Personal Demon (34 page)

“Yes, you need ice.”

A bark of a laugh. “No, that’s not what I’m thinking. Good try, though. And ice
would
be nice.”

“See? I wasn’t reading your mind. I was predicting future thoughts. Even better.”

A tiny smile. “As you are, apparently, still building your mind-reading skills, I’ll have to tell you what I’m thinking. It
is
about that vision. I should tell you about it. Or maybe not so much
should
as
want
.”

He went quiet again.

“You wanted to join the Pack,” I said. “When you were young.”

A slow nod. “Ironic that now, almost forty years later, I’m in it and uncomfortable with the idea.”

“The instinct probably felt stronger at that age.”

“At the time, it seemed obvious. That’s how werewolves should live—as part of a Pack, growing up with Pack brothers, building a home and defending your territory. I blamed my father for dragging me from place to place, living in rooming houses and hotels. I blamed him and I hated myself for it.”

I knew how much Karl had loved his father. Shortly after we’d met, I’d made the mistake of commenting on a father who’d raise his son to be a thief, and it had been the first time I’d seen Karl’s composure ripple. He’d been as quick to his father’s defense as I’d been when he’d commented on a mother who set her daughter up with blind dates. After that, we’d come to an unspoken agreement: taking potshots at one another was fine, but our parents were off-limits.

Karl’s father had raised him as he thought best, into the only life he knew for a lone werewolf.

“That afternoon I showed you was the only time I actually saw someone from the Pack,” Karl said. “We were in Vermont, working, at a resort, and the Pack arrived for a vacation. I only caught that glimpse before my father whisked us out of town. I don’t think I’d ever been so angry with him. He’d always made them sound like monsters. That’s why we had to keep moving—he said they’d kill us if we stayed. But seeing Jeremy and Antonio…” He shook his head. “They looked like ordinary young men, joking and teasing and hanging out. I saw that and I wanted it so badly. But, when I got older, I started to resent them because they kept us from settling down.”

“From holding territory.”

“Testosterone kicking in, I suppose. Joining them wasn’t as important as showing them we weren’t afraid.

When I was sixteen, my father came to the motel we were staying in and told me we had to leave because a few Pack wolves were in town. But that day, I decided I wasn’t going anywhere. I thought…” A bitter laugh. “I thought all my father needed was some encouragement. If I forced him to stay, he’d either see that his fears were ungrounded or he’d learn to fight for his place in the world. So I used the one stalling tactic I knew would work. I’d been Changing for a few months, and at that stage, it’s very difficult. When the urge comes, it can’t be denied.”

“So you said you had to Change.”

“I did. He took me into the woods behind the motel, and I did my damnedest. Eventually, it started, but even then it didn’t go very far. My father stayed outside that thicket, encouraging me, for probably half an hour.

Then he heard something and told me to stay still. A few minutes later, Malcolm Danvers found me.”

“Jeremy’s father.”

“Malcolm found me, stuck in mid-Change. I don’t know what he would have done, but helping me clearly wasn’t on his mind. I heard my father calling Malcolm, luring him away. As I managed to Change back, I could hear Malcolm taunting my father. He kept trying to convince his two Pack buddies to challenge my father, saying no one would because he wasn’t worth anything—he didn’t have a reputation. Malcolm killed him. Snapped his neck, tossed him aside and went after me. I escaped. There was nothing else I could do, not at that age. Years later, when I was ready, I went back for Malcolm, but it was too late. Someone beat me to him.”

I tried to think of something to say. I’d known his father had been killed by a werewolf and now I knew how. And, maybe, I knew why he struggled so hard with being in the Pack. Anyone who’d been involved with his father’s death was long dead and no son could be less like his father than Jeremy, but still Karl had joined the group that killed his father. Accepted as Alpha the man whose father killed his. A death I knew he blamed himself for.

It would do no good to point out to Karl that he’d been young. I wouldn’t be telling him anything he didn’t already know. But what I’d felt in that glimpse inside him had been a cesspool of guilt and remorse—the memory he’d chosen when he’d needed to show me the worst one he had.

“I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing I could say, but I meant it with all my heart, and he leaned over to kiss the top of my head.

“I want you to know,” he said after a moment. “If I push you away, if I fight getting close, if I’m selfish, it’s because that’s the lesson I learned about myself. Let someone get close and…” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s not a good idea with someone I care about.”

“You were sixteen, Karl.”

“I didn’t say it was a rational fear. But the worst fears aren’t, are they?”

He met my gaze pointedly.

“I don’t think
my
fear is irrational, Karl. When I stood in that room, whatever would keep a normal person from wanting Troy to die was gone. Not buried. Not overshadowed. Completely nonexistent. It was like…” I cupped my glass between my hands. “I don’t even know what it was like.”

“Like a starving werewolf stumbling across dinner on two legs?” He took my glass and set it on the table.

“What you’re afraid of, Hope, is that someday, just for a few minutes, the thing that you are will overtake the person that you are, and someone will die because of it. A werewolf deals with that from the day he first Changes.”

“But you can control it. You’ve never—”

“Three times. Twice in my teens, and I couldn’t even tell you who I killed. All I know is that I Changed and I woke stained with human blood. The third time, I was twenty, and I came to standing over the body of a man.

Eating. Yes, most of the time, we can control it. It’s like you with chaos. You can resist the urge to do something you consider wrong. My father did what he could to teach me that, but he never had the chance to finish the lessons.

There’s the instinct and it must be fed, and to the wolf there is no difference between a deer and a man. Both are prey. The wolf doesn’t feel sorry for the man, doesn’t consider the life he’s taking, doesn’t think of his wife and children, his mother and father. That’s the human’s job, and it’s the werewolf’s job to make sure the humanity in him doesn’t disappear. When I came to my senses that day, and saw what I’d done, I knew I had to make a choice.”

He shifted in the bed, turning onto his side, head propped up on his hand. “What happened to me happens to most werewolves at some point. They can decide that killing an innocent person proves they’re a monster who must die. Or they can keep killing, blaming it on the wolf. Or they can understand the urge and avoid temptation.

Don’t Change in inhabited areas. Don’t Change when you’re too hungry. Don’t Change when you’ve been drinking.

And, just as important, sublimate the urge, that need to hunt, by going after rabbits or deer…or diamonds.

“That’s what you need to do, Hope. Avoid temptation. Avoid situations where it may be too much for you—like signing up to spy for a Cabal. And sublimate the hunger with chaos you can enjoy without guilt. I can help with that, but only to a degree. There are jobs I know you’d enjoy more than the little ones I offer. But I won’t take you on them because later, you’d feel guilty. And, as you saw, sometimes I take risks myself. I have to, for the same reason you need to chase chaos. I can’t ever bring you on a job like that and put you in that danger. Not after my father.”

“I understand.”

He studied me to be sure I did. Then he nodded. “I’ll find more for you. Ones you can enjoy, guilt-free. The rest, you’ll have to make do with secondhand.”

I smiled. “I can live with that.”

“Good.” He sobered. “But remember, you’ll never be perfect. With a werewolf, there’s always the chance it can happen again. We cannot control every variable. I haven’t killed a human in thirty years, but I have to accept that I could. And you need to accept that you could too. And, if you do, as horrible as you’ll feel about it, and as much as you’ll suffer for it, if you’ve done what you could to avoid it, it isn’t your fault. You didn’t choose to be half-demon any more than I chose to be a werewolf.”

Silence fell.

After a moment, he said, “Have I put you to sleep yet?”

“No, not yet.” I reached up and kissed him. “Thank you, Karl.”

He pulled me closer, then turned out the light.

LUCAS: 13

PAIGE RETURNED WITH COFFEES
in hand, Griffin at her heels and a pained expression on her face.

“Your dad wants me to go with you,” Griffin said.

I shook my head. “He needs you. Someone has already tried to kill him tonight.”

“Yeah, but they failed, and no one’s tried to kill
you
…yet.”

I took the coffee from Paige. “I cannot imagine I’d warrant a place on anyone’s hit list—anyone outside a Cabal, that is. I’d like you to stay with him.”

“I know you would, but his orders trump yours.”

I hesitated, and contemplated the possibility of giving him the slip. Paige shook her head, as if reading my mind, then glanced at her watch. She was right, of course. We were wasting time. So we set out, bodyguard in tow.

WE MET THE
team searching for Carlos and compared notes to construct a timeline. After I’d seen him at the office, he’d visited the restaurant, then arrived at Hector’s at nine-forty-five. Apparently, he’d been at the office shortly before nine-thirty, when he’d gone with William down to the fourth floor. Bella and the butler could easily be off by fifteen minutes, which would make the timeline tight, but plausible.

We needed to know exactly when Carlos had been at the office. A quick question to the guards had proved fruitless—they hadn’t seen him—but querying the security system would reveal whether his access card had been used. That still wouldn’t prove anything unless he’d gone to one of the top floors, which required his thumbprint.

I sent two of the six-member team to the office to check that. A further two would search and then stake out Carlos’s apartment. The final two were to review the security tapes at my father’s house.

When I finished outlining their assignments, the men looked at one another.

“Is there a problem?” I asked.

“No, sir,” the leader—Carpaccio—replied in a tone that belied his denial.

I pushed back a stab of impatience. “Two of my brothers are dead. The third is missing and may be in the same danger. If you have a better idea for finding him, please say so.”

The youngest—a half-demon named Pratt—spoke up. “Carlos—I mean, Mr. Cortez—”

“His given name is fine tonight, for clarity.” The Cabal tradition on referring to all men of the inner family as “Mr. Cortez” was a ridiculously confusing conceit that annoyed me at the best of times.

“Well, Carlos, sir, he’s never at the office past seven.”

“Yes, I know. My brother isn’t known for putting in overtime.”

I realized the men were wondering why I was sending them to check two places where Carlos shouldn’t be—the office and my father’s home.

Paige took over to explain that, with men already checking places Carlos was known to frequent, plus the indisputable evidence that he’d been at Hector’s earlier, it was not inconceivable that he’d also visited my father or gone to the office to see William. If he hadn’t, there was no harm in reviewing the tapes and access logs, as it would need to be done for the investigation anyway. The men seemed to accept that, and left.

When they were gone, Griffin said, “You think Carlos killed them, don’t you?”

I hesitated, then said, carefully, “I’m not ruling out the possibility.”

Griffin nodded, seeming neither shocked nor skeptical.

I continued. “I don’t want anyone except us to know that’s what I suspect, which, coupled with the fact that the staff is unaccustomed to taking orders from me, could make this difficult. I would appreciate any help you can give.”

“I’ll back you up, but I’m not sure how much good it will do. If it was Troy…” The words drifted off and he shrugged. “They listen to Troy because they like him. They listen to me because I scare them. Together, it works great. Separate…” Again he let the sentence fade, as if realizing that the situation might not be temporary. “I’ll do my best.”

I DECIDED, SOMEWHAT
belatedly, that we ought to join the search of Carlos’s apartment. There might be clues to the crime, and the search team wouldn’t know to look for them.

We returned to the car, which was no longer our inconspicuous rental but, at my father’s insistence, a massive bulletproof, spell-proof, black SUV. On any covert mission, we’d have to park blocks from the destination and walk—which, to me, obliterated the safety value.

I was opening Paige’s door when my cell phone rang.

“Mr. Cortez, sir? It’s central security. Our switchboard just received a call from your brother.”

My mouth opened to say “which brother?” before I realized I’d never again have to ask that.

“Carlos called?”

“Yes, sir. He sounded in some distress. We lost the connection before he could convey his message, but we managed to track the location of the call. Should we dispatch a team there now?”

“No, Griffin and I will take it. Could you please send the GPS coordinates to—” I glanced through the divider at Griffin, who lifted four fingers, “—car four.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And do you have a tape of Carlos’s call?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll play that for you now.”

THE TAPE TOLD
me little. Nothing, in fact, except that it
did
appear to be Carlos and not someone who’d found his phone and randomly hit speed-dial. He demanded to know why the network circuits were jammed and why a call to our father hadn’t gone through. And he wanted to speak to “whoever was in charge there.” Carlos wouldn’t know the names of anyone “in charge” of the security center.