Mysteria Nights

He gave the air another sniff. “That makes two of us, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. An endearment, but spoken without any obvious tenderness.

You love me. You adore me. She planted the thought in his mind. She’d rather face a simpering love slave than this man’s indifference. His expression, however, remained unchanged.

What, was he immune to her powers of persuasion? She didn’t sense dark powers in him. Bat bugger, she didn’t sense anything at all. Something wasn’t right. An uneasy glance around made her aware of the gathering crowd. Why was she still here in the human’s world, anyway? It made no sense. She’d died—or at least she’d experienced a demon’s version of dying. Except for the haunting vision of the snow, and all the white light.

It was so beautiful . . .

Shay gave her head a small shake. Mistake—the sharp pain nearly blinded her. She moaned. Maybe she was back in Hell, and Lucifer was playing with her, teasing her with images of her Ice Age lover. More than any other demon, Lucifer liked to torment her. She’d eventually learned never to reveal partiality to anything—or anyone—because he’d force her to give them up.

The blue-eyed man stood as the ambulance pulled up and stopped. Doors slammed. A man with tousled brown hair and glasses, a wrinkled shirt, and loosened tie elbowed his way to where she lay on the pavement.

“I’m Dr. Fogg,” he greeted. He immediately took out a flashlight and shined it in her eyes. Grumbling, she tried to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. If she hadn’t been hurting as much as she was, she would have gotten up and left the scene, leaving them to practice their mortal medicine on someone else.

The blue-eyed man watched the doctor’s every action—and hers. His glare was intent, unwavering. A rifle hung from one hand. “You’d better take a good look at her, Doc. She’s been babbling. She thinks it’s snowing.”

Babbling? Suck a frog, mortal. She shot him a glare, but it made her head spin. He seemed to notice, his mouth twitching ever so slightly in amusement, almost as if he’d provoked her on purpose. Then he sobered, sniffing the air again and frowning. She was tempted to conjure up some exotic perfume—the Egyptians were quite good at crafting it—but she didn’t want to call notice to her identity. She was here undercover.

A dark-haired woman wearing a khaki uniform and a star pinned to her chest showed up, jotting notes on a pad. She had a pretty face and a boyish way about her. “Sheriff,” the blue-eyed man said, nodding.

“Laredo,” she greeted back. Surveying the Porsche with its front end submerged in the fountain, she sent Shay a withering look. “A dead-on dunk by a drop-down drunk. Now, this is a new one on me.”

“I’m not drunk,” Shay said.

“High, then.”

“No.”

The sheriff made a quiet snort. “Miss, how fast were you going? Was there a reason you were in such a hurry?”

The doctor removed his glasses to frown at the sheriff. “She’s in shock and probably has a concussion. Save your strong-arm tactics. I’ll give her a blood test at the hospital. In the meantime, no more questioning until she’s stabilized.”

That suited Shay just fine. With her powers of persuasion apparently on the fritz, she’d be forced to make up a story. Mortals were basically smart; they wouldn’t believe just anything. Whatever she fabricated had to be convincing.

“Can you touch your right finger to your nose?” the doctor requested.

“Of course.” Shay’s finger landed on her upper lip.

“Must be that alcohol she’s not drinking, or the drugs she’s not taking,” the sheriff muttered.

Blue eyes—Laredo—chuckled. Shay’s temper burned. No one laughed at her. She’d show him the consequences of his error. You fall to your knees, sobbing as you beg forgiveness. She blinked, implanting the thought. Nothing. It bounced right off his mind. Fuming, she turned to the sheriff. You itch terribly between your legs.

The woman continued to scribble notes on her notepad. Shay felt the first tingles of fear. What had happened to her powers? She felt as disoriented and defenseless as a gladiator standing in the middle of the arena who just realized he’d left his weapons behind.

“Hey, Laredo,” the sheriff said. “Doc Fogg says you pulled her out of the wreck and resuscitated her. That’s hero stuff.”

Laredo shrugged off the sheriff’s compliment.

“Just doing your job, I know. Consider me impressed. When I hired a demon hunter, I thought I was getting a killer not a lifesaver.”

Shay’s gaze whipped back to Laredo. Satan’s stones! He was a demon hunter? How could she have let him get this close without sensing what he was? Then it hit her that he didn’t recognize what she was, either. If he had, he would have killed her, not revived her.

He wasn’t completely fooled, though. He acted suspicious but not certain—but to a demon hunter, a demon of her caliber should have been obvious. It was clear something had neutralized her dark powers.

“You landed in the damn fountain.”

She remembered Laredo’s words with sudden unease. Lucifer had warned her to stay away from Mysteria’s wishing fountain. This was why. The “damn fountain” had stolen her powers and rendered her helpless. Well, if not quite helpless then very much human.

Human . . . Something inside her leaped at the thought. All her long existence had she not fantasized about being human? Mortal. Craved the thrill of feeling real emotion, of knowing she walked along a finite road of destiny under the constant threat of death? How exhilarating it was to pretend; doing it for real was another thing entirely. The vulnerability was breathtaking.

Terrifying.

And most certainly terminal.

“I will find you, and end you.” Lucifer’s threat strangled her silly daydreams and dragged her back to her senses. “You cannot hide.” Panic gnawed away at her composure, worsening her all-too-human headache. This condition had better be transitory, or she was history. Literally. How could she complete her mission if she was weak and had—she cringed—emotions? Hell’s bells, she’d been bawling only moments ago, thinking Laredo was Swift River. Ugh—how weak! How human. Even now her heart—or what passed for a heart—leaped every time their eyes met. Which was every damn time she glanced his way.

Even as she formed the thought, Laredo was watching her, hard—and not because his heart was leaping (or any other part of him) with the sight of her, she’d bet. He wanted to kill her, not kiss her, and wouldn’t hesitate if she gave any hint of being a demon. In her weakened state, he might very well finish the job.

A woman squeezed past the people surrounding the scene. “Hello, honey.” The woman dropped to a crouch next to Shay and took her hand in hers. She had creamy brown skin, black curly hair shot through with copper highlights, and a smile that could melt glaciers. “I’m Reverend Harmony Faithfull. How can I help?”

Shay’s gloom vanished in a poof. Harmony Faithfull. The mother of the child Lucifer wanted destroyed had walked right into her clutches. What a stroke of devil’s fortune, she thought with a slow smile. Suddenly, things were not as bleak as they seemed. “You already have helped, Reverend. More than you know.” Yet, the thought of hurting Harmony or anyone else gathered around left her feeling sick to her stomach.

Once she got away from the damn fountain, she’d be fine. By morning she’d be able to commence her mission.

As the doctor checked Shay’s blood pressure and other vital signs, Harmony took out a cell phone. “Is there someone I can call for you? Your family? A husband?”

At the mention of a husband, Shay felt Laredo’s stare sharpen. Jealous, was he? She ignored him, trying to project instead a quiet sadness as she shook her head. She needed to throw her whole being and many millennia of lying into convincing Harmony to trust her around the babe. The thought made her stomach clench and her mouth go dry.

Before she had a chance to answer, the sheriff returned. “I ran your plates, Miss Shay d’Mon.” Shay cringed at the surname she’d chosen. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Now she regretted it. Laredo’s suspicious