At the desk beyond them sat a vampire with brown hair and eyes so dark they were almost black even when he wasn’t in a rage. As usual, he needed a shave. Michael.
“You never call, you never write,” she said, looking at him, but watching the others from the corner of her eyes.
“Leave us.” His eyes never left hers.
The others hesitated only a moment then put weapons away and headed down the stairs.
“What are you doing here?” he asked once they were alone. His voice was odd, remote.
She clenched her teeth. Her anger, already riled by the fact he hadn’t contacted her, flared at the thought he didn’t want her there. Thomas may toss her world upside down, but she’d be damned if she was going to lose one of her best friends because her mate snapped his fingers.
In a blink Michael was around his desk, pushing her body against the wall. He placed his hands on either side of her head, boxing her in. He studied her for a moment before leaning forward. He sniffed her neck, causing her pulse to race more than it already was.
“You smell like Thomas. You’ve had his blood, yet you’ve come to me.” He spoke in her ear. “Why are you here, my friend, when you are truly his again?”
“I don’t see what one has to do with the other. I tried to call you. Important things have been happening.”
He dropped his arms and stepped back. “If they were so important you should have left a message.”
“Some things you don’t leave on voicemail.”
He frowned. “Such as?”
She paused, debating how much to tell him and in what order. “This may take a while.”
“In that case, can I get you a drink?”
“Why not?” She followed him over to his desk and dropped into one of the chairs in front of it. He poured drinks at the bar on the far side of the room.
He handed hers over before sitting with his own. “Talk.”
She swirled her drink and took a sip. “I’ve been demon hunting.”
He sat up straight in his chair. “What kind?”
“If you’re asking what its affiliation is, I have no idea. It could belong to any of the dark gods. I can tell you it’s first-level though.”
“A first-level demon is wandering around in our realm? Are you certain?”
“It reanimated a corpse, talked to me and ran away. Yeah, I’m pretty damn sure.” She suppressed a shudder as an image of the dead inkmage flickered through her brain.
“And you’re positive the host was dead?”
She laughed, a hollow little sound. “I blew out the back of his head. Trust me, he was dead.”
He paused for a moment. “Have you asked your father about this?”
Michael was the only person in her life who knew who her father was. The reasons for this were simple. Number one, she knew he wouldn’t try to kill her simply because her father was one of the gods of the dark fae. Number two, Michael had been sitting beside her hospital bed when her father came calling with her sword strapped across his back. They’d hit it off immediately.
She shook her head. “Didn’t see the point. It’s not his.” Gods only had control over their own demons. Against another god’s they didn’t have any more advantage than she did.
“How do you know?”
“He doesn’t keep demons, doesn’t like them.”
“Well, so much for that plan.” Michael tapped his fingers on the desk. “What else have you got?”
“I was kind of hoping you might have something for me. Anyone see anything odd yesterday after the Gathering perimeter dropped?”
“I should have known James would involve you in that. No one mentioned anything to me, but I will make inquiries.”
“There’s something else.” She hesitated before she told him the rest. “Raoul took potshots at Thomas and me on a roof when we were chasing the demon.”
He leaned forward, his eyes hard. “Are you sure it was him?”
“If you don’t quit asking me if I’m sure about everything, I’m going to kick your ass. And yes, I’m sure. I even double-checked his signature. He’s been damaged though. The entire side of his face was melted. There’s no other word for it.”
“What the hell is he doing here with Thomas around?”
She arched a brow. “That’s the question, isn’t it? And just how coincidental is it that he would arrive in town the same time as a demon?”
He grunted. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Yeah, especially since according to the Librarian, it was summoned for me.”
Michael went still, his eyes studying her. “Does Thomas know this?”
“I haven’t been able to get a hold of him.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I better go.”
He stood suddenly and grinned when she took an automatic step backward. As used to it as she was, his super-fast movements still made her uneasy. “I’m going with you.”
He held up a hand to quiet her before she could say anything. “This isn’t up for discussion. You have no business going after a demon by yourself. You’re going to end up dead for good.”
Striding around the desk, he went past her and down the hall. She followed. When they reached his bedroom, she leaned against the doorframe to watch him gather his things.
He strapped on his weapons, most of them in plain sight. She held up a hand, stopping him when he moved to leave the room. “You can’t go out like that.”
He stepped back and made a show of looking her over from head to toe.
She pointed to her badge. “I have one piece of hardware that you lack. It lets me get away with a lot more.”
He went to the table beside his bed, opened the drawer and pulled out a badge similar to hers.
She frowned. “Where did you get that?”
He grinned. “It’s possible I found it laying around someplace and picked it up.”
“I’m going to pretend we didn’t have this conversation, so I can feign ignorance later.”
Chapter Seventeen
“Where to, boss?” Michael asked as they stood at the end of the alley.
She smiled when a familiar figure came into view. Travesty, the local dealer, stood at his favorite corner. It had obviously been too long since she paid this part of town a visit.
He glanced in her direction and went back to scanning the neighborhood. Then he froze before turning his head slowly back to her. She had the satisfaction of watching him turn several shades lighter than his normal pale. He stepped away from the wall, turning toward her as she approached. He held up his hands in feigned innocence.
“Now, Juliana, I was just resting here. Waiting for my ride. I ain’t got nothin’ on me.” Travesty stuttered when he was nervous and the sentence took him three times longer to get through than it should have.
“Hand it over, Trav,” she told him and held out a hand, flicking her fingers impatiently.
His eyes darted between Michael and her but they both maintained their silence. Finally, Travesty caved. “Shit,” he said with a sigh. He pulled a small bag out of his pocket with two fingers and handed it over. He dropped it in her palm and then turned to the wall, putting palms flat against it, waiting to be frisked and arrested. She popped open the bag and sniffed. Ice.
Michael leaned against the wall watching the scene unfold before him with a wry twist of the lips. She smacked Travesty on the back of the head. “What are you doing dealing this stuff?” She slipped the bag into her pocket and frisked him. Ice got its name not only from its pale blue color, but from the effect it had on the user. This particular combo of drugs and magic literally made the blood run cold. The user detached from reality as the synapses in his brain numbed and shut down. Those who got a bad batch or overindulged had been known to freeze to death in hundred-degree weather.