Rob Thurman - Trick of the Light

About being an empath, he’d said back then, it’s mainly boring. He’d pointed at the people in the bar. Cranky, horny, hungry, horny, pissed off, horny, sad, horny. After a while of that, he’d snorted, it got real old real fast. A thankless talent, I thought. There weren’t too many people running around filling the world with joyful vibes. Being an empath would really, well, suck. But it was useful for the job. Demons, they felt nothing like humans. They had one emotion humans didn’t have, at least not to this degree. It was murder, greed, and a longing, all wrapped up in one single ribbon of emotion so intense that it didn’t have a name. He said when he closed his eyes he could see it . . . dark purple with jagged streaks of bile yellow and blood red.

When I asked what Zeke “heard” when he psychi cally touched demons, Griffin said nothing good. It was all Kill, eat souls. Weak. He’s weak. He’ll give his up in a heartbeat . Zeke could only read the very surface of anyone’s thoughts, though. The bigger and badder demons like Solomon . . . the more-controlled demons . . . could and did pass for humans at times. But Zeke was the strongest telepath Eden House had, just as Griffin was the strongest empath. To my knowledge, the only demon they couldn’t pick out was Solomon, although they didn’t have to, because Solomon had been bold enough to tell Eden House he was setting up shop. That was before Zeke and Griffin’s Eden House days. Solomon’s human body was probably in his late thirties. A very sexy late thirties.

Yep, they definitely had to pick those bodies out of a catalogue: Hot Soul Suckers —check out the discount late-nineties models at the back of the book.

“I heard through the grapevine. Something happened.” Griffin finished the screwdriver and exhaled, eyes clearing slightly. “Something about the Light of Life. Remember me telling you about that a few years ago?” He didn’t wait for a comment, which was convenient for me. “No one’s giving out anything specific. Just that there was a body and no sign of the artifact.”

“Of which you still don’t know anything—what it actually is or does,” I said matter-of-factly. Trinity and Jackson hadn’t told them. Then again, neither had I, but that was one case of the less they knew, the better—for everyone. Not that that made my next comment any less manipulative, but sometimes you have to be deceitful to warn those you care about . . . without blowing your own plans. It still felt wrong, a feeling I wasn’t used to. “Some trust your House gives you guys. Makes you wonder how badly they’re going to paddle your asses if they find out I’ve been going on demon hunts with you.” No House telepath could read them now. Zeke had learned to shield his casual thoughts and taught Griff to do the same. It was one of the few occasions when Zeke was his teacher, not his partner.

Zeke chose that moment to come in. “You must be psychic,” he said matter-of-factly as I rolled my eyes, although for him it was a good effort. “Demon hunt tonight. That tip you gave us looks good. Going?” He ordered a Corona while I considered it. I’d heard there was a bar a few miles from mine where people were getting rich, famous, and laid like crazy. That had soul selling all over it, and I’d passed the news along.

Sitting on the stool next to Griffin, Zeke beat his hands in a slow, hypnotic tempo on his legs and frowned when I put the bottle of beer in front of him. “Where’s the lime?”

I looked over at Lenore on his perch. “Bird, lime.” He flashed a beady eye, flew over, plucked one out of the tray, strutted over, and stuffed it in the mouth of Zeke’s bottle.

“There you go.” I smiled cheerfully. “Enjoy.”

He scowled. “I fight demons. Isn’t that enough? I have to take on bird flu too?” But he pushed the lime on down and took his chances. He took a swig, than glanced at Griffin. “You don’t look so good. You got up way too damn early. Could hear you banging around in the kitchen.”

Griffin and Zeke lived together, a necessity with Zeke’s condition. “Some of us had things on our minds,” Griffin muttered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Cops, lawyers, court, the House, Mr. Trinity. So sorry I disturbed you.”

Zeke hunched his shoulders slightly. “Oh yeah. Sorry.” And he was . . . sincerely sorry. Not for what he’d done, but for the trouble it was causing Griffin.

“Hell with it. It’ll pass.” Griffin exhaled and ges tured for another drink, just orange juice this time. “And before we get into the demon hunt issue, Trixa, I’m curious. What would the House do if they found out you went on hunts with us? The first thing would be to probably ask us how you know about demons. I doubt they’d approve of us hanging out with a descendant of the worshippers of pagan gods any more than they’d like hearing about the demon hunts.”

“Am I supposed to register surprise here? Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live and all that. I’m not a witch and this isn’t Salem, but people are still people.” I wiped a counter, plastic and cracking, but clean. “And too bad for them anyway. Me and mine might know things even they don’t about the big bad world. Certainly things pups like you are in the dark about.” I gave them a wink as I finished up with the counter.

“Pups”—Zeke shifted closer—“boys, they just can’t help themselves, no matter how many times you remind them, ‘not so much. I’m not fifteen anymore.’ ” He immediately winced at the thought, big and bright, I shot at him that stopped his last word and thought in their tracks. “Ow. Big sister. Hands off. I hear you. You’re loud .” He rubbed it away. “But there’s only six years . . . ow. Okay. Stop. Someone out there won’t think of me as a little brother. I’ll find them.” Great, a mission. Zeke on a mission. That was not good. I didn’t call him on the prying as I usually would have, not with this subject. And I knew how to keep my surface thoughts casual and basically bullshit. Griffin had needed lessons; some of us are born with natural bullshitting skills.

“An innocent,” I said, warningly. Zeke didn’t hurt those who didn’t deserve it, but once again . . . with that black and white view of the world, up until now that may have been a case of pure luck. He had to be careful. Who among us was honestly completely innocent? Who among us hasn’t deserved a little punishment once or twice? Trouble was, Zeke wasn’t so good at doing “little.” And with an innocent he would be pushing that luck somewhat less.

“Innocent.” That’s what I said and “thought” very casually in case Zeke was eavesdropping. At a much deeper level I sent the absolute dead-on emotion of utter denial to his partner. If “never” could be an emotion, this was it. Only for a man, any man—even one as unique as Zeke—there was no such thing as “never” in this department. Zeke was no virgin. He’d had his share of one-night stands, and those women had been fortunate. Either as innocent as I told him to look for now or not bad enough to set him off. I wasn’t quite sure what Zeke would do if he ever picked up a murderer, caught a stray thought of something ripe with evil, yet purely human.

Zeke turned to look at his silent partner. “What?” Silent to any onlooker, but not to Zeke. “Oh.” His gaze drifted down to his own hands—hands that could kill with or without a weapon. “I get it.” His eyes clouded for a moment, then cleared as the obvious solution came to him. “I won’t read them. I won’t look. Okay?”

“Yeah, partner, that’s okay. That’s good.” Griffin, who’d obviously had the same thoughts I had, sighed and pushed his glass of OJ back toward me for another screwdriver, because both of us knew it was never that easy. “I changed my mind. Load me up.” As I did, he leaned back and stretched, muscles no doubt stiff from digging Zeke out of that deeper and deeper hole he’d gotten himself into. No wonder he didn’t want to think about any future ones lurking out there. “So?” he asked me. “Going?”