It was, damn it. As soon as I let myself ask the question, I knew the answer. I could hold back—barely—if the mark flared up when I was just me. When I’d shifted, though, there’d been no such restraint. None at all. Maybe keeping a shift in reserve for when I fought Difethwr wasn’t such a great idea after all. I could no longer trust myself in a different form.
What the hell was I doing reading the lost and found ads? I folded the newspaper and tossed it to one side. I had to practice. Now. I had to be so ready to fight that Hellion that its mark on me wouldn’t matter. And I had to be ready to fight the thing as me, as Victory Vaughn, Cerddorion demon slayer and avenger of my father.
Hefting my broadsword in my left hand, I went through the first routine Aunt Mab had taught me. Cut, parry, thrust; cut, parry, thrust. The sword felt heavy, and my movements were awkward. I let my right arm dangle by my side; I couldn’t even trust it to help me with balance. The thick carpet absorbed any noise I made as I danced up and down the hallway. Within twenty minutes, my arm ached. Within half an hour, my muscles trembled uncontrollably. But I kept going. When I felt I’d made progress with the first routine, I moved on to the second, then the third. I didn’t quit until the window at the end of the hall lightened enough to chase all the demons back into the shadows.
I put my sword away and sat on the floor again, leaning back against Lucado’s door to wait. Frank and I still had a thing or two to discuss.
ABOUT TEN MINUTES LATER, I HEARD THE LOCK CLICK BEHIND me. I sat where I was, lifting Frank’s paper above my head like the Statue of Liberty raising her torch.
The door opened. I heard a stifled curse. Then the paper disappeared from my hand.
“You’re still fired.” He shut the door.
I got up and rang the bell. No response. I rang it again. And again. And again. And—
The door flew open. Lucado stood there in a blue and burgundy silk bathrobe, looking like he hadn’t had his coffee yet. “What?!”
“You can’t fire me, Frank. I’m not your employee. I work for myself, remember?”
He snorted. “Whatever. The bottom line is you’re gone. And I ain’t paying you for last night, neither.”
He started to close the door again, but this time I pushed back. After a second of tension, he gave way. The door opened wide.
“Hell,” he said. He turned and went into the kitchen. Smelling coffee, I followed him. Lucado stood with his back to me, pouring the steaming brew into a mug.
“So, Frank,” I said, leaning against the granite counter, “anything nasty show up last night?”
He turned, glared at me, and sat down at the kitchen table. “Just you. How’d you get in, anyway?”
I shrugged.
He stared at me, running his finger along his scar. Then he jumped up and ran over to a phone on the wall. He punched in a few numbers, listened for a second, then hung up without speaking.
“Rosie’s still at the desk. Jesus, for a minute I thought you’d scared him off, too.”
“Rosie? Do all your bodyguards have girls’ names?”
“Yeah. All of ’em except you. And, as we both already agreed, you don’t work for me. So why the hell are you in my kitchen?”
I strolled over to the coffeemaker and opened cupboards until I found a mug. I filled the mug with coffee, inhaling deeply. Took a sip. Mmm. Frank bought the good stuff.
I turned to him. “I’m trying to track down the demon that was here the other night. Not the Harpies I killed; the big one. The Hellion. I think it’ll be back.”
Lucado swigged his coffee and waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. The big bad demon. The one I ain’t never seen. You know what I figure? I figure you and Wendy cooked up that story between the two of you to extort money out of me. After I’ve paid you a bundle, you’ll give me another damn sleeping pill. Next morning, you’ll say, ‘Good for me, Frankie. I killed the demon. Thanks for the dough.’ Only you won’t have killed anything, ’cause there wasn’t no Hellcat in the first place.”
“Hellion.”
“Huh?”
“The demon is a Hellion, not a Hellcat.”
“What’s it matter what I call it? It doesn’t exist.”
“Interesting theory.” I sipped at my coffee. Lucado looked gratified, like I’d admitted he was right. “Only one problem with it.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“You’re paying me by the day. If I was going to rip you off by protecting you from an imaginary demon, I’d show up the first night, wouldn’t I? And a whole lot more nights after that.” I slammed the mug down on the counter. Lucado jumped. Coffee splashed on my hand. “Did it ever occur to you that it’s costing me money to protect you? You know how much I get for a Harpy extermination—you paid me for one.” I’d overcharged him, but he didn’t know that. “While I’m working for you, I’m losing clients.”
Lucado didn’t answer. I could see him thinking it over. Money was something he understood.
I decided to take advantage of his silence. “Besides, you never asked why I was late last night. Maybe I had a good excuse.”
He lifted his chin, and his thoughtful expression switched to skepticism. “Yeah? Like what?”
I told him all about yesterday’s kidnapping attempt. Well, okay, not allabout it—I skipped the parts where I almost ate a guy and slunk home in a garbage bag. Lucado listened, stone-faced. When I’d finished, he shook his head.
“You expect me to believe a word of that crap?” He checked his watch. “I gotta get dressed. I want you out of here before I leave for work.”
“I know it sounds far-fetched—”
“Far-fetched? Honey, you must’ve gone to Jupiter and back to fetch that story.” He stood. “Out. Now.”
Shit. Difethwr hadn’t attacked last night, but I knew it would return soon. It was locked on to Lucado; I could feel it. Lucado would be dead, and I’d be responsible for another Hellion victim. I couldn’t let that happen.
“You deaf or something? I said get out.” He pointed. “Door’s that way.”
“Wait—don’t you see? Somebody wants me out of the way so he can kill you.” It wasn’t exactly Kane’s plan—Kane only wanted to keep me out of the way until someone else knocked Lucado off—but it was close enough. And it got Lucado’s attention.
“You’ve got enemies, right?” He didn’t answer, but at least he didn’t argue. “I mean, it’s obvious. Someone conjured those Harpies to attack you.” He was listening now, stroking his scar.
“I killed the Harpies, and I chased the Hellion away.” Okay, so that part wasn’t strictly true, either. But I needed Lucado to believe I could protect him. “I’m the only one who can look out for you, Frank, and that Hellion knows it. If you want to be free of demons, really free, I’m your only chance.”
“So you’re saying this Hellcat—Hellion, whatever—didn’t show up last night because the grab went south. With you still running around, they didn’t want to take a chance on sending the demon.” He paused, thinking. I could practically see those wheels turning behind his eyes. His good eye, anyway. “Okay, Vaughn. I’ll give you another try. You don’t show up, though, don’t bother pushing your way into my kitchen tomorrow morning.”
He put his coffee mug in the sink, then turned to me, puzzled. “How did you get in?”
“I, um, might have broken that glass door to the garage. A little bit.”