“Yes indeed. No going outside for you.”
I started for my office. “Oh, and by the way.” I turned. “I need an enormous amount of food delivered here as soon as possible—and I mean anything and everything you can get your hands on: burgers, fries, shakes, Chinese, whatever. And while you’re at it, let’s relocate the coffeepot closer to my desk. Like on top of it.”
Marcy didn’t even blink. “Got it.”
“Oh, and Marcy?” She snapped her head up from the pile of food menus she’d already plucked from her filing drawer. “I’m upping your pay by thirty percent, effective last Friday. I wouldn’t want to lose the best-kept secret in town because I’m too cheap to notice the value of your extensive talents. And that includes the favor you did for us last night. Good technique with the smell thing, by the way. It totally worked.” Witches charged exorbitantly for their crafting services. There were no freebies. And we both knew it. “You can file it under ‘saving the boss’s ass’ or ‘awesome spell casting under extreme pressure,’ whichever works best for you.” I chuckled as I walked down the hallway.
“Just doing my job,” she muttered after me.
“I can hear you.”
“Stupid werewolf hearing.”
I was still smiling when I entered my office. Marcy would take my secret to the grave, and after what she did for me and my apartment, there was no sense trying to pretend it didn’t happen. I felt a small pang, because by knowing my new secret she was involved in this whether she wanted to be or not. But knowing her, she wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. In fact, she’d probably choke the life out of me if she found out I’d been keeping such a thing from her. We didn’t have to have a conversation about it; she was smart and knew the stakes.
My office was small and decorated with standard-issue furniture from the previous tenants. There was a conference room down the hall with a bigger table to accommodate larger groups, but on the whole, we usually met with our clients in a convenient spot of their choosing. The biggest selling point of this particular space, other than its nondescript nature, had been the big windows.
I plucked a thick folder off my desk as I sat down. I shoved my purse by my feet and set Marcy’s notes to the side to go over later. Getting back to work was a godsend. Making sure my mind stayed off everything was the key to keeping myself sane.
I opened the case file. The imp we’d been tracking the night of my change, Drake Jensen, was a forty-seven-year-old lowlife slimeball, and it looked like he’d been busy these last few nights.
I scanned Drake’s background in the file. It was the first time I’d seen any of this, because he was a new target and the report had taken time to generate. An imp was the lowest demon on the totem pole, which meant he was stronger than a human, but not impossible to catch. By nature, an imp was half demon, half human, his demon side usually inherited from his father. Male demons were known to have the occasional fling with a human counterpart. Female demons were rare and reclusive.
Drake, it seemed, got his rocks off on sex and fear, which was not unusual for certain kinds of imps of the sex demon variety. It fed them the way food feeds the rest of us. But instead of consenting adults, his chosen targets had been young innocents, which made him worse than slime.
He’d recently been released from a human jail for soliciting underage sex and he was already back to his old filthy habits.
We actually had quite a few files on imps because they typically caused the most trouble. They were one of the few supernatural Sects who didn’t care if they got caught. An imp usually had a specialized skill, depending on its parent demonic origin. But they all typically had weak magic, because demon magic was born of the blood, and human blood was extremely diluted. Like pouring a shot of vodka in a gallon of water. Hard to get yourself drunk.
Drake’s abilities were still unknown. It was a shame birth certificates weren’t more helpful, indicating things like “great-grandfather was a fire demon” or “child may have lingering perverse sexual tendencies, from twice-removed sex demon uncle.” Because of the sex fixation, we were fairly sure he’d come from an incubus, which meant he most likely possessed the power of sexual persuasion, a dangerous skill to have.
I glanced through the last pages. Drake was on the move. He’d gone to the same movie theater parking lot the past three nights in a row and had been agitated last night in particular. He’d actually left his car, but hadn’t physically approached anyone.
I set the folder down on my desk.