Page 4 of Demon Loved
“I am,” Brianna protested. After all, it had been more than three months since she’d moved into the apartment above the West by Southwest gallery on Main Street, plenty of time to adjust to her new reality. But even though the space was cute, with its age-worn wood floors and fun paint on the walls — a different color in each room — she’d never felt as comfortable there as she’d hoped.
Maybe she just needed a little more time to adjust to the place.
Hayley lifted one brow. “I’m sure we can find a different spot for you if it’s not working out. I’ve been a little concerned that you don’t have space for a piano there.”
Well, that was true enough. The apartment was just a hair over five hundred square feet, big enough for one bedroom and one bathroom and a dinky kitchen she barely used except to make coffee in the morning. There was no way she could have squeezed even a spinet in there, not without sacrificing the sofa or the tiny bistro set that occupied the dining area. Maybe the dining set wasn’t strictly necessary, but she hadn’t liked the idea of not having anywhere to sit down and eat except on the living room couch.
So she practiced piano wherever she could — here at home, where the baby grand she’d learned to play on still had a place of honor in the library off the living room; at the various resorts where she had her gigs; at friends’ houses whenever they offered. It seemed like enough, even though she knew the arrangement was a makeshift and nothing more.
“No, it’s fine,” she replied, glad that she sounded firm and sure of herself. “The view is almost as good as it is here, and I like being in the middle of things. New living spaces always take some kind of adjustment.”
“I suppose so,” her mother said, but she still looked worried.
However, Shane and Levi came into the living room then, and it seemed as if Hayley had decided it was better not to pursue the subject in front of them. Bree knew her father would always be sympathetic, but Shane…?
Maybe not so much. It wasn’t that they didn’t get along, but he’d always been so clear about what he wanted out of life that he didn’t have a lot of patience for his sister’s dithering.
And because he’d already bought a house for himself — a pretty little Victorian right here on Paradise Lane, walking distance to work — it wasn’t as if he needed to worry about where he laid his head at night. No, Shane, as usual, seemed to have everything figured out.
Levi looked as if he could tell his wife and daughter had been discussing something important, but, being him, he didn’t attempt to pry. Instead, he commented that he hoped they’d be able to do this again next week.
“One of the many things I like about being part of the McAllister clan,” he said with a smile. “It’s good to know that our children won’t range too far afield.”
Bree supposed that was true enough; people in witch clans always stuck to their territories except for brief periods to attend school, like she and Shane both had, or possibly if they’d met a witch or warlock from a different clan, fallen in love, and moved to their spouse’s territory.
She didn’t see that happening for either her or her brother any time soon. Shane had always relentlessly dated civilians, and she…well, she didn’t have too many prospects at the moment.
Which was probably a good thing. She was enough of a mess without dragging some innocent guy into her neuroses.
Her mother smiled at Levi’s comment, and Shane lifted an eyebrow, although he smiled slightly.
“Well,” he said, “I’ve got my dream job now, so I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
No, he didn’t.
Whereas Bree couldn’t say for sure where she was headed.
She supposed she’d let fate figure that out for her.
2
You are Bill Garrett, Belshegar reminded himself as he got out of the self-driving car that had brought him to Jerome. Bill Garrett.
He wasn’t sure why the voice had decided that would be his alias, although he supposed it was possibly because it contained some of the same letters and syllables as his true name when it was rendered in the English language.
Now he could only hope he’d answer to it if anyone ever addressed him that way.
How all the arrangements had been made, he wasn’t sure, but less than twenty-four human hours after he’d had that conversation with the voice, he was on the mortal plane, wearing the same face he’d put on to attend Elena’s wedding and reception. It was a handsome enough face, he supposed, with a strong brow and chin and deep green eyes, topped by shaggy, shoulder-length, near-black hair, but it wasn’t his face.
When Loc had conjured the human appearance for him that first time, Belshegar asked where the demon lord had gotten it from.
“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Loc had replied almost carelessly. “Actors, mostly. People might comment that you remind them of someone, although the face I’ve given you isn’t a copy of anyone in particular.”
Would it be amusing to be mistaken for someone famous?
Probably not, he decided, especially since the voice had admonished him to do whatever he could to avoid attracting notice. He had been given a task to perform, and while the voice hadn’t provided him with a precise timeline, Belshegar knew he should work his hardest to acquire the artifacts it wanted and then deliver them before anyone on the human plane began to think there might be something just a little strange about “Bill Garrett.”
He would be staying at a place called The Grand Hotel, an imposing structure perched near the very top of Jerome, which appeared to be built into the side of a hill. The buildings he’d spied as the self-driving car brought him here had looked quite old, if not quite as old as many of the structures in Santa Fe, where he’d seen ancient adobe homes and shops that appeared almost as though they’d sprouted in place, like mushrooms, rather than been built with human hands.
