Page 41 of The Demon’s Due (Bedeviled #5)

Sadly, sleep turned into a short nap when the bed started rocking again for all the wrong reasons. Enough was enough. Coasting on adrenaline and a second wind I’d pay for later, I hurriedly dressed and made Ezra return me to Vancouver.

Any concerns about transiting through my father’s yacht were immediately put to rest.

The once-vibrant gaming hall was frozen in mid-abandonment.

Honey lights still glowed over the prickly moss carpet, but where peacocking patrons had once crowded, now only traces lingered.

Dice lay scattered across green felt, a half-finished hand of cards sprawled face up on red velvet, and mah-jongg tiles remained lined up like tiny soldiers, waiting for a play that would never come.

Ezra did a slow circuit of the main room, crouching down to feel spots along the brushed steel wall. “Delacroix’s magic is fading. He’s pulled his power and I didn’t feel it.” He smiled at me. “The blood bond prevented any ill effects.”

“I’m glad.”

“Give me a sec to call my casino manager and make sure the same is true for my staff.”

“Sure.” I wandered over to the window.

The ship sat motionless in the water. Dawn was breaking over the ocean, the horizon line blurring as indigo darkness gave way to rose-gold light.

The Copper Hell had always offered its games of chance under cover of the night. Those faint rays of sunlight, more than anything, convinced me that its doors had been closed for good.

Ezra rejoined me. “Delacroix gave everyone ten minutes to clear out. My staff went to Babel.”

“And my father and his buddies went for a hell of a Brimstone Breakfast Club meeting.” I held up a fist. “We brunch at dawn!”

“With a frontal assault dessert,” Ezra said. “The quakes? He made his move on the demon realm, and we felt the attack in Babel.”

“Is it game over? Did he win?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” Ezra said.

My father would either be the most powerful demon alive—or he was dead. I didn’t have the bandwidth to process either possibility.

We headed for the foyer.

“Will the yacht be visible now? Should I have Michael arrange for it to be towed to shore?” I said.

“I don’t know, but you have bigger things to handle. I’ll speak to her about it.” He took in the casino one last time, finally free of a responsibility he never really wanted.

Ezra didn’t look back when we left.

I swung by Olivier’s hospital bed before going to HQ.

He was asleep under a thin cotton blanket, humming equipment monitoring his breathing, blood pressure, and heart rate. He looked as good as one could with a fully bandaged neck and scars that wouldn’t all be visible to the naked eye.

Sachie was curled in a chair by his bed, her head bent awkwardly on her shoulder. Her sleep was marred by twitches and starts, but she was out of her seat, wild-eyed with a dagger in her hand before I’d made it two steps into the room.

I held up the bag with the world’s best chicken soup and a couple of smoked meats on rye from the nearby Jewish deli like a shield. “I come in peace.”

“Fuck.” She sank back into the chair, rubbing her eyes with the back of her arm. “Sorry.”

I placed the takeout on the rolling table and removed containers and aluminum-foil-wrapped sandwiches. “How many nurses have you terrified?”

She glanced around, motioning me to lean in. “None. They don’t scare.” She sounded intimidated and impressed. “But I’m on probation, so it’s good you’re the one I almost stabbed.”

“Lucky me. How is he?”

“Came through surgery with flying colors, but he’s being observed for risk of stroke.” Sachie had almost lost her dad to a heart attack; she couldn’t lose Olivier.

“He’s a fighter.” I held up a spoon and a sandwich. “Which first?”

“Is it matzah ball?”

“Chicken noodle.” I shook the plastic utensil at her pouting face. “They were out, and this is better for Olivier.”

“It’ll probably be cold when he wakes up.” She snatched the sandwich away from me and viciously tore off the foil.

“Uh-oh.” I dragged another chair up to the bedside. “Does someone need a Disney playlist to sing out all their feels?”

“Stabbing you is still on the table,” she snarled. “I’ll just do it at home where the nurses won’t protest.” She bit into the smoked meat with the ferocity of a lion tearing into a gazelle.

“It’s easier to stab people than to feel like you’re being stabbed when they’re hurt, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

“When I was in the Brink facing that sentience for the test, you know what I was most scared of?”

My friend swallowed her bite of sandwich. “Obviously not what it would do to you, since this recollection is all about making a point that is going to annoy the shit out of me.”

“Have you admitted how much you like him?” I said.

She glared at me but kept eating, which I took as permission to continue.

“What I was most scared of in the Brink wasn’t what would happen to me,” I said.

“I know. It was whether Ezra was free of Rukhsana’s magic.” She made a “get on with it” motion.

“No.” I traced a pattern on the arm of the hospital chair. “It was the thought of him facing whatever came next alone.”

Sachie stared at Olivier’s sleeping form, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the thin blanket.

“It’s stupid,” she said finally, her voice quiet enough that I had to lean in.

“I didn’t even want to like him. Everyone I’ve ever dated was easy to be with, and for all he’s Mr. Chill Surfer, he’s got a core of steel. ”

“Easy to be with, but also easy to walk away from. Not this guy.” I nudged her shoulder gently.

She crumpled her sandwich wrapper and tossed it with perfect aim into the trash can. “What’s your point? That I should confess my undying love while he’s unconscious? Very romantic.”

“My point is that being scared for someone else is different than being scared for yourself.” I watched her fingers drum nervously against her thigh. “When it’s you in danger, there’s always something to fight, but when it’s someone you care about… And I don’t mean someone like me or your parents.”

“There’s nothing to stab,” she finished, a reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

“Exactly.” I handed her the container of soup. “Nothing to stab, nothing to punch. Just waiting and feeling all those feels. It’s excruciating.”

“I should have been there with him.”

“You had your hands full. Olivier is in a dangerous profession, even without vamps. You like him because he’s a good cop, and you’ve got to trust him to take care of himself.”

She rested the container in her lap. “You’re dating a Prime, an invincible vampire. Olivier doesn’t even have magic. When he volunteered to be on the Toothpick Sentry? I wanted to tape him into bubble wrap and lock him in our apartment.”

“But you didn’t. Because it wouldn’t be fair to him. And you’d hate him for trying to protect you that way.”

“ You chose to be enthralled to Ezra to wake him up and heal him.”

“Yeah, and you saw how well that worked out.” I shook my head.

“Actually, you didn’t see the half of it.

It’s one thing to have someone’s back, but trust me, it’s quite another to force your protection on them.

For them and you. If I’d known what I know now, well, I would have waited longer before considering it as an option.

” I shrugged. “And so it comes back to waiting and trusting.”

Sachie reached out tentatively, her fingers hovering over Olivier’s hand before she gently covered it with her own. “Tell anyone we discussed feelings,” she murmured, “and I really will stab you.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

Olivier’s fingers twitched slightly beneath Sachie’s.

I nodded at the movement. “Something tells me Olivier already knows.”

“I’m going to ask my parents to come down.” She mustered up a faint smile. “They haven’t met him yet.”

It sucked so hard that it had taken Olivier being wounded to be what broke that wall between the three of them and restored their loving relationship, but so long as he came out of this with flying colors, it was worth it.

“That’s a great idea. Have Reina bake him some muffins. I swear by their healing properties.” I stood up, dusting off my lap. “Well, I’ve fed you and dazzled you with genius advice. My work here is done. I’m off to stop the Luce.”

“Take bubble wrap.”

I grinned.

She shook a fist at me. “Die at the hands of that fucking magic and your funeral playlist will consist of novelty dances like the Macarena and the Chicken Song. I’ll visit your grave every day with it on repeat.”

I kissed the top of her head. “Love you too, Sach.”

I made it back to HQ on time, catching snatches of conversations from operatives en route to the conference room where my task force was checking equipment.

Apparently, most of the vampire population in the Greater Vancouver area were either dead or had fled for parts unknown. I took mental note of who appeared relieved or outright glad about that.

Everyone, though, was horrified about the Hollow Tree in Stanley Park, one of Vancouver’s most famous attractions.

The massive ancient red cedar stump had been healed into a mockery of life.

The empty core, a cathedral-like space where generations of us had taken photos, had been filled in with perfect, sterile wood, as if the tree was trying to regrow a thousand years in moments.

Its weathered exterior with all the furrowed character worn into its bark over centuries had been smoothed out, stripped of every scar and story.

I replied to the text from Ezra telling me he was with Michael and had waved at Joe, Eduardo, and Marilyn through the conference room glass when Orly messaged me.

Trauma Drama Extravaganza! I’m thinking pitchfork-shaped pinatas, thematic cocktails. Dress code formal, mood unhinged . It’s all underway. Tell me when the Luce has been stopped.

I laughed and typed Sounds good .

She hearted my reply then added: It feels shallow wanting something frivolous to cling to.

Orly was a multilingual economist, but even if she was Elle Woods pre-Harvard transformation ( Legally Blonde was such a good movie), this party was her self-care, and there was no shame in whatever form that took.

It’s not frivolous at all .

I pushed inside the conference room, which was an explosion of equipment we were bringing to the former rift site here in Vancouver.

The crowning glory was a photo of my smirking face projected on the screen we used for video conferencing.

Text on the picture read: I’m his girlfriend and you’re not .

I curtsied to my team’s applause.

“Want to see the rest of the memes I made?” Gemma cackled, rubbing her hands together.

“Let me think about it,” I said, scratching my cheek with my middle finger. “Seriously though, what’s the deal? This isn’t new gossip.”

“Google your boyfriend, Fleischer,” Gemma said, “but hurry up. We have to save the world in ten minutes.”