Charm City (The Demon Whisperer Book 1) Read online

  She stowed the tin before getting up and walking away, sparing only a glance at Simon as she passed him.

  "Hang on." Simon pivoted and locked step with her. "You exorcised that demon."

  "And I could have done it days ago if you would have minded your own business."

  They both paused to look back at the man, who had raised hesitant fingers to the smear on his forehead.

  The woman cleared her throat. "I wouldn't wipe that off if I were you."

  Looking shaken, the guy found his feet and loped off, casting distressed glances over his shoulder until he rounded the corner.

  "I've never seen a soft exorcism before," Simon said. "How did you do that?"

  Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she looked up at him. "I convinced the entity it was his own idea."

  He chuffed out a laugh. "So you sweet-talk a demon out of a possession. Who are you?"

  She eyed him for a long moment before answering. "Chiara," she replied, a bit hesitant. "And I'm leaving."

  "Not alone, you're not."

  She paused and leveled a look at him. Something about the eyes. A bit too shiny, as if they had their own source of illumination. He remembered the way she'd rifled through his mind when she grabbed him the other night. Obviously, this was no ordinary girl.

  Best to stay out of arm's reach, anyhow. No telling what else this demon whisperer could do.

  A tiny voice in his head insisted the safest thing to do would be to put as much distance between them as possible. It was overruled by the majority, the part that thirsted for knowledge and the undiscovered. Running away wasn't an option. Self-preservation always came in second to his curiosity.

  And the curiosity was chewing at him. "Come on," he said. "I just want to talk. Those were some pretty sick moves. I've got a billion questions."

  "Questions that are better left unanswered." Her tone was firm.

  It sounded like she was putting up a tough front, but her body language said something different. She twisted the strap of her purse, looking undecided.

  Undecided was something he could work with. "Commiseration, then. Celebrate the victory of another successful cleansing. How often do exorcists get together without trying to kill each other?"

  "I get the feeling if I remain around you too long, I will try." The corners of her mouth twitched toward a possible grin.

  "Well, then. We must be destined for greatness, since only my closest friends feel like that."

  "I shouldn't. I work alone. I've always worked alone."

  "But we're on the same side. Allies, right? What's wrong with allies sharing information if it furthers the cause?" He tried to look innocent and harmless and knew it would never look genuine. "Not talking about moving in. Just talk."

  "All right." She sighed, looking defeated but not wretchedly disappointed. Good sign. "At least make yourself useful and buy me a drink. I'm exhausted."

  He grinned. She exorcised demons, she was good for a snappy comeback, and she liked a drink before noon. What else would they have in common? "I think I like you."

  "Yeah, well." She shook her head and hoisted her purse onto her other shoulder. "There's your poor judgment again. One day, it will land you in serious trouble."

  "Eh. Trouble's my middle name."

  "And you think that's a good thing?"

  "I'm still alive, ain't I?"

  "Don't take it for granted." She poked him in the chest. "That's subject to change at any given moment."

  "Yeah." He shoved his hands into his pocket, toying with the jangle of charms. He knew each one by touch, by the tiny zing of power each one played against his fingertips. Didn't have to see them. He could find them in the dark. And sometimes…the dark was bigger than he was. "Tell me about it."

  "I would, but I get the feeling you already know." She pivoted on her heel and walked away. "Just—forget it."

  "Wait. Please." How else could he convince her? He dug deep, deeper than he had for anyone in a long time. Past the flippant remarks that coated his mouth, always the first words out. Past the charms jingling in his pocket. Past the impulse to use magic, to force the outcome, to turn the situation to his liking.

  He knew none of that would work with her. He reached past all of it to his deepest core, where the eternal apprentice dwelled. "It is foolish to guard against misfortunes from the external world and leave the inner mind uncontrolled."

  She stopped in her tracks.

  "Just talk," he called. "That's all."

  This time, when she turned to look at him, there was no slick gleam in her eyes.

  Simon pulled open the door of the bar and gestured to Chiara to go in. He paused behind her in the doorway, taking a deep, appreciative breath.

  Now this—this was a bar. If the word "seedy" wasn't the first to come to mind when he walked in the door, it probably wasn't his kind of place. And this one definitely was his kind of place.

  Dim lighting, most of it through the greasy windows. He took a deep inhale through his nose. Stale smoke, fryers in the kitchen with oil just this side of gone bad. Old jukebox that hadn't been updated since the early nineties, which was fine by him. Handful of solitary patrons, mostly third shifters getting ready to call it a night.

  He pointed out two seats in the front corner and followed her around the bend of the dinged-up U-shaped bar. He liked to be able to see the front door, and he didn't like foot traffic behind him. Regular bartender wasn't the chatty kind but he was clean and seemed to be trying to make an honest living. Bobby had a simple but good energy about him.

  Simon glanced around at the thin patronage. Everyone else seemed too weary to harbor a negative thought.

  Bobby wiped the bar with a clean rag and flipped two coasters down. "What's for breakfast?"

  Chiara put her purse on the bar. "Two shots of scotch. One neat, one on the rocks."

  Well, now. Simon's eyes went comically wide. No Shirley Temples for this kid, huh? He pulled a twenty out of his wallet and lay it on the bar. "Guess more of the same for me, pal."

  Bobby passed Simon an appraising look before he dealt out two more coasters and a row of shot glasses, pouring straight down the line.

  With a mock toast, they each knocked back the first of their shots, exhaling in appreciation of the burn.

  "It's been a long time since anyone quoted Buddha to me," she said. "Makes me think there's a brain in there, after all."

  "There's a brain, all right. And sometimes, it works. So." He reached for an ashtray and fished his lighter out of his pocket. "Brass tacks. Who's your master?"

  "Master? I have no master." Chiara gave him an as-if frown. "Why? Do you have one? Who's yours?"

  He shook his head and lipped his cigarette. "No, I mean, who apprenticed you? You had to learn exorcism from someone."

  "Not me." She picked up the second glass and swirled it, the ice tumbling against the sides of the glass. "I was born knowing how to do that. Call it my birthright."

  "Rare to meet a natural mage." He sat a little straighter in a show of respect. "Mother? Father?"

  She stared down into her drink. "Both."

  He let out a long, low whistle. Rarer than rare. He took several long drags on his cigarette while he thought on it. Magicians mixed like oil and water, each's own power unwilling to mingle with that of another. But to have a child together—

  Big voodoo. It spoke of a will greater than power…and her power already spoke volumes.

  He leaned forward to take a better look at who else was in the room. A sensation crawled up his neck as if where he should be looking was directly behind him. And he really didn't want to look, not until he had an idea what might be standing there. "You, ah, mind me asking who your folks are? Not like there's a lot of us around."

  Chiara shook her head. "I don't need to tell you. Remember when I had a peek inside you? I tend to leave a trace so… I'm pretty sure you know what kind of power my father has."

  He grunted and tamped out his cigarette. "Explains wh
y I've been seeing darkness everywhere I look. No wonder I couldn't track that demon—that residue you left behind muddied everything up."

  "It'll fade in a day or two." She didn't look at him. Not big on eye contact, it seemed. "But, this will help."

  She rested her hand on top of his. Nothing like the first time she did it; this time, her mental touch was gentle, forgiving, a brush around the edges of his weary, sensitive mind.

  He flinched, waiting for the shadowy tinge to worsen, but released a breath when things didn't go dimmer that they had been. If anything, the shade dissipated. She'd removed the remnants of the darkness she'd left behind.

  "So. Your father, eh?" He slid the empty glass on its coater back toward the inside of the bar. "I'm pretty sure I'm not going to like hearing his name."

  "Which is why I'm not going to say it. Besides, I don't like to draw attention to my heritage. Let's just say he's not someone you want mad at you. He's got a hell of a temper."

  Most mages did. They tended to be an emotional bunch. Simon had first-hand experience. "Fair enough," he said. "Not in the mood to fight a girl's father today, anyway."

  "So." Chiara smirked. "You do possess a bit of good judgement, after all."

  He shrugged. It was known to happen. "What's the story, anyway? You just bump into demons on the street and whisper them away?"

  "I have—leverage. But, pretty much, yeah. I don't call myself an exorcist. That's a title people use to give validity to their flaunting of spiritual magic."

  He grumbled a retort, looking away a moment. When he looked back at her, he noticed her faint smile. She was only teasing him.

  "I just correct things," she said. "That's all."

  "Correct things? I'd been tracking that demon for days when I first saw you. I didn't peg it for a mere error. He packed a lot of fire power."

  "Doesn't matter their strength, their rank, their allies. They know who I have standing behind me." She sipped her drink dry before pushing the glass away, signally for another round. "Every possession is an error. Everything in the universe has its place. The dark things below, the bright things above. And the earth—that's for the spots of mortality that are still choosing their colors. It's not right for divine things to interfere. Speaking of which…"

  She sighed and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Friend of yours?"

  He twisted to look in the direction she pointed. A man leaned against the wall a few stools down from them. Mack stood motionless, inanimate, watching them with piercing, solemn eyes. "Aw, nuts. You can see him?"

  "Unfortunately." She picked up her fresh drink and sipped, eyes front.

  He smiled, open-mouthed in admiration. "I knew I liked you for a reason."

  Mack pushed off from the wall and approached them. As he stepped into the dim light near the bar, the shadows seemed to cling to him, shadows taking the shape of long wings along his back. He laced his fingers and tented his thumbs, cupping his hands over his dantian, that focal point of energy that lay just below the navel—did angels even have navels?

  Simon shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. One of those ethereal mysteries he hoped would always remain that way.

  Mack spared Chiara only a quick wary glance before shaking his head. "I'm feeling a little bit like a third wheel."

  Simon frowned at him. "That's usually a sign that your company isn't welcome."

  "We have to talk, Simon." His voice had the quality of a bell, metallic and hollow.

  "Can't it wait? I'm on a bit of a date and, angel or no angel, you're being incredibly rude to the lady here."

  The angel stood taller, his shadow-wings swelling in billows as if he flexed his muscles. "I'm sure I'm not the most offensive one here."

  Chiara cleared her throat. "And what would you know, bright one?"

  The angel whipped a stinging look at her, his bright blue eyes flashing with challenge. "I know that someone has no shame taking payouts from the wrong side."

  She faced him, undaunted. "And I know that some beings are bitter about being left out of the whole freewill scheme so take your issues and shove them where the feathers don't reach."

  The angel narrowed his eyes, his mouth tilting with a cocky slant, and leaned his elbow on the bar. Dipping his face close to hers, he murmured, half seductive, half threatening. "How do you know they don't?"

  She seemed to breathe deep and rear back, ready with a reply, but was interrupted when the door opened, a blade of sunlight slicing in from the street. A newcomer entered, glancing their way, lifting a chin to the bartender.

  "Enough, enough." Simon hooked his arm around the angel's chest and gently pressed him back a few steps. "I really didn't figure on mediating a pissing contest so speak your piece, pal, and flutter off."

  "Don't get distracted, Simon." The angel straightened his tunic. "That's all I have to say to you right now. And to you…"

  Facing Chiara, he bowed. "My regards to your sire."

  Chiara smirked, seeming to enjoying the farce. "And my regards to yours."

  "That's the trouble with angels, isn't it?" Mack heaved a melodramatic sigh. "Always the messenger."

  The newcomer walked around their side of the bar and straight into the angel, who vanished like a puff of incense.

  Chiara rolled her eyes and finished her drink. "Your friend is charming."

  "Not half as much as me. Just wait ‘til you see me in action."

  "If it's all the same, I'll pass." Chiara pulled her purse off the bar and swung her legs to the side, hopping down. "You have way too many tricks up your sleeve for my comfort."

  She was leaving. His heart lobbed with sudden alarm.

  No. Not yet. She couldn't leave yet. He reached out to stop her without thinking.

  Her reflexes were electric. She was off the stool and an arm's length away before he could utter his protest, her eyes flashing like lightning.

  Never even saw her move.

  Maybe not such a good idea to grab her. He put his hands up, hoping to placate her. "No tricks. Just—want to talk. Please."

  She paused, eyeing him. "I'm not good at talking. I usually go it alone."

  "And I'm sure you're more than capable. Please. Just talk. And I take back that part about a date."

  Reluctantly, she sat back down. "That's a start."

  "I don't meet too many people who can see him, or any angel, for that matter. Why does he know you?"

  "He doesn't know me, personally. Angels can see what you are inside. He just stereotyped me, is all."

  "And that whole bit about free will?" He rubbed his mouth and laughed. "Hafta admit, I rather liked seeing him choke on his feathers for once, the righteous jackass."

  "Don't say that. He probably is a jackass but, then again, most angels are. It's the smugness of being securely in the Light." She toyed with the damp edge of the coaster before looking up at him. "And we need him, Simon. We need every single one of them, if we're going to keep balance. The darkness is rising, and I'm not talking a weather forecast. It's a warning."

  "Now, hold on a minute—" Darkness rising. The words went through him like a splash of ice cold water. That phrase. It was the same that Mack used, over and over and over. Angels are defecting, the darkness is rising. Possessions are increasing, darkness is rising. Boston made the playoffs, must be the fricken darkness rising. "Why that exact phrase? Who told you?"

  She pushed her drink away. "Look, it's been a long day. My correction may have looked like a bunch of simple whispering but I'm drained. Thanks for the drinks."

  "I insist. Look, if I have to bind you here…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fistful of charms, picking through them.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  "If I have to try to bind you…" he amended, feeling a bit sheepish.

  She exhaled through stiff lips as if she were trying to push away a strong impulse. "Fine. Just—put those away before someone gets hurt."

  He grinned and put his gear away, hands up to show his sur
render. "Better?"

  "A little. But I'm going to ask the first question. What business to you have with that angel?"

  Eh. Of course, she'd go right for the million dollar question. He scratched his head and felt his way around an answer.

  A child of the Light has one foot in the darkness. Mack's words echoed through his memory, a replay of a previous heraldic message. Vague enough, but he couldn't tell it to her. Not that he wouldn't, but honestly couldn't.

  When he tried, a sudden alien force gripped his voice, restraining the words. The ward was a condition of the message. Kind of a divine need-to-know. And as far as Simon knew, he was the only one who needed to know.

  Finally, he got something to come out of his mouth.

  "It's complicated," he said.

  "That much is universally understood. No? Don't want to 'talk' so much, huh?"

  "It's not that. Dealing with angels can be…tricky. I don't talk to people much, either. Sometimes I forget what I can or can't say."

  "A ward?" She glanced at him and nodded. "Makes sense. No worries. I know the rules. But it's not just that angel lolloping about that concerns me. It's his lolloping about a man like you."

  A man like him? Comments like that were always a bit double-sided. He was more or less programed to see the dark side of things. He frowned, immediately on the defense.

  But then the wall crashed in.

  Literally.

  His reply was lost in the barrage of glass and stone and wood that flew in all directions. He spread open his jacket, shielding Chiara and pushed her down, behind him, before scanning the scene.

  The front end of a blue Ford F-150 had bellied up to the bar.

  Bobby had taken the impact hard, knocked backward onto the center counter, dazed but alive. The dislodged cash register hit the floor with a clatter that was dwarfed in the shower of brick and debris pouring from the gaping hole in the wall.

  A bearded man slumped out of the driver's side window, his neck bent at an ugly angle. Black smoke leaked out of his gaping mouth, his bloodied ears, and snaked its way over toward Bobby, who lay helplessly sprawled over the counter.

  "No. No, no. Bobby!" Simon reached into his inside pocket, feeling for a soul-lock charm. Not there. It must have fallen out.