For a Few Demons More - Page 8/20

Chapter Sixteen

"Hey!" I said belligerently, and the jeans-clad man looked up from where he'd been leaning into the backseat, messing with Glenn's salsa. It was Tom, and my jaw dropped. "What are you doing?" I came forward, wobbling on one of those flush grave markers.

Tom stepped from the car, and I halted before him, puffing. There was a hint of anger and a lot of distain in his blue eyes. I was looking into the sun to see him, and it ticked me off.

"I've been asked to talk to you," he said, and I snickered. Now he wants to talk? He was standing before my car, though, and didn't look like he was going to move without a little encouragement. But when I saw Jenks unconscious on the dash with his dragonfly wings splayed out in the sun, I was more than ready to apply said encouragement.

My pulse leapt, fueled by anger and fear. "What did you do to Jenks? "

The man started at the threat in my voice. Moving back a step, he almost got out of the way. "I didn't want him to overhear our conversation."

My stomach clenched in fear. "You knocked him out? You knocked Jenks out to get rid of him?" I took a step forward, and Tom retreated. "You son of a bastard."

Yeah, I was mixing my phrases, but I was really mad.

Eyes wide in surprise, Tom took another step back.

"He's a person, you know!" I said, my face hot. "He would have left if you asked." Worried, I leaned into my car and carefully edged Jenks into my palm before his wings burned from the hot dash. His small body was limp and felt far too light. I remembered him carrying me when I'd been weak from blood loss, and a panicked fear slid through me. Horror joined it when I saw that he was bleeding. "What did you do?" I exclaimed. "He's bleeding from his ears!"

The ley line witch stood before me, three feet back with his hands behind him. "Rachel Morgan, I would like to ask - "

Tension pulling tight through me, I held Jenks close. "What did you do to Jenks! Do you know how dangerous it is for a pixy to lose blood?"

"Ms. Morgan," Tom interrupted, "this is more important than your backup."

I couldn't seem to get enough air. "He is my friend!" I exclaimed. "He's not a tissue!"

I stepped forward, and Tom retreated. "Don't touch me," he warned.

But I got in his face, shouting, "I care more about this pixy's hangnail than your whole stinking life, you sanctimonious little prick. What did you do to him?"

"Stay back," he said, backing away even farther with his hands in front of him.

"I'll touch my foot to your face if you don't take off that spell!" with Jenks held carefully to my middle in my cupped hand, I took another threatening step. The hair on my arms pricked when Tom tapped a line, and before he could say or do anything, I lunged forward, betting he was setting a circle. A circle can't form through a person coated in an aura but will slide to either the front or the back of him or her. I had a fifty-fifty chance. I would either make it into his circle or crack my nose open running into it as Minias had.

I jolted, the electric taste of tinfoil stabbing through my teeth. Gasping, I hunched over Jenks. Tom's power iced through me, and for an instant the world went black. My chi filled from him to me in an eerie sensation of wrongness. It overflowed, the excess running to spindle in my mind, rolling the power of the line into storage. I jerked, tying to break the connection.

It snapped with a twang that felt so sharp it had to be audible. I opened my eyes, finding Tom staring at me. I was inside his circle. It wasn't that big either.

The witch's eyes narrowed. His fingers moved, and I shot my fist out, smacking him in the gut. Good going, Rachel, I thought, seeing the breath explode from him as he fell, his butt landing on the grass and his back hitting the wall of the circle. He'd probably file charges for assault now, but he had threatened me with ley line magic first.

"You can tell Denon he can shove his falsies up his ass," I said, feeling that something was wrong but unable to stop and think about it. "He can't scare me off this case!" I remembered my splat gun in my bag - somehow still on my shoulder - but it would look really stupid if I hit him with blanks. Besides, it was hard to do anything with Jenks in my hand.

"Not Denon," the witch gasped, his face red as he tried to catch his breath.

I drew back, the strength of his circle humming over my head. He wasn't speaking for the I.S.? What in hell is going on?

I tugged my shirt to cover my middle, suddenly wary. Tom looked at me from the ground with his back pushed against the circle, his pained grimace making me retreat a step so he could stand. Looking shaken, stirred, and ticked, the witch got to his feet and brushed the grass clippings off. But then his face went still, and he looked at the arch of ever-after over him. That sensation of wrongness in me strengthened, and I followed his gaze to the ugly blackness.

His circle hadn't fallen when I pushed him into it. That wasn't right.

"You took it," Tom whispered, his eyes tracking the come-and-go, knifelike slices of gold glimmering through the demon smut. "You took my circle!"

My gaze jerked to the arc of power over our heads in fearful recognition. It was my aura reflected there, not his. I took his circle? Newt had taken Ceri's, but it had required some effort. I'd simply walked into this one. That was it, I mused. It had been still forming and vulnerable.

Frightened, he backed up until he hit the slice of ever-after. "They told me you were an earth witch. Damn it, you took my circle. I never would have," he stammered, his cheeks pale. "I mean... God, you must think I'm an idiot for trying to best you."

Scared at how fast he had gone from cocky to frightened, I said, "Don't worry about it."

Tom's attention ran over the inside of the bubble. "I didn't mean to hurt your pixy," he said, watching Jenks, still cupped in my hand. "He's fine. I stunned him with a high frequency. He'll wake up in an hour. I didn't know he was important to you."

My pulse had yet to settle, and I didn't like how fast his attitude had changed. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it was sort of flattering, though. At the very least, it had calmed my anger. I mean, how can you be angry at someone who thinks you're a stronger witch then he is?

"I didn't mean to take your circle, okay?" I said. Uneasy, I touched the circle I hadn't invoked, shivering when it broke and the energy someone else had tapped flowed through me and away. I was too distracted to unspindle the excess in my head, so I let it stay.

Tom swayed to catch his balance when the circle fell. He was clearly glad to be out of the circle, but he was still white under his brown hair.

"What did you want anyway?" I said, feeling Jenks's weight light in my palm.

"I..." Hesitating, he took a deep breath. "You have experience in summoning demons," he said, and I cringed. "My superiors would like me to extend an invitation to you."

Disgusted, I let my bag fall from my shoulder. Catching the strap in my hand, I threw it into the backseat. He had said he wasn't working under Denon, but I didn't want to be contracted out to the Arcane either. Reaching for the doorhandle, I muttered, "I don't work for the I.S. in any capacity, so forget it."

"This isn't from the I.S. - this is a private group."

My fingers slipped from the handle, and I stood with my back to him - thinking. The sun was hot - it would probably melt the birthday candles still in my shoulder bag - and I turned to put Jenks in the shade. Hip cocked, I sent my eyes over Tom's comfortable-looking shoes, his new jeans, his tucked-in dress shirt, and his hair drifting in the slight breeze. He was young, but not inexperienced. Powerful, but I had surprised him. He was working in the I.S. Arcane Division yet was speaking for someone else? That didn't sound good.

"This is about summoning demons, isn't it?" I said, and he nodded, too fresh-faced to look sage but trying for it anyway. I leaned against my car, amazed at how the brightest-looking people did the dumbest things. "Despite what you've heard, I don't summon demons. They just show up to irritate the hell out of me. I don't twist demon curses."

Anymore. "You couldn't pay me enough to twist one for you. So whatever problem your friends have, you can take it somewhere else."

"It's not illegal to summon demons," Tom said belligerently.

"No, but it's stupid." I reached for the door again, pulling when Tom stepped forward and put his hand on mine. I yanked out of his reach, ticked. Damn it, he was a demon practitioner.

"Rachel Morgan, wait. I can't tell them you didn't even listen."

I wasn't going to hit him again, but a yelling redhead could usually drive the most persistent person away. I took a breath, then hesitated. This wasn't about the focus, was it?

Exhaling, I eyed him. My gaze fell to Jenks, my hand starting to ache from holding that same stiff position, then back to Tom. "Are you the ones killing the Weres?" I asked flat out.

Tom's mouth dropped open in a surprise so genuine I had to believe it was real. "We thought you were," he said, and I didn't know which was more disturbing, that they thought I was capable of murder or that they thought I was capable of murder and wanted me to join them.

"Me?" I said, shifting my weight to my other foot. "What for? I've never killed anyone in my life!" Let a demon take them instead of me but never killed them. Ah, except for Peter. But he wanted to die. Feeling guilty, I searched the horizon.

The tips of Tom's ears went red in embarrassment. "The inner circle has extended an invitation," he said, struggling to regain my attention. "They request that you join them."

I'll just bet. "Excuse me," I said angrily. "Get your hand off my car."

Tom removed his hand, and I tugged the handle up. He backed when I got in and settled into the sun-warmed leather seats. This was great. Just freaking great. A wacko fringe organization wanted me as a new recruit. Slamming the door shut, I held Jenks in my cupped palm and dug the box of tissues out of the console. I set it on my lap and carefully laid him in it. Seeing him there motionless, a feeling of panic slid through me and was gone. If he wasn't okay, Matalina would be devastated, and I would be really pissed.

The powerful practitioner of black ley line magic in jeans and sunglasses who could probably turn my blood to sludge wanted me in his little group. Even worse, he seemed to be an underling. Anger cresting, I looked at Tom squinting in the sun, then with a small thought, willed my second sight into focus to check his aura. It was edged in a faint shimmer of black.

"Your aura is dirty," I said, my motions sharp as I buckled myself in and let my second sight drop before I saw something I didn't want to; I was in a graveyard.

Face red, he boldly said, "My position in the I.S. prohibits me from working with demons as much as I'd like. But I'm committed to the cause and am contributing in other ways."

Oh, my God. He's apologizing for not having more smut on his soul?

Tom misread my expression, his smooth brow tightening in anger. "My cloak may be light, but it serves a purpose. I can move unseen where those more versed in the dark arts can't." He stepped closer. "That's why we want you, Rachel Morgan. You openly consort with demons. Your cloak is as black as anyone's in the inner circle, and yet you're not afraid to walk proud and unrepentant. Even the I.S. can't touch you."

Stretching, I reached between the seats and got my bag. Right. And that's why I don't have a license? "And because of that, your little club thinks I'm worthy of them?" I said, digging for my keys. My fingers touched my splat gun, and I toyed with the idea of plugging him with a few defunct earth charms just to see him run away.

"It's not a club," Tom said, clearly insulted. "It's a tradition of witches that stretches back to the beginning of the crossing of the ley lines. A glorious lineage of secrecy and power, pushing the frontiers of our existence."

Yada-yada-yada ... It had taken on the cadence of empty rhetoric. Wondering if the I.S. knew they had a cultist on their payroll, I jammed the key into the ignition. "You summon demons?"

Tom's stance became defensive. "We explore options that other witches are too timid to venture. And we think you are - "

"Let me guess. I've been found worthy to join your cause and be privy to the inner-sanctum secrets that have been passed down from master to student for two millennia."

Okay, maybe that had been a little sarcastic, but Jenks wasn't moving, and I was worried. Tom was trying to come up with something, and I started my car. The engine rumbled to life under me, the sound of security. Hot, I fiddled with the air conditioner though the top was open. The breeze from the vents turned cool, and I relished the tickling of the curls against my face.

Done with him, I jammed the car into first. Tom put his hand on the car, his fingers going white in their grip as his words stumbled over themselves. "Rachel Morgan, you have done great things, survived multiple demon attacks, but no one gives you your due. With us you can find the honor and respect you have earned."

His flattery meant nothing, and I angled a vent until Jenks's hair shifted. "I survived by luck and my friends. I shouldn't be honored. I ought to be committed for uncommon idiocy."

I reached for the gearshift, and he pressed closer. "You took my circle," he stated.

"Because I stepped into it while it was forming! It was a one-in-a-million shot of timing!" Worry pinched his eyes that I was leaving, and I hesitated. "Do yourself and your mother a favor," I said. "Run away. Tell your boss that I put a spell on you to make you unable to continue your great work. Forget you ever heard of them, or me, and run as fast and far away as you can, because if you play with demons, they will either kill you or take you as their familiar, and believe me, you want the former. And get your hands off my car!"

Tom took his hand away, but there was a new determination in his eyes. "You won't survive on your own," he warned. "Don't be greedy. Share what you've learned along with sharing the danger of summoning them. It takes a quorum of witches to control a demon."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not trying to."

"Rachel Morgan..."

A sound of exasperation came from me. "No!" I shouted. "And stop calling me Rachel Morgan. I'm Rachel, or Ms. Morgan. Only demons use every single damned name that a person is known by. My answer is no. No lifelines, no calling my best friend. That's my final answer. I do not deal with demons. I do not want to deal with demons. Go back and tell your architect that I am flattered for the offer but that I work alone."

His eyes slid to Jenks in my lap, and I scowled. "Jenks is family," I said darkly. "And if you ever hurt my family again, you and your little sorry-ass circle will find out there are worse things than demons to piss off."

"The I.S. won't help you," he said, backing up when I revved the engine and threatened to run over his foot. "They're a vamp-run institution controlled by self-minded individuals, not those seeking to elevate a closed mind."

Pulse pounding, I said, "For once we agree, but I wasn't talking about the I.S. I was talking about me." Foot letting up on the clutch, I pulled forward. I wanted to tear out of there like Ivy's last blind date, but in respect for the dead, I had to be content with a slow, careful crawl. I glanced at Jenks to be sure the jostling hadn't shifted him to snap a wing with his body weight.

Eyes flicking from him to the narrow road, I stewed, not just about Jenks but about Tom's offer. It was never good to be offered a place in a wacko organization, especially when you tell them to shove their high ideals and their glorious work.

There was a soft pull on my chi, and my gaze hit the rearview mirror. My breath caught, and I almost drove right off the pavement when Tom turned his back on me and vanished.

Holy crap, he jumped to a line. Worried, I adjusted my grip on the wheel, alternating my focus from the road to where he had been as if it had been a mistake. He was good enough to use the lines to travel, and he was only a minor member?

Damn, who exactly had I just insulted?

Chapter Seventeen

David's car windows were down, and the cool damp of the late afternoon felt good lifting through my hair. The complex scent of Were mixed with the smell of the riverfront, and I snuck a glance at David across the short width of his sports car. He had on his long leather duster and matching hat, and though he would probably be more comfortable with the air on, he hadn't suggested it - Jenks was on my big hoop earring, and quick temperature changes wreaked havoc with his small body mass. It was easier to sweat a little than listen to Jenks bitch about being cold. We were almost to Piscary's anyway.

Upon coming home from Spring Grove, I'd found a second message on the machine, the red light blinking like a ticking bomb. My first thought that it might be Ivy proved false. It was Mrs. Sarong's new aide. The owner of the Howlers wanted to meet with me, too. And seeing that the I.S. was blowing off the murder of her aide as a suicide, it was likely she wanted me to find out who had done it. Liking the idea of catching three paychecks with one job, I changed the location of my meeting with Mr. Simon Ray to a neutral place, then agreed to meet Mrs. Sarong at the same time. If nothing else, I'd find out if they were killing each other.

The tension in David's hands on the wheel increased as he made a right turn into the almost-deserted lot at Piscary's. The two-story bar/ tavern was closed until five, when it opened for the Inderland lunch hour, and I thought it made the perfect neutral ground. Kisten had set new hours shortly after they'd lost their Mixed Public License - MPL for short - and went to an all-vamp clientele. The bar would be empty but for Kisten and a few waitstaff prepping for the day. Besides, doing this where Kisten could step in if needed was just good planning.

Nervous, I checked to see that I had my bag with my charms and splat gun, a fresh batch of sleepy-time potions in the hopper. David parked smoothly in an outer spot where he wouldn't have to back up to leave. Saying nothing, he popped the trunk and got out while I sat in the car and turned my phone to vibrate. It had been a very quiet ride over here; David's mind was clearly on his girlfriends, both living and dead.

I hadn't been keen on his coming with me, but he did have a car, and I was meeting with two alphas of Cincy's more prominent packs. Jenks said David had a right to be there as my alpha, and I trusted his judgment. Besides, I had worked with David before. Though distracted, he was better at reacting to violence than his easygoing looks would indicate.

"Ready, Jenks?" I whispered as David thunked the trunk shut.

"Soon as you get your lily-white witch ass outta this car," Jenks said sarcastically.

Ignoring that, I dropped my phone into my bag and got out. I scanned the lot, enjoying the cooler air off the river that set a few strands of my hair to drift. Kisten's boat was at the quay, and I started to the front door with a slow pace. David fell into step beside me, his eyes seeing everything from under his worn brown leather hat. "What was in the trunk?" I asked, and my eyes widened when he opened his coat and let me glimpse a big-ass rifle.

"I know these people," he said, his expression going hard. "We handle their insurance."

Oka-a-a-ay, I thought, hoping I wouldn't have to pull the little red splat gun tucked in my bag. They'd laugh themselves silly. Until the first of them dropped, that is.

There was an unfamiliar black Jag and an H2 pulled up to the front, clearly not belonging to the waitstaff. Someone had beaten us here, despite my efforts to be the first and take the high ground. Mr. Ray, I'd be willing to bet, as I credited Mrs. Sarong with more class than to cart her people around in a yellow Hummer - as cool as that appeared to be.

I glanced back at David's sports car, missing the freedom to jump into my red convertible and go. A sigh moved through me.

"Whatsa matter, Rache?" Jenks asked, still on my shoulder and remarkably quiet.

"I need to work on my image," I muttered, pulling up the waistband of my leather pants and trying to keep up with David's long strides. Leather was my fabric of choice when I was on a run; if I went sliding on the pavement, I didn't want to leave a skin graft. I had on a matching biker's cap with the Harley logo, and my vamp-made boots that kept my steps silent. My black leather jacket was too hot, and though it ruined the look, I removed it to leave only my chemise.

David had been asked to take a few days off from work to sort himself out and had opted for jeans and a cotton tuck-in shirt instead of his business suit. The duster, the worn hat pulled over his brooding eyes, and his wavy black hair in a ponytail made him look like Van Helsing. His mood bordered on depressed - his few wrinkles deep and his brow etched with lines. His pace slow, his legs took almost a step and a half of mine to make it appear he was floating. He was clean-shaven, and his squinting eased when the sun turned to the cool shadow of the restaurant's canopy.

Maybe my image is just fine...

I reached for the door handle, ignoring the city ordinance warning that the establishment had no MPL. It was before business hours, and even so, I didn't have to worry. I'd been over here lots of times with Kisten. No one had bothered me yet.

David's suntanned hand settled on mine atop the handle. "A female alpha doesn't open doors," he said, and realizing he was going to play this to the hilt, I let go. Effortlessly he opened the door and held it for me. Past him, the bar was quiet, the house lights down and everything gray and soothing. I took my glasses off as I entered and dropped them into my bag.

"Ms. Morgan!" a familiar voice called the instant my feet passed the threshold. It was Steve, Kisten's number-one guy, who ran the bar when he was out, and I smiled when the bear of a man did a single-armed vault over the bar to come and give me his traditional hug.

Jenks took off with a yelp, but my eyes closed as I returned Steve's embrace, pulling his luscious scent of incense and vamp pheromones deep into me. God, he smelled good. Almost as good as Kisten. "Hi, Steve," I said, feeling tingles at my vamp scar and putting space between us. "How ticked is Kisten that I asked to borrow the bar for a few hours? "

Kisten's assistant manager/bouncer gave me a final squeeze and let go. "Not at all," he said, a devious glint in his eyes. They were dilated more than the low light warranted, and his toothy smile probably owed to the fact that he knew I was enjoying breathing him in. "He's looking forward to taking the rental fee for the back room out of your hide."

"I'll bet," I said dryly, my hands falling to my sides. "Ah, this is David, my alpha," I said, remembering the man behind me. "And you know Jenks."

David leaned forward, his hand extended and the hem of his duster furling. "Hue," David said, his face melancholy. "David Hue. It's good to meet you."

Steve's gaze flicked from him to me and back again, silently remarking on David's depression. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hue," the vampire said earnestly. "I heard that Rachel had taken up a pack. It's the rare man who can get her to let him put a claim on her."

"Hey!" I exclaimed, swatting Steve's shoulder with the back of my hand. But Steve caught it, his eyes flashing black as he kissed the tips of my fingers.

I forgot what I was going to yell at him when the hard coolness of his teeth grazed my skin. A shiver lifted through me, and I blinked, his eyes fixed on me from under his lowered brow. "Stop that," I said, and drew away.

Steve smiled at me like I was his little sister, and David pulled out of his funk to stare at me. "Mr. Ray is here already," the vamp said. "He's in the back with six men, waiting for you."

Six then? Why did he bring that many? He doesn't know Mrs. Sarong is coming, does he? "Thanks," I said, setting my coat on the bar when Steve started drifting away. "You mind if we wait here until Mrs. Sarong arrives?"

"Not at all." He pulled a stool out from the bar for me. "What can I get you and Mr. Hue?" He glanced at the melancholy Were. "I won't tell the I.S. if you don't."

David leaned against the bar. His brown eyes were everywhere, and he looked like a gunslinger coming in from the prairie. "Water, please," he said, not aware I was watching him. It must be tearing him apart, having caused those women's deaths, even if indirectly.

"Iced tea?" I said, hot in all my leather, then immediately regretted it. I was going to meet with two of Cincy's most powerful individuals, and I would be sucking down an iced tea when I did it? God! No wonder no one took me seriously.

I started to change it to a glass of wine, a beer, anything... but Steve was gone. The clatter of pixy wings brought my hand up in invitation, and Jenks landed on it, his wings shimmering with exertion. "The bar looks good," he said, tossing his bangs out of the way. "No charms but for the usual. I'm going to listen in on Mr. Ray if that's okay with you."

My head bobbed. "Thanks, Jenks. That'd be great."

Jenks touched his red cap in salute. "You got it. I'll be back when you need me."

The draft from his wings was a brief flash of cool, and he was gone.

From the far end of the bar, Steve headed our way, the two drinks in his big hands. He set them before us, then slipped into the kitchen, the double doors silently swinging closed.

David encircled his glass of water with one hand. Not drinking, he hunched over the bar and brooded. A murmur of conversation came from the kitchen, and my gaze went over the cool, dusky room, taking in the changes since Kisten had assumed a closer management.

The downstairs was now tight with a multitude of smaller tables where patrons could get a quick bite rather than a meal. Ah... no pun intended. Shortly after Piscary had been incarcerated, the kitchen made a shift from the gourmet cuisine for which Pizza Piscary's was known to bar food, but pizza was still served.

There was a large round table between the foot of the wide stairway and the kitchen. That was where Kisten spent most nights when he was working, somewhere he could keep an eye on everything without appearing to. The upstairs was a dance floor now, complete with a DJ nest, disco ball, and light display. I didn't go up there when they were in full swing; the pheromones of several hundred vampires would hit me as pleasantly and as fast as chugging a six-pack.

Against the odds, Kisten had turned losing their MPL into an asset;

Piscary's was the only reputable place in Cincy where a vampire could relax without having to live up to anyone else's ideas of reserved behavior and vampiric standards. Even shadows weren't allowed. I was the only nonvamp let past the door - seeing as I had downed Piscary, then let the bastard live - and I was honored they let me see them as they wanted to be. The living ones partied with frightening abandon, trying to forget that they were destined to lose their souls, and the undead tried to remember what it was like to have one, almost seeming to find it while surrounded by such an outpouring of energy. Anyone coming in looking for a quick blood fix was escorted out. Blood didn't have a place in the fantasy they sought.

My gaze ran over the pictures lining the walls just under the ceiling, and I started when I found the blurry shot of me, Nick, and Ivy on her bike. It was fuzzy, but you could still tell there were a rat and a mink standing on the gas tank. Warming, I lifted my iced tea to sprinkle some salt on my napkin.

"Is that a spell?" David asked, eyes going to the kitchen doors when someone laughed.

I shook my head. "It's so the paper doesn't stick to the bottom of the glass and make me look like more of a dork than I already am."

The Were pulled his head up from his melancholy hunch. "Rachel, you're wearing leather and sitting at a vamp bar. You could have a pink slushy with an umbrella in your hand and still impress the hell out of most people."

My exhalation was long and slow. "Yeah, but alphas aren't most people."

"You'll be fine. You're the female for my pack, remember?" His gaze went behind me. "Afternoon, Kisten," he said, and I turned, smiling when I recognized the scent of incense and leather.

"Thanks, Mr. Peabody," the vampire said sourly, his attempt to startle me clearly ruined.

"Hi, Kist," I said, curving an arm about his waist and drawing him closer. He was wearing dark pants and a red silk shirt - his usual casual clothes. "Thanks for letting me borrow your club," I added, tugging at him suggestively. Damn, I could really have used some alone time with him this Friday. The memory of Ivy's kiss intruded, then vanished.

His eyes dilated, and my pulse increased despite my efforts. A smile hovered over his features, and his look became more intent. "You can borrow a back room anytime," he said, his hand finding my waist with a comfortable familiarity before he leaned in for a quick kiss hello.

He was aiming at my lips, but, conscious of David, I turned and he got the corner of my mouth instead. His low growl of bother sent a spike of desire unexpectedly through me. He wasn't truly upset - more like amused - and I wondered if playing hard to get one night might be extremely fun. Or deadly.

"I'm... ah, sorry for postponing our date," I said when he leaned back, becoming flustered when he'd lingered a moment too long. "Let me know when you have another night free, and I'll get the reservation changed."

David gave Kisten an up-and-down look, then took his drink and moseyed down the bar to stare at the pictures. Blue eyes gazing up at the ceiling, Kisten ran a hand through his hair to leave it attractively tousled. "Oh," he teased, leaning against the bar to look alluring and in control. "My witch has enough clout to snag a reservation at the Tower whenever she wants." He held a hand to his chest. "My masculine pride is wounded. I had to make mine three months ago."

"It's not me," I said, pushing at his shoulder, but not hard enough to move him. "Trent is doing it. It was part of the deal that I work his wedding."

"Doesn't matter," he said. "The point is that it's done, and it was done - for you."

Not knowing what to say, I drank my tea. The melting ice shifted, and I almost got a lapful of it. "I'm really sorry," I said again, shaking the glass to get the ice to move. "I wouldn't have said yes to Trent, but he waved enough money at me to get the church resanctified," I finished sourly. My gaze went distant as I wondered if I should tell him about our encounter this morning, then decided against it. Maybe later, when we had more time.

Kisten bent to reach over the bar, and, realizing I was ogling him, I put my attention back on my drink and off his tight butt. Crap, the man knew how to dress to showcase himself.

"Forget it," he said when he settled himself on the stool beside me, a bowl of almonds in his hands. "Someday I'm going to have to cancel on you because of business, and then..." He popped a nut into his mouth and crunched through it. "... you're going to have to take it gracefully and not be a spastic girlfriend."

"Spastic girlfriend?" I huffed, realizing that his quick acceptance came from self-preservation, not understanding. Mildly ticked, I swiveled my stool, my fingers on my cold glass.

With a little hop as if having decided something, Kisten put a hand on my knee to stop my motion. "You want to come over tonight for dinner?" he said. As he leaned closer, his hair brushed against mine. "I've got to work tonight, but Steve can handle everything, and we can eat on my boat. No one will bother us unless it involves blood."

His shoulder was touching mine as I sat facing the bar, and his hand had curved around my back, his fingers playing with the hair over my left ear. My pulse quickened, and I was having a hard time remembering what I was upset about. His hand dropped lower, and his breath came and went upon my neck. The scar there didn't show anymore - lost under my perfect skin - but the vamp saliva the demon had pumped into me was still there.

"I've got something I'm dying to give you for your birthday," he said, his low voice heavy with intent. "If I'm not going to see you Friday, I want to give it to you... now."

The last word was almost a demand, and I shivered at the tension that pinged through me. Straightening, I licked my lips, turning to tuck my head beside his. I couldn't help but remember Ivy's kiss, and then I quashed the thought. "God, that feels good," I whispered.

"Mmmm." Kisten's touch on my neck took on the hints of massage, promising more than dinner. My breath grew fast, and I intentionally pulled in his scent. I didn't care that he was throwing off pheromones to lure me into making myself vulnerable. It felt too damn good, and I trusted him to not break my skin, substituting sex in place of his need for blood.

Fingertips playing with the hair above his neck, my shoulders relaxed and my gut tightened in anticipation. My unclaimed scars were both a pleasure and a pain, making me vulnerable to any vampire who knew how to stimulate them, but when in the hands of an expert, it made for insanely good bedroom play, and Kisten knew it all.

Thoroughly lost, I went to swing my left leg over his to pull him to me, then stopped, remembering where I was. Gathering my will, I pushed back from him, and Kisten chuckled, desire heady in his gaze. "Damn it, look what you did to me," I said. My face was warm, and my hand rested atop my neck, hiding it. "Don't you have napkins to fold or something?"

His grin was cocky as he leaned back and ate another almond. My fluster worsened when he glanced at David with an infuriating, satisfied-male look on his face. So he had gotten me hot and bothered. It wasn't hard to do when you knew what buttons to push, and my demon bite was a huge button, easy to hit and hard to miss. Plus, I loved him. "See you tonight?" he had the nerve to ask.

"Yes," I snapped, but I was looking forward to it already despite my embarrassment that David had seen the entire incident. Okay, I was a witch with a vampire boyfriend. What did he think we did on our dates? Play tiddledywinks?

The hum of Jenks's wings caught my attention, and the pixy landed lightly atop the dessert menu. "What's up, Rache?" he asked, angular features concerned. "You're all red."

"Nothing." I sipped my tea, the ice sliding down the glass and smacking my nose again. "You want some sugar water or peanut butter?" I asked as I set it down.

Kisten subtly moved himself farther onto his stool and away from me. Jenks's wings increased their hum. "You sure you're okay? You're not sick, are you? You're throwing off heat like you've got a fever. Let me feel your forehead," he said, rising into the air.

"I'm fine," I said, waving him off. "It's all this leather. What's Mr. Ray doing?"

Jenks saw Kisten smirking as he ate his almonds, then my hand covering my scar. The pixy's attention went to David, who now had his back to us. "Oh!" Jenks sang out, laughing. "Kisten got you worked up? You tell him about Ivy kissing you, and he had to prove himself? "

"Jenks!" I shouted, and Kisten flinched, his face going white. From the end of the bar, David grunted, turning to look at me questioningly.

"Ivy kissed you?" Kisten said, and I could have just died.

"Look, it wasn't a big deal," I said, shooting evil glares at Jenks, who was now staring at me as if wondering why I was mad. "She was trying to prove to me that I couldn't control her when she lost herself to her blood lust, and things got out of hand. Can we talk about something else?" Jenks was spilling dust to make a sunbeam on the counter. "Jenks, what is Mr. Ray doing?" I said, flicking an almond at him. Damn it, I don't have time to deal with this right now.

Jenks stayed where he was as if nailed to the air, and the nut passed over his head to clatter behind the bar. "Bitchin," he said, smirking. "He's been here for twenty minutes. And don't let her fool you, Kisten. She's been thinking about that kiss all afternoon."

I made a snatch at him, missing when he darted back. "It surprised me, is all." I snuck glances at Kisten as he tried to hide his worry. Behind him, David frowned and turned away. Remembering why I was here, I took Kisten's wrist and tilted it so I could see what time it was. "I want to go in with Mrs. Sarong, seeing as neither one of them know the other will be here. Where is she anyway? She ought to be here by now."

By the end of the bar, David turned his attention to the door and tugged his coat straight. Kisten, too, sat up. "Speak of the devil," he said. "At least three cars by the sound of it."

His steps slow but seeming to eat the distance like magic, David came back, and I felt a wash of angst. Crap, I had magicked Mrs. Sarong's baseball field to convince her to pay me for my time when I'd stolen Mr. Ray's fish, thinking it had been hers. Yes, she'd asked for this meeting, and though it seemed likely she wanted to talk to me about her murdered aide, the possibility that she might still be on about that fish had me nervous.

"I'll be in the kitchen folding napkins," Kisten said softly, his hand trailing along my shoulder as he rose and slipped away.

The look on his face when Jenks told him Ivy had kissed me flashed before me. "I'm a coward," I said softly to Jenks as he landed on my earring.

"No you aren't," he started. "It's just - "

"Yes I am," I interrupted as I stood and made sure I didn't have spots of iced tea marring my pants. "I pick a place where I know someone will save my butt if I get in over my head."

David harrumphed and stood beside me, and I was thankful he didn't seem to think anything less of me. For whatever reason. "That's not being a coward," he said as the front door opened and light spilled in. "That's thinking ahead."

I said nothing. Nervous, I forced my features to find a confident slant as the light was eclipsed by what looked like eight people. Mrs. Sarong was first, a young woman close behind her. Her replacement aide, perhaps? Five men in identical suits flowed in after them to make a semicircle clearly protective in nature. Mrs. Sarong ignored them.

The very small woman smiled with her lips closed, taking off her gloves and handing them to her aide. Eyes on me, she reached up and removed her white hat, handing it and her white leather clutch purse to the woman as well. Heels clacking on the hardwood floor, she came forward. She was wearing a tasteful white suit that looked businesslike without hiding the curves of her small but well-proportioned body. Her feet were tiny. Though in her mid-fifties, I guessed, she clearly took care of herself, being trim and poised. Styled short and off her face, her blond hair had streaks of gray, but that only added to her professionalism. A string of pearls was about her neck, and she wore a diamond ring with enough sparkle to dance the Hustle by.

"Ms. Morgan," she said as she approached, her entourage fanning out to make me wary. "It's good to see you again. But honestly, dear, we could have met at my office or perhaps Carew Tower if you felt more comfortable in a neutral setting." She glanced quickly over the room, her nose wrinkling. "Though this has a certain rustic charm."

I didn't think she meant it as a slur, so I didn't take it that way. With David at my shoulder and Jenks sitting on it, I came forward to take her extended hand. My arm had been in a sling the last time we'd met, and I shook her hand, pleased to find her grip firm and sincere.

"Mrs. Sarong," I said, feeling tall and awkward in my leather since I stood almost eight inches over her. "I'd like you to meet David Hue, my alpha."

Her smile widened. "Pleasure," she said, inclining her head to David, who did the same in return. "Taking a witch as your alpha to start a pack with?" Her eyebrows went up, and her eyes, untouched by age, glinted. "Wonderful way to play the rules, Mr. Hue. I have since plugged that particular gap in my employee handbook, but wonderful nonetheless."

"Thank you," he said gracefully, taking a step back and removing himself from the conversation, but not the meeting.

Mrs. Sarong held out her hand to her aide, and the woman took it, letting herself be drawn forward. "This is my daughter, Patricia," the older woman said, surprising me. "Since the unfortunate demise of my aide, she will be shadowing me for the next year to gain a better understanding of whom I deal with on a daily basis."

My eyebrows rose, and I stifled my surprise. Aide? The young woman before me wasn't Mrs. Sarong's aide but her freaking heir. "It is a true pleasure," I said earnestly, shaking her hand.

"Likewise," she said firmly, her brown eyes giving away her intelligence. Her voice was high but determined, and she was dressed with as much class as her mother, though admittedly showing a lot more skin. Now that I knew their relationship, the resemblance was obvious, but where Mrs. Sarong was aging beautifully, her daughter Patricia was just simply beautiful, long black hair softly curving about her face and her small delicate hands possessing a hard strength. Instead of pearls she had on a chain of gold, a brown stone at the nadir point. Her pack tattoo, a vine twining about barbed wire, circled her ankle.

Stumbling, I pulled David forward. "This is David," I said, suddenly feeling like my mom trying to hook me up with her friend's son.

David started, but then, with a rueful smile that made him ten times more attractive, he shook her hand. "Hello, Ms. Sarong," he said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Mr. Hue," the young woman said, her brown eyes amused.

Mrs. Sarong looked at me, her face questioning at my impertinence.

"Would you like something to drink?" I asked, thinking my rusty host skills were going to get a workout this afternoon while dealing with a woman so clearly raised on etiquette and form. And what in hell am I doing introducing David to her daughter like he was on the market? My lips tightened at Jenks's snort from my earring. "We can go to a private room," I added, not knowing if it would be easier to take her to Mr. Ray or bring him out here, but she interrupted with a wave of her hand.

"No," she said lightly, her businesslike air returning. "What I want will take only a moment." She looked at her daughter pointedly, and the young woman gestured for the men to back out of earshot. They went, sullen yet obedient, but when Mrs. Sarong glanced at David, I sent my gaze to her daughter, standing at her side.

"Fine," the older woman said in concession. "I simply want to contract your services."

Expecting this, I nodded, but a surge of morality tugged at me, and I found myself saying, "I'm already working with the FIB to find out who murdered your aide." I gestured for her to sit at one of the small tables. "There's no need for you to contract me as well."

She settled herself gracefully, and I took the seat across from her. David and Patricia remained standing. "Splendid," Mrs. Sarong said, clearly making an effort not to touch the top of the table. "But I want to contract your other services."

Confused, I stared at her blankly.

"Your older profession, dear," she added.

From my shoulder came a tinkling of pixy laughter, and my eyes widened.

"Mrs. Sarong..." I stammered, feeling my face flash red.

"Oh, for Cerberus's sake," the woman said in exasperation. "I want you to kill Mr. Ray for murdering my aide. And I'm prepared to pay handsomely."

Shock zinged through me as I finally got it. "I don't kill people," I protested, trying to keep my voice soft, but with a bar full of vampires and Weres, I was sure someone else heard me. "I'm a runner, not an assassin." Has she heard about Peter?

Mrs. Sarong patted my hand. "It's okay, dear. I understand. Shall we say seventy-five thousand? Place the appropriate bet the next game and let me know. I'll take it from there."

Seventy-five ... I couldn't find enough air. "You don't understand," I said, starting to sweat. "I can't." What if David finds out? Peter's death had been insurance fraud.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she pursed her lips, her gaze going to her daughter. "Has Simon Ray already hired you?" she asked, her voice vehement. "A hundred thousand, then. Damn, he's a bastard."

I looked at David, but he seemed as shocked as I was. "You misunderstand," I stammered. "What I meant is, I don't do that kind of thing."

"And yet," she said, each syllable clear and precise, "people who annoy you seem to die."

"They do not," I objected, leaning until my back hit the chair.

"Francis Percy?" she began, ticking names off on her fingers. "Stanley Saladan? That mouse of a man... ah, Nicholas Sparagmos, I believe?"

Her spread fingers closed elegantly, and alarm hit me. "I didn't kill Francis," I said. "He managed that all by himself. And Lee was dragged off by a demon he summoned. Nick went over a bridge."

Mrs. Sarong's smile widened, and she patted my hand again. "Very well done on the last one," she said, glancing at her daughter. "Leaving an old boyfriend to clutter future relationships is investing in trouble."

For a moment I stared. She wanted me to kill Simon Ray? "I didn't kill them," I protested. "Really."

"But they are nevertheless gone." Mrs. Sarong gave me a perfect smile, as if I had done a fabulous trick. She suddenly straightened, the comfortable companionability that had wreathed her expression shifting to blank questioning. The hair on the back of my neck prickled, and I watched her pull the air deep into her. "Simon!" she barked, rising to her feet.

I jumped up when her entourage dived into motion, heading right for us. She knew. She knew Mr. Ray was here.

"Rache!" Jenks shrilled, leaving my shoulder in a sparkle of gold dust. I backed into David, but Mrs. Sarong's pack wasn't concerned with me.

A shout quickly followed by a muffled thump shook the air. Kisten lunged in from the kitchen, his steps holding that eerie vampire quickness. He was headed for the back room, but before he could get there, Mr. Ray stormed in.

Great, I thought when the rest of his thugs spilled out behind him with drawn weapons pointed at us. Just freaking great.