Mojo Queen Page 10

  “Are you fucking kidding me? What are you going to distract it with, sarcasm?”

  I shrugged and gave him what I hoped was a little bit of his own smirk back to him. “Seems to work for you.”

  He shook his head. “No. I may be a son of a bitch but I’m not leaving you to get torn apart by this thing.”

  Apparently it objected to being called a thing because it rushed the shield with a particular fury. “Look, it’s not far,” I said. “You can’t run so you need to use the shield before it dies on us. I can give you a head start then run for it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  I showed him the bottle of salt and the silver in my brass knuckles. I couldn’t read his expression but his voice was full of something that sounded suspiciously like admiration. “If this isn’t the stupidest thing you’ve ever done I’d be shocked.”

  “Just go.” I opened the bottle of salt. “Get to the water as fast as you can. I’m not gonna be able to hold the thing for long.” As I pushed my glasses up I saw a flare of silver shoot out from his aura.

  He gave me another unreadable look. I nodded that I was ready. He left, limping as fast as he could. Which wasn’t fast at all. He was going to need more time than I thought. I transferred the bottle of salt to my right hand, brass knuckles making it uncomfortable to hold. The hound growled at me, pawing at the ground. I stood between it and its target, and it was getting ready to get me out of its way.

  I stepped away from it, scanning the ground for something I could use. The hound didn’t seem to want to go after Blake without taking me out first, so I used that. I found myself a nice rock, then a few more. Then, because it seemed like such a good idea to piss off the nasty hellhound, I started throwing the rocks at it. “Yeah! How do you like it, bitch!”

  An angry howl told me bitch didn’t like it at all. I ducked behind a tree just in time to avoid a blast of fire, getting a nose full of sulfur stench. I ran around the tree, got behind the hellhound and did the first thing I could think of--I yanked on its thick, heavy tail, pulling out coarse hairs. It yipped, a pretty ridiculous sound coming from a creature like this. As it turned to face me, and probably fry me, I moved the salt to my left hand and closed my right into a fist with the brass knuckles. As the beast’s head came around, I flung the salt into its red eyes and mouth. Sulfurous smoke curled out from the holes the salt burned in its flesh. It whimpered and I let fly with a right hook that had everything in it I had left. Silver scored its flesh and cracked its skull, black blood spattering. It staggered, whimpers turned to screams. I didn’t wait around to see what it did next.

  I ran, about as ungracefully as a person can, not daring to look back. Blake waited for me at the edge of the stream and I ran right past him without realizing it. He called out to me and I splashed back. “Go, go, go, go, come on,” I urged him.

  “I can’t walk so good,” he replied.

  I got under his arm and let him lean against me for support. The brass knuckles were still on my hand, dripping black viscous hellhound blood. I took them off, shoved them in my pocket. Motioning for him to get moving, we made it across the stream. Damn he was heavy. “You better by damn pay me in cash.”

  * * * *

  The walk to my house felt like it took hours but it was more like forty-five minutes or so. Blake’s ankle was messed up pretty bad from the hellhound’s fangs. He said it didn’t feel broken, just ripped up. I supported him as best I could and we made it home.

  I tried to lead him to the bathroom and the first aid kit but he stopped in the middle of the living room. “Your wards aren’t very strong. I could feel it when we crossed the door.”

  “They’re as strong as I can make them and neither one of us is in a condition to do more right now.” My back and shoulders ached from having him lean on me. I should have been about ready to collapse but a curious buzz kept me going.

  Blake was silent for a long moment. He took a tentative step, testing his ankle. With the lights on and time to look him over, it was clear his injuries were worse than I thought. His jacket was covered in earth and grass, and his shirt hung in shreds that barely covered the claw marks on his chest. The wounds on his ankle were leaving red droplets on the carpet. His face was streaked with dirt and blood from a shallow cut on his forehead. His hands and forearms were bloody and bruised with defensive wounds. I hoped I could take care of him with a first aid kit. Not only would I have to call a cab if he needed an emergency room, we’d be putting ourselves and others in serious danger. Again.

  “Do you have more salt?” His voice sounded strained, raw.

  I nodded, heading for the kitchen. “Salt is one thing I’ve got plenty of.” I paused in the doorway and pointed down the hall. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom, under the sink. Why don’t you go on in there? I’ll do this then I’ll help you.”

  He hobbled slowly to the hallway. “Basement, attic, anywhere anything can come in.”

  “I know the drill, Blake.” There was a cabinet in my kitchen where I stored my extra salt, herbs, and some other things that didn’t need to get mixed up with the cooking stuff. I pulled out several bags of rock salt, the kind sold for making homemade ice cream, and went to work. I poured wide strips of salt in front of the front and back doors and every windowsill. No basement or attic to worry about, one of the things I liked about my little old house. The brass knuckles were uncomfortable in my pocket, so after I put the salt away I tossed them in the sink, the dried hellhound blood giving off a whiff of sulfur. I’d give them a good scrubbing later.

  I found Blake sitting on the floor of the bathroom, staring at nothing, with a thoughtful expression. He’d made it as far as removing his coat and peeling off his destroyed shirt and bloody shoes. I retrieved the first aid kit and wet a hand towel, sat next to him and started cleaning him, wiped the blood and dirt from his face then tried to clean his chest. He winced once when I used alcohol on the wounds, closing his eyes, but he didn’t say anything. I didn’t think the slashes were deep enough for stitches but he was going to be in a lot of pain for a while. It took some time to clean the wounds, covering them with ointment and gauze. I did not notice the hard lean muscle underneath soft dark chest hair, did not notice how much room his big body took up in my small bathroom, certainly paid no attention to the little shivers that rocketed through me when he took my hand in his. The brown depths of his eyes looked nothing like warm dark chocolate, the sensual curve of his lips did not look inviting.

  “Sorry for the mess,” he said, his voice raw silk. Not that I noticed that, either.

  His hand dwarfed mine, his grip strong, a little too comfortable. I took my hand back. “I need to see about your ankle.” I scooted away to get closer to his ankle, glad for the distance.

  This was worse than his other wounds and by the time I got done I knew if this whole paranormal investigator thing didn’t work out, I most definitely did not need to consider the health care field. I helped him to the couch, cleaned the bathroom, then finally myself, debating how very badly I wanted a shower versus Blake being in my home unsupervised. I decided to make it a quick one.

  The cut on my thigh didn’t look as bad as it felt but I still covered it with gauze once I was clean. Wrapped in a towel, I risked a glance in the living room on my way to the bedroom. Blake hadn’t moved from the couch. Eyes closed, body relaxed, he looked to be asleep. I watched him for a moment, just to make sure then went on to my bedroom. First I checked the hiding spot in the closet to make sure it hadn’t been disturbed, then dressed in cargo pants and a loose long-sleeve t-shirt. I sat on the bed, making a half-hearted attempt to towel-dry my hair. Sleep pulled at me and I couldn’t ignore its insistence for long. It felt so good to give in to the exhaustion that had been following me around all day.

  I sat in a circle of unlit candles. One came to life for me but the others would not. A smudge of blackness lurked at one side of the circle, while on the other side a blur of yellow splashed with rust paced. I shut
my eyes to them both, glasses lost. I felt his step behind me, sensed it as he knelt. He brushed my hair back to one side, running his fingers through it. He took my hand and we stood. I opened my eyes, searched the dark for his face. Music floated around us as he took me in his arms, turning the circle into a dance floor. Every candle we whirled past lit, flame shooting high before settling. Was I lighting the candles? Was he? Or were we doing it together? And the dancing…

  I’d never waltzed in my life, but I followed his lead like it was the most natural thing in the world to me, round and round inside the circle, energy building. Abruptly he picked me up, guiding my legs to wrap around his waist. Face to face now, my arms around his shoulders, his arms under my thighs. Candlelight flickered across his face. His mouth spread into a smirk. As his lips neared mine I heard him whisper, “I’m going to like your dreams.”

  I woke suddenly. Sitting up, I reached for my glasses on the nightstand. The smell of coffee reached me, bringing me fully awake and scattering the remnants of my strange dream. I found Blake sitting shirtless at the kitchen table with his back to me, drinking a cup of coffee and reading one of the paperback novels I’d left lying around. I stood in the doorway for a moment, rubbing my face, wondering what time it was. It occurred to me I’d never called Daniel. Blake raised his cup in greeting. “There’s more in the pot.” He swiveled in the chair to face me. “I haven’t been up long. It’s still pretty fresh.”

  How considerate of Blake the Psycho Sorcerer to offer me leftover coffee in my own home. I ignored him, found my messenger bag and my cellphone. I needed to talk to Daniel. His voicemail answered. It surprised me so much I closed the phone without leaving a message. I opened the blinds at the window over the sink. Bright morning light added another rhythm to my pounding headache. Daniel should be home, maybe even asleep, though that would be doubtful with strangers in the house. Whatever, he’d have his phone handy. I thought about calling Seth but I didn’t have his number in my phone and the file I’d created for this case was at my office. That’s when I remembered I didn’t have a car anymore.

  I swung around and glared at Blake. “You’re buying me a car.”

  “Yeah, about that. I’m really sorry.” Which didn’t sound at all like he was committing to replacing the car his girlfriend’s hellhounds had eaten.

  I poured a cup of coffee, heavy on the milk and sugar. Leaning against the sink, I watched him over the top of my glasses. His aura was all over the place, color washed through his usual dark like those great NASA pictures from the Hubble telescope, some kind of nebula spilling red and gold and blue all over the sky. A nebula that needed to put a shirt on. Guy had all kinds of muscles and abs and yet more muscles and needed to put on a damn shirt. “You got a spare t-shirt in your backpack?”

  Smirky smirk smirk. “No. Guess I’ll just have to walk around half naked. Does that bother you?”

  “I don’t have anything that will fit you.” Which wasn’t an answer to his question, exactly.

  His smile widened and I knew what he was thinking. I had inadvertently confirmed there was no man in the house, no boyfriend, not even old clothes left behind by an ex. If he made fun of me for that I might have to turn him over to his homicidal hellbitch. Blake kept any remarks on the subject to himself, though. Smart guy.

  “You said you’d tried to banish her. Tell me about it.”

  He got up and refilled his coffee, limping with surprising grace and coming to stand closer to me than strictly necessary. I didn’t like the way he kept invading my personal space, so I took his seat at the table.

  “I tried a couple of different rituals but they didn’t work.”

  “You said she fought back,” I prompted.

  “In a manner of speaking,” he said slowly, a suspicious mischief added to the smirk.

  “So what’s that mean?” I said, impatient.

  He limped back to the table, slid into the seat opposite me. He leaned close, grinning. “It means tying her up didn’t give me the advantage I thought it would.”

  I swear the milk in my coffee curdled. “Nice,” I said with a sneer.

  “Nice is not the word I would use.” He laughed, his face lit with the memory of pleasure, dirty, dirty pleasure. I so did not want to know about his sex life with his demon girlfriend.

  I held up my hand, palm facing him. “Don’t need to hear about the sexcapades. Just tell me about the rituals you tried. What were they, where’d they come from?”

  An unexpected melancholy chased away his smile. He stared into his coffee for a long moment. “I tried twice.” He spoke haltingly, leaving me stunned at how he seemed so like any sad, jilted lover. “She tried to kill me both times. I couldn’t believe it, you know? I thought what we had meant something. I thought she wanted me as much as I wanted her.”

  I shook my head, amazed. “Why did you want her, Blake? She’s a demon. From Hell.” There was nothing accusatory in my voice then. If he had been a girl, I would have offered ice cream and a sympathy viewing of Steel Magnolias.

  “The things she was capable of,” he started. He wasn’t talking about sex. I knew exactly what he was talking about. “The magic that she was capable of. The things she taught me went so far beyond spells and rituals.” He grabbed my hand, his eyes burning with a manic intensity I’d noticed briefly during our late-night breakfast at the Waffle House. “Roxanne, she took me right into the heart of magic. Showed me things I’d never even imagined.” He stopped, as if at a loss for words.

  “What? What did she show you, Blake?” I wanted to know. Wanted to know so badly that for the first time I had no problem understanding why he wanted her and what she could give him.

  “Connections. She showed me the connections.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Everything is connected.” He held up my hand, his fingers trailing down the back of my hand to my wrist. “Every cell, every molecule, every atom in your body is connected. You may think that you’re contained within yourself, wrapped up in this lovely package.” Right then he gave me a genuine smile. No smirk, no sarcasm, no hidden meaning, just a genuine, honest, complimentary smile. “No part of you is touching that candle holder.” He pointed at a pair of Carnival glass taper candle holders that decorated the top of the work supply cabinet. “You think there’s nothing connecting you to it, or me to it. We’re over here and it’s over there and if we wanted to bring one over here we’d have to get up, walk over to that cabinet, and pick up one of those candle holders. But the thing is, everything is connected to everything else. Everything is made of energy and all of that energy is connected. When you realize that, when you feel it within yourself.” He paused.

  He sat back in his chair, our fingers entwined. “Once you can feel your own connection to all that other energy, it’s only natural that you would start to manipulate those connections.” One of the candle holders raised a few inches into the air and floated to the table, coming to rest right in front of me, hanging in mid-air. “No different than manipulating your own limbs, really.”

  Every time I lit a candle with magic, I felt the energy move through me. Felt it curling out in a spiral, from my body, to the candle wick, all the way to the tiny flame it created and back again. What Blake was doing now, I could feel too, like someone brushing up against you in a crowd. It wasn’t a strong sensation, but it was definitely there. As I watched my grandmother’s antique glass turn slowly in the air, as if to display itself for my inspection, I felt something tap lightly on that high wire inside me that had been struck last night.

  A smile spread across my face. Gently, the candle holder came to a rest on the table. Then reality intruded and I pulled my hand away from Blake. “I don’t believe that a demon is the only creature that could teach you things like this.”

  He took a drink of his coffee, grimacing. It was probably cold by now. “Well, the thing is, she was the only one offering.”

  “Do you mean she approached you?”

  Blake nodded.
“She came to me. She spoke to me when I was deep in trance. Whispered things to me when I was fully aware. In public, even. She taught me things, and offered to teach me more.”

  “If you got her a body.”

  “Very few demons are strong enough to cross over to this plane in their own form. I mean, sure, you’ve got your lesser beings, like those hellhounds. But those are just monsters. An actual demon is a different thing altogether. They are incredibly powerful but the…the walls, if you will, that are in place between the worlds are strong enough to keep them from crossing over at will.”

  “So she needed help crossing over, and a body?”

  “Yeah,” he answered. “Yes, she did, and she came to me. She chose me.” Melancholy again.

  “And now that she got what she wanted from you, she wants to kick you to the curb.” Ice cream, Steel Magnolias and raw cookie dough.

  Blake got to his feet, stalked the width of the kitchen in anger as best he could with a bum ankle. “My whole life I have aspired to an existence outside the norm, beyond the mundane. I have set myself apart by choice and by accepting my own nature. I have witnessed things, and done things, that would give a truer meaning to the phrase shock and awe than any banal politician ever could. And now I find myself reduced to the stereotype of a country song.”

  I tried really hard not to laugh. Really, I did, but a giggle escaped despite my best intentions.

  He came to a halt. “Screw that. That lying bitch is going back to Hell.”