9
Head thrown back, silky hair flowing in streamers behind him, the daemon charged the shooter.
“This is going to suck,” Clay grumbled, then sprinted after him, leaving me alone with grass in my teeth.
The black witch opened fire again, but she only had so many bullets, and the daemon was fast.
As soon as the gunfire fell silent, I popped up to help them, wand at the ready.
Right in time to watch as the daemon planted one hand on the witch’s shoulder while palming the top of her skull with the other. He ripped her head clean off, held it up by the bloody ponytail, and yelled in her face in a language I was grateful not to understand, based off the pallor sweeping through Clay as the words registered with him.
Jogging off the beaten path, I closed the gap between the daemon and me, ignoring Clay’s subtle gestures to stop.
“Next time, don’t kill the bad guy—or girl—until after we question them, okay?” I placed a hand on the daemon’s muscular forearm. “How badly are you hurt? Do you need to shift? Or get medical attention?”
“For Rue.” He presented me with the severed head. “Gift.”
“You shouldn’t have.” I accepted it, grateful for my cast-iron stomach. “Really.”
Preening like a peacock while Clay searched the body, the daemon set his hands on his hips. “Rue like?”
“I preferred the cupcake.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. “But this is nice too.”
“No identification.” Clay patted her legs to check for a hidden pocket. “She never drew her wand.”
Her faith in the gun had been that absolute, and it troubled me. We were missing something here.
“She used magic to project her voice.” I held up her head, studying her features. “I don’t recognize her.”
That wasn’t saying much, given the gap in my employment history. Even before then, I had been more of an antisocial butterfly.
Without Clay chipping away at my conditioning, forcing me to wake up and think for myself, I would be a feminine version of the director. And after that nightmarish showdown in the forest with the Silver Stag, I would have wielded untold power without the pesky conscience that burdened me day and night now.
I would have… I couldn’t bear to think of what I would have done to Colby had we met any sooner.
“Snap a headshot,” I told Clay. “Get the Kellies to try their luck IDing her for us.”
He did as requested, firing off an email that would, I hoped, give us insight into the witch’s motivation.
“The book.” Clay rose with a sigh, leaving the weapon for the incoming team to bag and tag. “Any clue what that was about?”
Oh yeah. I had a pretty good idea what title was worth her life. But I wasn’t going to name it out here.
Sidestepping his question, I asked one of my own. “This is the first you’re hearing about a book?”
“The original case involved a wendigo.” He snorted. “They’re not much for reading.”
Which meant the witch’s purpose had changed, or we had been wrong about their goal from the start.
The daemon shifted his weight, lifting his chin to scent the air, then gave us the all clear.
We were safe.
For now.
“Lovely.” I stared down at the corpse. “Am I being paranoid in thinking this was about me?”
By me, I meant Colby, whose name I wouldn’t utter where the wind could catch it.