Leonie Hendricks- Demon PI Read online

  “Tough call. I don’t have to pay him benefits.”

  “What benefits?” I said through chattering teeth. “You pay slightly better than Ebenezer Scrooge and his employees got Christmas off.”

  “Heh. But you’re rich in life experience.” He left the room, returning momentarily with a thin cotton blanket, which he draped over me. “Get up.”

  The shock suffered from demon encounters was an often-enough occurrence in our office that Harry kept one of those warming closets for blankets on hand, like in a hospital.

  I pulled the blanket up to my chin, grateful for the soothing heat. “Laying here and dying.”

  He wrenched me to my feet. For a bony old guy, he was very strong. “You are not dying. Do you understand?”

  I shook his hands off from their death grip on my shoulders, retrieved the blanket that had slipped off, and wrapped it around myself. Much better. “You’re not still upset about my final battle shenanigans–”

  “Shenanigans?” Harry crushed his cigarette so hard the tobacco spilled out both ends. “Oh, wait. Are you perhaps referring to that one time you nearly killed yourself on national television?”

  I winced. Yup, still upset.

  A month ago, I’d tried to let a demon who ate magic take mine. Nee–my nickname for my bestie Nava–had needed bait and I had hoped becoming magicless would be my ticket to a normal life. That I could finally be a regular human, not a snack-addict half-redcap who had a thing for blood. When I’d seen the chance to rid myself of my powers during the battle, I’d jumped on the opportunity. I’d scared the pants off several people, an infuriating Italian one in particular, and given Harry a slight heart attack as he watched via livestream.

  “I didn’t know that losing my magic would also mean losing my life!” I stomped my foot. “Can we move past this already? I swear it’s not suicide if I didn’t intend to die.”

  Harry grunted and picked up the daeva horn between his thumb and forefinger. “I want out, Leo. I’m old, I’m tired, and I want to sit on a beach and paint goddamn watercolors. I’ve had enough excitement for ten lifetimes.”

  “I know.” I took the horn from him and cleaned it off with the edge of the blanket.

  “Then prove to me that in a couple of years, when you’re finished your degree and you have your P.I. license, you’ll be ready to take over.”

  Pride swelled in my chest. “Your business won’t fail in my hands.”

  He wanted closure on this chapter of his life and I was key to that. I could relate. I wished that I’d had closure with the spawn that had sired me, and that my mother could get over that “guy” who’d gotten her pregnant. It was tough to move forward when one foot was stuck in the tar pit of the past. When one part of your life remained unresolved.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” he said. “You have a harder road than most, kiddo. Not denying it. But if you’re really serious about this as a lifestyle, you gotta make peace with who you are.”

  “I have. I swear it. I truly didn’t know the consequences, and now that I do, I’d never do that to you.” I handed him the horn to put away for safe-keeping until the daeva came to claim it.

  He shook his head at me with a long-suffering look and left.

  I was the kid Harry had never had and he was the closest thing to a dad in my life. Kobold, the redcap goblin that had knocked Mom up, didn’t count. Oh, he’d made an effort in his own terrorizing way when I was younger, stealing into my room in the dead of night to “educate” me about my rightful heritage. Usually in the form of fucked-up games to draw out my redcap side. That all ended about six years ago, shortly after my fifteenth birthday, when I’d declared I was Team Human and refused to play. Kobold had threatened to kill me, so I’d called his bluff, banking on the fact that I was his only progeny and he was obsessed with someone carrying on his line.

  He’d blinked first in our game of chicken, but not before leaving me with a three-inch scar across my abdomen. Something to remember him by. His last words were that my nature would win out and when it did, he’d be here to witness it.

  We didn’t exchange Christmas cards.

  I flexed my fingers. The feeling had returned to my extremities, so I peeled off the wrecked protective suit, glad to be back in my slightly sweaty silver velvet leggings and a rust-colored velvet tunic. I put on my silver jewelry: rings, jangling bracelets, and small hoops in my ears to match my eyebrow ring, feeling more like myself.

  Some women took on the world with a great lipstick or a pair of kickass heels. For me, it was these dozen shiny accessories that armored me up and let me move through life wrapped in my own pretty treasure trove.

  The music snapped off. Mahler was bad enough. No music was code red.

  I dumped the blanket in the hamper next to the warming closet that was also kept in the kitchen and went into the front office.

  Harry sat there, holding but not drinking his customary mug of tea. His computer looked so forlorn without the jumble of UFO toys. Most of the models had been kept at home, but he’d had a bunch of them on top of his old clunky monitor, along with some alien figurines I’d found for him over the years.

  He’d trashed them all on his sixty-fifth birthday in a bout of drunken disillusionment, and taken up watercolors. His technique was solid enough, but whenever he painted people or animals, there was always something uncannily off and vaguely disturbing. I held out hope he’d improve because I really didn’t want any more eerie kitten canvases around the office. Their eyes followed me and not in a fun “Scooby Doo” way.

  I turned a painting of an especially spooky Siamese cat on Harry’s desk backwards so it wouldn’t glower at me. “I’m not gonna hurt myself.”

  “Stop doing that.” He grumpily returned the picture back to normal. “I’m proud of this one.”

  “May I please have my phone now?”

  “Your generation needs to get off social media. It’s toxic. Go see a friend instead.” He slid it under a stack of folders.

  I snatched it away and immediately opened a browser window. It was the same news we’d had since demons became public knowledge. A lot of proselytizing about humanity’s fate and updates on government treaties with witches and Rasha. There was also speculation about whether the Israeli government would be allowed to try Rabbi Mandelbaum for attempting to unleash the apocalypse in Jerusalem or whether this was something for the International Court of Justice.

  A headline screamed out at me: Witches and Rasha! They’re the new celeb couples, but will this sexy and magical engagement last?

  Underneath was a photo of a tall, willowy, Italian beauty, all dark hair and doe eyes, sporting quite the rock on her finger. And holding her hand?

  Drio Rossi. The man who, despite having terrible pitch and impressively bad range, had sung his heart out to me just over a week ago and then showered me in Italian endearments. He’d had a rule about not kissing anyone since the love of his life had been murdered, but he’d broken it, all for me. And despite his nonstop sarcasm and an arrogance that was so massive, I swear it had a moon and gravitational pull, he’d honestly been kind of perfect–until he’d hied off across the ocean and maintained radio silence where I was concerned.

  The picture of the happy couple shook in my hand. Guess I knew why he hadn’t called.

  2

  I’d never been engulfed by a swarm of wasps, but I suspected it was very similar to what I felt at that moment. Goosebumps danced over hot and flushed patches of skin, and a loud buzzing filled my ears. I held myself absolutely still, not even blinking.

  Harry opened his mouth to say something, then saw the look on my face and shut it at warp speed.

  I grabbed my battered leather jacket and helmet off the row of hooks at the office front door and headed out to my silver-blue Vespa.

  Harry watched me through the front glass window the entire time.

  Tucking my hair under the helmet, I snagged the keys from my jacket pocket, settled myself on the bike,
and turned the key. Once the dashboard lit up, I pulled one of the brake handles, and punched the start button. The Vespa, my precious baby, purred to life.

  Vancouver in early October was my favorite time of year. The trees dotting the median on the main street beyond our strip mall parking lot blazed in brilliant reds and gold, and the sidewalk was a sea of crunchy color. The air had that bite to it that made me want to curl up in front of a wood fireplace, snug under one of my hand-knit blankets.

  Right now, I failed to give a damn about any of it.

  Conscious of Harry’s gaze on me, I rode nice and slow out onto the street. Then I opened the Vespa up and tore through the world in a blur, welcoming the wind’s sting.

  My entire life was a struggle to live in the light. To get up every single day and re-commit myself to my humanity. It was so hard to keep from being consumed by my darkness.

  A few years ago, one of Nava’s cousins had married a non-Jewish woman who’d converted. While all of Nee’s family was pretty secular, this woman became Jewish with a vengeance. Some of her family joked about it, but to me this over-compensation made sense. She wanted to belong to something that was important to her, but wasn’t her birthright. It wasn’t exactly the same for me, sure. I was partly human, for starters. But I also had to hold myself to a higher standard to compensate for the half that wasn’t.

  Maybe it was hypocritical of me, the big advocate for seeing the world in shades of gray, to be so black-and-white when it came to myself, but the severity got me through each day. And believe me, I was so damn grateful and happy for every moment I was human. But despite those tiny triumphs, living between two worlds was lonely.

  Meeting Drio had been like finding a lighthouse. He harbored so much darkness, so many shadows, and yet the more I got to know him, the more I saw him constantly choosing the light in his own way. His demons may have lurked right behind his eyes, but they never clawed their way to the surface like I was scared mine would.

  As we grew closer, he’d turned this blinding attention and affection on me that was only slightly less powerful in wattage than the sun. It wasn’t about sex or romantic love. It was finding another person who could soothe your beast and reflected back your brilliance. Being with him had eased something deep in my soul.

  When it came out that I was a half-demon, it was like a total solar eclipse. Drio threatened to kill me. All that light was not only snuffed out, the darkness that replaced it was suffocating, a jagged hatred that cut deeper than any wound. I didn’t need the “love of a good man” or some such bullshit to save or validate me, but I saw a lifetime of loneliness yawning out ahead of me like a giant crevasse and it made me want to weep.

  I thought Drio had truly seen me. Recognized me for what I was, because in many ways it was what he was as well.

  I thought wrong.

  And I’d accepted it, moved on, and decided I would deal with a long, lonely life, except then came my friend Rohan Mitra’s concert in Los Angeles. That was the night Drio had pulled this stupid stunt and sung Frankie Valli’s “Can’t Take My Eyes Off of You” to me. A single, fragile hope had bloomed in my chest, but I’d ruthlessly refused to let it take root too deeply. I’d allowed Drio to drive me back to the hotel I was staying at, but I hadn’t let him come up.

  I didn’t want a relationship based on grand gestures or wildly fluctuating ups and downs. Wearing a pretty outfit and standing under glittering lights and the seductive cover of night made it easy to believe in a future together. We needed to make it in the cold, hard light of day.

  I’d told him that when he came back, we could take things slow and smart and build something real. Except slow, smart, and real never happened.

  He’d gone to Italy to convince the scary head of the Italian coven to give her blessing for a witch-Rasha training facility in Rome so both communities could establish a new demon hunting base there. He didn’t call; I didn’t call.

  Even if I did hope.

  I knew better now. There’d be no Cinderella story, no happily-ever-after. Just Drio, gone again, while I picked up the pieces and vowed to purge him from my system once and for all.

  I pulled into the parking space behind my apartment building in the West End. Entering the lobby, I greeted the two women around my age who had recently moved in. This old building only had sixteen units, so there was no anonymity. Knowing my neighbors and feeling like part of a community was worth the faded lobby carpet that smelled vaguely of cat and the elevator that mysteriously stopped working for most of the winter.

  My open-concept apartment was silent and still when I let myself in. A bright Andy Warhol print of flowers dominated the wall above my sofa, next to the comfy chair and coffee table grouped on the fluffy area rug in front of my TV. Beyond that was a small dining area and a narrow galley kitchen. Three doors led off the living room. One led to my bedroom, one to my bathroom, and the third to my front door.

  It was a cozy place and I often entertained, but I’d never shared it permanently with anyone. Much like my life. Way easier to hold most people at arm’s length, especially when I continued to suffer the odd nightmare that I’d gone full-goblin, murdering hapless humans and fashioning a cap as we did to dip in our victim’s blood, while Kobold laughed, only to wake in the dead of night, gasping.

  I curled onto my couch, dragging my latest knit blanket over my legs. I usually made soft throws in rainbow colors but this one was deep black.

  A minute later, my best friend Nava appeared in front of me, having portalled directly into my apartment. I barely startled, now very used to her comings and goings. She may have saved the world, but she hadn’t mastered the art of phoning ahead.

  Her curly dark brown hair was pulled into a high ponytail and she wore a cute yellow plaid mini skirt with a tight black sweater. She held up the two pizza boxes in her hands, oozing with the smell of cheese and pork products. “It’s been a while since we’ve pigged out and vegged.”

  “Nice try, Nee. You saw the article.”

  She blinked innocently. “What article?”

  “You’re a terrible liar. Is Snowflake busy tonight?”

  “No.” She shoved one of the boxes at me. “For implying I’m some kind of clingy chick who can only see her friends when her boyfriend isn’t available, you get the Hawaiian pizza.”

  I slapped the box away. It flipped onto my leather sofa, the lid still closed. “Pineapple on pizza is an abomination.”

  She shrugged and sank on to the couch. “Pick it off.”

  “Gimme the meat lover’s.”

  Nava grabbed her crotch. “Take it.”

  I grimaced. “Phrasing!”

  She scrunched up her face. “That verbal-action combo didn’t come out right.”

  “I mean, am I supposed to go for your personal meat lover or the pizza?”

  “I think it was open to interpretation and your own read of the situation,” she said.

  Taking the meat lover’s pizza away from her, I dumped it on the coffee table, next to the two cans of chilled Coke that she had brought along with a roll of paper towels, because we were classy that way.

  “Grab my wallet,” I said. “I’ll pay half.”

  “Nah, my treat. You don’t have to subsidize me yet.”

  Nava’s salary as a demon hunter had been paid by the Brotherhood of David. Once she and her allies had taken down the corrupt rabbi leader of that organization, all its hefty bank accounts, corporate assets, and real estate holdings had been frozen. A team of lawyers was working to determine ownership and transfer all this capital to the new witch-Rasha council. As it had been less than a month since all this had gone down, all demon hunting was happening on a pro bono/good karma basis.

  Additionally, Nava was busy setting up a program to mentor at-risk witches. She was the happiest I’d seen her in years, and if it weren’t for pesky things like rent and food, she wouldn’t have cared about being paid at all.

  Personally, I voted for mooching off her rock star boyfrie
nd, but she refused. Not that Rohan would mind. He wasn’t a materialistic guy, but he’d gift her the world just to make her smile. It was in every look he bestowed on her.

  Once, Drio had looked at me that way. I fiddled with the edge of the blanket.

  “Nice color,” Nava said. “Is it Drio’s Soul Black? You know, there’s no way he’s engaged. He sang to you.”

  “We all do things at night that we regret in the light of day. Drio’s done yet another about-face where I’m concerned. This should come as a surprise to no one.” Given how many times he’d threatened to kill me for being a half-demon, it was silly to believe that he’d genuinely reconciled his past with any future we might have together.

  More fool I.

  “That’s it?” Nava snagged a piece of pizza.

  “For now,” I said.

  “And later?”

  “I’m going to Rome to force him to man up and end this face-to-face. Then I’ll stab him.” Nope. No qualms with violence in his case. I grabbed my first slice of salami, prosciutto, and pancetta pizza. It was so hot that I juggled it between my hands, blowing on the cheese. “Then I’ll have surface-breaking sex with someone. I might do that part both before and after the stabbing. Haven’t decided.”

  “Good plan,” she said. “But properly talk to him before you kill him?”

  “Oh, I’m not killing him. I want excruciating, drawn-out pain that will be his only company through the rest of his long, lonely, miserable life.”

  Nava pushed the Coke can away from me. “Maybe hold off on the caffeine.”

  Patience was not my strong suit where food was concerned, and I ate half of the piece in one go, despite the mozzarella being still hot enough to burn the roof of my mouth. While I ate, I studied the engagement photo on my phone like I could X-ray vision my way to an explanation. They looked so happy together, her arm tucked under his like they’d known each other their whole lives.

  First rule of being a P.I: appearances are deceiving.

  “I really want to stab him and be done with it,” I said, “but this doesn’t make sense. Grr. Why can’t I just hate him instead of needing answers?”