“Drop the act,” I told him. “I bet you’re plenty impressive in your true form.”
He clucked his tongue at me and yanked back on Gabriel’s arms, the heel of my favorite boot jammed in his spine. Even though they were a demonic approximation, I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to wear the real thing again. And my leather pants were going in an incinerator when I got home.
If I got home.
Gabriel’s head lolled forward. His body had finally given up, and he’d passed out. It meant he was worse off than I wanted to think about, but it also meant he wasn’t feeling it when the stiletto heel punctured his spinal column.
The killer instinct told me to dive through the open cell door and make a grab for him. A much stronger survivor instinct forced me not to move. Mayhew wanted a reaction out of me. He was trying to goad me into acting stupidly, and I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. I’d done enough stupid shit this past week to last a lifetime. If I added to the list now, more people would die, and I’d never forgive myself.
“Who was Oliver Mayhew?” I asked.
Mayhew let up on Gabriel’s arms, and the unconscious man slumped forward, collapsing into a heap on the floor like a broken mannequin. Obviously unable to resist showing off for a captive audience, the demon’s eyes glowed red, and he demonstrated his remarkable ability to shift forms. One moment we were looking at a blood-spattered Secret McQueen, the next Mayhew was a tweed-clad professor without a drop of crimson on him.
The detectives inhaled sharply in unison.
Mayhew must have loved shock and awe, because he shifted into a few other forms for good measure. Trish, Angie, poor Ellory from Lincoln, Nebraska. It was enough. If we walked away from this, Professor Oliver Mayhew would be the obvious culprit in the investigation. How we would spin it so the mundane public would believe it was too much for me to think about right then. But I knew it would be easier to sell the story if Mayhew was dead and gone.
He shifted from Ellory back to the professor form and grinned at Mercedes.
“O formosa, te volo gustare.”
I looked at her. “Do you know what he said?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t even know what language that was.”
“It was Latin.” Holden came through the door. “And you don’t want to know what he said.”
“Oh, you brought your corpse,” Mayhew sneered. “Did he bring the girl with him?”
“You’re never getting Lucy,” Holden said flatly. “She’s safe now.”
“We’ll see.” He straightened the lapels of his tweed blazer and adjusted the silk pocket square. “The night is young. And I have many more visits to make.” His twinkling eyes pivoted towards me, and when he smiled again it was with the shark teeth he’d displayed in the basement. “I’m almost done here.”
Three vampire wardens had come to stand behind Holden. One was whispering animatedly on a cell phone and pointing to the mess behind him as if the person on the other end could see what he was looking at. The wardens stared past Holden and at me, each bobbing their head in a half-bow as was proper when in the presence of a Tribunal leader.
“Take care of this,” I told them. “But no one touches these two.” Cedes and Tyler seemed puzzled. “They belong to me.”
Well fuck, now I had two more humans I was responsible for. Was I ready to give my life for Tyler? I looked at him—his gun still trained on Mayhew—and reminded myself I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for him.
“As charming as this is,” Mayhew cut in, his British accent at odds with his pointy teeth and coal-red eyes, “I’ve got work to finish.” He dove at Gabriel with speed even a vampire couldn’t match. Before anyone in the room had a chance to respond, there was a fleshy rending noise and something white and glistening dangled from Mayhew’s bloodied hands.
Gabriel’s spine.
In a better time, it would have made for a great one-liner about my spineless ex-boyfriend. Instead I fought against a new wave of bile threatening to become vomit. Tyler lost his own battle, turning away from the scene to throw up behind us. Cedes had more presence of mind than both of us. In spite of my promise that bullets wouldn’t harm the demon, she emptied her clip into Mayhew’s head.
Had he been a vampire or some other kind of paranormal, he’d be dead as a doornail. There was a hole clean through the middle of his forehead that showed light from the other side. Instead of falling down dead next to Gabriel’s mutilated corpse, Mayhew stuck a finger into the open hole in his head and prodded around, seemingly amused by the new air circulation in his skull.
“In the Middle Ages, doctors would cut holes in the skulls of patients if they believed a demon was trapped within. Trepanation, it’s called. Your system is much faster.” He grinned at Cedes and plucked one of the bullets out of his gray matter, before flicking it back at her. “Too bad neither method kills demons.”
In a flash he was on the run again, knocking Cedes against Tyler, both detectives hitting the floor in a heap. I was on the demon’s heels, but I’d never seen anything move this fast. Another group of wardens dodged out of my way as I bounded up the stairs. When I reached the main work floor, all the detectives were staring forward at their desks in a mutual trance thanks to the efficient work of my wardens. Asking the detectives which way the wicked professor had gone wouldn’t do me any good.
I needed a weapon, and I needed a shot in hell.
I knew where to find both.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Desmond met me at the corner of West 52nd and 8th with a sword and an apparent willingness to turn it on me. When I ran up to him, instead of an open-armed embrace, he bashed me in the sternum with the sheathed blade and stepped back.
“Fucking hell,” I cursed, rubbing my bruised breastbone.
“Say the word.”
“Asshole?” I muttered.
He prepared to draw out the blade.
“Dracula. Dracula. Jesus, Des. Couldn’t you have asked before hitting me?”
“Your message was pretty adamant I shoot first, ask questions later.”
“Well thank goodness you didn’t bring a gun.” I held out my hand, and he passed my sword over. The katana seemed to warm up the moment my fingers brushed the hilt, like it knew it was in proper hands again.
“Where are we going?”
“You are going home. Locking the doors and not coming out again until I say so.”
“Like fucking hell I am.”
“Desmond—”
“No, shut up for a second, please,” he interrupted. I was too stupefied to counter, so he continued undeterred, “I’ve let you run off like some gung-ho warrior samurai one too many times. When you fought Marcus, you almost died. When you went to fight the vampire out in Rhinebeck last summer, you almost died. When you saved Penny at Christmas, you almost—”
“Almost doesn’t count.”
“Well for me, it does. And I’m not letting you run off without me again.”
“This isn’t some rogue vampire. This is a demon with a vendetta against me who has promised to kill everyone I love. I can’t let you come with me.”
“All the more reason you should let me come with you.”
“I can’t—”
“I am an alpha werewolf. I’m not some weak, helpless human boyfriend you need to protect. You need help.”
“And what, you’re going to turn into a wolf and bite him?”
“No.” He stepped away and disappeared next to the coffee shop. I heard a car door slam, then a moment later he returned holding my antique broadsword. “You seemed to think only serious metal would work against this thing, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked me to bring you the sword. I figure swords are like heads. Two are better than one.”
I gaped at him. “If anything happens to you…”
“You think I don’t feel the same way about you risking your life?”
That I couldn’t argue with. It was grossly unfair for me to expect him to sit at home and twiddle his thumbs while I ran off to what would likely be my death. If he wanted to come, who was I to stop him? And frankly, an extra sword would come in pretty handy.
“I don’t know how this is going to work with you along for the ride,” I confessed.
“How so?”
I nodded to the door of the Starbucks we stood in front of. Thankfully winter traffic at midnight was at an all-time low that night. No one had noticed a couple wielding heavy weaponry in front of the twenty-four-hour coffee shop yet. I wanted to get inside before we drew any unwanted attention.
Problem was, I wanted to cross into Calliope’s realm, and I couldn’t do that with a werewolf. Rules were rules. She’d once explained that shifters couldn’t come into her reality because time didn’t function the same there. No one could guarantee how a werewolf would react in her world, and the last thing anyone needed on their hands was an out-of-control shapeshifter.
This was going to go over swimmingly. If it went over at all.
“Give me the sword,” I said. I’d never tried to ferry someone across with me who wasn’t a vampire, and I didn’t know if I could force Desmond across the barrier with me. He looked like he was going to protest until I explained. “If you don’t make it through, I don’t want you standing in there carrying a fucking sword.”
He accepted my explanation and handed the broadsword over. I grasped both cumbersome weapons in one hand and held my other out for him.
“Whatever you do, don’t let go.”
Desmond nodded, and together we crossed the threshold. It didn’t feel like any other crossing I’d previously made into Calliope’s realm. Whenever I went through the doors it was a smooth transition from one plane to the next, like walking through a chilly air-compressed doorway. With Desmond clinging to my hand, the dimensional gate didn’t know what to do with us.
There was a struggle between the worlds as to where we belonged, and which plane would accept us. A strong force pulled Desmond back in the direction we’d come from, and I clung to his hand. His fingers dug into my wrist as supernatural forces fought to tear us apart.
