Demon's Delight by MaryJanice Davidson Read Free Book Online Page A

unnatural to this world that it actually made his head hurt.
    In fact, it hadn’t hurt so badly since the day Rhea had smacked the shit out of him.
    Don’t think about Rhea.
    He tried. He really tried. He’d spent the last two days holed up in his hotel room, determinedly not thinking about Rhea. Trying to become absorbed with the Call Girl Killer. And in all the not thinking about Rhea, he’d decided what to do: stay away. Don’t go looking for her on his thirtieth.
    And don’t knock anybody up, for the love of God!
    He swallowed at the thought. Did he have the courage to end his family line? Could he? Should he?
    If it kept Rhea and the next Goodman safe, then yes. Absolutely.
    Feeling a bit better about his decision, he’d decided to look into the missing soiled doves. All had been lured down to the harbor. Other than that, they had nothing in common, except for the way they died—in great terror and pain.
    The police thought wild animals were on the loose, even though no one had reported a pack of wolves gone missing. And Chris couldn’t blame them—he’d seen the crime scene photos. A quick show-me spell, a quick forget spell, and he had copies of everything. He had seen. Nothing human could do that to the poor girls. Frankly, he hadn’t been able to eat a thing for quite a few hours after looking through the case files.
    He had a strong hunch that the cops weren’t going to be able to solve this case. Ever. So he would step in, again. In truth, he couldn’t wait. All the pent-up anger and frustration at his situation—his and Rhea’s, whom he wasn’t thinking about—could be poured into his attack.
    Go back , the rat in his brain whispered. Do a spell. Make her come with you to the hotel. Make her take off her clothes and yours and—
    He shoved the thought away. It would reappear in another half hour or so, much to his disgust. After all the lectures Rhea had endured, it looked like he was the bad guy after all. How she would have liked to hear him say so!
    But she would never hear him again. He would see to it. And he would end his line and break the curse. And she could live happily ever after, and so could her niece, the player-to-be-named-later.
    He parked near Faneuil Hall and walked toward the harbor. His head hurt more and more with each step—excellent. The Taker of the Lost was planning on feeding tonight. Good. Chris was in a skull-cracking mood.
    He stopped near a relatively deserted side street, read a Post-It, then stuffed the note back in his pocket and chanted,
    â€œTaker of the Lost
    Show your true face.
    Then you’ll be bossed
    And I’ll hit you with mace.”
    Okay, as far as poems went…not so great. Really kind of dreadful. But that was the trick. They didn’t have to be good poems. They just had to rhyme, even clumsily. What had Rhea said? Get a rhyming dictionary? How had he never thought of that? The girl—woman—was a genius! But more important, why had she given the suggestion? It was kind of out of character for her—for any Goodman—to help a Mere. Frankly, it—
    A startled roar from two blocks over smashed up his chain of thought; he started to sprint. The demon was likely to lash out at anybody near it; they hated— hated —being forced to drop their disguises. He heard a car pull up behind him and slam on the brakes, and was absently grateful not to be creamed by what sounded like a typical Boston driver.
    He rounded a corner and ran another block, then checked himself before he could run blindly into the alley. He looked up. And there it was, hanging twelve feet up like a bloated bat—all dark leathery wings, two hearts, and bad smell.
    â€œDon’t you want to come down here and kick my ass?” he called up to it, hoping it understood English.
    That was when the one behind him slammed into him, shoving him so hard into the wall that he almost lost