Bite Marks by Jennifer Rardin Read Free Book Online Page A

to use this thing before you get back?”
    “Minuscule.” He nodded once, confidence showing even in the way the shine of his boots reflected the patio light. “She won’t want to face you a second time without assuring herself a massacre-style win.
    That requires planning. And, as I told you before, her kind can’t rise without being called. So she’ll have to partner with another demon who’s fulfilling contractual obligations. Between that and the fact that her kind are notoriously bad teammates, an hour is the least amount of time we have to spare.” I nodded, glancing toward Cassandra. I’d seen her bear up to an awful lot of strain, including Dave’s temporary demise. Which was why I wasn’t surprised to find her shoulder deep in her furbag, mumbling to herself about that ancient tome she’d just been reading that might help. When she stuck her head in the purse too, I realized we should probably have a talk about accessories. It’s fine to take the possible loss of your soul in stride. But when your pocketbook is big enough to hold all your necessities and half your torso, it may be time for an intervention.

CHAPTERTWELVE
    Our next order of business required a quick change and, as usual, I made it in and out of the closet first.
    Which meant I spent a good five minutes in the bland little living room trying to restore some order to a place that would not be the same without major remodeling. Because the floor where Vayl and Kyphas had battled felt like a freshly tilled field under my feet. It was still wet, but water hadn’t caused all the warping. I crouched, running my fingers along furrows so deep I could almost hear the wood screaming in protest against the violent infusion of power that had curved it at such impossible angles.
    “Pete is going to be so pissed,” I whispered, trying to calculate the cost of a new floor and, oh yeah, a replacement door. I picked the old one up and muscled it into the opening, leaning it against the frame as I tried to see where all the glass from the broken window had gone. Nothing had crunched under my feet while I’d assessed damages, so I pulled a mop out of the utility room that sat just off the kitchen and gave the floor a once-over, only then realizing the glass must’ve melted from the heat of the boomerang attack fusing with our holy defenses. One good thing about the cleanup—I discovered I had full range of motion in my Lucille Robinson getup.

    Usually I dig the costumes I get to wear in the line of duty. Okay, there was that belly-dancing outfit that had made me want to find a small room where I could scream without triggering a 911 call. But otherwise, no complaints. Not even now that I’d kicked it into Hollywood producer mode.
    Most people don’t logic it out that these types dress like regular folks. They want glitz right down to the caterers. So when we use this cover, we give it to them. I wore midnight-blue pants containing just enough spandex to make me feel like I should hop on a treadmill as soon as we’d completed this leg of the mission. The wide satin belt held in the tails of a white tuxedo shirt, the ruffles of which peeked out from under my leather jacket. Bowing to practicality, I still kept Grief strapped into its shoulder holster, and I’d slipped on a pair of low-heeled black boots conducive to running and kicking, not necessarily in that order. My concession to the cover had been to choose a pair with pointy toes that, had they curled, would’ve qualified me to work on the set of The Wizard of Oz.
    Since wigs and I didn’t always agree (can anybody say awkward seatmate with an umbrella?), I’d had my stylist, Magic Mikey, straighten my hair and dye it darker red. The white streak that framed the right side of my face drove him crazy because it wouldn’t take color. That’s what happens when Mommy touches you during your unplanned excursion to hell. But since I couldn’t tell him that, I said I preferred it that way and