Chapter 7
SEVEN
I’m 99% angel,
but ohhhh, that 1%.
—T-shirt
She was such a perv. She couldn’t stop glancing in Quentin’s direction every few seconds. He walked like a predator, his gait smooth, his gaze ever watchful. What had he become? How had he transformed so much in just a few short years? And he was now a seasoned demon hunter? How did one become a seasoned demon hunter? How did one become a demon hunter at all? She hadn’t even known that was a real thing.
After motioning for Dora and Kyle—who’d been standing off to one side, keeping watch—to join them, she followed Quentin to the Mine Shaft Tavern and Cantina. The minute they stepped into the cavernous place, a pretty redhead taking a large group’s order seemed to recognize Quentin. She stopped and made a point to smile at him.
He probably gathered fans wherever he went. He’d always been gorgeous, but that attribute had somehow intensified tenfold. He was rigid and complex and confident, yet a sweetness lay just below his hard surface. She’d sensed it instantly. Wanted to drown in it. Missed it like she’d missed baklava that time she gave up sugar.
Then again, he’d almost crushed her larynx not thirty minutes ago. So, there was that.
She was a veteran of the supernatural realm, however. She knew enough about it to recognize that something had come over him. The question was, what? What had he gotten himself into?
They sat at a corner table. The place was brighter than she remembered, but it had been a while since she and her friends had visited the dusty, eclectic town. The Tavern bar had the same log-cabin feel, and the tables were the same heavy wood designed for the wear and tear of an active cantina. The local favorite was famous for several things, but their margaritas and green chile cheeseburgers were among the top.
Fortunately, the table they sat at had four chairs. She pulled out the two spare seats for Kyle and Dora, then took one that faced the bar. The place was getting busy already. Hopefully, no one would need one of their spares.
Clearly intimidated by He Who Turned into a Badass Demon Hunter Overnight, Kyle almost lunged for the chair beside Amber. Dora frowned at him and took the chair by the wall. Quentin had noticed. He sat across from Kyle and fixed him with a tormenting glare.
Kyle sank down in his seat, clutching his clipboard, and she chastised Quentin with an admonishing scowl. “Don’t be a bully.”
He turned the full force of his glare on her, his eyes glistening in the low light. It didn’t have quite the same effect. Her stomach clenched and flip-flopped as molten lava pooled low in her abdomen, and she found herself struggling for air.
The server hurried over with two menus. She stopped short, her gaze bouncing from Kyle to Dora and back again before she came to her senses and refocused on Quentin. “Hello, again,” she spoke and signed.
She was older than Quentin, though not by much. And she was pretty. Pretty enough to cause the sharp and utterly useless monster known as jealousy to rear its ugly head. Amber was not the jealous type. Normally. Then again, nothing about today had been normal.
“If you guys know what you want,” the woman said quietly, “I’ll put your order in before that large table.”
“Green chile cheeseburger!” Amber blurted. “With sweet potato fries.” She was suddenly starving. “You still have those, right?”
The woman smiled. “We do. What would you like to drink?”
“Just coffee, thanks.” Though she craved one of their margaritas like there was no tomorrow.
The woman turned and beamed at Quentin. “And you?”
He had yet to take his eyes—and that glare—off Amber. “The same,” he said softly.
“You got it, hon.” The woman gave another furtive glance at their two guests and hurried off.
“She can see you guys,” Amber said to them.
“That’s Sarah.” Dora looked at her as though she were a long-lost daughter, and Amber guessed that she did that a lot. “She’s a darling girl. Been in town for a couple of months. Works breakfast at The Java Junction and lunch here at the Tavern. I hope she stays.”
Recognition hadn’t flashed across Sarah’s face, so Amber guessed the server could see ghosts, for lack of a better word, but—like many eyewitness accounts—could only see them as a misty gray presence. Or even a slight shift in the shadows. Amber had never been able to see them until she died, and her aunt Charley had brought her back from the afterworld. When she woke up, she could suddenly see them in all their glory. And hear them. And play checkers with them, though she had to move the pieces for both players. Until Kyle came along, that is.
It was almost worth that horrible death.
Almost.
But enough about that. She glanced back at Quentin. “Okay, first things first,” she said as they waited for their food. Then she realized that she had so many questions, she didn’t know where to start.
A scythe-shaped brow inched up as Quentin waited for her interrogation.
“Right.” She filled her lungs. Where to start? “Okay, how about you tell me how you became a demon hunter?”
He lifted a shoulder and signed, “I work for the Vatican.”
She blinked, taking a moment to absorb that information. “The… the Vatican?”
“Yes.”
“As in the pope? Smoke signals? The Sistine Chapel?”
“Yes. You know how the Vatican was watching us all back then?”
“I do.” Amber’s mother had told her. They’d mostly been watching her aunt Charley, what with her being part grim reaper and part god. And her uncle Reyes, aka the son of Satan and also a god. But they’d also been watching Amber. Probably because of the early signs of her clairvoyance. Admittedly, that fact freaked her out a little. If they knew how much her abilities had grown since then, they’d probably still be watching her. Then again, maybe they were. She would have no way of knowing.
“They recruited me when I was at Gallaudet,” he signed.
“They recruited you?”
“Yes. Into a unit called La Guardia Segreta.”
“The Secret Guard. They hunt demons?”
“Among other things. They mostly investigate supernatural events.”
Sarah brought their coffee, slipped Quentin a flirtatious smile, then went to take the order of a man who’d taken the table next to them. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, a straw hat, and a long, gray ponytail—definitely a local.
“Okay,” Amber said to Quentin. “Why you?”
He tipped his head to one side. “You would have to ask them.”
“So, they recruited you, and you just up and left?”
He didn’t answer. As usual. All she knew from back then was that Quentin had been found unconscious and was in the hospital. She and her mom had flown to DC that night, and she sat by his side for two days. When he woke, she knew. Something had changed. Something was different. He’d become a different person while at college.
A month later, he took his finals and was due home, when he sent her an email telling her that he wouldn’t be on the flight. Nothing else. No explanation. No goodbye. No closure.
She’d tried calling. She was ashamed to say she’d called hundreds of times over the next few days. But he refused to answer, and eventually, shut off his phone. Amber was so devastated she almost didn’t graduate high school. It took an intervention from both the living and the dead to get her back on track.
She ended up graduating a semester early and getting accepted into some of the best schools in the Southwest, but her heart was set on the East Coast for some reason. No, not for some reason . She knew why. He was on the East Coast. At least, she’d thought he was.
One weekend when she could no longer stand it, she’d hopped on a train in New York and went to DC, even though she knew that he was no longer there. She stumbled upon a couple of his friends at Gallaudet. He’d been gone for over a year at that point, but they remembered the event quite vividly. He was there one day and gone the next. He just packed up his things in the middle of the night and left without so much as a by your leave.
The pain of that time was still raw, even now. Amber and Quentin had been best friends for years. And then they were more. She’d given her heart to him. For him to just leave like that…
Obviously, there was more to the story, but why didn’t he just tell her? She could’ve helped. He’d chosen not to tell her the truth, and he would have to live with that. She was nowhere near forgiving him. The fact that she craved him like an addict craved their next fix meant nothing.
Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d asked for her forgiveness. He watched her from behind the depths of his shimmering blue eyes. Waited for her to reach whatever conclusion she was going to reach because he clearly wasn’t going to explain himself.
The sting in her chest felt like an angry hornets’ nest. She took a sip of coffee and then asked rather pettily, “Why are you signing? You speak perfectly well, Quentin. I’ve heard you.”
“How about we get off of me and back to the business at hand?” he said. With his voice. Not his hands. He dropped the charade and refocused on Dora. “Why did that demon choose you?”
Surprised at becoming the center of attention, the woman blinked at him. “I have no idea.
“Dora, did the demon actually attack you?”
“Well…” She seemed to think for a bit. “I don’t know. I mean, it was just there and…and then I fell. I’m just not sure.”
Dora looked at Quentin. “That’s odd, right? I mean, it didn’t attack the first responders at the scene, either. In fact, the only one it has actually attacked is you. It doesn’t like you.”
Quentin turned to look out the window. “It doesn’t like what’s inside me.”
Fighting to keep her cool—could he really be opening up?—Amber leaned forward. “What’s inside you?”
The wary gaze he leveled on her spoke volumes. “Anger. Frustration. A thundering resentment I can hardly contain.”
She sank back in her chair, disappointment chafing every molecule in her body. He didn’t trust her.
“Why are we back on me when a demon is killing people?”
He had a point. “I just can’t figure out why it’s so volatile.”
“Demon?” Quentin said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. At least, he’d mastered the language.
“No, there’s more. I can’t describe it. It’s like…” She looked at him. “Well, it’s like anger. Frustration. A thundering resentment he can hardly contain.” Then it hit her. Control. The demon was being controlled by someone very much like Quentin was being controlled, at least in part, by the entity inside him. Only a loss of control would bring about that kind of resentment. That kind of bitterness. “You said you’ve been tracking the demon. How?”
“A variety of ways. I can track it to a degree with the compass.” He took it out and showed it to her. “From there, I look for news stories and read police blotters. It always kills at least two people, often more, but never just one.”
The round compass looked like an antique brass pillbox, but it was indeed a compass when Amber opened it. One that had seen better days. It was scratched and marred and beat up, much like its owner. Four tiny, amber jewels indicated the four directions: north, south, east, and west.
It emitted an otherworldly heat, but before she could examine it further, Quentin took it back and closed the lid.
“The Secret Guard gave that to you?”
“Not exactly. More like they allowed me to keep it. To help with my investigations.”
“You mean, you found that?”
He hesitated, his face forming a thoughtful frown, and said, “In a way, yes. But I had help.”
“And the dagger?”
“I had help finding that, too.”
“But it’ll kill the demon?”
“If I can get in a good swing, yes. I just need to eat.” He was looking a little peaked, his pallor ghostly as though his strength were waning, and Amber straightened in her chair as alarm crept through her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, almost seeming annoyed that she’d asked. Asshat.
The entire time they spoke, Kyle had kept busy scribbling notes. It was what he did. Quentin glared at him, but Kyle missed it, he was so busy transcribing their conversation.
“Hey,” she said to Quentin, her tone warning, “don’t get mad at him. He’s just doing his job.”
“And what exactly does he do for you?”
The way he said it, as though he were jealous in some way, took her by surprise. She leaned forward and said, “He’s done more for me than you ever did.” That was a lie, but he didn’t need to know that.
He bit down and looked at his watch, then toward the kitchen in annoyance. “I need to get back. Anyone with a key could open that front door now.”
“That’s bad?”
“I contained the demon inside the salt circle. If anyone opens that door, they’ll break it, and the demon will escape.”
“Crap. Hopefully, the police tape will keep the family out.”
“My family,” Dora said softly. “What they must be going through.”
“I’m sorry, hon.”
She clasped her hands together and averted her gaze.
Kyle stopped scribbling and looked at her, his expression anxious. “Ms. Kowalski, I hate to bring this up, but you have an appointment at two.”
Amber pressed her palms to her eyes and then scrubbed her face. “Crap. Mrs. Harmon.” There went two hundred bucks she really could’ve used. And if she didn’t get ahold of the woman to reschedule, she could lose her business for good. Yet, a demon was holding her phone hostage.
“Mrs. Harmon?” Quentin asked.
“Her best client,” Kyle said and then snorted. “Woman’s crazy.” When Quentin merely glared at him, Kyle cleared his throat and went back to taking notes.
What the actual hell? What did he have against Kyle?
But Dora leaned in, intrigued. “You’re investigating something for her?”
Amber shook her head. “Not exactly. I read her cards. It’s what I do. Kind of. Like an on-the-side thing.”
“Really? Can you read mine?” she asked, her eyes bright with fascination.
“I don’t… I mean, I’ve never tried to read the cards for a departed.” But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. “Let’s give it a shot. Maybe something will come up that’ll explain all of this.”
Dora gasped in excitement and squirmed in her chair, but Amber remembered one pertinent detail: Her cards were with her phone, which was in her purse, which was in Dora’s house, which was currently occupied by a bloodthirsty demon. Still, it wasn’t like she used real tarot cards anyway. The cards she used were completely blank. Black on one side, white on the other. She didn’t actually read them. She used them as a tool to dive , as she called it. To delve into the person’s life. Into their psyche. Their past and present and future. But she did need something. It was more in the movement, the flipping of the cards.
She looked around. The napkins weren’t quite right, but the coasters… “Perfect.” She gathered the four coasters on the table, the round ones with The Mine Shaft Cantina written on them. The backs were blank, a dark brown. They would work, but she might need... She leaned over and asked Hawaii if she could borrow his.
He lifted a shoulder, so she scooped them up and straightened in her chair, all under the watchful gaze of Quentin Rutherford. And now, Hawaii, who was suddenly very interested, though he pretended not to be.
That was okay. The fact that she would have to talk to air? Oh, well. She’d looked mad before. She should fit right in here.
Dora was on her right. “Okay, just concentrate on me. I’m not sure if I can do this, but I’ll try.”
“Gotcha. Concentrate. I am so there.”
She tapped the coasters, seven in total, straightening them in her hands and then focusing on Dora. She really was a lovely woman. Short and curvy, she looked younger than her age, which she’d confessed during their initial interview was a surprising fifty-five.
She drew in a deep breath and relaxed. Or she tried to. It was harder than she thought it would be, thanks to her audience. Not Hawaii. Quentin. The blistering, scruffy sexpot keeping a close eye on everything she did.
Then again, maybe it was the town. The mystical merry-go-round called Madrid, emphasis on the Mad . Maybe its energies were short-circuiting hers.
She wiggled her shoulders and tried again, shaking off any negativity—like, say, the kind radiating from the delicacy sitting across from her. Concentrating on Dora’s kind eyes, Amber focused on her goal to help the woman. To help everyone in the town. Who knew who could be next if the demon escaped? But the question popped into her head again. Why these three people? In this town? There had to be a connection. Something must have lured the demon to them.
Amber put the coasters in her left hand, printed side up, and slid the top one to the side with her thumb, all while pushing out any and all emotion. She then took the coaster in her right hand and flipped it. The movement caused a slight breeze on the air, like a butterfly’s wings, and the familiar action stopped time. At least, in her head. Everything around her faded away as she put the coaster on the table in front of her client. Her lids became heavy. The noise of the tavern sounded like it was underwater. And she saw through Dora’s eyes.
Knowing time was pressing, she searched quickly. Dora’s memories were lovely. She’d had a good life. Lots of friends and a family who truly cared for each other. But three events stood out. Three tragedies.
The first was a car accident when she was a little girl. The one in which she’d lost her beloved father. She remembered it. The screeching of the tires. The loud, solid crash as another car T-boned them. The glass spraying across her face and arms.
There was simply life before and life after. It divided her existence into two separate parts and took a year for her to be able to get into a car again.
But that didn’t explain why a demon had shown up, wanting a piece of her. Amber moved past that traumatic memory to the next. She’d been robbed at gunpoint in Dallas outside a pub. She’d handed the guy in a ski mask her clutch. Then he wanted her necklace—the one her father had given her two days before the crash. She’d told him no, so he clocked her with the butt of the gun and ripped it off her neck anyway. It had taken two surgeries to fix her orbital socket and two years to get her necklace back. She’d hired a PI. It was worth every penny.
But, again, nothing to explain the demon. Unfortunately, the third event didn’t explain much either. Dora was a bus driver and had been taking her last and youngest student home—a first-grader named Madeline. She lived in a compound off the grid with a few families several miles outside of Madrid. The mobile homes were ancient, the campers dilapidated and lopsided.
Dora had pulled down the dusty road and found that the cattle guard had collapsed. She couldn’t cross it, but the houses were barely a quarter of a mile up the road. So, she’d dropped off the girl and watched to make sure she walked all the way into the compound—not that she had anywhere else to go.
That night, the cops came to Dora’s house. Madeline had never made it home.
It was her worst nightmare. The entire town spent days trying to find the girl. They scoured the desert countryside, searched every structure in the compound, put bulletins all over the town, Santa Fe, and Albuquerque. The local police, state police, and the FBI questioned Dora repeatedly. She’d watched Madeline walk over the hill to the commons area of the compound. Something had to have happened afterward, but nobody saw anything. They didn’t even see her go into the home she shared with her mother, which was little more than a camper shell. The girl was never seen again. And while utterly heartbreaking, it still didn’t explain the demon.
Maybe she could get back to that someday. Help Dora get closure. But for now, they had to focus on the danger at hand.
Disappointment spread through Amber like acid. She didn’t know what she’d expected to find. A clue. A hint of something supernatural happening to Dora that might link back to this. But there was simply nothing.
She could see Quentin watching her through her periphery. His head tilted to one side. His eyes shimmered. His hand rested on the table, one finger tapping as though in slow motion. She didn’t even try to see into Dora’s future. She didn’t know if she could with Dora being in the afterworld. So, she decided to take advantage of the situation in front of her.
She took another coaster and timed its flip perfectly. She shifted her gaze to Quentin’s, flipped the card, and laid it in front of him a millisecond before he realized what she was doing. He started to get up, to stop her, but it was too late. She dove inside him.
Or more like fell.
Shapes hit her first. Lots of movement and shadows, like a colony of bugs in the dark. An entire dimension, scurrying and smoky and blue. And then the eyes came into focus. The black eyes. Hundreds of them. Thousands.
“Rune,” she whispered. Quentin didn’t have a demon inside him. He had hundreds of thousands. He had an entire dimension. A dimension named Rune.