Cat Adams - Blood Song

demonic exists. So does the angelic. But it’s not like I run into either of them every day. In fact, unless a

person works for one of the militant religious orders, they probably wil go their entire life without

running into either the angelic or the demonic—other than vampires. Real demons are rare. Which is

good. Particularly if you don’t have the clearest conscience in the world. How bad a problem this was

depended on whether we were looking at a half-demon spawn, an imp, or a lesser or greater demon.

But even flipping desperately through the directions, I didn’t see any way of tel ing which it might be.

Crap. I mean, good news, the light was flashing. Bad news, it was red; I was dealing with a freaking

demon of one level or another , and the barrier was down.

I needed to fix this. Fast. I’m neither a mage nor a true believer. About the only thing I had on me right

now that would hurt anything demonic was the holy water in my One Shots. One Shot being both the

brand and a literal description. For a vampire, it would burn like acid, I hoped buying me enough time to

kil it with one of my other weapons. But this wasn’t a simple bat. It had taken something big and bad to

break through a standing magical barrier like this. If I wound up facing whatever it was, my little squirt

gun would probably just piss it off.

Think, girl … think. You need the barrier back up, at least long enough to call in a mage or a

warrior priest.

If there was enough residual magic left from before the break I might be able to get the barrier

partway back up if I could reseal the break. It wouldn’t be as strong, but it would be better than nothing.

Of course, if I sealed the barrier I might be sealing the demon in.

I debated the pros and cons for a few seconds, and decided it was better to get the barrier up. If I

sealed the demon in, we’d have it in a contained area when the priests arrived. If I sealed it out, more

the better.

I slid remote and manual into my jacket pocket and drew out one of my two little plastic squirt guns. I

real y didn’t want to use both. I might wind up needing one if the demon was stil around. Ever so

careful y, I drew out the refil ing plug and began dribbling holy water in a delicate line. As every drop hit

the ground, the little scanner moved forward, the headache-inducing whistle giving a little hiccup before

restarting. Stil , when the last drop fel and my little gun was dry, the gap snapped shut. I knew this

because the little silver car went silent and shot along the reraised barrier, around the corner, and out

of sight.

I jogged after it, across the asphalt and sprinkler-soaked grass, al the while keeping alert for anything

out of the ordinary. My head was throbbing from the combined effects of stress and that ear-piercing

whistle.

I would like to say I was surprised that no one came to a window or door to check out the racket.

Sadly, I wasn’t. Alarms mean trouble. People don’t like trouble. On the whole, most of them wil cower

behind charmed thresholds or inside power circles, hoping and praying that whatever’s out there wil

pass them by.

I came around the corner just a few feet from where I’d started, to find a blocky man dressed in the

kind of nice clothes that wouldn’t look out of place in the better clubs but would stil hide the same kind

of arsenal I was carrying. He stood on the perimeter, holding the probe in his hand, examining it with a

rapt expression on his face.

I came to a skidding halt in the wet grass. “Johnson?” I stared in disbelief. It was Bob. It real y was.

Seeing him standing there made me feel better. Because Bob Johnson is an experienced

professional. Hel , he’s the man who’d convinced me to go into the business when I first got out of

col ege. Everyone else had told me that a “vanil a” mortal with no magic or psychic abilities had no

business fighting the monsters. Bob said that no human was a match for the monsters, talent or no,

that the two things that were most important were brains and good equipment. I’m not stupid, and I’m

wil ing to pay for top-of-the-line weaponry.

I met Bob when Vicki’s grandfather hired him to work up the security for her estate. It had been the

old man’s “housewarming gift.” I’d watched Bob set everything up. He’d been patient enough to explain

the how and why of everything he did—let me fol ow him around for days. It was obvious he knew his

stuff. With an almost unlimited budget to play with, he’d done one hel of a job. I’d been impressed at the

time. I stil was.

His plain features lit up with a delighted smile. He brushed a hand over shaggy hair the color of warm

honey. “Celia Graves, as I live and breathe. Don’t tel me you’re here to guard the prince?”

I nodded my affirmative, and Bob’s grin widened. “Is this yours?” He held out his hand to me. The little

scanner looked almost impossibly tiny balanced in his huge palm.

“Yup. Just bought it this afternoon. Works like a champ.”

“I heard. But why didn’t you put it on stealth mode? What good is the deluxe model if you don’t use al

the bel s?”

“There’s a stealth mode?” Yow! I couldn’t help but grin—nearly identical to the one Bob had on his

face.

He snorted and rol ed his eyes but proceeded to flip the little car over and show me a switch I hadn’t

noticed before. “So what was with the alarm?”

I told him about the break in the perimeter. His expression sobered instantly. He handed me my car

without any fuss and said, “Show me.”

I showed him. He didn’t have a lot of magical talent—almost none real y. But that didn’t keep him from

squatting down and using what little he did have to test the area around my little “fix it” job.

He looked up at me, his expression serious. “This isn’t going to hold up for more than a few minutes.

We need to get upstairs, warn the client, and cal in the cavalry.”

“Agreed.”

I let him take lead. Neither of us had a weapon drawn, but our jackets were open, our hands loose, so

that we could react in a hurry if need be. We moved deliberately toward the side entrance, eyes

scanning the area for any sign of trouble.

Nothing. Not a damned thing. It should’ve reassured me. Instead, I felt the tension in my shoulders

tighten another notch. Why would a demon break a barrier and then just leave ?

I turned to the side, providing cover as Bob took the wal et from his back pocket and pul ed out a key

card. I’d been provided a similar card when I’d been hired. From the corner of my eye I saw him slide

the card through the black security box. A series of smal lights flashed green. When the last one lit, I

heard the lock on the door click open.

We stepped inside and the door swung shut, locks and spel s closing behind us. I waited as he

repeated the process with the service elevator.

I blinked, trying hard not to stare as I caught sight of him in the polished stainless-steel door. His

whole body language had changed. He looked like hell. Oh, he was stil clean, and the clothes were

pressed. But there was this sense of defeat about him. You could almost smel it, like a cheap cologne.

It showed in the slight slump of his broad shoulders, the hesitation in his movements that had never