Kim Harrison - Dates From Hell

Marsten didn’t correct the driver, just shut the panel between the front and rear seats and buckled up.

“To be safe, you should spend the evening someplace else. Your mother’s maybe? Is she in the city?”

“Yes, but if I’m in danger, I’m certainly not taking it to her, no matter how slight the risk.”

“Friend, sibling, cousin…”

I shook my head. “Same thing. This is my problem, so until it’s resolved, I’m keeping it that way. We should find a hotel or motel on the outskirts of town, and get some rest before we figure out how to resolve this, because I’m assuming Tristan won’t just give up and go away.”

“He won’t. All right then. We’ll find a hotel, and I’ll make sure it’s safe. Then, when I come back—”

“Back? Where are you going?”

He patted his pocket, where the jewels were. “I need to take care of these tonight. I shouldn’t be more than an hour or so—”

“Just long enough to hunt down Tristan and kill him.” When Marsten looked over sharply, I said, “I may be foolish, but I’m not stupid and, after tonight, not nearly so naïve. The only way to end this is to kill Tristan, so that’s what you’re going to do. That why you said you’d retrieve my bracelet ‘later’—you meant once I was out of the building and you went back for Tristan.”

He hesitated and studied my expression, then nodded. “I’ve tried walking away twice, and he refuses to leave it that. As much as I hate to bother with someone like Tristan Robard, I can’t walk away again.”

“That’s why you asked for my address, isn’t it? Because you think that’s where he’ll go. Right now, I’m the more urgent threat, the one who could let his Cabal know about his extracurricular activities.”

Marsten nodded.

“Well, you know I’m not going to any hotel.” I held up a hand against his protest. “Have I interfered yet?”

“No, but—”

“And I won’t. I am so far out of my league—” I shook my head. “Let’s just say I won’t embarrass myself further or endanger you by interfering. But Tristan wants me, and if you show up alone at my townhouse, he’ll know something’s up.”

For a moment Marsten and I just looked at each other, then he nodded and gave the driver my address.

I live in a brownstone backing onto the river andsurrounding parkland. Not your typical twenty-something, tabloid journalist digs. The house technically belongs to my mother. I say “technically” because her ownership is really only a technicality…and a contentious one at that.

My mother had bought the place while I’d been in J-school, only a mile away. She’d called it an investment, but when I’d graduated, she’d wanted to give it to me. College had been a struggle—not academically, but personally, coming at the worst time in my life, when I’d been dealing with my demon powers. I think the brownstone was Mom’s graduation gift…and a hoped source of stability for a daughter sorely in need of it.

I love the townhouse, love the area, love my beautiful riverfront “backyard” with its winding forest trails—an escape route whenever I needed it, which seemed often. So I’d agreed to keep living there, as a property manager of sorts, maintaining the building and protecting Mom’s investment. But I refused to take the deed, and insisted on paying all expenses and upkeep—though the property taxes alone were nearly enough to bankrupt me. Thank God I had two jobs—

Two jobs? As the taxi disgorged us on the front lawn, I stared up at my beloved brownstone and realized I no longer had two jobs, and probably not even one.

Of course my mother could—and would—step in and pay the bills. I so desperately didn’t want that.

I’d given my mother enough sleepless nights to last a lifetime. I often wondered whether, at some level, she knew my problems were rooted in something she’d done, that brief post-separation encounter that no one could blame her for. Even if she didn’t know the true nature of my trouble, I think she blamed herself, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to be strong and independent and stable, and to be able to take her for lunches on my dime and say, “See Mom, I’m doing fine.” And I had reached that point, stuffed with the newfound confidence my council job had given me—

“We’d better get inside,” Marsten whispered as the cab pulled away.

He looked around, nostrils flaring, body tense, as if we’d just stepped into a trap…which we probably had. Definitely not the time to worry about my life’s recent crash and burn. When this was over, I should just be thankful I still had a life to repair.

“Good security,” Marsten whispered as I undid the dual deadbolt. “Are the other doors and windows—?”

“All armed. Motion detectors in every room, too. My mom worries.”

I hurried in to disarm the system. It was still active. If Tristan had beat us here, he’d backed off when he’d seen the security. This wasn’t the kind of neighborhood that ignored screaming sirens. Better to wait for us to disarm the system.

“What now?” I said as Marsten relocked the front door.

“Turn on a couple of lights, and stay away from the windows. Is that open land out back?”

“A park,” I said. “Mostly forest.”

“Good. That’s where I’ll try to get him then. Away from the houses. We’ll stay here for a bit, give him time to arrive and stake out the house. Then I’ll change and lead him into the forest.”

“Change?” The words “but I don’t have anything for you to wear” were on my lips when I realized what he meant. “Into a wolf.”

He nodded. “By far the preferred way for dealing with these things. Easier to track, easier to fight and”—a quick smile—“a built-in disguise if anyone sees me.”

I flipped on the living room and hall lights.

“What about the television?” I said. “Should I turn that on, too?”

A brow arch. “We escape death, flee to the safety of your townhouse…and watch television?”

“So what would Tristan expect?—” I followed his gaze to the stairs leading to the second level. “Ah, of course. You’d want a good night’s rest.”

“And that’s probably all I’d get,” he muttered. “Unless I set the place on fire first. From Tristan’s point of view, though, we just had a harrowing evening, I saved your life—”

“You did?”

“Play along. You take me upstairs—”

“Oh, reward sex.” I paused. “But for proper reward sex I wouldn’t take you upstairs. We probably wouldn’t even make it past the front door. I just push you against the wall, get down on my knees—”

He cut me off with a growl. “I’d suggest you stop there unless you plan to follow through.”

“Oh, but I would follow through…if you’d saved my life.” I swung around the banister onto the stairs. “Not that you’d let me, though. No sex unless it’s you I want, remember? No chaos sex. No reward sex. That’s your rule.”

He muttered something and followed me up the stairs.

At Marsten’s suggestion, the first thing I did was remove my dress…which sounds a whole lot more interesting than it was. As he pointed out, heels and a slinky yellow dress didn’t make good late-night commando gear. While he cleaned up, I put on jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. Then we headed for my bedroom. Yes, I have a separate dressing room. It’s a three-bedroom townhouse—I’m just trying to make efficient use of space. Really.

I walked into my darkened bedroom, flicked on the light, then made a face.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s a mess. I wasn’t expecting company.”

“Poor Doug.” Marsten walked to the unmade bed, plunked down on it, and gave it a test bounce. “Doesn’t get a lot of use, I’ll bet.”