Page 17 of The Last Slayer
“Excuse me?” She sounded more awake now. “No one breaks my wardings.”
“Well, someone did. And he redrew them before leaving. And the wardings are more powerful than before.”
Silence. The masculine voice muttered something, but Valerie instantly shushed him.
“You’re serious? Not just still mad about the client test thing?”
“I wish.”
“Okay. Sit tight and don’t let anyone or anything inside until I get there.”
She hung up without waiting for my response.
Valerie lived in Arlington. It should take her at least half an hour to get to my place, and the new wardings looked strong enough to hold off an entire battalion of demons.
Pulling my shirt over my head, I walked to the bathroom and tossed my clothes into the laundry basket. I wanted to erase every sign of his invasion from my body before Valerie arrived. It was disconcerting how my crotch was still slick and the need still lingered and burned low in my stomach.
An extra-cold shower was just the thing to get rid of all that. Once my body was clean and dry, I grabbed a new set of black Under Armour. No need to worry about color coordination—everything I owned was either black or blue. Well…I did have two pastel-pink silk skirts, but they didn’t count since they were birthday presents from Valerie. She insisted I ought to do something to “display my assets,” har har. She meant well, but I didn’t exactly embody womanly appeal the way she did, and I looked ridiculous in anything even remotely feminine. But a girl can run her hand over luxurious material and sigh.
The doorbell chimed.
Valerie was ten minutes earlier than I’d expected. Looking at her angelic face, you would never know that she was a speed demon and a terror on the road. Fortunately for her—and unfortunately for the rest of us—she always charmed the cops’ socks off and wiggled out of getting ticketed. Just once, I wished she’d get pulled over by a cop who was immune to her allure.
A fresh periwinkle Armani skirt suit was draped over her lean figure. And when had she had time to put on makeup? Maybe she slept with makeup on. Maybe she was born made up.
“So where is it?” she asked, walking inside. The only thing that betrayed her agitation was her hair. The chignon, which normally looked lovely, was coiled tight and gave her face a slightly harsher cast. I could smell a whiff of her signature floral and vanilla perfume as she moved. High-heeled, open-toe sandals elongated her legs, although they would be completely useless if there was an attack. I guess that’s why she has me.
“This way.”
I led her to the room in question. She glanced around the hall, checking all her wardings.
“These all held,” I said. I jerked my chin toward the study. “In there.”
Valerie’s eyes sharpened. She swore softly under her breath.
I shouldn’t have enjoyed Valerie’s irritation, but after what she’d done I couldn’t help it. Besides, it wasn’t every day you saw her be anything but poised and mildly pleasant.
She stepped through my clutter and examined the new wardings. They blended with hers seamlessly, but the magic signature was different. Her fingertips traced the intricate lines. They sparkled and responded to her touch but didn’t bend to her will.
“I don’t get it,” she said after a moment of examining them. “Who was it?”
“An incubus, or some other demon with incubus power.” Only incubi have the ability to invade dreams, although some demons can borrow it at an exorbitant price: a favor owed or worse.
She looked perplexed. “He came into your dream?”
“Yeah.”
“How? Did you invite him?”
“Of course not.”
“So how did it happen? Did he get some of your hair?”
“No. I burn all my loose hair. Shit, Valerie, you know better. I don’t even go to hair salons.”
“So what then? Fingernail clippings? Toenails?”
“I’m not some wet-behind-the-ears apprentice.”
