Unearthed (12 page)

Hendricks brandished his sword. It gleamed in the light, and it made Kitty smile to see him waving it around. “You’re about to take notice.”

“If you touch her,” Duncan said, sounding a little rough, “it is my sworn duty to kill you.”

“It’s a violation of the Pact to let demon royalty die without coming to their aid,” Kitty said, faux apologetic to the cowboy. This was turning into an instructional lesson for him, she was sure. She ran a hand over Duncan’s hair, mussing it. “Good dog.”

Duncan shot her an aggravated look. “Please don’t do that.”

She had trouble concealing her smile. “‘Please don’t do that’ … what?”

His expression flickered. “Please don’t do that,
Duchess
.”

“What the fuck is this shit?” The cowboy looked a step from unhinged, without a clue what to do. He held his sword aloft, aimless.

“It’s called rules and order, sweetie,” Kitty said. “It’s called a hierarchy.” She gave him a glance. “You look like the sort that’s followed an order once or twice from a superior.” She smiled. “And Duncan here knows his betters.”

“This is ridiculous,” Arch said.

“Come on, you’ve had your fun,” Kitty said, waving at them. “You’ve killed lots of mean, nasty, horrible demons.” She thumped her foot against the floor. “You’ve freed some humans from certain, torturous death followed by devouring—or at least you would, if you’d go let the poor beasts out of their cages. You’ve done your good deed for the night. Now, run on home and have a happy circle jerk of celebration.” She grinned at each of them in turn.

“Let’s go,” Duncan announced, giving her a last look.

“Are you fucking joking?” Hendricks asked.

“He’s serious,” Kitty said. “Duncan was never really the live wire of the pair. Lerner was the one with the sense of humor.” She made the sad face. “So sorry he’s gone. I bet he’s really enjoying his time down below, though.” She watched Duncan’s face twist, but he held his desired reply in. “So long, boys. Have a lovely night. If you change your mind about eating my pussy, I’ll be here for a little longer.”

“What the f—” Hendricks had his arm seized by Duncan and was dragged from the room.

She looked at the tall black man, who stood there at the doorway, still staring in at her and Rousseau. “Would you be a dear and shut that door for me? I’m feeling a little bit of a draft.”

The one called Arch just stared at her for another moment, lips in a thin line, and he turned, following his friends down the stairs. Kitty watched him go, his little show of defiance making her think about how nice it’d be to ram his face between her quivering thighs until he lapped her up to a climax.

Lauren had been home for hours, staring at the walls, unresponsive during dinner, even though her mother had talked her ear off. That happened more often now, especially since she was spending more time at home. She sat there in the living room while
The Big Bang Theory
played on the TV. Her daughter, Molly, would let off a little giggle here and there at whatever was going on onscreen, while her mother just sat back and sighed every once in a while, knitting needles in hand, working on some project or another. She worked those needles up and down like a conductor running a symphony. She said something and Lauren missed it completely. She was staring at the white walls, at a quilt rack in the corner with five different quilts hung over it in various states of completion.

“Am I gonna get to have a conversation with you anytime soon, or should I just keep talking to myself?” her mother asked, the notes of exasperation finally convincing Lauren to focus.

“Why don’t you try talking to Molly?” Lauren asked, letting her gaze drift to her dark-haired daughter, who giggled along with the rise of the laugh track. “I’m thinking here.”

“She’s watching TV,” her mother, Vera, said, “I’d be lucky if she noticed the house falling down around her.”

“Why would you care more about interrupting her while watching TV than you do about interrupting me while I’m thinking?” Lauren said. “Isn’t thinking better than watching some stupid screen?”

“It’s not stupid,” Molly threw in, not even looking over at them. “This is intelligent TV.”

“No such thing, darling,” Vera said, still knitting. She then turned her attention back to Lauren. “I guess I just expect that if you’re not doing something else, you could at least have the good manners to pay attention when someone’s talking to you.”

“I
was
doing something else,” Lauren said, making the argument absentmindedly. “I told you, I was thinking.”

“Well, you could stop for a minute and listen to me,” Vera said. “That’s only polite. Were you raised in a barn?”

Lauren glanced around, took in some of the farm animal decorations, some of her mother’s rural and quaint wall-hangings. “I suppose the decor is rustic enough to say ‘maybe’?”

“You always got an answer for everything,” Vera said, harrumphing and going back to work on her knitting. “I can tell I’m gonna have to talk to myself if I want a reasonable conversation around here. Of course if you feel up to sharing your great and important thoughts with us lesser beings, I will be sitting right here for a little longer, I suppose.”

Lauren glanced sideways at her mother, watching the older woman while she did her knitting. For six weeks, Lauren had been keeping things in, bottling up every feeling and discovery—not that there had been many discoveries after the big one, the one that told her demons were real, were walking the earth, and were here in Midian wreaking all manner of havoc—and keeping them to herself. She hadn’t talked to her mother about them and had only shared the basics with her daughter. Molly had been attacked by a demon on the night of the Summer Lights Festival, after all, and it wasn’t something she wanted to relive. Lauren wanted her to have that safe space, so she hadn’t pushed.

Erin had been the key. But Erin was also the problem. She’d opened the door for Lauren—however unwillingly—and now she was trying to leave the room and close it behind her. If Lauren could just find Arch Stan and his friends …

Add that to a list of things she’d never thought she’d say. Arch Stan was not one of her favorite people, after all.

A commercial came on, the volume of the TV blared at her, and Lauren stumbled out of her thoughts, jarred by the change in sound. Molly cast her a furtive look from where she sat alone on the couch, Lauren on the loveseat against the wall to her right. Lauren met her gaze and Molly gave her a look, suggesting she sit on the couch. Lauren felt her brow furl, then shrugged and moved, sat next to her daughter, and sank into the grey, overstuffed corduroy sofa.

“How’s it going?” Molly asked, leaning against the back of the couch.

“Fine,” Lauren said, matching her daughter’s posture. “How’s school?”

“If I say ‘fine,’ will you assume I’m traumatized and that it can’t possibly be the right answer?” Molly smiled as she asked. “It’s pretty much fine, really it is. Same old, same old. I’m not having flashbacks or anything.”

“That’s good,” Lauren said. She hadn’t done much with psychology beyond her psych rotation, but it was more than most people had, right? “Should I ask if you want to go to counseling again?”

“Still no,” Molly said, glancing back at the TV. Commercials flashed by in a flurry of images. “I really am fine. Something about watching your mother stab your attacker with a sword and then watching him disappear into a flash of … I don’t even know how to describe it. Like a black hole effect? Like something out of a sci-fi movie? But less CGI-ish. Anyway, seeing it was … kinda reassuring. I’m sleeping like a baby.” She puckered her lips. “Like I’m still your baby. So I guess I’m regressing? And I’m okay with it for a little while.”

Lauren tried to figure out what to say to that. “If it means no more sneaking out at night or trying to go around my back to go places I don’t approve of, I’ll take it for the silver lining that it is, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Molly said, straight-faced, “you don’t want to look this gift horse in the mouth. The tonsils are probably infected. Do horses have tonsils?”

“I didn’t do a vet rotation, so I don’t know.”

“It’s so nice that everyone’s in a conversation now but me,” Vera said from her place in the chair beyond the loveseat. “I feel so included in this family.”

Molly ignored her grandmother and looked at her mom, keeping her voice down. “How’s everything going for you? You know, with the …” She made a kind of stabbing motion that didn’t look much like stabbing.

“Please don’t make that gesture with your hand again, ever,” Lauren said, averting her eyes.

“What are you doing?” Vera cried. “Don’t you be profane in my house!”

“Sorry,” Molly said, suddenly red. “God, I didn’t even think of it like—you’re both sick in the head,” she said, raising her voice, “that your minds immediately went there.”

“Honey, the Reverend Winchester’s mind would have gone there, seeing that,” Vera said.

“And not just because he’s a dirty old man,” Lauren muttered.

“How’s your demon research project going?” Molly said under her breath, looking a little nonplussed.

“You’re doing a research project?” Vera said, trying to make herself heard.

Lauren looked back at her mother pityingly. “Trying to keep busy, you know.”

“Well, raising a daughter and keeping down a demanding job, I can see how you lack for challenge.” Pure sarcasm.

“Not going so well,” Lauren said, turning back to Molly. “Kinda hit a dead end.”

“Really?” Molly asked. “Because it feels like you should have a lot to work with.”

Lauren frowned. “The sheriff’s suspects—the people most likely to know what the hell is going on—have disappeared and no one can find them. How do I have a lot to work with?”

Molly shrugged. “I guess I just figured since the sheriff had been calling you in on so many of these deaths, you’d have seen enough to … I dunno, make notes or something? Since you know they’re … y’know,” she glanced at Vera, who was watching them over the glasses perched at the end of her nose, knitting needles still, “what they are, and he has no clue about them. Feels like you’d have the advantage if you were to help in the investigation.”

Lauren felt herself blink, staring straight at Molly. “You’re kind of a genius, child of mine.”

“It’s from my father’s side,” Molly said smugly then turned back to the TV as the commercial break came to an end. Lauren watched the TV for a few seconds and then reached for her cell phone, found the number for Sheriff Reeve, and pushed the talk button. She waited with her breath held until he answered on the second ring.

“What the hell happened up there?” Bill asked as Hendricks made it back to the woods. He still had his sword in hand, not willing to sheath it, casting furious looks at Duncan every few seconds.

“Did you hear?” Arch asked from behind him.

“Some,” Alison said. “Sounded like some saucy broad was trying to convince Hendricks to give her some tongue.”

“Yeah, that wasn’t insulting at all,” Hendricks said, feeling his face blush. “But you know what was worse?” Branches slapped against the arms of his coat as he kept walking. “Having our boy Duncan—at least I thought he was on our side—tell me I can’t kill a demon, like they’re some kind of endangered species.” He whirled back, looking at the group arrayed around the edge of the woods, moon hanging low overhead. “What particular variety of eagle is she, Duncan?”

Duncan didn’t answer at first, face hidden in shadow. “The kind that could pluck out your eyes and make you her slave for a while, kid.”

“Really?” Hendricks asked, all afire. “Then why didn’t she?”

“She doesn’t want trouble with the Office of Occultic Concordance, presumably,” Duncan said. “She may be a protected class, but she’s not invincible or untouchable. She’s given a little more benefit of the doubt than the thin-shells you were dealing with coming out the door, though. She can request a trial before execution, by virtue of her rank.”

“Demon society is starting to sound like a real regal state,” Arch said, arms folded over his broad chest. “Sounds like y’all got an aristocracy problem.”

“Yes, we have an aristocracy problem,” Duncan said quickly. “We have a hierarchical system wherein certain individuals have more power or leeway than others simply by virtue of their title or birthright. Sound familiar?”

“Man, whatever,” Hendricks said, “this is a democracy, okay?”

“It’s a republic,” Duncan said, “but that’s beside the point. How close did it come to your last four presidents having the same two last names?”

“Well, that’s a stinging rebuke of our system if ever I’ve heard one,” Bill said, “but utterly beside the point at hand. There was a demon in there that you say is protected. ‘Protected how?’ would be my question.”

“You can’t kill her,” Duncan said. “I can’t kill her.”

“Oh, you’d be amazed at what I can kill if I stick the pointy end of this in someone with a gushy brimstone center,” Hendricks said, waving the sword around. He watched the OOC’s eyes, looking for a hint of something. Katlin Elizabeth. And a duchess, no less, a real titled demon. God, could it even be possible?

“She’s stronger than you,” Duncan said, “faster than you. Nastier than you by the length of the equator. Also, that thing where she threatened to make you lick her—down there?” He gestured. “Not an idle threat.”

“How restrictive are your rules about her, that you’ve never been able to try her?” Bill asked, still looking shrewdly at this whole thing. Hendricks just wanted to pop her and twelve others like her to soothe his nerves. It had to be her, didn’t it? That name …

“We have zero evidence,” Duncan said, “only rumors. If we had evidence, we might very well be able to pin her. That’s also a literal thing—when a demon goes on trial, they are pinned with heavy metal staves into—”

“This bitch sounds like she might enjoy that,” Hendricks said. “You said she’s got different standards, though?” He imagined thrusting his sword into her smug, smiling face just below the eyeball, and it was good. “How so?”

“The usual stuff applies, sort of,” Duncan said. “But catching her at a party like this where we can’t prove she was doing anything? Good luck. Her lawyers would eat us alive.”