Chapter 5. Annette #2
That was the price of coming to Duke for tech support.
He snooped through anything that landed on his workbench.
He claimed he couldn’t help it. I wasn’t sure I believed him, but between the information he picked up from his clients’ devices and the chatter he overheard in the bar, he was my best contact for otherworldly gossip or scouring the internet for hard-to-find info.
He used to be, at least, back when we were getting along.
“If you’re looking for nudes, I took them off my phone before I came over,” I said.
His newly shorn scalp meant I could watch the blush creep up his neck and past his ears. “I was checking your bank balance to make sure you could pay me. You’re doing well for yourself.”
“I had some high-paying cases in my day, and I’ve made some good investments.” I grimaced and admitted, “Also, my first husband was one of the wealthiest vampires in France.”
“That’s good. Means you can afford the surcharge. Call it a succubus tax.”
He was rapidly moving from cold and distant to full-blown asshole. “Since when are you prejudiced against demons?”
“Call it an Annette Thorne tax, then.”
“It’s been fifteen years, Duke. You didn’t have a problem with my nature before.”
He returned my phone. “I was stupid and didn’t know what I was falling in love with.”
“Yes, you were. I told you exactly what I was looking for and what I wasn’t. I never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to do.”
I could have. I wasn’t as strong as my mother, but I had power enough to bend most men and a fair number of women. My mother had made damn sure I understood and respected that power. I’d learned the difference between seduction and rape before I learned my ABCs.
“I wanted more,” said Duke.
“I didn’t.” His proposal had come at the worst time.
Morgan had just been born, and I’d been winding down my PI gig so I’d have more time to focus on Blake and my new grandson.
I’d thought I could make up for old mistakes by doing better as a grandmother than I’d done as a mother.
Then there was the amount of time and work I’d been putting into Second Life Books.
“I spent four days making that rock,” he said.
“It was a gorgeous black diamond, but I told you I was through with marriage. Four strikes and I’m out.”
“I thought maybe you’d change your mind for me.”
Enough bullshit. I stepped toward him. “Marmaduke Stone, are you mad because I broke your heart? Or is it because I bruised your ego when I had the gall to tell you no?”
Chunk waddled over to stand between me and Duke. She bared her teeth and growled.
“Take it easy, you daft lump of marble,” said Duke. “Nobody’s threatening anyone.”
The stone cat blinked, cocked her head, and made a ridiculous chirrup sound.
It was enough to break the tension. I chuckled, and Duke’s lips tugged into a rueful grin.
“I won’t apologize for my choices,” I said. “But I do wish things hadn’t ended so badly. I never meant to hurt you.”
He turned away and rubbed his scalp. “What else can you tell me about the kid in the picture?”
“He’s either from the South or he spent time down there. He called himself Ronnie. No way of knowing if it’s his real name.”
Duke pulled his personal phone from his back pocket. It was an older model with a heavy-duty case inlaid with curved lines of what was probably real gold. The screen unlocked and began popping up browser windows. “Five hundred bucks.”
“Does that include the demon tax?”
He grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was crude. Hell, I’ve had demon tenants. None right now, but there was a lovely sloth demon couple who stayed in apartment three for most of last year. There’s a pukwudgie family there now. They’ve got the cutest little toddler, but those quills—”
“You’re rambling, hon.” I smiled to soften the words.
“The point is, it was a stupid thing to say. Forgive me?”
“Find that kid, and we’ll call it even.” I opened my purse. “Though I can’t imagine why a man who can make his own gemstones needs money from anyone else.”
“My stones might be pretty, but they aren’t natural.”
My mouth quirked. “They seemed perfectly normal to me.”
He blushed harder this time, all the way to the top of his scalp. “A good jeweler would flag my gemstones as fakes. They’re a little too dense and too heavy and too perfect.”
“Modest as ever.”
He waved off my words. “Real gems have inclusions and imperfections. Synthetics don’t, but mine have more depth and luster than any lab-made rock.”
While he worked, I scratched Chunk behind the ears. She seemed to enjoy it, and it had the added bonus of filing and smoothing my nails.
“Found him.” His phone went dark. He tucked it back into his pocket. “Margaret Wentworth Kensington.”
I frowned. “Are you saying Ronnie is transgender?”
“What? No, Margaret is your guy’s mother.” He waited, clearly wanting me to ask how he’d figured it out.
“Go ahead. Impress me with your brilliance.”
“If you insist.” He still had the most charming smile.
“I checked traffic-camera footage all around your shop before and after Ronnie visited this morning. He parked three blocks away. He was driving an old van, black with tinted windows. Gray trim. The license plate is registered to Margaret Kensington. I found an obituary for her from two years ago. It mentioned a son, Ronald Kensington.”
I’d hoped for more, but I’d solved cases with less. I’d once tracked a demon-possessed rat through half of Chicago with nothing but a half-eaten moldy jelly donut for a starting point.
“Not bad.” I would have found Ronnie’s information eventually, but without access to the city’s cameras, it would have taken me days or weeks. I jotted the information into a small notepad. “Thank you, Duke. I really do appreciate it.”
“Maybe one of these nights after you’ve dealt with this kid Ronnie, you and I—”
If I could have trusted him to keep things casual, I would have jumped him on the spot. But we both knew better. “Please don’t go there.”
He raised his hands. “As friends. Just to catch up.” He shoved his hands in his pockets—an accomplishment in itself, given how snug those jeans were. “You might have a point about my wounded pride. I suppose it’s possible I’ve nursed that grudge a little too long.”
I set a check for five hundred dollars on the corner of his desk. “I’m not good at friendships. You know that.”
“Then you should practice more.” He picked up the check and rolled his eyes. “I swear you’re the only person in Salem who still writes paper checks.”
“Text me if you learn anything more about this kid.” I started toward the door.
He waved the check between his fingers. “You and your money are welcome back any time.”
“It’s good to see you again,” I said, and meant it.
· · ·
It’s impossible to sneak up on a full-blooded succubus. They can feel your desires from a mile away. My range is closer to fifty yards. Most of the time, that was plenty.
I was almost to my car when I felt them watching me. Three males, all young and energetic. Teenagers, from the feel. There was a rawness to their energy. Their blood was flowing fast, but it wasn’t sexual. Not directly. This was a different kind of anticipation. They were here for violence.
It was getting dark. To one side of the road was a boarded-up three-story brick building. No help there. The houses on the other side were little better. Blinds and curtains covered most of the windows.
Ah, well. Even if someone was watching, this would be over before they could do anything. Statistically speaking, most street fights ended in less than a minute. My personal best was six seconds.
I turned around and folded my arms, giving them a glare that should have made it clear I wasn’t in the mood.
I half-expected to see Ronnie. I wouldn’t have put it past the creep to have tailed me when I left home.
But these boys were younger, closer to Morgan’s age.
Two were White, one Black. They wore matching black hoodies with the hoods pulled up.
The middle one had glasses. The one on the right had a gold stud in his nose.
The left one wore a silver class ring with a green stone.
All three carried squirt guns, and not the cheap kind. These were one step away from firefighting equipment, with two-liter tanks and long barrels.
Squirt guns could mean this was a prank: kids getting their kicks by spraying down random passers-by. Maybe I’d misread the anticipation coming off the three boys . . . but I doubted it. If this was a prank, they’d have someone filming, and their energy would be lighter.
Which meant they’d chosen those weapons deliberately. Which meant that almost certainly wasn’t tap water dripping from the end of Gold Stud’s barrel.
I shifted my purse strap to my other shoulder so it was secure across my torso.
“We don’t want your money,” said Glasses.
Class Ring nodded. “We know what you are. We’re here to send you home.”
Not who but what. This was the second time today. Had someone put a sign on my back? “Is this an immigrant thing? I got my green card decades ago.”
Gold Stud raised his gun. “Home to Hell, demoness. Tell us where to find the rest of your kind, and we’ll make this quick.”
“Kids your age don’t know any other way.” I tensed my hands. The nails stretched. The edges curled and folded in on the middle, forming thick, curved claws. My mother’s claws were strong enough to puncture steel. Mine weren’t as powerful, but they’d do a number on skin and muscle.
Gold Stud paled and retreated a step, but the other two squeezed their triggers.
Two water jets hit me: one on the side of the neck, and the other in the chest. I bit back a scream as the skin of my neck blistered. My chest began to burn a moment later as the water soaked through my shirt and bra.
Being only half-demon meant holy water wouldn’t kill me. It still hurt like hell. And they had plenty more to douse me with.
I slashed at Class Ring’s arm, slicing both sleeve and skin. The water gun fell from his hand. I smashed it under my boot before he could recover, then elbowed him in the center of the forehead. He dropped.
“Shit!” yelled Glasses. “Why isn’t she burning up?”
“Keep firing,” said Gold Stud, who had recovered his courage enough to shoot me in the gut.
I reached behind my back and drew my knife from beneath my blazer.
The fourteen-inch Bowie had a bone handle and a blade sharp enough to cut a deal with a devil. Green fire danced to life along the edge. The fire was a spell I’d bought from a witch in Belgium. It was illusion, and its only purpose was to make kids like this shit themselves from fear.
From the terror on Gold Stud’s face, it was working.
I stepped in and sliced through his gun with the knife, then kicked him in the chest. I was no Hunter of Artemis like Jenny, but I had strength enough to knock him on his ass. He did a backward somersault to the ground and lay there gasping.
Holy water drilled my ear and cheek. I raised my arm to protect my face. I saw movement from the edge of my vision and braced myself as Class Ring struck me low and hard, like a linebacker.
What the hell? I’d elbowed him hard enough to put him down for the night.
“Hold her!” Glasses reversed his grip on his weapon, holding it by the barrel. He was going to break the tank over my head.
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” snarled Class Ring.
Dammit, I didn’t want to end the day by killing teenagers.
Flesh wounds it was, then.
I stopped fighting Class Ring and let his momentum carry me toward Glasses, getting inside his swing. My index finger jabbed three times, puncturing his shoulder, bicep, and thigh. None more than half an inch deep, but he still whimpered and dropped his gun.
“Oh, shit.” Class Ring released me and tried to grab the gun Glasses had dropped.
I threw my knife. The blade stuck through the tank and several inches into the asphalt.
Class Ring yelped and jumped back. I followed, sliding close enough to clamp his throat with one hand.
My claws pierced skin. “Are you going to tell me who the hell you are and how you found me, or am I going to eat your fucking face?”
I wasn’t the face-eating variety of demon, but he didn’t know that. For extra effect, I smiled and licked blood off the claws of my left hand.
Class Ring’s face went white. Then his eyes moved, focusing past my left shoulder.
I stepped sideways and hurled him into Gold Stud, who’d been coming at me from behind.
They ran. I followed, but I’d only gone half a block when the holy water in my hair dripped into my eyes, burning and half-blinding me.
I retracted my claws and used a dry patch of my shirt to carefully mop my face and forehead until I could see well enough to retrieve my knife and return to my car.
A window opened across the street. A man called out, “Are you all right, lady?”
Sure, now somebody noticed. “I’m fine.”
I climbed into the driver’s seat. My vision was a blurry mess, and I felt like my skin was on fire. I stripped off my wet clothes, started the engine, and hoped I didn’t get pulled over on the way home.
“You did what?”
“We thought this was what you wanted. We were ridding the world of a dangerous demon. Isn’t that the point of all this? To hunt threats?”
“You jumped Annette Thorne. Are you fucking insane? You might as well try to sucker-punch Superman. She could have ripped your throats out. Or maybe she wanted you to get away. If you’ve led her and her friends to me—”
“Nobody followed us! She was hurt pretty bad.”
“Thank R’gngyk for small blessings. How did you even find out about Annette?”
“Isaiah . . . he peeked in your notebook last week. He didn’t mean anything by it. We just thought—we wanted to do something, you know? To get out there and fight demons and—”
“Potentially destroy everything I’m trying to do.”
“I’m sorry. We were trying to help. And we did get away. No harm, no foul, right?”
“The three of you will do triple rituals nightly until you’ve atoned. And if any of you ever think about pulling a stunt like this again without permission, I will personally feed you to a shoggoth.”