“Don’t mind if I do,” he said.

  “Sugar or cream?”

  He shook his head. “I only take it black.”

  “Then there must be something wrong with him,” Indie piped up.

  I leaned against the counter, holding my coffee with two hands, ready to throw it at him if I needed to. I was on such high alert but I still didn’t really know why. It wasn’t like Simon had done anything or said anything that should be throwing me off. No, this paranoia was most likely entirely owing to Indie.

  “I’m excited to see my sister and her daughter,” Simon said, giving me a smile as he sipped his coffee. Mine was still too hot to risk it and I had to wonder if he’d just scalded his tongue. He didn’t react as if he had though.

  “I didn’t know Agatha had kids,” I said, pouncing on one of the only details he’d given me.

  “Oh, right—she does. Cynthia, my niece. Lovely girl.”

  Agatha had never mentioned having a daughter, let alone one named Cynthia, and I’d never met her.

  “There is something about this guy that isn’t adding up,” Indie said as she began muttering darkly in the back of my mind, reciting any spell she knew that might help us. “I told you not to let him in!”

  I was just trying to hold out the vain hope that Simon wasn’t some sort of ax murderer. With my luck, I’d admitted Bundy into my house. Stupid Lydia. Sometimes spiting the witch just wasn’t worth it.

  “You said you have a store—is that book part of your inventory?”

  “The… book you just looked at?”

  “Yeah, that one. I’d like to buy it from you if you’re willing to part with it. I think my niece would really get a kick out of it. She’s fourteen, old enough not to rip out pages or anything.”

  There was a gross feeling happening in my throat. “I’m sorry, but, um, it’s not for sale yet... I’m, um, I’m just in the process of rebinding it and, um, restoring it.”

  “I can come back for it when it’s for sale,” he said, still perfectly cheerful. “No rush, of course, it’s just I never know what to get my niece for Christmas and it’s not every day you find something like that.”

  “Well, it might... not ever be for sale,” I said flatly.

  “Oh, well, that’s a shame.” He shrugged and then took an enormous swig of coffee. A little dribbled out of his mouth and he caught it on his sleeve. “You don’t mind if I look at it a little more, do you? I’ll be careful, hand to God. I’ll leave my coffee in here... thank you, by the way.”

  “It’s old, and I’m not sure it’s in good enough shape to be handled at all,” I lied, suddenly feeling as if I needed to keep him as far from the book as far was possible to be.

  “Why bring it home, then?”

  “The shop’s kind of a mess right now. Water damage from an... incident. So, I figured it was safer here.”

  “Ah. An incident? What happened?”

  I was saved from answering when the landline rang. I pounced on it, checked the caller ID, and let out a sigh of relief. It was Agatha.

  “Hey, Agatha.”

  “Lydia, you need to get out of your house right away,” she replied in a thin whisper.

  “What?” I asked, my stomach dropping to my toes. Of all the things she could have said, I wasn’t expecting that. “Why?”

  “Because I’m an only child, Lydia. Whoever is in your house, he’s not my brother.”

  The phone was suddenly and unceremoniously plucked out of my hand. There was a pop and then the sound of crunching plastic. When I turned to face Simon, he was holding the shattered remains of my landline. I stared at him, open-mouthed.

  “Sorry about this,” Simon said, not sounding particularly sorry about it at all.

  There was something wrong with his eyes. Instead of the dark pools I’d spied before, I was staring into feral eyes flashing with hellfire. I backpedaled a step, letting out a squeak.

  “It’s a Reeper Demon!” Indie shrieked. “Run!”

  But I didn’t get the opportunity. Simon reached for me with a lazy grin and pressed a finger to my cheek. He muttered a word, and it was as if my brain suddenly turned to cotton. Heavy weights dragged down my eyelids and with them, my knees. I collapsed to the ground, folding onto my side. The kitchen tile was cold through my sweater and I could feel my arms suddenly going slack. I spied Checkers where he was hiding beneath the TV stand. Smart of him. The demon would probably kill him if he knew what Checkers really was.

  My arms went slack, a moan slid from between my lips, and then the world faded away.

  Chapter Five

  Checkers

  I watched helplessly from my position under the TV stand as the Reeper Demon dragged Lydia’s limp body down the hall and out into the rainy night.

  His scent hung unpleasantly in the air, even after the door clicked shut behind him. Most demons have a distinctive scent, a subtle undercurrent of ash, sulfur, or fire, no matter how appealing they might appear. Humans and their distant cousins, witches, couldn’t sniff it out. Scent blind, all of them. But I could scent it.

  Reepers smelled worse than most. At least incubi and succubae tried to cover their sulphureous scents with sexual musk and liberal applications of the human scents that Indigo used to be so fond of. Reepers rubbed elbows with the lowest fiends in the infernal layers and they had no shame about it. Despite being a lesser form of possession-capable demon, they mostly preferred to do the dirty work for the archfiends of hell. It was always nasty business when one of them came to the mortal world, and this was sure to be no exception.

  The real question was this: what exactly could I do about it? I was only a familiar after all, with no ability to cast magic of my own. I could only channel Indigo’s, and very weakly at that, given her new state. If I’d betrayed my location, the Reeper Demon would have probably turned me into a fur hat. And that’s exactly why I didn’t do anything at all.

  When I was sure he’d cleared the front door, I scurried out from under the table and tried to open the door. The knob was slippery and round and best used by someone with opposable thumbs. I’d heard other familiars could work doors and more complex things, but I’d never gotten the hang of it. I was deeply regretting that now. So, I moved over to one of Lydia’s picture windows and stared out into the night instead. Perhaps I could observe something useful, as unlikely as that was.

  For a moment, I saw nothing. Then there was a sweep of bright headlights in the street, casting long shadows on the neighbor’s windows and doors. A second later, a truck hummed to life and backed out, speeding away into the night. It was too dark to spy anyone bound in the backseat, but I was sure it was this ‘Simon’ character’s vehicle. It had to be. I was only able to make out about half the license plate number before the truck was swallowed by shadow and lost to sight.

  I belatedly realized that the man had also snatched Lydia’s keys from the bowl on the hall table—something that no one would find odd since Lydia had already given the movers keys to this house and her new shop in Haven Hollow. When the movers let themselves in tomorrow morning, they’d already assume Lydia had gone ahead of them. This Simon person had gone to a lot of trouble to be sure no one knew Lydia was missing—and that meant this whole thing had been planned. But why? By the time anyone puzzled it out, both of the women I called mistress could be dead—or worse.

  I paced the floor in ever-widening circles. It was exhausting, and I was hungry by the time I came to any conclusion, but I couldn’t summon enough will to go to the food dish and nibble the dry food. There was only one person who knew where Lydia was meant to be tomorrow morning and might take note of her absence. It was that realty fellow she was supposed to meet in the morning from Hallowed Homes. Then he was my only hope.

  It was a risky plan. If he was human (which was a toss-up in a Hollow) I’d have to break rules to communicate with him. But communicating with him was necessary because I needed to alert someone before the Reeper got too far—before he took her back to Hell with him, which I was sure was where he was headed.

  I hunkered down on the floor, too tired to return to the couch and bed down on my towel. When the movers came in the morning, I would hop into their truck (hopefully without them noticing) and I’d get a ride to Haven Hollow and, more pointedly, to our new shop and loft. Then, when the realtor came to meet Lydia at the shop, he’d meet me instead and I’d tell him what had happened.

  I curled into a miserable ball, mulling over my plan. It wasn’t good, but it was all I had. I tried to sleep, but rest eluded me. Visions of what might be happening to Lydia and Indigo were too bright and loud in my head.

  ***

  Angelo

  My client was late.

  And even stranger, she hadn’t called to tell me she’d be late or where she was. That almost never happened to me. Women who had to call in late or miss their appointments apologized profusely, tripping over themselves for the imagined slight. I usually took the opportunity to bribe a dinner date from the ones I found attractive. Fifi had made me swear not to break up marriages and so I’d stopped going after the married ones. I hadn’t promised not to snack on the single ones every now and then, though.

  If Fifi had a problem with that loophole, then she could find another employee to take my place. I doubted anyone would sell as well or as often as I did. I had a gift and Fifi damn well knew it. And as to my newest client, Lydia, well, I’d been looking forward to this meeting for a few weeks now, after speaking with her on the phone and on video chat.

  If I’d had to guess, she was around forty, with a few smile lines bracketing a lush mouth and wide, almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was shockingly dark against her pale skin, contrasting vividly with the electric blue of her eyes. A little cyber stalking revealed the black was a dye job. From what I’d been able to find on her Facebook page, she’d originally been a blonde who looked killer in the little black dress she’d worn to her shop’s grand opening years ago. There’d been a man in the picture back then, but he’d disappeared from Facebook and her other social media accounts over the last few years and she’d changed her relationship status long before she called me.

  So, in essence, she was single. And that meant Fifi couldn’t fault me for this one. Actually, it was looking like Fifi wouldn’t be able to fault me at all, since a meetup between Lydia and me clearly wasn’t happening today. The movers had piled her shop high with new bookshelves, boxes, and sundry furniture from her house, but from what I could tell, she hadn’t been inside to direct them where to place all of it. The front room was just a mishmash of home and business furniture, with no hot proprietor in sight. Damn. I’d been looking forward to this meetup since I’d first had a video call with her and I’d seen just how attractive she was.

  Now, it wasn’t as if Lydia was the hottest thing I’d ever seen—she wasn’t. But I liked her. And that was something new for me. Usually, I spied the object of my hunger, and all I had to do was lay on the charm and she’d be warming my bed. I’d figured such would be the same with this one. In fact, I was surprised she hadn’t already graced my bed. I’d assumed on that first video call, when I’d turned up my charm, that she would have made the drive out from Tiller then and there (as most women did, when caught by my incubus charms). But Lydia didn’t. And that was interesting. I could tell my magic impacted her—proof enough was in the blush that overtook her cheeks whenever she spoke to me. But somehow she’d still managed to avoid my blatant incubus charms, something which was... well, pretty much unheard of. At one point, I’d even laid them on as thickly as I could. But... nothing.

  I was fairly sure that was the reason for the fact that I was jonesing for her like a drug addict.

  The celebratory coffee I’d brought along with me had cooled since I’d arrived at her new shop on Main Street. I chewed my lip, weighing my options. It was nearly lunchtime, and I was craving more than a club sandwich. If I was quick, I could make it back to my favorite watering hole in the next town over, grab a bite and a quickie with the college girl working there and return to the office in time for the afternoon meeting with Fifi and the others. Or I could fish the realty office’s copy of Lydia’s key out of my pocket, unlock the shop and take a look around. As far as I could tell, the movers were long gone so it wasn’t like anyone would catch me spying.

  Maybe Lydia had taken a sleeping bag upstairs and decided to sleep the night in her new loft? She’d been up late when I called the night before and she’d struck me as a night owl in any case. Maybe she was sleeping off yesterday’s excesses? I knew I’d throw a party if I were leaving a place like Tiller. Or maybe she was upstairs, out of earshot of her door for another reason. A more dire reason? It couldn’t hurt to check, and I was sure I could sweep any accusations of rudeness for intruding away. There were very few women alive who could resist me when I really turned on the incubus charm. Yes, Lydia had been able to keep her distance so far, but maybe that was just owing to the fact that we hadn’t met in person.

  Yes, in person, she would be completely victim to my whims and desires. Strangely enough, there was something about that thought that disappointed me. I had to admit—I was enjoying this little chase because I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually worked to get a woman in my bed. The truth of the matter was that I hoped Lydia continued to hold out—continued to make me work for it. But I knew, no matter what, at some point in the near future, I’d have her.

  When I opened the door, calling for Lydia, no answer met my ears. Instead, a creature the size of a bobcat leaped down from a stack of boxes, landing at my feet with a sizeable thump. When my eyes finally processed what I was seeing, I realized it was a cat. An overlarge, very overweight ginger cat. It cocked its head to one side, examining me quizzically. After a moment it sneezed, and then cleared its throat. I was afraid it was going to hack up a hairball on the hardwood, but what it did surprised me more. It talked.

  “Oh, thank the goddess,” the cat said. “You’re a demon, not a mundane. That makes things so much simpler.”

  I blinked a few times. “You’re a familiar.”

  The cat rolled its eyes in that annoying feline way that only housecats have mastered. But it wasn’t being overtly disdainful, which was a nice change of pace from some of the other familiars I’d met.

  “Could we move past the obvious, please?” he said.

  “Fine, how about this, then? Why the hell didn’t Lydia tell me she was a witch? It would have made this whole song and dance a lot easier on me. There’s an expedited process for supernaturals in town. She could have been here weeks earlier.” And that might have also explained why she was able to keep her walls up against my power. Witches were among the only supernaturals who could—but it still required a pretty powerful one. So Lydia was a powerful witch... hmm, interesting.

  The cat sighed. “Lydia Morton isn’t a witch, but that isn’t important at the moment. What is—”

  That disappointed me. “Then what the hell is she?”

  “She...” The cat paused, considering its words carefully. “She’s a gypsy.”

  “So why the hell does she have a familiar?”

  “I’m not really her familiar—but I had belonged to a witch who died and Lydia... well, she basically adopted me. But that isn’t what we need to discuss at the moment—”

  “That sounds very strange.”

  “Right. It is. Moving on,” the cat answered.

  “And Lydia is a gypsy?”

  The cat shook its head. “Yes. Lydia’s a gypsy... her name is Lydia Morton,” he continued, saying her full name in such a way that it seemed he expected me to recognize it.

  “Interesting.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Poppy Morton, of Poppy’s Potions, was our only resident gypsy... well, until now. She was a tough cookie, always shutting me down when I tried to coax her out of the arms of whoever she was seeing at the moment. She traded boyfriends faster than Fifi did these days, which was saying something. I was honestly a little offended that she hadn’t even considered me as a candidate. Well, not as a boyfriend, of course, but as someone to keep her occupied in between.

  But back to Lydia... I frowned at the cat, who didn’t seem to have his facts right. “She said her name was Lydia Rourke.”

  “Her soon-to-be ex-husband is Rodney Rourke.”

  “Ah, then she’s divorced?”

  The cat nodded.

  “And she’s related to Poppy Morton?”

  “I would assume so, though I don’t know for certain,” the cat answered. “Now, can we please—”

  “Where is Lydia anyway?” I asked. “Upstairs?”

  Curiouser and curiouser. An ignorant gypsy moving into the Hollow with a familiar in tow. This contract had just gotten a whole lot more interesting.

  The cat’s tail flicked anxiously, reminding me comically of a wall clock before it spoke.

  “No, she’s not here! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you! She’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?”

  “Yes! By a demon and she needs your help!”

  Chapter Six

  Lydia

  I dragged my eyes open and found myself staring at an unfamiliar ceiling.

  The walls bordering it were dark green, though it was impossible to pin down a shade more specifically in the dimness of the room. White crown molding clung to the corners like pale ghosts. There were cushions beneath me and a heavy duvet tucked around my shoulders. The four-curtained posters of the bed loomed over me like redwoods.

  I sat up slowly, my head pounding. The inside of my mouth felt like sandpaper, and I must have bitten my tongue at some point because I could taste blood at the back of my throat. Turning my head sent a wave of vertigo crashing over me and I bent double, clapping my hand over my mouth to stop a gag from escaping.

  Who knew when Simon would return? I didn’t want to draw him here by making noise or anger him by throwing up on his shiny black floors. Actually, I’d thought they were ebony at first, but when I peered closer, I saw little flickers of light traveling along the grain, as though embers smoldered just beneath the hard surface. Weird.