Mojo Queen Read online

  Another step closer, and another. Was he really that much bigger than me, or was it some trick of the candle light? He kept his eyes on mine as he approached. He paused for a moment, so close I could feel the heat from his body. “What would you like me to call you, then,” he asked, his voice silky. But he didn’t wait for an answer. He moved on to the outer office, sinking into the loveseat. His face wore a blend of false innocence and mischief as he gazed at me, waiting.

  I turned around, wanting a moment away from that unnerving gaze. Straightening my desk seemed like a good way to burn up a little time, so I set to that. Looked in the filing cabinet to make sure he hadn’t stolen anything then closed and locked it. Checked the drawers of my desk, the bookshelves. Nothing was missing but it certainly seemed like he’d gone out of his way to touch everything, move things around just enough to be noticeable. I looked up to find him still smirking at me, hands folded in his lap as he sat benignly.

  I could have cheerfully choked him, but I checked the computer instead. Gave the mouse a wiggle to make the screensaver go away, pursed my lips tightly when I saw he’d been looking at Daniel’s blog. I shut the computer down, grabbed a pair of unlit candles from the bookshelf and joined my unwanted guest.

  I sat in the chair opposite the loveseat, placing the candles on the coffee table. Glanced at him to make sure I still had his attention, which of course I did. One side of his mouth still curled up in a smirk, eyebrow quirked. I sat back, let myself sink into the comfy chair and relax as much as possible. First the candle on the left. Focusing on the wick, I visualized a tiny flame erupting from it--concentrating my will, pouring energy into my intention. I could feel myself sliding further into exhaustion as energy curled inside me, but after a long, agonizing moment the candle came to life. I let out a breath before I could stop myself, avoiding his gaze. I didn’t want him to know how much this was taking out of me, but I had a bad feeling it was obvious. I turned my attention to the other candle and though it took even longer this time, it too lit. I felt almost as bad as I had this afternoon.

  Blake reached for a backpack on the floor I had not seen in the darkness. He opened it, fished something out, and tossed it to me. I didn’t so much catch it as let it fall in my lap. A chocolate candy bar.

  It was my turn to quirk an eyebrow. Waving the bar at him I said, “What, is this to ward off dementors?”

  The smirk became a genuine smile again briefly. “Something like that. You need to eat.”

  I gave him a skeptical look.

  “You know you’re using energy with that.” He gestured at the candles. “The energy needs to be replenished.”

  I rolled my eyes but tore open the wrapper. The chocolate tasted, well, damn, like mainlining something illegal. Maybe he had a point. I was halfway through the bar when he spoke again, as if there had been no pause.

  “Especially since you don’t really know what you’re doing yet.” Even in the low candlelight I had no trouble seeing the wicked amusement in his dark eyes.

  I managed to finish chewing without choking, tossed the remainder of the candy bar on the coffee table and sat up straighter. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? Or better yet, tell me where I can find your demon lover? So I can send her back to Hell.”

  “Well, actually, that’s exactly why I’m here, Roxanne.” Like we were discussing insurance or something. “I want you to find my demon lover.”

  Gob-smacked, all I could manage was, “Huh?”

  “And I want you to send her back to Hell.”

  Chapter 4

  Carbohydrates and protein were key, he explained. “Never fast. Never. I don’t know who came up with the idea of weakening yourself before a major outlay of energy like a serious magical working, but I bet they didn’t have a whole lot of success. Good healthy meals are best, with generous portions. Junk food is fine for a quick fix. That’s why I always keep candy bars handy. The natural sugars in fruit are excellent. Vegetables are important, of course. You want plenty of fruits and vegetables, but don’t be afraid of pasta and meat. Carbs and protein are very important.”

  “Where do peanut butter and jelly sandwiches fit in your magical diet?”

  Caught off guard, Blake twirled his fork restlessly, his eyes cutting between me and his plate of hash browns and omelet. I poured more syrup on my French toast.

  With great reluctance I had agreed to go to a Waffle House with him, although in separate cars. His insistence that I eat unnerved me a little. Okay, a lot. I wanted to talk about his demon girlfriend, and why exactly he wanted me to find her and send her back to Hell after he’d gone to so much trouble to bring her into a human body. He wanted to talk about food. What is it with me and foodies?

  “Do you know how hard it is to cook a goodquality meal for just one person? I mean, good luck finding recipes like that. Most recipes are for a family of six, like it’s possible for the average family anymore to be able to afford that many kids. A realistic cookbook for a family that size, in today’s economic climate, would be a spreadsheet telling you how long to microwave various frozen foods.”

  The table was slightly sticky, the waitress leaned against the cash register half asleep, the only other customers twitched like addicts waiting to meet their meth dealer, and the coffee needed so much help I debated pouring syrup in it rather than keep dumping in spoonfuls of sugar. What was it with me and the funky parts of town?

  “I mean, not to knock the Broom Closet or anything.”

  I blinked at the sudden change of subject.

  “But I hope you’re past any naiveté about all that. Wicca’s a lovely thing. Very spiritual, and nourishing and warm and, uh…” Oh, go ahead, say fuzzy, you know you want to. But he plowed ahead. “We’re talking about real magic here. We’re talking about Mysteries.” I could hear the capital “M.”

  “Aligning all the energy of your being, all of your willpower, all of your intention, with the natural forces that make up the universe, and using all of that power to create an outcome of your design. That’s what magic is.” He paused.

  I ate the last bite of my French toast and wondered if I snagged a piece of bacon from his plate he would think this was a date.

  “You’d do better to study physics than feminism, if you really want to explore your power.”

  Even in the bad lighting of a Waffle House the guy was handsome, no doubt, but I was beginning to understand why he had to use Satan’s dating service to find a girlfriend.

  “You know, I have a confession to make,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows, devoutly wishing for the fiery hand of Something to smite the sound of top forty country whining out of the radio behind the counter. It made me miss the cheesy industrial Goth from earlier in the evening, and I finally noticed Blake’s accent--not local.

  “Your work fascinates me, dealing with ghosts, with spirits. It must be incredible to know for a fact that there is life after death, that our souls have true resonance, and the power to outlive the fragile shells that serve as their containers during this life.”

  Yeah, it really resonates when they start throwing knives at you, I thought but didn’t say. Somewhere in all his talking he’d managed to clear his plate, including the bacon I’d had my eye on. Now he looked at me as if expecting some response, but I wasn’t sure to what. The eating habits of big families, his condescending attitude toward Wicca, or how super cool it was to encounter a pissed-off ghost resonating all over somebody’s house. I pushed my plate away and folded my forearms on the table. “When I was a little kid I used to call a peanut butter and jelly a pibbage.”

  I’d caught him in the middle of a drink of coffee. He slammed the cup down, hard enough for some of the liquid to slop out. “At some point you and I will have a conversation about you breaking into my home.” He jabbed a finger at me. “And you will give me my journals back.”

  From dippy to menacing in a matter of seconds. I should have been impressed but I was starting to suspect Blake Harvill of hi
ding behind a front that would impress a world-class con artist.

  “What we need to talk about is your demon lover Delia. Or Delipitore, whatever she’s calling herself now.”

  He ran his hands through his thick black hair. “Delia. She prefers Delia.” He sounded somewhat deflated. He stared out the window into the dark of night. I reached for his left wrist, turning it to me so I could read his watch. Almost one in the morning. Startled, he turned his gaze to me and brought his right hand to cover my fingers. He ran his fingers over mine, his face unreadable. My skin burned with a sudden flush. Even with my glasses on, I could see color flaring out from him, a shimmer of purple and silver I didn’t know how to interpret. I pulled my hand away.

  Blake sat back against the booth, as far away from the table and me as he could get without leaving. Folding his arms across his chest, he looked at me with a hint of smirk. “Have you ever performed a demonic exorcism before?”

  I swallowed a desire to run or pick up the metal napkin dispenser on the table and use it to knock the smirk off his face. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Do you have confidence that you’d be able to do it?”

  I sidestepped. “You know, since you’re the one who brought her here, if you want her gone why don’t you send her back to Hell? And by the way, since you brought her here, why do you want her sent back? What up with that, Kalidas?”

  A muscle in his cheek twitched. His eyes grew darker. “It’s not appropriate for you to call me that in a public setting.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment. The anger slowly melted from his features, making him handsome again. Somewhere in the back of my brain it occurred to me it might be better if I kept him angry.

  “I’ve tried,” he said. “Every time she’s fought back.”

  “Why do you want to send her back?”

  A snort of laughter. “Because she’s killing people. Maybe you noticed?”

  “Oh--kay,” I said. “So, in your journals it didn’t sound like you planned for those kids to die.”

  “Of course I didn’t plan that. I needed them for the ritual, yes, but I never had any intention of killing anyone.”

  “But you had no qualms about sacrificing this girl Delia? What did you tell her was going to happen?” Those must have been some pretty lies, dressed up with flowers and poetry and his peculiar intensity. Did she have any family looking for her, or did he find himself a girl no one would look for?

  “I told her the truth.” He uncrossed his arms, rested his hands on the table. Well, not rested. The fingers of his right hand tapped the Formica while his left fiddled with the handle of his coffee spoon. “I never lied to her. I didn’t tell Seth and the others the complete truth, I admit that, but I told her everything. Delia wanted this. She chose it.”

  Of all the things he could have told me, this was about the last thing I expected. I shook my head. “You’re telling me she chose to be possessed by a demon?”

  “Yes.” He tapped the table with an index finger. “That’s what I’m telling you.”

  “She chose this?” I just couldn’t believe it.

  He looked out the window again. “The problem is Delipitore was not honest with me.”

  “Oh, the demon lied to you. Color me shocked.”

  “She needs to kill Seth and Levi to finish the ritual.” He met my eyes again, his face stone. “And me.”

  “Let me get this straight. She had sex with all five of you during the ritual. Now she has to kill all of you in order to finish the ritual. What does that mean?”

  “That will mean that no one will be able to banish her, exorcise her, whatever you want to call it. If she kills the rest of us, the only way to get rid of her will mean killing her, physically, and that will be damned near impossible.”

  If someone could have seen my aura at that moment I felt pretty sure it would have been a furious neon red. “You are one arrogant son of a bitch, Blake.”

  That brought the smirk back. He started to say something but I cut him off.

  “You make a mockery of those boys’ religion. You all but pat me on the head because you think I might be Wiccan. You show off with a few cheap parlor tricks, mock me because you don’t think I’m on the same level as you. I may not have your experience. I haven’t picked out some cheesy name to call myself when I’m alone in a dark room. I may not know physics, but damn it even I know you never summon something you can’t banish.”

  He stood in a flurry, slinging his backpack on one shoulder as he grabbed the check and crumpled it in his hand, then stalked to the register. I went out to the parking lot and leaned against my car door to wait for him. His sudden temper seemed to have cooled by the time he joined me.

  Blake stood next to me, uncomfortably close, one hand on the roof of my car as he leaned over me. “She lied to me. It’s not the first time a woman’s lied to me.” He tilted his head. “Haven’t you ever been lied to by a lover, Roxanne?”

  Cold night air sent a chill through me, making me shiver. He noticed and stepped closer.

  I put a little distance between us. “See, the thing is, if you don’t date Satan’s minions, the lies don’t amount to life and death.” I pointed at his chest. “You should make a note of that.”

  “Right.” He smiled, the right corner of his mouth going up higher than the left, turning his smile into a smirk. “Note to self. Don’t date Satan’s minions.”

  “Do you know how to banish her?” Really hoping he did.

  He sighed, and I took that for bad news. “No, I don’t, but I’m working on it.” Then he said something I should have been expecting at this point, but it caught me by surprise. “I want to hire you.”

  I answered with an ugly burst of laughter. “You think I’d work for you? Seriously?”

  “I know Seth hired you, to do exactly the same thing I want you to do. And I know you’re protecting him, which I also want. What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is Seth is a kid who got in over his head. You knew better. Blake, you’re the bad guy here.” I dug my keys out of my pocket and tried, unsuccessfully, to push him away from the driver’s door.

  “I can help you figure out how to banish Delipitore, and you can’t let her kill me because that’ll put her one step closer to permanent residence on this plane.”

  I didn’t want to hear either one of those things, because they were both true. I walked around to the passenger side. I could open that door and crawl across the seat since he didn’t want to get out of my way.

  “Oh, come on, Roxanne. You know you need the money.”

  I snapped my head up to glare at him over the roof of my car. He’d been through my desk, my filing cabinet. Had he seen my checkbook, all the bills in their neat folder?

  He put his hands on the car roof, that damn smirk back on his face. “There’s a difference between looking fashionably disheveled and looking broke-ass poor, Roxie, and you are standing in the broke-ass line.”

  “This is how you try to convince me to help you,” I said, incredulous. “By making fun of my clothes?”

  His smirk faded and he turned his head into the breeze, as if tasting it. “You feel that?”

  I rolled my eyes. “What, your spider sense tingling?”

  He looked at me, his expression serious. “Isn’t yours?”

  This was not more teasing. Quickly I ground and centered myself, opening my senses for whatever the night could tell me.

  “Do you feel it?” he said quietly. I shushed him, closed my eyes. “You have to relax and…”

  “If you tell me to reach out with my feelings I’m going to smack you,” I said. More like intuition, psychic perception, I didn’t really know what to call it. Sixth sense worked as good as any label, like reading auras, only on a non-visible wavelength. Whatever was out there in the night had a whole lot of power, and it was heading right for us.

  “I don’t think we have time for a little slap and tickle,” he murmured as he looked around. “We need
to get out of here.”

  I opened my eyes, half expecting Delia to leap out of the darkness at any moment. I walked back to the driver’s side, fast. “You want anything out of your car, get it now.” He moved aside to let me unlock the door and climb in. I reached across to unlock the passenger door as he jogged around the car.

  “That’s why I keep my backpack on me,” he said as he got in.

  I pulled out of the parking space, headed for the street. Something blurred in front of the car and I swerved then hit the brakes as more shapes materialized out of the dark. “What are those, dogs?” But the creatures were bigger than dogs, as tall as deer, muscular with shaggy black fur and glowing red eyes. I counted four of them, then another trotted up. And another. Even with the windows rolled up I could hear them snarling.

  When a thing has glowing red eyes, it’s probably not a good sign.

  Blake swore viciously.

  “What are those things?”

  He fastened his seatbelt, a simple mundane act that inexplicably scared me. Voice shaking with an undertone of hysterical laughter, he answered, “Hellhounds, Roxie. She sent hellhounds on my trail.”

  I would have laughed, too, except the hellhounds chose that moment to attack.

  Tires leaving rubber in the parking lot, I stomped on the gas hard and prayed my poor little car could handle such abuse. The hellhound on the roof went tumbling, but the one on the hood stood its ground. Ropes of stringy saliva spattered across the windshield as it barked and snapped its jaws.

  “Nasty,” I muttered as I hit the wiper blades. Both were quickly ripped off by the hellhound, tossed onto the street like a dog toy. “Now, I just bought those not a month ago!”

  “Does this thing go any faster?” Blake said, head craned to watch the road behind us.