Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

"I hear Philly's expecting a snowstorm tonight."

"Good. We'll be just in time."

His hand cupped mine. "Are you sure? You still have a few days. We can get away. I'll take you anyplace you want to go."

"I want to go home." I looked up at him. "I want to go visit with my mother and tell her you're moving to Philly. I want to tour overpriced condos that displaced impoverished seniors, and needle you about it mercilessly. Then I want to take you home, hole up for the storm, then go back to work chasing alien abduction stories and Hell Spawn sightings."

"Are you sure?"

I lifted onto my tiptoes and kissed his chin. "Absolutely."

LUCAS

21

I WATCHED JASPER through the one-way glass. He lay on a king-size bed, eyes glued to a handheld video game. MTV flashed on the plasma screen affixed to the wall. A take-out pizza box rested by his elbow.

This was how the Cortez Cabal treated the man who'd killed two of its top executives and attempted to kill its CEO. This was how my father treated the man who'd murdered two of his sons and plotted to kill the rest of his family.

I knew the room was actually a jail cell. A life sentence with no chance of parole, kept alive only because he could prove useful. But it wasn't enough. For his crimes, and for the threat he posed, I wanted him dead.

My father had decreed mercy. I'd argued for capital punishment. Did I ever think I'd see that day?

I had weighed the factors and decided Jasper Haig should not be allowed to live. How often had my father made that very decision and I'd condemned him for it?

Only twenty-four hours ago, I hadn't hesitated to condemn another criminal. When my father had suggested sending a convicted murderer to meet Hope in Paige's place, I'd agreed, knowing I was sending that woman to an almost certain death.

I'd weighed the factors, analyzed the risks and made my decision. Whatever I felt about the outcome, I still believed we'd made the right choice.

"Sir?"

Griffin gestured toward the door, impatient for me to get this meeting over with so he could return to my father's side. I lifted a finger and checked my cell phone. Three text and two voice messages. None of them from Paige.

She was back at the hotel, working. Work she could have done from any office in the building. But since yesterday--since I'd agreed with my father's plan--there'd been a distance between us that I knew I wasn't imagining.

I'd text messaged her an hour ago, asking her to join me for lunch. No answer yet.

I closed the phone and motioned for the guard to open Jasper's cell.

Jasper sat up, legs swinging over the bedside. Two guards darted past me, flanking him and motioning for him to stay seated. As he settled back onto the bed, one fingered his gun, the other readied his powers.

Jasper's lips curved, amused by the thought that he presented such a threat. If he wanted to strike at me, he'd hardly do it in front of three Cabal guards. Jasper was a plotter, not a fighter.

Even as he reclined against the pillows, smirking, I could feel the weight of his gaze on me, assessing me, then shifting to the guards, judging which he could best impersonate.

I made a mental note to speak to my father about that, and ensure all guards assigned to Jasper were as far from his physical type as possible. That would slow him down, but it wouldn't stop him. My father had bought his docility by promising a necromantic visit with his brother's ghost, but the respite would be only temporary. It had taken Jasper years to plan his attack on the Cabal. He would be in no rush to escape from the consequences. But we could never forget he was planning that escape.

I stepped forward. "You wished to speak to me?"

"I asked for your dad, but you'll do just fine." He scanned me, measuring, assessing, noting my expressions, my idiosyncrasies.

"How's Paige?" he asked after a moment.

I tensed, but he only sat there, expectant, as if simply making friendly conversation, not reminding me that he'd tried to kill my wife.

"That was a clever trick," he said. "The glamour spell. Really clever."

Again, no mockery in his voice. Nothing but genuine admiration, as if complimenting a fellow chess player who'd made a brilliant move. That's all this was to Jasper. A game. And I was only a competitor. Or a pawn.