me, his eyes seeing everything from under his worn brown leather hat. “What was in the trunk?” I asked, and my eyes widened when he opened his coat and let me glimpse a big-ass rifle.

“I know these people,” he said, his expression going hard. “We handle their insurance.”

Oka-a-a-ay,
I thought, hoping I wouldn't have to pull the little red splat gun tucked in my bag. They'd laugh themselves silly. Until the first of them dropped, that is.

There was an unfamiliar black Jag and an H2 pulled up to the front, clearly not belonging to the waitstaff. Someone had beaten us here, despite my efforts to be the first and take the high ground. Mr. Ray, I'd be willing to bet, as I credited Mrs. Sarong with more class than to cart her people around in a yellow Hummer—as cool as that appeared to be.
I glanced back at David's sports car, missing the freedom to jump into my red convertible and go. A sigh moved through me.

“Whatsa matter, Rache?” Jenks asked, still on my shoulder and remarkably quiet.

“I need to work on my image,” I muttered, pulling up the waistband of my leather pants and trying to keep up with David's long strides. Leather was my fabric of choice when I was on a run; if I went sliding on the pavement, I didn't want to leave a skin graft. I had on a matching biker's cap with the Harley logo, and my vamp-made boots that kept my steps silent. My black leather jacket was too hot, and though it ruined the look, I removed it to leave only my chemise.

David had asked to take a few days off from work to sort himself out and had opted for jeans and a cotton tuck-in shirt instead of his business suit. The duster, the worn hat pulled over his brooding eyes, and his wavy black hair in a ponytail made him look like Van Helsing. His mood bordered on depressed—his few wrinkles deep and his brow etched with lines. His pace slow, he took almost a step and a half of mine to make it appear he was floating. He was clean-shaven, and his squinting eased when the sun turned to the cool shadow of the restaurant's canopy.

Maybe my image is just fine….

I reached for the door handle, ignoring the city ordinance warning that the establishment had no MPL. It was before business hours, and even so, I didn't have to worry. I'd been over here lots of times with Kisten. No one had bothered me yet.

David's suntanned hand settled on mine atop the handle. “A female alpha doesn't open doors,” he said, and realizing he was going to play this to the hilt, I let go. Effortlessly he opened the door and held it for me. Past him, the bar was quiet, the house lights down and everything gray and soothing. I took my glasses off as I entered and dropped them into my bag.

“Ms. Morgan!” a familiar voice called the instant my feet passed the threshold. It was Steve, Kisten's number-one guy, who ran the bar when he was out, and I smiled when the bear of a man did a single-armed vault over the bar to come and give me his traditional hug.

Jenks took off with a yelp, but my eyes closed as I returned Steve's embrace, pulling his luscious scent of incense and vamp pheromones
deep into me. God, he smelled good. Almost as good as Kisten. “Hi, Steve,” I said, feeling tingles at my vamp scar and putting space between us. “How ticked is Kisten that I asked to borrow the bar for a few hours?”

Kisten's assistant manager/bouncer gave me a final squeeze and let go. “Not at all,” he said, a devious glint in his eyes. They were dilated more than the low light warranted, and his toothy smile probably owed to the fact that he knew I was enjoying breathing him in. “He's looking forward to taking the rental fee for the back room out of your hide.”

“I'll bet,” I said dryly, my hands falling to my sides. “Ah, this is David, my alpha,” I said, remembering the man behind me. “And you know Jenks.”

David leaned forward, his hand extended and the hem of his duster furling. “Hue,” David said, his face melancholy. “David Hue. It's good to meet you.”

Steve's gaze flicked from him to me and back again, silently remarking on David's depression. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hue,” the vampire said earnestly. “I heard that Rachel had taken up a pack. It's the rare man who can get her to let him put a claim on her.”

“Hey!” I exclaimed, swatting Steve's shoulder with the back of my hand. But Steve caught it, his eyes flashing black as he kissed the tips of my fingers.

I forgot what I was going to yell at him when the hard coolness of his teeth grazed my skin. A shiver lifted through me, and I blinked, his eyes fixed on me from under his lowered brow. “Stop that,” I said, and drew away.

Steve smiled at me like I was his little sister, and David pulled out of his funk to stare at me. “Mr. Ray is here already,” the vamp said. “He's in the back with six men, waiting for you.”

Six men? Why did he bring that many? He doesn't know Mrs. Sarong is coming, does he?
“Thanks,” I said, setting my coat on the bar when Steve started drifting away. “You mind if we wait here until Mrs. Sarong arrives?”

“Not at all.” He pulled a stool out from the bar for me. “What can I get you and Mr. Hue?” He glanced at the melancholy Were. “I won't tell the I.S. if you don't.”

David leaned against the bar. His brown eyes were everywhere, and
he looked like a gunslinger coming in from the prairie. “Water, please,” he said, not aware I was watching him. It must be tearing him apart, having caused those women's deaths, even if indirectly.

“Iced tea?” I said, hot in all my leather, then immediately regretted it. I was going to meet with two of Cincy's most powerful individuals, and I would be sucking down an iced tea when I did it? God! No wonder no one took me seriously.

I started to change it to a glass of wine, a beer, anything…but Steve was gone. The clatter of pixy wings brought my hand up in invitation, and Jenks landed on it, his wings shimmering with exertion. “The bar looks good,” he said, tossing his bangs out of the way. “No charms but for the usual. I'm going to listen in on Mr. Ray if that's okay with you.”

My head bobbed. “Thanks, Jenks. That'd be great.”

Jenks touched his red cap in salute. “You got it. I'll be back when you need me.”

The draft from his wings was a brief flash of cool, and he was gone.

From the far end of the bar, Steve headed our way, the two drinks in his big hands. He set them before us, then slipped into the kitchen, the double doors silently swinging closed.

David encircled his glass of water with one hand. Not drinking, he hunched over the bar and brooded. A murmur of conversation came from the kitchen, and my gaze went over the cool, dusky room, taking in the changes since Kisten had assumed a closer management.

The downstairs was now tight with a multitude of smaller tables where patrons could get a quick bite rather than a meal. Ah…no pun intended. Shortly after Piscary had been incarcerated, the kitchen made a shift from the gourmet cuisine for which Pizza Piscary's was known to bar food, but pizza was still served.

There was a large round table between the foot of the wide stairway and the kitchen. That was where Kisten spent most nights when he was working, somewhere he could keep an eye on everything without appearing to. The upstairs was a dance floor now, complete with a DJ nest, disco ball, and light display. I didn't go up there when they were in full swing; the pheromones of several hundred vampires would hit me as pleasantly and as fast as chugging a six-pack.

Against the odds, Kisten had turned losing their MPL into an asset;
Piscary's was the only reputable place in Cincy where a vampire could relax without having to live up to anyone else's ideas of reserved behavior and vampiric standards. Even shadows weren't allowed. I was the only nonvamp let past the door—seeing as I had downed Piscary, then let the bastard live—and I was honored they let me see them as they wanted to be. The living ones partied with frightening abandon, trying to forget that they were destined to lose their souls, and the undead tried to remember what it was like to have one, almost seeming to find it while surrounded by such an outpouring of energy. Anyone coming in looking for a quick blood fix was escorted out. Blood didn't have a place in the fantasy they sought.

My gaze ran over the pictures lining the walls just under the ceiling, and I started when I found the blurry shot of me, Nick, and Ivy on her bike. It was fuzzy, but you could still tell there were a rat and a mink standing on the gas tank. Warming, I lifted my iced tea to sprinkle some salt on my napkin.

“Is that a spell?” David asked, eyes going to the kitchen doors when someone laughed.

I shook my head. “It's so the paper doesn't stick to the bottom of the glass and make me look like more of a dork than I already am.”

The Were pulled his head up from his melancholy hunch. “Rachel, you're wearing leather and sitting at a vamp bar. You could have a pink slushy with an umbrella in your hand and still impress the hell out of most people.”

My exhalation was long and slow. “Yeah, but alphas aren't most people.”

“You'll be fine. You're the alpha female for my pack, remember?” His gaze went behind me. “Afternoon, Kisten,” he said, and I turned, smiling when I recognized the scent of incense and leather.

“Thanks, Mr. Peabody,” the vampire said sourly, his attempt to startle me clearly ruined.

“Hi, Kist,” I said, curving an arm about his waist and drawing him closer. He was wearing dark pants and a red silk shirt—his usual casual clothes. “Thanks for letting me borrow your club,” I added, tugging at him suggestively. Damn, I could really have used some alone time with him this Friday. The memory of Ivy's kiss intruded, then vanished.

His eyes dilated, and my pulse increased despite my efforts. A smile
hovered over his features, and his look became more intent. “You can borrow a back room anytime,” he said, his hand finding my waist with a comfortable familiarity before he leaned in for a quick kiss hello.

He was aiming at my lips, but, conscious of David, I turned and he got the corner of my mouth instead. His low growl of bother sent a spike of desire unexpectedly through me. He wasn't truly upset—more like amused—and I wondered if playing hard to get one night might be extremely fun. Or deadly.

“I'm…ah, sorry for postponing our date,” I said when he leaned back, becoming flustered when he'd lingered a moment too long. “Let me know when you have another night free, and I'll get the reservation changed.”

David gave Kisten an up-and-down look, then took his drink and moseyed down the bar to stare at the pictures. Blue eyes gazing up at the ceiling, Kisten ran a hand through his hair to leave it attractively tousled. “Oh,” he teased, leaning against the bar to look alluring and in control. “My witch has enough clout to snag a reservation at the Tower whenever she wants.” He held a hand to his chest. “My masculine pride is wounded. I had to make mine three months ago.”

“It's not me,” I said, pushing at his shoulder, but not hard enough to move him. “Trent is doing it. It was part of the deal that I work his wedding.”