Demon Hunting with a Sexy Ex Page 4

  “That’s real kind of you,” Joby Ray said, “but it’s time Verbena came home.”

  “And if she doesn’t want to?”

  “She’ll want to. Blood’s thicker ’n water. We’s kin.”

  “Some family,” Cassie said. “Verbena’s told me how you treated her.”

  “Don’t get your ass in a pucker. The gal’s a whiner, but we love her jes’ the same.” Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled, “Beenie, get your ass out here.”

  “No,” Verbena hollered back from inside the house. “Ain’t gonna.”

  “Make me come after you, girl, and I’ll beat you raw.”

  The door opened and Verbena stomped out of the house, her face pale and set. “Go ’way, Joby. I ain’t coming with you.”

  “Don’t be like ’at, gal,” Joby Ray wheedled. “I done brought your sweetheart.”

  Reaching behind him, Joby Ray jerked a young man forward. This specimen of Skinner pulchritude was clad in filthy jeans and a grimy T-shirt, and he had long, stringy blond hair and a wet mouth like a fish. Like the rest of the clan, he was emaciated and unhealthy looking.

  “Wha?” Fish Mouth’s lips worked and his pale eyes bulged. “I ain’t marrying Beenie. She’s a stick and ain’t got no tits. ’Sides, I done got a girl.”

  Joby Ray whacked Fish Mouth upside the head. “Shut up, peckerhead. You’ll marry who you’re told, and I say you’re gon’ marry your cousin.”

  “I ain’t marrying him,” Verbena shouted. “And we ain’t cousins. I ain’t no Skinner.”

  Joby Ray’s pointy face darkened. “We give you vittles and a place to stay. You owe us.”

  “You threw me to them demons like I was a chicken leg. I don’t owe you jack diddle.”

  Cassie gave the staff a threatening flourish. “You heard her. Now leave.”

  Joby Ray’s sallow complexion splotched with rage. “I don’t give a good goddamn what she says, she’s coming with us.”

  Grabbing the end of the staff, he shoved Cassie aside and barreled toward the porch with the rest of the Skinners at his heels.

  Cassie regained her balance and slammed the elder staff into the ground. “Stop.”

  To her shock, the earth billowed like a sheet, knocking the Skinners off their feet and sending them tumbling across the yard like chess pieces on an upended board. Cassie stared at the staff in her hand. A dislocation spell of that magnitude took an enormous amount of power, and she’d been off her game for months. What just happened?

  Behind her, the dogs in the stolen truck set up a howl. Bewildered, Cassie glanced around. The Skinners were groaning and getting to their feet, but the dogs weren’t looking at them. They were looking at her truck, parked by the garden at the side of the house.

  “Eek,” she yelped when she saw the cause of the disturbance.

  The slain werewolf had risen from the dead—or part of him had. Dripping blood and gore, the severed head drifted across the yard like a hideous paper lantern blown by the wind.

  “That there’s Mac Randall.” Joby Ray’s voice was a high-pitched squeak. “You done cut off his damn head. I thought you and Zeb was keeping company. The alpha ain’t gon’ like it when he finds out you done kilt his nephew.”

  “I did not—” Cassie protested, but she was drowned out by a roar from the dead werewolf.

  The fanged, hideous mouth parted. “Depart, miscreants, and return upon penalty of death.”

  Fish Mouth shrieked and bolted for the purloined truck. Flinging the driver’s door open, he threw himself inside. The remaining Skinners hotfooted it after him, knocking one another down in their haste to escape. Scrambling inside the Ram, they slammed the doors.

  “Come back here, you chickenshits,” Joby Ray shouted as the big vehicle rumbled to life. “We ain’t leaving. Not without Verbena.”

  If the Skinners heard, they gave no sign. They were staring at Cassie’s truck, their faces white behind the windshield. The decapitated corpse had risen to its feet. Turning blindly toward Joby Ray, the headless body swung its legs over the side of the Silverado and slid to the ground. The corpse lumbered across the yard, a disjointed Frankenstein with arms outstretched for Joby Ray.

  There was a chorus of muffled shrieks from the interior of the black truck.

  “Christ on a tricycle,” a Skinner yelled. “Whatchoo waiting for? Let’s get out of here.”

  Fish Mouth wheeled the truck around and spun off in a cloud of dust.

  “Shit,” Joby Ray said, backing away from the advancing ghoul. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  Grabbing his sagging jeans in both hands, he tore after the truck, cursing a blue streak as he went.

  “So much for chivalry,” Cassie said, watching Joby Ray rabbit it down the driveway. “Nice work, Duncan. You scared them off.”

  The bloody corpse wobbled and folded to the ground in a heap of limbs. A moment later, Duncan appeared, the severed werewolf head dangling from one hand.

  “What is Zeb Randall to you,” he asked in thunderous accents, “and what is the meaning of ‘keeping company’?”

  * * *

  Verbena rose, ghostlike, from behind one of the huge ferns Cassandra kept by the back door.

  “It means Miz Cassie and Zeb been having a thang,” she said. “That’s right, ain’t it, Miz Cassie? The Randall big dawg been sparkin’ you?”

  “Zeb and I have had dinner a few times,” Cassie said, avoiding Duncan’s gaze. “But that was a year ago.”

  Her words sent a shaft of pain through Duncan’s heart, and he let the werewolf head drop to the ground and roll away unheeded. The Provider, the translator that allowed the Dalvahni to travel from sphere to sphere, conversant with the language and customs of the various places they went in pursuit of the djegrali, had properly deciphered Joby Ray’s words.

  Cassandra had been with another.

  The world went red.

  “Did you lie with him?” Duncan demanded.

  “Don’t take that tone with me. I don’t answer to you.”

  He roared and brought his hands down in a slashing gesture. Clumps of dirt and rock spewed into the air, and deep trenches opened on either side of his feet. Verbena squeaked and ducked inside, slamming the door behind her.

  “Answer me.” Duncan drew in a ragged breath. “Did you lie with him?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  “I disagree. For years, I have searched for you, knowing that one day we would be reunited.”

  “Well, give you a big old prize.” Cassandra planted her feet and glared back at him, uncowed. “But here’s the disconnect. I didn’t know you were looking for me. You said a Dalvahni warrior couldn’t be with demon spawn, and you took off, and you made it clear you weren’t coming back.”

  “Yes, by the gods, I spurned you, and I was a fool.” Duncan was shouting, but he didn’t care. “I knew my mistake within the fortnight and returned to beg your pardon. To tell you that I love you. That I was wrong to leave. That I am nothing without you, but you were gone. I kept looking, and I never gave up.” His lips twisted. “Alas, I have been casting my net at the moon.”

  Cassandra’s lovely face was pale and set. “Don’t you dare make this about me.” Her knuckles were white around the staff. “I was broken when you left. Couldn’t eat or sleep. I wanted to die.”

  Duncan reached for her. “Cassandra, listen. I—”

  “No, you listen.” She jerked away from him, her violet eyes bright with unshed tears. “Then Baby Rose came down with a fever. Scarlet fever, probably, but there wasn’t a doctor around, so who knows.” Her mouth trembled and her gaze grew far off. “I shooed Jimbo and Maggie out of the house to keep them from catching it and then I did everything I could think of to save her, but the fever took her anyway. I wrapped her in a blanket and went to tell Jimbo and Maggie their baby sister was gone, but they’d slipped into the woods. I found them near the creek. The Hag had torn them to pieces. Part of me did die then. I buried what was left of them underneath t
he oak tree the next morning and left.”

  Sorrow washed over Duncan, and bitter regret. He should have been here. She should never have suffered such horror alone.

  Anger forgotten in the face of her grief, he closed the space between them.

  “Cassandra . . .” His throat tightened with remorse and longing. “If I could but go back . . . spare you this pain and anguish, I would, and gladly.”

  She gazed up at him, a storm of emotions flitting across her expressive face. She was so near, a heartbeat away. He inhaled, breathing in her light, crisp scent. A single crystal tear hung, suspended, on her lashes. He reached out and caught the droplet on his fingers. She held still, her eyes wide, like a startled doe’s. Unable to resist, he let his trembling fingers drift across her cheek.

  Her skin was soft and warm. The single, slight caress sent an electric shock of awareness through him that made his knees buckle. He gazed helplessly down at her, his foolish heart pounding at her nearness, at the sheer heart-stopping wonder of her.

  Gods, it had been too long. He wanted to taste her, to drink her in. The empty, meaningless years without her had been a desert, and he was dying of thirst.

  He bent closer. “Cassandra, my sweetest love . . .”

  She gasped and stepped back. “Don’t you ‘Cassandra’ me, Duncan Dalvahni. I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a grown woman with responsibilities and a life.”

  “A life that has included other men?” He did not conceal his bitterness.

  “Yes,” she said. “You rejected me, Duncan. Emphatically and completely, and more than a century and a half ago. I like men, and I like sex, and I’m not going to apologize for it, especially to you.”

  “But we—”

  “Were in love?” She looked him squarely in the eye. “Yes, and it was wonderful—while it lasted. Then you left, and it was terrible. No one—no one, especially you—will ever hurt me like that again. Whatever we had, Duncan, it’s over.”

  “Do not say that,” Duncan begged. “Cassandra, my love—”

  She clapped her hands over her ears with a shriek of rage. “Stop calling me that. I am not your love. You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t love me. So, for the last time, leave me alone.”

  She dropped the staff and walked into the house, closing the door behind her with the finality of a death knell.

  Chapter Five

  Cassie leaned against the door, her insides churning. Duncan had seemed so . . . shattered, and she’d done that to him. She straightened, shaking off her remorse. Duncan had no claim on her. There was nothing between them but memories.

  Then why did she feel like a jerk?

  A noise outside drew her to the window. With a negligent flick of one hand, Duncan erased the deep ruts he’d made in her driveway. He gestured again, and the dead werewolf floated over and settled into the back of the truck, head and all. Duncan’s movements were mechanical, his sculpted features frozen in a hard, unyielding mask. He motioned a third time, and Cassie’s truck cover soared out of the shed and across the yard. Before she had time to wonder how he knew where she stored it, the cover settled onto the bed of the truck and closed tight, protecting the carcass from scavengers.

  Task accomplished, Duncan turned toward the house. He stood there for a long moment, gazing at the cottage with a hard, empty expression, and then he was gone.

  Cassie stared at the spot where he’d been standing. He had that disappearing act down pat. He’d done the same thing, years ago—dissolved into the ether—leaving her to pick up the pieces of her broken heart.

  “Good riddance,” she muttered, but the words rang hollow.

  Her eyes burned. Enough, she thought. You don’t get any more of me, Duncan Dalvahni. Not another drop. Not another wasted thought or emotion.

  She spun away from the window and smacked into Verbena.

  “Umph,” Verbena grunted, stumbling slightly. “Sorry about that. Where’s Mr. Duncan?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone?” Verbena’s eyes widened in alarm. “Back across the river? I need to catch him.”

  She turned and darted away.

  Cassie caught her before she reached the door. “Wait, Verbena. I don’t think he’s across the river. He’s a demon hunter. There’s no telling where he’s gone or if he’ll be back. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay with me.”

  Good Lord, why was she offering this strange girl a place to stay? She didn’t know Verbena, and the girl wasn’t her problem.

  “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but I don’t know you,” Verbena said, echoing Cassie’s thoughts. “And I done caused you enough trouble fer one day. ’Sides, I—”

  She paused, her face reddening.

  “Feel safer with Duncan because he’s a demon hunter? You needn’t be afraid. I can protect you.”

  If her magic cooperated, Cassie silently amended. If she could get her shields up and running again.

  If she could figure out why her powers had fizzled in the first place.

  “Besides,” Cassie continued, squashing her reluctance and doubts, “Duncan doesn’t have a place to stay.”

  “Yes, he do. Got hisself a tent across the river, and he’s building himself a house.”

  “A tent?” Cassie gave a mock shudder. “That settles it. Why rough it when you can stay under a roof?”

  Verbena’s lip curled. “A tent ain’t roughin’ it. It’s a whole heap better ’n sleeping with the dawgs, I can tell you like a friend. ’Sides, Mr. Duncan needs me.”

  “Duncan is Dalvahni. Demon hunters don’t ‘need’ anybody.”

  “You wrong. He ain’t like that.” Verbena’s eyes sparkled with indignation. “I heard what you said to him. Heard it plum inside the house. Talking to him like . . . like I don’t know what. He loves you. Something terrible. And you throwed it in his face like yesterday’s scraps ’cause he done hurt your feelings when Jesus was in short pants. Something he’s begged your pardon for more ’n once. Heard that, too.”

  She turned away, shoulders heaving.

  Cassie stared at the girl’s rigid form in astonishment. This child, this backwoods ragamuffin, dared to reprimand her?

  “That’s between me and Duncan,” Cassie said, holding on to her temper by a thread. “You don’t know anything about it.”

  Verbena spun around. “I knowed I seen his face when you tole him to scat. He was broke up.”

  “He’ll live. The Dalvahni are indestructible.”

  “Not Mr. Duncan. He’s different.”

  “Different how?” Cassie heard herself ask.

  “W-e-l-l,” Verbena said, her face creased in thought. “He ain’t stony-faced, for one thing, like Mr. Conall.”

  Cassie remembered the ever-present laughter that lurked in Duncan’s warm eyes, and had to admit this was true.

  Verbena worried her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t ’uv said that. About Mr. Conall, I mean. He ain’t never been nothing but nice to me, but he . . .” She flushed. “He makes a body nervesome, if you knows what I mean.”

  Cassie had to admit that she did. The captain of the Dalvahni was intense and intimidating as hell. He gave everyone but his wife, Beck, the cold treatment.

  “Mr. Duncan ain’t like that,” Verbena said, rushing on. “He’s comfortable. Treats me like a person, and his eyes smile at you when he talks. He’s good with animals, too.” She stuck out her chin. “Animals can tell about a person. And he’s easy on the eyeballs, same as all them Dalvahni fellers.”

  “A regular paragon.” Despite her annoyance, Cassie was amused by the girl’s fierce defense of Duncan. Rather like a field mouse championing a lion. “I do believe you’re in love with him.”

  Verbena gave her a look of purest astonishment. “Me, in love with Mr. Duncan? Might as well fall in love with that river out there. It’s powerful and strong, and purty to look at, but it don’t stop fer no one. Roll right over you and keep on going.”

  Cassie laughed. “Verbena, I do believe you are a philosop
her.”

  Verbena turned red. “You funning me. I know I ain’t book smart.” She ducked her head. “Charlie wouldn’t let me go to school, but I can read. My mama learned me ’fore she died.”

  “I promise you, I’m not making fun of you. There are plenty of book-smart people in the world without walking-around sense.”

  “Charlie didn’t hold with books. Said they make folks uppity. Give ’em ideas.”

  “I have shelves of books, and you are welcome to read them all.” Cassie gave her a coaxing smile. “Don’t be angry with me. I think Duncan is very lucky to have a friend like you.”

  Verbena’s eyes widened. “Lord, miss. The likes of me can’t be friends with the likes of Mr. D. Demon hunters is outta my league. Couldn’t stand by and let you say them things about him when they ain’t true, that’s all.”

  “Stay with me,” Cassie coaxed. “I promise not to say anything rude about Duncan, if it kills me.”

  “W-e-l-l,” Verbena said again, wavering. “I reckon I could stay one night.”

  “Good. You shower while I scrape up something for us to eat. In the morning, we’ll put our heads together and decide what to do. Things always seem better in the daylight.”

  Verbena brushed at her grimy jeans. “I’d love a wash. Ain’t had a bath in days, but what am I gon’ wear? Left the restaurant in such a hurry I didn’t have time to git my duds.”

  “You can borrow something of mine to sleep in,” Cassie said. “I’ll throw your things in the washer, and they’ll be clean when you get up.”

  Verbena gave her a piercing look. “Why are you doing this? I ain’t nothing to you.”

  Excellent question, and one Cassie couldn’t answer herself.

  “Joby Ray,” Cassie confided. “I don’t like him worth a damn.”

  “Well, all righty then.” Verbena gave her a shy grin. “Reckon we got us something in common, ’cause I don’t like him worth a damn neither.”

  An hour later, they were seated in the kitchen at Cassie’s worn farmhouse table having supper. Verbena had bathed and donned one of Cassie’s old nightgowns. The sun had gone down and darkness pressed around the house like a woolen blanket. Outside, the bugs and the frogs were having a hoedown throw down, their buzzy noise-making audible through the closed windows. The temperature had dropped, but it was muggy and hot. Cassie had been the first in Behr County to install air-conditioning in her home, and that had been back in the 1940s. Lord, how people had talked, not that she’d given a fig. Air-conditioning was one of the marvels of the modern world and a flat-out necessity in Alabama, as far as she was concerned, unless you enjoyed waking up in a pool of your own sweat.