“Yes,” he said, swallowing. “This is all about you and me.”
She beamed, triumphant. “Good. You do know how jealous I can get,” she said with a quick glance toward Nik.
Every instinct demanded that Mason begin using his
spiritual
weapons of warfare against the demon, especially since he didn’t have his physical ones within easy reach.
Mason rubbed at his temples, struggling to clear his mind enough that he could start praying for some serious heavenly backup. He glanced around the restaurant, hoping he might spot an angel. He didn’t see just demons; sometimes he glimpsed the good guys, especially in the thick of a bad fight. But not tonight, he realized as thick dread filled his belly.
Turning back to Aristos, he confirmed that the huge Spartan was too lathered up to see straight, not in full control at all. In fact, Ari’s whole face seemed on the verge of glowing, and Mason shifted in his chair uncomfortably. No wonder Emma and River had been concerned about his stability, or obvious lack thereof.
“Aristos, could you tone down those Vegas Strip lights? Otherwise known as your eyes? Cause they’re looking very, very bright, my friend. You’re gonna blind somebody with those things.”
The immortal’s shoulders rolled forward as he released a low, feral growl.
“Fine.” Mace tossed his napkin onto the table. “Go on and expose your berserker side to all of the low country. I’ll even video it with my cell phone and post it on YouTube if that’ll make you happy.”
Ari’s blazing eyes narrowed and his growl grew lower, deeper, but he seemed to be regaining at least slight control, no longer in the full thrall of his power surge.
“Uh, Nik, do me a favor? Take on off, okay?” Mason tried casually. “Got this under control.”
“Not going anywhere,” Nikos growled back at him.
Then Nikos slid his chair back, putting more physical distance between him and the demon. “I’ll take action if you need me,” Nik said, his voice calmer, his expression fierce. He was one hell of an amazing fighting partner, had been from the beginning, and even with Mace’s concerns for his well-being, he felt stronger with Nik at his side.
More confident, Mason turned back to the Djinn, who was the true threat at their table. “Whatcha doing over there?” Mason asked her in a chatty, relaxed tone that he didn’t remotely feel. He tried to shut down the background chatter in his brain, which kept reminding him that he was in the presence of Kelly’s killer.
He barely summoned the discipline to remain in his seat, as the demon stroked his arm with a long, sensual caress. “Oh, Mason Angel, you are even more beautiful than the last time I saw you.” She sighed appreciatively.
As if it had been a tryst, as if that night hadn’t practically destroyed him. “I was covered in blood and guts and sand the last time you saw me,” he seethed.
“Well.” She pouted a little. “I know how you loved him, but . . .” She leaned into his physical space, smiling wickedly. “But perhaps you could find
some
women alluring? I mean, with the right inducement.”
Ari groaned at those words, a sound of soul-wounded despair. “Aristos, it’s gonna be okay,” Mason tried promising under his breath.
But Ari didn’t even seem to hear. He had a glazed look to his eyes and just kept rubbing a large palm over his heart, back and forth, like maybe the damned thing was breaking that hard.
And Mason felt bad; honest to God, he felt terrible about this moment of vindication. Ari obviously loved Juliana, truly, or he never would have bought into the demon’s lies.
The Djinn moved her attention back to Mason, brushing through his hair with a lover’s adoration. “Such interesting thoughts in here,” she murmured, pressing a hand to his forehead. She frowned down at him, and Mace went into a fire-alarm panic. She’d invaded his thoughts, probably seen exactly what Nik meant to him.
He shoved her hands away. “We both know the nasty history we share. So cut it out—now. Aristos,” Mason said carefully. “You catching on to what I been saying? Are you tracking with me now?”
The Spartan stared down. Mason could see how badly he shook; in fact, the harder he gripped the table, the more it started rocking, too. He wasn’t sure Ari was really clued in to the unfolding events, not with the way his own body seemed poised on the verge of a violent change.
That was the moment when the demon swiveled her attention away from Mason . . . and fully onto Nikos. “So tell me about Nikos,” she said. “How does he fit into this scenario?”
She stroked a fingertip along Nik’s jaw, licking her lips voraciously; he never even blinked beneath her inspection.
“He looks delicious,” she purred, eyes narrowing hungrily.
Mason became desperate then, the sounds of the restaurant roaring at him like a freight train, every clinking glass or eruption of laughter like the distant popping of an enemy’s AK-47.
And then he had an idea; two, really, and both were ideal strategies for fighting this crafty Djinn. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his BlackBerry. “Let me take your picture,” he said, employing the same sultry tone she’d been working on him. “You know, to commemorate our little reunion.”
Her eyes turned bright red. Only for a second, but he knew she didn’t want to be photographed. Too damn bad. He lifted the camera and took the shot, knowing already what he’d see.
“Tell me your name,” he added. “Come on, sweetheart; give me that at least. For ole time’s sake.”
To have a demon’s name was to command that demon. A demon could be controlled when someone with spiritual authority invoked the demon’s name—along with that of Jesus Christ. If Mason could get this little demon to slip up and reveal her private, intimate name, he could destroy her. They both knew it, which was why she gave him only a bland smile in response. But he wasn’t about to give up that easily.
He took another photo, the flash electrifying the night. Setting her off-kilter.
“Come on, pretty darling; just give me your name,” Mason cajoled. Then, dropping his own voice into a husky, tantalizing timbre, he added, “Don’t you want to hear me say it? I know you do. So give me just that little bit of you.”
“Which bit do you want?” she asked, her blue eyes turning a brilliant mixture of red and violet. “Surely something can be arranged so long as I keep Juliana at bay.”
Mason’s mind whirled. She made it sound as if she’d possessed the woman Ari knew, meaning there were two distinct entities, linked together in a single body.
The female covered Mason’s hand. “You’re not still mad about that other little thing—are you?”
Mason yanked his hand free, and thank God above, Ari suddenly focused again, his eyes returning to their usual shade of almost black. “What other
little thing
?” Aristos barked.
The Djinn brushed a lock of hair back from her eyes, and with an otherworldly vibration, auburn turned much darker, but only for a split second. “I have a feeling Mason would rather I didn’t say anything”—she laughed musically—“about our special past in Iraq.”
It took everything in his power to remain composed, but Mason didn’t lunge at her. He just prayed that Ari could see the truth here—even as he himself was beginning to sort out facts.
Leaning much closer to the woman, he lowered his voice. “Where is she right now? Juliana?”
The Djinn scowled back at him. “She’s not in charge.”
“You are.” Mason nodded.
She shrugged. “For the moment. But I’ll be in control soon enough. I feed off her fear and despair. And I’m getting stronger by the second because she’s so
very
afraid for you, Aristos.” She flashed a cruel smile in his direction. “So, yes, I am in control.”
Ari’s face crumpled, and Mason wished he could feel more vindicated. But with the facts becoming as clear as his nana’s Waterford crystal, he felt only angry and vigilant and ready to get down to the real work this mission required. Juliana—dead, gone, lost Juliana Tiades—had somehow managed to bind herself to the most vicious demon Mason had ever encountered.
Which made her not the enemy, as he’d come into this scenario thinking, but a vulnerable human soul. A victim of a demonic attack who desperately needed his spiritual-warfare capabilities, probably those of all the Shades combined.
Mason knew that Juliana’s only hope for survival was if he figured out the most complicated of answers: how to free a dead woman from a demon’s lethal grasp.
“We need your name,” Mason insisted bluntly. “Give it over.”
“I’m not that naive, Mason,” she trilled, the violet brightening in her eyes like a backlight. “To have a demon’s name is to command it,” she recited, as if quoting from
Demon Fighting for Dummies
.
“Let Juliana go,” Ari urged, his own eyes growing bright. “She’s innocent. She didn’t want you. . . . She didn’t invite you. Are you inside her body? Is that it?”
“I resurrected her, yes,” she said easily. “For now, we’re sharing this body and all its many pleasures.”
“No!” Ari roared at her. “Let Juliana go!”
The demon snapped back in her seat, startled, and then began coughing. “Her prayers are working! The bitch doesn’t even have a voice now, but she’s . . .”
Suddenly, the tone of her voice, even its timbre, became familiar. Like Juliana’s voice, with its refined and gentile inflections. “Aristos? Aristos . . . help me.” Juliana was back, gasping and choking. “Oh, God. Oh . . .” She started pulling at the collar of her dress. “I can’t . . . breathe.”
Her eyes became wide and frightened, and she turned to Ari with a horrified cry. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and then went limp in the chair.
Chapter 30
S
omehow, Mason had gotten them out of the restaurant, and they were on their way to the Spartans’ compound. One minute, Ari had been battling the tide of surging power in his own veins, all the while trying to process the truth about Juliana and the demon that had possessed her. The next, the cocktail bill had been handled and Mason was wrangling them all out the door.
Mason drove his truck in silence, eyes focused on the dark road, and Nik rode shotgun, equally serious. They were like Grim and Grimmer. He could only imagine what his own face might look like.
Jules stirred, her head in his lap. “I’m so sorry,” she said, apologizing yet again.
Ari didn’t know what to do, so he stroked her hair as reassuringly as he could.
“I’m not sure what happened,” she continued, her voice filled with anguish. “I’m . . . not feeling myself.” She tried to sit up, reaching a shaky hand toward Mason. “I’m sorry, sir, for behaving horribly toward you. Please, will you accept my deepest apologies? Both of you, truly.”
“You’re not sure what happened, yet you’re apologizing for it?” Mason asked, casting a glance in the rearview.
Jules glanced down at her half- opened bodice and yanked it shut. “At the very least, I am not properly dressed. As for the rest, I remember enough to be deeply regretful.”
Nikos turned in the seat, as reticent as he always was, but seeming like he felt the need to say something to her. Finally he settled on, “No problem,” and faced the road again.
“Goddamn problem for me,” Mace muttered under his breath, handing his BlackBerry over his shoulder. “Take a look,” he instructed Ari. “That might bring some memories back for your girlfriend there.”
Ari stared down at the saved image—damn, but did Mason have to make it his screen saver? It was a picture of Juliana, lips parted, a seriously depraved come- hither expression on her face.
But that wasn’t the worst of it; she seemed to have a kind of aura about her, like a second skin. An afterimage, maybe? Some result of the flash at night? No, Ari knew better—now. Juliana hadn’t come back from the grave by herself; oh, no, she’d done something even more spectacular. She’d brought along a hitchhiker, a truly vile Djinn. He stared down at the picture and wanted to be sick. He thrust the phone back at Mason. “Your point?”
Mason met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Something’s fishy in Denmark, Petrakos; that’s what.”
“I think I realized that over the Budweisers, dude,” Ari fired back. “So, your grand plan, other than showing me that picture? And you better not say . . .”
Offing her
, he finished mentally, pointing his finger like a gun at Mace in the rearview.
Mason rolled his eyes impatiently. “Jesus, I wasn’t gonna say that.”
Ari shoved him in the shoulder. “You showed up saying it.”
“Saying
what
?” Juliana lurched forward, intercepting the BlackBerry. She scooted sideways against the window, studying it. Then, pressing it against her breast, she began shaking her head but said nothing more.
“Jules,” Ari ventured. “You passed out cold, but do you even remember all that went on at the restaurant?” He had to figure out if she was aware about the genie inside her personal bottle, so to speak.
Juliana blanched. “No.”
“That’s all you gotta say for yourself—just no?” he roared, seizing hold of the phone and forcing her to look at the image. “You were . . . Damn, woman, you were wanton! A . . . a . . . hoyden,” he sputtered.
She turned to him, genuinely affronted. “And this from a man who believes that the sex act should be completed against a church spire,” she said low enough that Mace and Nikos wouldn’t hear, thank God. “One who claims to have loved me, yet never once questioned the doubtful circumstances of my death! Instead, sir, you made assumptions that painted me in the worst possible light!”
He stared out the window, not wanting her to know how deeply that accusation hurt. But she knew, anyway; she knew everything about him, heart and soul. She moved across the seat, burrowing her head against his shoulder.
“I guess it was the hoyden bit that really got ya, huh?” He tried to laugh.
“I am not feeling myself at all.” She slid a hand beneath his shirt, and her palm was surprisingly clammy. “I’m overheated and chilled at the same time.”