* * * *
Megan dropped chunks of stew meat into the searing hot pan, taking pleasure in the simple prosaic sizzling sound and the fresh, beefy fragrance rising. When she flipped the pieces with her stainless-steel spatula, the sides that hit the pan were already dark brown.
Maleficarum, sitting at the table eating an enormous sandwich made with just about everything in her fridge, sniffed the air and smiled. “Reminds me of me mum's kitchen, that does."
"Oh? She used to make steak pies for you?"
He nodded. “Aye, well, it weren't exactly steak, y'know. It were meat, but not that kind."
Megan dropped the subject.
All three of the brothers had healed amazingly well. That was what guard demons did, apparently. They weren't perfect, but they could certainly move without severe pain and their wounds had already healed.
Megan shuddered and inhaled deeply. Four steak pies was a tall order, and it was one the brothers hadn't expected her to fill after the scene at the park. She'd insisted on it. She was going to cook, damn it, cook a nice hearty meal for her guests. Just as she'd planned.
She'd forced them to take her to the grocery store after the police finally let them leave the park. The body of the fiend hadn't been a problem, because nobody could see it but her and the brothers. Don Tremblay hadn't been much of a problem either. He'd readily admitted to what he'd tried to do, crying and begging for forgiveness, and she'd granted it before they put him in the back of the police car called to take him first to the station, then to the hospital.
At least he would get some help, she thought as she lifted the first batch of meat out of the pot and started dropping in the next. More fragrant steam rose from the pot. Now if only someone would help her figure out what to do about Brian's brush with the demons.
He hadn't seen the creature, either, but he'd felt it. She'd insisted he go to the hospital, too. His reactions were slow enough to make her worried for his health, and he'd barely spoken the whole time the police were there. Kind of a blessing, that was, because she didn't have to try and convince him to go with the cover story they'd concocted on the phone with Greyson in the frantic few minutes before the police arrived.
Putting off the inevitable was all well and good, but they couldn't do it forever. What had he felt when that demon ran through him? What had it done to him?
And what were they going to do about it now?
The voices of the brothers behind her made an oddly homey accompaniment to the sizzling meat. It struck Megan how strange all of this was. She, who'd never had many friends, had never had that “urban family” people talked about, now had three demons sitting in her kitchen sniffing the air with smiles on their faces and chatting about sports.
She put in the last batch of meat and started seasoning it, adding the scents of rosemary and onion to the comforting fog in the air. Her stomach growled.
She'd been right to insist on this. Making this meal was just what she needed, what they all needed, to bring a sense of normalcy back to ... well, okay, it was just what she needed. The day had been just another day for Malleus, Maleficarum, and Spud.
She sprinkled a good pinch of sea salt on the meat and added it all back together in the pan, stirring it, heating it back up, then opened three bottles of Murphy's Irish Stout and poured them in, scraping the bottom of the pan gently with her spatula. The repetitive motion soothed her tired mind.
She didn't need to hear their voices quiet to know to hand the remaining bottles to the demons. They opened them with gusto.
"I've got more of those,” she said, covering the pan and lowering the heat. “There's plenty."
"You're too kind, m'lady,” Maleficarum said, and something in his voice made her stop and look at him.
"We don't deserve it, none of it.” He sniffled. “We almost let you get kilt today. You may forgive us, but Mr. Dante ... he's not gonna be too pleased wif us."
"No, he isn't."
They all turned as if they'd been caught doing something they shouldn't, to find Greyson standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He must have left work early; the sleeves of his pristine white shirt were rolled up, the top buttons undone and his tie hanging loose around his neck. He looked like a stockbroker after a satisfying day of bankrupting his enemies—except for the fury pouring off him and filling the room. His body was tense, unmoving, but his rage swept over them like a flooded river washing away everything in its path.
She hadn't felt him like this before. Not for the first time, she wondered how much of that power he held back from her. She didn't have any of her own, but she felt it from others. Some people just had more ... energy, or strength, or charisma. Whatever you wanted to call it, Megan usually felt it, but she'd never experienced anything like this.
But then, she'd never been around an angry demon before.
"How did you get in here?” She meant the words to come out strong and sure, but it was more like a whisper.
He held up a stylish silver key ring in the shape of a padlock, but kept his eyes focused on the demons. “I made a copy of your key."
"What? I—” She stopped herself. This was not the time to discuss his key-cutting habits, not when he looked as if he would kill the brothers with his bare hands.
They sat very still at the table as he spoke to them. “I need to talk to the three of you."
They hesitated, glancing at Megan as if she could save them.
"Now.” He almost didn't sound like himself. All the pleasantness was gone from his voice. It was pure cold fury. Megan shivered.
The demons stood up and filed reluctantly out of the kitchen. “In the spare room,” Greyson said. He turned to follow them.
Megan took a step towards him. “Greyson?"
He stopped.
"You won't ... hurt them or anything, will you?"
He spun around, so fast she almost couldn't track the movement. “What do you think I should do?” he demanded. “Give them a fucking medal for almost letting you get killed today? Twice?"
"No, I—"
"What do you think would have happened if you hadn't been lucky enough or strong enough to beat Don Tremblay? Do you think they deserve some kind of reward for letting a cheap distraction like that yaksas today work? Letting Tremblay get to you?"
"No, but—"
"They're here,” he said, standing so close now that she could smell his cologne, “to protect you. Their job, what they get paid for, is to protect you. Do you think they deserve to get paid for today?"
"They couldn't have known—"
"It's their job to know. It's their fucking job to keep their eyes open and their fat little mouths shut, and to save your life. What if you'd died today, Megan? What do you think would be a fit punishment for them letting you—"
This time she pulled him to her, this time it was she who cut off his words with the pressure of her lips.
He hesitated just long enough for Megan to wonder if she was doing the right thing at all. Part of her knew she wasn't.
Then his arms went around her, crushing her to him, and all thoughts of reasons and consequences flew from her mind in a blast of pure heat.
Perhaps because his emotions were already stronger than they'd been the night before so, too, was the passion of his kiss. His lips plundered hers, angry, needy, forcing her head back. She tasted blood and wondered if it was hers or his. It didn't matter.
She was caught between the smooth edge of the countertop and Greyson's hard body. He bent her almost backwards over the counter. She lifted her legs to wrap around him, encouraged by his hands supporting her thighs.
The movement brought the already buzzing space between her legs into direct contact with the hard ridge of his erection. She gasped against his mouth, and he responded by pressing himself more firmly into her, letting her feel the entire length of him as he propped her on the countertop.
His hands curled into her hair, tugging her head further back so he could explore her throat and neck with hi
s lips. She blazed everywhere he kissed, every time his teeth scraped against her delicate skin.
This was more than it she'd meant it to be, more than it had been the night before. Megan was drowning in him, in the sensation of every nerve ending in her body springing to hot, instant life.
She clutched at his shoulders, his back, as if she would fly spinning off the earth if he weren't there to hold her to it. Her legs tightened around his waist, pressing him still closer. His hand invaded the small space between their bodies to caress her breast with heat, and she arched her back as he lowered his mouth further to kiss down the open neckline of her shirt.
She didn't know what might have happened if Tera Green hadn't chosen that moment to walk into the kitchen.
Megan wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't opened her eyes to yank Dante's tie out from under his collar. Tera watched them, her arms crossed and a look of intense interest on her face.
Megan gasped and pulled away at the same time Dante spun around, almost dropping her. As carefully as she could, she loosened her legs. They barely held her up when her feet hit the floor.
"The door was unlocked,” Tera said. “I knocked, but I guess you didn't hear me."
"Um ... the meat was cooking pretty loudly.” Megan had no idea what to do. Laugh it off? Be offended? Tera shouldn't have walked right in, but Tera didn't seem the type to worry much about social niceties.
"Right. The meat.” Tera looked them both up and down. “Is there anything to drink?"
"Yes, um, beer, wine, Coke, water?"
Tera accepted a beer. “I'll wait in the living room, Megan. I don't have all night, either."
Megan didn't breathe again until the other woman's back disappeared around the corner. How must this look, how must she look? Like some stupid teenager, some preposterous woman who couldn't control herself?
Greyson reached for her, but at the first touch of his hand on her arm she cringed. What had she been thinking?
He dropped his hand. “I need to go talk to the boys."
She watched him walk out. Her body still throbbed and ached. Only the conviction that this was the wrong time, the wrong thing, kept her from leaping back into his arms.
At least, she thought that was all it was.
Chapter Fifteen
"Okay.” Tera stepped back about ten paces, leaving an expanse of browning grass between herself and Megan. In the center stood a plastic cup. “Try again."
Megan glanced over at the house. Greyson was in the living room making some phone calls, and the boys ... she didn't know what they were doing.
Greyson's voice had echoed through the house, yelling in the demon tongue. She hadn't heard such lengthy speeches in that language before. It sounded like some sort of supernatural Esperanto.
"Don't look for Grey,” Tera said. “Try to move the cup."
"I'm not looking for him."
"I do have eyes, Megan.” She folded her arms across her chest, covered now by a soft blue sweater and matching jacket. Even her casual clothes looked tailored for her. “Look, I don't expect you to be able to move the cup. You're not a witch. It's just a focusing exercise, to teach you how to focus your power."
"I don't have any power,” Megan said, not for the first time.
"Yes, you do. It simply manifests itself as the ability to see into people's heads. You need to teach it to work for you in a better, stronger way. How do you think you build your shields?"
"I don't know. I just know they're there."
"Don't you picture them as anything? See them in your head?"
Megan thought about it for a minute. Her shields ... they were clear. She saw them, though, transparent walls around her head. “I guess so."
"Okay. How do you focus energy to them?"
"I don't. I keep telling you, I don't know how I do any of this, and—"
"Look.” Tera pointed down. The cup had moved.
"How did I do that? Did I do that?” She'd long since come to terms with her abilities, but this—she had to admit, her heart beat a little faster at the thought that she might have actually moved an object with her mind.
"I'm pretty sure you did. See, you got mad. I've noticed that about you. You don't get hurt, you don't shut down, you get mad. I wonder why that is?"
"I don't know. I don't think I'm a very angry person."
"Hmmm.” Tera's bright eyes watched her. “If you say so. The point is, your emotions tend to manifest as anger or, at least, anger is the only emotion that manifests itself as power. What you need to do is harness that anger and don't let it get away from you."
"Are you saying I have to be angry in order to accomplish anything?"
"No, I'm saying you're a bit of an odd duck, but if you pay attention you can do this.” Tera smiled at Megan's frown. “You're letting me distract you. Stop that. I'm just making observations. Deal with your rage issues on your own time."
The cup flew another foot.
Tera's grin widened. “Almost as effective as telling me to go fuck myself and much more ladylike."
"But I don't know how I did it."
"Think about it. You got mad at me, and ... what?"
Megan's brow furrowed. She had been mad, mad at Tera for analyzing her so easily and mad at herself for being transparent. The comments about “rage issues” set her teeth on edge. After all the time Megan had spent teaching herself to stay calm, not to let her feelings show, to find out now that she wasn't nearly as good at it as she thought hurt...
But the hurt felt more like anger and it had broken through the shield ... no ... over the top of the shield ... and reached for something harmless. The cup.
"It was like a wave,” she said, staring at the ground. “In my head. I wanted to hit you with it."
"Okay, good.” None of this seemed to bother Tera in the slightest. The woman was as emotionless as a lizard. “Now you know how your power manifests, and you have some idea how it works. Try it again. Try to move the cup on purpose this time."
Megan focused, staring at the cup. Tera took her hand.
"Don't look at the cup. Or rather, don't focus on the cup to the extent you aren't looking inside yourself, too. Somewhere inside there's a place where you keep your power, where your strength comes from. Find that place, that door, and open it. See your power hit the cup."
The cup didn't move. Megan searched inside herself and found nothing. She lowered her shields all the way and tried to force her energy to the cup, but it stayed in its spot on the grass as if glued there. She was trying to read it, not move it, she realized. “I can't."
"Damn it. Yes, you can. You're not paying attention.” The frustration in Tera's voice sent an echoing shimmer of the same emotion through Megan's body. With her shields down, she was picking up little things like that from the other woman. Not much, not enough to read her—if that was possible—but enough to catch some of her feelings.
"Oh, no,” Tera said. “Don't think you can get around this by sneaking into my head. I'm not as impervious as the demons."
"I'm not trying to sneak anywhere. You're projecting. You made me lower my shields, I can't help it if yours aren't strong enough."
Tera inhaled, then blew air out through her nostrils. “Okay. Don't focus on the cup. Focus on your energy and the cup and try to turn your power into something. Something that can make the cup move. A stick or a blade or a flyswatter, even. Anything you can use."
Megan tried again.
The cup blurred in her vision. Damn it, why couldn't she do this? It was so irritating, so annoying ... and there it was. A peak of something, a brush of energy. She grabbed it as it flared and, in her head, saw it as a stick, a long skinny tree branch. The cup and the stick merged somehow, in her head, and the cup moved, rolling a few inches across the grass.
"I'm surprised. You might not be a total failure at this after all.” Tera stepped back and looked at her watch. So much for congratulations on a job well done. “What time do you need to get back into the kitchen?"
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"About fifteen minutes. Do you want to just go in now?” No! I want to play some more!
"No. Let's try pulling energy from around you. This will be hard for you, because you're not a witch. We do it automatically, but you'll have to focus hard—unless someone's feeding you energy, in which case it's easy to get overwhelmed. My sister Lexie would probably be better at teaching you this part than me, but since Grey doesn't want her around, I'll do my best."
Megan refused to ask. “I'm sure you'll be fine."
Tera's mouth quirked. “Thanks. There's energy all around you, right? You can feel it, like when the wind blows, but you don't know how to access it. It goes around you, not through you. You have to learn to open up to it, so you can keep it stored inside you for when you need it."
"I don't see what good any of this will do,” Megan said. “I can't beat them."
Tera glanced towards the house. “You can, with enough power ... and practice. Let's get to work."
* * * *
"We need to talk.” Greyson pulled her into the small hallway leading to her spare room.
"I have to get the food—"
"It can wait a minute.” He glanced towards the living room, where Tera settled herself on one of the couches to watch television. “We have to decide what to tell Brian and we have to decide now."
She'd been trying not to think about this. Sooner or later, probably sooner, Brian was going to show up, and he would want to know what happened in the park. “Can't we hypnotize him or something?"
"Not with Tera here."
"After she leaves?"
"I keep forgetting you haven't spent much time with witches. As long as there's free food or drinks, she won't leave. She'll probably want to take your bed tonight just because she's too tired to go home, and as enjoyable as time in your bed must undoubtedly be, I don't think Tera would get the full benefit from it.” His hands ran up her arms, transmitting heat along her skin.
"I would have thought having Tera and me both in my bed would be right up your alley."
"How dull. I'm not a spectator, Megan, and I don't share. When I'm in your bed, you won't—"
"Why not just tell him the truth?” She wished her body would stop reacting whenever he made his suggestive little comments. It was hard enough standing this close to him in the darkened hallway without him fondling her arms like that. “Tell him there's little demons after me, and they sent that thing in the park today to kill me, and they made Don Tremblay come after me with a gun?"