Make Me A Match (The Matchmaker) (3 page)

The demon was there, lurking in the shadows. I could sense
the beast, the whispered warning swirling low in my body, building, flaring
like alarm bells going off. Not surprising that the demon had found her so
quickly. Their instincts were spot-on. But if the demon knew, that meant the
others might find out as well.

Where was the bloody bastard?

Something shifted, morphing from the shadows behind the
mausoleum. Emma sensed the demon as well, for she paused there on the path. The
setting sun sent rays through the trees and highlighted her body with a
heavenly glow. She started to turn. I stepped behind an oak, leaning against
the rough bark. Emma was working with heightened instincts now that the powers
had transferred. What would she do when confronted by the monster?

She scanned the small, secluded cemetery on a hill that
overlooked the lake below. Perhaps her skin tingled. Maybe her stomach clenched
as heat swept through her form. But, like most humans, she’d ignore the
unsettling feeling. Much to my disappointment, she turned back around and
continued down the small trail winding through Victorian headstones, dismissing
her sixth sense. Fortunately for her, I was there to protect her back.

A Bubontic Demon, with the skill to seduce, suck you dry,
and take over your body. Most women didn’t see it coming.

“Excuse me.” The demon stepped out of the shadows in all his
brooding maleness. I rolled my eyes, disgusted. Dark and mysterious, they never
failed to attract the attention of the female population.

Emma spun around, startled. “Yeah?”

He smiled a slow, sexy smile that annoyed me more than I
wished. And like most females, she unwillingly stepped closer, drawn to the
demon. Perhaps her instincts were warning her that something wasn’t right, but
her attraction was obvious. She should have known better. I shifted, moving
from tombstone to tombstone. The sun had set and the lights that lined the path
threw eerie shadows across the marble headstones.

“I’m lost,” he explained in a French accent.

I frowned. The demons even knew which accent women liked
best. The bastards were becoming more evolved every year.

Emma stuffed her hands into her pockets, looking oddly
bemused, as if she wasn’t quite sure why she remained there, listening to this
strange man.

“Come on, Emma,” I whispered. “Use your instincts.”

She merely tilted her head to the side. “Where you going?”

Hadn’t she been taught not to talk to strangers? Especially
in secluded cemeteries at night? Next, the demon would be offering her candy. I
knelt behind a tombstone, the damp grass soaking the knees of my trousers. A
crow called from a branch above. Territorial birds, they didn’t appreciate the
demon near their home.

“Red Brick Pub.”

“Oh.” She seemed to relax, hearing the familiar name of a
local restaurant.

The demon had done his homework; they knew how to play the
game. How the hell had he had time to research, let alone find her? With an
arrogant grin, the beast stepped closer, knowing he had her in his grasp.

Surprisingly, she stepped back. A reluctant grin tugged at
the corners of my mouth. So, her instincts were overriding her attraction.

“Can you tell me the way?” the demon asked.

Emma glanced toward Main Street, just visible through the
iron fence. “Uh, yeah, sure. You just head out of the cemetery and go left.
You’ll see it. A brick building.”

My fingers curled as I resisted the urge to interfere. This
was Emma’s first test, and I wasn’t about to get involved…yet.

The demon stopped a few feet in front of her. Too close.
“You’re quite lovely.”

She paused for a moment, as if trying to make sense of his
words, or maybe make sense of her feelings. That near the demon, her instincts
would be dulled. I made my way closer, the vegetation underfoot soft and supple
with spring rain. I’d hold out until the last minute, but if she didn’t react
quickly, I’d have to interfere.

“Seriously?” She released a sharp laugh. “You’re trying to
pick me up in a cemetery? I don’t know what kind of women you have in your
country, but I’m not interested.”

I felt a moment’s relief, until she turned her back to the
demon. Dear God, even children knew you never turned your back to a monster.
Her footsteps were quick as she started for the gate that would lead onto Main
Street.

The demon smiled. They loved the chase; it fed their sick
need. He rolled his shoulders, preparing to transform. There in the cemetery,
the demon’s handsome face melted away to reveal gray, boiled skin. His broad
shoulders hunched as his vertebrae bent at an odd angle. More animal than
human, he leaned forward, preparing to lunge at her. He’d have her throat torn
out within five seconds.

Unfortunately for the demon, he wouldn’t make it. I
disappeared and reappeared in front of the monster, placing my body between
Emma and him, hoping my ward was out of sight so I could kill the beast without
her interference.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes,” the demon said, curling his clawed hands. Gone was
the French accent and in its place, a menacing growl. “But apparently I’ll be waylaid
for a moment.”

The demon burst forward. I ducked, swiping my leg wide and
hitting the thing in the shins. If he had shins; I really wasn’t sure about
demon body parts. Still, it worked because the demon stumbled.

I straightened and shrugged off my jacket, placing it upon
the top of a tombstone while the demon regained its balance. Before I turned, I
pulled a small bottle from the pocket. “You do realize I’m going to have to
kill you.” I rolled the cuffs of my sleeves, unveiling a dagger strapped to my left
forearm.

The demon drew to its full height, impressive at eight feet
tall. “You can try.”

I laughed and placed my glasses atop my jacket. “Try? My,
such a big threat coming from so small a brain.”

“Say what you will, Protector, you’ll die just as easily as
they all do.”

I glanced behind me, searching for Emma. The path lay empty.
Good, but I still had to get rid of the demon before there was a witness.
“We’ll see about that.”

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, a
warning of what was to come. My only warning. In a blur of movement the demon
burst forward, faster than I’d thought possible. I spun around, searching for
the beast. Too late. The demon’s claws sliced through my left bicep, shredding
the white dress shirt. Numbness swept from the wound up to my shoulder and down
to my fingers, but I knew the symptom would only be temporary. A hiss escaped
my gritted teeth as I grasped at my injured arm.

The sound of laughter and conversation permeated the evening
air, seeping through the cemetery in warning. Innocents were coming. The demon
chuckled, strolling in a wide circle around me, pausing behind. “More for me.”

Blood rolled down my forearm, dripping to the ground.
Shite.
I glanced toward the fence,
seeing a small group of humans strolling down Main Street. I needed to get rid
of the demon and fast. The numbness in my arm was giving way to a burning ache
that pulsed through my veins, spreading through my body. Pretty soon it would
be useless, and for the next hour or so I wouldn’t be able to fight, let alone
move.

Breathing through clenched teeth, I ignored the pain and
waited for the demon. The water wouldn’t kill the beast, but it would hurt him
enough to slow him down and give me the time I needed to recoup. I felt the
beast’s heated breath on the back of my head, stirring the hair, and resisted
the urge to turn. He was waiting for the poison to make me useless. Sharp claws
pierced my neck, more fiery poison seeping into my blood. My throat constricted
over the burning pain.

This wasn’t going as I’d planned, but I’d never actually
fought a Bubontic Demon, merely read about them. Grappling with the bottle, I
pulled the cork loose with my teeth and tossed the holy water backward. The
demon let out a scream that sounded enough like a cat in heat that it wouldn’t
draw attention from passersby.

I snatched the dagger from the sheath attached to my
forearm. My heart slammed wildly, urging me to do the deed. But this was the
moment of truth, and I knew I couldn’t rush things.

Fortunately, every demon had a heart, a spot where they were
most vulnerable. Unfortunately, every demon’s heart was located in a different
area of his body. Fortunately, I had done my homework while training.

I spun around and shoved the dagger in the demon’s left side.
Black liquid seeped from the wound and the giant beast began to shudder. Unsure
if I should be thrilled or disgusted, I pulled the dagger free and wiped it
clean upon the grass. The demon fell to the ground with a thud that shook the
cemetery. A nearby stone cross toppled over. I felt the soft swoosh of the
demon’s energy being sucked into the ground, back to Mother Nature. The demon
grew still. The night went quiet once more.

“Well then, that wasn’t so difficult.” I slid the dagger
back into the sheath, watching with a wary eye. It wasn’t my first demon kill,
but there was something oddly satisfying about seeing the rotting body upon the
ground. Perhaps I could protect Emma after all.

As my chest grew numb, I realized I had only moments to hide
the demon and myself. The world spun around me as I struggled toward the
monster, my legs like leaden weights. I grasped the demon’s arms, my fingers
sinking into his rotting flesh, and dragged him toward the closest and oldest
mausoleum, a perfect place to hide a monster from human eyes.

The rusty lock broke easily. My entire torso was numb. Time
was running out. Sweat broke out across my forehead, my body trembled as it
fought the demon poison. Using what little strength I had left, I pulled the
demon inside and closed the doors, trapping us both. Only then did I give in to
temptation and collapse to the floor.

An hour. I had an hour for the poison to work its way
through my system, and then I’d be able to control my body again. Until then, I
was forced to lie on the ground, my body frozen, the side of my face pressed to
the cold marble floor, staring into the face of a rotting demon.

Just another typical Friday night.

Emma

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The insistent pounding tapped at the edges of my semiconscious
mind, tearing me from the comforts of slumber.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

For a moment, I thought our neighbor was doing construction.
I lowered the duvet just enough to curse at him through the wall, when the
thump sounded again. I frowned, clamping my mouth shut. Not construction. No
such luck. Someone was knocking on the door. With a groan, I tossed aside my
favorite childhood stuffed cat, rolled over, and glanced at the clock.

Eight a.m.

Who the heck would be at my door that early? I was so not a
morning person, as anyone who was acquainted with me knew. The pounding sounded
again.

“For God’s sake!” I shoved aside the cover and surged
upright. The room spun, a dizzying swirl of objects and light, as if I were on
a merry-go-round at a fair. Had I moved too quickly? Gotten too little sleep?

I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my fingers to
my temples. The huge floor-to-ceiling windows in our downtown apartment had
been a bonus when Lizzie and I first moved here, but today I hated that obtrusive
sun.

Crap, it was probably the flu. I recognized the symptoms
well enough. Aches, dizziness, exhaustion. The room slowed its spinning and I
tentatively slipped my feet into the fuzzy pink slippers Lizzie had gotten me
for Christmas. I couldn’t afford to be sick. I didn’t have time.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

“I’m coming!”

I shuffled out of my bedroom and toward the door, intent on
murdering whoever stood on the other side. I hadn’t felt this horrible since
freshman year when I’d gone to my one and only high school party and had ended
up completely wasted. That was the end of my drinking binge. But here I was…my
brain fuzzy, my mouth dry, almost as if I were hungover. I hadn’t had an ounce
of alcohol yesterday, had I?

Standing on tiptoe, I peered through the peephole into the
face of a warped, hideous monster. So frightening, she could give children
nightmares. She sure as heck had given me and Lizzie nightmares throughout our
teenage years.

“I know you’re there, Emma. I can see your shadow under the
door.”

I groaned, threw the deadbolt back, and opened the door.
“Good morning, Grandmother.”

The woman swept by in her pink tweed suit that would no
doubt get the thumbs-up of approval from the Queen of England. The overwhelming
scent of Chanel lingered behind her. I waved my hand in front of my face and
gagged. I’d hated that scent when I was a child because it reminded me of my
mother’s scolding mom. Hated it even more now, for it reminded me of regret and
disappointment. She was the antithesis of the warm and loving stereotypical
grandma.

“Someone die?” Someone better be dead for her to interrupt
my much-needed sleep.

“Very amusing, darling.”

I shut the door, glaring. “Coffee?”

What the heck did the woman want? She rarely visited,
preferring we go to her townhome in Chicago instead. In the rare moments when
Grandmother did visit, she made me painfully aware of yesterday’s clothes
scattered across the floor, last night’s dishes in the tiny sink, and the
overall
quaintness
of our apartment.
Grandmother didn’t appreciate the history of the building, the scent of
doughnuts cooking in the bakery below, the exposed brick walls, or the fact
that at night I could use the fire escape to climb onto the roof and look out
over the town and lake.

Grandmother settled on the edge of the sofa, her back ramrod
straight, hands folded primly on her lap as if she feared catching a disease
from the cushions. Funny thing was, when she’d been married to my Grandpa they
hadn’t exactly had money, which was why I was positive she’d dumped him. She’d
broken his heart. When he died, I’d sworn to keep his business going, the one
thing he had left in his life after she left.

“You know I don’t drink coffee. I prefer tea, if you have
any.”

I rolled my eyes. Since marrying William the Second, or “Junior,”
as I loved to call him much to my grandmother’s horror, Grandmother had decided
tea was more refined. “Is there a reason why you’re knocking on my door at
eight in the morning?”

I poured water into a kettle and placed it on the stove. The
old woman knew that in the summer I worked most evenings and nights. Something
must have happened for the bat to drive up the coast this early.

“Actually, I’m here to inquire about your welfare.”

I glanced over my shoulder, shocked to say the least. “My
welfare?”

Unless I’d gained weight, Grandmother was never concerned
with my welfare. I scrubbed my hands through my hair and glanced down at my
flat belly. No extra weight there. I didn’t have time to gain weight when I
spent most of my day sprinting away from irate cheaters.

But as I met Grandmother’s eyes, I swore I saw genuine
concern there. Ugh. It was way too early to have a caring conversation with the
woman. I wasn’t at my best in the mornings, and one definitely needed to be at
their best when confronting Grandmother. Maybe that’s why she’d arrived so
early, to catch me when I was weak.

“Well, how are you feeling?” She followed that comment by
looking me up and down with a critical eye. And the grandmother I knew was back
in full swing. I wasn’t surprised when she frowned. It was her typical
expression when she studied me. Grandmother didn’t appreciate my low-slung
jeans and vintage T-shirts.

Crap, I hadn’t even changed last night, merely fell into bed
after having been up until three in the morning going through photos and
listening to the taped conversation I’d gotten before Owen Emerson had arrived.
I frowned, just thinking about the annoying man.

“Emma?”

“I’m good, but apparently you don’t think so.”

Grandmother didn’t respond. Was she suddenly abiding by the
“if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” motto? That would
be a first. I leaned over, using the stainless steel toaster as a mirror. My
hair was something a squirrel might mistake for a nest and mascara smudges marked
the area under my eyes.
Lovely
. I ran
my fingers through the snarls. I’d always envied Lizzie’s sleek auburn hair.

“A bob would be nice.”

I shivered at the thought. Dear God, I’d look just like
Grandmother. I might as well buy a closetful of tweed suits, and settle in for
a life at the country club. The horror.

Grandmother lifted a perfectly drawn eyebrow. “Were you out
drinking last night?”

“No, of course not. I don’t drink.” At least, I didn’t
normally. The way this morning was going, I might have to rethink that idea.
“Why do you ask?”

She waved dismissively. “Where’s your sister?”

I shrugged. “Running, or maybe volunteering at the animal
shelter. No doubt doing something to make the world a better place.”

Grandmother sighed. “If you’d just apply yourself, darling…”

First Lizzie was telling me to start wearing makeup, and now
Grandmother was telling me to
apply
myself?
What did that even mean? I wouldn’t have been offended, but that guy Owen
hadn’t even tried to cop a feel when I’d pulled his body to mine. Heck, maybe
they were right.

Annoyed with myself for caring, I threw my hands in the air.
“Okay, back to the reason for your wonderful visit.” I moved around the dining
room table and kicked my clothes to the side, taking my frustration out on the
mess.

“Can’t a grandmother visit her grandchild?”

“No, not when I need to sleep. I was working last night.”

“Work?” She gave a refined snort. She’d made it perfectly
clear what she thought of our business. Grandmother had actually told the women
at the country club that I was a freelance photographer. “If only your
grandfather had gotten rid of that business years ago.”

“Well, we had to make a living somehow.” Not that I didn’t
want to be a photographer. I’d tried photography, but the only job I could get
was taking pictures of snot-nosed brats at the mall.

“You don’t have to make a living, you know that. You can
always reside with me.”

When I didn’t respond but instead made myself busy, heading
toward the refrigerator, she sighed.

“Fine.” Grandmother stood and smoothed down her skirt. “You
obviously don’t want me here.”

I rolled my eyes. Grandmother had passive-aggressive down to
a fine art. I felt way too shitty to deal with her crap. “I’m just not used to
you visiting so early in the morning. You know I’m a night owl.”

The woman looked somewhat appeased and my unease lessened.
Lord, I wished I could feel something toward the only relative who’d remained
in our lives. Dad was long since dead, and I’d thought his family was, as well.
Mom had moved to Florida with her new fling two months ago, and who knew if
she’d ever return. Grandmother was my closest living relative. Instead of
finding comfort in her proximity, I was uneasy, to say the least. It didn’t
help that ten years ago she’d married some rich CEO and had practically left
the family behind.

She settled back on the edge of the couch as if she meant to
stay. It was my fault for being nice. I should have remained in bed. “Eight in
the morning is not early for most people, Emma.”

People with
real
jobs
. The words were left unsaid, but
might as well have been spoken aloud. I knew Grandmother wasn’t here to
reprimand me for my late nights, or a job she deemed ridiculous. I leaned
against the counter and waited. Something else was coming, I could sense it.
The air practically vibrated with unease.

“So,” I started. “What’s up?”

“What’s
up
? Is
that what your online education has taught you?”

I smiled tightly. Grandmother had promised to send us to
private school if we’d live with her. As if that were some sort of incentive.
Instead, I’d started at an online public school last year in order to run the
business and continue my education.

“Grandmother,” I drawled out.

She glanced at her perfectly manicured fingernails, dragging
out the visit until I thought I’d go insane. Finally, she looked up. “Well,
there is one thing.”

“Really? Shocking,” I muttered under my breath as I pulled
out a box of breakfast tea from the cupboard above the sink.

“Excuse me?”

I plastered a smile upon my face and glanced back. “Nothing.
What is it?”

“Your Aunt Clarice has died.”

Startled, I dropped the tea, the bags scattering across the
floor. “Aunt Clarice?” I looked at Grandmother, the tea forgotten on the wooden
floorboards, but I could read nothing in the old woman’s face thanks to her
monthly Botox injections. “I’m…sorry?”

“Of course you should be sorry. She was your aunt.”

I knelt to scoop up the bags and stuff them back into the
box. “You knew her?” I frowned. “I don’t remember meeting her.”

The teapot whistled, startling me once more. With shaking
hands, I took it off the stove and poured steaming water into two coffee mugs.
What the heck was going on? Who was this aunt and why was she so important?

“You never did meet her,” Grandmother explained.

“Okay.” I paused, holding the teapot aloft. First Owen and
his dire warnings about death and Aunt Clarice, and now Grandmother? What
weren’t they telling me? And there was no doubt something odd was going on;
Grandmother wouldn’t be here otherwise.

“So then, who was she? Why is she so important?”

Grandmother shrugged, looking disgruntled and a little
confused herself. “She’s not important, I suppose.” She was quiet for one long
moment as I placed a bag of tea in each mug. “So, are you all right then?”

“Of course. I barely knew her.” I strolled across the living
room and handed Grandmother a cup. She wrapped her pale hands around the mug.
She might be able to smooth the wrinkles from her face, but the thin skin of
her hands showed her true age. The old woman stirred her tea over and over
again, but didn’t actually drink. It was the first time I’d seen Grandmother so
contemplative. Usually she knew exactly what she was going to say and had no
reservations about giving her opinion.

Confused and more than a little leery, I said, “There was a
guy here, though, yesterday. An Owen Emerson.”

Grandmother jumped, the surprise visible as her hazel gaze
pierced me with an unwavering determination. “What? Who? What’d he say?”

I slowly settled in the chair across from her, slightly
nervous. Grandmother was like a wild animal and you never knew when she would
attack. “He claimed that Aunt Clarice left me something.”

All color drained from her face, leaving her so white, her
Protestant forefathers would have been proud. The mug tilted from her hands. I
dove forward, catching it before it dropped to the ground. “Grandmother, are
you all right?”

“Did he say what she left you?” She spoke so softly, I had
to strain to hear her.

I set the mugs down. “No. I told him I didn’t want it.” I
started to stand, thinking perhaps I should call someone…her doctor, Junior,
anyone. But before I could reach for the phone, Grandmother took my hands, her
soft fingers cold.

“Stay away from him, Emma. You understand?” Her hazel eyes
were direct and sincere, yet at the same time there was real fear lurking in
their depths. I’d never seen Grandmother afraid. No, the world feared her, not
the other way around.

The situation had truly taken a turn for the bizarre. “If
you tell me why.”

The woman dropped her hold, the hardness in her gaze
returning. She’d never liked being ordered about. “Because…they had nothing to
do with you. It would be disrespectful toward our family.”

“Okay,” I drawled out. Why did I have the feeling there was
more Grandmother wasn’t telling me? Things Owen hadn’t admitted? I’d had way
too much drama in my young life; I didn’t need more.