The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(44)

“Why are you so desperate to be a part of this? Are you trying to impress Rohan?”

“No.” Well, not like that. I wasn’t ready to tell Ari about my plan to restore him to his rightful path because he might be angry enough to tell me to butt out and forget it. I settled for giving him a half-truth. “I want to up my stock.”

Ari waited long enough before answering that I thought my idea was dead in the water. “Rohan isn’t going to let you leave,” he said.

I clapped my hands in delight. “Of course he isn’t. Which is why you need to sneak me out. Then you can return to your regularly scheduled sexting. Or is this angry, make-up sext?”

Given the choice of helping me, the Rasha, or dishing with me, the sister, it was a no-brainer that Ari would pick the former.

The sneak out was a success. I gave a loud whoop, zipping down the street in Dad’s Prius, though a cooler ride would have been nice. Hybrid electrics didn’t exactly scream badass but blasting “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. went a long way to set the correct ambience.

Where would a scuzzy demon informant hang out? Or rather, the person who knew the scuzzy demon informant, since Ari could only get me to a go-between. Would I have to navigate a low-rent bar filled with sketchy clientele? A drug den at the end of a shadowy alleyway?

Or the brick bungalow I pulled up to? The front grass had been replaced with raked gravel which gleamed in the moonlight, while a giant fig tree off to one side provided the only greenery. A quick double check of the address confirmed this was the right place so I crunched my way along the dark flagstone path and up the stairs.

I rapped twice, remembering Ari’s warning that this guy was human and I wasn’t allowed to zap the info out of him. Still, that left a lot of leeway.

An old man with a pronounced Adam’s apple, his pants and argyle sweater hanging loose off his lanky frame, answered the door. He took a long drag from the ashy cigarette in his hand, exhaling slowly with a bushy raised eyebrow.

“I’m looking for the goblin,” I said.

“Stellar verbal skills, kid.” He stretched an arm out to tap off some ash. Onto my shoes.

I kicked the side of my runners against the stones, trying to shake them clean while putting all my “don’t mess with me ’tude” into the glower I shot his way.

“Let me guess. Bad cop?” He sucked back another hit and waved me inside.

Old Dude led me through the tiny entryway and into his living room. Every inch was covered in UFO paraphernalia. Yellowing news clippings detailing sightings papered the walls. The ceiling was plastered in UFO photos of varied graininess.

I let out a low whistle.

Years of cigarette smoke had baked into every particle of the place and was rapidly baking into me. I didn’t want to spend any longer here than I had to. I lay a hand across my mouth and chin as if deep in thought, but really trying to make a filter so I wouldn’t gag.

A wooden bookcase held models of different types of spaceships and figurines of alien races. I scanned them, noting the careful detail. “You made these.”

“Give the girl a gold star.” His sarcasm grated on my nerves but I needed the snitch’s location.

“I’ve always wondered about alien life,” I said politely.

He snorted, scratching at his stubble with a nicotine-stained finger. “Because you’re stupid? They don’t exist.” He glanced wistfully around the room.

“Demons exist. Why can’t aliens? Maybe they’re just waiting to show themselves.”

He exhaled a stream of smoke at me. “False hope’ll kill ya.”

I fanned the second-hand death out of my face. “Then why have all this?” I motioned to all his ufology stuff in confusion. “The models alone must have cost a fortune.”

“African nations have smaller GDPs than I spent on these fuckers.” His jaw hardened. “Two doctorates and I still got it so wrong.” He ground his cigarette out in a mug with Scully and Mulder’s faces on it and the phrase “I want to believe” written in blocky print underneath.

O-kay, bitter. “Goblin,” I prompted.

The old man blinked as if he’d forgotten my presence. “You allergic to small talk? Sit down already.” He dropped into a worn recliner with several burn marks on the shiny arms. “Did you bring payment?”

My face fell. “Payment?”

“A token of gratitude for my information. It’s a give and take economy here, missy.”

I lit up my left hand, holding its snapping crackling glory out with a cruel grin. “One zap or two?”

The unlit cigarette he’d just picked up tumbled to the carpet. “Rasha?”

“Give the man a gold star.”

“How?” He reached over to pick it up, popping it in the corner of his mouth.

“Shit happens,” I said. “Now, the clock is ticking. I’m not up to snuff on all the Rasha rules and regulations, plus this is an unsupervised visit, which means I have no trouble finding out firsthand how much damage I can do to you.”

He lit the cigarette. “Do your worst,” he rasped. “I never planned on living this long anyway.”

“Figured the mothership would get you long before this, huh?”

He sucked down a lungful of death, pursing his lips and making three lopsided smoke rings. “Aren’t Rasha supposed to be menacing badasses?”