Page 36 of Speak of the Devil

Now it was his turn to stare at her in astonishment. “You felt that?”

“I did,” she said. “I was there on Saturday — I had some business I needed to handle,” she added, obviously thinking she needed to clarify what in the world she’d been doing in the casino’s parking structure that weekend. “The place was crowded, so I had to park up on the third floor, and when I got out of my car, I felt this weird…smokiness…for lack of a better term.”

Probably she’d detected the residue of his fight with the demon, even though it had happened the night before. It seemed she was an even stronger psychic than he’d previously guessed.

Stronger than she probably had any reason to believe.

“You saw me produce fire just a minute ago,” Caleb said. “Well, I had to summon a lot more of it to get rid of that imp. As demons go, it wasn’t all that strong, but any of them can cause some serious damage if they get the drop on you.”

“But it’s been banished?” Delia asked then, the strain in her voice telling him that she didn’t want to contemplate the consequences of having a bunch of Hell’s denizens running around her hometown.

Well, he assumed Las Vegas was where she’d been born. Maybe a false assumption, considering how many people here came from somewhere else, but there was something about her familiarity with the town that spoke of the kind of knowledge someone would only possess after living in one location for their entire life.

“Oh, yeah, I sent that sucker straight back to Hell,” he replied, and she relaxed visibly. Before she could respond, though, he went on, “The weird thing, though, is that a lower-level demon like that couldn’t have come topside of its own volition. Someone must have summoned it.”

Delia frowned again. “Why would anyone do something like that?”

For as cool and confident as she looked, she sure had a naïve streak running through her. “Because if you summon a demon and do it right, then it’s basically your slave. You could sic it on your enemies, have it be your spy…rub its head for good luck before you headed out to the casinos.”

He added that last bit as a joke more than anything else, although he’d be the first to admit that adding those demonic energies to your own would help to increase your luck…for a while. Sooner or later, though, everyone had to pay the piper.

Well, most people, anyway.

Her gaze grew shrewd. “Is that what you did? Because I assume when you told me you ‘came into money,’ what you were really saying is that you’ve been killing it at the gaming tables.”

Caleb didn’t see any need to deny his means of accumulating his current fortune. “I figured that was the easiest way to get the money I needed. But I don’t need an imp for luck. I make my own.”

Thanks to the demon blood he carried, which was from the highest order of Hell’s nobility. Diluted as it was by his human heritage, it was still stronger than anything a slave demon like that imp he’d banished could boast.

“I suppose that’s convenient,” Delia remarked. She settled against the back of her chair and regarded him for a moment, her green-hued gaze cool. “And I suppose I should say thanks for being honest with me. The problem is, I have no idea what to do next.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said, and her brows lifted.

“Come again?”

Essaying a smile he knew had served him well in the past, Caleb replied, “So what if I’m a quarter demon? Does it change anything about the business we’re conducting together?”

She made a small sound of disbelief. “I’d say it changes everything.”

“Not really,” he said. He knew he wanted to sound confident and unruffled, knew he needed to persuade her that they could continue with their plans for the property on Pueblo Street without any alterations. “I’ve never used my powers around you — well, except grabbing that killer’s soul and sending it to Hell where it belongs. But I look at that as a favor, you know?”

“I suppose it was,” she responded. Now her tone was dry, almost amused, and the shift made him think they’d turnedsome sort of a corner. A pause, and then she added, “But what are you going to do about those poor bodies in the basement?”

Good question. “Well, I have a few ideas, but I suppose it depends on how much I can do when the property technically isn’t mine yet.”

“It’s all right,” Delia said, and her mouth curved into a half-smile tinged with mischief. “The house still has a lockbox.”

And in that moment, Caleb knew he wouldn’t have to worry about her bailing on him. In fact, it seemed she was willing to stay the course.

No matter what might happen.

Chapter Twelve

She couldn’t believeshe’d come back here…and with a quarter demon, of all things.

Not that Caleb Lowe…Lockwood…whatever…looked like someone who had demon blood in his veins. No, he was as handsome as ever as he stood a few feet away from her in the lower level of the house that would soon be his.

But it wasn’t his yet.

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