Sighing in relief, I pulled out a twenty and handed it to the cashier. He opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head and took the money. He shorted me on the change, but I figured I owed him the extra buck for rent.
I tried not to look furtive and sneaky as I climbed the three steps up to the door and slipped Andy’s key into the lock. I’d been half-afraid the key wouldn’t work, but the door opened easily, and soon I was inside.
The first thing I noticed was the way-too-strong floral air freshener. I sneezed three times in rapid succession.
What was that all about? My mom usually kept small bowls of potpourri sitting around, but they wouldn’t have this strong a scent. Then I ventured another sniff, stifling my need to sneeze again.
Under that cloying fragrance of pasteurized, processed flower product, there was something else. Smoke.
I had a bad feeling about this.
Ignoring Dad’s study for the moment, I made my way to the den at the back of the house. The focal point of the den was an oversized fireplace. Sure enough, there was an impressive pile of ashes in there. When I got close enough, I noticed the air around the fireplace was still warm, and when I pulled aside the curtain, I saw a glowing ember or two.
Having a sneaking suspicion what I would find, I went to Dad’s study.
Outwardly, it looked exactly as it had yesterday. But I wasn’t a bit surprised when I pulled open my drawer and saw that it was empty. I slammed it closed and recited as many curses as I could think of. Then I gave the drawer a swift kick for good measure.
I supposed the only reasonable thing to do was to search through the rest of the files, hoping to find something Dad missed. However, I wasn’t optimistic about my chances of success.
I was just bending to open Andy’s file when I heard the front door open and close. I froze. Now what?
Footsteps moved down the hall, and I realized at once that whoever this was, it wasn’t my mom or my dad. When they went to Spirit Society meetings, they went dressed in their Sunday best, which meant high-heeled pumps for my mom and leather-soled dress shoes for my dad. Whoever was in the house was wearing squeaky rubber soles.
Now I wished I’d brought the Taser with me, even if that would have meant leaving Andy vulnerable. My instincts insisted the intruder was one of the bad guys. I tried to convince myself I was just being paranoid because I was trespassing myself, but I didn’t believe it.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up when I heard those footsteps coming closer.
There was no exit from this room save the door, which would lead me straight into the intruder’s arms. And there were no closets or other convenient hiding places.
I backed to the far side of the room, searching frantically for anything I could use as a weapon. I almost laughed as I picked up the only thing I could find that was even remotely weapon-like—a letter opener. If I got attacked by a giant, rabid envelope, I was prepared.
The study door swung open, and an unfamiliar man stepped in. Dressed in faded, tattered jeans and a wife-beater that showed off about a zillion tattoos on each arm, he looked very much like your stereotypical city-dwelling predator. If this were someone else’s house—and someone else’s life—I might suspect he was a burglar, hoping to clear the place out while my parents were gone. But I knew that wasn’t the case even before he smiled at me.
“Ms. Kingsley, I presume?” he asked, and the voice sounded strangely cultured in that decidedly déclassé body.
I blinked and brandished the letter opener, feeling vaguely ridiculous. “Who the fuck are you?”
His smile stayed in place. “I’ll take that as a yes. And you might as well put your, er, weapon down. You won’t find it terribly useful against me.”
On the one hand, I couldn’t expect him to be intimidated by a letter opener. On the other hand, something about the way he said that made me think he wouldn’t be much more intimidated by a big-ass hunting knife. Which meant he was probably a demon. And considering what I’d learned from Raphael, I had a pretty good guess just which demon this was.
Of course, I wasn’t supposed to know anything about Der Jäger, so I didn’t let on that I had any idea who I was facing.
“I think I’ll keep it, thanks.” With my left hand, I rummaged in my purse, hoping to find my phone. I didn’t think I’d have an opportunity to call in the cavalry, but I figured there was no harm in trying.
Der Jäger kept smiling at me, but it was an eerie, cold smile. “Put it down, or I’ll be forced to take it from you. Trust me, you would not enjoy the experience.”
“You seem to know who I am,” I said as my questing fingers finally found the phone. I could hardly hear my own voice over the pounding of my heart, but bravado was so natural to me I was pretty sure I sounded less scared than I was. “If you know that, then you know I’m not just going to roll over for you.”
His smile broadened. “Yes. I was counting on that.”
I had just flipped open my phone when he flung himself at me. I was ready for him, so I made sure my makeshift knife was between us. He ignored it, slamming into me and knocking me to the floor, his own momentum forcing the letter opener in to the hilt.
My head slammed against the floor, and I wished my parents had opted for more padding under the carpet. Both my hands opened against my will. As I struggled for breath, Der Jäger grabbed my purse, flinging it across the room. The hilt of the letter opener protruded from his chest, just below his sternum, but though blood flowed from the wound, he didn’t seem to mind.
When I had enough wind to manage it, I struggled weakly. Pain stabbed through my eyeball. Don’t you dare, I mentally told Lugh. He can’t possibly know you’re here, so don’t give yourself away.
It was quite a predicament. I was no use against a demon in hand-to-hand combat, but if I let Lugh take over—even presuming I was able to let him take over—we’d completely blow his cover. Unfortunately, if Der Jäger managed to kill me, not only would I be dead, but Lugh would be forced to abandon my body and return to the Demon Realm. Which would be all well and good if Dougal didn’t know Lugh’s True Name. But he did, so until we’d taken out Dougal, he could have his followers summon Lugh to the Mortal Plain at will—into a sacrificial lamb of a host who would be immediately burned at the stake, thus killing Lugh and letting Dougal claim the throne he coveted.
I kept struggling, but though I was strong and a passably good fighter, Der Jäger was unimpressed. He flipped me over onto my stomach, pinning my hands behind my back and sitting on me. His grip on my wrists was crushing, and I knew he could break the bones easily if he wanted to.
“Now that we’ve established that fighting me is not worth your while,” he said, “let’s have a nice chat.” Holding my wrists easily with one hand, he plucked the letter opener from his chest and dropped it to the floor by my face. Blood dripped from the blade, soaking into the beige carpet.
“Who are you?” I asked, though it was hard to talk with his weight on my back and my face pressed against the floor.
“That is irrelevant. Suffice it to say I am aware that you were once the host of a demon known as Lugh. I would like you to describe for me the host you transferred him to. And, of course, tell me his or her name.”
I could easily make up some bullshit description and name, but I had a feeling he would know it was bullshit if I gave in too easily. My stomach lurched as I wondered just how much abuse I would have to withstand before I could pretend to give him what he wanted. I certainly wasn’t under the impression that he was just going to ask nicely and then go away.
“You aren’t exactly endearing yourself to me. Why should I want to help you?”