Hex Appeal (P.N. Elrod) (Kitty Norville 4.60)

“How old are you?” I asked.

Jimmy’s chin came up. “Old enough.”

“For what?”

“I was sent to meet another DK.”

“Another?” I got that shiver again. “You’re a DK?”

DK. Short for demon killer.

I’m not sure why I was surprised. In my dreams of Jimmy Sanducci, he’d fought demons of many kinds, and they’d killed him in many, many ways. Subsequent dreams revealed that his death tipped the scales in that eternal war between good and evil. Without this man fighting on the side of good, evil began to win. I’d have promised anything to avoid that. Even before I’d started having the dreams of him and me together, the ones where I loved him.

“Are you?” he asked, and at my blank expression, continued. “A DK?”

I nodded. “Summer Bartholomew.”

“She said I’d find you here, and that we should—”

“She?” I murmured, and then I understood. Who else would be able to track where I was but—“Ruthie.”

“She’s my seer.”

Mine too. And she knew that I worked alone. I especially could not work with him. That, however, she didn’t know.

“We’re supposed to—” I held up my hand, and Jimmy flinched. I guess he didn’t want to get socked in the face with fairy dust again.

When the dust hadn’t worked on him, I should have known right away what he was. My magic doesn’t apply to those on an errand of mercy. Since saving humanity from the demon horde was the life of a DK, twenty-four/seven, my enchanted dust was useless on them.

“You better come in,” I said. “I’m gonna have to call Ruthie.”

He stepped into the room, then stared, openmouthed.

On the outside, this place resembled a two-story Bates Motel. But in here …

White plush carpet, French provincial furniture, thick white quilts and huge, cushy pillows on a king-sized bed. Through the open bathroom door, a palatial hot tub was visible, surrounded by tropical plants and gold-tipped white tile.

I clapped my hands, and all of it disappeared, leaving behind orange carpet that I didn’t want to walk across in barefeet—I could swear something was crawling in it—a bedspread that smelled like dead moths, one lumpy full-sized mattress and even lumpier pillows.

“What are you?” Jimmy asked again.

“Ruthie didn’t tell you?” He shook his head. “Then I’m not going to.”

I snatched the TV remote off the chipped, unvarnished wooden dresser and tossed it in his direction without warning. He snatched it easily—most DKs were freakishly nimble and quick. We had to be in order to fight demons. Which meant most of us were at least part demon, too. I wondered what his part was.

“No porn,” I said.

“I’m not a kid.” He pointed the remote at the TV. “I haven’t been a kid since I killed my first Nephilim.”

Nephilim. The offspring of the fallen angels and man. Behind their human facade, they were the beings of legend—werewolves, vampires, shape-shifters, and more. My life has been devoted to killing them. Sometimes, I think I’ll never be able to stop.

“When was that?” I asked.

Jimmy didn’t even look away from the screen. “I think I was eight.”

“You were eight?”

His dark gaze flicked to mine, then away. “Guy came at me all tooth and claw. What was I supposed to do?”