A Wolf at the Door

“Look.” I lowered my voice, mindful that there were civilians nearby. “Once you hear a demon name, you can’t unhear it. It winds through your brain in a way I can’t even describe, and it will sit there in your skull, festering for the rest of your life. Ask me how many I have in my head.”

The scarred marine hesitated a moment before asking. “How many?”

“Thirteen. Thirteen of those nasty, slithery things swimming around up here.” I tapped my temple. “And I’d give anything in the world to be able to scrub them out. So take what I’m offering. Stay here, make sure we’re not disturbed. ’Kay?”

After a few moments, he nodded. “All right. You want my weapon?” He shifted his coat aside, displaying his holstered gun.

“Nah, I’m set.” I shook my plastic bag with a rustle. “Guns are usually no use anyway.” For fighting a demon, which had no vital organs to disable, a bullet just didn’t cause enough damage. And the bullets that would, well, those were too dangerous to the bystanders. Better to stick with the tried and true. To that end, I popped the trunk of the car and fished out the tire iron. Trust me, I could beat the crap outta a whole lotta demon with a good piece of metal.

Armed and supplied, I trotted to catch up to Gretchen, and she gave me a faint smile. “Thank you for that, by the way. I don’t think Bobby would have stayed behind for me. He respects you.”

I gave her some noncommittal man noise. I wasn’t sure Bobby respected me. I was just glad he’d listened to me.

We found a place far enough away from the building to be deemed “out of sight” but close enough that the faint light still provided some clarity. Gretchen turned to look at me expectantly. “What next?”

“Well, first we’re going to make sure you’re safe during all of this.” Out of my little shopping bag, I produced a box of salt. “Find a place to stand where you’ll be comfortable. I don’t want you moving after this.”

She obeyed, and I took great care in pouring a solid line of salt in the grass around her bare feet. No doubt, I was going to kill this section of lawn here, but better that than risk Gretchen’s soul.

I’d seen what demons could do to the people they’d bargained souls from. The handless, armless zombie creature flashed through my mind again, and the skin down my back crawled even though I knew she was far away. If a demon owned your soul, he didn’t have to wait for you to finish with it before he came to collect. Yank a soul out of a living body, and poof…instant zombie. I wasn’t taking that chance with Gretchen.

“No matter what happens, you stay in this circle, understand? If it comes down to it, you stay in this circle until the sun comes up, and then you run for the car.”

The starlet frowned at me. “You talk like this is going to turn into something bad.”

“It never turns into something good.” Next out of the bag was a plain bottle of water with a wide mouth. From my collection of key chains, I took the plastic carnival token and dropped it into the bottle, giving it a good shake. Voilà, instant holy water. “Hang on to this for me. Don’t drink it.”

“I thought you said you don’t have any magic.”

“I don’t. But I have a lot of friends who do. They hook me up.” Last but not least, I unhooked my mace canister from my belt loop. I thumbed the cap off and sprayed a bit off to the side, just to be sure it was working. The odor of cayenne and cumin cut through the chilly night air.

Now that the sun was down, California remembered that it was late December. I spared a small moment to wish I had one of my jackets with me, but I was also pretty sure my goose bumps weren’t entirely from the cold. We were about to do something colossally stupid, and my danger sense wanted to make damn sure I knew it. Sure enough, Cam’s little warning system was also swirling, the color a muted blue-green.

“All right. Let’s do this thing.” I picked up the tire iron and rolled my head on my shoulders to loosen up the muscles. Ready as I’d ever be.

My starlet companion took a few deep breaths before attempting the call, which I couldn’t fault her for at all. The one and only time I’d said a demon name aloud, I’d choked and puked my guts up, all at once. That she could do it at all told me what kind of tough cookie she was. “_____________________!”

My vision swam, and the hillside we stood on tilted at alarming angles. My ears felt like I’d flossed them with razor wire, and my stomach did dangerous flip-flops before the world righted itself. Five years, I’d been hearing such things, and it never got any better. Such is the power of the demonic language. There are just some things humans aren’t meant to hear, much less say.

And then we waited. And waited. And waited some more. Though I kept my senses open, waiting for that faint hint of sulfur to betray its location, the demon failed to show itself. I’d seen some wait to make grand entrances, sure, but as the minutes ticked on, it was going from fashionably late to totally gauche. “I don’t get it. Why isn’t it coming?”

“Should I call it again?”