Page 61 of Demon Loved
In this particular case, though, Bree could only be glad that the Haunted Hamburger’s resident ghosts were quiescent at the moment. She had enough on her plate already.
“What about the Gold King?” she asked, and Bill’s head tilted to one side, as though he wasn’t quite sure what she was asking. She smiled, then figured she’d better elaborate. “I mean, if you sensed any ghosts there.”
His expression turned thoughtful. “No, I didn’t. Not that I was trying to, either, but that place didn’t feel haunted, unless you’re talking about haunted by the memories that were made there or the memories of what it used to be.”
“Makes sense,” she said. “I’ve never heard of any real hauntings at the Gold King, unlike at least half the buildings here in Jerome. Maybe the encampment there felt too temporary to any of the people who might have died in that spot, and they didn’t see any need to stick around.”
Bill nodded, but Harris came back with their food then, effectively cutting off any answer he might have made. And after Harris told them he’d check back in a while to see how they were doing, there didn’t seem to be much point in pursuing that particular topic.
No, they were quiet for a few minutes as they bit into their cheeseburgers and stopped every now and then to eat a French fry or drink some wine, and Bree thought she was okay with that. She was hungrier than she’d expected, and the vague notion she’d had pass through her head of saving half her burger for later evaporated almost right away.
And even when she and Bill spoke again, it was about commonplace things, like her gig at Tantrum wines on Thursday evening and the way she’d been stewing over whether to hold a recital so her students could show off their talents. She didn’t have that many pupils — only five at the moment — but Callie’s mother and Luke’s father had asked about a recital as well, and she thought maybe it would be a good idea if she could find someplace to hold the event. Since it wouldn’t be a very big crowd, the living room of her childhood home would probably work…if she could get her parents to agree to let a group of civilians into the house for an evening or maybe a Sunday afternoon.
Bill seemed interested, and agreed that a house seemed like a more likely place rather than trying to book a real performance hall. And once again, he deftly snagged the check before she could even reach for it, a knowing little smile playing around his mouth as he did so.
Well, the Haunted Hamburger had been his idea, so she supposed she should go ahead and let him pay.
Afterward, she slipped on her jean jacket and they headed outside. He didn’t seem to need anything other than the T-shirt he was wearing to protect himself from the cool evening air, but she’d known lots of guys like that, men who would only lower themselves to put on outerwear if temperatures dipped into the forties or lower.
“I’ll walk you home,” he said, and his tone was firm enough that Bree guessed there was no point in arguing.
Especially since he’d already been to her place and knew exactly what kind of climb it entailed.
They went a little way past the restaurant so they could get to the steep staircase that led down to Main Street. Even though she’d lived here all her life and knew there was nothing to fear from those steps…or the little alley that awaited them at the bottom…she always felt her heart speed up a bit as she made the descent.
It was just creepy, no matter how you looked at it.
Especially now, with the sun gone down and no one anywhere around them. Some orange-hued light from the sparsely spaced sodium vapor street lamps down on Main Street made its way here, but not enough to truly illuminate anything. No, it was mostly to keep you from tripping over your own feet.
Oddly, the air felt colder the lower they went, which didn’t make a lot of sense. Her mind playing tricks, she supposed, although she didn’t know why she should feel so hinky when she had Bill there with her. Any would-be mugger would probably take one glance at the width of his shoulders and the muscles of his biceps as they strained against the sleeves of his T-shirt and decide to look for easier prey.
When they reached the bottom of the steps, Bill stopped abruptly, head up in the air like a dog detecting a strange scent.
“Something’s wrong,” he said.
Brianna hadn’t yet lifted her hand from the stair railing, and her fingers curled around it, the metal cold against her skin. “What do you mean, ‘wrong’?”
“Just…wrong.”
Before she could respond, the air in the alley at the base of the steps appeared to shimmer, almost like heat waves rising from the pavement on a hot summer day.
Except it wasn’t hot. In fact, the air seemed to be getting colder by the second.
The shadows darkened, becoming blacker than black, almost as if they weren’t shadows at all, but gaping tears in the fabric of reality.
A figure emerged from one of those shadows — as tall as Bill, so she guessed it must be male even though she couldn’t see the person’s face, thanks to the hooded cloak it wore. Something about it seemed not quite real, though, the edges of the black fabric seeming to bleed into nothingness, as if it wasn’t quite anchored to this plane.
“The Council sends its greetings,” the figure said. Its voice sounded human enough, but it still echoed off the alley walls with a strange sort of distortion, like it was being put through some sort of filter.
And it raised one hand. Resting in the stranger’s palm was a dark orb that glowed with odd colors that moved across its spherical surface, almost like animated oil slicks. Even from where she stood, Bree could feel the wrongness of the thing.
Immediately, Bill positioned himself so that his body blocked her from the device. “A dimensional anchor! Stand back, Brianna!”
A dimensional what? Some kind of magical device, she supposed, but how in the world would Bill Garrett even know about such a thing?
Her lips parted so she could ask the question, but before she could form a single syllable, a beam of oily, purple-black light shot out of the orb, aimed directly at Bill.
Except…was that Bill?
