A Family Affair

Chapter Two

  John scanned the sea of kitsch, looking for the deadly threat that his every sense told him was there somewhere. He didn’t find it. The flock of tourists, cowboy-goth employees and dancing neon cactuses conspired to confuse his human vision.

  The hotel where Cassie was currently residing was themed after Dante’s Inferno, with a lobby complete with fake stalactites that shot out geysers of steam on a regular basis. The main drag had tried to combine this with a homage to Nevada’s wild west roots, resulting in an explosion of tastelessness that still made him wince, even after a month’s exposure. He finally blinked, transitioning to the type of sight he rarely allowed himself, and there it was--an acid green flame shining through the windows of a nearby bar.

  John pushed open the swinging doors—authentic right down to the wood grain in the fiberglass—and glanced around. If possible, the bar was even worse than the faux ghost town outside. It featured mementoes of colorful characters from the region’s past—colorful in the sense that most of them had ended their lives splattered red from a gunfight gone wrong or black and blue courtesy of a hangman’s noose. He finally found the demon he sought sitting under a framed wanted poster for Butch Cassidy, entertaining a small child.

  The child was perhaps two, dressed in a yellow romper that left its gender in question and a pair of tennis shoes with bear faces on the tops. It was watching the demon with fascinated brown eyes. Or to be more accurate, it was watching the napkin the creature was holding up.

  “You see? Merely a plain piece of paper,” the blond devil said solemnly, turning it around so that the tot could see both sides. “But with a little magic…” his voice trailed off and the napkin suddenly flew up from his hand in the shape of a hummingbird.

  It fluttered around the delighted child’s head, prompting squeals loud enough to threaten John’s eardrums and to turn the head of a nearby waitress. “Lisa!” The woman, dressed as a saloon girl, had they had favored neon-yellow polyester and black lace, hurried over. “I’m sorry. I told her to wait in back.”

  “Think nothing of it. I do so enjoy children.” The demon caught John’s eye. “Most of the time.”

  “You’re a magician,” the waitress said, smiling. But unlike her daughter, she wasn’t looking at the napkin.

  The creature reclined back against the leather booth, all tousled golden hair and lips red from the wine he’d been drinking. “Something like that,” he agreed easily.

  “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

  “I’m from out of town.”

  “Way out,” John said sourly.

  The woman glanced at him, and did a quick double take. She looked between the two of them for a moment, clearly confused. “Are you two related?”

  “No.” It was emphatic.

  “Yes, in fact,” the demon said brightly. “He’s my son.”

  “Really?” The waitress took in the creature’s unlined face, clear green eyes and youthful body. It was on display in a scoop-neck tank with a silver sheen under a light gray suit. The skin was flawless and sun-bronzed, the nails were buffed to a high shine and he smelled of some kind of exotic spice.

  Then she glanced at John. He didn’t need her expression to know that, of the two, he looked older. Crow’s feet were beginning to form at the corners of his eyes, his complexion was weathered and his hands had never seen a manicure. He also hadn’t had a chance to bathe since chasing a very grumpy young woman around a makeshift gym for two hours, resulting in damp hair and a sweat-stained t-shirt.

  He strongly suspected that he stunk.

  He also didn’t give a damn.

  “You don’t look old enough to have an adult son,” the woman told the demon doubtfully.

  “You’re too kind, Jessica.”

  Her nametag said Brittany. She looked down at it, and then back up at him. “I lost my tag a few days ago and had to borrow one. How did you—”

  “Magic.” He smiled charmingly. “I’m Rosier, by the way.”

  “That’s an unusual name. First or last?”

  He took the hand she rested on the table—the one with the wedding ring. “Whichever you prefer.”

  She leaned closer, wetting her lips. “You know, my shift is over in a few minutes--”

  “And you’ll need to take your child home at that time,” John said, putting a hand on her shoulder. He’d expected to have to disperse the gathering threads of a spell, but there wasn’t one. The demon looked at him, amused, and the woman flushed.

  “Yes, I…yes.” She turned and hurried off, without remembering to take his order or to retrieve her child.

  “I don’t really need the help,” the demon told John, pulling out a slim silver case and tapping a cigarette on the table. “Neither would you, if you took some pains. You look like hell.”

  “You should know.”

  The creature ignored that. “You can’t starve the incubus out, no matter how hard you try. You are what you are. Someday, you’re going to have to come to terms with that.”

  “Wait for it.”

  “I have been. For entirely too long.”

  John choked back the reply that sprang to his lips. He was not going to get into a dialogue with the creature. Not over this; not again.

  His eyes fell to the little girl, who was still trying to catch the paper bird hovering just out of reach. “I’m not going to kill you in a casino full of people,” he told the demon tersely. “You don’t need a shield.”

  “And yet I feel so much better with one. At least until we reach an understanding.”

  John refrained from commenting on the likelihood of that. “Why are you here?”

  “Sit down, Emrys. At least pretend to be civilized.”

  “That’s not my name.”

  “It’s better than what you call yourself these days. A prince of hell named John.” He looked pained.

  “Why. Are. You. Here?”

  The demon held up his hand and a whorl of fire danced over his fingers. He lit the cigarette and sat back, regarding John through a haze of smoke. “To do you a favor.”

  “I doubt that very much.”

  “That depends. On whether you’re still defending that unbearable harpy.”

  John felt a quiver of rage rake along his nerves. “I am sure you meant to say Lady Cassandra.”

  “Yes, do use the title. That makes it so much better.”

  John’s hand clenched at his side, his mind automatically working out the logistics for turning the monster into a puddle of goo while sparing the child. It could be done, he decided. Just.

  “Oh, sit down,” Rosier snapped. “I’m here to help.”

  “That would be a first.” Of the many assassination attempts that had been made on Cassie’s life in recent months, some of the deadliest had been engineered by the creature opposite him. But as her bodyguard, John couldn’t afford the luxury of telling the bastard to go to hell. At least not until he learned why he’d left it.

  He sat down.

  Rosier signaled the waitress. “Another for me and one for my son.”

  “I don’t want a drink,” John said flatly.

  Rosier let out a breath of smoke that floated lazily upwards. “Don’t be so sure. You haven’t heard why I’ve come yet.”

  The waitress had two glasses on the table in record time. “I believe she’s tired,” the demon said, passing the sleepy child to her mother after finally allowing her to catch the elusive toy. She looked disappointed to find that, after all, it was merely a piece of paper.

  John wondered what kind of deception was about to be dangled in front of him.