Candy Houses Read online

  CHAPTER TWO

  You must be joking.

  Rip stood across the street in the shadows, watching as the brunette made her way down the sidewalk, staring into the bars and restaurants, like she was searching for somebody.

  She was.

  That what their kind did. They searched for those who needed them. That’s why the Circle existed, after all. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind seeing pretty little Greta. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind teasing her and seeing if he could get those blue eyes to blaze fire at him. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t mind trying to figure out how to convince her to get naked with him again.

  It was a task he’d been working for close to a hundred years, ever since that first—and last—time.

  She ignored him, though. All too easily. If he didn’t know women as well as he did, he might have even believed that feigned disinterest. She was good at hiding it, but she wasn’t as oblivious of him as she liked to pretend. On the odd occasion their paths crossed, he would see the heat in her eyes. Heat…hunger…and need. A need that just might match his own.

  It was a hope that kept him going through many a night and yes, under normal circumstances he’d be more than happy to see her sauntering down a city street, taking in everything with those big blue eyes. More than happy to approach her and see what it would take to get those blue eyes to focus him.

  But right now he wasn’t functioning under normal circumstances.

  He was on a hunt and he wasn’t about to get distracted, not even by the very distractible Greta.

  He was actually much rather be distracted by Greta. It just wasn’t an option.

  As he stared at her, brooding, she stopped on the sidewalk and cocked her head to the side. Her eyes narrowed and he saw the change come over her, watched as she went from bored to predatory. Watched as she became aware. He saw the intent interest flare in her eyes and knew without a doubt she’d caught scent of something.

  “Shit, don’t let it be my something,” he muttered, reaching back and grabbing the band that held his hair secured at his nape. He shoved a hand through his hair and then gathered it back into a queue. He wasn’t sharing this quarry, not with anybody. Not even Greta. He couldn’t.

  This was even worse than being distracted by Greta.

  If she picked up on his hunt, she would want to get involved, and she’d do just that. She’d get involved, and in a very big way, simply by placing herself at his side. Definitely not what he wanted to see happen. She was a pit bull. Once she got a hold of something, she didn’t let go.

  Not ever.

  Of course, if he didn’t keep his attention where it belonged, he was going to become a job, of sorts, himself, when his associates had to track down his killer. He felt the warning ripple down his spine and jerked aside just in time to evade the downward stroke of a wicked-sharp Kel-Tech knife.

  It wasn’t big enough to take his head off unless somebody was either very patient, very fast or very strong. The demon-possessed man in front of him looked to be very, very strong, even without aid of the demon that had settled inside his body. His body was no longer his own, though. It belonged to the demon. He was nothing more than a host—basically just a vehicle for the monster inside.

  The demon was called a paraisei—sounds a lot like parasite and that’s exactly what this kind of demon was. A parasite. It picked out a victim, set up housekeeping and whittled away at the victim’s will until the human was no longer strong enough to fight. Once they reached that point, there was no saving the victim. They were trapped until the victim was either killed or the body gave out.

  With the paraisei, it didn’t take long for one of those endings to come about. They were vicious and a lot of them ended up going on murderous rampages.

  Since the demon didn’t need food to live, those paraisei-infected humans who didn’t meet a bloody, brutal end had the pleasure of dying of thirst and starvation.

  Usually, the demon vacated its host right before death. The only way to kill one of the monsters was to kill the host before the demon left it. To Rip’s eyes, the face was still human. Barely. It had probably only been a few days since the paraisei had taken complete control.

  The typical person looking at the demon-possessed wouldn’t see anything but the insanity lurking inside his eyes.

  The demon wasn’t insane.

  It was quite the opposite—functioning exactly as his kind did. Feeding on the misery of others, taking them over.

  There was nothing Rip could do to save the human.

  The demon was in control and the only way Rip would set this poor bastard free was if he killed the paraisei inside.

  “Aren’t you due a nap, Grimm?”

  Rip was startled. Not at the raspy, obviously inhuman voice that came from the man’s throat, but by the words. The paraisei knew him. He pushed the surprise aside. It was something he’d worry about later.

  He was curious, though. The paraisei knew him. Not many in the world did—within the Circle, among the demons, anywhere.

  Curling his lips in a smile, he said, “Don’t worry…dealing with you is going to leave me so bored, I may just sleep for a week. When I’m done.”

  Keeping the knife in sight, he circled around, moving away from the mouth of the alley. He wanted this done as quietly as possible, and preferably without drawing anybody’s attention.

  Namely, Greta’s. If she knew there was prey to be found in Ann Arbor, she wouldn’t be leaving any time soon and he’d work a lot better if he didn’t have to worry about her pretty little neck.

  He gave the paraisei a taunting grin. “That’s a nice looking blade. Hope you don’t mind if I decide to use it for a while.”

  It chuckled. “Do you truly think you can take it from this body so easy?”

  “Yes.” Rip launched himself forward, tucking his body and rolling. He came up in a crouch and immediately spun on one foot, catching the host just above the knee. The sickening crunch of bone seemed horrifically loud.

  The victim could still feel pain—the demon couldn’t and the demon’s will was stronger. Although Rip could see the man’s face contorting with pain, the only sound was a furious growl.

  Coming to his feet, Rip kicked again, this time aiming for the face. The paraisei snarled and tried to get his host to scramble away, but the leg with the busted knee couldn’t support any weight. Stupid things—they never do get the idea just because they don’t feel pain doesn’t mean they can’t be injured.

  That mistake would prove costly. Rip evaded the hand clawing for his ankle. The thing was trying to slice and dice with the knife, and crawl away at the same time.

  Rip caught the host’s wrist and at the same time, took out the elbow in much the same fashion he’d used to take out the knee.

  After that, getting the knife away was child’s play. Rip flipped the host over onto his belly and caught the one good hand, shoving it high between the shoulder blades. “Let’s chat, then you get to take the nap. Although you won’t be waking up anytime soon. Not in twenty minutes. Not in twenty years…”

  “Go fuck yourself, Grimm.”

  I heard something off to my left. A struggle. The skin along the back of my neck tingled. There was a faint scent in the air, one I recognized. My heart skipped a few beats. I didn’t go investigate, though. As much as I wanted to, there was something else out there.

  Pulling at me.

  Drawing me.

  I felt like a fish with a hook in my mouth, dragging me along.

  Normally, I’ll admit, I’d have followed the sounds of the struggle first. I’m so insanely nosy. I can’t recall if there’s a fairy tale out there about how curiosity killed the cat, but if there isn’t, I could probably be the basis for that one too.

  But there was something…something else.

  In all my years—and whoa, we’re talking a lot of years—I couldn’t recall feeling something tugging at me like this. Ahead of me, there were a group of noisy
college kids laughing and talking a mile a minute. Their voices were an annoyance just then, intruding and interfering with whatever it was I needed to be doing.

  I cut through an alley—a good plan. I managed to avoid the college crew and get a little closer too.

  Closer to what, though? I just didn’t know.

  A few miles later, I found myself in a rundown, mostly abandoned park on the outskirts of town. There was a shelter off to my right, covered with graffiti. To my left, I saw a fire…and I found myself staring at a girl.

  Well, I guess she wasn’t really a girl. She was probably about the same age I had been when I made my choice. She looked older, though—hard lines carved into her face, an unsmiling set to her mouth. But oddly enough, her eyes had a strange vulnerability.

  That vulnerability was going to get her killed. Or worse, considering the things I saw hovering around her.

  None of the demons had managed to manifest into physical form, a fact that was both good and bad. Once they took physical form, they were easier for me to fight. But as luck would have it, most demons took on physical form by taking over the body of a human and sometimes the only way to kill the demon was to kill the human too.

  Demon possession is a sad fact of my life. I liked to get involved before things progressed this far—if I’d met the girl earlier, as in days, weeks or months ago, maybe this could have been prevented.

  Right now, I was going to have my hands full keeping her from giving in. She had two very hungry orin hanging around her. The orin are the closest thing to vampires in existence. They literally feed on souls. They settle inside a person’s subconscious and slowly, oh so slowly drain the life away. If the orin isn’t evicted, it can lay claim to the body once the victim’s soul is truly gone. What separates them from the rest of the demons is the fact that once the host is truly gone, the body becomes demon property and as long as they continue to feed, the orin will continue to live, to grow stronger.

  Most demons don’t think to make the host feed, so once the body dies, the demon has to vacate the premises. Not so with the orin.

  I could hear the whisper of their voices inside my skull, bouncing and echoing around. I pushed them aside and focused on the girl. She’d built a fire inside a metal drum and she was staring into the flames like they held the answers to the universe.

  In one hand, she held a knife.

  In the other hand, she had a book. There wasn’t a lot of light to see by, but I didn’t need that much light. Another one of those neat little things that happened to me all those years ago—I’ve got eagle eyes.

  My blood turned to ice as I stared at the symbol on the cover of the book.

  It wasn’t the kind of book you could buy at the local bookstore, or even online. It had no title and was basically an omnibus of evil. I’d destroyed quite a few just like it in my time and I could have happily lived out the rest of my years, however many that may be, without seeing another one.

  Of course, I wouldn’t be that lucky.

  It was practically a Wikipedia on all things evil—the condensed version and it was probably a few hundred years old, maybe more. The bitch of a book was handmade. Well used and crafted by somebody that had known their stuff.

  Stupid, stupid girl, I thought, glaring at her.

  It “pretended” to be a book of witchcraft, a book of spells. It didn’t precisely lie either. It promised a chance at a long, youthful life, of great physical strength, beauty.

  Those things could be had, and by almost anybody who wanted them. No mystical powers required, no months and months of training. All it required was a willing body and you could have youth, strength and beauty.

  It didn’t explain the flipside.

  It didn’t explain the price.

  The price was taking on a demon. Say the right words and you invited an orin right inside your skin. You’d live to a ripe old age and spend all your years looking like you were in the prime of your life. It didn’t explain that you’d slowly fade away and then the orin would suck the soul out of all of those around you.

  It was a handbook on all things demons—orin, paraisei, glamori, vankyr, succubae, incubi. Some were lesser known than others. Some were harder to kill than others. But they were all bad news.

  The girl stared at the book like she was trying to memorize it—it was written in bastardized ancient Latin, so the chances of her understanding the words were slim to none. She was butchering some of the words as she sounded them out. Not in order, thank God.

  It didn’t matter if her pronunciation was off. If she started to actually read them out loud and in some semblance of order, the process started—a demon slipped in and if it wasn’t one that I could extricate without killing her, she had to die.

  So. I guess it made it easy, deciding how to proceed.

  “Wow.”

  She jerked her head up, staring at me like I was the one about to turn my body and soul over to some faceless evil.

  I gave her my idea of a charming smile and nodded to the book. “That’s a wicked looking book. Where did you find it?” It wasn’t just a stalling tactic. I wouldn’t mind knowing the answer to that. Those damn demon books were all over the place—every time I destroyed one, I hoped it would be the last. It never was. I’d destroyed several hundred in my lifetime and I’d probably destroy several hundred more before I gave up.

  She wasn’t interested in being distracted. Her eyes were a weird shade of purple and the eyeliner she had on nearly matched the shade of her irises. It also matched the purple streaks she’d added to her thick black curls. “Go away,” she said.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

  She looked back at the book and as her eyes fell away from me, I reached inside my shirt and tugged out the medallion I wore around my neck. I was hoping the demons would see it and maybe decide she wasn’t worth the trouble.

  On first glance, it was a plain silver disc. On second glance, one might see what looked like wings etched into the surface, sweeping out from the center of the disc. For a human, it would take a much closer glance, and a magnifying glass, to see the letters carved into the disc.

  But demons had killer eyesight.

  I’d kind of been relying on that.

  They noticed, all right.

  Their voices rose—high-pitched chitters that echoed inside my head. But nobody else could hear them. At least not right now.

  The girl couldn’t hear them. Until she called one of the demons, she wouldn’t be able to see the things hovering in the air around her. Not until it was too late. Not until they were inside her.

  One of the orin focused on me. I smiled at it. “Go away.”

  The girl jerked her eyes up and snapped, “Excuse me—I was here before you were.”

  “Wasn’t talking to you.” I kept my eyes on the orin.

  Off to my left, I could see the other orin, its aura darkening to near-black, shadows hovering in the shadows. They didn’t disappear.

  Too bad. But I hadn’t expected anything else. Orin weren’t easily dissuaded once they had a victim picked out.

  They ignored me and focused on the girl. They hung in the air, one on either side of the girl. Their voices grew louder and I knew they were projecting themselves into the girl’s mind too.

  Say it…read the spell.

  You’ll have power. You’ll have acceptance. You’ll have the life you want to have…instead of the one that’s been given you.

  “Now that’s called false advertising, my friends.” I rolled my eyes and laughed.

  The girl jerked back. She shot a wide-eyed look over her shoulder and then looked back at me. “Who are you talking to?” she demanded.

  “Not you.” I advanced, and to my satisfaction she was suitably freaked out and scurried backward, using her hands and heels…and leaving the book. I stooped down and grabbed it.

  The orin wailed. They pushed their commands on her, hard and fast. Get the book…you must get it or she will claim your power.


  “Oh, puh-leeze.” I tossed the book into the fire and had the pleasure of listening to them screech. I also had the pleasure of smelling the book burn, listening to the pages crackle as the flames gobbled it down. It might have words of nasty power scrawled all over it, but it was just a book.

  The girl didn’t mess with screeching—she lunged for me. She had a good six inches on me, but was probably only about thirty pounds heavier. I come from good solid, German stock—the short and stocky variety. She was strong, though. Strong and very pissed off.

  I caught her under the chin with the heel of my hand, watched as her head went flying back. She didn’t let go, though, so my next target was her throat. A quick jab there and she was too busy choking for air to worry about me as I rolled her off. I reached behind me to touch the knife I had tucked into the back of my jeans. It wouldn’t hurt the demons now, but it made me feel better. I’m all for security blankets.

  “She can’t call you now. The book’s gone and somehow I don’t think she gets your particular brand of ancient Latin,” I said, facing the two orin.

  They still hovered. They watched me, body-shaped shadows, with a faint red glow that passed for their eyes. One of them drifted forward, hovering closer to the girl. She doesn’t have to read the words. She just has to say them. And we can tell her the words…

  Good point. She was trying to get to her feet. I grabbed her from behind, applying pressure. Contrary to what it seems like on TV, putting somebody under with a sleeper hold is not all that quick. As she sagged in my arms, I muttered, “Sorry.” After I eased her to the ground, I smiled at them again. “She can’t say the words if she’s unconscious.”

  How long do you think you can keep her unconscious? For the rest of her life? We have the time. You have the time. But does she? Can you truly watch her until she dies? We’ve already been inside her. She’s already tasted our power.

  It was pissed. I could feel it. I was getting pissed myself. Inside her—shit. Shit. Shit. This was bad and getting worse. They’d been inside—that meant one of them had been close to taking her over. Close. Not the same thing as complete control, but it did give them power over her. That taste of power—most likely, they’d shared just enough of their experiences of draining a soul. It was entirely possible that all she felt was the rush of power, without realizing what it was.