“Maxine,” Mary said, touching my arm. I turned, and what I saw made my stomach drop hard.
Red and blue lights flickered in the distance. Two cars, roaring down the driveway. My vision blurred.
“Shit,” I said.
THE neighbors might not have cared about the music, but they sure knew what a killing field sounded like.
My clothes were covered in blood. So were Grant’s. Raw and Aaz pulled new jeans and a fresh white T-shirt from the shadows, tossing them at my husband. For me it was a pair of shorts and a long-sleeved shirt that covered the dried blood on my arms. We made sure to pull off the tags.
Doesn’t take much to look normal. Acting normal can be a little more problematic.
The police were already parked and walking around when we reached the farmhouse. Two men, both white, swinging their flashlights across the barn and inside the window of the old parked station wagon. I knew some of the demon children liked to visit sometimes—I hoped they weren’t around or had the good sense to hide.
The third cop was different, and that was because he was possessed by a demon. I could see it, plain as day—and that thunderous black aura was so violent, so encompassing as it roiled around his uniformed body, I couldn’t imagine how other humans didn’t sense it. But that was the danger of those demonic parasites: They were good at hiding, good at slipping under the skin and feeding off a person’s pain. Or worse, forcing that person to make others feel pain.
For years, those were all I hunted—parasites, possessing humans—exorcising them, feeding their spirit bodies to the boys. They’d been the only demons haunting earth until the prison had split open. Easier times, now that I thought about it. More straightforward.
The demon in front of us, though, wasn’t like the rest of her kind. Only one parasite had that aura.
The possessed cop was waiting for us beside his SUV. The others began approaching but were still too far away to hear us.
“Blood Mama,” I said. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Blood Mama, the lady lord of the parasites, and the oldest, slyest nemesis of my bloodline. She’d ordered my mother’s murder and the murder of so many of my ancestors; and yet, we had a truce. For now.
“I heard there was a disturbance in the Force,” he replied, but in a particularly sultry, feminine voice that totally did not match the gray stubble, beer belly, or the tattoo of Bugs Bunny on his forearm. He might have been in his fifties, and I sort of recognized his face from trips into town. Definitely the sheriff. Blood Mama didn’t slip into the skins of anyone who didn’t have beauty, wealth, or power.
“You,” he said to Grant. “I hoped you might be dead.”
“Ha,” replied my husband, dryly. “That never gets old.”
He scowled, but the two other officers were finally near enough to hear us. Up close, they weren’t just white—they were pale as ghosts and looked shaken, scared. Maybe even traumatized. I didn’t think it was anything they’d seen here, or else they’d be talking—but something bad had happened. It made me even more nervous.
But no one mentioned anything. Blood Mama—or whoever she had possessed—proceeded with the official questioning. In front of the others, his voice didn’t hold a trace of her charm: It was gruff, deep, masculine. The neighbors reported strange sounds. The neighbors heard screams, even though they lived miles away. What were you doing tonight? Could the men look around?
I kept quiet for the most part. Grant spoke, using his voice—his real voice—and I felt the shimmer of his power on my skin as he soothed the other two police officers, twisting their minds, making them believe we were harmless, taking away their fear. I saw it happen in their faces—a slow relaxation of their jaws and shoulders, a better light in their eyes.
Dangerous, manipulative—and necessary. If Grant hadn’t been such a good man, if I didn’t have such faith in him, I would have been forced to take his life years ago.
My mother wouldn’t have waited at all. Keeping a man alive who could alter the fabric of any living creature’s soul was not what she would have considered wise. Maybe the fact that the boys and I were immune gave me the distance to have a different perspective.
“I think we’re done here,” said the sheriff. “You boys go home. I’ll finish up.”
No argument. In less than a minute, the other patrol car was ripping down our long driveway. And Blood Mama was back, smiling at us through her stolen lips.
He ran his hands down his body, a caricature of seductiveness, and gave me a slow wink. “Do you want me like this?”
“I’ve had enough trauma for the night,” I replied. “I suppose you heard?”