Summoning the Night (Arcadia Bell #2)(24)

Hajo made some indecipherable noise as he observed me for several seconds while I stuck my phone in my jeans pocket. “Bob says you were a great piece of ass.”

I nearly choked. “What?”

His eyebrows lifted in challenge.

“You’ve got to be joking.” Not if he was the last lazy-eyed demon on earth. And after I got Bob out of this dump of an apartment, he was going to get a swift kick in the balls for lying. As Jupe would say, gross.

Hajo let out a single “Ha!” and slouched into the couch. “That makes much more sense now. I couldn’t understand why you’d—”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Got it.” After a few seconds of silence he cleared his throat. “Regardless, we were discussing an arrangement.” He stretched out his leg and slipped one very big boot between my feet.

I pushed it back with the toe of my shoe. “Your girlfriend is in the next room, or have you forgotten?”

“We have an open relationship.”

“Oh?” I stood up from the recliner. “Then I’ll just go make sure it’s okay with her, shall I?”

Hajo jumped off the sofa and grabbed my wrist. “All right, all right,” he growled. He tugged me closer until I was standing in front of him, his body inches from mine. “You did say you wanted to keep this dowsing job under the table.” His hushed voice was graveled with darkness. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want it to get around town that the girl with the silver halo is slumming east of Eden.” His head dipped low as he fingered a lock of white-blond hair from behind my ear, sending a flurry of unwanted chills down my neck.

“I don’t think anyone pays much attention to what I do.”

“Everyone pays attention,” Hajo replied. “You’re a local fairy tale. People brag about being bound in your bar like it’s some sort of masochistic merit badge.” His finger left my hair and trailed across my jaw. “You know, even though I can track death trails of strangers, once I’ve met someone in person, I never forget live energy. Like a fingerprint. No two alike. And I’m finding your energy to be especially unique, because your halo looks demon, but you are . . . a little different.” His head dipped lower. I couldn’t move. I felt his lips skimming the outer shell of my ear as his voice dropped to a whisper. “So different, in fact, that I’m betting I could track you halfway across the state.”

A warning blared in my brain. Conditioned to run and hide from anything or anyone that could sell me out down the line, I had to remind myself that my murderous parents were long gone. Even if the feds found me, I had nothing they wanted anymore. Then again, they didn’t know that. What would I say if I got arrested? My psychotic parents were using an Æthyric demon to siphon energy from people they killed. The demon demanded their lives as payment and I gave them up.

Right.

I did my best to calm down, but something near hysteria rose up in me like a geyser. My pulse pounded in my temples. The sigils on my arm called out, begging to be charged. Worse, the Moonchild ability, stagnant and unused for weeks, flared up somewhere deep in my mind. It was like a chiming doorbell, but I didn’t know who—or what—was on the other side of the door, asking to be let inside. And it terrified me, almost worse than Hajo’s threats.

What the hell had I gotten myself into by coming here?

My phone chimed in my pocket again.

“Appears that your boyfriend is worried,” Hajo murmured, pulling back. “I don’t blame him. I would be worried too if you were mine and alone with someone like me.”

“He doesn’t worry.” I came to my senses and pushed away the flicker of Moonchild power. Then, without any more hesitation, I grabbed the portable caduceus from inside my jacket and shoved the blunt end into Hajo’s windpipe.

He retreated in surprise, but I followed. My head was clear. He was demon; I was magician. I held the power—not him. He seemed to be thinking the same thing as he tucked his chin and peered down at the caduceus, raising his hands in surrender.

“Hold on, now,” he said, “I thought you needed symbols to bind us.”

“Not to blow a hole in your larynx.” A bluff. At most I could shock him enough to scare him, but he didn’t know that.

He lowered his hand to rest beneath the caduceus and gently pushed it away from his throat. I let him.

“Maybe my proposal was too much, too soon,” he said. “After all, you barely know me.” The corners of his mouth curled into a slow smile. “I’m a patient man. Like I said before, rock-solid willpower.”

In answer, I pointed the caduceus lower.

He laughed nervously and cupped himself with one hand. “How about another proposition?”

“I’m listening.”

“Bob says you make a strong vassal potion.”

What? My momentary bravado wilted.

I scrambled to remember how Bob would know that. I brewed lots of medicinals, and used them freely in the bar when I needed to maintain peace, but I only used the vassal when milder medicinals failed and binding wasn’t a practical option. Just a drop. Once dosed, the person who swallowed it would be putty in my hands, agreeable to sitting still and turning things down a notch. Agreeable to whatever I asked. It was a powerful tool. In the wrong hands . . .

Then I vaguely remembered mentioning the vassal medicinal around Bob several months ago. It was late and I was pissed off and tired, and making threats under my breath about a table of smart-aleck Earthbounds. Bob had asked me what I was talking about, and I dismissed it. He never asked again.