Demon Kissed (A Demon Huntress Novel) Read online

  “I was supposed to be at work.” One hand clutches the other until my fingers blanch. An ache slams into my chest, speeding my breathing, tightening my voice. “They’ll fire me if I don’t show up.”

  One of the medics hits the elevator button up. The others stare at me, brows raised.

  “Work?”

  Right. Justitians aren’t supposed to hold jobs. Killing minions and demons was enough work without adding mundane toiling to the mix. Their attitude fails to help the sensation of a hand squeezing the beat out of my heart.

  “This isn’t my main career. I’m supposed to be in the ER now. Think you can take me there?”

  The elevator dings, and no one answers me until the doors close and we’re moving upward.

  “Not until you’re checked out. We don’t think the demon clawed you, but we need a more thorough exam.”

  His words turn my marrow to ice. On the plus side, my brain forgets about the panic over losing my job and hops into oh-my-god-I-can’t-lose-my-connection-to-the-justitia mode. The poison in a demon’s claw causes the entity in the justitia to separate from its host’s nervous system. This happened before when Zagan clawed my neck, leaving behind the mark. The healers had to mix some potion that restored my connection to the justitia. I don’t want to go through that again. I like the bracelet right where it sits.

  On my wrist.

  I don’t think Cracked Skin clawed me. Slammed my head into a table. Threw energy balls at me. Made me miss my morning caffeine. But I don’t recall his claws coming near me.

  Which doesn’t mean anything. I’m pretty certain I was unconscious for a good deal of his appearance on earth.

  But at least I survived. Which is more than can be said of the previous Justitians who wore my bracelet.

  I perform a quick scan of my nerves, searching for the entity connecting my neural synopses to the justitia. A pulse of light purple flows along the connections, and I breathe a sigh of relief. One justitia, up and running normally. Thank God, the demon left its claws out of my skin.

  The medics wheel me to a bed next to Smythe and help me onto the mattress. As soon as my butt hits the covers, one of the medics hands me a phone.

  “Thanks.”

  He nods and crosses his arms, clearly waiting for me to make the call and give him back the phone. I start to clear my throat, think better of it, and punch in Ruth’s direct line. A few rings later and she picks up the phone.

  “Ruth?” My voice rasps and I do nothing to clear it. The worse I sound, the better.

  “Gin? Where are you?”

  “I’m so sorry. I was running a fever when the alarm went off and thought if I slept a bit longer, it might go away. Then I slept too long, but I still have the fever. I’m going to have to call in sick. I’m so sorry.”

  “You sound horrible. Just get some rest.” The concern in her voice morphs into warning. “And if you miss again, you’ll need to call before your shift starts. Or I’ll have to write you up. Okay?”

  “Understand. It won’t happen again.” I hope. “Thank you.”

  “Get to feeling better.”

  That went better than expected. My hands continue to shake as I end the call and hand the phone back to the medic. “Thanks.”

  “Can’t believe you have a job.”

  “You and everyone else.”

  A grin traces his lips. More white clothed medics swarm around Smythe like moths to a light. A portable X-Ray machine appears, snaps pictures of him, a couple of me and leaves, pushed away by one of the medics. A couple of them attend to my bruises and cuts, determine I have not been clawed by the demon—thank God, the antivenin ranks among the vilest substances on earth—and leave me alone while they tend to my mentor.

  I heal fast, thanks to the justitia.

  So does Smythe. Provided he hasn’t been hurt beyond recovery.

  Since no one bothered to tell me to lie flat and stare at the ceiling, I swing my legs off the side of the bed and watch five medics tend to Smythe. How bad is he hurt?

  The last time I was in the infirmary was the day I met Zagan, the day he clawed me, the day Micah received her fatal brain injury. After a quick scan, the medics determined she would be better treated in surgery and wheeled her away. I’m assuming, since Smythe remains here, he is not in such bad shape.

  I hope.

  The only part of my mentor visible through the shield of medics is his black shitkickers. As I watch, his shredded black t-shirt followed by his leather pants drop to the floor, both slashed up the seams for easy removal. A flash of blue light clicks on and off like the rapid fire of a laser.

  Except no one wears protective goggles.

  Part of me wants to see what’s going on and the other part enjoys my ability to see just fine. The part rooting for the ability to see wins. My butt remains firmly planted on the bed, my heart creeping into my throat.

  What happens if he doesn’t recover? Do I get another mentor?

  My breath hitches. What if they give me Samantha?

  Nah. That won’t happen. Right?

  “We’ve bandaged all the cuts and sent healing energy into the gash on your leg and buttock,” one of the medics tells Smythe. “You should be healed in a couple of days. No heavy lifting until then. We’ll be back later and give you the results of the X-Ray.”

  And like a horde of worker ants, the group of medics swarm out of the infirmary, leaving me alone to stare at Smythe. A white bandage twirls around his forehead, his black hair sticking up in clumps above the white gauze. Another white stripe wraps around his chest. Damaged ribs? Or more cuts? A sheet lies from the bottom of his ribs to the top of his thighs, covering the gash the medic mentioned. His eyes meet mine, his gaze reeling me into emotion-filled blue depths. I limp to Smythe’s bed and sit on the edge of the mattress, taking his hand in mine.

  A sucker punch of pain and anger slam into my mind with the force of straight-line winds, stealing my breath, fluttering my heart into a race of panic. At my gasp and flinch, the emotions vanish as he snaps shut mental barriers.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You don’t normally let me see inside.” I crack a grin, trying to ease the pain etched into white lines around his mouth. “I owe you a huge thank you. You saved my life.”

  He winks. Grimaces. “That’s my job.”

  “Yeah. But I’m pretty sure I get into more trouble than most of the other Justitians.”

  Now it’s his turn to crack a grin. “Nah. You just keep me on my toes.”

  “Ballerina Smythe.”

  He snorts and twitches his boot-covered foot. No toe dancing for him anytime soon.

  I squeeze his hand. “I’m glad to see you alive.”

  “You and me both. That damn demon knocked me out.” His eyes narrow. I almost feel sorry for the demon. Almost.

  “That’s never happened before?”

  “Not like this. Did the thing say who it was?”

  “Nuh-uh. But it created a wicked energy ball. I really thought I was going to die.” An ache forms behind my ribs at the remembered terror. “Cracked Flesh was scary as hell. No pun intended.”

  “Cracked Flesh?” His lip twists. “Maybe someone here caught the thing on the monitor and can tell us its name.”

  Of course. The esteemed demon identification computer program. What will they come up with next?

  “What happened to the demon after its energy blast knocked me out?”

  He shakes his head. “My containment field kept the full brunt of that blast from us, but did nothing to hold the demon in place.”

  Hold the demon in place? “Why the hell would you want the demon to stay in that lab? Having the thing disappear was a blessing.”

  One eyebrow rises. Nice to know Smythe feels good enough to slide into his condescending teacher role. “The field is supposed to hold it until we can banish it back to Hell.”

  Right. I should’ve known that. Hadn’t he mentioned containment fields during my training?

&nbs
p; Note to self: Pay better attention during training.

  “How often have you banished demons?”

  He swallows. Glances to the ceiling. Great. He’s never banished a demon. Not that I’m complaining. He makes up for that lack of skill with his penchant for saving my ass. Which, in my humble opinion, is a far more valuable talent.

  The elevator dings an arrival, doors sliding open for David to stride through, his face a mask of worry, concern and anger. His gaze aims at Smythe, and his loafers click-clack-click against the polished floor as he heads our way.

  “Son! They told me you were here. What happened?”

  David stops by the other side of the bed, not noticing me, his gaze focused on his son.

  Red tinges Smythe’s ears, the top of his cheeks. “The demon was impervious to spells and containment fields.”

  “Or you were too injured to form a correct one.”

  That’s David for you, always full of encouragement. His crossed arms and down his nose glare give the illusion of anger. Which in man-speak translates to full-blown worry.

  I think.

  The underlying concern slides past Smythe’s notice. A tiny crack in his mental barrier forms, allowing a smidgeon of anger and disappointment mingled with embarrassment to slide into me.

  He’s just worried about you.

  Smythe starts as my telepathic message sinks in. His eyes narrow, and the emotional connection between us slams shut.

  “There was nothing wrong with my containment field. The damn creature was stronger than normal. Did you find out who it was?”

  “Not yet. The computer didn’t capture who it was, only that it appeared. What were you doing at the medical school?”

  “Checking on a case.” I offer David a half-grin.

  “A case? What are you now? A fucking detective?”

  “Dad.” Smythe’s voice slides across my nerves, a low-toned warning.

  David runs a hand through his short hair. “Since when do you have a case load? When you see a minion you kill it. You don’t open a case to track it.”

  “Not true.” I shake my head. “Sometimes—”

  “You know what I mean.” His arms cross again, his glare at me full of anger and none of the worry he showed his son. Why am I not surprised?

  “That demon we just fought is the same demon that appeared a couple of days ago at the med school and killed a grad student of the professor whose lab we were investigating. Happy now?”

  “Gin.” Smythe’s warning flows my way.

  Not that I pay it any attention. David prickles my skin worse than a porcupine. Even my justitia reacts to him, a subtle vibration of confusion.

  “Son, you need to work harder on smoothing over her smartass tendencies. One of these days they’ll get her into trouble.”

  I roll my eyes. Juvenile, but it made me feel better.

  “She’s right though. That’s why we went to the lab. The professor was murdered, and the lab was broken into. Then the demon appeared, and you know the rest.”

  A medic uses that moment to stride into the conversation as if he ruled the place. Okay, so maybe he does.

  “The X-Ray came back with fractured ribs for Aidan and clear for Gin. No lifting until they heal.” He nods to David. “Sir.”

  David nods back, and the medic slips into the background, vanishing from view, the squeak of his shoes on the linoleum ceasing with the snick of a door closing.

  Poor Smythe. Fractured ribs hurt. I pat his forearm.

  “They’ll heal up but will hurt like a son of a gun until they do. How fast does it take for fractured bones to heal?”

  “The pain should be gone in a couple of days. Mages heal fast.” David answers before Smythe can open his mouth. “It’s part of the magic flowing through their veins.”

  “Speaking of mages.” Smythe grins, the expression not reaching his eyes. “We learned Will Wunderliech is a mage.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Will Wunderliech?” David raises a brow. “Is that the doctor who was shot when you first got your justitia?”

  “One and the same.” Smythe nods.

  “He wanted me to have it, and that’s how it appeared in my pocket.”

  David scratches his head. “Must’ve been a soul wish.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A wish that consumes your being.”

  “You mean like I wish for a million bucks? That’s a pretty important wish.”

  David snorts, his twitching lips belying his amusement. “That’s not how it works, Gin. Your life and death does not hang on a million dollars.”

  What a shame he's not altruistic enough to soul wish me a cool million.

  “It never hurts to ask.” I grin as if I’m teasing. “Will wished me to have the bracelet. A voice inside told him to give it to me.” Long live those little internal voices. Without the justitia telling Will it needed me I would not be the newest demon huntress.

  Which bothers me more than it should. I should wish I’d never seen the bracelet, never fastened it around my wrist, and never had to worry about juggling work with demon hunting. And yet the thought of being without my justitia leaves a breath-stealing void in the middle of my chest.

  I guess the entity fused to my nerves also bands around my heart.

  “We visited him the other day.” Smythe continues telling his dad about our meeting with Will. “My research and Will knowing when I started testing him for being a mage suggests Will’s father worked for the Agency. Which would explain how he was able to take the justitia out of the vault.”

  “Makes sense.” David nods. “Several mages disappeared around the time of the justitia vanishing.”

  “And you never thought to hunt them down?” I shut my gaping mouth.

  “I never said we didn’t hunt them down. We never found them.”

  “Why didn’t I hear anything about this?” Smythe glares.

  “You were too young. It was around thirty years ago. Ancient history. We thought one of them might have taken the justitia, but further evidence led us to believe the mages weren’t involved.”

  “What evidence?”

  “None of them were strong enough to get past the magical barriers keeping the vault locked.”

  “What about if they worked together?”

  “Even then. Only certain directors had the ability to get into the vault and none of the vanishing mages had that clearance. We never discovered why they disappeared, but we believed them unable to steal the justitia.”

  “Will said his father had the justitia and told his mother to keep it safe. She died protecting it. What if she was a mage, too?” Maybe David can validate my theory.

  Or ignore me.

  “He heals fast.” Smythe states. “He’s already out of the hospital and recovering at home a week and a half after being shot multiple times in the chest and abdomen.”

  Healed physically, that is. Emotionally he was still a wreck over Lara’s death. Which might have made more sense if his dead wife had been something other than a bitch of epic proportions.

  Men. I’ll never understand their taste in women.

  “You need to bring him in so we can train him. Doctors are always needed.” David raises his wrist, peers at his watch. “Damn. I have a meeting. Glad to see you on the healing road, son.” He lays a hand on Smythe’s shoulder. A squeeze and a pat later and his loafers snap a loud click-clack-click as he strides to the elevator. He gives us an open-handed wave before stepping inside.

  The doors slide shut, and my tension eases. Weird how he affects me that way. I swear he wants me dead, and yet he’s never mentioned anything other than my smart mouth or my newbie status.

  Not conclusive evidence. Unless I’m paranoid.

  Tension leaks from Smythe in a slow drip. Guess David’s presence gives people and bracelet-dwelling entities alike a dose of nerves.

  “You okay?”

  He sighs. Closes his eyes in a long blink. “Yeah. Although I’m not sure I
can even perform the ritual to boost my energy so I can heal faster.”

  “Call Eloise.” Eloise, one of the Agency healers, a blind albino with more magic than the average mage, heals with energy instead of medicine and beats popping a pill any day. The woman takes awesome to a whole new level. “Here, give me her number, and I’ll call her.” I hold out my hand, remembering a second too late that his phone is in the back pocket of the pants lying on the floor.

  “Not sure I’m injured enough for her to come.”

  “Come on, Smythe. She likes you.” I slide off the mattress and rummage through his torn pants until I find his phone.

  “Put that back.” He twists, making a grab for the phone and almost falls off the bed as I scoot backward.

  He grunts, white brackets of pain lining his mouth.

  I shove his shoulder, trying to stop him from falling, trying to keep a spear of guilt from lancing my chest. “Stay still.” I shove until he lays flat. “What’s so bad about calling her?”

  “I’ll heal. I don’t need her help.”

  Right. And a million bucks wouldn’t make my life easier.

  Smythe and his incessant insistence that if left alone he’ll heal up fine. Through a strong application of will-power, I avoid an eye roll.

  Time for a redirection. My mentor needs more help than the infirmary provides. And unlike him, I have no qualms about calling Eloise to work her magic. Plus, my care might help rebuild the lost trust in me.

  It could happen.

  Using the mattress as leverage, I pull myself up to sit on the edge of his bed. “Okay, then. Mind if I use the phone to call T?”

  “Fine.”

  I click the phone on, then hand it to Smythe. “You need to stick in your password first.”

  He huffs, but takes the phone, unlocks the password and hands it back to me. “Know how to work it?”

  This time the eye roll happens before I can stop it. “Nope. Never seen a smart phone before.” I hit the contacts button and scroll until Eloise’s name appears. A quick punch of the green phone button and the call goes through.

  Eloise answers on the second ring, her child-like voice a stroke of pleasure along my spine. “Hello, Aidan.”