Personal Demon (16 page)

It would be an insult to ghouls to compare the news crews to them.

Why hadn’t she controlled herself? Why hadn’t she taken out her cell phone and called Selena? No. She’d screamed, and that scream, her weakness, could destroy Chicago’s magical community. She knew people were already thinking and talking about ritual murders.

Why hadn’t she called Selena?

Selena was from the magic world and a homicide cop.
Maybe she should ask them to call Selena. No. It was better not to draw attention to any connection between them.

“Can I go?” she finally asked. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

“I don’t think you’ve told us everything,” a big, belligerent detective said. He got up in her face, and he’d had onions and cigarettes for breakfast. “What are you crying about? Feeling guilty about something?”

A hand landed on the detective’s shoulder. “Take a step back, please,” Selena said politely. “If you don’t want to be eating your own balls in another minute.”

Oddly enough, the stinky detective smiled as he turned to look at Ivy’s cousin. “Don’t tell me, Crawford, I’ve stumbled into one of your sort of cases.”

Selena gestured toward the bodies being examined by a crowd of forensic technicians and shrugged. “I know that you’re harassing my cousin and know how well I take care of my family.”

“So, it is one of your cases.” The detective looked toward the line of news vans and cameras. “How true is what they’re speculating about?”

“It’s not my case,” Selena said. “I just came by to give my cousin a ride home.” Selena pushed past the detective and took Ivy by the arm. “You are a wreck, child. Let’s go.”

Selena led Ivy away from the scene, away from the media. Nobody tried to stop them, no questions were called out or cameras turned on them. Selena wasn’t putting up with any shit that day. Her commanding aura spread out around everyone, whether they were sensitive to magic or not.
Charisma
was the word, Ivy guessed. Charisma was a kind of magic that worked on most people. Selena had a lot of it.

Selena took Ivy back to the house she’d told her not to leave, and this time Ivy intended to do as she was told. She didn’t notice the drive—everything was literally a blur.

Once inside, she stumbled into the guest bathroom and washed her face over and over before staring into the mirror above the sink. She couldn’t make out her face. It wasn’t just from the crying. Everything was fuzzy.

“There’s something wrong with my eyes!”

Selena was lingering in the doorway. She’d been lecturing Ivy, but Ivy had only heard blahblahdangerousblahblahblahstupid and didn’t bother listening though she agreed with every word. Especially the
blahs
.

Now Selena grabbed her face and got as close to her face as the mean detective had. Only her breath was fine, and she stared intently into Ivy’s eyes.

“What are you looking for?” Ivy asked.

“I have no idea. There are shadows in there. I’ve got a feeling you’re not quite here. Does your head hurt?”

“Goddess, yes. You know, it feels like my brain has been tossing weights around.” Tears began to sting her eyes again. “I just feel so—awful!”

“Why don’t you take a nap. Maybe getting some sleep will push a reset button or something.”

Ivy didn’t like the
or something
part, but she welcomed the idea of sleep. She stumbled past Selena and flopped down on the first bed she found, or at least it was a horizontal surface of some sort.

Then she was gone. Just gone. Into the lovely dark where strong, warm, leather-clad arms waited to hold her.

H
ow was a vampire supposed to get any rest with all that crying going on?

Christopher sat up, rubbed his aching, tired eyes, then peered into the absolute darkness.

The darkness after dawn was a normal part of vampire life. When it first happened after the turning, it was terrifying
to him. He’d seen it as punishment for the thing he’d done to become a vampire. It got to be normal after a while—a few decades. He didn’t scream when he woke in the empty darkness anymore. He’d learned to find his way out of it. All vampires did. You moved on. In fact, this black nothing was something he hardly even noticed anymore.

Except at that moment.

He closed his eyes. It was ridiculous to let this darkness get to him when his real eyes were frozen shut for as long as the sun was in the sky. Christopher listened. After a while, he moved toward the crying woman.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, coming out of nothing to approach Ivy sitting at the base of—he glanced up—a statue of William Shakespeare. With pigeons. “No respect.”

He waved at the birds. They weren’t one bit startled. Oh, well, he wasn’t really here, and neither was Ivy. He sat down beside her. Put an arm around her shaking shoulders. She leaned into him, rested her forehead against his chest. His shirt was soon damp with her tears.

“You’re stronger than this,” he said after a while, when she kept crying and crying. He rubbed his free hand across the back of his head and laughed softly. “Oh, yes, I remember your flinging me away now. Do you recall what happened then?”

Ivy burbled something unintelligible, even though they were using telepathy here. He lifted her chin and raised it until she was looking at him. The whites surrounding her hazel eyes were all red, her pretty face was swollen, almost unrecognizable. Her misery rolled off her and into him in graygreenblack stormy waves.

For a moment, he wanted to die.

Nonsense. She wanted to die.

“No, love. Don’t be that way. What’s the matter? Tell me,” he coaxed.

“They died. In fear. I didn’t mean to. It wasn’t me.”

“Of course it wasn’t you. You found the bodies. That’s all you did. Bad enough, but not your fault.”

“Their souls were robbed. Three souls robbed. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He remembered that the emptiness of the kill site was haunting. There had been no souls lingering near the three bodies. He’d picked up that much before being kicked out. “You’re right to mourn them, Ivy love, but leave off now. Following them won’t help. Live. For me.” He couldn’t lie inside a real dream. “Live for us.”

She sniffled, blinked. Surprise and hopeful electric snowflakes sparked from her, surrounded them.

Christopher stroked her face, kissed the tip of her upturned nose. Such an adorable nose. He kissed it again, and her hot, swollen cheeks. Her skin was salty, delicious. He ran his thumbs up and down the side of her fragile throat, long, slender, pulsing with—

Christopher dropped his hands onto Ivy’s shoulders. His fangs ached. He knew they were mind walking together again. If he bit her there, it wouldn’t mean anything, wouldn’t mean a commitment. He still wanted to taste her. If he did it there, there’d be no stopping it in the real.

She knew it, too. And slapped him. Hard.

“Ow! Damn it, woman! I’m trying to comfort you!”

“You were. Now you have a vampire hard-on.” She was glaring now. No more tears.

He rubbed his aching cheek, smiled. “It looks like my clever plan worked.”

She grinned back. He saw her fight it, but she couldn’t manage for long. Because it was a real dream, but still a dream, they were standing face-to-face without having moved. He held his arms out, offering a fresh embrace.

His mouth covered hers without any movement, too. But
he felt her pull him closer, felt her tongue twining with his, thrusting hungrily. Christopher felt her skin beneath his hands. Felt her hips pressed hotly against his erection.

Oh, yes, he felt. All he felt was her.

He groaned when she lifted her head.

“I’m feeling fangs,” she said. She gave a breathy, nervous laugh. “I was licking fangs. Sorry, I didn’t mean to come on to you—”

“I loved what you were doing. Do it again.”

Ivy’s hands were on his chest, holding him away. “You don’t want to bite me. Believe me, you don’t want to do that.”

“Oh, yes I do.”

“You can’t,” she said.

“I will. But not here and now.” He put his hand over her heart. “But I will make love to you.”

She glanced past him. “Here? In front of Shakespeare?”

“Will won’t mind. And I’m certainly not concerned with the morality of pigeons.”

“Me, either.”

She drew him down by the base of the statue. Because it was a dream, no one else was there, and it was summer in the park. Their clothes disappeared in another dream shift. Christopher tasted tear salt all over her, washing away her grief with every kiss and touch of his tongue.

He kissed between her breasts and down beyond her navel.

Her hands swept over his shoulders, reached to lift his chin. He looked up over her magnificent breasts to meet eyes full of want.

“Come here,” she said.

He rose to kiss her as—

S
unset.

Christopher woke up furious. Totally aroused and even more frustrated. That he woke up alone made the anger worse. It was all Ivy’s fault. Not the being alone, part. He had arranged to keep away from her and failed miserably. He’d come to Chicago to deal with vampires, and so far all he’d managed was this little side adventure involving mortal murders.

Oh, there was magic involved, but it was none of his business. He was certain the dark, sacrificial magic had nothing to do with vampires.

At least Ivy knew something about vampires. She’d led him to this Selena, who obviously knew more. Ivy was a lead. But she wasn’t important.

He’d wasted an entire day on her. Again. Complicated. Pleasant. Damnably arousing, but not important.

Time to get on with business. He’d take care of her on his way out of town.

He swung out of bed and went through Ariel’s house one more time. Once again, he found no information, but a hot shower and shave helped his mood, helped him clear away the dregs of lust, helped him think. He and his brother in blood were about the same size and had the same taste in clothing—everything in black. Christopher changed into fresh clothes.

He put his leather coat on over a silk shirt and went out into the bright city night. Ariel lived a couple of blocks over from a very popular part of town. Lots of nightlife. Lots of noise and color and beautiful, frenetic young people. Everyone checking everyone out. Not Christopher’s sort of scene, but he understood choosing the surrounding as a way of hiding in plain sight for those of his kind experiencing the itch of growing hunger. For Ariel, this would be a good area to monitor the pulse of his city.

This wouldn’t be the place to indulge a vampire’s hunting urge, but the hunger for sex. Vampires weren’t different than the mortals out there, looking for a drink and a shag.

Even thinking about a shag set off images of Ivy for him. Roused hunger for her. How they’d connected in dreams that day had never happened to him before. He’d traveled in other people’s dreams for over a hundred years, but he’d never shared dream reality with another being before. He’d never even considered the possibility. And didn’t know if anyone else ever had, either.

And was it a good thing? It could be addicting, and addictions weren’t safe. As if vampires didn’t have enough compulsions to worry about.

Christopher thrust his hands in his coat pockets and concentrated on finding a vampire in the crowd. He walked along each side of the crowded street, went into a club, but the loud music pulsing in colors and numbers around him distracted his senses. He found a bench by a bus stop, sat, and let the world swirl by.

And threw back his head and laughed when his thoughts brushed across the energy of the exact same vampire Ivy had been trailing the night they met.

“Fate,” he muttered. “Bloody fate.”

He sat back and called the lad to him. When the youngster came diffidently up to the bench, he was, of course, dressed in black.

If it were possible for a vampire to become even paler, then this youngster did at the sight of Christopher sitting with his legs crossed and his long arms stretched out along the top of the bench.

“An Enforcer!” The words came out a frightened, croaked whisper. He rushed on, “There’s no need for this. I haven’t done anything to her. We’re on a date. My nest leader read me the riot act. It’s all good now. I understand, dude—sir.”

Christopher didn’t understand at all, but he did appreciate that the young vampire had the senses to recognize he was no ordinary strigoi. “Hunter,” he told the lad. “You may call me Hunter.”

“Yes, Hunter. Can I go now? Or do you want me to recite the Covenants first? I memorized them, like my nest leader ordered.”

“And your nest leader is?”

“Ju-Julia, blood daughter of Rose, blood daughter of Jimmy Bluecorn.” He shrugged. “I don’t know any further back than that.” He swallowed hard. “Hunter, sir. Hun—”

“That’ll do. Thank you.”

“Can I go now?”

Christopher also found the colorful sparks of fear fireworks shooting off the scared vampire entertaining. It was almost a pity that the people passing by couldn’t see what Christopher did.

But they couldn’t see, feel, touch, taste, hear the way he did.

He patted the bench. “Have a seat.”

The other vampire settled stiffly beside Christopher. Christopher stood, and loomed. He was good at looming, not that he needed to look more dangerous than he was—only the other Enforcers were as dangerous as he in their small world.

“What are the Covenants?” he asked. He listened as the young vampire listed off rules that had nothing to with the ancient Laws of the Blood. They sounded totally mental to Christopher. Like some mortal mockery of the Laws he was sworn to uphold and enforce. He might not like the term
Enforcer
, but that was exactly who he was.

“Mental,” he murmured. “Enough. I’ve heard enough.”

“Can I go back to my date now?”

Date? Vampires having dates? What was the world coming to? “Yeah. Fine.” There was nothing more he could learn from this misguided child. “No, wait.” Christopher grabbed the lad’s arm before he could get past him. “Ariel. Where’s Ariel?”

Emotions blinked red and green off the youngster, like Christmas lights. “How would I know anything about Ariel?”