Her lush little ass swayed as she shimmied away. A nice piece, but Quel didn’t feel much like company. There was something about the air tonight. It was different from anything he’d detected before. Something very old and very dark had been unleashed, and he wouldn’t let down his guard until he figured out what it was.
Making snuffling sounds, the boy screwed up his face. “You smell anything yet, Mr. Laredo? I don’t.”
“Hurry on home, boy. Your mama’s going to be worried.”
Half in awe, half-terrified, the boy ran off. Not all that different of a reaction from the women in town, Quel thought. Not that he blamed others for the way they acted around him. He’d grown up tough, eight foster families in ten years, but that wasn’t it, entirely. It was what people saw in his eyes that scared them away. His eyes reflected what he’d seen—and continued to see: demons.
Growing up, he thought demons were make-believe. Now he knew more about them than he wanted to know. The first time he’d laid eyes on a demon was on a battlefield in Iraq. He’d woken up bleeding from his head and chest after a roadside bomb had taken out the convoy he was escorting. He’d been working private security for Blackstone, he was experienced and sought out for it, but this time the terrorists had been kids—nothing but damn kids, no more than fourteen, fifteen years old. They did what few others had ever been able to pull off: they caught Quel Laredo by surprise. The attack was quick and on target. He’d woken to see a gangly, leather-skinned monster crouched next to one of the wounded soldiers. At the time, Quel was sure he was hallucinating. “You see that?” he croaked to his buddy, Hauser, who’d dragged him out of the hot sun.
“We’re gonna get you patched up, Laredo. Hang in there.”
Hang in there? As clear as day, Quel saw a medic fighting to save the soldier, pumping his heart even as the demon drained his soul. “I’m losing him,” the frustrated rescuer shouted, oblivious of the demon.
Quel fought off Hauser. “Get it the fuck away from him!” The soldier would die if they didn’t. Quel got to his hands and knees and dragged himself to the dying man, shoving the demon off his chest. The monster came back —this time for him.
They rolled over the sand, grabbing for each other’s throats. Then, remembering every last horror movie he’d ever seen, Quel stabbed him with the cross his mother had given him before she died.
Quel wasn’t religious—he didn’t follow much of anything—but the necklace was the only link he allowed to his past. The silver sank between the demon’s ribs, sizzling as the creature convulsed, shrieking. By the time the surviving guys on his team got him wrestled to the ground, the damn thing was dead.
Everyone assumed he’d suffered a hallucination. So did Quel, until he started seeing demons all across Iraq. No wonder there was a damned war going on. Evil fueled it.
He put in his papers and left the Gulf. After a few months kicking around a friend’s ranch in Montana, dogged by restlessness and too many memories, he ran into more demons. This time he knew what to do. People were more grateful than they were skeptical, and now even more afraid of him, but he was used to that. Might as well use his ability to see demons to make a living. Now he was Quel Laredo, demon hunter. It kept him on the move. Moving was good. It gave him less time to think. As a demon hunter, he could do some good, and he didn’t have to face his past. A win-win situation, in his mind.
He had a lot to learn at first, and there was no shortage of people wanting to help him. Over the years, he’d studied with everyone from ninjas to witches. He learned that some demons were obvious to the human eye and that others preferred to be invisible, either by disguising themselves as humans or by using dark magic to remain unseen. Quel grabbed freelance demon-hunting jobs where he could find them, never staying long in one place or with any one person. He was like a swift river, sure and cold, always moving on. When Mysteria was hiring, he took the job—just for the winter, he’d thought—but he ended up staying. It had been a year now. He liked it. Maybe he just felt at home with the collection of other lost souls there.
The lost souls he’d sworn to protect.
Quel checked for his rifle, pistols, ammo, silver BBs for the smaller creatures, garlic, and the cross hanging from his neck as he paced in front of the fountain that was the centerpiece of Mysteria’s town square. The water bubbled, sending up spray. The townspeople insisted the fountain was magic, that wishes made there would come true. Hell, he wouldn’t mind the help. He’d find his demon that much sooner.
Frowning, he tasted the air again. Yeah, definitely demon. It was getting stronger, too—the scent of demon mixed with something sweeter, almost distracting. He didn’t like that. No one distracted Quel Laredo.
He pulled on the brim of his hat and kept walking. There was a demon about, and he’d find it before sunrise . . . like he always did.
The night had cleared. Stars had come out. In the moonlight, Shay followed the road leading into Mysteria. She attracted less attention now that she was no longer naked—thanks to the generosity of some campers. Oh, they were startled to see her waltzing into their campsite wearing nothing but her bare curves. A well-placed thought, a blink of her eyes, and they let her take what she needed, convinced they’d done a good deed. Shay liked to leave mortals believing they’d done good, even when they helped her do things that were very, very bad. Yes, she was like the Good Samaritan except with ulterior motives.
The jeans were a little tight in the butt, but the T-shirt was just perfect, snug and smooth. ANGEL, it said, BY VICTORIA’S SECRET. Well, Shay had a secret, too: she was no angel. Her laughter floated in the damp, chill air of the mountains as she smoothed her hands over the outfit. She enjoyed showing off her assets. This body was her favorite. It had served her well for most of the last few thousand of years. Why not showcase it—to Damon’s downfall?
Eventually she came upon what looked to be an inn. Inside, several couples shared a table as they ate dinner. She sashayed past the line of parked cars, brushing her fingers over the hoods, and paused next to a little red sports car. Her driving had never been as good as her chariot skills, but then she’d not had as many centuries to practice. Still, how could she walk away from this sweet little Porsche, irresistible in devil red? She had a job to do, yes. No one said she couldn’t have some fun while doing it.
A blink of her eyes, and the locks popped open. The diners behind the restaurant window glanced her way, alarmed. Shay blinked, placed the thought:
They went back to their meal. Smug, Shay slid in behind the wheel and started up the car. A blink of her eyes, and the license plates and registration reflected her human alter ego: Shay d’Mon. She giggled. Oh, how she enjoyed a good play on words. Yes, Miss d’Mon, single, white, twenty-five years old, complete with no living family and a teaching degree. With the engine purring, she smiled and pulled onto the highway and shoved the gas pedal to the floor. “Full speed ahead.”
A pair of headlights appeared on the road that wound down through the hills into town. Someone was driving way too fast. Outsider, Quel thought, testing the air. Demon. He smelled demon. Yeah, demon and that sweet hint of something delicious underneath that somehow didn’t belong.
Maybe the car had come in contact with the demon and didn’t contain the creature itself. He’d never known demons to drive, but they were crafty; they adapted. He wouldn’t know until it got closer. Quel cradled his rifle in his arms and waited.
The car sped toward town, barely staying on the rain-slick road as it made the switchback turns. It was either a demon without a driver’s license or a dumb-ass city boy playing NASCAR.
A pack of werewolves scampered across the square, headed toward the woods. They’d have to cross the road to do that. Quel glanced at the rising full moon and swore. They’d be too crazed by their hormones to see the danger careening toward them.
“Watch out,” Quel shouted as the car sped toward them. The sound of brakes being applied shrieked in the night. Werewolves scattered. The car fishtailed and spun. A rear wheel clipped the shoulder of the road, flipping the vehicle over. It rolled all the way down the embankment and landed right side up in the center of the fountain with one helluva splash.
Now he’d seen everything. Quel cocked his rifle and headed that way. Whoever—or whatever—was driving that car sure knew how to make an entrance.
