Truth or Demon

Truth or Demon (The fifth book in the New Orleans Vampires series) A novel by Kathy Love

For Kate Duffy—

This is the last book I sold to you.

But not the last book

I will write with you in my thoughts.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I want to thank my new editor, Alicia Condon. Thank you for making this transition so easy and so positive. I’m thrilled to be working with you.

Thanks to my wonderful agent, Amy Moore-Benson. I’m excited about the future now. Thank you.

Thanks to Beth Ciotta for introducing me to the fabulous Amy. I love you, girl!

Thank you to the Tarts—otherwise known as Kate Dolan, Christie Kelley, Janet Mullany, and Kate Poole. Love you, ladies.

And thanks to my family—especially, Mom and Dad. You help me so much. Love you.

Oh wait—And of course, to my Emily. I love you, Boo!

CHAPTER 1

Killian knew his screams.

As a demon from the First Circle of Hell, he’d heard plenty of them. Screams of terror. Screams of agony. Even screams of ecstasy.

But he’d never heard screams like this. Really, it was more like squealing. High pitched, nearly deafening, like a sound that should only register in a dog’s hearing range. But unfortunately, he could hear the piercing sounds, and he could hear they were tinged with something. Some emotion. Almost … delighted horror.

He blinked again, disoriented. He had just walked into the darkness of his dwelling. Tired from a day of hard work. Escorting damned souls to their appropriate places in Hell wasn’t easy. Just the pleading alone got to him, never mind the ones who thought they were going to make a break for it. Where did these pitiful souls think they were going anyway? There wasn’t any escape. They were in Hell—that was tighter lockdown than Alcatraz times five.

Anyway, he’d been beat.

He’d just gotten home, had poured himself a drink and was heading to sit down and relax, when bang! There’d been a blinding flash and a dizzying whirl and now he was …

He blinked again, his eyes finally coming into focus, and he realized he was in a living room. A living room that wasn’t his, and he was surrounded by … young girls.

He frowned. Was this some trick? Demons did have warped senses of humor.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

His question was answered by more squeals and a hailstorm of flying popcorn and … red candies shaped like fish?

“He’s real,” one of the girls cried.

Well, yeah, he was real.

“It worked,” another said. She didn’t look as frightened as the other two. In fact, her dark eyes flashed with excitement, and a bemused smile curved her lips, revealing a row of silver braces.

“This isn’t good,” the third girl said. She was armed with more popcorn, ready to attack if he made any abrupt moves.

“Who are you?” he asked, then winced as more popcorn hit him in the face. Apparently she considered talking as attack worthy as a sudden movement.

“Who are you?” It was the one with no fear in her eyes who asked. She actually stepped forward.

He noted, out the corner of his eye, the others had renewed their ammunition. Pretty brave, he had to admit. Or foolhardy.

“I’m Killian O’—”

But Killian didn’t get to finish his sentence, or find out what the hell was going on. For the second time that day, a blinding flash blocked out his vision. But this time it was accompanied by a sharp pain to the back of his head. Then everything went black.

Poppy stared down at the crumpled body of the man now unconscious on her mother’s Persian carpet. There was another thud, and she realized she’d dropped the silver candlestick holder she’d been gripping. Another heirloom from her parents.

“Are you—” She had to pause, struggling for air. Fear stole her breath. Oh, my God, who was this man and what had he intended to do to the girls? Awful thoughts raced through her head like a vivid horror-movie trailer.

“Are you okay?” she finally managed.

The girls all nodded in unison, their gazes on the prone body in front of them.

Poppy gathered herself further to step around the downed man and usher the girls away from him. She considered taking them to the kitchen, where she could call the police, but then changed her mind. Better to leave the apartment altogether.

“Hurry,” she whispered, herding them ahead of her, glancing back at the man to make sure he was still down.

They’d reached the door when the girls seemed to snap out of their daze and start talking all at once.

“We can’t just leave him,” her sister, Daisy, said.

“He could be dead,” Madison said, looking as distressed as Daisy.

“You can’t kill a demon, can you?” Emma asked, cocking her head to the side as if considering her question. Then she shot the other two girls a pained look as if she realized she’d just said something stupid.

“Demon?” Poppy asked, shaking her head, positive the girls were in shock after all. “What are you talking about? Demon? He’s just a man. A strange man who broke into our apartment. So let’s get out of here.”

She tugged on the doorknob. The door was locked. She went still. The dead bolt was locked too.

How did the guy get in here? They lived on the fourth floor, and the only other way inside was the fire escape, which was outside her bedroom window. He hadn’t come in that way—she would have heard the warped old window scraping open. So how …?

“Did you let him in?” she asked as she turned to face her little sister and her friends.

Daisy made a face not unlike Emma’s just moments earlier.

“Kinda.”

“Kinda,” Poppy repeated. “How do you kinda let someone into our apartment?”

“Well—” Daisy started slowly.