The Demon's Librarian

CHAPTER 6

Darkness was beginning to fill the windows as Chess slid the strap of the bag over her head. She pulled her hooded sweatshirt down over her hips, then adjusted the bag until it settled to her satisfaction. The Fang's sheath rode on her right hip, the bag on her left, and her hair was braided severely back. She wore old jeans and a pair of hiking boots that had seen better days but looked very comfortable. She was altogether too quiet, and Ryan didn't blame her. He hadn't meant to frighten her.

But dammit, the woman simply didn't know when to stop struggling, and the feel of her against him, leaning back and accepting his touch, had severely strained his control. Watching her sleep and wearing a shirt that smelled of her skin didn't help either—some of the deeper Drakul instincts were tied to scent. He could smell himself on her, and her on him; the mix was teasing and tempting. Not to mention the sudden chemical drift of fear coming up from her when the blond man had tried to push open the door. Her fear could trigger one of the deadliest rages known to the Drakul, the reason why they were kept so carefully segregated from Malik women.

I've really done it now. I've gotten attached to her. Far more attached than I should be. But who wouldn't? Look at her.

She bit her lower lip, digging in her bag. “Ziploc,” she muttered, the light from the fixture over the kitchen table touching the dark sheen of her hair. “Finest invention since comfortable shoes. God, I hate this part."

It was the first thing she'd said since he'd awakened her at dusk. He hadn't touched her, merely stood in the doorway to her bedroom and called her name softly until she'd stirred, yawning and flushed and looking absolutely…?

That thought didn't help his frayed control. Stop it. You know it's just instinct. Leave it alone. You're Drakul, you swore an oath, and your Malik is out there somewhere.

"What part?” He risked asking the question, wanting to distract her a little. If she got tense, he'd be tempted, and that would be hard on both of them. He had already had a hard time with seeing her in boxer shorts and that shapeless robe again. She'd made more coffee, then kitted herself out with such swift efficiency he was sure she'd been out patrolling for demons much more than she'd let on.

"Anticipating.” She blew out a long breath, closing her eyes. “Where are we headed?"

"Ferne Street.” He shrugged into his knee-length wool coat. It was dry by now but would soon be wet if the rain kept up. “There's a club down there, we can get some information, see what's happening."

"Ferne Street?” The glitters of gold in her hazel eyes suddenly flared, and he found himself taking a step forward. The color had drained from her cheeks. “You're kidding. I can't go down there, that's dangerous after dark!"

For a lone woman, yes. You'll hunt down demons but you're scared of getting mugged? Nice to see you have some sense of self-preservation. “You're with me,” he reminded her. “I won't let anything happen to you.” Anything that a Drakul can prevent, that is. If we run up against a full massed company of Inkani you'll have to run while I hold them off. But that's not likely to happen, sweetheart. I'm going to take very good care of you.

He slid the stiletto up his sleeve, checked the gun in his shoulder-holster—now that had turned her an interesting shade of chalk, too. For such a stubborn, bossy little lady, she certainly seemed to be frightened of the oddest things.

She slid her hands into the front pocket of the sweatshirt jacket. The dark navy blue would meld with shadows, and her jeans weren't likely to give her away. Her hair was dark, the only thing she'd have to worry about was the paleness of her face and hands. “What if you have another attack? Of your… instincts?"

What if, indeed. A curious idea stopped him, and he stared at her for a long moment. “What do you think?"

"I think you might slip up and hurt me,” she replied baldly. “If I touch off anything demon in you, that is. You might even get me into trouble and leave me there tonight, if you think it'll find you your partner. I don't have any real reason to trust you, other than you getting that thing away from my window and nursing me through a concussion.” Her jaw set stubbornly, her eyes flashed, and he took another step toward her.

Is that what she thinks? She had no idea, and it was probably just as well. “They're not hunter's instincts, sweetheart,” he informed her. “You set off an entirely different set. Just remember to do what I tell you, I'm going to treat this as if I'm training a new Malik. I won't let anything happen to you.” Besides, a little bit of uncertainty's good for you. It'll make you manageable, for a while at least. And I am finding that I like you manageable almost as much as I like you being bossy.

"Wait a second.” Her chin looked particularly stubborn now, and he wondered again what had possessed Paul to think of her as the less-attractive option. Of course, the thought of anyone else finding her attractive made the demon growl in the bottom of his mind, but he could live with that.

Couldn't he? I'm thinking of betraying the Order and tying myself to a human female. They'll put me down like a rabid dog.

"Exactly which instincts are we talking about?” She stared at him as if he'd grown another head.

Get it, another head? Not funny, Ryan. Get your mind on business and keep it there. “Different ones. I won't throw you to the wolves, either. I promise. Now come on, it's time to go."

"I'm going to be hashed at work tomorrow,” she muttered grimly, but followed him to the door. He would have preferred to take the fire escape, but it was still a mangled hunk of metal down in the alley. And she couldn't handle a five-story drop like he could.

Yeah, you probably are going to be tired tomorrow. Human endurance isn't all it's cracked up to be. “We'll make it an early night, it's just a recon run. If Paul's still alive, he's dug into a good bolthole and waiting for me to find him. He has enough sense to stay hidden.” Though he's likely not alive if the Inkani are in town. He was likely caught the first night when he went to prepare for his fucking date. I knew his dick would get him into trouble.

Of course, I'm a fine one to talk. Christ. I'm contemplating throwing my life away for a librarian.

But she's such a good hand with a heavy bag. And she actually came down into the alley in her pajamas to protect me. Me.

It was the kind of thing that could warm a Drakulein's heart. If he could be said to have a heart, that was.

"Fine.” She didn't sound happy, but she let him go out into the hall first. He'd cleaned up the daisies and tossed them from her living-room window, wanting to get them away from her but not wanting to leave her apartment even for the moment it would take to walk to the garbage chute down the hall. Ryan checked the hall, then motioned her out.

"Safe enough. Now, what are the rules?” Just one last time, sweetheart. So we start off the right way.

"Don't talk to anyone, stay behind you, don't grab your right arm.” So she had been listening. “If you tell me to freeze, freeze; if you tell me to run, run and come back here, wait for you to show up. If you stop and look like you're listening, stay behind you and don't talk.” He could feel her gaze on his back. “Have I forgotten anything?"

"Nope. Especially if we get separated, come back here and wait. Think you can remember that?” He led her down the hall to the stairs, falling into the old familiar habit of listening to the footsteps behind him. Her footsteps where a Malik's should be, but she hadn't been taught to step only where he did. That didn't matter tonight, but he would eventually have to train her to do that, as well as induct her in a few Malik soreceries…?

What the fuck am I thinking? I can't do that, they'll… Christ, I'm already in over my head. I might as well.

"I'll try.” Her tone was dry and unamused. “So which instincts, exactly, am I triggering? You might as well tell me."

I don't think I want to. He contented himself with saying, “Protective instincts. We'll take a cab."

Neon slid wet and slick against the pavement as he held the door, scanning the street. She got out of the cab, he slammed the back door, and the yellow car took off. Chess glanced around, her shoulders coming up. Even with her hiking boots, the top of her head barely reached above his collarbone, and he was suddenly, exquisitely aware that she was also much slighter than him, her shoulders slim and her hips narrow, her ribs delicate and so fragile. The mix of smells—hers lighter and clean with its edge of something he couldn't identify, his own dark and tainted with the burning scent of demon—was powerfully attractive, and would mark her as his. It was a protection for her; not a very good one if they ran up against the Order, but still a protection. There was something a little off about her smell, though, as if the human was wearing away and something else showing, something golden and smelling of spice.

Maybe it was just his imagination. Of course she would start smelling good to him; pretty soon her scent would start to have an aphrodisiac effect.

Pretty soon? That's yesterday's news. His eyes slid over the street again. Bars and nightclubs, mostly, one liquor store with barred windows and a steady stream of customers, and a good crowd. The last of the sunlight left the sky, he could feel it go, and his full strength roared back through his bones and veins. Day wasn't good for him.

No, he was a night creature. Strength returned, strength and full sensory acuity. He welcomed it even as his shoulders tightened a little and the familiar burning cold of the demon inside him rose to the surface. He took her elbow and inserted them both into the stream of people on the sidewalk, careful not to squeeze her arm. “You're right not to come down here alone.” He bent down a little so she could hear him over the noise of the crowd. Throbbing waves of music poured out of nightclub doors; the bars all blinked with beer signs in the windows. Across the street, the hookers strutted; there was a sloping hulk of tenements and cheap hotels one street over where most of them probably lived. Traffic had slowed to a crawl, both because of the pedestrian crowd and because cars kept pulling over on the other side, disgorging passengers or picking them up. A police cruiser poked halfway out of an alley two blocks up, and his sharp eyesight picked out two Chinese takeout cartons as the cops inside ate, watching the street action.

If Paul was here he'd be checking out the hookers. I don't have to stand guard at the door while he “takes a break” anymore. A hard delighted smile tilted up the corners of Ryan's mouth. He let go of her elbow, but matched his steps to hers. She was supposed to be behind him, but in a crowd like this he could easily lose her; he moved as if herding her. Nobody jostled him, of course, his pheromones would give him some space even when the skins around him were unaware.

"This is a bad part of town. People get killed down here. There was a stabbing just the other day, I read about it in the paper.” She didn't sound afraid, thank God, but she did slow down. He had to bump into her to get her going the speed he wanted, matching them to the crowd's pace.

"I'll look out for sharp objects.” He kept scanning the street. Lots of skins. The smell of alcohol and desperation, sharper musty smells of other drugs, sweat and peppermint, and strained, quick sex spilling through the air. The demon part of him shivered, liking this collage of scents. Good food, good fuel, good hunting here.

Not hunting tonight. No breath of Malik, but plenty of the faint smoky tang of Others. Sheela and sheel, tall and graceful and passing for human, looking through the bars and nightclubs for their next partners. There was a stocky man in a trenchcoat who had a breath of stone and cold wind on him, a stonekin probably come out for the beer. Others, too, sliding through the crowd or crouched in the shadows; one that looked like a bag lady pushing a shopping cart and mumbling to herself was actually a slinharik, its cocoon wrapped tightly against the chill and the fleshy sensors on its high cheeks quivering as it scented him.

As they passed the cop car, she tensed but her stride never faltered. “Do you have trouble with the police?” she asked as they passed a bar with pool tables inside, the clack of balls striking each other sounding through the window's rippled glass.

"No.” They can't catch me, and even if they catch me they can't hold me. That's a benefit of being Drakul, resistance to cold iron; it doesn't trap me the way it traps some of the Others. “I sometimes get taken in if we're chasing an infiltration in the police department. That was only once or twice though. I have to remember not to break the handcuffs, and to pretend that the beatings hurt."

"Really?” She glanced up at him, her eyes wide and dark, and he was surprised by a flare of proprietary sweetness. She sounded breathless, but they weren't going very fast. He could almost hear her pulse, sensing the tide of blood in her veins, and was willing to bet that his own pulse and respiration were beginning to match hers.

I am in so much trouble now. Why did I do this? Paul only told me to watch her, not get involved with her and sign my own death warrant.

But the memory of her slumped at her kitchen table, her face in her hands and her shoulders shaking, rose in front of him. She had faced down a skornac on her own. He was involved with this because from the moment he'd seen her dancing in her kitchen and waving a cleaver for emphasis, it had been too damn late.

"Cops don't bother us much. There are Malik cops, and sometimes the Inkani buy a few officers just in case.” He eased her around the corner onto Malvrell, the bars that lined this street were seedier the further they got from the main drag. “We're almost there."

"Great.” She sounded thrilled. “Can't wait. Perfect neighborhood."

"Be careful.” He couldn't impress the importance of those two words enough on her. “This is an Other bar."

"Other?” She looked up at him again, her dark braid swinging; little jewels of rain clung to her hair since it had tapered off to a drizzle. She had long legs, and kept up a good clip, he only had to shorten his stride a little.

"Anything other than human. All demons are Others, but not all Others are demons. They'll smell me on you, shouldn't bother you.” But if they do, I'll stop it quick enough. “Just follow my lead. And—"

"— be careful,” she finished. “I'm not stupid, Mr. Ryan."

How did I get to be Mr. Ryan? “Far from, sweetheart.” He knew it would irritate her, couldn't help himself. “You're too smart for your own damn good. That's why I keep reminding you. Here we are."

Three concrete steps down to a yawing, off-center wooden door miraculously not drifted under paper rubbish, and he put his hand up to push open the door. A faded, peeling sign above the door proclaimed the Shelaugh Taverne. “Stay close,” he warned, and pushed.

The door swung and creaked open, a draft of warmth and cigarette smoke bellowed out. He herded her into the sudden thick noise of a jukebox playing Warren Zevon at high decibels and conversation trying vainly to be heard over the top. Cigarette smoke, alcohol, copper tang, and the smell of Others, nothing off, his ears took everything in and decided it was a normal night. She stepped in and he loomed behind her, making the point before anyone thought to ask. Subtle, Ryan. Way subtle.

There was a gaggle of full sheela at the bar, with bell-like voices and long bright hair. He squired Chess over to a small table in a defensible corner. “Drinks?” he asked over the hubbub.

She shook her head, her eyes moving over the whole place. She looked very calm for someone sitting in the middle of a clutch of definitely Other, from the red-skinned man in the corner drinking from a shallow black bowl to the woman whose small black dog sat on the bar, watching her toss peanuts that somehow were shelled when they landed in her coppery hands. There were warty, gray-skinned stonekin too, taking down beer at a prodigious rate and paying with silver pieces; the shadowy corners were full of strange shapes with bright eyes. The breath of alien exuding from this place would keep the skins away; normal people had a positive genius for ignoring what they didn't want to see.

He left her at the table, elbowed his way to the bar and got two whiskey sours, leaving the tip and a single silver piece laying on the shipwrecked, rollicking oaken monstrosity of the bar itself. Then he forced his way through the crowd back to the table and scooted into the booth next to her, testing the table—not secured to the floor. Good. He made sure his back was to the wall and ran a practiced eye over the crowd. His coming had already been remarked, and the presence of a female with him too.

Well, I've come this far. I might as well go all the way. Let them come. It was empty bravado, but he felt a fierce sense of relief. Nothing he could do about it now, he was committed to a course of action. There was a certain relaxation in that realization.

"Here.” He edged one glass toward her, across the sticky tabletop. “Won't be long."

"What's going to happen?” She eyed her drink as if she expected a coconut palm to spring forth from it.

"Someone will bring me that silver piece on the bar, and we'll talk. Go ahead, drink that. It'll relax you.” I like the thought of you relaxed.

The thought was amused and completely reflexive. Yes, he was fucked for sure.

"What's in it?” Still distrustful, she touched the glass with a fingertip, condensation beading up on the surface.

"Whiskey and calf's blood."

"You're kidding."

I am. Though you can get that here, the sheel like it. “You're right. No whiskey."

She actually laughed, and he had to stop himself from smiling. She liked my joke. Paul wouldn't have asked what was in it, he just would have taken it down while eyeing the sheela. Where the fuck is he?

It didn't take long. One of the stonekin wandered over, his tread heavy and Ryan's silver piece in his paw. “Nagàth,” he said, in a voice like stones rubbing together. He lowered himself in the chair with its back to the room. “Wondered when show."

"Been busy.” Ryan's tone was easy and polite, but his hand came down over Chess's wrist. If she decided to move or speak, the stone might get twitchy. They didn't know what to do when a female not of their species talked to them. “Word?"

The stone shrugged, his skin creaking. He had a fat, wart-starred face and broad yellow teeth, a mark of handsomeness among his kind. His shoulders were broad but hunched, and his legs powerfully built but not for speed. His shirt was rotting, black cloth, fine-woven and thick. “Malik, then no Malik. Bad. Black smoke rising."

"Guess so.” Ryan's stomach turned over once, hard, then settled. The music suddenly seemed too loud. The Inkani are in town, and Paul was seen. Someone knows something. “But the moon always comes out.” And the sun, too, but mentioning sunlight is rude. After all, the Phoenicis potentials were mostly killed during the Long Dark and we haven't been able to save any since. They were closely allied with the stonekin.

The logical extension to that thought came circling back, and he realized it was bothering him. So how did the woman sitting right next to me make a Fang, then? It doesn't make sense, she was very specific that she found the instructions, bought the knife, and consecrated it.

The stone wasn't looking at him. Instead, his flat yellow eyes had come to rest on Chess, who looked back, seeming only mildly surprised though her pulse beat frantically in her wrist. Ryan could feel her heart racing, his own pulse was starting to pick up and follow hers. “Hey,” he said sharply, wanting the stone's eyes on him. “She's with me. Keep your eyes in your own head."

The stone didn't look at him. “Shaala non grigh,” he rumbled, staring at Chess, whose eyes had grown very round. “Sunlight come again soon. Listen, know, understand."

What the fuck? “She's mine,” Ryan repeated. “You have something to say, talk to me."

"Grigh non vakr.” The stone's eyes flicked contemptuously over him, and Ryan readied himself for combat. It wouldn't take much to turn this whole place into a goddamn free-for-all, he didn't want to do it, but he would if the stone made any move on her. But why? Stones didn't attack humans unless the humans came across a mating or a kenning, they were one of the few non-carnivorous Other species. “No taillaki nagàth; emmikah vakr."

Did he just say what I thought he said? “You're sure? You're absolutely sure?"

The stone shrugged, his skin moving with a sound like a leather jacket creaking. “Saw Flights in old day. Know smell. Gold under skin, soft to win."

Christ in a chariot-driven sidecar, this is the last straw. Paul, if you're not dead, I'm going to kill you myself. The thought was only halfway joking. His hand gentled on Chess's wrist, and his eyes moved up and over the interior of the bar. They were getting a few looks, but none out of the ordinary. Maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.

Just as he thought that, the lights died. All of them, and all at once. The sudden sharp smoky smell of sorcery bloomed and Ryan's skin seemed to shrink two sizes as the demon in him stretched, feeling the company of others of its kind.

The Inkani had arrived. And he had to get her out of here. All of a sudden saving Paul didn't matter so much.

Saving the only Phoenicis potential in five hundred years was the only thing that mattered. And Paul, the brainless pudding, had overlooked her to fixate on a sheela and probably gotten himself killed.