A Shot in the Dark jjd-2 Read online

  Come get some, bitch. I took one step back, into thin air, holding my sword safely to the side as I fell back.

  I hit the water hard enough to almost knock my carefully gasped air from my lungs and sank straight to the bottom. From there, I watched through the riled waters as the enraged oil serpent dove headfirst after me.

  It intended to crush me, I think, the heavy mass of black sludge spreading out to fill the shape of the pond, its entire body pouring into the water. For a split second, I thought it was going to succeed, and I know I felt my ribs creak under protest. The natural human demand for “Air!” registered in my brain, certain I was about to be smothered or drowned, or both, but before I could even think of flailing in panic, the weight suddenly lifted, and the demon launched itself out of the koi pond with an inhuman shriek.

  I fought to the surface despite the weight of my armor (and the padding beneath that had soaked up its own weight in water), to see the Snot demon writhing on the grass like a salted earthworm. Over and over the coils rolled, like it would tie itself in knots, and a thick oily smoke rolled off its transparent skin.

  I’d be lying if I pretended I wasn’t a little smug. “That’s right. Holy water, bitch. Suck it.” The glint of gold caught my eye, and I bent to retrieve my coin from the bottom of the pool. My fake, absolutely worthless, magically blessed coin. Thank you, my love. One of my wife’s brilliant ideas. I couldn’t wait to tell her it had worked.

  A hand entered my vision, and I looked up to find Elliot offering to help me out of the koi pond. Probably not a bad idea, considering how much heavier I was now than when I’d gone in. “Thanks, kid.”

  I grabbed his forearm, intending to haul myself out, when I heard it. It was the sound of bacon sizzling, the sound of water boiling furiously. I looked over, dreading what I already knew I was going to see.

  There was Monty, swelling up like the world’s biggest blood blister, its surface straining to contain the rolling boil within. Even as I watched, a thin slit appeared, and the oil slick spurted from it, driven by the unbelievable internal pressure. Monty was about to blow.

  “Fire in the hole!” I grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt and dragged him into the water, falling on top of him to protect him further. Problem being, there was room for one man at the bottom of the pool, but not two. Half submerged as I was, the explosion was enough to deafen me, the sound wave skipping across the top of the water to smack me upside my very thick skull.

  I waited as long as I could, until bits-o-Monty stopped raining down on me, before I fought my way into standing, letting Elliot scramble for air. Drowning the client would be bad, m’kay?

  He threw himself facedown at the side of the pool, gasping and coughing, while I examined the state of my demon-splattered self. Already, the boiling droplets had eaten through my leather bracers, and were currently burning into the skin beneath. With a hiss, I plunged my forearms into the water, sighing at the soothing relief. I dunked the rest of me for good measure, surfacing with a splutter and shaking myself like a wet dog.

  “You okay, kid?” I glanced at Elliot who had become strangely quiet, then turned to follow his stunned line of sight.

  The portal was there, hovering just against the back wall, swirling in shades of black and blacker. All over the yard, tiny gobbets of Snot demon were dissolving into their base component, blight, and drifting through the planar tear. It looked like an eerie black river running uphill, finally slowing to a trickle before the portal snapped shut with an audible pop and the reek of ozone.

  Just to be sure, I stripped off my right bracer, and scrubbed the remnants of the tattoo flakes off with the blessed water. “There we are, Elliot, all nice and shiny again.”

  He examined his left arm, bare now too, then bent to scour it off as well. He scrubbed and scraped until the skin of his arm was blistering pink and I was afraid he’d draw blood. I caught his hand. “Hey. It’s cool, okay? It’s all over.”

  He stared at me with wide, shock-filled eyes for a long moment, then nodded. There were tears glimmering in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall, and I pretended I didn’t see.

  Instead, I turned to eye the destruction left in the wake of my battle. The yard was essentially burned barren, the grass withered and downright charred in places. I was still standing knee-deep in the once-pristine koi pond, which would probably never support life again. Already, the large ornamental fish were starting to float to the surface, eyes gone cloudy in death.

  I managed to clamber out of the pool, flopping on the dead grass with a wet squishing sound. It was going to be days before the padding under my mail dried. Hell, it might be days before I decided to stand up again.

  The arrival of my archnemesis, Mitzi the poodle, was heralded with a string of high pitched yips and yaps that threatened to burst my eardrums. The vicious little rat came streaking out of its doggy door, tiny needle fangs bared and aimed right for my face now that it was within its short little reach.

  I waited until it was almost on me, then roared “Boo!” at it. The pink dog almost flipped itself completely over, scrambling to reverse direction, and it disappeared back inside with the high, “yi! yi! yi!” of fear. I laid my head back on the ground, folded my hands across my chest, and just watched the dim light of the stars appear overhead.

  I hate poodles.

  2

  Now…

  N othing says the end of summer like the annual Dawson family barbecue and snarky T-shirt contest. I won, by the way. I always win. It’s my contest. (We used to have a dirty T-shirt contest, but that got awkward once the kids started learning to read.)

  My own little five-year-old censor, Annabelle, was playing on the patio with her cousin Nicky, closely supervised by my brother’s wife, Stephanie. Mira, the light of my life, and Melanie sat close by, the women no doubt having some in-depth and disgusting discussion about Mel’s very large belly, due to pop in about three months.

  The sire of said impending spawn, Marty, hovered in a small protective circle of other males, made up of myself, my brother Cole, our friend Will, and my live-in student Esteban. The general theme seemed to be making sure Marty knew just how that happened, and much off-color advice on how to prevent it again. But really, we teased. Marty was gonna be an amazing dad.

  He wasn’t what you’d think of as the quintessential “dad” figure. Short and squat with biceps the size of my damn thighs, Celtic tattoos from wrist to shoulder on both arms, scruffy black beard and a shaved head… Honestly, if we lived in some fantasy world, he’d be the surly dwarf character and that’s the truth. He’s even a blacksmith, an honest-to-God blacksmith. How’s that for a stereotype?

  But what most people didn’t see was the genuinely good heart and fierce loyalty he could show. Marty was good people.

  He’d dragged me aside earlier in the day to get some of my deep thoughts on being a daddy. Personally, when I’m being held up as the bastion of fatherhood, the world’s in sad shape, but I did what I could, and he seemed grateful. Nervous as hell, but grateful.

  The winning T-shirt of the day proudly proclaimed MEAT IS MURDER. TASTY, TASTY MURDER. Evidence of my convictions was sizzling on the grill, and I stood over it like a king over his domain. Or something.

  Esteban reached out a hand toward the lid and I swatted him with the flat of my spatula. “Ahht! No touchy the burgers!”

  “But I’m starving!” My seventeen-year-old protege had hit a growth spurt sometime over the summer, topping my own six feet by a good couple of inches now, and it was entirely possible that he was about to faint dead away from not eating in the last thirty seconds.

  “They’re not done, but if you think you can get past me, by all means, take one.” I smirked and picked up a pair of long tongs in my other hand, dropping into a fighting stance.

  Will started up a chant of “Fight, fight, fight!” and Esteban made a grab for the long grill brush, arming himself. We moved out into the yard, never taking our eyes off one another. This was n
ot the first time we’d done this. Hell, this wasn’t even the first time we’d done this today, much to my wife’s annoyance.

  Right from the start, I had Esteban at a disadvantage. Sure, he had the longer reach on me, and both of my “weapons” were much shorter than my preferred katana. But I had two weapons to his one, and I hadn’t even started teaching him how to counter a dual-wielding opponent. Not many demons used swords; it didn’t seem a priority skill to teach.

  The teen eyed me for a moment, trying to figure out the best way around my double threat. I stood, balanced on the balls of my feet, and just waited. He had no patience; it was one of his key flaws. He’d make the first move.

  He tried to go on the offensive, I’ll give him that. But there was no way I was gonna let the upstart get the jump on me. He feigned a lunge that I pretended to fall for, and when he tried to reverse under my guard, I whacked the brush aside with the tongs and went for his throat with the spatula.

  Just like that, it was over. He blinked, feeling the edge of the utensil pressed just below his jaw. If I’d put any force behind it at all, I could have drawn blood. I wouldn’t, of course, and that wasn’t the point. He understood the lesson. In a real fight, he’d be dead by now, just that quick. His shoulders slumped in defeat and he dropped his eyes to his sneakers.

  “Hey.” He looked up. “You can’t be expected to know everything yet. We’ll work on dual-wielding next week, okay?”

  After a moment, he nodded, and I pulled him into a headlock to noogie him good. Trying not to laugh, he pushed free and rolled his eyes, pretending to be too cool for such antics.

  It had taken us the better part of the summer to get to this point, where he didn’t get all pissy and butt-hurt when I beat him and where I realized how to work around his stiff pride. I hadn’t killed him yet. Things were looking up. Now if I could just repair things with the rest of my crew.

  Jesse hadn’t been the most jolly of sorts this summer for a variety of reasons. Okay, really, I’d been a right bastard for a lot of it. My temper flared at weird times, and even I’ll admit I was surly on my good days. Part of the object of this party was to convince the guys I really wasn’t a raging asshole. Maybe to convince me, too. It had been a rough six months, since that mess back in March.

  I guess, no matter what kind of badass you think you are, having someone try to murder you kinda takes a toll on your mental processes. More than one person had mentioned PTSD, but never where they thought I could hear.

  I caught Cole handing Will a five-dollar bill as we came back to the patio, and raised a brow at my little brother. “Et tu, Brute?”

  “Someday, that kid’s gonna take you.”

  “Not today.” I wiped the tongs on a towel and went about flipping the burgers over. “Hey, can you grab me the-” A chorus of new voices interrupted my train of thought, and I looked up to find Dr. Bridget arriving with date in tow.

  At least, I assumed it was a date. It was a strange person of the male persuasion. A date? Since when was she dating? Granted, she was my wife’s best friend, but only my doctor. I guess she wasn’t required to file her itinerary with me, but… A date? Really?

  “Who the hell’s that?” Will asked as we all turned to watch this new male in our territory.

  “No clue. She didn’t say she was bringing anyone…”

  This new fellow was… not like us. That much was obvious. We were proudly part of the long-hair-andtattoos club, my brother excluded. Marty had a kilt on and his tattooed arms were proudly displayed. Will’s mop of curly hair was barely confined under his ball cap, and my own ponytail was there only to keep my hair out of the grill.

  This new guy was clean cut (okay, I can’t hold that against him given that Cole keeps his hair cop-short too) and there was gel in his dark hair. And a polo shirt? Khaki shorts? Loafers, for the love of little fishes! The moment he accepted a mango daiquiri from my wife, we knew this was a creature unlike any we knew. I mean, no straight guy drinks a daiquiri, let alone anything in mango. Not in Kansas City, the most “mid” of Midwestern cities.

  “Guys, this is Cam.” Bridget presented him with a smile, but there was that hint of unease lurking in her eyes. She knew how ruthless we could be, if provoked. “He just moved to the area recently, and he doesn’t really know a lot of people yet, so be nice.” Her eyes were fixed on me at that point, and I held my hands up defensively.

  “I’m a perfect angel!” Will and Marty both took turns choking, and I glared at them. Dr. Bridget glared back at me.

  “I mean it, Jess. Oh, and he used to be a priest. Watch your language.” And with that she abandoned the newly dubbed “Cam” and retreated back to the female section of the patio. He watched her go for long moments. If he was smart, he was willing her to come back and save him.

  The five of us looked at him, and he looked back, all of us trying to figure out the other. Finally, Will broke the silence. “So… Cam?”

  “Short for Cameron.”

  “And you were… a priest?”

  Cam-short-for-Cameron fidgeted with his glass uncomfortably. “Not really. I went to seminary, but I left before I took my vows.”

  The burgers were going to burn if I didn’t start paying attention, so reluctantly, I went back to tending the food and left the interrogation to my buddies.

  “Does that mean you automatically go to Hell?”

  “Will!”

  “What?” He looked at Marty, all bewildered-like, truly having no idea that it wasn’t an appropriate question. I often think that Will was born without that little voice in his head that says “don’t.”

  “Welcome to the area.” Cole finally took the role of responsible (and sane) adult, and stepped forward to offer his hand. Cameron shook it with a grateful smile, obviously pegging my little brother as a kindred spirit.

  “Thanks. It’s hard, moving when you don’t know anybody.”

  That led to the questions of why he moved, yadda yadda, and I might have actually listened with more than token interest if the last party guest hadn’t turned up just then. A totally uninvited party guest that I was not at all happy to see.

  I didn’t know the name of the man who walked around the corner of my house with a broad smile, but I’d always called him Axel. Y’know, like “Sympathy for the Devil”? He wasn’t a Jagger, for sure, and that just left… oh never mind. It made sense when I did it, trust me.

  On the surface, he looked rather normal. He wore faded blue jeans, a plain white T-shirt, and scuffed black boots. Granted, there was the blond Mohawk, the totally excessive piercings, but when you work at the kind of clothing store that I do, his appearance was rather tame. I knew it was a mask, a cover for what was truly underneath.

  Axel was a demon. He was my demon, actually, intent on collecting my soul if he could. I hadn’t seen him in months, since I cast him out of my yard last spring. To say we were not speaking was putting it lightly.

  He spotted me and made a beeline in my direction. “Jesse! I tried ringing the doorbell, but no one answered… Are we having a party?” For one horrifying moment, I thought he was going to hug me, but he stopped short. “Ooh, burgers!”

  Everyone was giving me that “Who’s this guy?” look. Everyone but Mira. She was on her feet, watching me with tension on her face. She knew. She knew, and she was waiting to see what I wanted her to do.

  For a brief (very brief) moment, I wanted to see what would happen if my wife the witch threw down against my own personal demon. But Axel was more powerful than I wanted to truly admit, and any kind of major magic work would take a horrible toll on Mira. So, no, not really an option.

  Not to mention that there were civilians here, people who had no idea that real demons walked the world. My sister-in-law, the kids, Dr. Bridget and her new boyfriend… All potentially collateral damage.

  I pasted a smile on my face and jerked my head toward Marty. “Beer me, Marty.” My stocky friend tossed me a bottle and I passed it to Axel. “This is Axel. I work with him a
t It.” Lies suck, and I hate doing it, but sometimes they come in handy. And Axel could pass for one of my tattooed, pierced, punk coworkers easily enough.

  The man-demon twisted the bottle open and took a long drink, then sighed with satisfaction. “Good stuff.” He looked around at the crowd, which was still mostly staring at him. “Do I have something on my face?” He felt around on his face with mock alarm, touching the gold rings in both eyebrows, the stud in his nose, the labret piercing just below his lower lip.

  The buffoonery worked, and everyone laughed. Well, almost everyone. Mira and I exchanged worried looks, but what was I supposed to do? Any tussle I started here would be in full view of people I didn’t want hurt. There was no choice but to leave him be, for now.

  And my day just got weirder after that. For no reason I could discern, Axel stuck around, introducing himself to my friends and family with a charming smile and witty conversation. He avoided Mira without seeming to do so, and after straying too near my daughter once and coming face-to-face with my wife’s cold expression, he avoided the little kids, too. That worried me. He was being entirely too accommodating. And what the hell did he even want? He wasn’t the “social call” kind of demon.

  Esteban was too perceptive for his own damn good, too. He caught me when everyone else was distracted. “I’ve seen him before. At It, but he doesn’t work there.” He raised one dark brow at me, daring me to disagree with him.

  “You’re a smart kid.” I handed him the first platter of burgers. “If I say move, you grab Anna and Nicky and get your ass in the house, entiendes?”

  “Entiendo.” His jaw firmed, taking his duty very seriously.

  “And Esteban? If that happens, I’m gonna need my sword.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Esteban was a good kid, from a good family. A good family who also happened to be demon hunters for generations going back. It felt a little weird, relying on a teenager to be my backup, but of everyone here, I knew I could trust the kid to follow orders, and to never back down. We’d fought demons together before.