Demons in Disguise: The Divinicus Nex Chronicles: Book Three Read online

  I hated lying, but what choice did I have? Even with this story, I could tell Mom was a nervous wreck. As she finished stirring my tea, she tapped the spoon so hard on the mug’s rim, the ceramic chipped.

  I hugged her again. “I’m fine. You drink the tea while I go get those showers. And if you feel like cooking, we missed dinner. I’m starving.” My appetite was back. Hallelujah!

  “Of course,” she said distractedly. “I’m sure Daddy’s swamped at the hospital. We’ll explain when he gets home, but it's better if you’re cleaned up by then.”

  Fine by me.

  I trudged up the stairs to my room and was wading through the mass of clothes strewn about when my grey cat, Van Helsing, caught my attention.

  “Too tired to deal with you, spaz. You would not believe the night I had.”

  He paused to look at me and let out a sharp, “Meow,” then went back to trying to get into my top dresser drawer where I usually kept the umbra stone.

  Actually, he might’ve understood the night I had.

  Helsing was a hero. As a stray, he’d found me in the alley after I was beaten unconscious and near death, and howled with the ferocity of a jungle cat to bring help. I owed him my life. But being spastic wasn’t new for him. Neither was having demony intuition. He reacted when they were around, even chased off a Kalifera one time, and another used one of Gloria’s feathers to slice the leg of Eros. Such is my day-to-day.

  He was also a hoarder, kept a stash of my guardian angel's feathers under the cushion of his bed in my room, and was interested in my dresser because he’d been trying to steal the umbra stone. He didn’t know I’d beaten him to it.

  “What is the big draw of this thing?”

  I took it off my neck and clicked the button on the filigree setting. The silver casing slid open like an eyelid so I could to take a closer look.

  Admittedly, the color and light show was cool. The stone always seemed alive, like it held within its egg-sized crystal an entire distant galaxy, jam-packed with a colorful array of glowing planets, orbiting suns and moons, and brilliant streaks of shooting stars.

  I hovered an index finger over the mesmerizing orb. A chill bounced from the surface and the light-filled movement inside the stone increased, like I’d put a movie reel on fast forward. My finger hovered lower and lower until…an unseen force pulled my fingertip down to touch the stone, and a surge of energy jolted up my arm.

  “Ow!” I jumped as beams of light washed over the room. There was a click and the silver cover slid closed all by itself over the stone.

  It hadn’t hurt, just startled me. The beams had blinked out. My arm felt hot, but in the way something too cold feels like it’s burning your skin.

  Helsing was twirling in circles, but had quieted down. After dumping him out in the hall, I stuffed the stone on a high shelf in my closet. When I turned back into my room, two very scary individuals were waiting for me.

  One of them said, “Get her in the body bag.”

  CHAPTER 12

  I followed Ayden who followed Tristan’s surprisingly agile grandparents out of my bedroom window and across the thick branch of the oak tree.

  Ayden said, “She didn’t say ‘in’ the body bag.”

  “Yes, I did,” Mrs. Grant said.

  Ayden gritted his teeth. “Not helping, ma’am.”

  He rolled his eyes as we entered through the window into Tristan’s bedroom, which was cluttered with enough nerdvana paraphernalia to fill a booth at Comic Con.

  I glanced at the closet, which was decorated like a blue, old-fashioned police box. This always made me smile. I often wondered if it was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, but never checked because I didn’t want to ruin that delusion with stupid reality. Speaking of…

  In reality, the elderly couple scared the crap out of me. Last time I’d snuck into their house, I’d been facing down two double-barreled shotguns. But it wasn’t just me. From what I’d been told, they were tough enough to force the Mandatum to back down. Yeah, even a powerful secret society had no desire to incur their wrath. I figured I should tread lightly.

  I fell into the room and landed with a thud. “Ow.” I rubbed my backside.

  Ayden watched my movements and raised an eyebrow. “Want me to help with that?”

  “You wish.”

  He grinned. “Actually, I do, so…”

  “Can it Romeo,” Mrs. Grant said. “Get her in the body bag.”

  I glared at Ayden. “See!”

  “Sugar,” Mr. Grant admonished his wife mildly in his slow, soft Southern drawl. “That’s enough of your fun. Aurora, I can assure you we haven’t put anything in a body bag before it was dead since…I can’t remember when.”

  “It was your bell-bottom phase,” Mrs. Grant said.

  “Ah, yes,” Mr. Grant smiled wistfully. “Disco. We were a little crazy back then.”

  Back then?

  I pulled an immediate U-turn and tried to leave.

  Ayden caught me. “She meant on the body bag.” He pointed to Tristan’s bed on which was an honest to goodness black body bag, unzipped and open.

  “How is that better?” I squeaked. “And who just happens to have real body bags?”

  As Mrs. Grant unrolled a leather satchel that held a frightening array of very shiny tools of torture, she said, “Doesn’t everyone?”

  Uh, no. Everyone does not. But you know who does? Killers. Coldblooded killers. Serial killers. Psychopathic killers. Sociopathic killers. All types of killers of the premeditated kind.

  “Quit being such a nervous ninny.” Mrs. Grant pulled out some sharp, scary thing. As my knees threatened to buckle, she said, “Being in, or on, the body bag helps collect evidence as we work on the crime scene.”

  My brow creased. “What crime scene?”

  Mr. Grant put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You, our little canary. You are our crime scene.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Does that put me a step above or below my usual role of Disaster Area.”

  Mrs. Grant was still chuckling as I lay on the body bag while she worked over me. Turns out Sheriff Payne had requested their expertise at body evidence collection, and while they’d already gone over the Boys, and Ayden had given them the handkerchief he’d used to staunch the flow of blood from my side, my live body was the genuine, absolute treasure trove.

  “Because you’re covered in The Black Death,” Mrs. Grant told me.

  “I’m dying?!” Of course I was dying, they’d said it with capital letters!

  “No,” Ayden assured me. “That’s what we call the black mist the demons turn into as they die. The one you got caught in when the waiter demon went to Hell. It’s not lethal, but it is full of particulates, DNA, all sorts of clues that could give us answers. Maybe even as to why they could mask their true form from hunters.”

  “And how to counteract it,” Mr. Grant added.

  Wearing goggles that made her eyes look huge, Mrs. Grant took the samples, and Mr. Grant put them in various sealed containers. Among other things, Tristan’s grandma swabbed my eye for demon spit, combed through my rat’s nest of hair, scraped over my skin and under my fingernails, stuck a Q-tip into my nose and ears, dug into the sole of my one remaining sassy boot, snipped pieces of my clothing, and gouged into the cuts on my neck, arms, and waist.

  When I’d cringed for the umpteenth time, Mrs. Grant said, “Sorry. I’m not used to working on live subjects.”

  So comforting.

  “But I’m finding plenty of particulates, especially of The Black Death.”

  Wish she’d quit calling it that.

  When they finished, Ayden helped me up, and Mrs. Grant pointed to the containers full of the evidence they’d collected. “Aurora, get that and the body bag to Jayden immediately so he can start the tests. He’s waiting in the lab at his house. Ayden, meet us downstairs. We’ve got a plane to catch, and you’re our ride to the airstrip. Tristan’s too busy.”

  “Why me?” I just wanted
to shower, eat, and sleep.

  “You can shower first,” Mr. Grant said as if reading at least a third of my mind. “But this kind of evidence can deteriorate at a rapid rate. The faster Jayden gets it, the more answers we will have.”

  “Hold on.” I nervously smoothed what was left of my skirt. “Plane? You’re leaving on a mission? Now?”

  Mrs. Grant rolled up her serial killer tool kit. “Yes, we’re heading out with Ayden’s parents and Logan’s, plus Bancroft. They might even call up Reece if things get worse.”

  I blinked. “We’re going to be here all alone? With some psycho, magic demons the Boys can’t even see? And what do you mean worse?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Ayden patted my shoulder. “But don’t worry. We’ll handle things here, and the Sheriff’s staying. You get some rest. I’ll drop off the evidence to Jayden after I take them to the jet.”

  “No,” I said, my heartrate rising. “I’ll take the evidence to Jayden. We have no time to lose.”

  Ayden grabbed my hand. “You shouldn’t be running around town alone with the…magic demons on the loose.”

  Mrs. Grant snorted. “For heaven’s sake, Ayden, I heard she held her own tonight. Not surprising since your mom’s been helping train her. If that doesn’t give her some skill, nothing will. Trial by fire, I always say. Coddling only breeds weakness.”

  Ayden began, “Yeah, but—”

  “No buts,” Mrs. Grant cut in. “You either trust her to handle it or you don’t.”

  Ayden grimaced but kept his mouth shut as I left to grab a quick shower then tell Mom I had to run an errand.

  At which point, I ran into a roadblock.

  CHAPTER 13

  “No,” Mom said again.

  “But—”

  “No,” her voice rose slightly. “I want you, and everyone in this family, here in this house where I can keep an eye on you. Jayden will just have to do without you running his errands.”

  The kitchen smelled heavenly. Spicy and sweet. Pots were bubbling on the stove with all sorts of luscious treats. Did I smell chili? Yum. On the marble end of the butcher-block island, Mom shoved her hands into fresh dough. More of an assault than kneading, occasionally pausing to fling flour on her concoction.

  I appreciated her taking my “starving” issue so seriously, but this would not do. I was feeling refreshed and in dire need to deliver that evidence. “Won’t be long, Mom. You won’t even know I’m gone.” I reached for the car keys hanging on the hook.

  She whirled and pointed a finger, flinging flour across the room. “Put those down!”

  Whoa. “Calm down, Mom.”

  She wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. The bright streak of white from the flour she just smeared on it couldn’t hide the flush of high color. Her eyes blazed the dark, flashing blue of a stormy sea.

  “I’ll calm down when you replace those keys and go...clean your room. Or watch TV, read a book, do whatever you like, but you will not be leaving this house again tonight.” She turned back to her baking and muttered, “Or maybe ever.” Her shoulders rose and fell as she leaned heavily on the marble for a moment. Then she raised a hand high and brought it down to punch the dough with renewed vigor.

  “Sure.” I stood next to her and rested a tentative hand on her shoulder. I should’ve figured it out sooner. The overabundance of food wasn’t all about my being hungry. It was well-known that when mom was upset, comfort cooking of comfort food was her release. “What are you making?”

  “Cinnamon buns. They’ll be ready for breakfast when we’re all together. Safe.” She paused to wipe her face, though not before I saw a few tears escape and trail through the smudge of flour. After a hard swallow, she went back to attacking the dough. “And I know you said you didn’t want one, but I’m giving you a big party for your birthday next month. It beats planning your funeral.”

  Oh, boy. “Mom, I told you I’m fine.”

  “And I told you you’re not leaving this house. That’s final. None of us are. I’m even closing the flower shop and taking a few days off. We’re sticking together. Forever. Ask Tristan to go to Jayden’s house.”

  “He can’t. He’s still helping out at the country club.” Using his Hallucinator power to alter people’s perceptions, but Mom didn’t need the details.

  She was back to kneading, thankfully with at least a smidge less intensity than before. “No, he’s in the garage. Showed up a short while ago to use Aunt M’s computer again. Glad someone enjoys that monstrosity.”

  Tristan had been regularly accessing the extremely powerful computer built by my wacky, paranoid, yet technologically brilliant Aunt M. According to Tristan and Jayden, it was a magnificent piece of so-advanced-it-shouldn’t-exist-yet equipment. Our family gift from my aunt during her last visit.

  Aunt M called often to harass me about my grades, which she monitored by hacking into Gossamer Falls High School’s computer system. Personal boundaries were not her strong suit. Neither were basic social skills, or general human interaction. The term “odd duck” didn’t begin to cover it. She was seriously “quacked.”

  The best part about Aunt M’s computer was the fact it was untraceable, which meant Tristan and Jayden could use it for research which they wanted to hide from the Mandatum.

  Why was Tristan here? Some new crisis? Gee, that would be a shocker. Or maybe he already had a clue about tonight’s debacle. Better go find out. Not that I really wanted to know. Ostrich in the sand was a beat I’d be happy to drum. Just never seemed to work out that way.

  “I’ll ask him. Thanks, Mom.” I kissed her cheek. “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” she smiled tightly. “And you can invite Tristan, or any of the Boys, to dinner. I’ll have plenty.”

  “Will do,” I said, opening the door to the garage, ready for some good news.

  But the news wasn’t good. Or bad. It was disastrous.

  CHAPTER 14

  “What do you mean?” I asked Tristan. “You were supposed to be keeping track of these guys and now you’re telling me that Cristiano Cacciatori’s Sicarius team—a.k.a. the assassin squad that’s hunting for me for unknown reasons— is ‘off the grid?!"

  I was about to ask myself if this night could get any worse, but I’d learned my lesson.

  Tristan punched computer keys, his eyes bloodshot, dark circles hanging beneath as he frantically scanned three monitors at once.

  “I got an alert.” Highly agitated, he moved from desk to desk, grabbing papers as soon as they came out of a printer, frowning, wadding them up and throwing them in the direction of a wastebasket that was too full of crumpled paper to hold anything more.

  He was grinding his teeth, doing a lot of squinting and muttering to himself. He raked his hand through his butterscotch blond hair for the umpteenth time, leaving it sticking out in a dozen different directions. When he paused to take a swig of coffee from his metal travel mug, he shoved a half-crumpled piece of paper into my hands.

  “It’s all right there,” he said impatiently, then resumed typing.

  I smoothed out the document and studied it closely. It was a mish-mash grid of rows and columns filled in with numbers and letters, but no real words.

  “Oh, I see,” I said sweetly. “It says, Blabity-blah-blah. And over here, there’s some ba-blabity in addition to the blabity-blah-blah. Of course. It all makes sense.”

  Tristan nodded. “Right. But that’s as much as I’ve got. I’m working on it, but getting nowhere. I’ll try another—”

  “Tristan!” I shouted, then immediately lowered my voice, glancing at the door to the kitchen before waving the paper in his face. “This makes no sense to me. Explain.” When he went to grab his coffee, I snatched it away. “You can have the caffeine back once I get some answers. Speak.”

  He gave me a squinty glare, and grunted, “Fine,” then flopped in a chair and leaned back, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “I’ve tracked the Sicarius team for over a month now, which was easy
because they were still in Paris after Cristiano’s violent outburst. So—”

  “What violent outburst?” I said. “He was fine with me.”

  “Oh.” Tristan briefly pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. “I’m not supposed to tell you that after the Holocom accidently sent Hologram You to Paris and you two chatted, well, Cacciatori trashed the place.”

  “His mom’s office?”

  “Yeah. They hid most of the details, but some people were hurt trying to stop him during his meltdown. And it wasn’t the first time he’s had a psychotic break. Ayden didn’t want you to worry.”

  “Great.” I slapped a hand to my thigh. “So he’s unstable, and the son of Sophina Cacciatori, head Divinicus Nex hunter.”

  “Who we think is the traitor,” Tristan added. “Word is because his mom is such a bigwig in the Mandatum, she’s been able to cover up his…problems.”

  “Like his psychotic breaks or that he's trying to kill me?”

  "Probably both."

  Super fab. I usually had psychotic demons on my tail. How refreshing to have an actual human psycho after me for a change.

  Tristan massaged the back of his head. “Yes, but it may be why he gets along so well with his Sicarius teammates. The team’s nickname is The Psycho Squad due to all of them being…off their rockers.” As he said the last part, Tristan pointed an index finger toward his temple and twirled it, making a sharp two-note whistling sound. “In a most violent sort of way.”

  Correction. How refreshing to have an entire team of human psychos after me. Jeez, my life sucked.

  “Fine,” I said. “So Armani wigs out and—”

  “Armani?”

  “His nickname. Since he looks like a fashion model.”

  “I wouldn’t mention that to Ayden,” Tristan said.

  “Fair enough. So he snaps, again, but his mom doesn’t cover it up.”

  “Because she can’t. Her office is in a main Mandatum Headquarters. Too public of an incident, too many people saw it, and some got hurt. Which was a break for us.” Tristan shuffled through some half-crumpled papers and pulled one out. “Because bigger wigs than his mom ordered a psych evaluation on not only him, but the entire team, which takes several weeks at least so—”