Waiters passed around wine, champagne, and fancy hors d’oeuvres. Dinner wasn’t for another hour, and Trove hadn’t shown up yet, so Bones and I sipped champagne while we chatted with whoever approached us, giving our cover story of being a wealthy couple newly transplanted from London. No one asked why Bones was the only one with an English accent. In fact, I was barely spoken to aside from having my looks complimented. My feminism was outraged while my practicality was thankful. It was hard to see vacuous arm candy as a threat.
Our plan had been to mingle our way over to Richard Trove once he arrived, maneuver him into one of the private alcoves, green-eye him into telling us if he had any other secret facilities, then have Bones telekinetically squeeze his heart until he fell over. No muss, no fuss, and an autopsy would show a plain old cardiac arrest. Happens every day, nothing to see here, folks.
Problem was, there turned out to be more to Trove than the video had revealed.
As the ballroom filled with hundreds of guests, perfumes, colognes, and aftershaves overlapped with the scent of food, body odor, alcohol, and smoke from those who indulged. The result was a chemical cornucopia that became so thick, I didn’t notice the other smell right away.
Bones did. His whole body tensed right before his aura slammed shut with enough force to drop-kick me out of his emotions.
“What’s wrong?” I whispered.
His reply was low, resonant, and filled with icy hatred.
“Demon.”
When I followed Bones’s stare, my pessimism wasn’t surprised to find it ending at Richard Trove. That familiar, disgusting wave of sulfur penetrated through the other scents as the polished older man with the Jack Kennedy looks began strolling in our direction. The people around Trove didn’t seem to be aware of the smell emanating from him, and he must have hidden the pinpricks of red in his gaze under contacts.
Part of me was savagely amused that a demon had managed to fool Madigan into believing he was human this whole time, but the rest was wondering what the hell we were going to do. Demons couldn’t be mesmerized, and I had yet to meet one that would agree to come quietly.
Trove noticed my body first. His eyes lingered over it as though my dress had suddenly become see-through. When he finally dragged his gaze up to my face and saw that what he was doing hadn’t gone unobserved, he smiled in a charmingly roguish, “you caught me” sort of way.
Then his smile faded as he stared at me. His eyes narrowed, and he mouthed one word I didn’t need to hear to know that he’d recognized me.
Crawfield.
So much for doing this the no-fuss, no-muss way.
Twenty-eight
Faster than a striking cobra, Bones’s power flashed out, wrapping around Trove. The famous politician stopped in his tracks, an odd expression creasing his features. Then Bones squeezed that invisible grip around him with all of the loathing he had for demons. Considering that one had possessed him last year and almost forced Bones to murder me, that was significant.
Beneath that punishing, full-body vise, Trove shouldn’t have been able to draw a breath, let alone take a step. Yet he did both, and his strange expression turned into one of near rapture.
“That tickles in all the right places,” he purred in his good ol’ Texas boy drawl.
My jaw dropped. From the power seething off him, Bones wasn’t having performance issues. How was Trove still coming toward us? Bones must have been wondering the same thing. He doubled the dose he leveled at Trove.
The subsequent blast of energy was like a bomb going off. Humans in the room might not have felt it, but it rocked me backward with enough force to send me crashing into the waiter behind me. We landed in a pile of champagne and broken glass, and still, Trove kept coming.
How is he doing this? my mind screamed. Bones had used less power when he levitated a dozen guards through a laser net!
Trove was only a few feet away now. I grabbed a hunk of broken glass out of instinct to reach for any weapon available. Then I dropped it. He didn’t have a heartbeat, so he was a corporeal demon, not a demonic spirit who’d possessed a human. As such, only one thing could kill him—demon bone stabbed through his eyes. And we didn’t have any.
“You seem to have taken a nasty spill, young lady,” Trove said in a conversational tone. “Let me help you.”
The demon extended his hand, leaning down. Before his skin brushed mine, Bones hauled him back. For some unfathomable reason, his telekinesis didn’t seem to affect Trove, but his grip worked just fine.
“Don’t. Touch. Her.”
Each word hissed out with naked enmity. People around us started to whisper behind their hands. Muscular men with wires taped to their ears began to push through the crowd. Undercover Secret Service agents, no doubt. Trove flashed a smile at them, holding up his hands as much as Bones’s grip would allow.
“Everything’s all right, fellows. As I used to say when I was young, it’s not a party until something gets broken.”
Then lower, to Bones. “If you don’t want me to start killing innocent bystanders, you’ll let go of me.”
Bones smiled back but didn’t loosen the grip he had on Trove’s arms.
“A roomful of politicians? Have at it.”
“Bones.”