Angel: Private Eye Book One

  Chapter 8

  That morning, I awoke expecting attack. An explosion. The sky to fall in. Vampires to come spurting out of the pipes in the bathroom. Demons to come dripping down the walls.

  Except nothing happened at all.

  For the first time in weeks, there wasn’t even a cloud in the sky. It was quiet and strangely peaceful.

  For some reason, the vampire hoons that usually rode their motorbikes right up to the intersection outside the window had taken the morning off. Not to mention the werewolves that always tore up and down the pavement shouting and screaming and snarling at each other.

  I lay there for several minutes with my wrist pressed over my brow, my fingers grinding my eyes shut. My teeth were bared, and my body was tensed, ready for an attack.

  The memory of that vampire’s strange placards burnt brightly in my mind’s eye. So brightly, that as I closed my eyes, I could see the mock salute he’d given me.

  Groaning, I eventually pushed the covers off and stood.

  A few slices of the bright and cheery morning light were making it through the cracks in my blinds.

  I frowned at them. Not the blinds, but the cherry light.

  I quickly padded into the kitchen, made myself a cup of coffee, and sat down to read the paper.

  The paper always magically appeared in the kitchen, right next to the coffee machine. It was here long before Mr. Marvelous made it in in the morning.

  I hadn’t even bothered to ask how it got there, probably magical rats for all I knew.

  Not for the first time since I’d started working here, I was beginning to appreciate how much I didn’t know about this world, and how much that was costing me.

  Thumbing through the paper, I half expected to find some new grisly murder or crime. Some fell magical deed to take the edge off the goddamn bright sunshine outside.

  Nothing. Not a thing. It seemed as if last night, aside from the party, nothing much had happened in Hope City.

  I finished my coffee and allowed myself the smallest smile. Because, hey, maybe my gut instinct was wrong, and today really would be a good one.

  It was approximately five minutes later, when I was pulling on a pair of mom jeans and my most comfy top, that I got a message on my phone. It wasn’t from Sarah or Mr. Marvelous. It was from frigging Benson. And no, don’t ask me how he got my number.

  I stared at the screen, bottom lip caught between my teeth, a pained hissing wheezing sound filtering from my pursed lips.

  He wanted another vial of my blood. Apparently, he wasn’t done running tests yet.

  Instantly, a sick feeling clutched at my gut as I realized what I was doing. I was giving a vampire my blood. This wasn’t like going to the doctors and realizing you needed a couple more tests.

  This was like giving a vampire a pre-made snack.

  That fact hit me over and over again. But there was nothing I could do. I’d signed that contract, and so far even though I didn’t want to admit it, Benson had held up his end of the bargain. Which meant I had to take myself to pathology and get them to squeeze a little more red juice from my veins.

  Making a face at the reflective shiny metal splash behind the cooker, I pocketed my phone, stretched and walked into Mr. Marvelous’ office.

  He wasn’t there, but a message was. I hadn’t heard him arrive, but somehow a sticky note was flapping on his computer screen as if he’d dashed in and dashed out like the road runner.

  I swiveled my head from side-to-side, trying to catch a glimpse of him, but there was nothing.

  Frowning, I plucked up the sticky note and held it firmly between my fingers.

  I’ll be out all day. If there are any crimes that come in, solve them.

  That was it. There was no “How are you, how was last night? Did you, oh, I don’t know, get threatened by any more vampires?”

  Screwing up the sticky note and throwing it in the dustbin by my feet, I kicked the side of Mr. Marvelous’ desk for good measure, crossed my arms, and stared out of the window glumly.

  Though I would have liked to have remained there all day, blaming the sunshine for leading me astray, I knew I couldn’t. Benson wanted another vial of my blood, and beyond that, I had to decide what I was going to do about the message. Should I really put on a dress and wait for Theodore Van Edgerton to magically appear?

  “No,” I said, the words cracking from my lips without any effort of my own.

  As soon as I heard myself say that, I realized that, yes, that was the only answer to this situation. There was no goddamn way I could put on a dress and wait for a bloodsucking vampire to pick me up.

  Glad I’d finally made that decision, I loosened my arms from around my middle, grabbed my coat, and headed out.

  It didn’t take long to reach the clinic and muddle through another one of my weak explanations as to why I needed a pristine vial of my blood and why I wasn’t going to send it to any government run pathology labs.

  Once I had the vial in my pocket sealed in one of those little plastic yellow biohazard bags, I felt a certain kind of weight off my shoulders. But another kind of weight was building in my gut instead, prickling at my intestines like somebody playing an eerie tune on a guitar. The kind of tune you might get in one of those suspense films when you’re waiting for the heroine to make her next stupid mistake.

  Cramming a hand on my stomach and realizing I was hungry but couldn’t bear the thought of food, I decided it was best to get this over with. I’d walk straight to Benson’s nearest building, drop off the blood, and be done with this by lunchtime.

  That single thought buoyed me, but it couldn’t for long. It was as I was walking down the street through a relatively well-to-do section of town that I heard a strange rumble. There were plenty of cars crisscrossing through the intersections and darting down the winding streets. They were of every shape and size, from sports cars belonging to leering vampire teenagers, to massive Harley-Davidson motorbikes being ridden by massive hairy werewolves.

  But this – the engine I caught humming through the air – it was different. Call it instinct, but I knew it was coming for me.

  I stiffened, yanking my head to the side, but it wasn’t in time.

  The next thing I knew, a limousine pulled up on the curb beside me. Not next to the curb, but on it. It rode up a storm drain, mounted the pavement, and came to a stop barely a millimeter from my left foot.

  I shrieked and doubled back just as the passenger door was thrown open.

  Before I knew what was happening, two tall, gaunt men in impeccable black suits barreled out, grabbed me by the shoulders, and shoved me inside.

  There were several other people on the street – two old grandma-looking types and a witch and warlock walking hand-in-hand. Not one of them blinked. Two guys were kidnapping me in broad daylight, and no one seemed to care. Not a single person plunged a hand into their pocket, ripped out a phone, and called the police.

  Heck, I saw one of them shrug as if this was a pretty ordinary morning routine.

  Me, I didn’t shrug. I sat there squeezed between those two gaunt men as one reached over and did my seatbelt up.

  “What the hell is happening?” I shrieked. “Get away from me.” I tried to jerk back, locked a foot on his knee, and kicked him away.

  But it wouldn’t work.

  The guy was somehow as stiff and hard as a wall.

  He was wearing those big wraparound shades that blocked the sunlight from coming in at any angle, and yet I swore I could see something glowing underneath. Something that shouldn’t be there. Red light.

  I was starting to learn more about this magical world. Every night I ensured I read one chapter from Mr. Marvelous’ file book. So I knew what a golem was. A creature made out of clay and brought to life by a scroll deposited inside its skull.

  As I tried to shove the guy off once more, the heel of my boot scraped across his knee, and a chunk of something fell out from the bottom of his suit pants.

  Clay.

/>   It crushed against his shiny polished black shoe and scattered over the clean carpet beneath him.

  He twisted his head and looked at me menacingly. “Don’t struggle,” he said. If you could call what came from his mouth a voice. It was more like the kind of rumble you’d expect before a massive earthquake tore a mountain in half.

  I swallowed so hard I was sure I was going to gag. Though I kept trying to struggle, there was nothing I could do.

  These guys were made of rock, and as they latched two hands on my shoulders and weighed me down, it was as if somebody had tied an anchor around my middle.

  My breathing came in rapid, terrified pants as I watched the limousine pull out from the curb and drive down the street like a bat out of hell. Actually, who was I kidding? A bat out of hell didn’t have the same engine this beast had.

  It was no normal limousine and seemed to rather possess the acceleration capacity of a jetliner.

  Before I knew it, we had crossed half of town.

  Again we mounted the curb, several confused pedestrians scooting out of the way.

  “What are you doing? Let me out, let me out!” I shrieked.

  One of the golems leaned over, grabbed the door, and pushed it open. He got out with a creak.

  I saw an opportunity that wasn’t there, shoved forward, fell to my knees and rolled out of the car.

  Before I could spring to my feet, kick the golem in the shins, and shriek for help, I looked up at a pair of extremely expensive tailored suit pants.

  As my head dipped further back and my gaze drifted up a tall, slender, well-built form, my eyes locked on none other than Theodore Van Edgerton.

  He twisted his head to the side, a cruel, yet amused smile spreading his lips. “You don’t have to get down on all fours yet,” he said in a light tone. “And where is your dress?”

  “What?” My jaw dropped open, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to close it. “What’s going on here?”

  Theodore leaned down and cupped an arm around my elbow, pulling me to my feet in such a quick move my head spun.

  Though I tried to take a jerked step back and shove him away, I quickly found a strange kind of weakness spreading from my arm and deep into my chest.

  It was almost as if Theodore’s touch was an anesthetic, and I was slowly shutting down. “What?” I began, but I could barely move my lips.

  “It’s time for lunch,” Theodore said. He brought up a hand and tapped his watch. “Actually, it’s a little early for lunch. Then we’ll make it brunch,” he continued his one-sided conversation and leaned over to pat a non-existent speck from my shoulder.

  He led me forward.

  In the terror that was being shoved into an expensive limousine and driven half way across town only to be dumped at Theodore’s feet, I hadn’t bothered to notice where we were. As I tugged my head back and swiveled it to the side, I really did lose all control of my jaw. I swear it ripped off my head and fell somewhere near my feet with a suitable clang. We were at categorically the most expensive restaurant in the city, if not the country.

  If the rumors were correct, you had to pay $1000 to get in, let alone to buy your meal.

  “What– what are we doing here?” I asked.

  “Brunch,” Theodore said with a slow smile. “Do keep up, Miss Luck.”

  “I don’t– I don’t understand,” I began.

  I was rapidly losing the ability to speak, because I was rapidly losing the ability to think. My thoughts kept flitting in and out of my consciousness like clouds being chased by a hurricane.

  I could barely walk, though Theodore didn’t seem to care, as he kept that cold grip locked around my elbow and pulled me forward. Even if I fell to my knees or fell flat on my face, he would just drag me.

  Though there were two very human-looking doormen at the front of the hotel, neither of them said a word as the vampire dragged in the helpless human. Nor did they point out that my mom jeans and flouncy sweatshirt really weren’t up to the dress standards.

  Instead, they nodded, bowed and opened the doors.

  There were several extremely important people hanging around in the atrium, several politicians, one anchorwoman from the 9 o’clock news, even the mayor. And none of them did a thing.

  I was hardly in a happy state here. Not only was I disheveled from being kidnapped by two golems, but I knew my face was pale with panic. And yet, did they stop to call the police or ask if I wanted help to crowbar the vampire off my arm?

  Nope. They ignored me.

  They smiled at Theodore and swiftly turned back to continue their banal conversations.

  “What– what’s happening here? Why isn’t anyone helping me?” I stuttered.

  Theodore chuckled low. “Because they can’t see you, Miss Luck.” He pointed one slender white finger toward a reflective panel on the wall.

  I gasped. What I saw was Theodore walking with me, except I didn’t look anything like me. I was dressed in a stunning blue gown that slipped down to my ankles and moved around like wisps of smoke caught in a gentle breeze.

  I had what looked like $3000 designer heels on, and my hair was bunched into sensual curls that spilled over my shoulders and looped around my neck.

  I had what could only be classed as a simpering smile on my face as I stared adoringly up at Theodore.

  “What the hell?!” I screamed as Theodore tugged me past the reflective panel and I could no longer make out my reflection. “What is that?”

  “A little show,” Theodore said as he leaned over and patted my hand endearingly. “And a little reminder,” he switched his gaze to me, and it was very much like the polite pussycat suddenly showing its claws, “You can scream, you can shout, and you can try to escape, Miss Luck, but nobody will see you, and nobody will help you. Now all I ask is for a few hours of your time. I assure you that while your reflection is not real, the food here is. And I will be more than happy to treat you to an expensive brunch. Oysters, champagne, chocolate – anything you please.”

  “Let go of me,” I said, mustering all the strength I could and packing it behind each word like C4 behind a wall.

  It didn’t work.

  Theodore turned his head from me and nodded at a prominent doctor.

  I began to shriek. “Help. Somebody help me. Can’t you see what he’s doing? Help,” I screamed so loudly, my voice became hoarse.

  But nothing. Nobody even turned around.

  I screamed so loudly that the guy beside me should have clutched his hands over his ears. But he didn’t even twitch.

  Theodore began to chuckle once I was done. “Now, now. You’ll hurt your throat, and I won’t enjoy my meal,” he said very pointedly, showing his teeth.

  I shivered and tried to jerk away from him with such force I very almost broke his grip.

  I shouldn’t have very almost broken his grip, because he was the undead immortal vampire with the strength of 100 men and I was the frumpy unkempt woman in the sweatshirt.

  I watched him jerk his head toward me, watched him crumple his brow, and watched him slice his calculating gaze toward my wrist.

  He redoubled his grip until we reached a table set against the window.

  The view was stunning. Though we hadn’t traveled up any floors, somehow we were on the very top floor of the building, and the view was just as expansive as you would imagine.

  The hotel was set roughly in the center of town, and it offered a beautiful 360 panorama of the glistening, sprawling metropolis.

  For almost half a second, I let the view take away my attention.

  Then Theodore Van Edgerton leaned in, pressed an elbow into the white silk tablecloth, and placed his chin in his hand.

  He began to stare at me. He looked me up and down, from the hem of my torn old sweatshirt up to the top of my scruffy hair. “You must tell me, dear, what exactly does William Benson want with you? Are you his new toy? Or does he have something more interesting in mind for you?”

  On the word interesting, Th
eodore showed his teeth. All of his teeth. And though we were hardly under stage lights, they glinted as if somebody had shone a torch in his mouth.

  I doubled back, shifting so hard against my chair, I could have fallen off it. Yet the thing felt as if it was bolted to the floor.

  Theodore suddenly brought up a finger and tipped it to the side as if he were keeping time. “No, no, Miss Luck, you really can’t escape. As I said, I have too much to ask you.” With that, Theodore reached into his pocket and brought out two tiny pieces of string. He proceeded to sit them down on the pressed, ironed, and white tablecloth.

  He made a fuss of straightening them, then he tapped both with the tips of his ring fingers.

  They sparked to life, charges of magic wriggling through them, turning them into the string equivalent of writhing worms.

  Instantly I recoiled, but I wasn’t quick enough. For those wriggling worms of string turned into massive lengths of rope that shot across the table, wound around my wrists, and tied me to the chair.

  I screamed at the top of my lungs, so loudly I could have shattered the glass windows that swept around the room.

  Theodore laughed melodiously. “Now, now, Miss Luck, there’s no need to scream like that. I promise not to hurt you.”

  “What are you doing tying me to a chair, then?!” I shrieked.

  He leaned back and gestured expansively. “I’m just reminding you that I want two mere hours of your time. Now, it’s not going to be that hard to enjoy my company while answering a few of my questions. I assure you, Miss Luck,” he reached out a hand, and suddenly my hand wriggled out from under one of the ropes and slammed onto the table. I hadn’t chosen to move, but the ropes had chosen to move for me. Theodore leaned forward and clasped my hand as if he were a lover about to recite a tender poem. “Just two hours of your time.”

  “I don’t know anything. I don’t know why Benson has an interest in me,” I outright lied.

  Theodore tilted his head slightly to the side, then kept on going as if his head was a ship that had suddenly taken on too much water and was listing dangerously. “You do understand that vampires can tell when a person is lying, don’t you, Miss Luck? Only those with the greatest training can possibly fool a vampire. And, Miss Luck, you don’t have great training or natural talent. Nor, I am afraid to say, do you have particularly alluring looks.” He leaned back and crossed an arm over his middle and began to tap his chin. “I’ve known William Benson for centuries. He doesn’t waste his time with those not worthy of his. So I’ll ask once more, why exactly is William interested in you?”

  I clenched my teeth. “He’s not interested in me.”

  “You misunderstand. Why is William paying you so much attention? What exactly can you do for him?” Theodore’s face suddenly stiffened. All that false good humor that had been curling through his tone and puffing up his cheeks, was gone. Now he looked at me exactly like a snake ready to strike.

  I could barely swallow, and my body was shaking so badly under the magical ropes I was sure I was going to give myself burns. “I don’t know why William is interested in me,” I lied again. As I did, I made a fatal mistake. I glanced down at my pocket. The same pocket that now had a vial of my blood in it.

  I had no intention whatsoever to look at it, but something happened to me as Theodore stared at me. It was almost as if I was compelled.

  He chuckled once more. “You really are quite easy to manipulate, aren’t you, my little mouse?”

  I stiffened at that revolting term.

  “Now come here.” He leaned forward, gripped one hand on the table, and slipped an arm close to my side. His fingers pried back my jacket and plucked the yellow biohazard pack from my pocket.

  It wasn’t a fast move. It was slow, so slow that as he slipped the packet from my pocket, he took several seconds to stare right into my eyes.

  I shifted back as far as I could, screwing up my lips and scrunching my nose in revulsion.

  He remained there, a few centimeters from my face, and chuckled. Then he pulled back and sat down.

  He ran a tongue over his teeth, paying particular attention to his canines as if he were checking how sharp they were. “What have we here?” he said in a singsong voice as he played experimentally with the packet.

  He brought it up and sniffed it in a single, delicate move. “Smells like blood,” he said. The way he said blood – the pitch his voice took, the way his face stiffened – it was undeniable. It was the same tense, almost primal move I’d seen Benson use before.

  It reminded me like a punch in the gut that I was currently in the presence of a vampire. A bloodsucking parasite with unstoppable hunger and an unstoppable urge for violence.

  I stiffened.

  Theodore kept running a tongue over his teeth until he set the packet down and opened it, not by the Ziploc at the top, but by ripping into it.

  The move was so quick and snapped, he was like a tiger eviscerating its prey.

  I gave a soft shriek and shifted back.

  He pushed a hand into the torn remnants of the packet and pulled out the vial of my blood.

  He twisted it around in his fingers, an almost indescribable look in his gaze.

  Just when I thought he’d uncork it and chuck it down his throat, he laid it carefully on the table, then he steepled his fingers and shot me an odd look. “If I were you, Miss Luck, I would answer me.”

  I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. All I could do was watch him and wait for what he would do next.

  “Are you ill, Miss Luck?”

  Though I seriously didn’t want to answer, I found my lips moving of their own accord. “I’m not ill.”

  “Then what exactly are you doing taking your bloods?”

  Again that word punched from his throat. It wasn’t so much violent, as menacing. Menacing in that true sense you don’t really get these days. Not the kind of bottled up, premade fear you find in crappy thriller movies. But the true menacing of old. The prospect of running through the woods only to hear the crack of twigs behind you and a short, sharp pant by your ear.

  I began to shake my head nervously, compulsively, as if that would somehow get me out of here.

  “Were you going to deliver this to William Benson?” Theodore asked.

  Halfway through shaking my head, I suddenly stopped. It was as if the muscles in my neck twanged and became as stiff as steel poles.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I began to nod.

  Theodore looked at me, looked at me in a way I’d never seen anyone look at me before. It wasn’t so much calculating, as deconstructing. It was like he suddenly turned into a scientist and started tearing me back, cell by cell, to discover what he would find beneath.

  He reached forward, plucked up the blood, and carefully placed it in his pocket.

  My eyes grew wide as I realized it was in a position that could easily be broken. And if it were broken, my blood could kill Theodore.

  It was hardly a concern I should have, considering the guy had dragged me into this fancy restaurant and tied me to a chair. But I’d signed a contract not to give my blood to any vampires. And what was more, I was not a murderer. Even of the undead.

  “You– you shouldn’t do that,” I began to stutter. “It’s dangerous,” I managed.

  He brought a hand up and softly patted the vial.

  I winced as if the thing was seconds from cracking and splashing everywhere like a blood bomb. “No– no—” I began. “You really shouldn’t do that. Please, just listen to me.”

  He brought his hands out and gestured wide. “Why, I’m here to listen to you, Miss Luck. Why don’t you start from the beginning? Why are you giving vials of your blood to William Benson? And why are you so scared of this?” He pushed a hand into his pocket and plucked out the vial, swinging it back and forth in his hands.

  I shivered and receded as far as I could into my chair. “Please, just be careful. That… you don’t know what you’re handling.”

  “Then tell m
e what I’m handling,” his voice suddenly dipped low in a menacing growl as he locked both arms on the table and leaned forward. The table was quite large, yet somehow he was right by my face again, a snarling mass of teeth and terror.

  While I was 100% certain that Benson didn’t want me giving my blood to any vampires, I was pretty certain he didn’t want me sharing my condition, either. Especially to Theodore. After all, Benson had gone to painful lengths to warn me off the guy. But what option did I have?

  “Miss Luck,” Theodore hissed. “I’m running out of patience.”

  I jolted. “I don’t– I don’t I—” began. Then I stopped swiftly.

  Something was crawling up my wrists. Christ, it felt like they were on fire.

  I jolted to the side, twisting my head down to look at my hands. The magical rope had returned my hands to my lap. Now I stared at them in open horror as something appeared to crack over my skin.

  Theodore’s eyes narrowed to a point. “What are you doing?”

  Me? I wasn’t doing a goddamn thing. Something, however, was reacting to the ropes. It was almost as if my skin was having an allergic reaction to them.

  He got up, pressing one white-knuckled hand into the tablecloth.

  He started to move around the table.

  The menace embodied in his every movement snaked into me, igniting my fear like gasoline thrown on a fire.

  And the reaction – the white light cracking up my skin and sinking into the ropes – only grew all the stronger.

  Before I knew what was happening, the ropes broke, falling off me with a magical bang.

  I shrieked, doubling to the side and falling off my chair.

  Theodore was right behind me. He lurched forward, but I shifted, kicked the chair, and sent it slamming into his knees.

  He may be a vampire, but I caught him off guard, and he tumbled back into the table.

  I charged to my feet, my adrenaline pulsing so hard through my veins I was sure it would tear my circulatory system to shreds.

  I heard Theodore snap something from behind me, but I’d already shoved through the crowd and made it to the door.

  I ran. Didn’t stop running. Couldn’t stop running. Even if the world suddenly crumbled to dust around me, I’d find some way of pushing on.

  I could still feel the effects of those wriggling ropes around my wrists. Even though I’d thrown them off, a shadow of their magical effects remained.

  I knew instinctively that if I paid too much attention to it, the ropes would bind me once more. So I concentrated on fleeing, instead.

  I shot out of the front doors like a ball fired from a canon. I was so fast that I practically rammed into the mayor’s wife. I locked a hand on the stout woman’s shoulder and used her for momentum as I swung around and pitched toward the road.

  I could hear the golems right behind me, and they sounded like being chased by an avalanche. So much rock shifted in their bodies and ground through their feet and joints that clouds of dust actually erupted from their sleeves and the collars of their suits.

  “Oh my God, help me, help me,” I shrieked.

  But again nobody could hear me. Though the mayor’s wife was suitably disturbed at the fact she’d just lost balance, nobody else noticed a thing.

  “Oh god, please help me,” I stuttered as I shoved a hand into my pocket and suddenly remembered my phone. It was the first chance I’d had to use it since those golem assholes had piled me into that car.

  I didn’t have the chance to bring it up to my face and see who I was calling. Instead, I just thumbed my way to contacts and hit redial.

  The golems were right behind me, right behind me. One of them leaped to the side, missing me by centimeters as he ran up the brick wall to our left. The other shoved forward, clutching at my sleeve. He caught a few strands of my hair, jerking my head back, but I managed to wriggle free.

  I lost my balance, and before I knew what was happening, I found myself falling down a set of stairs.

  The stairs came out of nowhere, and I had no chance to avoid them. My back slammed into the stone steps, my legs and arms jostling as I rolled down them with all the finesse and gentle touch of a cloth being cleaned on a washboard.

  In a haze of limbs and pain, I finally reached the bottom, my head flicking back and cracking on the last stone step.

  Stars invaded my vision, a heavy, deadly ringing building in my ears as a nasty iron taste filtered through my mouth.

  My lips parted open, and I gasped.

  As stars started to explode through my vision and a nasty wet, metallic taste filtered through my mouth, I heard the two golems jump down from the step and land beside me.

  Just when I felt sure I would black out, I lasted long enough to feel their hard clay fingers shove hard into my shoulders.

  With no ceremony whatsoever, they dragged me forward.

  The stone below me was cold and sank its frigid claws into every centimeter of my back.

  We reached the center of the room, and I was hauled up, two strong hands pinning me against another goddamn chair.

  The golems tied me up and left.

  Though I tried fiercely to blink against the pain invading my vision, it was a thankless task.

  I saw enough to realize I was in some kind of basement. It was dark and dank, and as a nasty rush of air scooted past me, I realized it was as cold as the deepest cave.

  From somewhere I found the strength to open my lips. “What– what are you going to do with me?” I managed.

  No answer. Just the continuous creak and groan of the golem’s stone limbs moving against clay joints as they walked up the stairs and out of sight.

  My vision began to swim, and I flopped back against the chair, thinking it really was lights out for me this time.

  But something – some scrap of awareness so strong it could hardly belong to me – kept me alive. Kept me awake long enough to hear the strange grate of what sounded like metal claws clicking down the stone steps.

  There was something so eerie and out-of-place about that sound that it sent a powerful shiver racing down my back. It was so strong, it had the effect of a defibrillator.

  I was jolted awake just in time.

  Barely any light made it down from the stone steps that led into the basement. It was just enough, however, that I could appreciate when it was cut out by some kind of massive form.

  As fear punched hard through my gut and scoured every centimeter of my flesh, my eyes began to adjust to the gloom more and more until I saw some kind of massive creature loom before me.

  It was large enough that it looked as if somebody had driven an SUV down those steep little steps.

  “What?!” I began, voice shaking in my throat. “What?”

  Something opened its mouth, and a blast of fetid breath slammed over my cheeks, pushing back my hair and sending it tumbling over my neck.

  From somewhere up near the top of the steps on the street beyond, I heard a familiar chuckle. “You should have stayed at brunch, Miss Luck. Trust me when I say it was the nicer option.”

  “Theodore? Theodore?!” I screamed. “What are you doing? What are you doing? If you– if you kill me, people will come looking for me. Benson will come looking for me,” I suddenly shrieked.

  I heard the footsteps on top of the stairs pause. But just when I thought that particular comment would be enough to get Theodore’s attention and to call off whatever hellish creature was currently looming above me, he chuckled once more. “Don’t worry, Miss Luck. I know full well how to get William Benson’s attention. I think you’ll find this will send a particularly strong message indeed. Now, my only suggestion to you is to answer every question it has for you. I warn you, it doesn’t have my patience, and it won’t be as nice when you fail it.”

  “Theodore? Theodore?!” I screamed, voice pitching out of my throat and shaking through the room.

  He walked away. I heard that asshole walk away.

  Which meant I was left alone with the creat
ure.

  I couldn’t even describe how fast my heart was beating. It was like a military tattoo pounding through my chest wall.

  Despite the gloom, my senses were somehow becoming sharper, and I swore I could see the full outline of the foul beast before me.

  It had massive wings and a towering, hunched up body.

  It could have just been my imagination, but I swore it was bright somehow. Shiny. As if a part of its body was made out of metal or diamond or glass.

  I suddenly hissed out loud as my lips parted a crack.

  “Shit.”

  It was a glass demon.

  The Lizzie Luck of several weeks ago had never heard of a glass demon, but now I’d been hanging around the dark sections of town, I’d heard enough whispered terrifying tales of them to know they were a far nastier prospect than little Theodore Van Edgerton.

  Sure enough, as the demon crouched down and suddenly opened its mouth, a burst of illumination shone from it like a lightning storm.

  I shrieked and tried to jerk my head back, but there was nowhere to run. Nowhere I could go to escape that violent burning light.

  The demon was completely made out of glass. While its body was black like smoky quartz, its claws and teeth and eyes and mouth were clear like diamonds. You would have thought from such a description that it was a fragile thing. That you could just throw a stone at it, or hit the right pitch with your operatic voice, and the goddamn thing would shatter.

  Except, unfortunately, there was nothing on God’s green earth that could shatter the beast.

  It wasn’t actually made out of glass, just this shiny, super reflective substance that was magically meant to show up the truth. Lie to a glass demon, and that lie would be reflected in their body.

  They had potent mental capabilities and could read your mind just by staring into your terrified gaze.

  As the demon twitched forward, it brought its massive, curled, long claws up.

  I shrieked, trying to shift back on the chair, trying desperately to get away.

  But there was nowhere I could go.

  The golems had already tied me to the metal chair with magical ropes.

  “No, no, please, no,” I began. “I promise to tell the truth. I just—”

  It didn’t give me the option. A second later, the demon settled its claws alongside my face. They dug into my skin but were just light enough that they didn’t cut it.

  I began to squirm but soon lost all fight as a heavy, dead feeling pushed through my limbs. My mouth opened and my eyes became unfocused as I stared limply at the demon.

  “You will tell me the truth,” it spoke in the kind of voice that shouldn’t be possible. It was like the eerie noise you might expect from a 1000-year-old crypt being opened for the first time. There was something so dead and so wrong about it that it sent explosive nerves shooting hard up my back.

  My eyes were now so riveted open, insects could probably crawl between the gaps in my eyelids.

  I had no more fight, no more fight to stop the demon as it brought its reflective glass mouth down and locked it around my head.

  It didn’t snap its jaws closed and rip my face in half. Instead, it settled its jaws around my head as it shone the light from its mouth into my eyes.

  The light tore through me like hands that suddenly clutched their way into my deepest darkest thoughts.

  “Why does William Benson want you?” the demon now spoke in none other than Theodore’s voice. There was even a light nasty chuckle that unmistakably reminded me of that cruel man.

  “I– I killed a vampire,” I said.

  There was a long pause.

  “How?” Theodore asked.

  “I don’t know. It feasted on my blood, and my blood—” I paused.

  God, don’t ask me where I found the strength of will to pause.

  I hadn’t been lying when I’d said it felt as if the demon’s claws had somehow pushed their way into my very thoughts. And yet something – some strength I’d barely been aware existed in my heart – suddenly exploded and rammed up my back, shunting hard into my jaw and locking it closed.

  “How did you kill the vampire?” Theodore snapped.

  I didn’t answer. Again I managed to keep my mouth firmly shut.

  I heard Theodore scream. Then I felt the glass demon shove forward. It closed its mouth around my head. Its teeth pressed into my face, finally cutting my skin.

  I screamed. Screamed so loud I could have woken half the city.

  The terrified shriek started deep in my heart and gouged its way out of my throat. But that wasn’t the only thing that sprung from my heart – the only powerful force that suddenly split through my body with all the unstoppable strength of a volcanic explosion.

  I felt something – that same goddamn sensation that had been chasing me in my dreams. It burst from my heart and shot through every single cell of my body.

  Something… something powered out of me, and that something was light. The brightest, most powerful magical light I’d ever seen.

  It slammed into the glass demon, eating into its exposed mouth. From the little I knew of glass demons, the only part of their bodies that was susceptible to damage were their mouths. And right now that impossible, terrifying white light gouged into its mouth.

  It doubled back, shrieking, the noise so loud it managed to shake the walls and floor.

  I was thrown to the side, whatever magical spell locking the chair to the floor breaking.

  With an earsplitting cry, the demon continued to pitch, thrashing around the room, clutching its glass claws at its glass body.

  I’d never heard anything like it, it sounded like a 1000-strong pack of hyenas shrieking at death.

  It was so thunderously loud that, as I fell back and slammed against the floor with a bone-shattering thunk, I curled my body forward and locked my ear against the cracked stone floor.

  A full minute passed until the cracks appearing over the demon’s glass body became too much. With a single shriek, it shattered. Shards of glass exploded everywhere, several slashing over my exposed arms and cheeks. Charges of dark magic discharged, jumping over the cracked stone floor and sinking high into the walls, several shooting out and up the stairs, until finally, silence.

  Silence and stillness, apart from my shaking, convulsing body.

  So much blood and sweat slipped down my cheeks and brow it felt as if I would drown.

  Though I’d broken the grips of the magical ropes that tied me to the chair, I could barely move. It felt as if my body had just discharged lightning. And hey, maybe it had.

  It was meant to be almost impossible to kill a glass demon. Only the strongest practitioners of magic could do it, and yet somehow I’d done it.

  My blood… my blood had shattered it.

  My thoughts spun harder and harder, faster and faster until it felt as if my head had turned into a spinning atom.

  Just when I thought I’d lose consciousness, I began to hear angry voices from on top of the stairs. Though they were barely more than a rumble, I knew – God I knew – it was Theodore and his cronies. This time he was coming to get me, and he wasn’t going to let me go.

  Just when I heard footsteps echo closer, something rang. My phone, to be exact. It was still in my pocket and fortunately hadn’t been crushed by my fall. Though the almost belligerent sound of it ringing was enough to shock me, I couldn’t find the strength to wriggle an arm around and answer it.

  Maybe it was help. Maybe it was a telemarketer. And maybe it wouldn’t make any difference. I heard a golem’s stone feet finally reaching the bottom of the stairs.

  “Help me, somebody help me,” I shrieked.

  The phone stopped ringing.

  It was so dark in this basement that I could see any illumination however small, and from behind me, I suddenly saw a single spark as if somebody was lighting up a cigarette or playing around with a half lit candle.

  Somehow, somehow I felt a presence behind me, and I heard the crea
k of fabric and the shifting of shoes as a hand was placed tenderly on my shoulder.

  I screamed, realizing it must be Theodore, realizing he must have somehow used another entrance.

  “God no, please, let me go, let me go,” I begged. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know anything. I don’t know why Benson wants me. Just let me go.”

  “I assure you, Miss Luck, Benson only wants to help you,” somebody said.

  It wasn’t Theodore; it was William Benson III himself.

  I found the strength to snap my head around and stare up into his face. Though he looked easy, there was a certain tension about him. A tension that was magnified as his gaze darted over my cut, bedraggled form.

  Before I knew it, he was leaning down, locking his arms around my back and pulling me easily up into his arms.

  The sleeves of his expensive shirt were rolled up and bunched under my back. I could even feel the dent of his watch pushing hard into my side. And that wasn’t to mention – oh God – that wasn’t to mention his arms.

  I could pick up every single detail of them, every bulge of muscle, every smooth line of ligament, and every blessed trace of warmth.

  “What– what’s happening?” I managed.

  “What is happening, Miss Luck, is that you asked for help. Now I suggest we get out of this basement and into the light.”

  With that, he took a swift step backward, and there was another tiny, almost insignificant speck of light.

  Before I knew it, I was standing in his office.

  Instantly my head began to swim, but that was nothing to be said of my stomach. It lurched hard, and I pitched to the left.

  Before I could throw up the empty contents of my stomach, I felt Benson latch two fingers into my cheek.

  It was a strange, distracting sensation, granted, but shouldn’t have been enough to stop me from throwing up all over his expensive loafers and carpet.

  Yet it was.

  “Do understand, I just had this office cleaned,” he said importantly.

  Then he walked me over to the couch in the center of the room and placed me down gently.

  I stared up at him as he looked down at me.

  I felt like utter trash. I’d never felt so sick in all my life.

  I clamped a hand on my stomach, drew my head forward, and squeezed my eyes so closed it would have taken a crowbar to part them.

  Then reality struck me like a brick between the eyes.

  Benson had saved me.

  I hesitantly opened one eye.

  There he was, right in front of me, one hand rested easily in his pocket as he considered me, one eyebrow raised. “Miss Luck, though I can appreciate you would like to sleep after your ordeal, I think it would be common courtesy to explain to me – your savior – exactly what happened.”

  There was something so exquisitely irritating about his tone and that sanctimonious smirk crumpling his perfect lips that I somehow managed to find the energy to shift up and glare at him. “You aren’t my savior.”

  Slowly, so goddamn slowly, his lips crumpled into a smile. Christ, it was like a lesson in anatomy. I saw every twitch of the muscles along his lips, chin, and jaw.

  And what was worse – what was infinitely worse – is he saw how keenly I watched him.

  He let out a soft chuckle and shifted his shoulders as if he were trying to get more comfortable.

  It only attracted my greedy gaze to his arms and back. I could still remember in unnervingly perfect detail how it felt to be lifted up by those arms.

  I brought a hand up and crumpled it over my eyes, trying to grind them closed.

  What the hell was I thinking? This jerk was William Benson. Why the hell was my stupid brain swinging from hating him one moment to being rather pleasantly distracted by his perfect body the next?

  “It’s natural for there to be some confusion after a run in with a glass demon,” he told me as he shifted forward and walked over to a polished walnut drinks cabinet on the far side of the room. He fixed himself a whiskey, then grabbed the shadiest looking black bottle from the back of the cabinet. I’d snooped through enough of Mr. Marvelous stuff to have seen some seriously peculiar looking bottles of potion, but what Benson uncorked and poured into a glass took the biscuit.

  I could smell the stuff from over here, and it smelt like concentrated death.

  He walked over to me and handed me the glass.

  I frowned at it. “You don’t seriously expect me to drink that, do you?”

  “Of course I do. If you don’t, you won’t be holding up your end of the bargain. And if you fail to hold up our contract, miss—” he began.

  “Don’t call me Miss Luck again,” I snarled as I reluctantly grabbed the glass from him. “And don’t remind me about that frigging contract.”

  He chuckled as he took several polite steps back, placed his hand back in his pocket, and took several slow, appreciative sips of his whiskey. “Why do I get the feeling you aren’t like this around other people?” he suddenly asked.

  Thrown by the question, it distracted me sufficiently that I sat up without once realizing how painful my side was.

  I glared at him from over the top of the black, bubbling, seething liquid. It looked like angry tar.

  Benson held my gaze with that infuriating steady stare of his. The one that told you he could lock his eyes on you for the rest of eternity and not once be tempted to look away.

  He dipped his head down, never blinking once. “Please drink, Miss Luck. I assure you it isn’t poison. You are far too interesting to poison at this stage.” He smiled as he took another sip of his whiskey.

  I spluttered.

  He laughed.

  Why did so many of our interactions end up like this?

  Experimentally, I tried to get to my feet.

  Big mistake. Oh boy, was it a big mistake.

  I was suddenly violently reminded of how hurt I was.

  I let out a pathetic little whine and almost crumpled.

  Before I could let go of the glass and slosh the fiendish contents all over my torn sweatshirt, Benson was there. Right in front of me.

  The guy had the apparent ability to divide space and travel over half the room in a split second.

  He was down on one knee, right before me, one hand locked on the glass, holding it upright.

  I jerked back, shoulders banging into the expensive leather of his antique sofa.

  “Drink this, it will make you feel better. Go some way to healing your injuries.” With that statement, his eyes locked on my cheeks.

  They were cut, smears of blood covering them, a few flecks staining my collar, too.

  Benson was a composed vampire with a top financial firm, sure – but he was still a vampire.

  There was a reason no vampires worked at the blood bank.

  Though they could keep themselves restrained, theoretically, you never knew when they’d snap.

  Before I knew what he was doing, Benson reached a hand up and almost placed it on my cheek.

  I trembled at his expected touch.

  But it didn’t come. As a flare of something – possibly reason – flashed through his eyes, he switched his hand to his pocket.

  He withdrew a perfectly pressed, perfectly white handkerchief.

  He pressed it against my cheek with a delicate, supremely careful touch.

  Then he went right back to staring at me. “Drink,” he commanded.

  There was something undeniably powerful about his tone – something undeniably compelling. Before I knew what I was doing, I jerked the glass up to my lips and took a sip.

  … And didn’t promptly spit it out.

  In fact, it was delicious. Hot and spicy, it sloshed down my throat, curling around my middle like a welcome embrace.

  I quickly brought the glass up and took another much larger sip.

  Just when I threatened to tip my head back and swallow the rest of the liquid in a great big gulp, Benson placed one strong finger on the rim of the glas
s and pushed it down. “Slowly,” he said, his lips moving appropriately slowly around the word.

  I didn’t want to chuck this down slowly – I wanted to run over to the bottle in his drinks cabinet, uncork it, and tip every last drop down my throat.

  I felt great. It wasn’t just pushing back the pain that had robbed me of my strength, it was making me feel on top of the world.

  Before I knew it, I let out a very happy, very girly, very silly giggle.

  “I think that’s enough for now.” Benson grabbed the glass back and stood before me.

  For a second he didn’t step back, and I was treated to an up-close view of his front.

  Christ, the guy was built. Chiseled like a Greek god under the finest tailored suit.

  I, very stupidly, brought up a hand, crammed it over my mouth, and started to guffaw like a love-struck teenager at a boyband concert.

  Benson took another polite, pointed step back. Then he took a breath. The kind of breath that pushed out his strong, rock-hard chest and saw his collar almost pop against his firm neck.

  All details that riveted me to the spot. Oh god, if he didn’t stop looking so fine, I’d probably start drooling.

  “Miss Luck, I need you to concentrate and tell me exactly what happened.”

  I was staring at his chest. His outline was perfectly, beautifully, artfully lit up by the light streaming in through his panorama windows.

  “Miss Luck,” he prompted once more.

  There was that same note of authority in his tone.

  It had the desired effect on me. I straightened as if someone had just rammed a rod down my back.

  My lips split open, and I started telling him the whole sorry tale. But did I once tear my gaze from his perfect stomach, neck, and arms? Nope.

  I openly gawked at him as if he were the first real man I’d ever seen.

  Benson visibly stiffened when I told him a vampire had followed me home and delivered a message with placards on my street corner.

  “Did you leave the building? Did you go out at any time during the night?” he demanded.

  I flopped a hand at him. “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not stupid,” I said in the kind of droning voice that pretty much confirmed I was a raging idiot.

  “Fine,” he swallowed hard, and hello mama did it set off a pleasant ripple of muscles that pushed hard down his middle. “What happened next?”

  “Oh, not much. I got your message in the morning, went to pathology, then got kidnapped by golems, tied to a chair in a fancy restaurant, and leered at by Theodore.”

  “They kidnapped you outside of the pathology clinic? Where’s your blood sample?” Benson snapped as he snapped toward me.

  I crammed a hand over my mouth and giggled again at his presence. “You know, that shirt fits you sooo well,” I said.

  Holy. Crap. Holy crap, crap, crap, crap, crap. The scrap of my mind that wasn’t high on whatever Benson had given me, cringed.

  I would regret this in the morning.

  Boy, I’d never be able to live this down.

  “Where’s the blood?” Benson’s direct, piercing gaze locked on my pockets.

  “Theodore has it, silly. He stole it. Then I managed to get away from him. His golems chased me down into some stone basement thing on the opposite side of the street…. come to think of it, what the heck was it doing there? I mean, that’s the fanciest street in town. You’d think—”

  “Focus,” Benson’s tone dropped, and it would be clear to anyone not currently whacked out on drugs, that he was starting to lose his patience. “The basement would have been a portal spell set up by Theodore. Just tell me what happened. Did you tell that demon anything?”

  I looked up at him. Despite the fact I could still feel the silly effects of the drink bamboozling my mind and turning my sense inside out, I… held his gaze as something flared in my heart.

  “You think I’m weak enough to fall for a glass demon?” I demanded.

  Except… Christ, it didn’t sound like me. Same voice, just not the same force. When I spoke, I rarely did so with conviction. But as I looked up at William Benson and spoke, it felt like I was making a decree from god.

  William straightened. Those perfect muscles along his neck stiffened, and I watched the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Miss Luck,” he said in a prying, careful tone, “Repeat what you just said.”

  I frowned. For some reason, I couldn’t remember what I’d said – I was too freaking thrown by the fact I’d sounded like I was in control.

  After a few seconds of gaping at him, Benson brought up a hand, tapped his chin once, and turned away.

  He walked purposefully over to his desk, plucked a plain legal pad from the top drawer, and proceeded to scribble something over the top with a look of concentration smoothed over his brow.

  “Ah, what are you doing?” I asked.

  He ignored me until he was finished, then he promptly hid the pad away in the top drawer of his desk again.

  He crossed his arms, leaned against his desk, and looked at me.

  My eyes were a little blurry from my ordeal, so I couldn’t pick up his expression. His stance, however, was about as readable as a neon sign flashing right in front of your face.

  He was suspicious. Of me.

  Thank god I wasn’t giggling anymore. The heady, crazy effects of the drink had waned.

  While I still felt a pleasant warm energy rushing through my body and soothing my injuries, I wasn’t ready to skip over to Benson, fall at his feet, and giggle at his perfect form.

  I sat wearily on the edge of the couch, my crooked fingers bent around the molded leather.

  We watched each other.

  Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore, and rose to my feet. “Ah… what happens next?”

  He took a few seconds to answer, clearly not done inspecting me with that godawful penetrating gaze. “Next, Miss Luck, I watch you. Like a hawk. Your exploits today have proved you can’t be left alone.”

  I became pink at the prospect William Benson, the most eligible bachelor in the country, had no intention of leaving me alone.

  Then what he was actually saying caught up with me like a sucker punch to the jaw. “Ah, what? What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I can no longer afford to take this situation lightly. Theodore Van Edgerton now has a vial of your blood. Worse, you killed a glass demon.” His voice shook.

  He was a vampire king, a consummate business man, and very much not the kind of guy whose voice shook.

  Though I could tell he was trying hard to keep his expression even, it wasn’t working.

  William Benson III looked impressed, shocked, and unsure.

  It was enough to wash away the last giddying effects of my medication.

  I took a very hesitant step toward him, clutching my sweaty hands around the torn hem of my sweatshirt. “I… I didn’t mean to kill it.”

  He smiled. It was impressed. “It was a demon, Lizzie, no one will miss it. Plus, you were within your rights. It was trying to kill you. I’m more interested in how you managed to dispatch it.” He watched me intently.

  Me, I just stood there and looked as lost as a puppy in the woods. I mutely shook my head, pressing a suddenly cold and sweaty hand to my lips.

  Benson sighed. “Don’t tell me – you have no idea. Well, I thought that might be the case. Oh well, I’ll just have to wait to see what will happen next.”

  I swallowed and stifled a groan.

  He smiled. Though if you looked carefully – and I’d done nothing but look at Benson carefully since he’d brought me here – you could see the stress.

  It marred his strong gaze, crawled up the side of his lips, and saw him stand a little stiffer as he leaned against his desk.

  Before too long, he sent me home with a small bottle of that amazing black liquid and strong instructions not to drink it all at once.

  I was too nervous, sick, and ashamed to try. Instead, I moped back home in a chauffeured car Benson prepared
for me.

  He was certain Theodore wasn’t going to try his hand at any more kidnapping.

  Me, I wasn’t so sure.

  As I tugged my head up and stared at the sky, I was pretty damn sure it was going to fall down. And if not the sky, then the rest of my life.

  I’d already killed a demon and fallen giddily at the knees of William Benson. And it was only 11:00 in the morning.