Better the Demon You know (Bedeviled AF #3) Paperback

Chapter 1

Evil had a scent: lemon. It was bright and crisp and brought to mind colorful drinks with paper umbrellas savored in tropical climes after a successful drug lab bust in the jungle.

Well, at least the drug lab part was accurate when it came to today’s mission. Shame about the rest.

In a sales pitch I’d since dubbed “Snow Job,” I’d fallen prey to the lure of escaping Vancouver’s December gloom and rain for a winter wonderland, with the added glory of stopping some Eishei Kodesh from producing a non-magic, yet illicit street drug called Crackle. And when Francesca, the level three leader on this gig, had shown me photos of the pools of steaming hot springs nestled beneath mountain peaks that was our reward once this mission was wrapped up, well, my temptation was complete.

Now, with the compound where we suspected the lab was housed within sight, I was also assaulted by the peppy citrus smell of the drug, taunting me with visions of a world with color rather than an endless sea of white whose glare in the moonlight was starting to induce blindness.

Interestingly, Francesca had left out several key details about this mission: how we’d be strapping on snowshoes (more like tiny torture contraptions than the lightweight paddles I’d envisioned) and trudging over uneven rural terrain, sinking into the snow with each footstep when we weren’t skidding on frozen patches hidden under powdery drifts; the fact we’d be approaching the clandestine lab at night in subfreezing temperatures; and the double my body weight in outdoor fabrics that were slowly sous-videing me to death.

The only sounds had been the sharp crunch of our party breaking the crust on the snow with each step, my hot, damp breathing against the heavy scarf wrapped around my mouth and nose, and the wind that stung my eyes, groaning through the trees.

Francesca held up a gloved hand, her brown cheeks ruddy with cold. Edward, a buff Serbo Canadian and the first of our trio of level two Maccabees on this takedown immediately stopped, followed by me, and then Paul, an older operative who showed photos of his prize-winning Siamese with the same pride as a new dad.

I unsnapped the binding on my snowshoes with the manic relief generally reserved for getting through airport security and scoring coveted concert tickets and tossed them under the massive evergreen next to us with a sigh, rolling my ankles to stretch them out. Sweat ran between my shoulder blades, and my hamstrings and quads burned.

The last twenty feet between us and the barn was partially shoveled, partially tamped down from whoever worked here, and easily accessible.

Snow splatted off the tree branches, barely missing our party, but I didn’t care, lost to a coiled excitement that flared up inside me. Please let our quarries fight back. This city girl was no match for Mother Nature, but most human opponents I could handle just fine, and I was raring for someone to look at me wrong.

Francesca indicated for Paul and me to head for the small barn, while she and Edward checked out the weather-beaten house on its left.

Paul and I bolted silently, keeping low.

Sadly, there was no cloud cover to hide us once we burst from the woods across the exposed ground. The sky was clear and the moon hung low in the sky, illuminating us like nature’s searchlight.

Any chinks in the barn’s siding had been patched from inside. They’d boarded up the windows and soundproofed it well since there was no faint murmur of voices or any sound of electric equipment like the condensers, evaporators, or heating mantles involved in the production of this synthetic drug. Not even the hum of a generator.

It was odd that they’d taken such care, given how remote this property was, and yet Crackle’s lemon scent had managed to defy their other security precautions and ooze into the surrounding woods. I didn’t have time to dwell on it, however, because Paul and I were too busy playing hopscotch through the blind spots of the security cameras.

He grasped the handle of the barn door and turned back to me with his eyebrows raised.

I stuffed my gloves into my jacket pockets, drew the weapon peeking out of the holster attached to my belt, and nodded.

The Zen Zapper was a new design combining electroshock technology with white flame magic. Not only would it physically incapacitate the target, it’d amp their level of calm into an almost compulsion-like desire to chill out and stay put.

I’d proposed the idea a couple of months ago after a case where a White Flame had relaxed a Prime vampire into remaining still long enough to be staked. This was the first working prototype, and if the magic failed, I’d still have its Taser-like capabilities.

After a late-night brainstorming session with the R&D crew generated a shortlist of names that included the Tranquilizer Thunderbolt, the Harmony Hammer, and the Mellow Magic Mallet, we went with Zen Zapper which we’d deemed the best of the bunch.

Paul flung the door open. “Maccabees! Freeze!”

His hands were raised, ready to deploy his orange flame magic, and I had a cool weapon, but there was no one to use it on. The barn was empty.

I gritted my teeth with a sigh, my pent-up disappointment and restless energy bouncing around inside me like a pinball.

The area closest to the door had been turned into a makeshift kitchen. An old stove held a large dented steel pot, ostensibly used to make the candy that formed the delivery mechanism for the chemical high. There was an open industrial-sized bag of sugar on the floor, while multiple mesh bags of lemons were thrown on the countertop next to bottles of yellow food coloring and a candy thermometer. It was almost quaint. Hardly food safe, but I guess that wasn’t high on the list of priorities for drugmakers.

The lab area with its glassware, beakers, flasks, and solvents, on the other hand, was all business. Red jerry cans of gasoline were on hand to power the generators, and a couple of hazmat suits were thrown over chairs.

Piles of the rough round yellow candies were heaped on a long metal table, along with sealed packages of the icing sugar mixture containing the chemical compound that these candies would be dusted with, making Crackle the premier choice for the discerning partier.

The drug may have resembled old-fashioned lemon drops, but sucking on one was more like eating Pop Rocks, hence the name. The euphoria that Crackle induced, however, was all its own.

Both Trad cops and Maccabees had attempted to get it off the streets for years but as with many drugs, it was a losing battle. We’d recently gotten intel that a group of Eishei Kodesh had ramped up production in a remote and rugged area not far from the border we shared with Alberta. Most cities in our province didn’t have their own Maccabee chapters. When things got hairy, Vancouver operatives were deployed as necessary, hence the four of us on this job tonight.

The hair on the back of my neck prickled. All of the barn was visible and there were no other exits. “Where is everyone?”

“Is it a trap?” Paul sifted through a stack of the gold tissue paper used to wrap each individual dose, his expression wary. “Drug labs don’t close up shop for the night.”

“It looks more like they forgot milk and stepped out to the store. In any case, why leave the drugs out in the open with an unlocked door? And leave all the lights on?” I held a sealed bag of powder up to the light. “If they were expecting us and funneled us inside to a kill chute, it still doesn’t make sense to hand the authorities evidence. They could have hidden the candies at the very least. Make a minimum effort to conceal their crimes.”

“Unless they were positive we wouldn’t be leaving again,” he said dryly.

Added to my confusion was the fact that my literal inner demon, Cherry Bomb, the Brimstone Baroness, was showing a marked disinterest in the proceedings. I expected her to be excited to take down bad guys. Even if they were human, not demons or vamps, these drug manufacturers were still dangerous, but I was getting nothing off her except mild boredom.

Maybe snowshoeing lulled her into a coma and whenever she required satiation, I could hit the mountains for some Mother Nature time instead of secretly tracking and fighting demons.

Yeah, I couldn’t rouse up enthusiasm for plan B either.

I surveyed the room yet again, as if it had transformed into a more exciting crime scene. Nothing. I sighed.

Then a bloodcurdling scream rent the night.

Now that’s more like it. I sprinted outside, Cherry now wide awake, with Paul on my heels.

My first read of the scene inside the living room of the lone house on the property was that Francesca had been injured by the Eishei Kodesh engulfed in flames, whom she was attempting to subdue. Except her expression was frustration, not fear.

The fire didn’t hurt the living tiki torch, so he was a Red Flame. Kaden Scott, my brain helpfully supplied from our intel report. Thirty years old, previous conviction of assault.

That was as far as I got with facts and rational thinking, my brain struggling to make sense of Kaden’s unyielding determination to cave his own skull in. He bashed it against the wall with agonized cries, but also a dreamy smile. When his next strike landed with a reverberating thwack, I flinched harder than he did.

The house thankfully hadn’t caught fire since Kaden’s head was flame-free, but one wrong spark would incinerate the faded wallpaper or the wooden slats on the ceiling.

Francesca grabbed an iron fireplace poker and prodded Kaden and his fire magic away from the wall into the center of the room, but she didn’t have a way to take him down that didn’t involve getting barbecued.

The room stank of blood with the tang of lemon running under all of it, while a man on the battered radio sang about rocking around the clock tonight.

Kaden switched up his assault and punched himself in the face until his nose flattened with a sickening crunching sound and the skin around his right eye tore. He hooked a flaming finger into his eye jelly deep in the socket and, with effort, plopped the entire eyeball out. His breathy sigh conveyed the pleasure he took from this, yet it ended on a pained howl that would haunt me to the end of my life. It was heartbreaking and horrifying to see him caught in this deadly thrall, torn apart in equal measure by bliss and agony.

Paul, a hardened Maccabee who’d also done military tours of duty in some of the roughest places in the world, gagged.

Shoot Kaden, Cherry urged gleefully.

To another person, my fine demoness’s suggestion might appear as insane as Kaden. However, Cherry had great instincts, both for our self-preservation as well as ending battles quickly.

“Francesca. Down!” The second she stepped away, I squeezed the trigger, discharging the electromagnetic probes into Kaden’s shoulder.

He seized up, his flames sputtering out, then he crashed onto the floor on his side, still spasming. His face went slack. Was that the same as calm and subdued? Had the Zen Zapper worked?

I ducked into my synesthete vision. I was a Blue Flame with the specific ability to illuminate weaknesses in people, the synesthete aspects of my magic manifesting as sight.

And what a sight he was.

Kaden presented as a human outline colored with jagged streaks of vivid blue along his entire nervous system, like a sugared-up preschooler had deployed their limited coloring skills.

His heart was a large fluttering blue dot while his head and face were a swath of blue, consistent with his physical injuries. Upon closer examination, his mesolimbic dopamine pathway, the part of his brain controlling addiction, was a darker navy than his physical injuries.

I reminded myself that Crackle was not airborne. The drug had to be ingested for it to take effect; we couldn’t be harmed by inhaling its signature scent.

Though this wasn’t Crackle’s normal advertised happy high either. Had they changed the chemical compound producing a new Crackle that caused users to self-harm to outrageous degrees? I shivered. It was good that we were taking these guys out of the picture now.

But had Kaden eaten some of this janky batch? I narrowed my eyes. These guys were professionals. The equipment set up in the barn proved that. This was no rookie mistake. It was lunacy. This crew hadn’t just lost it right before we’d arrived. They were methodical. They’d evaded local law enforcement several times. Why get sloppy now?

I retracted the Zen Zapper’s prongs from Kaden’s shoulder. “Francesca⁠—”

Kaden moaned loudly. He rocked in a curled-up ball, the blood streaming out of his mangled skull mixing with the tears from his empty eye socket.

Francesca pulled off her gloves and placed her palms over his empty socket to cauterize it with her yellow flame healing, while Paul snapped magic-nulling cuffs on him. Better to be safe than sorry.

Kaden gripped my leader’s hand tight, but at her gentle questioning, he simply stared dully into the distance, lost to pain and shock.

Francesca asked Paul to help her turn Kaden onto his side so she could assess the extent of his injuries.

Since they had this under control and Francesca assured me the upstairs was clear, I headed into the kitchen. These people were clearly not fans of washing dishes, but the room was otherwise unremarkable save for the open door leading to the basement and who knew what dangers.

Let’s find out! Cherry mentally fist-pumped.

I poked my head back into the living room. “Did Edward go down there?”

Francesca thinned her lips, her expression strained at my question, but her quiet “Yes” was carefully devoid of any anxiety about her team member. She trusted him to take care of himself, her professional demeanor ruthlessly honed through training and experience.

“On it.” Keeping the Zen Zapper at the ready, I stepped through the trapdoor and into the darkness.