Demon Cant Help It

CHAPTER 7

Jo's head spun from Maksim's slight touch, nothing more than a fleeting brush of his thumb against her lip. Probably accidental at that. Certainly nothing to warrant such a strong reaction, but she hadn't been able to stop herself. She had to pull away. It made her think and want things she absolutely couldn't.

She tried to stay calm, to react normally, but as soon as she'd asked him if she'd gotten whatever was on her lips off, her head started spinning even more.

Now she couldn't seem to focus her eyes. The restaurant shifted and blurred around her like she was peering through a kaleidoscope. She braced her hand on the table to ground herself. But that didn't seem to help.

She closed her eyes, not daring to open them for several seconds. When she finally did, she saw Maksim watching her. His own face bleached of its natural healthy color as if he was feeling the same nauseating vertigo. Confusion clouded his peridot-green eyes. And he continued to study her as if she were a complete stranger unwelcome at his table.

But instead of asking him what was wrong, she used the edge of the table to help herself stand. She didn't understand his reaction, but she couldn't focus on that.

Nausea churned in her stomach, threatening to make her retch.

"I need to use the restroom," she mumbled, glancing around for a sign to point her in the right direction, finding it on the far side of the courtyard. She didn't wait for Maksim's response as she headed that way, weaving slightly.

Once inside the ladies' room, she leaned heavily on the bathroom door, pulling in a gulping breath to calm her roiling stomach. She remained that way for several seconds, then straightened again, using the wall to balance herself.

Moving carefully, afraid another wave of nausea would hit her or she might jar her head more, which still felt muddled and heavy, almost as if she had somehow gotten a concussion, she made her way to one of the stalls.

Shoving the door closed behind her, she again propped herself against the stall wall. She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down. The nausea had subsided, thank God. But her head. She pressed a hand to her temple. What a strange feeling as if her brain was too—full.

She rested there for a moment, eyes still closed, not moving.

Finally the strange sensation dwindled slowly away. Still she didn't move. She wasn't ready to go back out to Maksim. She didn't want to face him. Embarrassment replaced the nausea—just a different type of sick feeling. Embarrassment and dread.

She knew she'd seen desire in his eyes. She knew he wanted her. While that was awkward, what was worse was that she wanted him, too.

With just the likely unintentional brush of his thumb, she'd wanted him with an intensity she couldn't deny. Just that easily. What the hell was wrong with her? She prided herself on willpower. On control.

Although she couldn't recall why now. She hadn't been in control of anything for so long, she wondered if she'd only imagined her restraint. Look at her, she was in this restroom, fighting yet another bout of nausea, because things were happening to her that she couldn't alter.

She wasn't going to think about any of this right now. She was going to get herself composed. She was going to go out there and thank Maksim for a nice meal. And she was going back to work. That was the best strategy.

She ran a shaky hand over her face, but didn't move. Instead she rested her forehead on the stall door. Just another moment.

After a few seconds she heard something. Like the pattering of bare feet on the tiles. But she hadn't heard the door open.

Frowning, she lifted her head. And she could have sworn the three-stall restroom was empty. Even in her agitation she'd managed to make note of that. Maybe she'd been wrong.

She stepped away from the door slightly, listening. The footfalls had stopped. Jo held her breath, a sudden shiver of apprehension making her skin tingle and hair stand up on the back of her neck.

The bathroom was freezing, she realized, trying to slough off the strange sensation as just that, a matter of temperature. Cold tiles and humming air-conditioning.

Then she heard another movement, like an impatient shuffle. Carefully, silently, Jo backed away from the door more, until the backs of her legs made contact with the toilet.

She stared at the door, waiting. Her breath held, her heart racing.

This was ridiculous. She should just call out and see if anyone was there. Or just exit the stall. She opened her mouth to ask who was there, but no words formed. She willed herself to reach for the latch on the door, but her hands stayed limp at her sides.

When, after a few seconds, she heard nothing more, she bent just a little, peeking out underneath the door as much as the narrow stall would allow. Underneath, a few feet from the door, she saw small bare toes. Bare feet, just as she thought, facing her stall.

Real fear filled her, even as she tried to tell herself she was being ludicrous. It was a child. Probably nervous, maybe because she's being allowed to go to the bathroom by herself for the first time.

But without shoes?

Well, that was apparently the case, and surely lurking in her own stall wasn't putting the child at ease. Still Jo couldn't seem to bring herself to move.

Just as she'd managed to raise one of her hands and start reaching out slowly for the latch, the feet turned as if to exit the bathroom. Jo stared at the crack between the door and the stall wall. A flash of dark hair and multicolored clothing crossed past the narrow gap. Rainbow stripes.

A chill coiled down her spine like a long, creeping snake. She shuddered, watching the space around the door. She listened. No sound. No footfalls. No opening of the door. Nothing.

She forced herself to release her pent-up breath, blowing out long and slow. Then she flicked the lock open, her hand darting out and jerking back as if she expected something to grab her.

This is crazy. She was acting crazy.

But as with the lock, she shoved the door, then braced herself for something to jump at her. But the restroom continued to be silent.

She stepped out of the stall and looked around. White sinks that could have used a better scrubbing lined the wall beside the stalls. Gray and white tiles covered the floor and walls. A trash can threatened to overflow with crumpled brown paper towels. A paper towel dispenser hung on the wall—with an empty roll inside. And nothing else.

No child in rainbow clothing. No one.

She frowned, still searching, looking under the half-closed doors of the other two stalls. Had she imagined everything?

Was that part of the nausea and the strange ache in her head?

Great, hallucinations were just what she needed—as if she didn't have enough to contend with. Jackson, her new and still changing life, Maksim.

Oh no, Maksim. He was probably wondering what happened to her. Well, that made two of them.

She glanced around one more time, realizing that some of the bone-deep chill had left her. As the coldness seeped away, so did some of her fear.

She didn't want to stay there any longer, however. She hurried to the door, her sandaled foot slipping, and she caught herself on the door handle. Water, she immediately realized. Probably from people washing their hands, and being forced to shake them dry, because there were no towels.

She looked down. Yes, water. But not splattered drips like one would expect from wet hands being shaken dry. Each puddle had a form, a distinguishable shape.

Small, wet footprints.

She yanked open the door and dashed back into the restaurant, pausing just briefly to get her bearings. Spotting Maksim, she beelined right to the table.

"I–I just realized that I need to get back to the center," she told him without any pretense of composure or good manners.

She expected him to argue, to ask if she was okay, to tell her to have a seat and finish her meal. He only nodded, his thoughts clearly miles away.

Some of her anxiety faded at his distant reaction. He'd been trying to win her over, to charm her. What happened?

Then she reprimanded herself. She didn't want his interest in her. He just made her altogether too stressful life even more so.

"Okay," she said. "Let me give you some money toward lunch."

"No," he said, his voice sharp and abrupt. Then he added more softly, "I've got it."

"You're sure?"

He nodded again.

"Okay. Thank you."

Another nod.

She hesitated, feeling like there should be more to say, but then she gave up. She couldn't take any more weirdness. She just needed out of there.

"Bye, then."

"Bye." The word was mumbled vaguely as if he was back to that place miles away.

Maybe he was experiencing the same strangeness that she had. Maybe. But she didn't care, honestly. She wanted to be back at the center, surrounded by the noise and bustle of the children, back to worrying about finances and volunteers and new programs. Not feeling—frightened.

Maksim watched Jo weave her way through the maze of tables like a professional barrel racer. He should have stopped her, tried to get inside her head again, but he'd been too stunned. What had he just happened?

Not anything he'd ever experienced before. He'd entered Jo's head—and there had been nothing. Just a blackness. Not an emptiness like she didn't have any emotions, any memories. It was a like a veil, a thick haze that he couldn't see through. He couldn't reach through.

"Are you done, sir?"

Maksim frowned at the waiter, taking a moment to comprehend his question.

"Oh. Yes. We're done."

The waiter picked up the plates and told Maksim he'd be back with the check, but Maksim already paid no attention to him. What was different about Jo? He'd never had that happen. So was it about her? Or maybe it was him.

Maybe his powers weren't working correctly. That had never happened before, either, but he supposed it was a minute possibility.

To check, he focused on the waiter, who was now heading back to the kitchen, his hands full of dirty dishes. Maksim concentrated, then ducked into the kid's head for just a brief moment. Long enough to know the kid was bored, ready for his shift to be done. He needed to stop at Walgreen's after work for some condoms. Which he hated to use. But he did want to get it on with his new girlfriend, a girl he'd met last week at a place called Krazy Korner. And she wouldn't do it without a rubber.

Maksim stole back out, before he got a clear look at the kid's impression of the girl. Just a brief snippet of short shorts and tall, black boots. Maksim didn't want to stay too long. He didn't want to mess up the kid's head too much, which it invariably did.

As it was, the poor guy had dropped one of the plates he was carrying the moment Maksim had hopped in his head. The remainder of Jo's salad spread across the flagstone, a jumble of greens and dressing and broken glass. Much like the muddle of thoughts going on in Maksim's own head at the moment.

So his powers weren't faulty. The kid's brain had been like an open book, or more accurately a wide-screen television. The images had been clear, easily accessed like channels flipping to offer one glimpse after another of his thoughts and feelings. So why hadn't that happened with Jo?

Maksim didn't wait for the waiter to return with the bill. He was now busy cleaning up the mess of the dropped plate and wondering what had just come over him, and why his head felt so strange. And Maksim didn't have time to waste—even though technically the mess was his fault.

Maksim stood and fished in his pocket. Pulling out a hundred-dollar bill, he dropped it on the table. That would more than cover the meal and compensate the kid for the extra mess.

Maksim strode out of the restaurant, heading north on Dumaine Street. He didn't slow his pace until he reached the row of shotgun houses lining both sides of the street.

He stopped in front of the one painted pink with faded green shutters the color of mint ice cream. The trim work was pale yellow. Leave it to his sister to live in something that looked like it should be out of a fairy tale. Or an Easter basket.

He rooted around in his pocket for the key. Once inside, the gingerbread house colors didn't end. The front room was lavender with gold brocade furniture, leading into a short hallway the color of blue cotton candy.

He dropped his keys onto the coffee table and headed down the fluffy blue hallway, walking into the one somewhat palatable room in the whole place, Ellina's study.

He flipped on the light. At least the walls here were a tolerable shade of deep orange that was only mildly reminiscent of living inside a pumpkin, but did manage to look decent with the dark oak bookcases and desk.

Across her desk were all the notes and papers she'd been working on when she disappeared. His sister was a writer. Research books about the occult. With a distinct focus on demons. Go figure.

But he didn't go to her desk. He'd been through all her notes so many times in his search for her that he knew they wouldn't have the answer he needed right now. Instead he went to her bookshelves, scanning the titles. Demons For Dummies. Nice, Ellina. Demonic and Loving It. Maksim shook his head. The Everyday Guide to Demons.

He grabbed that one. Then he spotted one called, Demons: Their Abilities and Their Downfalls. That could be of use. Of course, it did bug him that his sister, half demon herself, thought it was wise to give the human world insights into the downfalls of demons. Couldn't she let them believe they were all-powerful?

Ah, well, in this case, he needed some insight into his own downfalls, which until today, he would have said he didn't have. Maybe Ellina had researched what was going on with him. Because in all of his existence, Jo was the first mortal he hadn't been able to read.

He flipped to the back of the book, running down the index. Trapping. Banishing. Cleansing a demonically possessed item.

He checked the index several times, but nothing she mentioned actually addressed the quandary within the demons themselves.

"Lot of good this will do me," he muttered, tossing the book on the floor. "I know how to banish myself back to Hell."

He thumbed through the other book with no more luck than the first. Not for the first time he wished Ellina was just here.

He paused looking through the book and glanced around the empty room.

Where are you, Ellina?

He needed her, and not just to help him with this dilemma. He was worried about her. More than worried. But so far all leads had ended up going nowhere. So he stayed here and waited.

Feeling helpless was not something a demon handled well. He hoped Ellina had at least put that fact in one of her books. Because he was feeling decidedly helpless about his sister. And about Jo.

Why would Josephine Burke, a mere mortal, have the ability to keep him out of her head? He didn't understand. And why did this particular woman keep bringing up previously unknown feelings?

Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Josephine Burke was affecting him like no one else ever had.

He suspected if he could just have her, then things would calm inside him. Clearly the oddity of not being able to read her mind wasn't curbing his desire for her.

Seduction was still his plan. In truth, he knew he was helpless to take any other course of action.