Just One Bite (20 page)

I put all of my thought into powering off my computer, straightening my desk, and NOT thinking about Ty or how blue his eyes were or how much I really,
really
wanted to kiss him again.

Or how, even more than kissing him, I wanted to talk to him. To tell him about Evie and how I was just a teensy, tiny bit concerned (that’s
concerned,
mind you, NOT scared) that I might not be able to actually save her.

I mean, really. What did I know about exorcisms?

I shook away the question and busied myself with several file folders. By the time I grabbed my purse and headed home, it was a half hour later and Ty had given up his post across the street.

Thankfully.

I had more important things to worry over than what Ty did or didn’t feel for me. I realized that the moment I climbed out of a cab a few blocks over to find half my closet littering the street in front of my apartment.

I ducked as a pair of Chanel pumps sailed past my head and whacked into the concrete.

What the hell…?

I twisted and caught a glimpse of Evie framed in the open window, her eyes a bright yellow, before a black patent Mary Jane nailed me smack-dab in the middle of the forehead.

And just like that, everything went black.

Nineteen

I
didn’t actually black out.

Yes, one minute I was staring up at Evie and the next I was stranded in total darkness, but it wasn’t because I’d lost consciousness.

Come on. I’m a vampire, for Damien’s sake! I’m made of stronger stuff than that. I wasn’t going down just by getting whacked in the head with a hot-looking shoe.

Rather, it was a hot-looking coat—wool with silk lining—that had me flat on my back, fighting to peel the stifling material off my head.

There. I stared up at the sky and drank in a deep draft of oxygen to get my bearings.

It didn’t work, for obvious reasons, and I scram bled to my feet. My gaze shifted to Evie, who stood in the window ready to chunk my all-time favorite black sequined Bergdorf Goodman—
Noooooooooo!

It hit me square in the face. A split second later, it was raining scarves and undies and—
oh, no
!
Not my bras, too!

“Nice skivvies.” The comment came from a bum parked near the curb. He reeked of alcohol and bad decisions. A grin split his face and revealed several missing teeth as he held up a purple lace bra. “You fill this out with the real thing or are those fake boobies?” He motioned to my chest.

“Real.” I snatched the scrap of lace from his hands and started scooping up everything she tossed. The faster I scooped, the faster she tossed until—

Enough!

I could slip on my preternatural Nikes and spare a few seconds to hightail it up five flights of stairs, down hallways, and through doorways, or I could cut the bullshit and put a stop to this right
now.

My gaze swept my surroundings. Since I didn’t have a nearby phone booth (think
Underdog
), I had to settle for crouching behind a fire hydrant.

Kapow. Shazam. Shimmy-shimmy-cocoa-pop!

Just like that, I went from pissed off vampire to determined pink bat.

“Holy shit,” the bum’s voice echoed in my tiny ears, but I was too far gone to worry about him at the moment.

My sight shifted from Technicolor to night-vision and I headed for the window and the red blob holding my prized Chanel boots.

The blob dangled one precious leather creation over the edge. I gave a high-pitched scream and dive-bombed through the open window. My wing hit her cheek. The frantic fluttering drove her back until she collapsed on the bed. Just like that, her body went limp and her eyes rolled back in her head, as if the effort of destroying my life had exhausted her.

Uh, yeah.

Meanwhile, I landed in a flapping heap in front of my now empty closet. I focused my gaze. My breathing slowed and my limbs grew heavy. The steady beat of wings faded into the pounding of my own heart and I was once again Lil the vivacious vamp instead of Lil the lean, mean bat machine.

My first instinct was to cry.

I glanced at the upside-down shoe boxes and empty hangers and my gaze narrowed.

All right, already. So maybe my first instinct was to kick some demon ass.

But since said ass still belonged to my loyal assistant, who was now an unconscious heap on the bed, I kept a tight rein on my temper. I forced myself into the kitchen to retrieve the spray bottle of leftover holy water.

Back in the bedroom, I latched and locked the window. Rather than squirting the stuff around the edges as I’d done before (which had still left plenty of room to unlatch the window and toss things out without violating the holy barrier), I aimed for the glass itself and let loose. Water drenched the pane, running in rivulets that drip-dropped and puddled on the hardwood floor. I squirted the latch, as well.

“That ought to do it,” I said, turning back to the bed. Evie had pushed herself into a sitting position, her back against the headboard. The whites of her eyes had been replaced with vicious yellow slits that fixated on me.

“You really think that will stop me?” The demonic voice slithered into my ears and a strange sense of coldness wrapped around me. “I could skin you alive if I wanted to.”

“Really?” I took a step toward the bed. “Then do it.” I held up the spray bottle as if I meant to use it and sure enough, Evie flinched. “Just what I thought. You’re a big talker, but when it comes to backing it up, you’re just a chickenshit.”

The demon opened his mouth and let loose an agonized wail, followed by a rush of putrid green fog.

I debated whether or not to spritz him just once to prove my point, but I didn’t want to cause Evie any more agony than she was obviously already in. Instead, I aimed the nozzle and sprayed a tight circle around the bed. I knew it was overkill since I’d already secured the room. But spraying, however futile, gave me some small sense of control.

“You won’t save her,” the voice followed me to the doorway. “She’s already mine.”

I opened my mouth to tell him where to go, how fast to get there, and what a filthy crazed psycho he really was. But as his words sank in, my throat grew suddenly tight.

Because deep down I was starting to fear that he might actually be right.

The doubt followed me all the way back downstairs, where I gathered up what was left of my stuff—who knew a drunk could move so fast and have such good taste?—and carted it back up to my apartment.

I was not going to cry.

I was not going to cry.

I was not going to cry.

I recited the chant as I dropped several armfuls on the sofa and tried not to notice the dirty splotches and green slime that covered practically everything that was left. There were even tread marks where a passing cab had run over my ivory chenille skirt.

My eyes burned and the tears spilled over.

I spent the next half hour mourning the loss of my wardrobe while Evie cussed and spit and threw a major hissy fit in the bedroom.

Finally, after a lot of wailing and gnashing of teeth—my own, not Evie’s—I managed to get myself under control and look on the bright side. No wardrobe meant nothing to wear, which meant that, extra cash or no extra cash, I
had
to go shopping.

I sniffled, wiped my face, and pushed up from the sofa. The noise in the bedroom had quieted to the occasional four-letter word.

“I’m calling Ash,” I called out after one in particular, but the warning fell on deaf ears. Maybe because the demon had finally figured out that I didn’t really mean it. Or, worse, he was getting more powerful, the possession nearly complete, and so Ash didn’t pose as big a threat.

Either way, I knew my time was running out. I had to do something quick. I grabbed my cell and punched in one of the numbers I’d Googled earlier that evening.

“Yes,” I said when someone finally answered. “I’m looking for a Father Donald Patrick. Is he in?”

“Father Patrick died last month. A heart attack.”

“That’s terrible. Was he in the middle of a taxing exorcism?”

“Actually, he was in the middle of an audit. He’d been misappropriating church funds and the IRS got wind of it.”

“Oh. Sorry.” I hung up and dialed the second number. Evie had stopped cussing, but now the bed thumped the wall here and there.

Bam.

Thunk.

Splat.

I tuned out the sounds and focused on the cell in my hand. My mind conjured visions of midnight sacrifices and naked bodies dancing around an open campfire. I could practically hear the drums beating as I dialed the second number. “May I speak to Dr. Zoombababazoom?” I asked when someone finally answered.

“She’s in the kitchen right now.”

Smack-dab in the middle of a poultry sacrifice, no doubt.

“Would you like to leave a message?” the voice asked.

“Yes, please. Can you tell her that I have a life-and-death situation that needs her immediate attention.”

“I’m sorry,” the voice replied. “She doesn’t do love spells anymore. The last guy she tried one on ended up humping a water fountain in Central Park. It wasn’t pretty.”

“I don’t need a love spell.”

“She doesn’t do the diet spells either. The last woman who paid for one ended up on
Dr. Phil
during a ‘Can This Woman Be Saved?’ episode and Doctor Z almost got sued.”

“I don’t need a diet either.” I swallowed and gathered my courage. “I need an exorcism.”

“An exorcism?” Her voice took on a strange note. “Can you hold on just a sec?” I heard muffled voices, followed by an excited “Hiya. This is Dr. Zoombababazoom. What can I do you for?”

I’d expected an ancient crackle of a voice. One that dripped wisdom and knowledge and black magic. Instead, the woman on the other end sounded like a bubbly sorority girl.

“Dr. Zoombababazoom?
The
Dr. Zoombababazoom that consulted on the exorcism of Tina Radley that was featured in
People
last year?”

“Duh. What’s up?”

“My, um, name is Lil. Lil Marchette. I’m a matchmaker in Manhattan and I need”—my voice lowered a notch—“an exorcism.”

“Cool. So what makes you think you’re possessed?”

“Not me. I’m a—”
Vampire
was there on the tip of my tongue, but I held it back and ended with “
really
well-dressed matchmaker. It’s my assistant who’s foaming at the mouth.”

“She could have rabies.”

“She’s cussing in five different languages.”

“So does my gardener, but he’s just really well educated and really pissed off at this new line of topsoil that’s supposed to make everything grow when all it really does is cost an arm and a leg more than the old stuff.”

I opened the bedroom door a crack and peered inside at Evie. “She’s crawling around on all fours on the ceiling and her head is on backwards.”

“Now that smacks of possession.”

“Can you help me get rid of the demon?”

“You bet.”

You bet?
I’d expected a somber
“Of course, I can, child.”
Or maybe a serene
“I’ll rally my spirit guides and we’ll raise an army to defeat the demon and release your friend.”
Or, at the very least a confident
“Let me consult with the elders and we’ll see about solving your problem ASAP.”

“Where are you?” I couldn’t help but ask, suddenly desperate to prove that Dr. Z was as real as they came and I’d actually hit pay dirt.

“In the kitchen.”

“And you have a knife in your hand, right?”

“Sure thing.”

“And you’re slicing the head off a chicken?”

“A jar of peanut butter. I’m making PB&Js.”

I was not getting a good feeling about this.

“So you have a demon problem,” she went on as if she were discussing a possible termite infestation. “How long?”

“A few days.”

“That’s good. The sooner the little buggers are detected, the better.”

“So you’ve dealt with this before?” Sure, I’d read the article online about the Radley possession, but they’d listed Dr. Z as a consultant only. Tina’s priest had done the actual exorcism. “Other than with Tina Radley?”

“Sort of.”

“Which means?”

“I haven’t actually gotten rid of a demon before, but I have been trained in the process.”

A virgin. Just my luck.

“I know that doesn’t inspire a tremendous amount of confidence in a situation like this,” she went on, “but you can bet I know what I’m doing. I’m the best in Jersey.”

“How many exorcists are actually in Jersey?”

“Let’s see.” She grew silent for a moment as if doing a mental count. “That would be two. Doctor MacIntyre and you-know-who.”

“Dr. MacIntyre? I didn’t see him mentioned online when I was doing my research.”

“He usually does more house-cleansing than actual physical possession, but he does take on the occasional demon. So long as it’s not on a school night.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s got kids. He’s a very involved dad. He’s out in the yard right now putting together one of those Rainbow Gyms. We’re married,” she added. “I know what you’re thinking. Why didn’t this girl hyphenate? I was going to. I mean, all of my sorority sisters did, but since my name is a zillion letters long in the first place, I just said to heck with it and kept my maiden name. At first, Kip was a little put off, but he finally came around.”