Fremont gaped. “Is he a
Cassandra started to answer, then snatched paper towels from the counter and pressed them to her overflowing eyes. “Damn it, why can’t I stop crying?”
“Ansel is a Nightwalker,” I said crisply. “Much like a vampire, but a little different from ones in the movies. For one thing, he’s real.”
Ansel’s lip curled. “He’s real
“I’m killing him,” Mick said. “Sorry, Janet, I know he’s your friend, but no one here should be a Nightwalker snack, and I’m certainly not letting him get his fangs into you.”
“It’s not his fault,” I countered. “I’m betting that the cow’s blood would have been perfectly fine if not for the curse.”
“It’s also not a demon’s fault it likes to devour human flesh,” Mick said. “That doesn’t mean I’d let one feast on you.”
“Ansel,” I said, trying to ignore Mick. “If I can give you fresh cow’s blood, will you drink it? It would take the edge off at least, right?”
Ansel gave me a grudging nod. “Possibly.” He wet his lips, then grimaced when his tongue touched a drying drop of the tainted blood. “I really need a human vein.”
“For me, Ansel.” I held his gaze with my own. Nightwalkers could mesmerize with their gazes, but none had ever been able to do that to me. “There’s another jug in the back of the refrigerator. Go get it, and drink it. If you don’t, and Mick tries to kill you, I won’t be able to stop him.”
Not without killing Mick in the process. If I had to choose between Mick and a Nightwalker ready to go on a rampage, sorry, Mick won.
Ansel sneered, fangs still long and nasty, but he headed for the fridge. I could tell he was trying to control himself, but he nearly ripped the handle off the refrigerator door when he opened it.
As soon as he stepped inside, I rushed the door. Mick caught on and got there first. He slammed the door just as Ansel realized what we were doing and turned around. Ansel hit the door from the inside, the
Ansel screeched, an unearthly, ear-shattering sound. He pounded on the door, and Mick stepped away from it, breathing hard.
“That should hold him,” Mick said. “For a while.”
“A while is all we need.” I wiped my brow. “The air in there is still cold enough to make him a little sluggish. By the time he breaks out, hopefully we’ll have this curse thing resolved.”
“Breaks out?” Fremont asked, his eyes wide. “What happens if he breaks out?”
Cassandra answered from behind her tear-dampened paper towels. “Then he’ll want more than a snack.”
Maya put one hand on her hip. “You do know that most of our food is in there.” Aside from the little pile of half-made sandwiches on the counter, dangerously close to spattered cow blood, she was right.
I gestured to the refrigerator, where Ansel was already denting the door from the inside. “Go on in, if you really want to. Pick something out for me, too. In the meantime, there’s something I need to do on the roof.”
“IS THIS SOME crazy Indian thing?” Maya asked me as she walked out onto the roof with me.
“No,” I answered. “Just some crazy desperation thing.”
Mick followed us, but Cassandra, Fremont, and Coyote remained below to make sure Ansel didn’t get out. Or at least Coyote and Fremont did. Cassandra had curled into a ball on a sofa, still weeping.
I was pleased to see, as we walked outside, that the emerging stars were being swallowed by thick clouds to the north and west. My skin prickled. A storm was coming, a big one, and my Stormwalker magic wanted to lick it all over.
Once the storm grew big enough, I’d suck it inside me, bind it to my Beneath magic, and let it rip.
Mick laced his fingers through mine, and I knew he sensed my storm magic awakening. The aftermath of storms usually involved him calming me down from the overwhelming magic, and
Maya shivered as the approaching wind cut through her thin dress. “You think Nash will see your smoke signals from twenty miles away and come running? Nash never even looks out the window.”
“No.” I crouched down and set out the supplies I’d grabbed: a brazier, sage, charcoal, and towels from the linen supply closet. I piled charcoal and sage in the brazier and looked at Mick. The butane lighters had stopped working, and I hadn’t been able to find any matches.
Mick’s eyes were still black, without a hint of blue. He pointed at the brazier, a fireball streaked out of his forefinger, and the brazier exploded into flames. Maya and I jumped away.
“I only needed a spark,” I said as I grabbed a towel and beat the flames in the bowl back to manageable size.
Mick balled his hand. “Sorry, I was trying for a spark. That just came out.”
Terrific. If Mick lost control of his Firewalker fire, he could burn the hotel down around us. The hex might burn with it, but we, trapped inside, would still be dead.
Was that what the hex meant to do, I wondered, bring out the worst in us so that we were the means of our own destruction? The wind turned suddenly icy.
“So, what happens now?” Maya asked.
I got to my feet and fed the towel I’d been using into the fire. The cloth sputtered and caught, then started to smolder, sending up a wisp of stinking smoke.
“I’m hoping that someone will see smoke coming from the top of the Crossroads Hotel and report it. A 9-1-1 call will bring firefighters, the police, and Nash.”
“Carlos couldn’t see me or hear me through the window,” Maya said. “What makes you think the smoke will be visible?”
I had no idea. Mick had demonstrated that the bubble of the hex extended fifteen feet upward. Possibly the smoke would simply collect in the bubble and not disperse, but wouldn’t that look weird enough to attract attention? A glowing ball of smoke on top of the Crossroads Hotel?
“If Nash hears about it, he won’t be able to stay away,” I said. “He’ll have to know what trouble I’m getting myself into this time, so he can gloat if no other reason. Besides, he and you were supposed to meet tonight, right? He’ll get worried when you don’t show up.”
“He won’t.” Maya folded her bare arms. “Out last date didn’t exactly end well.”
I grew curious. “What happened?”
“Do you know what he talked about during our nice dinner out? Nonstop? You.”
“Me?”
I felt Mick at my shoulder, his breath hot on my skin. “Why?” he asked, his voice taking a dangerous edge.
“Because he and Janet had just had another run-in,” Maya said. “He was angry at her, and he told me all about it at the fancy restaurant he took me to—through the appetizers and the wine, and all through dinner. Couldn’t shut his stupid mouth about you, Janet.”
“Sorry.” It was hardly my fault that Sheriff Jones was clueless when it came to women, but I felt bad that his choice of conversation had hurt Maya. “What did you do?”
“Poured my wine in his lap and walked out.”
Mick snorted with laughter. “Good for you.”
“This was supposed to be our makeup date. If I don’t show, he’ll assume I’m still mad at him. Which I am.”
Mick put his arms around me from behind while I dropped another towel into the smoking mess. His dragon tattoos glowed eerily in the light from the brazier. “Tell Jones to back off Janet, or he’ll answer to me.”
I suppose some women would be thrilled by a gorgeous man leaping to her defense for every little thing, but his tight protectiveness was starting to worry me. Mick was possessive, yes, but he usually was more sensible about it.
“Nash is immune to your fire,” I pointed out.
“I can’t hurt him magically, no,” Mick said. “But I can break things, like his neck.”
