Charm City (The Demon Whisperer Book 1) Read online

  He shook his head. "Great Migration. I have a feeling you're trying to date yourself. Quit it. I'm trying to act like hot young chicks hang out with me all the time. Don't wreck the illusion."

  She chuckled and took a tentative bite of cantaloupe. Such a bright, summery taste. And mortals ate like this every day. How did they possibly stand the pleasure?

  The television blared behind her on the counter. Local news. She tilted her head, trying to capture another part of this moment, this everyday world.

  "Local authorities have been asking residents to notify police if they have seen this man."

  Simon had looked up, his eyes turning to stone. She craned her head to look at what caught his attention.

  The TV flashed a picture of a shaggy-looking young man, bleached-blond hair with dark roots, scruffy jaw. Chin tipped a little too high to be humble. A name and number in choppy block letters most likely cropped out from beneath his face.

  A mugshot. Of him.

  He swore under his breath.

  "Simon Alliant, formerly of Boston, has been thought to be living in the Eastern US and has been spotted near Baltimore. He is wanted for questioning. Please call—"

  The station turned to white snow static.

  She whipped her head back in time to see him lower his hand before sullenly stabbing at his breakfast. He solved everything with his magic, didn't he?

  The waitress heard the noise and picked up the remote, switching the channels, before retreating to her newspaper at the end of the counter.

  Chiara waited until the girl was out of earshot. "That was you."

  He didn't look up. "In all my mid-nineties flannel-shirted glory."

  "What do the police want?"

  "What they always want, I suppose." He topped off his coffee. "Peace, order, a chance to put on the riot gear."

  "What do they want with you?"

  Simon met her eyes, rubbing his mouth, looking as if he were trying to decide what to say. He could be chatty when he wanted to be, but she had already formed several impressions of him. One of those impressions was mule-headed stubbornness.

  "I owe you a truth," he said at long last. "Because you showed me a kindness last night by taking me in. I don't share my truths easily so I—" He choked to a stop and took a hasty gulp of coffee.

  She waited, not rushing him. Gone was the cocky swagger. He was so close to talking. She didn't want to spook him.

  "I've recently become an orphan. My mom. Ah. She's dead."

  It didn't carry a particularly mournful tone. "Did you kill her?"

  "What? Christ, you're a dark one." He pushed back against the booth. It creaked under the sudden shift of weight. "No, I didn't kill my mother."

  She reached for his hand, her heart heavy with compassion. "Simon, I'm sorry. I had to ask. Why do the police want to question you? Are you in trouble?"

  "When am I not in trouble?"

  "That was a mug shot."

  He slipped his hand out of her grasp. "It was."

  "But you were seriously young in that picture."

  "Strangely, I'm not flattered."

  "Listen. I don't judge. That's not my division, okay? And I already know you've had dark times in your past. What is coming back to haunt you now?"

  "Nothing's coming back. It's always been here."

  "I'm very sorry you lost your mother. It's not easy, losing a parent. Were you with her?"

  "No, no, she…she was back home. Up north. She'd been in a personal care home. No matter, she wouldn't have known me, anyway. She'd parted ways with reality a long time ago."

  "That must have been hard, getting a call like that when you're so far away."

  "I didn't get a call. Nobody left to call me." He sloshed fresh coffee into his half-full cup. "Nobody knows where I am. I left home and went to college, then dropped out first semester, then fell right off the edge of the planet. Couldn't stand knowing what I'd done to her."

  She leaned forward, trying to press the truth out of him. "What did you do?"

  "I'm the one who drove her insane. Like everything else, it's my fault. Anyway. The cops prolly just want me to pop in to sign some papers, take care of the house, that sort of thing. Legalities."

  "Then why show a mug shot photo?"

  "It's the only photo that still exists of me. And those things never go out of style."

  Simon stood and dug the wad of bills out of his front pocket, peeling out singles and dropping them on the table. He picked up the check and turned to look for the waitress. She wasn't the one to catch his eye.

  Mack stood at the far wall, next to the restrooms. Giving Simon a deliberate look and a slight nod, he disappeared into the men's room. If anyone else had done that, it would have been creepy.

  He thought about it a moment. Nah. Angel or no, it was still creepy.

  "Why don't you take this?" Simon handed Chiara the bill and the money. "Go settle our tab. I need to heed a call of nature."

  "Fine. I'll wait outside for you."

  He headed into the lavatory. Leaning, he scanned under the stalls. It was empty except for the angel, standing in front of one of the urinals.

  Simon stepped up beside him and unzipped. "I'm dying to look over, you know."

  "That would be rude."

  "I didn't think angels had those sort of workings."

  Mack sighed and raised his chin, closing his eyes. "Part of our ethereal mystery."

  "Make it quick. I don't want to stand here all day holding my—"

  Mack turned and looked at him. "A Ladder approaches. Two days from now. I anticipate something…substantial."

  "That's all? You didn't have to drag me into the men's room to tell me that. There's something else."

  "Just walk away from her," Mack said. "She's a straight line to trouble. Go right out the back door and make some distance."

  "I don't think I like you telling me what to do."

  "I don't tell you what to do very often."

  Simon stowed his gear and zipped, bouncing on one leg to settle himself. "You don't tell me even when I ask you to."

  "I'm telling you now. Walk away from her."

  "I don't walk away from allies. We're on the same side of this fricken war of yours."

  "Don't fool yourself into believing that." Mack leveled a stern gaze at him. "She's not one of us. She's definitely not one of you. She is on her own side."

  "Doesn't really come across as the selfish sort."

  "She's not. She's just not fighting the same war."

  "Light versus dark?" Simon crossed his arms. "Everything she's said to me sounds fresh out of your playbook."

  "You just don't get it, do you?"

  "Look. All I know is it's fricken hard, being on the front lines. Fighting demons. Abusers of magic and forces blacker than pitch. Shamans and necromancers and soul hunters. Everything from the mortal plane down." Simon pointed at the door, out toward the girl-exorcist-whatever who had saved his butt just the day before. Mack hadn't pulled him out of the way of that demon. Chiara had. "For once, it's nice bumping in to a person who isn't trying to bring about the ruin of souls. And, by the way—she's told me more about the darkness rising in one night that you have in three years."

  "I didn't realize you were so blind." Suddenly, Mack smiled. It was eerie because Simon knew he didn't have a sense of humor. "You haven't figured out what she is yet."

  "You mean who."

  "No. I don't."

  The door swung open and a burly man hustled in, heading for the lone stall, one hand working his belt, and slamming the door shut behind him. Time to evacuate. The shit was about to hit.

  Mack was already gone.

  Diesel fumes, hydraulic whines, and annoying loud cell phone conversations. Three cheers for the public transportation system. The bus lifted from the curb and lurched forward in a stomach-shuddering surge.

  Simon blew out hard and sat back, swallowing. Nausea. He'd almost forgotten the nausea. Hip, hip, hooray for buses.

&nb
sp; Chiara eyed him suspiciously a moment, her gaze lingering even when he tried to wave it off. "I've never had anyone tag along before."

  Her voice held a tone of distinct amusement. Simon leaned over to where she sat in the row in front of him. Despite the motion sickness, he preferred the back seat of the bus. No one to sneak up behind him.

  Plus, he got extra leg room when sitting in the middle seat. A good stretch was just what he wanted. That, and privacy if he needed to hurl. "Not one to pass up a field trip. I just want to observe, is all. Watch what you do. How you do it."

  She shifted sideways to face him, avoiding his sprawled out legs. "I thought you knew it all already."

  "You just think I know it all."

  She shook her head, laughing. "More like I think you think you know it all."

  "Same difference. But, naw. No such thing as a master in this line of work. Never stop learning, never stop discovering. Every corner you turn offers something you never saw before, a way to reach a bit further."

  "What's the endgame?"

  He sat back. "I really hope there isn't one."

  "Why?"

  "Because, whatever it is, it can't be good."

  He stretched his arms out along the back of the seats. Perfect time to change the topic. Musing about his mortality and eventual horrid demise was a mood killer. "Good choice for a demon hunting trip," he said. "Nothing like public transportation to bring out the worst in someone."

  She leaned over the seat and poked him, playfully, before turning back to survey the passenger. Her head tilted, a bird on alert. Slowly she raised her hand and pointed to a young man sitting halfway up the bus on a side seat.

  Simon sat forward, elbows on his knees, and looked up at her face before following the line of her finger.

  "Him." Eyes trained on the boy, she nodded. "Do you see them?"

  "See what?"

  "The shadows inside him."

  Simon slipped the scrying lens out of his pocket and peered through it. The guy didn't look any different than anyone else. He shook his head. "He's normal."

  "He's an open door, an unholy invitation," she said. "Demons use people like him. They're easy to breech. All people have to do is embrace the light, make good choices, and they'd squash the shadows. There'd be no chink in their armor."

  He palmed the lens and sat back, with a quick jerk of his head, disagreeing. "I've seen enough child possessions to disagree."

  "Would you?" She turned back to him and peered into his eyes. "You think that children are incapable of harboring shadows?"

  "They are the innocents."

  Chiara snorted. "Hardly. Okay, some are. But they are human and, as children, they lack the moral training, the life experience to know the difference between right and wrong. They're basically psychopaths."

  He barked out a laugh that squeezed his belly more than what was comfortable. "Oh, I bet you're a real trip at kids' parties."

  "I wouldn't know. Never been to one."

  "How dreary a childhood you must have had."

  "You assume I had one." She shifted in her seat, reaching across the aisle to grasp the back of the seat across from her, as if bracing him for a sudden stop. "Look. He's changing. Get ready."

  He raised the scrying lens again. Nothing. What did she see? "What's going on?"

  A subtle change swept over the boy, like a wave of chills travelling down his body. It left a sullen red glow in its wake.

  "Aw, fricken a." Simon lowered the glass. The kid was going to manifest, right now, on a bus full of people.

  "I told you he's an open door, didn't I?" Chiara glanced back at him. "Well, something on the other side just got really curious."

  Simon instinctively reached into his shirt, feeling for his amulet, and drew a breath. It was going to take a big spell to keep the others on the bus from seeing a demon manifest. And everyone knew, what you can't see can't hurt you.

  Most of the time. He couldn't stop that last sarcastic thought.

  He murmured the first words of a Macedonian protection spell.

  "Shh." Chiara stayed his hand and put a hand over his mouth. "I'll do this. It's best it doesn't notice you."

  Simon pulled her hand off. "So what if it does?"

  The look she gave him would have stopped a waterfall in its tracks. "Angels aren't the only messengers."

  She pulled the stop cord and stood, smoothing her skirt over her hips, and sauntered up the aisle, smiling flirtatiously. There wasn't a single soul that didn't look up and stare. Dragging her fingers against his shoulder, she swiveled her head and crooked her finger at the guy before moving to the front exit, a world of wiggle in her walk.

  The kid sprang from the seat followed her up the aisle like a dog as the bus slowed to a jerky stop at the corner.

  "Aw, hell." Simon slipped out the rear door and scanned the sidewalk, not wanting to lose visual contact.

  Not to worry. She was easy to spot. They'd already started up the street. She bounced along beside the host, giving him full view of her feminine assets, and tugged him toward a side street. It would take an iron will to ignore her. He'd vouch personally for that.

  A twenty-year-old guy with a head full of hormones had little room to spare for an iron will. Fed by the host's lust, the demon continued to manifest. A slightly acrid odor tinged the heavy city smells of exhaust and subway. Chiara drew him away from the bulk of people, flirting and smiling, twirling her hair, licking her lips, and lured him around the corner.

  Simon blew out a tight breath. Hell, he would have followed her, even if he hadn't been hunting with her. He kept a cool distance and did his best to watch only the kid.

  Jesus, that was really hard to do.

  He stayed at the corner, lens up to his eye, monitoring the manifestation while trying to remain unnoticed. That was hard, too. Unnoticeable just wasn't his thing.

  Halfway down the deserted service street, Chiara swung the boy's hand and leaned in close to him, whispering to him, a smile on her lips like she was talking dirty to him.

  But it wasn't the start of a steamy hook-up. It was the beginning of a battle.

  The demon-struck kid struggled, straining to get away from her. She never broke a sweat. Her actions were smooth and calm, as if there were no conflict at all. She gripped the host's wrists, eyes locked with his, commanding his attention.

  The wind shifted toward Simon and he inhaled, sniffing the air. An ionic bite stung his nose, making him rub it. The air felt heavy with the oppression of charged power.

  This demon was fighting back. And that couldn't be good.

  Her voice became a little louder, more insistent. He could finally hear what she always seemed to be whispering.

  "You know your place. Your place is below. Go back to your place below." Chiara repeated the phrase, chanting in smooth firm tones.

  Simon ruffled his hair and shifted his weight, from one foot to the other and back, uncomfortable with the whole thing. The power discharge, the unwillingness of the demon to give it up. His chest felt like he'd been straitjacketed, tight and anxiety-ridden. Come on, come on, come on—

  He flexed his fingers, itching for something to hold. His "worry stick", for example. A nice, powerful, magic-packed wand, one that had a kick like a double-barrel shotgun.

  No, no. He stuffed his hands in his pockets to still them. No good. His Peruvian binding rings were in there and it would be so easy to slip them on...

  No. He crossed his arms, pinning his hands under his armpits. She said not to use a charm. He had to trust her. But dammit, this was taking too long—

  The demon issued a low growl that rolled out like summer thunder. It wasn't going to give up. Its agitation was nearly palpable. The ground under its feet began to crack and split, the air shimmering as it gave off heat. The demon snarled and snapped its teeth at her, the host's lips distorted and pulled back inhumanly thin.

  She didn't even seem to notice how critical things just got. Or didn't care—

  Simo
n paced like a caged wolf, watching them, scanning the busy street behind him. If this demon let loose, no telling how many people would get hurt.

  Suddenly, the kid broke the hold she had on his wrists. With a strike almost too fast to follow, it grabbed Chiara by the throat and lifted her. The tips of her toes scraped the pavement.

  That was it. Line was crossed. He couldn't wait a second longer. Sliding his fingers into his shirt, he reached for his amulet. The Macedonian protection charm would still work from a distance.

  The moment his fingers made contact, the amulet sparked. He snapped his fingers away, blowing on them to cool the sting. Too much demonic energy in the air.

  The demon whipped its head around, spotting Simon. It raised its free hand and pointed at him. Its mouth opened and a roar of voices screamed out. IS THAT WHY YOU BRING HIM?

  Wait. Simon had heard that voice before. The demon who'd taken Bobby. The one who had said his name.

  Chiara seemed too busy trying to pry its fingers from around her throat to answer. She rolled her eyes toward Simon, her look heavy with reprimand.

  The demon lowered its chin like a bull on the charge and curled its empty hand into fist. It drew Simon closer, pulling him with the sheer force of his power.

  Simon scrabbled, dug in his heels, almost plowing up the ground, unable to fight.

  With the demon's attention diverted, Chiara finally broke its grip. Rubbing her throat, she backed out of reach, a wary eye on Simon. "You have a choice. Balazog never told you, did he?"

  Horror slammed into Simon like a train. He sputtered and wind-milled his arms, a new desperation in his attempt to escape the demon's grasp. All the heat drained from him, a cold buzz washing down his limbs. "Bala— Chiara, get out of here. He's—"

  "He's going to make a smart choice. Aren't you?" Chiara stepped between the demon and the man. "Because you have quite a selection of choices to choose from."

  She started to tick off her fingers.

  "You can leave the way you came and close the door behind you." She wiggled her thumb. "Relatively painless choice."