скачать книгу бесплатно
She didn’t rise to the bait, although she remembered that night three years ago when Quinn exorcised her as though it had just happened. It was still fresh and raw in her mind. And being reminded of it by the horrid Lord Klaven didn’t help matters. Her stomach churned at the memory.
He moved closer to her again, gripping her chin with his long, bony fingers. He lifted her head up, forcing her to look upon him. She wanted to scream at seeing Quinn’s face with black eyes and fangs poking out between his full lips. Lips she used to kiss for hours on end.
“Does the exorcist have the key?”
She spat at him.
Klaven wiped the spittle from his cheek, then grinned down at her. “Does he have the chest?”
“You’re wasting your time, Klaven. I won’t tell you anything. You can’t kill me, so you might as well let me go.”
He wrapped a hand in her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. Leaning down, he slammed his mouth on hers, kissing her fiercely. She bit his tongue when it invaded her mouth. His sulfur-tainted blood filled her mouth.
He jerked away, his crimson-stained lips pulling back into an evil sneer. “I might not be allowed to kill you, Daeva. But I certainly can have my fun.”
He drew his knife down her arm, slicing open her skin. She bit down on her lip to stop from crying out at the pain. She looked down at her damaged flesh, knowing his demon-cursed blade would leave a scar and that she would use that as a reminder of this day. Of Klaven’s betrayal—and that of all of the demon horde.
“Do your worst. I do not fear you or anything that you can do to me.”
Klaven, still looking like Quinn, clapped his hands, and the heavy metal door opened. The two guards that had brought her here marched in.
“Grab her and tie her to the rack.”
When they came to unbind her, she kicked and struggled and lashed out at them, but they were twice her strength. There was nothing she could do when they dragged her across the room to the ancient wooden rack that was once owned by the Marquis de Sade, a close personal friend of Klaven’s.
Her torture was going to be savage. She’d seen Klaven’s artwork before. But she swore to herself she would hold out as long as she could. No matter what Quinn had done to her all those years ago, she still didn’t want to see him harmed. And if the demons knew he possessed the key, he would not be safe. His death would be her fault.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_db012e94-8879-51e9-bcf2-25e0b032bdcc)
When Quinn finally woke, the sun was streaming in through the big kitchen and his head was pounding something fierce.
He made his way to his knees, then up to his feet, using the kitchen counter to brace himself against. His hand still throbbed where the goblin had wounded him, but it was no longer oozing with infectious goo or blood. It still needed tending to, though.
Arduously climbing the stairs, he went into the bathroom to retrieve his first aid kit. While he doctored himself, he thought about his next move. The Cabal had taken the key. He could form a small army to get it back by force. But he’d been through so much fighting recently.
It had only been a few months since the slaughter by demons in Sumner, Washington. It had taken him and Ivy hours to bury their friends and burn the rest of the dead. He didn’t want to go through that again. And it would be a bloodbath if he went after the Cabal, he had no doubt in his mind.
He washed the wound, poured antiseptic onto it, biting on his lip the whole time. It stung like a thousand bees. He wrapped it tight, then went back down the stairs to his ruined living room. The goblin had done a thorough job of wrecking everything he had. Which, by some standards, wasn’t much. His lifestyle didn’t really permit the luxuries of living a normal, comfortable life.
Usually on the move, Quinn had only just set up shop in this small starter home, basically for cover. It wasn’t as if he worked nine to five at an office. No, he hunted demons. That was his vocation, his life. He’d been born into it.
As far as the people he bought the home from knew, his name was Quinton Sterling, and he was a divorced small-business owner. They’d been more than happy with his story since he paid cash for the place they couldn’t afford anymore.
The money came from the other jobs he did. Jobs he wasn’t necessarily proud of. Demon hunting wasn’t exactly lucrative. He’d pulled a few cons over the years, something he’d learned from his dad. It was a dishonest way to bankroll a lifesaving job of hunting down and destroying demons. Quinn didn’t ponder the ethics of it too much.
Righting the overturned sofa, he shoved the ruined cushions back on and sat. He had to think. He had to figure out what to do.
Rubbing his good hand over his face, he sighed. Ultimately, he knew what had to be done next, but he just didn’t want to do it. It would be way too complicated and messy. Two things he hated.
If the Cabal had the key, that meant they were going after the chest that contained the book that could unleash hell on Earth. There was only one choice here and that was to find the chest first. Find it and protect it.
Sighing, he leaned his head on the back of the sofa. Maybe there was another way. There had to be. To do what he needed—to uncover where the chest was hidden—would almost be too much to bear. He wasn’t sure he could see her again.
Quinn found his cell phone on the floor. He picked it up and dialed a familiar number. He glanced at the wall clock. It was only six in the morning. It rang only four times before being answered.
“You do know what time it is?”
He smiled. “Yup, I know, Q. I need to talk.”
There came a long, drawn-out sigh. “Fine. Meet me at my office in an hour.”
Quinn stood and headed upstairs to get dressed. It was going to be one long, hellish day.
One hour later he stood in the office doorway of Quianna Lang, one of the youngest professors on staff at the San Francisco State University and resident mythologist to the university. But he knew her talents and knowledge lay in demonology. She possessed more knowledge about demons and demon lore than anyone he knew.
She barely looked up from whatever she was reading on her old mahogany desk when he entered. “Sit.”
He came all the way in and slid onto one of the leather chairs situated in front of her big wooden desk.
She finished reading, slammed the book closed and looked up at him. “Okay, so what’s going on? How much trouble are you in?”
“Why does something have to be going on?”
She smirked. “Because you’re here. The only time you demon hunters come here is when the shit has hit the fan. First Ronan and your sister, and now you. Something major is happening, I suspect.”
He sighed, then met her gaze. “The key is gone. Stolen by the Cabal.”
Quianna bolted out of her chair and came around the desk. She was a compact woman, short and petite, but she possessed more fire in her pinkie than most people did in their whole bodies. She pinned him to the seat with her intense, determined gaze.
“How?”
“Richter Collins is how. And he had a goblin with him.”
She shook her head. “I thought that once Reginald died, the Cabal would fall. I guess I was wrong.”
“I should’ve been more diligent in hiding the key. I had been planning to move it...”
“Well, what’s done is done. Now, what are we going to do about it?”
“That’s why I came. I thought if anyone would know what to do, it would be you.”
She sat on the edge of her desk. “You have to find the chest. You have to get it before they do.”
He groaned. “I was hoping there was another way.”
“There isn’t. If they have the key, they will be going for the chest. That’s just logical.”
Quinn leaned forward and put his head in his hands. He had been hoping for another answer. Another way to solve the problem.
“I take it you know where it is?” She eyed him curiously.
He shook his head. “Not where. But I know someone who knows.”
“By the look on your face, I’d say this someone is pretty bad.”
“You could say that.”
She nudged him with her foot. “Well, man up, Quinn. Whatever you have to do, you better do it. This isn’t some small problem. We’re talking end of days stuff, here. If the Cabal finds that chest and uses that book, it won’t matter who this person is, because we’ll all be dead.”
“When I find the chest and the book, what do I do with them?”
“Bring the book to me. I know a place where even demons fear to tread. I can keep it safe there.”
Quinn left Quianna’s office with a deep sinking feeling in his gut. It almost made him sick to think about what he had to do to find the chest. But the powerhouse professor had been right, he had to man up and do what needed to be done. No one else was going to do it. He had been entrusted with the key and he had lost it. It had been his responsibility. Now finding the chest was his as well. He was the only one on Earth who could do it. He just had a pit stop to make first.
The new age store located downtown looked like any other crystal and tarot shop. Mary, the proprietor, doled out spiritual wisdom and metaphysical prophecy to every patron that passed through her doors. But when Quinn walked in, she frowned deeply and shook her head.
“I was having a good day,” she said.
“Hey, Mary, how’s business?”
“On the light side.” She moved her hefty frame around the counter to stand in front of him. The beads on her wrists clicked when she moved. The scent of patchouli and lavender wafted to his nose. “But I take it, since you’re here, that’s going to change.”
“I need some supplies.”
She sighed heavily, as though she was going to deny him, but she swept her arm toward the back curtain. She never said no; she just liked to put on the drama. She knew he was one of her best customers. He and the Crimson Hall Cabal.
“Come on, then.”
Quinn followed her into the back where she kept her stores of “other” types of metaphysical supplies. The type reserved for those who dabbled in the darker side of the magical arts.
“What do you need?”
Quinn examined the shelves of bottles and tins. “Goofer dust, asafoetida, horehound, another blessed chalk stick and some yarrow.”
Mary narrowed her eyes at him. “Who are you calling?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The stuff you’re asking for, Quinn, is for calling forth a powerful demon and keeping it in line. Who is it?”
“It doesn’t matter. Do you have the stuff or not?” He pulled out a wad of cash from his pocket.
She nodded and went to the shelves to start pulling down jars. “I have everything you need.” She stacked it all on the table. She sighed. “Between you and the Cabal, I’m surprised demons aren’t running amok on this plane.”
Quinn opened his leather satchel and shoved the ingredients inside. He peeled off money and handed it to her.
Mary slid it into the pocket of her flowered housedress but pinned him with a hard glare. “Be careful, Quinn. You’re playing with fire.”
He nodded. “I know. But it has to be done.” Closing his bag, he hefted it onto his shoulder and left the store, his heart as heavy as the bag he carried.
When he got home, he went straight down to the basement to prepare. Using his new blessed chalk he drew a large pentagram on the cement floor, inscribing it with familiar symbols. Symbols he’d been using his whole life as an exorcist and demon hunter. He left two open triangles in the pentagram. This was where he would put the two sigils that would call the demon he needed. They’d been burned into his memory. But for different reasons.
He chalked them in. Around the pentagram he sifted a thick line of goofer dust. It was a protective circle. The demon couldn’t cross it if Quinn didn’t want it to. And until he got a binding agreement, he didn’t plan on letting the demon go anywhere.
Once that was done, Quinn set everything aside, lit seven white candles and started the ritual.
In Latin, he spoke the words to invoke the spell, then he called the demon using its real name. The one that gave him power over it.
“I call you, Daeva, Seductress of Shadows.”
At first nothing happened, and Quinn wondered if he’d mistakenly written the symbols backward or upside down. But then a slight breeze blew through the basement. None of the windows were open. Then came the smell. The delectable scent of cinnamon. He tried not to inhale it. But it was difficult not to. Cinnamon had always been one of his favorite smells. It made his gut clench with the memories it brought.
Three popping sounds echoed in the room. Like fingers snapping.
Then it appeared.
Dressed in tight black pants, black leather knee-high boots and a sapphire-blue blouse that accentuated full, firm breasts, the demon smiled at him, and he couldn’t suppress the shiver that raced down his back.
“Hello, lover.”
Chapter 5 (#ulink_1cb0f77d-cff3-53e1-a8fc-c8d07033f321)
“You look surprised to see me, Quinn.” Tilting her head, she looked him up and down. “Oh, that’s right. You never did get to see me in my preferred form. You were so quick to get rid of me. Never gave me a chance to introduce myself properly.”
It had been three years since Daeva had seen Quinn Strom. And she had to admit that he looked as dangerous and delicious as ever. His inner darkness called to her like a moth to a flame. But she couldn’t let him see that. She couldn’t let him have the upper hand here. She’d never give it to him again.
“How’s my favorite exorcist?”
“I didn’t call you to have a trite and pointless conversation.”
“No? Too bad. That’s definitely one thing I missed about you.”
She saw him bristle and grinned. Score one for Daeva.
Quinn had always prided himself on his ability to speak on all kinds of subjects. On several occasions, he’d bored her to tears. But she’d listened to him attentively. That was what a person did when they were in love.
Love. Ha. Quinn Strom knew nothing about the emotion. If he had, he’d never have done what he did to her.
But, alas, she obviously was not here to discuss the past. Quinn had something dire to talk to her about, or he would never have called her forth. Never. She knew him well enough to know that he held a grudge the way a miser held money.
“So, to what do I owe this utmost pleasure of seeing your handsome face again?” Although she had her suspicions that it had everything to do with her twelve-hour torture session and Klaven’s questions.
Thankfully, that had ended without Daeva revealing much of anything—nothing important anyway. He’d poked and prodded at her until he’d gotten bored. And her restorative powers made it look like she’d barely been bruised. Although the truth was it had taken a lot out of her and she was feeling its effects.
“I need information.”
“I gathered that. On what?”
