Page 59 of Speak of the Devil

Whose were they?

A mystery he’d clear up later, he supposed. For now, it just felt good to get into something clean and soft, and which didn’t press too hard on his battered body.

The one thing she hadn’t provided was a pair of replacement socks or any kind of footwear, so after he’d rolled his socks up with the rest of his bloody clothes, he padded out to the living room in his bare feet. A fire danced in the gas hearth, and she’d set a bottle of cognac and a couple of shot glasses on the wood and glass coffee table.

A woman after his own heart.

“I figured you could use a drink,” she said. “I don’t have much hard stuff on hand, but someone left this behind after a Christmas party and — ”

“It’s perfect,” he said. “Thank you.”

She poured a shot glass nearly full of cognac for him, then gave herself about half that much. “So…what happened?”

“A couple of demons got the jump on me,” he replied. “So much for my theory that they’d leave me alone if I just stayed away from the goddamn casinos.”

Her mouth compressed, but she lifted her shot glass and said, “Here’s to getting away.”

“Yeah, I don’t think they guessed I was going to jump…or maybe they weren’t sure whether I could. A lot of demons still don’t know all that much about part demons and their abilities.”

And they also didn’t always communicate with one another, often holding on to information they thought they could use for leverage later on.

That was something he could only be thankful for. Otherwise, he might be in much worse shape than he already was.

The cognac was a welcome warmth in his wounded throat, a comforting heat in his belly. He swallowed some more, glad that the throbbing pain from the wounds the demons had delivered was already beginning to retreat. A good night’s sleep, and, while he wouldn’t have completely recovered, he knew his injuries would be at least half healed when he woke up.

Of course, that begged the question of where exactly he planned to sleep. No way he was going back to his house tonight. He supposed he could blink himself into the parking lot of a hotel — one preferably not attached to a casino, no easy task in Las Vegas — get a room, and hole up there until he decided what he should do next.

“Is there a way to keep the demons out of your house?” Delia asked.

“Holy water,” Caleb said briefly, and drank some more cognac. “Lots and lots of holy water.”

Her brows creased. “And that won’t bother you?”

She sounded genuinely worried…which cheered him up immensely.

“No,” he replied. “It generally doesn’t have any real effect on those of us with human blood. So it’s a cheap and easy way to make sure I don’t have any more of those bastards coming down the chimney.”

“That’s how they got in?”

Was that a hint of amusement in her expression?

Not at his expense, he guessed, but only at the absurdity of a bunch of demons playing Santa Claus.

“I suppose they thought it would be funny.” He shrugged and sipped some more cognac. Now more than two-thirds of the glass was empty, although he had a feeling Delia would refill it without him even asking.

Sure enough, she murmured, “Let me get you some more of that,” and lifted the bottle of cognac and poured another healthy measure into his glass.

Once she was done with that task, she sipped some of her own cognac before she spoke again.

“You’re staying here.”

Her tone was so firm that he could tell she didn’t want any arguments.

Still, Caleb thought he should make at least a token protest.

“There are hundreds of hotels in this town.”

“True,” she replied. “But I’ve got a whole cabinet of holy water, since I use it to help spirits move on. Can you think of a safer place to be?”

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