Blood Frost (The Half-Demon Rogue Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  Making something this ugly uglier was impressive. In a fucked up way.

  On the plus side, Marrack missed the car. Sam Reynolds would appreciate that his gift survived past the twenty-four-hour mark.

  Limping the two blocks to the Soft Walk Deli, it fully dawned on me that Marrack was now head of the Crimson Conclave. That meant he and Isabella likely had their bloody fingerprints all over Inonda’s present winter chill.

  As I opened the door to the deli, a crushing pain rushed through my ribs. It felt like my bones were cracking together. I ground my teeth hard enough to make bone meal, and walked into the abandoned shop. Isabella was getting creative. Lucky me.

  Behind the dusty counter, a figure in an old-school style fedora stood hunched, looking at the menu.

  “This better not be a joke, Kitsune.”

  “Ever the detective.” The tall woman turned around slowly and smiled. She didn’t act surprised that I’d figured out she was the one who had called my office hardline. “Why don’t you sit down, Kal?”

  “I like standing.”

  “You’re not dressed for an evening out.”

  “You called me here to give fashion advice?”

  “I called you here to make a deal.”

  “And what deal is that?”

  “I’ll tell you the story of the Blood Frost.” There was a long pause as her pale lips turned upwards into a trickster smile that almost reached her sharp nose. “And then I’ll tell you how not to die at Ms. Chen’s soiree.”

  14

  I blew dust off the red vinyl stool before I sat down. The ripped material let out a loud sigh, like it was protesting having to work after so many years of retirement. The grime on the counter was thick enough to scrape off with my nails.

  Exposing the Remkah Talisman from beneath my white t-shirt, I uttered a minor spell. “Cleanus optimus.”

  “Impressive,” Kitsune said, as the derelict shop began to self-organize and clean. “Didn’t take you for a neat-freak.”

  “I’d rather not add respiratory illness to my current list of problems.” I folded my arms on the clean plastic countertop. Being here was borderline pointless. Any “intel” this shape-shifting dick told me wouldn’t be actionable. I think she’d told me the truth once the whole time I’d known her. And that was when she had said she was a liar.

  I’d been her mark on more than one occasion. It was never a good feeling.

  Kitsune removed the fedora, exposing her short black hair. She was always altering her appearance. Master con-woman.

  “I heard of your troubles, Kal,” she said. “And I came as soon as I could.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you did,” I said, checking the time. With about an hour drive to Tina’s mansion, I’d be arriving fashionably late. Then again, showing up right on the dot was for squares. Something told me that my new nymph associate wasn’t a stickler for punctuality.

  Kitsune unbuttoned the coat, revealing bare skin. I didn’t bother to avert my eyes. It was normal for shifters to be comfortable naked, since they often had to change forms at a minute’s notice. A long scar snaked its way around her abdomen, disappearing around her back.

  “You look well. How long has it been since our last meeting?”

  “Not long enough,” I said. “I’m on the clock here, so let’s get to the point.”

  “You’re a little dirty,” she said with a low purr. It wasn’t meant to be seductive. She purred because her chosen spirit animal was the fox. “Looks like you’ve been in a fight.”

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” I glanced at the dried blood on my palm and tightened my hand into a balled fist.

  “You do have nine lives, Kal.”

  “You said I was going to die tonight. I’m beginning to think that was a lie.”

  She gasped in mock offense, the coat sliding away to the floor. Shimmying over the clean countertop, she took the seat next to mine.

  “You think I would lie to you, Kal? After all this time.”

  “My therapist says I have trust issues.”

  Her lips turned up in that trickster smile she could never hide. But most men wouldn’t be examining her face close enough to notice. Not saying I’m a Boy Scout or anything, but you learn a couple things after you’ve lived through a few scrapes.

  Men and women can be friends.

  They can also most definitely not be friends.

  Think of it like that irritating guy from accounts who always has tickets to the game. Tickets to the game, on the outside, are awesome. And they’re better when they’re free. But even with box seats, if the asshole from accounts fucked off and was swallowed by a black hole—along with the tickets—you’d probably consider that a net win.

  Similarly, if the nude shifter next to me was devoured by the wendigo responsible for this Blood Frost, that would be a positive development for Kalos Aeon, half-demon salvage and recovery specialist. Alas, with no gods to look after the world any more, divine favors would not be forthcoming.

  “Are you not curious what I want in return for this valuable information?” Kitsune said, batting her long lashes.

  “No. And I’m going to check all my pockets when I leave.”

  “I wouldn’t dig your number out of the phone book if I didn’t think we could do business, Kal.”

  “Sorry to waste your time,” I said, standing to go. “I’m sure it’s quite valuable.”

  She looked down her sharp nose and glared. “But what of the Blood Frost? And Ms. Chen’s private party? Or why I’ve suddenly appeared?”

  “Still don’t care.” I began walking toward the door. Behind me, Kitsune let out a feral series of alarmed yips.

  “Wait!”

  I stopped, my hand perched on the door’s push bar. “Good seeing you again, Kitsune. But I really do have to go.”

  “You can’t,” she said with a whine.

  “Is it because you were calling from Detective Scott’s residence?”

  “How did you—I was not.”

  See. Pathological liar. It would’ve been sad, if not for the fact she’d gotten me good a couple times. After I found the address on reverse-lookup, it hadn’t been hard to place the accent, since it sure as hell hadn’t been Scott’s. Kitsune had stumbled onto his radar accidentally—and now, he was using her as a way to bait me.

  Probably into spilling the beans on this Blood Frost. The Tina Chen ploy was a good shot in the dark. It was possible I was going to her fundraiser, for one reason or another. Saying my life was in danger was a nice touch.

  It might’ve worked against someone else. But really, Kitsune was just wasting my time. Whatever cookie jar Scott had caught her raiding, it wasn’t my problem.

  “I’m not going to die, and you know nothing about frostbite, let alone the Blood Frost.”

  “Frostbite makes your fingers fall off,” Kitsune said in a sulky tone. In the now-clean window’s reflection, I saw her bare shoulders hunch over in a pout. “He made me lie.”

  “Yeah, poor little you. I gotta go.”

  “But he chipped me, Kal. Like a dog. Anywhere I go, he can find me. I was raiding a garbage can, and he shot at me. I shifted back, and—yeah, well, he cuffed me.”

  “Sad story. Probably not true, but really, I’m weeping on the inside.” I checked the time. Eight-thirty. I pressed against the door, a stiff breeze rushing inside. Either fall was announcing its presence with a bang, or there was something to this Blood Frost.

  Too bad Kitsune knew nothing about it. Just throwing bullshit out, like a psychic doing cold reads. Classic con-artist technique. Although coming here had been good for one thing: I knew Scott would stoop pretty damn low to get his version of justice.

  “You know what,” I said, glancing back at her with a grim look. The scar. I could use that, maybe. “There’s one thing you can do for me.”

&
nbsp; “Anything. I want my freedom back.”

  “Deliver this to Argos and tell him to bring his A game.” I reached into my pocket and then flung the vial of blood at her. She caught it with agile grace. “And then maybe we can fuck over Detective Scott together.”

  That trickster grin appeared again, giving me a bad feeling. But I was running low on time, and I needed to find out more about the Talon of Frost before Inonda was overrun by wendigos and god knows what else. When I woke up tomorrow, I wouldn’t be shocked to see a damn mammoth.

  Hadn’t Reynolds mentioned the thing had been lost during the Ice Age? Wooly mammoths would be an appropriate turn in this rambling disaster.

  “Who does the blood belong to?”

  “Isabella.”

  “You’re lying,” Kitsune said.

  “Apparently she cast a—I don’t know, the translation is fucking weird. ‘Destroyer of Former Lovers,’ the valley nymph called the curse. Not exactly poetic.”

  “On you?”

  “Sometime soon, I guess my heart is gonna explode as she permanently unbinds her essence from mine. Unless she starts to innovate and tries to decapitate me or something. Or you throw your hat in my corner.”

  Kitsune’s eyes narrowed, and a high-pitched growl rumbled in her throat. “I will do as you ask.”

  “Good.” This was the only reason I trusted her.

  Because Isabella had been responsible for that scar. And some old wounds never heal the same way.

  15

  I made decent time out to the Austin suburbs. As expected, Ziva was nowhere to be found.

  Changing in the bushes outside of Tina Chen’s sprawling mansion, I began to reconsider crashing the event. Gunnar’s tailor had delivered with a dapper tuxedo that was just the right size, leaving it on the convertible’s hood. But poking around too far into Sam Reynolds’ business could be a mistake. The guy had been spooked at the bar, this Blood Frost clearly rattling him.

  Reynolds didn’t strike me as a guy prone to frivolous nervous breakdowns. The words had sounded like a warning: I have a boss, too. A boss who needed a mistake fixed.

  “So, who’s your boss, Sam?” I muttered while adjusting the clip-on bow tie. It was a little snug with the Remkah Talisman underneath. But if Marrack was lurking, I’d need all the protection I could get. I swung my arms out, testing flexibility and movement capabilities. Pretty solid. Clearly Gunnar had called for a little breathing room, in case of emergency.

  Not that there was bound to be much excitement. This fundraiser seemed like a boring upper-crust affair. Made me wonder why Ziva insisted I come.

  I took my jeans and white t-shirt back to the car and grabbed the crumpled invitation off the seat. With reluctance, I put the .45 in the glove box. I almost hit the doorframe when someone touched me on the shoulder.

  “You shouldn’t be so jumpy, dude,” Ziva said. “Stress isn’t good for the heart.”

  “Good thing I’m immortal.” I ducked out of the convertible carefully before slamming the door. “But thanks for the concern.”

  “Got my invite, I see.”

  “How’d you get these?”

  “I stole them,” Ziva said. She wore a black strapless dress that stopped well before the knee. Her tattoos were on full display, and her dyed red hair still dive-bombed over one eye. Although it looked a little bit more organized and less punk rock than it had last night. Like it was a stylish mess. “Don’t give me that look, man.”

  She hooked her arm in mine and began marching us across the lawn, toward the cobblestone path in front of the residence.

  “I wasn’t giving you a look.” I tried to stare blankly at the thick oak door ahead, which was guarded by a stern butler in white gloves.

  “Just follow my lead,” Ziva said with a wink. “I’ve got a lot of practice.” She glanced behind us. “No puppy?”

  “I didn’t think Argos got an invite,” I said. “Besides, he’s working on this—”

  I cut myself off as we trotted up the front steps. If my hesitancy bothered Ziva, she didn’t show it. Flashing an absolutely luminous smile, her eyes friendly and wide, she turned to the butler. It was like a megawatt searchlight had suddenly shined on the fellow.

  Even he felt it, standing a little straighter.

  “Yes, Mrs…”

  “Cloverfield. Sandra and Maxwell Cloverfield,” Ziva said, extracting her invitation from some unknown pocket. I did the same, offering it to the butler. He gave the wrinkly mess a disdainful glance, but offered no verbal rebuke. Doors slammed behind us as more guests arrived. Fantastic. Maybe we could blend in—as much as an uninvited valley nymph and a demon could. “That shirt is stunning.”

  “Thank you Mrs. Cloverfield.”

  “Truly, I must get your tailor’s information. Incredible. I’ve been telling Maxwell here that he needs a new one. But we haven’t found the right model. You are it.”

  “Cloverfield…” The man blushed as he checked the list. “I see that you are both on the guest list.” He reached underneath the lectern, coming back with two masquerade masks. “Just as you requested. Elegant and classic. Perfectly sized to you, madam.”

  “And mister,” I said, just to mess with him.

  “Yes, certainly. My apologies, sir.” He bowed deeply.

  “My husband can be such a pedantic bore,” Ziva said with an airy laugh, reaching out to grab the masks. I noticed she brushed her fingertips against the butler’s gloved hand ever so slightly. The man noticeably shivered. If nymphs didn’t have massive ADHD, the world would be in trouble. They could steal the planet right from beneath your nose, and have you thinking it was a damn party. “Has the auction started?”

  “It begins at midnight,” the butler said, clearing his throat and doing his best to remain stoic. “There are some wonderful items for sale from Ms. Chen’s personal collection, as well as others. Tremendously rare.”

  “I look forward to it,” Ziva said, pulling me forward toward the thick oak door. Then she glanced back and smiled. “And more of you, too, my well-dressed friend.”

  This time the butler blushed deeply, stammering an unintelligible reply. I took the iron door handle and yanked hard. The heavy wooden slab groaned on the hinges as it creaked open.

  We stopped in the shadows of the foyer. Ziva took the masquerade mask and rubbed her fingers through my hair.

  “Guess fortune is smiling on us today,” she said, adjusting the mask’s band. “Built-in disguises.”

  “You didn’t plan that?”

  “Planning ruins the fun.” She turned around, sticking her ass out a little further than necessary to beckon me closer. “Now do mine.”

  “You didn’t tell me how mine looked, dear.”

  “Fabulous. Better than the butler’s shirt.”

  “Am I recognizable?”

  “As long as you don’t have a heart attack mid-auction, we should be fine.” She hummed softly as I slid the mask gently over her eyes, careful not to mess with her hair. I adjusted the band on the back, tucking it in so that it wouldn’t flop around.

  She turned around and blinked.

  It was stunning how a small piece of fabric a few inches wide that only covered the nose and eyes could disguise a person so completely. Well, if you didn’t get too close. Then all bets were off. But I did have the tall, dark and somewhat handsome thing going for me—generic enough to blend in and really pull off a good Maxwell Cloverfield.

  Her style was much too distinct to be hidden by anything. But, I suppose, that was the intent. And if she had lived as long as I thought, then this anti-camouflage had worked for her.

  “So,” I said, taking her arm as we walked from the foyer to the main ball room, “what are we doing here?”

  “I didn’t tell you?” Ziva pushed through the double French doors. “The centerpiece of tonight’s auction is truly
extraordinary.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  “Yes, Kalos,” Ziva said, sticking her tongue out in playful rebellion, “we’re here to steal the crown jewel of the collection.”

  The doors burst open, and I gripped Ziva’s arm so tight that she kicked me with one of her sharp heels. My shock was plenty warranted, I assure you. Outside of a certain Cold War-era air raid shelter that now lay empty in the Texas desert, Tina Chen’s residence gleamed with the largest collection of magical artifacts I’d ever seen.

  And in the center, where I was expecting the Talon of Frost, I saw something far worse.

  “You’re fucking kidding me,” I whispered.

  “No dear,” Ziva said, smiling broadly from ear to ear. “Isn’t it marvelous?”

  That was one word for it.

  But not the term I’d use to describe the shrunken demon head in the glass case on stage before us. Examining the other available pieces, I realized I’d stepped into the lion’s den.

  Because Tina Chen’s black tie affair was a fundraiser for demon hunters.

  16

  I wove through the two-story ball room, sweating under the glow of the massive chandelier. The huge, floor-to-ceiling windows brought in streams of moonlight that sliced through the open air. Stairs wound around the edge of the room, using a minimum of floor space. On the floor above, I saw Tina Chen.

  Lawyer by day, demon huntress by night. Everyone was full of surprises.

  I plunged past a waiter carrying avocado salmon sushi rolls, knocking the silver plate from his hands. Ziva hurried to keep up, clearly not expecting me to lose my shit.

  Then again, she should’ve warned me about the demon hunters.

  I put together a hypothetical scenario. Say I was trying to rid the world of demons, and their natural predators had gone extinct three centuries prior? What would I do?

  Find myself a cache of hidden wendigos, naturally. Or maybe one would do, if it was particularly brutish and nasty. It was like a game of rock-paper-scissors. And the wendigo was the massive pair of scissors that would shred my flimsy paper ass into a million pieces. Certain creatures simply had weaknesses to others. Many were fortunate, in that their natural magical predator had died out over the years—due either to good fortune, or concerted elimination efforts.