Mysteria Nights

Harmony frowned at him. “It took us weeks to find a nanny. If you scare her away, Laredo . . .”

“I’ll be good. I promise.”

The couple sitting at the table didn’t look convinced. Damn, his reputation was worse than he’d thought. No one, not even the town pastor, wanted him near the woman. “I’ll play nice. I do know how.” So he was a little out of practice. No one needed to know that. In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to get to know Miss d’Mon a little better, angel . . . or not.

Five

If ever the moment to strike was right, it was this one. Here she was, alone with the babe, unwatched. Now was her chance.

Pink-cheeked, little Damon sat perched on Shay’s hip, giggling at the ducks. The idea of murdering the child and taking its bones to Lucifer threatened to make her violently ill. She’d killed men with a blink of her eyes. Now she was paralyzed by guilt and disgust at the thought of betraying the mortals who trusted her. The sensation had gotten worse over the past few days, not better.

Bat bugger. It was the blasted soul. Out, out, she chanted in her mind. Ever since she rode the ambulance to the hospital, she’d been willing the soul to leave her body, begging it to go away throughout her treatment by humans who seemed to care for her despite her sloppy entrance into town, despite her being a stranger. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get rid of it. Worse, kindness was feeling pretty good when it used to make her sick. How much longer could she fool Lucifer into thinking she was doing her job? If he found out what had happened, she was toast. And if the Faithfull family learned of her true mission . . . well, she was still toast.

Think of something, Shay. Think!

No plan beyond hiding out came to her. No ideas. No strategy. Where were those wits she was so sure she possessed? “You stupid creature.” She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering Lucifer’s tirade before he sent her from Hell. He made no secret that he thought her stupid. Vile, yes, but lacking in the wits department. Anger lanced through her, and she opened her eyes, glaring at the pond. She was smarter than her master thought, and she’d prove it. How, she didn’t yet know, but it would come to her; surely it would.

By now, Lucifer would be wondering why she hadn’t reported in with her status. Soon she had to send word of her progress, or he’d grow suspicious. Her master knew her weaknesses. Even now he might be watching her holding little Damon, the scene projected on the molten walls of his lair.

“More!”

She pressed more bread into Damon’s outstretched hand. His baby fragrance drifted to her. Babies mystified her; she knew little about them and wasn’t interested in learning more, yet there was an innocence about them, a goodness, that she’d never really noticed before. Perhaps you were not capable of noticing. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, least of all Lucifer, she touched her lips to the top of little Damon’s head, her favorite spot. Soft, warm skin, silken curls. Her hand drifted lower, down to the babe’s fragile neck, so easily snapped . . .

No.

Gasping, she snatched back her hand. Assassinating the babe ensured her master’s future. Letting it live assured her master’s end. Kill or spare the child: each of her potential actions contradicted the other. She’d seen people tortured on the rack during the Middle Ages, pulled apart by opposing forces. Torn between good and evil, between conscience and duty, she decided the rack could not have been any worse than this.

Tiny fingers landed on her cheek, turning her head to bring her eye to eye with the child she was supposed to kill. Those gray blue eyes searched hers, deeply and with disarming intensity. Swallowing, Shay turned her eyes away, lest the little one see her purpose and her true nature.

The boy’s sticky hand pressed on her chin, forcing her gaze back to his. A year-old babe imposing his will on an ancient demon! No wonder her lord wanted the child dead.

“Shay . . . good,” the child said. “Good Shay.”

Choked with guilt, she hugged him close, burying her nose in that pile of curls. “You know I’m not good,” she whispered. “I’m a monster. But I can’t do it.” Yet. “You’re safe.” For now.

The only certainty was her demise. No matter what her decision, it would bring about the end of her existence.

“Birdie!” Shay lifted her head at little Damon’s cry. With the child cradled close, she turned around. A raven had landed in one of the surrounding trees. Even without her demon powers, she sensed something amiss in its presence. Was it Lucifer’s minion, here to check on her? Or was she just being paranoid, hindered by her new, humanlike weakness?

“More birdies!”

Several other ravens flew into the trees, ruffling their shiny black feathers as they settled in to watch her. Their small, obsidian eyes followed her every step.

The sound of more approaching ravens came from behind her. A pinpoint of red glowed in their eyes now. Subdemons. Her pulse quickened. Don’t act afraid. Lucifer will sense it. Shadows flew all around them, swooping uncomfortably close. She glanced wildly in the direction of the house. The more mortals to stand against subdemons, the better the chances of success. Even Lucifer accepted that. It was why he sent the inferior creatures in large numbers. She opened her mouth to call for help.

And stopped before she uttered a cry. To call attention to the sudden interest of the subdemons in her and the babe was to risk raising suspicion as to what she was and why she was here. She could—and would—handle this on her own.

She kept her voice calm. “Shall we go inside, little Damon? I will feed you one of your mother’s brownies.” A confection Shay had quickly become addicted to, she was happy to say. She deposited the babe in the stroller and gave the contraption a shove. It might not be a chariot, but she could steer it like one if she had to.

The ravens cawed, as if calling her back. Speak with us. The command rang in her head. She ignored them. The Dark Lord wants an answer.

“Shove it up your arses,” she muttered.

“Arses!” the babe repeated.

“I will complete this mission in my own time,” she sneered at the demons. “I will not be rushed. Do you hear? Tell your master to leave me be, or the trust I have gained with the family will be for naught.” She jogged away from the pond, pushing the stroller along a dirt path. “Don’t say arses,” she told the babe. “It’s not a nice word.”

The cottage came into sight. Seeing it, she almost sobbed with relief. Then a deep, threatening growl brought her to a halt.

Damon and Harmony kept several goats. One of them stood in the middle of the path ahead. Its eyes were unnaturally bright—bright red. It should have been calling “Maaah.” Instead it was growling like a wolf, its lips drawn back over yellowed fangs.

Little Damon pouted. “Bad doggie.”

Shay grabbed a fallen stick and turned to face the new subdemon. “Go! I gave you my answer—go now.”

With a breathtaking purpose, it clawed at the dirt with a cloven hoof and advanced on them. Shay stood between the stroller and the creature. It would have to kill her, or at least hurt her badly, to get past. She didn’t want to think about that right now. Keep positive, she told herself in disgustingly optimistic mortal fashion as she held the stick out in front of her. Without powers, it was all about appearances, she realized. She put all the menace she could muster in her face and body and assumed the stance of a warrior.

The goat leaped. Shay raised the stick, gladiator-style. A loud pop tore through the silence. A second later, the goat was lying still on the path many feet from the reach of her stick. How?

Several smaller pops followed. Dark feathers and silver pellets rained down. One by one, the ravens disappeared from the trees. Then, like a vision of vengeance, Quel Laredo strode out of the woods, a weapon in