Page 5 of Heal Me

Returning home exhausted, I open the fridge to grab a beer. That’s when I feel sharp, cold steel on my neck, held there by a muscular forearm with a tattoo of a snake swallowing the all-seeing eye. That narrows down my attacker, but his angelic name tattooed in the Adamic language is what gives him away.

“What the fuck, Amer,” I growl, teleporting out of his grip to the other side of the kitchen. As soon as I materialize, the knife’s whizzing at my head. I dodge just in time as it lands in a cabinet door with a reverberating thunk. “How the hell did you get in here?” My home is warded, obsessively so.

“You left me standing with my cock in my hands at the range, asshole,” he says, not answering my question. Amer’s human form looks to be around my age, but that’s where our similarities end. He’s shorter, around six feet tall, with fair skin, pale green eyes, and auburn hair he’s growing out and has pulled back in a ponytail. I taunt him relentlessly about it.

“Don’t take your cock out at the range would be my advice.”

“Stellar advice, thank you, counselor. Please, for fuck’s sake don’t tell me you’re back with the Banshee,” he groans.

“I’m not. I was stuck in an arbitration,” I say, reaching behind me and yanking out the knife from my now damaged kitchen cabinet. “Nice,” I say, examining Amer’s latest work of art. The handle of the knife has an intricate design of the Watchers’ symbol—the snake swallowing the all-seeing eye, hence Amer’s tattoo. “Thanks for the parting gift,” I say, holding up the knife, “but I’m going to bed. Drop by tomorrow if you want me to lop off that god-awful rat’s tail.”

“You’re just jealous of my lustrous locks,” he says, flipping his ponytail. “Besides, I’m headed out tomorrow on a mission. Why don’t you join us?”

“Sorry, busy with work,” I say, trying not to grit my teeth. I have some variation of this conversation with pretty much every Watcher I come across.

“All work and no play makes Cupid a dull boy,” he says, vanishing, but not before flinging a second knife at my skull. I duck just in time, and the knife lands in the same divot in the cabinet the first knife created. Impressive, I’ll admit.

A man on a mission, I search every room for a breach of my wards. And here it is. The painters finished with the walls of my study this afternoon and they left the window open just a crack. Taking a picture of the window slightly ajar and my chalk ward disturbed because of it, I send it to Amer.

Me: Lucky break. Don’t count on it next time.

Amer: You still need target practice, asshole. See you next week if you can pull yourself away from Banshees and books.

Printing out Amer’s profile picture from my phone, I tape the paper to my wall. Marching to the other side of the room, I fling the knife, hitting him square between the eyes. Grabbing my phone, I snap a picture and send him a text.

Me: Sure, I’m up for it, and I’ve got the perfect target.

Was my smart reply worth the hole in my newly painted wall? Probably not.

* * *

The next morning, I hop into my car and drive to Damion’s house. With my teleportation gift, rarely do I drive. A shame, as I love my Aston Martin. It was a ridiculous splurge after I won my very first case a few years back, but if a splurge isn’t ridiculous, then it’s not a splurge.

Parking, I walk up the steps to the front porch of Damion’s house and ring the bell. A beautiful woman around my age answers the door with a friendly smile. “Good morning, Gabe.”

Well, well, well. What an interesting turn of events. Damion never brings a woman to his house. “Morning. And who might you be?” I ask with my most charming smile. She’s a natural beauty, with long, light-brown hair, fair skin, and expressive blue eyes. She has a few curves but is more on the lean side. Not Damion’s usual type. Very interesting.

“Gabe, it’s me. This is Aubry,” the woman says. With Damion’s voice.

I throw my head back in laughter as I follow this woman inside and take a seat on the couch. “Damion, what on earth have you done?” I ask in a bemused tone. Not only has he brought a woman home, but he went and possessed her!

“Not me. Her,” Damion practically growls.

Aubry takes back over and tells me of her attempted séance, and Damion interjects with the important information—that Aubry employed demon-summoning items in her circle.

“I’ve never heard of an unintentional possession. Unintentional on the part of the demon, I should say. And I’ve never heard of a Cambion executing a successful possession.” I pause to think for a moment. “I’m going to have to do some research.” And call in a favor from Turek to pay Aubry a little visit to be one hundred percent sure this witch is as innocent as she claims.

“It’s probably best if the two of you return to Aubry’s shop. What was done there will likely have to be undone there. Aubry, hand me your phone.” She complies, and I type in my number. “I’ve added myself to your contacts.” I return her phone and place a kiss on the top of her hand with dramatic flair, just to fuck with Damion.

“Why couldn’t I have gotten stuck with a southern gentleman?” she bemoans.

“Damion, you’d best be a gentleman to our new friend,” I say with a smile. I realize I’m getting too much enjoyment out of their predicament. Wiping the smile from my face, I release Aubry’s hand. “Should we involve the Arbitrator?”

“Not yet,” Damion answers swiftly.

“Very well. But you know that I’m going to bill you for this.”

“Gabe, how much is your hourly rate, if you don’t mind me asking?” Aubry asks.

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