Page 5 of Reaper (Quincy Harker Demon Hunter #10)

O h, hell no!” the brown-skinned woman behind the bar said when I walked in.

“Turn your narrow Anglican ass right back around and walk out that door, Quincy Harker! You weren’t welcome in here before the last time you trashed my place, and you sure as hell aren’t welcome in here now!

Do you know how much it costs me every single time you show up at my bar? ”

I didn’t have time for this bullshit. “Nothing, Mort. I know full well it doesn’t cost you a goddamned cent, because Luke pays for the damages.

Every time. Now, I’ve played this game with you for years, because I think it’s kinda funny, and because I feel bad for getting Christy involved with my crap, but I don’t have time for it today.

I’ve got half a dozen different packs of weres descending on this place for a meet, and I need at least a couple minutes to move tables around and get prepared.

So let’s put the games on hold for a couple hours, and you can go back to hating me when the meeting is over. ”

“Moot,” Saint said, walking in and immediately starting to rearrange chairs.

I turned to the big wolf. “What?”

“It’s not a meet, or a meeting, it’s a moot.”

“What are you, a fucking were-Ent now?” I asked.

“It’s an ancient term for a debate, which is what we’re going to be doing.

We’re going to debate whether or not there’s someone hunting lycanthropes in Charlotte, and then we’re going to debate whether or not you’re to blame.

And if we decide that you are, we’re going to debate who gets to rip your head off, and who can be the first to shit down your neck. ”

“You’re welcome to try, big boy,” I said. “Bigger shifters than you have tried, and none of them ever howled at the moon again. Remember, I didn’t give myself the nickname of Reaper.”

Saint dragged a four-top table across the floor with a spine-wrenching screeeeeech , then looked at me with a grin. “No, you didn’t. But I’m the Alpha of the baddest pack of shifters in North Carolina. You ever stared down anybody worse than that, Reaper ?”

I usually can manage not to take the bait.

I really have been working on my self-control, and it’s been almost a full year since I felt the need to participate in a dick-measuring contest, but I needed to make sure that in a room full of Alphas, they all understood that if they fucked with me, I’d be their goddamned Omega, and not in the smutty ebook way.

So I walked over to where Saint had lifted another table, and I slapped it to the floor with one hand.

“Listen, furball,” I said, my jaw tight and my voice low, “I’ve gotten into a fistfight with an Archangel, told Oberon the King of Faerie to go fuck himself, and stared Lucifer himself right in the eye in the Ninth Circle of Hell.

You think I give a single flying fuck at a rolling doughnut about you?

Motherfucker, I’ve intimidated scarier things than you before breakfast, then went on to kick the shit out of a Reaver demon before lunch.

So if you want to step to me, let’s get it the fuck over with so I can have this fucking moot with all your fine furry and feathered friends, and figure out who’s slaughtering shifters in my city. ”

Saint shoved the table aside and took one step toward me, fists clenched at his side, before we registered the slow clapping coming from the door.

Yeah, the old slow clap to take all the testosterone out of a room.

I turned to see a gorgeous blonde with brilliant white wings and a David Bowie t-shirt standing in the doorway.

Beside her, the one doing all the clapping, was a tall man with a sandy ponytail hanging over one shoulder.

He wore a white suit with the sleeves rolled up twice, somehow not looking like the worst Don Johnson cosplayer in history.

Glory and Faustus, who was now really named Fautinir, although he threatened to smite me if I ever called him that. The angels had arrived.

“I thought you two were off on some Heavenly mission,” I said, not turning quite enough to leave Saint out of my sightline.

“Oh, we are,” Glory said. “But I’m still your Guardian Angel, and as amusing as it would be to watch you two idiots turn this place to a war zone, Luke asked me to pop in and see if I could save him a repair bill.

So put the wieners away, zip up your shit, and let’s get this place ready for a good old-fashioned moot. ”

“Okay, first—please don’t ever mention my wiener again. It’s bad enough having an angel watching over literally everything I do, but I really don’t want to know that you’ve ever thought about my junk. And second— language .”

“Fuck off, Harker,” Glory said as she walked past me to Saint. “I’ve seen your junk more times than anyone but you, and I’m still not interested.” She held out a hand to the Alpha. “I’m Glory. This is Faustus. We’re angels. Please don’t break Harker; he’s got important shit to do.”

Saint looked completely stunned by this turn of events.

I couldn’t blame him. It’s one thing to meet an angel; it’s another thing entirely to meet one that could grace the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition.

He shook her hand without saying a word, then went back to moving tables.

Glory looked over at the bar. “Hello, Mort. Nice body.”

Mort gave her a little wave and a nod. “Thanks. Investment banker from Nashville. She wanted perfect pitch, I wanted to be a chick for a week, especially one with the tastebuds for really spicy curry.”

“That’s a pretty fair deal, especially for you, pal,” Faustus said, stepping over to the bar. “Beer me?”

Mort seemed to have some trouble looking at the former demon, just handed him a Heineken and stared at the bar top. “I heard you’d gone home, Faustus. I…” Mort’s voice trailed off, and the silence that fell over the bar was heavy for a second.

“Yeah,” Faustus replied. “I…Returned.”

“Is it…” Mort didn’t finish his question, but Faustus answered anyway. Like he knew what the demon was going to ask. He probably did, since he’d been asking himself the same question since The Fall.

“Yeah,” Faustus said, his voice gentle. “It’s as good as I remembered.”

I turned away, suddenly feeling like I was intruding on a very private moment between two beings that had seen the literal dawn of time. Saint was still staring at me, so I stuck out a hand. “Truce?”

He looked at Glory, then Faustus, then shook my hand. “Truce. But one of these days, Harker, we’re gonna see who really is the baddest motherfucker in town.”

I jerked my chin at Glory. “Pretty sure it ain’t either of us, pal.”

“I can confirm that, Quincy,” Luke said, having done that creepy-ass thing he does where he’s nowhere around one minute and the next instant he’s standing by your elbow.

“But now I believe your guests are beginning to arrive, so if there is more redecorating to be done, we should proceed with it post haste.”

“That’s our cue,” Glory said. “We’ve got work to do on another plane, but all of you remember…” She pointed to Mort, Saint, and for a particularly long moment, at me, then said, “I’m watching.” Then she and Faustus vanished. I noticed Faustus took his beer. Old habits, I guess.

“She’s kinda scary, dude. Hot, but scary,” Saint said.

“You should see her in armor,” I replied. “Even hotter. And way scarier.”

* * *

We got all the tables and chairs moved, but it still took over an hour to get everybody inside, get the “how you beens” and “good to see yas” out of the way so we could actually talk about what was going on.

Finally, I stood at the end of a massive conglomeration of bar tables we’d thrown together in a weird conference table shape, and addressed the Alphas, Betas, and Sergeants-at-Arms of eight shifter packs from all over Charlotte.

“I know a lot of you by sight, and more by name, and I’m pretty sure you all know me. I’m Quincy Harker, and I work with the Department of Homeland Security’s Paranormal Division?—”

“You’re the fucking Reaper, asshole,” one particularly belligerent Asian were from East Charlotte called out. Apparently he wasn’t a fan.

“Okay, sure,” I said, holding up both hands to show that I wasn’t currently holding a weapon.

Not that I didn’t have a gun in my belt, another strapped to my right ankle, one duct-taped to the underside of the table, and enough magical energy stored to turn Mort’s bar into a smoking crater.

But I didn’t have a gun in my hand then .

“Some people call me the Reaper, and I’ve had a few unpleasant encounters with some of you over the years. ”

“You killed my brother, you fucking prick!” shouted a heavily muscled Black man with long braids.

“Yeah, sorry about that, Dex,” I said. “But we both know Calvin was a dumbass, and a mean one, and that your pack is in better hands with you as Alpha.” Dex’s brother Calvin had decided about six years ago that he should control all the drug trade on Charlotte’s west side, despite his pack having never trafficked drugs before.

He killed his way up the ladder of the groups that did move drugs on that side of town, and when a couple of high school kids got caught in the crossfire, I stepped in.

And stepped on Calvin. Hard. Seemed like Dex might have held a grudge.

“Look,” I started again. “If we go down the list of everything one of you wants to kick my ass for, we’ll be here all night. And if we’re here all night, we won’t find out why there are at least four dead shifters in Charlotte over the last six weeks.”

A low rumble went across the room, and Becks stepped forward.

“I’m Deputy Director Rebecca Gail Flynn from Homeland.

I’m technically Harker’s boss, but some of you probably understand that he’s crap at taking orders.

But he’s right. There are lycanthropes turning up dead all over Charlotte, and we need to find out what’s happening to them, and who’s responsible. ”

“Why, so you speciesist fascists can give them a medal?” Ah, the University weres.

Another, painfully and demonstrably progressive, party heard from.

The young woman standing in front of her chair had close-cropped pink hair, a nose ring, and the patented anti-government snarl of the poli-sci undergraduate.

I did have to admire her dedication to her body jewelry, since every time she shifted, she’d have to re-pierce her septum.

“No, so I can teach those motherfuckers why they call me Reaper,” I said.

I still had my hands raised, but now I wreathed them in purple flame, letting some of that same energy bleed out from my eyes.

“I might not know all of you, and I know I don’t like most of you, but if anybody’s going to slaughter you in my city, it’s gonna be me. ”

“That’s my nephew,” Luke said with the level of droll you only acquire after your third century on the planet. “Always the diplomat.”