Lover Unveiled, page 44
Like a page had been chosen for her.
As her heart started to pound, she looked down. And prayed that whatever ingredients were required for the resuscitation, she had them in the house—
What the . . . hell?
“Oh, no . . . no, no, no.”
There was some title at the top of the page, and there were many, many lines of brown and black ink below it . . . there was even a drawing, archaic in nature—as if from the Middle Ages—illustrating a corpse rising from a grave.
So she had the right section.
But she couldn’t understand the language. Whatever the spell was written in . . . was nothing she had ever seen before.
“Shit!”
When she tried to see if there was a translation she could read somewhere farther along in the chapter, the pages refused to be turned, the Book becoming like a frozen block.
Mae started to breathe heavily. Then she fumbled with her phone. Her hands shook as she dialed.
“Hello?” came the elderly voice.
“Tallah, I have the Book. IhavetheBookbutIcantreadit—”
“Dearest, dearest—please.” The elderly female’s voice was worried. “I cannot understand you. You have to slow down.”
Mae was panting, but she forced herself to get control. “I have the Book. I’m here, with Rhoger, at my house. But I can’t read what it says. Can you come here and help me?”
“The summoning spell worked . . .” Tallah’s voice drifted off into wonder. “And of course. As you know, I was trained properly in the traditional fashion for females so I am fluent in many languages.”
“I have no car to come pick you up in.”
There was a pause. “Dearest, what happened to your—”
“It’s not important. Are you able to dematerialize to the house?”
“Yes, yes. Dearest, I shall be there right away.”
“Thank you. Just come through the garage, the door’s unlocked and one of the daytime shutters in the back has been cracked. There’s nothing where my car is supposed to be so it’s safe.”
“Worry not. We shall work this out together.”
As they ended the call, Mae sagged with relief. But she worried about whether Tallah was capable of—
Knock, knock, knock.
Her head whipped around. Getting to her feet, she stepped over the Book and got her gun out—not that she was confident about using the damn thing. She’d managed to nearly shoot herself in the heart back in that furnace room with Sahvage—
Okay, she was not thinking about that right now. Or ever again.
Dear God, what had her life become?
Knock, knock.
Who’s there, she thought as she leaned out of the hall and looked at the front door.
What if it was the Brotherhood? If they could trace the phone, then they no doubt knew where Sahvage had spent the day. What if they were coming for the—
“Mae?” Came a muffled voice through the door. “Mae, dearest, are you in there?”
“Oh, Jesus—Tallah.”
As she lunged through the living room, she thought it was so typical of the older female to be confused. Yanking the door open, she found the old female right on the stoop, dressed in one of her caftans, her gnarled hands gripping a small purse to her caved-in chest like she was a beggar.
“Come in, come in,” Mae said as she pulled the female inside. “So you’re safe.”
Tallah tripped on the door’s lip, and Mae had to catch her fragile body before she hit the floor. As soon as she was steady, Mae bolted back to the bathroom, talking the whole way.
“I’m praying that you can read this,” she said over her shoulder.
Rounding the corner into the loo, she frowned. Over on the bath mat, the Book had closed itself up again.
“Oh, come on,” she muttered as she went to pick the thing up—
“You’re so fucking stupid.”
Mae froze. Then slowly straightened and turned around.
The brunette was standing in the open doorway, Tallah’s caftan too short in the sleeves and on the bottom as it covered her spectacular body.
“And can I just tell you”—the demon looked down at herself—“I am so happy to get this shit off of me.”
With the wave of an elegant hand, the loose folds disappeared and were replaced by a black catsuit. Tossing her gorgeous, shiny hair over her shoulder, she smiled with those blood red lips.
“So, I think you and I are back where we started last night.” One blood red finger lifted. “Well, except you owe me four hundred thousand dollars. Why—why—did you have to go for my Himalayan crocodile? And I’ll bet it wasn’t even calculated. You probably didn’t even know what you were burning, did you. You are such a stupid, fucking cunt.”
“I don’t . . . understand.”
“Of course you don’t. I swear, you’re that line out of ‘Thirty Something.’” As Mae blinked in confusion, the brunette well-duh’d her. “Jay-Z? Jesus Christ, you probably listen to folk music, and you definitely don’t shop at Bergdorf ’s. Fine, you want to know what purse is that? Birkins are a handbag made by the Hermès company. They are the most coveted bags on the market, and each one is made by a single craftsman who takes—”
Mae shook her head. “Not about the purse.”
The demon seemed surprised her lecture was being interrupted. “You know, this could be a real learning opportunity for you. Then again, you’re not going to be alive for much longer soooooooooooooooooooooo . . . yeah.”
“How are you in this house?”
“You invited me in, dummy.” She smiled some more. “And no, the fact that you didn’t know it wasn’t Tallah doesn’t count. An invitation is an invitation. You should have been more careful—oh, and I was in the cottage before your boyfriend with the salt went to town. All he did was close the door with the wolf already in the hen house. Or something. I’ve never been very good at animal metaphors. Sorry.”
“But . . .”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Do I have to draw a diagram? You summoned the Book, and as soon as you did, I felt the spell. The goddamn thing is mine—and some asshole stole it from me, but that’s another story. That shithole cottage was not protected, so I just waltzed right in—and Tallah—”
“Where is she,” Mae demanded. “What did you do with her—”
“Sweetie, she’s long gone. She had nothing left to fight me with. It was like pulling off a wet Band-Aid. Work of a second.”
Mae moaned and weaved on her feet.
“Puh-lease.” The demon rolled her eyes and stomped her stiletto. “I wasn’t that bad as a roommate. I even cooked for you and your BF—and you liked that stew. Then again, it was really good. I put a lot of heart into it, I really did.”
As Mae’s mind struggled to catch up, she wanted to fall into her emotions, but knew that that was a death sentence. She had to think. Think. Think—
In the silence, the demon’s eyes shifted to the tub. And then she did a double take.
“Oh, my God.” She glanced at Mae and laughed. “Of course. I was wondering why someone as straitlaced as you wanted my Book, but I should have known it was for a sappy reason. Who is he—”
As the demon stepped toward the tub, Mae threw her arm out. “Don’t you hurt him!”
The demon froze. Looked at Mae. Looked back at the tub. “Holy fuck . . .” Then, “He’s your brother? That . . . that virgin, my virgin, the one who got away, is your brother?”
Mae felt dizzy as she remembered Rhoger coming through the door and collapsing into her arms. Dying . . . from his wounds.
“You killed him,” she breathed. “You are his murderer.”
The demon whispered a couple of curses. “Man, fate is so fucked up sometimes, it really is—and that explains why I recognized you back in the cage he’d been in.” She drew a hand through her hair, as if in frustration. “And yeah . . . even though I mighta let you use my Book, you know, ’cuz I’m such a nice girl, now it’s a case of over my dead body you’re bringing that thief back. And considering I’m immortal? You’re going to have to wait forever before I keel over.”
Instantly, the demon’s affect changed.
Gone was the breezy conversation bullshit.
“Now give me my fucking Book,” she gritted out.
Mae grabbed the tome and held on to it with both arms crossed over her chest. “No. You’re not taking this from me.”
Black eyes glittered. “Give. Me. My Book.”
Mae shook her head slowly even as she started to shake. “You’re going to have to take it from me. Go ahead. You’re so much stronger than I am. You’re so fucking powerful. Come and take it.”
The demon’s beautiful face grew ugly with fury, and the air around her warped. “You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”
“Yes . . . I do.”
Even as she wondered what the hell she was doing, Mae unfurled her lower arms and laid the Book out to the demon.
“Take it.”
The snarl that vibrated into the tension between them was that of a predator, low and deadly. “You fucking—”
“Mae,” came a deep voice.
The door into the garage closed with a bump at the other end of the house.
“I’m just here to get my guns,” Sahvage called out. “And then I’m gone. Don’t frickin’ worry.”
The demon straightened. And cocked a delighted smile.
Then she whispered, “Looks like I’ve got a little leverage all of the sudden, don’t I.”
In a louder voice that sounded exactly like Mae’s own, the demon said, “I’m down here. And I need you.”
As the demon winked, Mae tried to call out. Tried to warn him. Screamed as loud as she could. But she couldn’t seem to make a sound.
It was as if her voice had been stolen.
Natch.
It was like a nightmare.
As Mae heard Sahvage’s heavy boots come down to the bathroom, closer and closer, she desperately tried to warn him. But then he stepped into the open doorway.
As he stopped short, tears fell from Mae’s eyes. I’m so sorry, she mouthed.
“Hi, honey,” the demon pronounced to him. “Evidently you’re home.”
Before Sahvage could respond, his body was slammed back against the hallway wall, the same kind of invisible-hand pressure that had hit Mae back in that underground lair making him strain and fight to breathe.
“So,” the demon said to Mae in a reasonable tone. “Here’s how this is going to go. You give me the Book, and I give you him. And before you go-off-sis with a bunch of exit demands, yes, I’ll leave. No offense, but this house, just like you, isn’t my style at all. Frankly, it needs a good goddamn fire. Do we have a deal? You give me what’s mine, I give you what’s yours. Even, Steven.”
Over on the wall, a good foot off the floor, Sahvage’s lips peeled back off his fangs from the agony, and the veins in his neck stood out in sharp relief.
“Oh, and P.S.,” the demon pointed out, “his life is your Jeopardy! theme. So when it runs out, you run out of time, and though I have other options to work with, he’ll be dead as a door handle. Or is it knob? I think it’s knob.”
Mae looked to the tub. Looked back to Sahvage.
As she met his eyes, she knew what she was going to decide before she was even aware of making a choice.
Standing in the face of such a source of great destruction, Mae recognized how destructive she herself had been. In her desperation, she had sacrificed too much; in her grief, she had taken herself over the edge . . . in her refusal to accept tragedy, she had brought so much of it to herself. To others.
Sahvage wasn’t the coward. She was.
“Have the Book,” she said loud and clearly. “Just have it. I never should have gone down this road to begin with.”
As she tossed the heavy weight over, the demon had a Christmas-morning expression on her face, all fury gone, nothing but delight. And then she was the one clasping the old, ugly thing to her perfect breasts.
There was a moment where her black eyes closed, as if in relief.
And then her lids popped open.
“Thank you,” she said with a strange sincerity. “You did the right thing. And I’m sorry about your brother. But honestly, you’re better off not fucking with death. It’s the one thing even I am careful about.”
Out in the hall, Sahvage’s straining body was slowly lowered back to the floor. And then he shook himself, as if he were casting off shackles.
“Mae,” he said as he reached out his arms—
Without warning, his head spun on the top of his spine with a sickening crack! and his body dropped to the floor in a heap.
The brunette went saucy-hip and forefingered the air. “Psych.”
“Sahvage!” Mae screamed at the top of her lungs.
OMG, the night was so picking up, Devina thought as she delicately sidestepped out of the female vampire’s way. She’d been in a really bad mood to begin with, but this display of tragic emotion? Come on.
It was better than sex.
Well, the meh sex she’d been having lately, at any rate. And she had the Book.
“Although you and I are going to have words,” she muttered at the thing. “Bad Book. You are a very, very bad Book.”
Out in the cramped hallway, the female vampire was gently rolling her stud over, the male’s loosey-goosey head flopping around, his sightless eyes staring at the floor, the wall—oh, and now the ceiling.
“You could try mouth-to-mouth,” Devina suggested, “but I don’t think it’s going to help.”
The female collapsed on that big, immobile chest, and positively wailed. And for a moment, Devina thought about making some wisecracks, just to cut the tension. ’Cuz this was getting a little intense.
And then it dawned on her.
No one was ever going to mourn her like this. No one was ever going to care whether she lived or died. Nobody was ever going to . . . love her like this.
Just as the pain shot through her chest, the female wrenched around.
With a gun in her hand.
As a wobbly red dot skated into her eyes, Devina recoiled—
The female screamed in fury as she pulled the trigger over and over again, the sound of the gun going off competing for airtime over the roaring grief.
And Devina had to give the bitch credit. She was a helluva shot.
The bullets ripped through flesh and bone, blowing chunks out on the tile, the floor, even into the tub with the female’s dead brother, all kinds of perfect features getting ruined as Devina was thrown back—
Click. Click. Click.
Devina opened the one eye that was still working. The female still had the gun straight out in front of her, and she was compulsively squeezing the trigger, even though nothing was coming out.
Lunging forward, she grabbed the female by the throat with one hand and took her careening down the hall into a pathetic little kitchen. As the vampire tripped and started falling, Devina gave her a shove—and a table with a cereal box and a bowl full of milk caught the scramble, everything splintering, chairs knocking over.
Devina kept the Book in her other hand as she went over and dragged the female up again and then pitched her against the counter. Against the cupboards. Against the stove.
And in proof that she was the superior entity, she managed to do all of that ping-pong’ing while she reknitted the gunshot injuries.
By the time the female slumped to the floor, things were back to rights.
Devina took the front of that throat one last time and tossed the piece of unresisting meat back against the empty wall by the door into what had to be the garage.
Holding the female in place with a spell, Devina fluffed her hair. “Well. That happened. And I’m going to settle a score now. You ruined my bag by fire. So I’m going to burn this piece-of-shit house down with you and your corpse boyfriend and your soggy, dead-ass, motherfucking thief of a brother in it.” She glanced around. And then stamped a heel with frustration. “Damn it, I don’t have marshmallows. Do you have—oh, never mind.”
She walked in a little circle and wondered where to start. “You know, I’ve always wanted to have my Oprah moment. Here it is! You have a flame . . . and you have a flame . . . and you have a flame.”
All around, little bursts of yellow and orange appeared on things: The back of the sofa and the corner of the carpet in the living room. The cupboard over the refrigerator. The archway into the hall. And there were more in the back bedrooms, too. Down in the basement as well.
“Phew.” She took a break and fanned herself. “Is it me or am I hot in here. And by the way, you still owe me at least two hundred grand. There’s no way this hovel is anywhere close to the cost of my bag.”
• • •
Up against the wall, Mae was losing consciousness—at least until the house burst into flames around her. As smoke and heat began to thicken the air, and her skin prickled in warning at the flames, a wave of adrenaline whipped her brain back in order.
But there was nothing to be done. Just as Sahvage had been held in place before—
Moaning in her throat, Mae squeezed her eyes closed. She had killed him. Not intentionally, but her actions had created the situation that had led to his demise.
This was all her fault. And she’d never had a chance to apologize . . . or tell him that she loved him. She had ruined his life all because of her selfish quest for power over death.
Lifting her lids, she focused on the demon. The brunette was smiling as the smoke swirled around her, the Book that had started it all clasped against her—
From out of the billowing gray swirls, a figure emerged.
A figure that made no sense.
Sahvage? Mae thought. How was this possible?
But it was him—although maybe he wasn’t real. Maybe he was just a figment of her desperate, dying brain.
“Well, my job is done here,” the demon said. “And as much as I’d like to hang around and watch the barbeque, I’ve got spells of my own to—”
With a battle cry that shook the house, Sahvage—or the mirage of him—threw his arms around the demon. Before the brunette could react, he bared his fangs and sank them into the side of her throat.
