“Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of everything.”
I BANGED ON the door of room 116. A conversation with the hotel’s registration attendant combined with a couple flashes from my gaze had gotten me Ian’s room number. Even though I didn’t know what alias he’d checked in under, the descriptors of “tall, red-haired, hot, and English” had been enough.
“Open up, Ian!” I called out when another round of banging didn’t produce any results.
The door in front of me didn’t open, but one at the end of the hall did. A familiar head poked out.
“That’s enough, Reaper. You’ve already woken the dead. No need to rouse everyone else.”
Guess I hadn’t been given the right room number after all. I started down the hall, but Ian waved me back.
“Let me get my trousers and I’ll be right with you.”
He disappeared into the room and was back in a minute, sans shirt but wearing the aforementioned pants. To my surprise, he pulled out a key and opened the door I’d been banging on.
“Come in.”
I put two and two together, and shook my head in disgust.
“Unbelievable. Something really scary is going on with Bones and the others, but you still take the time to get laid.”
“Do I smell like I’ve been shagging?” he said grumpily. “I slept in another room for safety. I told you where I was without knowing if your mind had been bollocksed up, too. So if you’d have shown up with Crispin and broken down this door, I’d have taken that as a sign to run for my life. Since you’re alone and appear to be your normal harping self, I take it you’re not under Wraith’s influence.”
I was so glad to drop the all-is-well act I’d kept up since last night that I didn’t even mind the harping comment. “No, I’m not. But you, I, Denise, and Fabian seem to be the only ones who aren’t. It’s got to be some sort of spell, but I don’t understand how Wraith got one to work on everyone except the four of us.”
Ian sighed. “Since I saw you yesterday, I’ve done nothing but ponder that very question. If I’m right about what we’re dealing with, the only thing protecting me is this.”
He unzipped his pants and tugged them down. I whirled just in time, barking, “I don’t care what you think, your junk does not have special abilities. And I already heard about the piercing,” over my shoulder.
“That’s not what I wanted to show you,” he replied in an implacable voice. “Now stop being such a twit and look.”
“This better not be one of your sick jokes,” I muttered, turning around. Thankfully, the first thing I saw wasn’t Ian waggling Mr. One Eye at me, though he didn’t seem concerned that his hand didn’t totally conceal the flesh behind it. With his free hand, he pointed at a tattoo that was so close to the base of his groin, it melded into his hairline. So you’re a real redhead, too, ran through my mind before I could help myself.
“Aside from knowing that you appear to have a fetish for decorating your goods, I don’t see—”
“This is no ordinary tattoo,” he cut me off. “It’s a warding symbol. Don’t you recognize it from Denise’s former markings?”
My gaze narrowed and I did something I would’ve sworn was impossible not five minutes before—I came closer and knelt down so Ian’s groin was in better view. Sure enough, I recognized the symbols. They were smaller, contained in a single circle versus the various markings that had covered Denise’s forearms, but unmistakable.
“Wow,” I whispered.
He grunted. “If I had a pound for every time a girl said that while in your position.”
I sat back and asked the most obvious questions. “Why do you have a tattoo that wards away demonic influence on your groin, Ian? And what does this have to do with Bones and the others?”
He gave me an unblinking stare. “Because decades ago, I ran afoul of a demon and didn’t want him finding me. Also didn’t want that fact bandied about, so I hid my warding spell in a place where most people who saw it wouldn’t know its meaning.”
My gaze bored into his with equal intensity. “How did you run afoul of a demon? Did you make a deal and then renege?”
“No.” For some reason, I believed him, so the single word relieved me. Getting out of a demonic deal was nigh-impossible, and they usually accepted only one form of currency: your soul. Much as Ian rubbed me the wrong way, I wouldn’t wish that to be hanging over his head.
“Then what?”
“It’s not pertinent,” he said crisply. “Suffice it to say that during this time, I discovered demons have their own form of black magic, only theirs makes everyone else’s look like child’s play.”