Demon Song

“Jeez, Ron! Don’t break the thing.” I sprinted down the stairs and slid in front of him while holstering my gun. I entered the new code and the alarm shut off.



While Dawna shook her head back and forth to get the ringing to stop, I explained: “I got attacked by some vampires last night. Two of them got away and one knows where this building is. I wanted to make sure he couldn’t get in without my knowing. Sorry about that. I’d expected to wake up before you got here.”



Dawna let out a heaving sigh. “I’ll call the police and the alarm company. Shit, Celia. You could have left me a voice mail or something. I’m not in a mood to deal with filling out reports and now I’ve got a headache.”



She looked like she hadn’t slept any longer than I had. “Sorry,” I repeated. Ron left in a snit, muttering something about bringing up changing codes at the next tenant meeting.



“You okay?” I asked, noticing the dark shadows under her eyes that even the most skillful makeup couldn’t hide anymore. “Really. Be honest.”



She stared at the phone, receiver in hand. Her eyes closed and her lip trembled. “I just need a vacation. Life is just too … well, too right now.”



Now I felt like a heel. She was right. I could have left her a voice mail. Vampires or not, demons or not, Dawna was my best friend. I should have been more considerate. So screw Edgar and Marco. Gwen was right. Dawna needed to get away and so did I.



But first things first. “Did Justin come by yesterday?”



She nodded. “You were right … as usual. He found two upstairs. One in the hallway right outside your office and one in the light fixture next to your desk. Oh, and he said he has an idea about what to do with your safe when the baby’s born.” At least that made her smile.



“Well, just in case he missed any, let’s go out for a quick bagel. I have news that I think you’ll want to hear. Give me ten minutes to run a comb through my hair. I literally just woke up.”



She grimaced. “Ron will be pissed. He has clients coming in, and you have a meeting in thirty.”



I reached across the half wall and put my hand over hers. Then I looked firmly at her and squeezed her hand. “Screw Ron; screw his clients and mine, too. We need ten minutes out of here. It’s important.”



She’d just opened her mouth to respond when the first clients came in. She held up her hands helplessly and there was nothing I could do. I’d wanted to tell her about the spa thing early so she could plan to have the weekend off, but it’d have to wait.



On the plus side, I could get cleaned up for the day and maybe have time to go online before my first appointment arrived and find just the right spa. I decided to make three reservations. After the stress of Kevin being captured, I had no doubt Emma could use a break, too. I hoped I could convince Gwen of that. Emma was still in her first thirty days at Birchwoods. There weren’t supposed to be any day passes and she’d already had one, for our shopping trip.



It took twenty minutes and many mouse clicks before I found just the right place. There would be facials, massages, and even a seaweed wrap. I’d never had one of those before, but for some reason it appealed to me.



“Celia,” came Dawna’s voice from the speakerphone. “Your … client is here. I think.”



Well, that was an interesting way to phrase it. “Okay. Send them up.” I took the final sip of my vanilla shake and dropped the can in the trash as I glanced at my calendar. Maria Bustamante was the client, but the handwriting wasn’t mine or Dawna’s. It looked like … Ron’s.



Huh?



One nice thing about our group is we freely send clients back and forth. But while I’ve had several referrals from Bubba pop up on my calendar, not one had ever come from Ron.



A tentative knock sounded, just a light tapping that I might not have noticed if I hadn’t been expecting it. “Come in.”



I checked my outfit as I stood. Royal blue slacks, patterned sky blue top, careful makeup, and just a little curl in my hair. Putting on the blazer was hard after having my arms nearly ripped out, but at least my teeth didn’t hurt anymore. Still, every time I looked in the mirror lately I saw chalk white skin and dark, bruised-looking circles under my eyes. Add in the fangs and if I didn’t start to get some more sleep, even more people were going to think I was trying out for a horror movie.



The door opened and the woman … actually, the child who walked in had the gun-shy look of someone who was being threatened. She watched every corner, every shadow, in the room. Her wide brown eyes moved constantly as she walked forward. She didn’t acknowledge the hand I held out but instead sat quickly in one of the big chairs and immediately curled her legs up under her thighs.



Oookay.



“So. Maria?”



She nodded and finally focused on my face. Her eyes were showing too much white and her breathing was fast and shallow. “Yes.” The movement was tiny and frail, a baby bird who knew the hawk was watching … waiting until she was in the open.



“Are you even fifteen yet?” I’d never been hired by someone younger than that. Most of my child clients were actors or singers who were being stalked by fans or needed guarding from their own family. But usually I was hired by a publicist, agent, or parent—someone who could legally sign the agreement.



Another movement, this time a shake. My firm voice startled her and actually calmed her down. “I’ll be thirteen in March.”



Twelve. Dear God. I’d been right when I thought child. I started envisioning an abusive parent or a sexual predator. Those weren’t the sort of things a bodyguard could fix. But I was at least willing to listen. “Okay. So tell me what the problem is.”



Somehow her eyes got even wider. “I need a bodyguard.”



No, duh. “I presumed that. Why did you go to an attorney first and why did he refer you to me?” Ultimately, my mind kept going back there. What had she told Ron that he felt he couldn’t help her with? Because as much of an ass as I thought he was, he was a hell of an attorney. Even if he couldn’t have helped her, he would have referred her to one of his own. Why a bodyguard?



“He said you could keep me safe. I just want to be safe.” Really? Ron said that? Wow. I hoped my dropped jaw wasn’t too obvious.



“Who’s trying to hurt you?”



Now the eyes went to the floor. Uh-oh. Trouble. “No one in particular.”



That was such bullshit. No way would someone with that much fear in her face and body not know who was trying to hurt her. “Bullshit. Try again.” My voice came out a little harsher than I’d planned. After all, she was just a kid.



But it snapped her out of it. The eyes went from frightened to angry. “Excuse me? You don’t get to talk to me that way. I’m the one hiring you.”



Reality check for the young miss. I held up one finger to stop the flashing eyes. She dropped her feet to the floor and held her body straight for the first time since she’d walked into the room. I could finally get a good look at her. She had long dark, shining hair and a little baby fat around her waist. But she was healthy and had good muscle tone, so she probably wasn’t a runaway. “Let’s make one thing perfectly clear, Ms. Bustamante. I put my life on the line for complete strangers. I walk into unknown dangers.” I raised up my upper lip to reveal the fangs and watched her eyes go wide again, for a different reason. “I got these on a job. I plan for as much as I can, but I rely on my clients to be absolutely honest with me. If there are known dangers I need to prepare for, I need that knowledge.”



“You’re obviously in trouble. I can see it in your face. You’re twelve and you need a professional bodyguard? What the hell did you do to someone or what did they do to you to require that?” Her fingers started moving in her lap, twining over each other. I caught a glimpse of pale pink polish on nails bitten nearly to the quick. Then one hand moved up to twist a lock of hair. She was holding my gaze but just barely. The tension in that small body … it was ready to explode and I didn’t know which way the blast was going to go. I finally took pity and softened my voice. “Maria … one of the reasons people hire a bodyguard is to finally … finally be able to tell someone the truth. Someone who’ll understand, will take it seriously, and will never, in a million years, tell a soul.” I finished in a whisper that seemed loud in the silent room.



That was the straw. The coil unwound and she fell backward into the chair. The tough shell shattered into a million pieces and tears came to her eyes. “He’s going to kill me, Miss Graves. He already killed my brother, Manuel, and then he’ll kill me and there will be nobody to help Mama or Papa. Oh, God, please. I don’t wanna die.” The collapse was complete and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.



“Who?”



“Jorge Encarcion.”



Oh, dear God. Fuck a duck. Jorge “the Viper” Encarcion was the baddest of the bad drug dealers in this part of the state. He dealt mostly in flame and tame: magical drugs—enhanced versions of the typical coke or ecstasy that gave the user both a mental and physical high. With the temporary illusion charm, a user could do anything … be anything on flame. A model for a day? No problem. An actor at the top of his career was just a quick pop away. But the effects were devastating for people born without magic to draw on. The drug fed on the body itself, causing scars, muscle twitches, and paralysis. Tame was just the opposite. It was the Valium of the new millennium. A bad day at the office or major life tragedy was all better after a quick needle to the veins. But it was horribly addictive and could even make your heart or lungs stop cold.



Still, it wasn’t the drugs that made the Viper a man to be feared. It was his utter ruthlessness. It was one thing to be amoral or even immoral. Both were common in drug dealers. To rule that world required an ability to destroy anything and anyone who showed the least bit of weakness.



Including a twelve-year-old girl. “What did you do to him?”



She sniffed and reached for a tissue. I keep them on the client’s side of the desk. I had to stretch if I needed one. “I was supposed to carry some product for him—take it to the mall and give it to the client. It was simple. Everyone said it was so simple, and the pay was good.”