Secrets of the Demon (Kara Gillian 3)

His mouth twitched in a smile and he slouched against the wall. “Better?”

I shook my head. “Now you look like a fed trying to look casual. I still think you could have shaved your head into a mohawk, like I’d suggested.”

He gave a mock-shudder. “I’ll take a lot of risks in this line of work, but that’s one thing I don’t plan to do.”

“Chicken shit,” I teased.

“My current style’s not good enough for you?”

My gaze flicked up to his hair. His natural color was brown with hints of red-gold highlights, and he kept his hair short enough to comply with FBI regs but long enough that the barest hint of curl showed. I’d never admitted it out loud—and probably never would since we seemed to be locked in a sometimes awkward “just friends” mode—but there were times when I really wanted to run my fingers through his hair.

Now was not one of those times. He’d used a frightening amount of hair product in what looked like an attempt to make it spiky. Unfortunately his hair was too short for him to achieve the desired look. Or rather, I hoped that what he’d achieved was not the desired look. And then there was the color.

“Ryan,” I said grimly. “Your head looks like a hair-brush that’s been soaked in grape juice. What did you dye it with? Kool-Aid?”

“Now that was just plain mean,” he said with a sad shake of his head.

I scanned the crowd, feeling a strange relief that tonight—so far—was turning out to have less than the usual amount of awkward tension between us. Ever since I’d saved Ryan’s life by swearing myself to the demonic lord Rhyzkahl as his summoner, any feelings Ryan might have had for me were locked down pretty tight—not that I had any certainty there ever were. And, unfortunately, I couldn’t blame him. The demons seemed to hold some sort of odd antipathy toward Ryan, calling him a kiraknikahl, or oathbreaker, though I had no idea why. And even though Rhyzkahl didn’t own me, or anything like that, and the only service I’d sworn to perform was to summon him, nonetheless I was still bound to the demonic lord, and I could understand if Ryan wanted to keep me at arm’s length.

I hated it, but I understood it.

My gaze was drawn to a black-clad figure smoking a cigarette against the wall near the bar. He wasn’t dancing or even twitching to the music, and when my eyes rested on him he turned his head to give me a lazy smile, as if he could feel me looking at him. For all I knew he could. This was the fourth member of our little team tonight. Marco Knight was a detective with the New Orleans police department, and since we were in the city, we needed someone with local jurisdiction in case anything happened. He’d apparently worked with the team before, when they’d worked cases in the city. Ryan hadn’t told me much about him, except to say that “he got it.” And I hadn’t picked up much more when I’d met him, though after he shook my hand in greeting I had the odd feeling that he knew a lot more about me. One eyebrow lifted and then a sardonic smile crossed his face as he murmured, “Complicated,” before releasing my hand.

Complicated? Yeah, that pretty much described my life.

I looked away, annoyed at myself for being . . . unsettled? Intimidated? I couldn’t really explain why, but I wasn’t comfortable keeping my attention on him. Or vice versa.

I returned my attention to the stage. Lida Moran was the lead singer for Ether Madhouse as well as one hell of a guitar player. Her fingers flew over the strings as she threw herself around the stage with gusto, belting out something that might have been lyrics. I really couldn’t tell, but the crowd didn’t seem to care whether they understood what the words to the song were. She was good, though. I had to give her that. Nineteen years old, five foot ten, and with the kind of body that most of the guys I knew would dub “smokin’ hot,” she had a powerhouse voice that wowed everyone who heard her, whether they liked her style of music or not. The other three members of the band had some decent musical chops as well, though I wasn’t much of a judge of that sort of thing. But I could tell that they didn’t suck.

“Isn’t she a little young for Zack?” I asked, casting a dubious glance at the singer. The purple streaks in her long, jet-black hair seemed to glow under the lights, and I could see the flash of metal from the numerous piercings in her ears, nose, and eyebrows. “How old is Zack anyway?”

Ryan’s brow creased. “I have no idea. I guess late twenties or so? But don’t worry. He’s a fanboy, but that’s as far as he’d ever take it.”

I caught a snatch of lyric through the driving beat. And the watchers on patrol / hunt the creatures in the night / until the demon eats your soul / and you have to leave the fight.

“So, you’re the big bad demon summoner,” Ryan said. “Do you listen to this sort of music?”

I shook my head. “Not in the slightest! Give me some Faith Hill or Carrie Underwood any day.”

“Country music and demon summoning,” he said with a wince. “Now that’s cognitive dissonance.”

The driving beat ended and the lights dimmed. Lida set her guitar aside and the band shifted to a slower, almost sultry number. I let my breath out in relief at the cessation of the pounding. “Last set,” I said with a nod toward the stage. “That’s what the threat said, right?”

Ryan gave a nod, expression completely serious now. “See anything?” he asked. It was a twofold question. He was asking me if I saw anyone or anything suspicious, but he also wanted to know if I felt anything out of whack. Anything to do with the arcane.

I shifted into othersight, then shook my head. “Nah, just the usual background buzz you’d expect . . .” I paused, feeling the brush of something. I scanned the crowd again, eyes narrowing. What the hell? “Hang on, I think there’s—”

My words choked off as a strange resonance slammed into me. I felt a sharp stab of pain at the base of my skull, and then the lights went out.

Chapter 2

“Kara!” I felt hands gripping my upper arms and I blinked to clear my vision. Then the emergency lights flickered on and I abruptly realized that the lights really had gone out. I had no idea if I’d actually lost consciousness, but if so it couldn’t have been for more than a couple of seconds.

“The stage,” I managed to gasp out through the dull pain that still throbbed in the back of my head. “Something’s after Lida.”

Ryan didn’t seem to want to let go of me and I batted at his hands. “I’m fine! Go!”