He pulled out his cell phone and hit speed dial. Ash answered straight away. “You’ve found her?”
Was that relief in the demon’s voice? Carl frowned. What was going on? Why was Ash so worried about getting his housekeeper back? Now he thought about it, Ash had been a little cagey about the whole thing. “Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“Southern Spain. In a bar on the beach.”
“What the hell is she doing in a bar?”
“What the fuck do you think she’s doing in bar? Having a drink.”
“Stop her. Right now.”
Was that a hint of panic? It took a lot to panic a demon.
“Why?” he asked. “What aren’t you telling me?” Ash was silent for a moment. “Come on, spit it out, Ash, or I’m walking away right now and you can do your own dirty work.”
As Head of Security for the Order of the Shadow Accords, the organization that policed the supernatural world, it was not part of Carl’s job description to chase after runaway housekeepers, even ones in possession of a stolen stash of extremely volatile demon’s gold. He’d done it as a favor and because he’d wanted to get away for a while—his boss, Piers Lamont, was pissing him off more than usual. He wanted Carl to go talk to the pack and that was never going to happen.
“I may not have told you quite…everything.”
How surprising. “So, what haven’t you told me?”
“You know I said Shera was a shifter.”
“Yeah.”
“Actually, she’s only half shifter.”
He had a bad feeling about this. “And the other half?”
“Demon.”
Shit. His gaze shifted to the woman. No way. But why would Ash lie? “Does she know?”
“I never got around to telling her. At first, I was preoccupied with other things. Then later…when there was no obvious sign of her heritage, I put it off. Hey, she was a good housekeeper—I didn’t want to lose her. Anyway, lately I decided it was time, so I informed her father, and he offered her a home. I was going to talk to her, but I’ve been a little busy.”
No point in asking what with. Ash had been totally engrossed in his new wife.
“So she’s half demon, but doesn’t know it,” Carl said. “Shouldn’t be an issue.”
“Unless she has a drink.”
“Shit.” He glanced across to where the waiter was placing a tall glass in front of her. Fuck.
There was no alcohol in the Abyss, as demons usually had a bad reaction to drink: it lowered their inhibitions, made their demonic side rise to the surface and want to come out to play. Carl had cleaned up a lot of alcohol-induced demon mayhem during his time with the Order.
“So I tell her, and she doesn’t have a drink.”
“You can’t tell her,” Ash said quickly. “If she’s on the edge, it’s the one bit of information that could tip her over, and newly awakened demons aren’t known for their control. We’ll tell her when she’s safely back in the Abyss.”
“Okay, then I have to go…now.”
He ended the call and was already on the move as he shoved the phone in his pocket. He had a feeling he was about to ruin Shera’s evening.
Looked like she was going home whether she liked it or not.
…
A week. She’d been away a whole week.
Shera stared at her cocktail—red and orange with a yellow umbrella and a pink straw. It was almost too pretty to drink.
The escape had been relatively easy. She’d bribed one of the gatekeepers to open a portal to Earth. The gate had deposited her in London. From there she’d made her way to the Continent, taking a ferry to Calais and then a train down through France and into Spain. She knew where she was heading. She wanted the sea and the sun, and she kept going south until she met the Mediterranean and could go no farther.
Money was no problem. She’d done a little research and discovered the best places to exchange her gold for something she could use; only changing one coin at a time, so she wouldn’t be too conspicuous.
The first few days she’d spent every minute looking behind her, expecting Asmodai to appear like an avenging demon and drag her back to servitude. And once or twice she’d been sure she sensed a demon’s presence—a faint hint of sulfur on the air. But nothing had come of it. In reality, Asmodai probably hadn’t even noticed she was gone. She had the whole place running like clockwork—unless something went wrong she doubted anyone would miss her.
She’d finally settled in a little tourist town on the coast, renting a small villa close to the beach. After two days, she still couldn’t get enough of the sun, and she’d spent all the daylight hours sprawled on the yellow sand, dipping in the blue of the Mediterranean. She’d ditched the black leather; it was way too hot. Besides, it had never really been her style, just something else to hide behind.