Hex Appeal (36 page)

“Mission accomplished,” he said.

It wasn’t until I heard Ruthie’s answer—through the glass, across the distance, on a phone that wasn’t anywhere near my ear—sure I was a fairy, but even I had limits—that I realized I was dreaming.

“Any problems?”

“What problem would there be? You’ve seen her.”

Seen who? What problem?

“Did she suspect?”

“That this was a setup?” Jimmy blew a derisive breath through his lips. “I know what I’m doing, Ruthie. It would have been nice if you’d mentioned that the sorcerer was one of ours.”

“Telling you would have defeated the purpose of the test.”

“That was a test?” Jimmy asked. “And here I thought it was just one giant clusterfuck.”

“Watch your mouth, boy.”

“I could have died.”

“Summer wouldn’t let you. Why you think I made you take her along?”

“I know exactly why you made me take her along.”

Silence reigned for a few seconds before Ruthie murmured, “It had to be done.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Considering what I usually send you out to do, I wouldn’t think seducing a pretty woman would be such a hardship.”

Suddenly the warmth of the room wasn’t quite warm enough.

“She isn’t a woman.” I stopped breathing even before he continued. “She’s a damn fairy.”

“Not damned,” Ruthie murmured. “Not yet. Besides, she could have been Satan’s little sister, and the mission would have been the same. Count your blessings.”

“This wasn’t a blessing, it was a—” He turned, and saw me standing in the window. “Nightmare,” he finished.

I woke up with a gasp, arms flailing, tangling in the covers as I tried to breathe but was unable to through the pain in my chest. I felt like I was dying even though I was well aware that I wouldn’t.

I was at the cottage, alone in the bed, in the room. Outside, the low murmur of Jimmy’s voice.

“Mission accomplished.”

Ignoring the shimmy of déjà vu, I dressed, taking clothes from the owner’s closet. Considering she was no longer here, and neither was whoever belonged to the man’s clothes in a second closet, I figured the chupacabras had eaten them.

The missing woman was bigger than I but nearly everyone was. I glamoured everything until it was exactly the same thing I’d worn before—fringe, boots, hat, and all. I didn’t bother to cross the room and listen to Jimmy’s conversation. Once had been enough.

For several lifetimes.

I thought back on all the occasions I’d thought he was hiding something, those prickles of unease with Jimmy, Ruthie, the entire situation. But instead of pushing for an answer, I’d been dazzled by him. How could I not be? I’d been waiting for Jimmy Sanducci for centuries.

The door opened. Jimmy saw me sitting on the edge of the bed and smiled. He almost looked as if he meant it.

“You’re good,” I said.

His smile faltered. “Thank you?”

“I actually believed you cared.”

Confusion flickered across his face, then he glanced through the open door, at the window, and again at me. “You heard?”

I shrugged. I had, just not the way he thought.

“Let me explain—”

“I’m sure Ruthie had her reasons.” She always did. “Although I’d think the Leader of the Light would be above pimping for the greater good.”

“It’s a long story. I—”

I zapped him with fairy dust, and he stopped talking. I guess what he’d been about to tell me wasn’t merciful. More about making
him
feel better than making me not want to dive into a fresh patch of rowan or stab myself in the throat with the nearest cold, sharp steel.

Had Ruthie wanted us to bond? Had she needed me to protect him? She could have just asked. There was something more to this, but right now, I didn’t want to know.

“Listen,” Jimmy said, and that he
could
speak meant I should. “Bad things are coming. We’re going to have to do whatever it takes to win the coming war.”

The hair on my arms lifted. “Armageddon?”

“It’s almost here.”

I closed my eyes. The last war. The only one that mattered.

Who would win? Our Book said one thing. Theirs said another.

The universe craved balance. God versus Satan. Angels versus devils. Good versus evil. Us versus them.

I’d seen so many things in my sleep. I opened my eyes and stared into Jimmy’s all-too-familiar face. I’d seen him die. But I’d also seen him live.

Because of me.

I loved him. Did it matter if he loved me back? Perhaps my love wasn’t real, just a fantasy manufactured by our side so that I would protect him. But it felt real, and it wasn’t something I was going to be able to magic away. I’d tried.

I’d promised everything I had, everything I was, to keep him safe. And looking at him now, even knowing what I did, I knew I’d promise the same damn thing again tomorrow.

We needed him. Without Jimmy Sanducci, the side of good, of light and right would not survive. I wasn’t certain of much, but I was certain of that. I had to be.

“There will be demons,” Jimmy said. “Scores of them. And the only thing that can stop them is us.” He held out his hand. “You with me?”

Since being with him was all I’d ever wanted, I took that hand, and I kept my promise. It wasn’t easy.

But, then, deals with the devil never are.

*   *   *

Author’s Bio:

Lori Handeland is a two-time Romance Writers’ of America RITA Award winner and the
New York Times
bestselling author of the paranormal romance series, The Nightcreature Novels, as well as the urban fantasy series, The Phoenix Chronicles. Lori lives in Wisconsin with a husband, two sons, and a yellow Lab named Elwood.

“There Will Be Demons” takes place in the world of The Phoenix Chronicles. For more adventures with the same characters, as well as many others, start with Book #1,
Any Given Doomsday
.

For more information on Lori or her books, please go to: www.lorihandeland.com.

CHERRY KISSES

by
ERICA HAYES

The blond vampire lounging against the mirrors had been ogling me for the past five minutes, the way a shark cruises for tasty meat. Designer jeans, diamond ear studs, dark eyes sunken with hunger. A perfect mark.

I tossed him a flirty smile, twisting a purple-dyed curl around my finger. Dark music throbbed in my blood, the raw metal of guitars and drums. Around me, dancers writhed, a snake pit of slick rainbow limbs, glowing fairy wings, the scarlet flash of vampire eyes. The sultry air coated my skin, dusted with fairy wing-glitter and thick with the scents of sweat and sex. Unseelie Court at midnight, the hottest, coolest, most dangerous nightclub in town.

Glamours clashed and sparked, electric, the glass-spun veil of magic that hid the supernatural from ordinary human eyes. I fingered the woven-wire pendant around my neck. It was warm to the touch, spells pulsing. Thanks to my pendant, I could see through glamour, and unlike most of the club’s clientele, my vampboy admirer was just what he appeared—hungry, horny, and impatient.

I touched up my cherry-cola lipstick and stalked over, sparkling a little spell-sweet seduction into my scent.

I’m not a bloodwhore, understand. If I had a card, it’d say
Lena Falco, troublemaker for hire, caster of petty hexes and spells, no job too crappy
. But I’d just spent my last twenty on a couple of stiff drinks—so sue me, I’d had a shitty day—and I had rent and protection to pay. When business is slow, you gotta broaden your skill set. The bloodsucking mobsters who run this town aren’t known for their patience. And neither am I.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, letting it shimmer under glitter-smoked lights, and my mark’s gaze drilled me crimson every step of the way. Handsome brute, too, blond curls and dark lashes, muscles shining in sweat under his frayed shirt.

Good for me. Bad for him. A less confident guy will assume I’m conning him and ask how much, but the hot ones think it’s perfectly reasonable when a violet-haired vixen in a shiny blue corset and black-leather hot pants makes a pass.

This guy? Mr. Tall-blond-and-screw-me-now? Easy mark.

I stopped a foot away, cocking my hip to show off my fishnet-clad legs. The mirrors reflected us both, vamp and human—I know, boring but true—and I made sure I gave him my sultriest smile. “Looking for something tasty?”

“Found it.” The vamp grinned, fangs glinting. His cheeks glowed with feverthirst. When vampires don’t feed, the virus slowly eats into their brains, and they get manic and greedy. This guy looked like he’d abstained a few days past his manners’ expiry date.

“Then come get it.” I traced a finger along his sweat-slick collarbone, and he wrapped my hair around his fist and pulled me in tight. His lips burned my throat, eager fangs already stinging hot. His heartbeat echoed in my blood. He pressed his tongue over my vein, making a soft spot to bite.
Eww. This so better be worth it.

I laughed and twisted back. “Easy, big guy. Aren’t you gonna kiss me first?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. His lips scorched mine, hot and hungry, the salty tequila taste of his tongue a bright shock. Hard body pressed into mine, hands and lips and swollen heat, fangs grazing my lip bloody. He was eager, this one.

Pity it’d do him no good.

I kissed him harder, full contact. His eyelids fluttered closed, and with a soft sigh, he went limp. All of him, I mean.

I eased the drowsy vamp down onto the couch. His sweaty hair smeared the mirrors, and his breath came fast and shallow.

I wiped my mouth and reapplied my lipstick. Cherry-cola, sweet, and sparkling with soporific spelljuice. I made it myself, from a vial of stolen fairy breath. Unless you were immune—like I’d made sure I was—one kiss would send you straight to la-la land.

Dirty trick? Yeah. But I don’t have much of my own mojo, see. My hex pendant is great, but it mostly just wards off curses. To cast spells properly takes time and study, and remember what I said about patience? Technically, I’m not a witch, not yet. But I’ve still got a few tricks up my corset, and I don’t mean my double-D cups.

Swiftly, I slipped the rings from his fingers, the flashy watch from his wrist, and the fat diamond studs (definitely not Swarovski, folks) from his ears. Cash in his pocket, too, a thick wad of crisp plastic notes. Thanks very much, fangboy. Glad to be of service.

Around me, the dance raved on, oblivious. He wasn’t anyone important, not a high-up gang minion or a demon’s thrall, and in a nightclub teeming with ravenous creatures of all colors and tastes, no one cared too much about this one.

Harsh? Well, that’s the world we live in. At Unseelie Court, everyone is fair game. And he’d wake in a few minutes, groggy and horny and none the wiser.

I stuffed the loot down between my breasts. I had a fence in North Melbourne, a potbellied green spriggan with toilet-brush hair and sewer breath. He had wandering hands—I’m not averse to a bit of hot fae action, don’t get me wrong, but claws and bad teeth just aren’t my thing—but he generally gave me a good price. This little lot would keep the mobsters off my throat, at least for a while. Then, I guess, I’d be back in the game.

Beside me, on the dirty velvet couch, a drooling waterfae girl blinked at me sleepily, moisture dripping from luminous green wings. Sparkle dusted her nose, that wild fairy hallucinogen that monopolized the recreational drug market these days. She wiped it off and licked her knuckles, her watery eyes swirling. “You got any peanuts?”

Fairies were crazy, mostly, and some would screw you over in a heartbeat for giggles, but I judged this one pretty harmless. “Sorry, sweetie. Ask at the bar.”

“Only pretzels. No peanuts. Peanuts smell better.”

“Ain’t life a bitch.”

She wiped long-clawed hands on her dress, leaving a wet stain. “I like your shorts.”

“Yeah?” Briefly, I considered trading with her. I can always use more fairy spells. And there were plenty more hot pants where these came from, which was generally the
SHOPLIFT HERE!
section of the local discount store.

Just as I was about to make a bargain, my message tone chimed.

I dug out my phone.
Turn around.

My skin prickled. Mysterious. No name, no number.

Another chime, and more words flashed up.
I have a job for you, Lena Falco. Turn around.

Mysterious, nameless dude who knows my name. For all I knew, he was standing right behind me.

And here’s where I had a choice.

Switch off, make my bargain with the fairy girl, and go home, with her dress on and a new spell in my pocket, all set for another petty score tomorrow night.

On the other hand, mystery means danger. Big danger means big payoff, and there’s always the chance it’ll be The Job. The big one that sets me up, so I won’t need to worry about rent and protection for a long, long time.

I flicked a fifty from my new cash roll and tossed it at the bloodwhore who sauntered by in a red rubber dress and six-inch heels, the ring of dripping scars at her throat proclaiming her trade. I pointed at the unconscious vamp. “See this guy? He’s fevertripping. Make sure he gets some.”

She eyed me suspiciously, blonde pigtails bouncing. “Who the fuck are you, the Salvation Army?”

“Maybe I’m his mother. What the hell do you care?”

The bloodwhore sniffed, tucked the money away, and strutted over to him. My good deed for the day. I’m a thief, not a vamp killer.

And then, just like the man ordered, I turned around.

Easy to spot, even in this crowd. Big guy, black hair, black eyes rimmed with red. Green lights reflected on glassy cheekbones, lasering those midnight eyes with menace. Dark lashes stark against pale skin, exotic, luminous like he’d been out of the light for too long. He wore unrelieved black, like it was all he had in his wardrobe, and damn it if that suit didn’t look good on him. He looked like a cross between a vampire mobster from Moscow and a model for the Armani Fall Collection.