Sex and the Single Vampire

Chapter Fourteen

"Oh, crap," I breathed, for a moment too terrified at the thought of a demon to do anything. Then I realized that was the man I loved out there about to battle a soldier of some demon lord, and it was my job to be at his side, helping him where I could. Summoners might not be any great shakes at fighting minions of the dark, but we do have a few tricks up our sleeves. I hurried into my jeans and pulled on a sweater, taking time to step into some shoes before dashing out into the hallway and racing down the stairs.

Demons go to ground whenever possible; they draw their strength from the earth, and get weaker the farther they are from it. Therefore, demons will almost always engage you in battle in a basement. I stumbled down the stairs to the ground floor, my leg screaming its protest at the combination of my earlier exercise in the tub and being jolted down two flights of stairs.

"Allie? What is the matter?" Esme appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Demon," I called over my shoulder as I ran for the door to the basement stairs. "Stay in the study and keep the others there."

I tried desperately to remember the little I'd learned of demon lore. What did come back to me had me spinning around on the stairs and gritting my teeth as I forced my poor leg into leaping back up the stairs to Christian's study. I ran straight through Esme, and then Antonio as he drifted through the door, throwing apologies and orders over my shoulder as I scrabbled through my bag. "Sorry about that, Antonio. Esme, bring Alis back in here. You'll be safe here. Where the heck is my… Oh there it is."

"Mi amor, what is the problem? That one, 'e 'as frightened you? 'E will answer to my sword this time, that I will swear upon my life."

"You're dead, and the problem isn't Christian; it's a demon. For heaven's sake, stay here where you're safe." I gathered up my chalk, the bottle of holy water, and my notebook, and spun around, dodging Alis as I hurried back down the stairs. My leg was screaming, but not as much as my mind. Christian had been alone with the demon for two or three minutes; what was he doing? Did he have experience with demons? Did he know they didn't like water, that if you captured one in a circle, it could be made to tell the truth about who summoned it? Did he know how to draw a circle strong enough to hold a demon? And worst of all, just what type was the demon—one of the weak minions, or a strong emissary of a demon lord?

The smell hit me as I raced down the basement stairs. Demons have a very strong odor, something that has been compared to that of a moldering grave. Never having stuck my nose in a moldering grave, I couldn't say, but I did know the smell raised all the hairs on the back of my neck and made my internal warning system go into overdrive trying to convince me to turn around and get myself out of there.

What I saw as I threw open the door to the wine cellar stopped me dead in my tracks. Christian leaned against the wall nearest the door, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his eyes solid black. Standing at the end of one of the six-foot-tall wine racks was a handsome man in a three-piece suit.

A very handsome man.

An exceptionally handsome man. One with dark blond hair slicked back from a broad brow, dark, sardonic eyes, and a pencil-thin mustache.

It was a demon… in Eurotrash form.

Are you okay? I asked Christian. He didn't answer me, didn't even glance over to me, but he held out his hand in warning to keep me from stepping between him and the demon. I could feel the power he was exerting to keep the demon in one place, but I didn't see any signs of containment wards. I had no idea how he was controlling the demon, but decided how wasn't important.

"This is your woman," the demon said, its voice making a couple of cracks appear in the cement wall.

I knew Christian wasn't happy having me there with him in the room with what appeared to be one of the greater demons. Only the upper soldiers in a demon lord's service could cause the wall to crack with just a few words.

"She is not Joined with you. Will you give her to me?"

A hand-size patch of plaster fell off the far wall.

I wet my fingers with holy water and moved next to Christian to trace a ward over his heart, being careful to avoid blocking his gaze.

"She is nothing but flesh and bones, Dark One. You could be powerful, more powerful than you can imagine. I know what you seek. If you give her to me, I can give you more power than the lord who created you."

Two of the ceiling lights went out.

I repeated the warding process on my own chest, then squatted down to draw a circle on the tile floor using the holy water, wondering what the demon was talking about. Christian had told me his father had been the one made a Dark One, not him.

"That will do you no good," the demon told me, its words punctuated by the sound of a bottle of wine exploding. I looked up, quickly tracing a capture symbol with my still-wet fingers, an archaic spell a wizard had taught me in case I ever ran up against a succubus or any of the other minor creatures who were sometimes attracted to haunted sites. It didn't last long, but if you were quick, you could use it to keep the creature held to one place for a few vital seconds.

"It's going to take more than just holy water to hold one of its power," I told Christian. He dragged a fingernail across his wrist, stepping forward to allow the blood seeping from the scratch to drop into the circle. I held out my hand to him.

"Would you?"

He hesitated.

"Christian, we don't have much time. You said there's power in us together; we can't do this singly."

"I don't like it," he said, reluctantly taking my hand. He was aware that if something went wrong, the demon could use our blood to bind us to itself.

"I know, and I appreciate that, but this is our only chance. If we can pull it into the circle, it will have no choice but to tell us what we want to know."

He gave me a look to let me know that he knew I was right, but still didn't want to involve me. I wiggled my fingers at him until he took one in his mouth, swiftly nipping the end of the finger. I held it above the spattered drops of his blood and let my blood mingle with his.

The demon shrieked and broke free from the ward. I was knocked backward by the force of the ward exploding, striking my head on the cement wall behind me. The demon went straight for Christian, even as I screamed out a warning.

The ward over his heart protected that organ, but it did nothing for the rest of his body. Before I could draw breath enough to clear my spinning head, the demon threw itself on Christian, punching its fist straight through his stomach and out his back.

"Dear God in heaven." I gasped as Christian clung to the demon, but whether it was for support or in attack, I didn't know. Blood soaked the demon's arm as he jerked it out of Christian's body, but powerful as it was, Christian hadn't survived nine hundred years without learning a few tricks of his own. I saw his lips moving in a spell as he easily broke the demon's bloodied arm.

I crawled over to the circle and started tracing wards around it. Although the demon was stronger than a mortal man, it was bound by the limitations of the form it had chosen, and while it couldn't be destroyed, the form it used could be harmed to the point that the demon would have no choice but to abandon it and return to its master.

All of which meant I had to hurry if I wanted to capture it before it broke Christian's body to the point where he wouldn't be able to heal himself.

The demon screamed again as Christian snapped its neck. It retaliated by punching another hole in Christian's chest, but this time he knew it was coming and fell backward, pulling the demon with him, ripping out its jugular as they fell to the floor.

I could feel Christian's strength dramatically diminish with each blow he took, and hurried to finish the captivity spell. I had never done it before, which meant the wards were not going to be strong enough to hold the demon, but the circle closed by holy water and our blood should give them enough strength to hold the demon for at least a minute or two.

I traced the last symbol, spoke the last word, and gathered up every emotion I had to feed the power I poured into the circle.

The demon shrieked again, this time a long howl of despair that had chunks of plaster falling from the ceiling to rain upon us. The demon disappeared from where it was struggling with Christian, reappearing in the circle, panting, its eyes glowing red, blood streaming down the front of its expensive Savile Row suit.

I waited just long enough to make sure the circle would hold it, then limped over to where Christian was lying drunkenly against the wall.

There were two sizable holes in his torso that were bleeding sluggishly. "What can I do to help you?"

"Merge with me," he said with a gasp, his silky voice spiked with pain. I held my hands over his wounds, closing my eyes and leaning against him, opening my mind to him and allowing him to pull strength from me.

Dark Ones have remarkable powers of recovery and self-healing, but they can be killed if the damage is too great to repair. Luckily, with Christian's heart—his most vulnerable point—warded, the demon could do only enough damage to slow him down. Still, it took valuable time to heal him, and I was very aware of the demon repeatedly testing the circle to see if it could find any weaknesses. At last Christian pulled my hands from his body and got to his feet. He was still injured, but the worst had been repaired, and at least his wounds had filled in and were no longer bleeding.

"What is its name?" Christian asked, moving carefully to stand in front of the demon. I followed, tracing protection wards on him at all four compass points.

"What is your name?" I asked it.

The capture symbols around the circle glowed green, then black in the air. I threw every bit of power I had into the circle until the symbols glowed green again.

"You will answer me. What is your name?" I asked it again.

"Sarra," it answered, all but spitting the answer out at me. Unfortunately, I wasn't hip with the latest list of demons and who they served. I glanced at Christian. He nodded.

"Who is your master?"

"Asmodeus," the demon snarled, throwing itself toward us. The wards glowed a bright green, but held. Still…

I don't think I can contain it for much longer. Do you recognize the name of its lord?

Yes.

Christian took my hand and tugged me until I was standing behind him. I gave the back of his arm a pinch and moved to his side.

"Who sent you here?" I asked the demon.

"One who is protected by my master."

Rats. Names have power, remember? Well, there were very particular rules governing the dark world, and one of them was that a demon couldn't be made to rat on anyone else who was under the protection of its lord. In other words, the demon could not be made to invoke the name of someone under his lord's power; however, the rules didn't stop me from naming names and asking the demon point-blank if that person had sent him.

"Did Guarda White send you?"

The demon snarled again and lunged at a ward that was glowing a bit weaker than the others. I threw more power into it.

"Did Phillippa the hermit send you?"

It spun around, fingernails lengthening into claws, and slashed at the air.

"Did Eduardo Tassalerro send you?"

Christian moved closer to me as I spoke the last name, a protective he-man gesture to be sure, but one that warmed me to my toes.

The demon spat out a few suggestions that were anatomically impossible. A ceiling fan spun to the floor behind him.

I leaned into Christian. "I was sure it was Eduardo."

Few of those people who dally with dark powers make free with their true names.

"Good point." I turned back to the demon. If it wanted to play it right down the line, I would be happy to oblige. "Did the one who calls himself Eduardo Tassalerro send you?"

"Yes," it hissed at me, its eyes showing its fury at being forced into revealing the truth.

"For what purpose were you sent here?" Christian asked. I glanced at him. His color was better, and he stood more easily, as if his wounds were continuing to heal. I couldn't spare any of my power to pour into him, but I squeezed his hand to let him know I was concerned. He tightened his fingers on mine in response.

The demon ignored him and continued to test the circle. To tell the truth, I was more than a bit surprised it had held a demon of Sarra's stature for as long as it did. I assumed what Christian had told me about the sum of our power combined being more than the parts added together was the reason, and attributed most of the strength of the circle to the blood we'd spilled to close it.

"Why were you sent here?" I repeated the question. Since I was the one who cast the spell, it had to answer me.

"To capture the woman."

Eek.

Christian tried to tug me behind him again. I refused to move, pinching his wrist to let him know there were only so many dominating moves I was willing to tolerate.

"Can you send it back?" he reluctantly asked me.

I looked at the demon. It sneered at me. The circle was still holding, but I could see signs that it wouldn't much longer.

"Not by myself."

Christian's eyes, glittering black onyx, held mine for a moment, his mind sharing his strength with me.

Then we will do it together.

I squashed down the niggle of doubt and clung to Christian's calm assuredness.

I let myself merge into him, holding tight to him as our power joined, swelling until it filled the room. I calmed my mind long enough to dig through my memory and uncover the long-forgotten spell that would send the demon back to its master. Merely breaking the circle would not be enough; we had to send it from its present location.

I started speaking the words, but before I could finish the air quivered expectantly. Three familiar shapes burst through the door.

"Mi amor, I am come to save you! I 'ave you now, you scaly-toothed, snaggle-skinned spawn of Satan!"

Antonio cried as he lunged forward, slashing his rapier about in an extremely dashing, if sadly ineffective, manner.

"I found a Bible," Esme yelled helpfully, then looked down at her empty hands. "Oh, dear, I must have dropped it somewhere. It's not easy keeping your attention focused long enough to move an item that is quite so heavy. I wonder if I left it on the stairs..." She wandered out of the room.

Jem, now wearing a tremendously baggy pair of torn jeans that hung extremely low on his hips, a ripped T-shirt, and a black leather jacket adorned with a skull painted on the back, and sporting one of those greased-back hairdos that the 1950s bad boys wore, all topped off with several heavy gold chains, slouched his way around Antonio. He slid a switchblade from his pocket and flicked it open, sneering at the demon. "Oy! Yer wants a taste of me pricker, then?"

"You dare to sully mi amor with your filthy presence, you disgusting piece of codpiece lint! For that you will die!"

Christian shook his head and said something in what I assumed was Czech. I didn't need a translation. I was pretty much saying the same thing to myself, only I doubted if I was as polite as he was.

"Ye wanna rumble? I'm ready t'rumble! G'wan, gimme yer best shot, sucka!"

"Jem is definitely watching too much television," I murmured.

"I found it! I must have dropped it just outside the door. Alis, dear, that isn't china; I'm sure it's just a common ceramic light fixture. Here I come; wait for me and Mr. Woogums. This Bible is terribly heavy…"

Now, here is a curious fact about ghosts. While they can interact with the world of the living only if they concentrate very hard and maintain good control over their psychic power, they can interact with one another. This is an important point in understanding just why it was that when Esme backed into the room rump-first, inexplicably dragging one of Christian's antique Bibles rather than carrying it, she wasn't able to see that she was doomed to be on a collision course with Antonio, who was dancing about the circle, hurling all sorts of insults and taunts at the demon.

I saw it, but too late.

"Esme," I yelled in warning as she gave the Bible a great jerk, sending her flying backward into Antonio. Just as Antonio was saying, "Now we will see the color of your guts, you distempered toad-spotted rabbit sucker!" he was knocked forward into the circle, thereby breaking it and releasing the demon. Just a nanosecond before the demon realized it was free, I spoke the last word needed to send it back to the depths from which it came. It turned into a column of oily black smoke that doubled up on itself, sinking into a crack in the tile floor as if it had been sucked down by some giant demonic vacuum cleaner.

Which, I guess, is as apt a description as I'll ever find.

"Well, that was certainly interesting," Esme said, rubbing her behind.

Antonio staggered out of the circle, his long curls standing on end as if he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. He blinked several times, and seemed to have some difficulty with the coordination of his legs. "I… I… I…"

Esme helped him over to a bench.

I clung to Christian's hand, breathing a bit heavily as we stared at the faint black mark staining the tile that was all that remained of the demon. Christian started forward toward the mark, but I grabbed him with my other hand and wouldn't let go.

"Beloved, it is over," he said, kissing each of my fingers before gently prying them off his wrist.

Antonio lumbered to his feet again, weaving wildly as he tugged down his doublet, a faint corona of smoke rising from his curls. "You will take your filthy 'ands from mi corazón this instant or I will be forced to teach you some manners, you pestilential malt-worm, you!"

Christian squatted down to examine the crack in the tile as I held up my hands to show Antonio they were Christian-free, then turned to glare at Esme. "Did I not tell you all to stay in the study? I distinctly remember telling you to stay there. If you had broken that circle before I completed the ritual, that demon would have wiped up the floor with all of you! Do you think I want phantoms living in Christian's house?"

Esme paled even beyond her naturally gray state. A phantom was a ghost trapped in limbo, neither in the spirit realm nor the human realm, with no hope of ever finding Release. Demons had the power to drag ghosts there if they were strong enough, and judging by the holes Sarra had punched through Christian, it was a fair bet to say he would have had little trouble with my gang of five.

"We came to save you," Antonio protested as his legs gave out and he plopped back down onto the bench. Only he wasn't paying attention, and he ended up sitting midway through the bench, the seat portion resting in his chest. He kicked his legs around and waved his arms until Esme and Jem took pity on him and hauled him up so he was sitting on the bench proper.

"And we appreciate that, but—"

"It was the least we could do for you, after everything you've done for us. Giving us a new home, and television, and taking us on little bobble outings and teas and such. Even Mr. Woogums is enjoying our new haunt."

I raised my hands, then let them fall helplessly. "Look, what you did was very noble, but—"

"Bloody, 'ell, on't no'un come 'round me 'ood and mess wit' me bloods," Jem added in an odd, eighteenth-century "lower-class servant meets twenty-first-century rapper" dialect.

I pointed a finger at him. "That's it, no more MTV for you. And pull your pants up; it looks ridiculous with the crotch down around your knees. Esme, please fetch Alis; heaven only knows what she's up to out there. I will speak to all of you later." I gave them all my best mean squinty eyes. Two heads nodded quickly. Antonio tipped over sideways and made faint mewing noises.

I turned and walked over to where Christian was examining the tile. My leg was too sore, and I was too exhausted after the tremendous outpouring of energy that was needed to defeat the demon, to squat next to him, so I just leaned against him and touched his head.

"Did it break your nice floor?"

Christian took one of my hands and pulled me forward until I was bent over and could feel the air just above the black-stained crack.

My hand tingled as if I were holding a low-voltage electric fence.

"Oh, no," I said, straightening up slowly as Christian got to his feet.

His eyes were a warm red-gold-brown that made me think of comfortable winter evenings before a roaring fire.

"This is going to require the help of a Guardian."

I felt my lower lip quiver. "You don't mean—"

He took my face in his hands and kissed me very, very gently.

"Yes," he said simply. "Now we have our very own portal to hell."

"Caray!" Antonio moaned from the bench.

"Merde," I agreed, translating it into French. There just didn't seem to be much else to say.