The Spawn of Lilith Read online

  Wrong.

  “Still too good for me?”

  “You really want me to answer that?”

  Skeet laughed again, the sound sibilant and menacing. Then he leaned in close, not quite pressing up against me. “Here’s what I’m gonna do,” he said softly. Sticky threads, like white cotton candy, oozed out from his palm towards my hand. “Wrap you up nice and tight so you can’t move. Do what I want. You’ll love it.”

  I jerked my hand away from the encroaching strands and faced him. “You touch me and I’ll strangle you with your own webbing. Got it?”

  “You having trouble finding something, Skeet?” Hal suddenly appeared at the mouth of the aisle, tone and expression deceptively friendly.

  “No.” Skeet reached past me and opened the cooler, grabbing a six-pack of Coors. “Just catching up with Lee.”

  “Well, okay then.” Hal stayed where he was as Skeet reluctantly took his beer up to the register, where Marge rang him up without a word. I gave my neck one last scratch as the itching faded away, waiting until Skeet was gone before heading back to the counter.

  “Asshole spider,” Marge muttered.

  I pulled the wad of cash out of my bag and plopped it down in front of her.

  Marge shook her head. “You ever hear of using a credit card?”

  I shrugged. “I could use mine, but it wouldn’t do either of us any good.”

  Between us, Marge and I packed the chips, salsa, and the two four-packs into a couple of double-bags.

  “I’ll give you a hand out,” Hal said, scooping up the Stella, PBR, and the IPA. He handled the burden with ease. I waved at Marge, grabbed the two bags, and followed Hal outside to the parking lot and the Xterra.

  “It’s unlocked,” I said.

  Hal shifted the beer to one arm and popped open the back hatch.

  “How you doin’, Lee?” Hal looked at me as he set the twelve-packs inside.

  “I’m good,” I said, making sure the Dogfish Head and Stone were nestled safely between the two packs of Stella. “I’d be better if I didn’t have to go out every night for beer, but I swear, the boys just suck it down faster than—”

  “Well, I meant more than the beer runs.”

  I shrugged. “Need a job. Other than that, just fine.”

  “You telling me there isn’t any work coming down the pipe?”

  I slammed the back hatch shut and turned to face him.

  “Oh, there’s plenty of work, but Sean isn’t going to put me on a job until I can get back to doing the high falls. And that…” I trailed off, looking down at the dirt parking lot. “I just don’t know if that’s gonna happen any time soon.”

  Hal nodded thoughtfully.

  “You ever think he’s just afraid of you getting hurt again?”

  I snorted. “Hell, people get hurt all the damn time. Sean’s used to it.”

  “He’s not used to it being you.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, and then shut it.

  Hal looked at me. “Maybe you should look for work outside the family.”

  “You mean away from the Katz name?”

  Hal nodded. “Yeah. Get a job on something small maybe. You’ve got enough experience, I bet someone’ll hire you.”

  He yawned again, inadvertently showing off the teeth again. Ragged, sharp little buggers.

  “You’d better eat some more,” I cautioned.

  Hal chuckled, and looked like a friendly piranha.

  “Yeah, don’t wanna scare the straights, right?”

  I couldn’t help but feel touched that I wasn’t considered one of the straights.

  “I’d better get going,” I said, opening the driver’s door. “Gonna have a riot on my hands if I don’t get back soon.”

  Hal laughed. “You know they’re settled down watching Hooper for the umpteenth time.”

  “True, but they’ll still want their beer. Especially during the bar brawl scene.”

  Hal nodded. “Give my best to the crew. And don’t worry. You’ll be working soon enough.” Turning, he went back inside the store, leaving me to wonder at the oddly prophetic tone of his last words.

  I hoped he was right.

  * * *

  When the conjuror came back later that evening the circle remained, although the candles had melted most of the way down, the wax solidified on the floor. A thin ribbon of it had cut through the chalk lines in one place. Nothing remained of the creatures he’d summoned, however, other than a faint whiff of sewage and sulfur.

  But they’d left behind something else from their visit. A partially chewed arm and hand, stuck out of what had been the center of the circle like a hastily planted flower. The petals were fingers, splayed and bloody.

  Oh, shit.

  Closer examination showed the arm, cut off at the elbow. It appeared to be melded with the cement, as if the ground had been liquid and then solidified around the mutilated flesh.

  This couldn’t be allowed to happen again. Something had to be done differently. One unexpected body could be hidden.

  More than that?

  Not good.

  Maybe something had been missed in the incantation, some key ingredient that would keep them from leaving the confines of the circle. Perhaps something more potent than a cow’s blood from the butcher’s. Too old, perhaps?

  Or just too dead.

  No energy, no life.

  More research was in order. This had to work. Too many things depended on it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  I stood at the edge of the building, waiting for my cue to step off and take my fall. Wind blew around me, whipping my hair up and around my face, into my mouth and eyes, stinging my flesh like the thongs of a cat-o’-nine-tails.

  The cement beneath my feet crumbled and transformed into dirt and shale—a cliff towering above the sea. Foam-tipped waves crashed against rocks, each one cresting higher.

  If I stepped off, I’d die. I knew that.

  “Lee…”

  A masculine voice.

  Soft.

  Sibilant.

  I shuddered with dread. Even worse, the dread was shot through with longing. The two feelings intertwined until I couldn’t separate one from the other.

  “Lee.”

  I shuddered as strong hands curved around my bare shoulders, the touch of those fingers and palms burning me with icy cold, as if my flesh had been frozen and then the skin torn away.

  The cold fire spread from my shoulders down along my arms, hands, and fingers. The hands shifted to cradle my breasts. I gasped as the icy-cold, tingling fire spread from my nipples down into my groin. My legs threatened to collapse beneath me as a wave of freezing heat coiled in my stomach and spread through my limbs.

  I turned to face him.

  Eyes glowing red in a dark silhouette outlined against roiling clouds all silver, black, and red, and shot through with jagged bolts of lightning. No features visible except for those eyes, everything else shrouded in stygian darkness. If I stayed here I’d die. But I’d scream with pleasure even as the life ran out of my body.

  No.

  “LEE!”

  I stepped off the crumbling edge of the cliff even as the voice roared my name, nails scratching lines in my flesh as I tore away from the hands that tried to restrain me. I tumbled toward the water and unforgiving rocks below.

  I—

  * * *

  I woke up, sweat plastering my hair and nightshirt to my skin. My heart drummed in my chest, a rapid-fire rhythm that took a good twenty minutes to slow into normal breathing patterns.

  Ever since it happened I’d had some really shitty dreams about the fall. Dreams in which I relived the whole thing, including bouncing off the airbag and smashing into brick and concrete. This dream, however, was the first one that changed the setting and added… a second person.

  It’s one thing to have sexy dreams. I’ve had a few in the past, even some that had an element of scary to them. That element of uncertainty that can make bad boys initially at
tractive. Generally, though, they’re not bad enough to make me jump off cliffs.

  Or use the word “stygian.”

  I blamed the high-octane double IPAs I’d consumed the night before. My mouth felt like I’d swallowed a wad of cotton balls, which also pointed an accusing finger at the beer. I groped for the glass of water on my nightstand, still as full as it was when I’d filled it. Which would account for my dry mouth and fuzzy head.

  The water was warm and stale, and tasted wonderful.

  Setting the glass back on the nightstand, I snuggled back under the down comforter and did some deep breathing, trying to get my heart rate down to its normal pace. I looked around the room of my childhood, smiling at the movie posters for Hooper and The Stunt Man. Pictures of Zoe Bell doubling Lucy Lawless as Xena and Uma Thurman in Kill Bill. All of them autographed, too.

  I totally have a girl crush on Zoe Bell.

  It was both comforting and kind of scary that Sean hadn’t redecorated my room during the two years I lived on my own. I was grateful that I’ve never gone in for Barbies, pop stars or an abundance of pink. If I had to be immersed back in my childhood and teen years, at least the posters and artwork decorating the walls weren’t, say, Justin Bieber.

  I picked up my iPhone and glanced at the time. It was 9:30.

  Really?

  I wasn’t a morning person, but I’d been trying to get up by seven ever since I’d healed. Most call times, after all, were early in the day and I wanted to make sure I could get back in that habit, once I started working again.

  Sean didn’t usually let me sleep in this late either, which meant he wasn’t home. That meant he was either out on a job, or talking to someone about a job. One that probably wouldn’t include me.

  Before I could get a big old “feeling sorry for myself ” going, my phone began vibrating and the theme from Flash Gordon started playing loudly.

  “Flash… ah-ahhhh… he’ll save every one of us…” I looked at the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number. It was an 818 area code.

  “Ah, what the hell,” I muttered and answered it.

  Not like I had anything better to do.

  “Hello.” I tried to sound chipper, but only succeeded in sounding kind of stoned.

  “Uh, hey. Is this Lee?”

  I gave an inward groan.

  Randy.

  How the hell did he get my number?

  “How the hell did you get my number?”

  Randy gave a nervous laugh. “It’s on the roster.”

  “Ah.” The roster listed all of Sean’s regulars. If Randy had access to it, it meant he’d already been added or he’d probably be on it in the near future. “Okay. Why are you calling my number?”

  “Uh, I was wondering if you’d be able to meet me for coffee later.”

  “Why?”

  Normally I’m not such a bitch on the phone, but honestly, it’s a fifty-fifty shot any time before noon unless I’m working. Plus the sleepy bunny stupids made me kinda blunt.

  “I wanted to talk to you about something.”

  “You’re not asking me out on a date, right?”

  Really blunt.

  Another uncomfortable laugh.

  “No!” His voice shot up an octave, then came back down. “No, I mean, I totally would, but this isn’t about that. I mean…”

  I yawned involuntarily and turned my head away from the receiver, tuning Randy out while he babbled on. Looked at my reflection in the dresser mirror, grimacing at the hollows under my eyes. I really needed to get better sleep, and without any fucked-up dreams.

  “…so I was wondering if you’d be interested in working the film.”

  Huh?

  That brought my attention back sharply.

  “Did you say work?”

  * * *

  An hour and a half later I stood in line at Grindhouse on Rose Avenue in Venice Beach, waiting for Randy to meet me after his workout at the nearby Gold’s Gym. I’d scored an excellent unmetered spot around the block on Seventh Avenue, muttered a hasty thanks to the parking gods, and gotten to the destination a good fifteen minutes before the appointed time.

  Grindhouse is a local coffee house manned by grouchy hipsters with ironic facial hair. The building used to be a stable back in the day and the place has a sort of grunge vibe, as if it wants to be in Seattle back in the heyday of Nirvana. The coffee and food are both excellent, though, which goes a long way toward making up for the attitudes of the staff.

  I eyeballed the selection of baked goodies in the glassed-in display racks as I waited my turn, trying to make up my mind between a scone or cinnamon streusel coffee cake. I had plenty of time to decide because the solitary person ahead of me in line—a skinny, brittle blonde in size zero jeans and a bandana top that didn’t have much work to do—couldn’t make up her mind either.

  “Are the bagels fresh?”

  “They were made this morning.”

  “What kind do you have?”

  Instead of pointing out the names on the platters in front of her, the counter dude listed off the various bagels in tones that implied this was a matter of great importance.

  “Are your coffee beans degassed before you use them?”

  Degassed? Did coffee beans fart?

  “They certainly are,” Counter Dude beamed, pleased as punch that she’d asked.

  Really? So this is what it took to get a smile out of these guys?

  “Is the banana bread made with sugar or organic fruit juice for sweetener?”

  “It’s made with Splenda, actually.”

  This prompted a discussion that went on for what felt like five minutes. I might as well have not existed. My temper rising and my blood sugar dropping, I wondered if giving the woman a degassed kick to her skinny, organic butt would be worth the lawsuit. Just then she decided on a cup of black coffee and called it a day.

  Counter Dude’s smile disappeared when I ordered, but I didn’t care. Soon I sat at a corner table and sipped an excellent mocha java, munching on a warm, freshly baked wholewheat mixed berry scone. It tasted great despite its healthful pretensions.

  “Hey, Lee!”

  I looked up to see Randy, freshly showered by the look and smell of things, wearing dark jeans and a tight blue T-shirt, showing off well-muscled arms and his six-pack abs. I’d worn semi-nice yoga pants and a violet tank top. In other words, pretty much what I wore when we trained, except cleaner.

  Maybe I needed to try a little harder when I was out in public.

  Randy didn’t seem to mind. He flashed a wide smile, looking pleased to see me.

  “Hey, Randy.” I gave a little wave.

  “I’m gonna grab a chai tea latte.” He plunked his gym bag down on the seat next to me. “You want anything?”

  “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

  He bounded off to the front counter, all eager and bouncy, catching the attention of more than one actress-slash-model. He even got half a smile from the cranky hipster barista who’d barely looked at me when I’d ordered and paid. I wondered if there was a hint of incubus in Randy’s family tree. I’d always been relatively immune to that type of supernatural influence, and it would make sense, seeing all the attention he got.

  Objectively, Randy was pretty cute. Just not my type. Which made it kind of fun to watch the envious looks I got when he came back to the table. We made small talk for a few minutes, most of it Randy talking about what B-list actors had been at Gold’s. Typical Hollywood “who cares” bullshit, but it was less him trying to impress and more a nervous need to fill the conversational void. I waited for him to get to the point, but he didn’t seem to be going there.

  “So,” I cut in. “Tell me about this job.”

  “Oh! Oh, yeah!” Randy knocked back half of his latte in one gulp and leaned forward. “So here’s the deal. I got a job as stunt coordinator on a really small film. Non-union, which is kind of a bummer. Means I’ll have to use an alias.” He paused, looking first left and then right, as if expec
ting a union rep to jump out and yell “J’accuse!”

  “A lot of union actors work non-union shows,” I said. “Have you mentioned it to Sean at all?”

  Randy gave an uncomfortable shrug. “I just got the job today. I’m totally gonna tell him though.” He looked at me, all worried. “Do you think he’ll mind?”

  I shook my head. “Nah. You’re just training with him at this point. You’re not officially part of the KSC team yet, and it’s not like you snaked a job from him.”

  “Cool.” He let out a deep breath and took another swig of his chai latte. I could feel almost palpable waves of relief wafting off of him.

  “So it sounds like this could be a good thing for you,” I said in an attempt to move the conversation along.

  “Yeah!” Randy brightened again. “My agent isn’t totally thrilled, but she gets that this is the first chance I’ve had to run my own crew, even if it’s a small one. A really small one. There are a lot of fights in the script, lots of swords. I think I can handle it. Mostly.”

  He paused again. I resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake, instead waiting with unusual patience while he summoned the nerve.

  “I was thinking maybe you might wanna work on it, too.” The words came out in a rush.

  There it is.

  “You want me to help train the actors, or actually choreograph the fights?”

  Randy’s face flushed red and I had a feeling his reply was going to piss me off.

  “Could you maybe pretend to be my assistant?”

  I’d been right. I almost walked out. Almost threw the rest of my mocha java in his face and told him to fuck off. But something about his embarrassed expression stopped me. He looked like a puppy that’d peed on the floor and knew it was going to get yelled at, but still hoped it’d be forgiven. Maybe even get a treat.

  I clenched my jaw, gave an inward sigh. Took a long sip of my drink before answering.

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “You want me to pretend I’m your assistant, and that I didn’t teach you everything you know about sword fighting.”

  “Um… yeah.”

  “That it?”

  “Um…”

  I’d have to teach Randy to stop with the “ums” if we were going to work together.

  “Spill it, Randy.”