Pride, page 11
“Yes,” Lucifer said. “I was thinking we should contact your coven and see if they can strengthen the tracking spell.”
Thank God one of them was still thinking. She needed to think, not sit and wallow in self-pity. Leona and her children needed her to be smart and act quickly. “The grimoire will have something.”
Lucifer took her phone out of the cup holder. “Call them.”
She tried Patty first, but the call went to voicemail. Then she tried Lynn, and finally Christen. “Nobody is answering.”
Lucifer frowned, slowing down as they entered a quiet residential street. Two boys were playing street hockey like they were out of some nostalgic nineteen forties moment.
Bianca took notice of her surroundings for the first time. “Where are we?”
“Some or other small town.” He shrugged. “We need to stop for petrol and get you something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
One of the boys shot the puck into the net.
“You will eat,” Lucifer said. “Starving yourself will do those dead witches no good.”
His insensitivity hit her like a kick in the solar plexus. “Fuck you.” Her heart sped, and blood pounded in her head. How dare he speak to her like that. How dare he be so callous. He needed to apologize for speaking about her people like they didn’t matter.
“Fuck,” Lucifer whispered but he was looking at the boys.
They were arguing, chest to chest, both red in the face.
“Rage demon,” Lucifer said and looked at her. “Ah!” His gaze narrowed on hers. “I see you can feel it.”
On the road, the argument had escalated to shoving.
It was disconcerting to see two young boys going at each other like bar toughs.
Bianca’s anger thrummed beneath her skin, and she clenched her fists.
One boy threw a punch.
“Is nobody going to stop them?” Bianca examined the houses for a concerned parent. The doors remained shut.
Bianca flung open her car door.
Lucifer came after her. “Bianca.”
The boy who’d been punched scrabbled for his hockey stick and swung.
“No.” Bianca broke into a run. “Stop.”
At the rate their fight was escalating, someone was going to get seriously hurt.
The door to the house on her left opened, and a woman charged for the boys. “Hit him. Riley,” she screamed. “Pick up your stick and hit him back.”
The boys were rolling, grappling, and punching.
Another door opened further down, and a man ran for the fighting children. “How about I hit you, you fucking cunt?”
More doors, more people, more yelling.
The man and woman almost collided. She slapped him. He grabbed her by the throat.
One boy was bleeding from the nose and lip. The other from the eyebrow.
A second man flung himself on the man who had the woman in a chokehold and pounded him.
Someone started screaming.
Strong arms fastened around Bianca’s waist and pulled her back. “Stay clear,” Lucifer said against her ear.
Punches flew. Faces locked in rage, eyes hard and deadly.
“It’s the rage demon,” Lucifer said.
Bianca watched in horror. These people—neighbors—were trying to kill each other. “Do something.”
“Cease!” Lucifer’s voice echoed through the neighborhood.
A wash of power hit the combatants.
Bianca caught the outer edge of it and staggered.
The fighters stood frozen in their grisly tableau.
Lucifer took a huge spring that launched him over the still scene and halfway up the garden behind. His wings released. Two sweeps of their glittering black and silver span took him as high as the treetops.
Wind whipped his hair around his face as he searched. He locked on something and arrowed for a garden shed. A glittering black blade appeared in his fist, and he disappeared behind the shed.
Something issued a pained bellow, and a light flashed.
The pressure in Bianca’s chest eased.
People on the street started moving again, looking at each other in confusion, exclaiming in shock.
Bianca’s anger drained away.
Witnessing people’s horror as they realized what they’d done to each other was nearly as bad as the fighting. She wanted to turn away, but her gaze stayed stuck in sick fascination.
Lucifer strolled out from behind the shed.
People went silent and watched him as he approached Bianca. “Come on.” He took her elbow in a firm grip. “Time to get out of here before the questions start.”
She allowed him to bundle her into the car and get behind the wheel. It took four blocks before she could produce a coherent sentence. “A rage demon caused that?”
“Yup.” His face settled into grim lines as he checked the cross street before entering the intersection. “We don’t allow them on the earth plane for obvious reasons.”
“Shit.” It didn’t bear thinking about what would happen if one of those things got hold of a large crowd.
Lucifer glanced at her. “Quite.”
“What did you do?”
“I ended him.” Lucifer drove toward the center of town. “And he was a lot stronger than he should have been.”
She wrapped her arms around her torso for comfort. “That was fucking terrifying.”
“Yup.” He eased into a parking space in a strip mall. “And if I don’t find Ashe and who he’s working for, it’s going to get a lot worse.”
She peered at the large department store in front of them. “What are we doing here?”
“Retail therapy,” he said. “And then food for you.”
“Are we shopping for weapons?”
Lucifer blinked at her. “Weapons? Why would we do that?”
“For the demons.” One of them wasn’t keeping track of this conversation, and she had the sinking feeling it was her.
He opened his car door and climbed out.
Bianca followed him into the store. “Excuse me? Are you going to answer my question?”
“I’m contacting Raphael.” He strolled toward the men’s section. “And no, we are not shopping for weapons.” He scoffed as he flipped through shirts on a rack. “I hardly need human weapons to fight demons. They wouldn’t work anyway.” He growled at the shirts. “Don’t they have natural fibers?”
“Try there.” Bianca pointed to a section displayed under the name of a well-known designer.
Lucifer headed off with a smug grin. “Yes!”
She followed him with a building need to smack the back of his head. Not ten minutes ago, he’d ended a rage demon who had almost managed to get an entire neighborhood to kill each other. Now, he was choosing between a charcoal and a slate button down. “Would you stop doing that and tell me what we’re doing here.”
“I can hardly be expected to continue wearing these disgusting track pants.” He stared at her aghast.
A glimmer of outraged comprehension blinked through her confusion. “You’re clothes shopping. Now?”
“Of course.” He took both shirts and closed in on a rack of suits.
“Can I help you?” A dapper shop assistant appeared beside Lucifer, beaming with the promise of a big commission.
“No, thank you,” Bianca snapped.
“Ignore her.” Lucifer returned the man’s smile. “I’ll need a couple of suits, some shirts—”
“I can’t believe—”
“I wouldn’t bother,” Raphael spoke from behind her. “Instead, why don’t you tell me what happened and why he wants me here.”
Lucifer was heading into the fitting rooms with a delighted assistant in tow.
She may as well talk to Raphael, because clearly, they weren’t going anywhere until Lucifer fixed his wardrobe.
“We encountered a rage demon stirring people up in a neighborhood.” She turned to find Raphael flipping through a stack of sweaters. “Really!”
“Sorry.” He dropped a sweater back on the pile and blushed. “Lucifer dealt with the rage demon?”
“Far more efficiently than he is picking out shirts.” The assistant bustled back to the shirt rack and selected another three.
Raphael grinned like a proud parent. “He prides himself on his sartorial elegance.”
“Back to more important issues.” Bianca would be a long time before she didn’t see those dead witches piled into that room like trash every time she closed her eyes. “Did you deal with what we found?”
Raphael’s beautiful face softened. “All were returned to their nearest and dearest.” He put a strong, warm hand on her shoulder. “How are you doing?”
“I’m not.” A gaping wound between her ribs had opened and it throbbed now. “Some of them were people I knew. Friends. Coven sisters.” Tears, if she could find them, would be a relief. “They were all important to someone, loved and valued, and for them to die like that…”
“We will stop this.” Raphael’s rich, smooth baritone made everything seem possible, but she couldn’t believe in dreams anymore.
“But will we stop them in time to save Leona?”
“Everything that can be done, is being done.” Raphael cradled her hand between warm palms. “Wrath and Haziel are monitoring the situation in hell. Zeb and Levi are looking for who is leading this.” He placed his free hand on his chest. “We archangels are scouring our archives and those around the world for clues as to how to repair the seals.”
It made her selfish that she cared more about what was being done to save Leona and the witches who had been taken from other covens. “And the witches?”
“You, me, and Lucifer will find them, and then we’ll find who is doing this. And we will stop them.”
Chapter
Fifteen
Bianca peered through the car window at the large hotel they’d stopped in front of. Raphael had been correct, and nothing had budged Lucifer from his shopping until he’d gotten everything he’d wanted. She’d barely stopped him from giving her wardrobe an overhaul. Everything she wore was black. Black went perfectly with other black. As it was, Lucifer’s purchases had filled her trunk.
The hotel they were stopped in front of was way out of her budget. “Why are we stopping?”
“It’s a hotel.” Lucifer climbed out from the driver’s seat and handed the keys to a uniformed valet.
And when had she lost complete control of her car? Bianca clambered after him. “I can see that, but why are we here?”
“You are human.” Lucifer nodded to another uniformed hotel employee holding the large glass entrance doors open. They entered an airy glass and marble lobby. “And thus, you need to rest.”
“I’m fine.” She tried to hang back and halt her forward propulsion. “I can sleep in the car, and you don’t need to sleep.”
Lucifer stopped and stared at her, his dark eyes stripping her to her soul. “Bianca,” he said with insulting patience. “You have had a dreadful day. You need to rest. I am not insensitive to how you must be feeling.”
Oh, that was a good one. “But shopping wasn’t insensitive?”
“No.” He gaped at her. “Shopping was a necessity.”
“All of it?”
He made a face. “Perhaps not all of it, but you still need to rest, and the car is not ideal.”
Resting was the last thing she needed. If they stopped moving, she would have to deal with the awful images lurking in her mind. The lifeless, rotting bodies had been friends and she couldn’t get their staring eyes out of her mind. Elsewhere, other people were watching doors and waiting for someone to walk through who now never would. When they were driving, even when Lucifer was shopping, she didn’t have to think about it, remember, process. “Anyway, I can’t afford to stay here.”
Not unless she planned to take out a mortgage on her house. Soothing music piped into the subtle lemon-scented interior. Guests in beautiful clothing stood and chatted or sprawled like elegant cats on the suede furniture clustered in tasteful and discreet groupings.
Lucifer growled and tugged her to the reception desk.
“Let me go.” She pulled back. “Or I’ll scream that you’re abducting me.”
“Try it.” His voice dropped low and silky. “And you’ll find yourself compelled into a room faster than you can twitch that pretty nose of yours.”
“You wouldn’t.” And how could he compel her if he had no power? Now that she thought about it, he’d been doing a lot of things that would need his powers.
“Wouldn’t I?” His gaze dared her to take her chances.
The tinkle of glass and cutlery drifted over from a sleek wood and glass interior restaurant. Even the lobby pot plants had an expensive sheen to their leaves. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
“I never explain myself,” he said and pulled her to a gleaming wooden reception desk. “We will need your presidential suite for the night.” Lucifer slid a black credit card across the desk. “And dinner to be sent to the room.”
Bianca had heard of a black Amex, but she’d never seen one. She suppressed the urge to pick it up and examine it. It shouldn’t surprise her that Lucifer had one. A hell prince was hardly going to be using Groupon.
The receptionist didn’t find anything odd about the request and entered politely into a wine and menu discussion.
“There are also some parcels in our car.” Lucifer accepted an electronic fob from the receptionist. “We’d appreciate it if you had them sent to the suite.”
Feeling like a square of toilet paper stuck to his shoe, Bianca followed Lucifer into a private elevator that only stopped one place—the top floor.
“Holy crap.” She staggered into a sitting room furnished in lush gray suede and chrome. Wall to wall banks of windows provided a panoramic view of the city below them. A city she had no recollection of driving through. She had no idea where they were or how they’d gotten there. Their journey had passed in a blur of her staring out the window without taking anything in, but she would have noticed them entering a city. The needle-like spire of the CN Tower caught her attention. She felt stupid even asking the question, but circumstances demanded it. “Are we in Toronto?”
“I believe so.” Lucifer strolled to the large bar at the far end of the sitting room and examined the contents.
That was not possible. Toronto was ringed by extensive and massive highways. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Lucifer gave a pleased grunt and selected a bottle. He held it up to her. “Scotch?”
“Huh?”
“Single malt.” He smirked. “Would you care for one?”
“Single malt?” The part of village idiot was now being played by Bianca Fiore.
“From a fermented mash that is entirely composed of malted barley from a single distillery.” Lucifer reached for two glasses and placed them on the bar. “And currently awaiting your decision as to whether you would like to drink it or not.”
She nodded without having the vaguest idea of whether she wanted one or not. “How did we get here?”
“We drove.” He poured a couple of fingers into the glasses and approached her with one. “In your car, which I have to say I had severe reservations about at first. I’ve had to conclude, however, that it is a commendable vehicle. Very smooth ride. Good fuel consumption.”
Bianca took the glass and downed it. Peat and roasted grains seared her windpipe down to her stomach, and she coughed. “No, we didn’t.”
“How else would we get here then?” Lucifer raised a brow at her now empty glass and strolled back to the bar for the bottle. “Because I can assure you, we didn’t fly here.”
She tried to piece their day together. The hidden bunker where they’d found—
She yanked her mind away. Strip mall. Shopping. Raphael being there and then leaving. Countryside. No major highways or driving through a crowded urban area. Her voice came out more like a whisper, “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t down that.” Lucifer had replenished her glass. “A single malt like this should be savored, not shot like a cheap bar whisky.” He handed the glass to her. “And it’ll hit you hard on an empty stomach.”
A doorbell chimed, and Lucifer went to answer it.
Bianca tottered over to a large, plush sofa and dropped into the enveloping cushions. It was as comfortable as a bed, and her weary muscles unwound and cleaved to its shape.
A bellhop nodded politely as he pushed a loaded cart through another door at the far end of the suite.
Bianca waited impatiently to continue their discussion as the man finished unloading his cart and Lucifer tipped him.
“Lucifer.” She fixed him with her best no-bullshit stare. “How did we get to Toronto without me noticing?”
He smiled and sipped his drink. “Humans are notoriously unobservant.”
“I’d have to be fucking clueless.” And how dare he have such a lovely smile.
He looked infuriatingly smug as he said, “Yes, you would, wouldn’t you?”
And while they were on the topic of the impossible, she had to know. “How did you destroy that rage demon?”
“Hmm.” He sauntered over to the windows and examined the view. His new trousers cupped his firm, muscular ass and accentuated the length of his legs. His shirt clung to the taut muscles of his back. “Onyx blade.”
“But how?” She considered unwinding from the sofa and stomping over to him, but the loving embrace of the furniture persuaded her not to. “Wouldn’t you need your powers to do that?”
“Not necessarily.” He stretched his arms over his head in a distracting play of muscle beneath his shirt. “I am still a hell prince, and an onyx blade is still deadly in my hands.”
