Ким Харрисон - For a Few Demons More

"I slept with them." David's voice had a defensive edge. "I have to go. I have to call Serena and Kally."

Glenn's hand fell to rest on the butt of his weapon. I would have taken offense, but I didn't think he realized it.

"Look," I said, exasperated, "remember this May when the riots broke out in the mall between the vamps and the Weres?" Glenn nodded, and I scooted to the front of my chair, not liking his hand on his weapon. "Well, it was because three Were packs thought I had this Were artifact and they were trying to flush me out."

His eyes widened. He was starting to believe.

"And if it gets out that it didn't go over the Mackinac Bridge but is in Cincinnati turning women into Weres, I'm going to be a dead witch walking." I hesitated. "Again."

The FIB officer exhaled long and slow, but I couldn't tell what he was thinking. "That's why Mr. Ray's secretary was murdered, isn't it?" he said, gesturing behind him to the drawers.

"Probably," I said in a small voice, "But David didn't do it." Damn it. Denon was right. Her demise was sort of my fault. Miserable, I pulled my gaze from the drawer. It landed on David, slumped and struggling to come to grips with the deaths of three women. If this got out, we both were dead. My attention rose to Glenn.

"You're not going to tell anyone, right?" I asked. "You have to keep this quiet. Tell the next of kin they died in an accident."

Glenn shook his head. "I'll keep it as quiet as I can," he said, coming forward to stand in front of David. "But I'm going to get this on paper. Mr. Hue?" he said respectfully. "Would you come down with me to the office so we can fill out some paperwork?"

Crap . I slumped into the cushy chair, making a puff of incense-scented air billow around me. "You aren't arresting him, are you?" I asked, and David went whiter.

"No. Just taking a statement. For his protection. If you've told me the truth"—he stressed it as if I hadn't—"you don't have anything to worry about. You or Mr. Hue."

I'd told the truth, but somehow I wasn't reassured. I knew I wore a sour expression as I rose to stand beside David. "You want me to come with you?" I asked, wondering if I might trade my moving out of the church and away from Ivy for some pro bono lawyer work from Skimmer.

The Were nodded, looking shaken but okay in his suit and tie. "It's all right, Rachel. I know all about forms." Grimacing with a tired acceptance, he looked to Glenn. "If we stop at my house, I can give you the names and addresses of everyone I've slept with since taking possession of that… thing."

Thick lips pursed, Glenn ran a hand over his closely cut hair. "Just how many women have you had sex with in the last two months, Mr. Hue?"

David reddened. "Six, I think. I need my address book to be sure."

Glenn made a small noise, and I could almost see him grant the attractive man more respect. God, men are pigs .

"I'm going to take the bus home," I said, wanting to be alone—not to mention avoid a trip to the FIB. Jeez, and they were just starting to like me, too .

"It's no problem to drop you off," Glenn offered. "I can take the artifact into custody, too. No reason for you to be in danger."

My eyebrows rose, and I kept my eyes off my shoulder bag. "It's in the mail system," I lied, not wanting to go into why I wasn't going to give it to him, "Soon as it hits my mailbox, I'll call you." Lie, lie, li-i-i-i-ie, he he .

Glenn's brown eyes narrowed, and I felt myself warm. David said nothing, knowing where it was and apparently agreeing with my decision. Gathering myself, I adjusted the strap to my shoulder bag and headed for the door. This hadn't gone well at all. Maybe I could sell it online and donate the proceeds to the war relief fund, 'cause there was going to be a war.

"Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Hue," Glenn was saying behind me. "I know this is hard, but the families of those women will be grateful to know what has happened."

"Don't tell them I turned their daughters," David whispered. "I'll do it. Give me that."

I glanced behind me as I pushed open the swinging doors. Glenn was hunched in sympathy as he walked beside the smaller man. I searched my feelings and decided it wasn't an act. "I'll do the best I can," Glenn said, his gaze rising to mine for a moment.

Yeah, I'd heard that before. What it meant was he'd do his best as long as it didn't mean bending his ruler-up-his-ass rules.

Stupid-ass, upright, uptight FIB detective , I thought. What hurt would it do to bury this from the public ? Then I blew out my frustration. I was starting to think like Trent. This was a potential Inderland power struggle, though, not an illegal genetic lab. But women had died, and I wanted him to lie to their families about how and why .

We slowed when Glenn went to talk to Iceman, and David halted beside me. His few wrinkles were deepened by stress, and he looked terrible. "I'm so sorry, David," I whispered.

"It's not your fault," he said, but I felt like it was.

Glenn joined us and gestured David to walk out before us. The FIB officer took hold of my upper arm, keeping my steps slow until David was several paces ahead of us.

"Who did you get the statue from?" he asked as we started up the stairway.

I looked at his dark fingers encircling my arm, remembering that thick folder he had given me listing Nick's crimes. Shaky, I reached for the filthy banister and gripped it as I rose. "Tell me you'll do your damnedest to keep this locked in a drawer," I asked. "All of it."

"Tell me, Rachel," he threatened, not giving an inch.

Exhaling, I watched David's slumped back. "Nick," I said, seeing no point in not telling him. The thief was playing dead, so there was no reason for Glenn to go looking for him.

His entire posture easing, Glenn nodded. "Okay," he said. "Now I believe you."

It was hot at the bus stop, and I stood breathing in air flavored by pavement, gas fumes, and the nearby Skyline Chili. It was probably the only chain restaurant serving a tomato-based food that had survived the Turn and the tomato boycott that half the world's surviving population had adopted. I was hungry and tempted to get myself a cardboard bowl to go, but I knew that the moment I left the stop, the bus would show and I'd be waiting another half hour.

So I stood there in my jeans and green T-shirt, sweating in the sun beating down and watching the heavy traffic. The tidy Were beside me smelled nice, and the two warlocks monopolizing the shade of a newly planted tree chatted about nothing. I could tell they were warlocks because their characteristic redwood scent was almost hidden beneath the overdone perfume that was making the Were's eyes tear.

The more magic you practiced, the stronger your scent, though usually only another Inderlander could pick it up. The same went for vampires, the ones who indulged themselves the most having a more obvious incense smell. Jenks said I reeked of magic and Ivy stank of vampire. And we all lived together in a little stinky church , I sang in my head.

Uneasy, I ran a finger between me and the strap of my bag. Warlock was a designation of skill, not sex, warlocks simply being witches who hadn't gone through the trouble of learning how to stir a spell by heart.

They could invoke them all right, but stirring them safely was out of their skill level. And as soon as humanity got their head wrapped around that, the entire demographic slice of educated male witches could take the chip off their shoulder and relax.

I had a two-year degree plus enough life experience to get the license to use my charms in my work. It wasn't skill holding me back from getting the license to sell my charms, but capital. Which might explain the incongruity of my riding the bus with an artifact that could start an Inderland power struggle. With my luck, I'd get mugged on the way home.