The Vengeance Demons Series: Books 0-3 (The Vengeance Demons Series Boxset) Read online

  I twirled around. It was Esme. Well, a worse-for-wear version of her, anyway. The messiness of her normally impeccable hair suggested that she’d been in a hurry when she’d teleported here, and there were dark circles under her eyes that bespoke more than one sleepless night. Her face was even more pale than usual. Her previously black skin tight bodysuit had faded with too many wash cycles. And don’t get me started on her nails. She had the appearance of someone who hadn’t been taking care of herself. The flavor of her power signature tasted different, too. Less calm. More volatile. Even her stickler-for-rules comment seemed off, as if it was more a force of habit than a critical assessment.

  Vengeance demons took great pride in their appearances and tranquil mental states, not to mention in their ability to cite regulations. What the heck was going on with Esme? Despite my recent annoyance with her, my chest still tightened a little at how terrible she looked.

  Why had I been annoyed with her? Well, she’d sorta disappeared on me. I hadn’t heard from her since that night at the ball. She’d ignored my emails, voicemails, texts, even a fairy-a-gram with singing and tap-dancing. With Dad being away on remote assignments all the time, courtesy of that fiasco at the ball, and Mom going with him, there weren’t even any family gatherings for me to attend in hopes of running into her organically.

  At first I’d been confused and concerned, then worry had become anger when I’d hacked into the Demon U student bulletin board—they froze out my account—and found out that Esme had been named Student of the Year by the Council soon after the ball. Remember the ball, that unfortunate event which Esme did not get into trouble for? Then I’d started suspecting she was avoiding me because as the new poster child of vengeance, she was embarrassed to be related to a suspended hybrid. Guilt by association, one might say. It made a sick sort of sense. I mean, why else would she all of a sudden go incommunicado?

  After that, I’d stopped trying to reach out to her.

  But now, taking one look at her drawn face, I realized I might’ve assumed the worst of her. Something was troubling her, and I’d let hurt, pride and jealousy get in the way of finding out what had caused her radio silence. Then I remembered her generosity, how she charged me up and brought me back from the edge after Dan Pillar’s attack. That made me feel even more ashamed. Our bond was there, an almost physical pull of shared power and affection, taunting me with its strength and my lack of faith in it.

  It wasn’t her fault that they favored her, that she didn’t get blamed for what happened at the ball—though technically she was involved, if we were going by the same definition of how the Council deemed me involved.

  I unbound Ms. Wilson from the cable knot that tied her to the solid antique table. Once free, she ran out of the office screaming. Esme waved her hand, and the screaming became mute to all within this floor.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. I was stingy about wasting even that much juice. Juice that I’d bet my full-blooded vengeance half-sister would have no issue expending. There I was, being bitter again. I mentally kicked myself and gave Esme a small awkward smile. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She was biting her lips in unconcealed nervousness, and her eyes betrayed an uncertainty that was completely foreign on her face.

  I leaned closer. “Are you alright?”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for being out of touch. I don’t know what was wrong with me. Since the ball, I haven’t been able to sleep. I haven’t been able to eat. I couldn’t even bring myself to go out to the Student of the Year photo-op. I thought I was going crazy. Oh, Megan, I’m so sorry.”

  “What’s wrong?” I pushed Esme into the closest chair and crouched down beside her. All my previous annoyance with her went out the window. “Are you ill?”

  Vengeance demons were immune to most stuff. But with all the inter-species marrying, there was a new supernatural superbug being born every day.

  A thought occurred to me. “It’s not goblin-brownie-mono, is it? Give me the list of your last ten targets. Fir knows this crone who’s like a wizard with the home remedies. She’s bat crazy, but what do you expect from a cr—”

  “Megan.” Esme caught my hands. “I already checked it out with Grandma’s physician. He didn’t find anything.”

  “Oh.” Grandma’s physician was the best of the best. If he had no clue what was going on…

  “But I think I know what is wrong. And I need your help.” Esme’s tone was so solemn I was sure the doctor had found something. “I haven’t been the best sibling lately, so I understand if you say no.”

  “Just spit it out. I’m dying of suspense here.”

  Esme took a deep breath. “I met my solus iungere.”

  “What? No way!”

  ***

  For vengeance demons, a solus iungere was essentially a soul mate. Despite being rather effective bringers of pain and justice, or maybe because of it, vengeance demons preferred to mate for life. Not that divorces didn’t happen, my father and Esme’s mother being the case in point, but most of the vengeance population had this romanticized notion of finding The One. Which was pretty ironic for a race that prided itself in relentless logic, come to think of it.

  When vengeance demons fell in love, they basically turned into lovesick human teenagers. You know, all irrational, impulsive, poetry writing, and balcony climbing. But the process was no laughing matter. When a bond was established, being separated could create real physical discomfort, and in worse cases, side effects could include depression, sleep deprivation, and even chronic fatigue. And if that had been happening since the ball—wait, that guy I saw her with by the French windows. Esme, under the influence of Blue Unicorn, had been kissing a guy I’d thought was a little off. That was right before everything went to hell.

  Why didn’t I think of this earlier? Because everything did go to hell afterward. The events that came before the tricksters’ chaos and the Shadow World had a dreamlike, surreal quality to them. I hadn’t even spared the scandalous scene a single thought in the past months, not even while I cursed my half-sister’s apparent distancing of herself from me. What type of sibling did that make me?

  “Are you sure he’s your solus iungere?”

  Esme nodded. “Positive. I’d never felt that way before, but I just knew it. Megan, I need your help. He asked me out formally today. Can you help me prepare for our first date?”

  He’d just asked her out? But the ball was months ago. If he was really the one, he would’ve felt the same way about her. Why didn’t he speak out sooner?

  Looking into Esme’s expectant face, so full of excitement and nervousness, I knew that now was not the time to ask that question. Preparation for the first date was traditionally a mother-daughter bonding thing, but Esme’s career-minded mother had been disappearing for months or years on end. I knew that at a time like this, Esme would miss her mom. Right now she needed assurance and support, not doubts and misgiving.

  “Alright, let’s get started then.”

  ***

  A date.

  Not a date with destiny, which was what vengeance felt like from a target’s perspective. No, it was a date date.

  Esme was one of the most gorgeous girls I’d ever seen, and she always looked great in her usual wardrobe of black leather pants and sleek jackets. But in vengeance demons’ courtship, females were expected to dress in bright colors.

  This mating dance was one of the rare occasions in their lives to be caught dead in the rainbow colors they normally despised. It was like those Star Trek Vulcans, so darn logical at all times, then going crazy during Pon Farr.

  The comparison was just a little on the gross side. But there was no denying the importance of a first date between vengeance demons, as the mating dance was deliberate and ritual-based, with both sides being super cautious and selective.

  We were in Vengeful Vixens, one of the most exclusive boutiques on the vengeance plane. So exclusive, in fact, you needed an appointment to even enter its doors. Thank
s to a little phone call to Miss Madeleine-Nympho-is-My-Real-Middle-Name-Lex, getting in wasn’t a problem at all.

  I must say I liked the position of being a blackmailer. It was like that Schrödinger's cat experiment. There existed two possibilities. I could tell on Madeleine, or not. But until it was certain one way or another, I got to enjoy the perks—such as finding Esme the most awesome outfit for her date, all on Madeleine’s store account.

  Esme was in a fitting room. Serafina and I waited on the benches outside. When I called Serafina to join us, I thought it was going to be a short and fun venture. Now it was our third hour on that bench, and my thighs were getting numb from all the sitting around.

  “What do you think?” Esme asked enthusiastically as she stepped out of the fitting room in a neon green number with an 80’s sequin bodice.

  “No,” I said immediately. Serafina shook her head, managing to look horrified at the ensemble and embarrassed about her own negative assessment at the same time. How she retained that level of civility at this point in the shopping process, I had no idea.

  So far, Esme had channeled Björk the Oscar swan, Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face,” Heath Ledger’s Joker, and the hooker standing on my street corner. Ouch, who would’ve thought Esme would be such a fashion disaster once the color black was taken out of the equation?

  Her crestfallen look tugged at my heartstrings. I couldn’t let her down. There had to be a way.

  An idea struck me.

  “Come on, let’s go back to my place.” I turned to Serafina. “You game?”

  Serafina took a step back. “I…I…have tutoring to go to. My uncle said it’ll help my grades. I have to go.”

  Ha, not so patient after all. Good, I liked not-too-perfect friends. Hades knew I had my own dark side to combat.

  ***

  I dragged Esme to the duplex that was now my home. After kicking away three layers of day-old shirts and socks, I opened a dusty trunk under the bed. A large assortment of shimmering sun dresses in cheerful patterns nearly popped out of the trunk on their own.

  Esme breathed, fingering the delicate material. “They’re so beautiful.”

  “They’re awesome, aren’t they?” And they’ll fit, too. They’re enchanted to conform to whatever body shape the wearer has.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “They’re from my mom.” I smiled. “Top-quality trickster-spun material, with a built-in beauty glamour—not that you need it. Do you remember me telling you how my old roommates at the dorm kept trying to set my closet on fire?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s what they were going after. They thought having these dresses gave me an unfair advantage with the boys.”

  “Does it?”

  “Of course.” Not that I’d ever pressed that advantage. Why would I want snobbish boys who denounced me in front of their friends while wooing me in private? “Come on, put one on.”

  In high school, I used to enjoy the game of teasing boys in all my trickster fineries every now and then, but since starting at Demon U, I didn’t even do that anymore. I’d spent so much time wanting to fit into the vengeance world that I’d convinced myself the riot of spring colors wasn’t my style at all. But it was.

  And it could be Esme’s. If she looked like a classic demon in black, then she was a woodland goddess in that pink floral dress she just put on. Her red hair, freed from her usual bun, appeared lighter by several shades, and her pale skin was as delicate as ivory.

  Who needed to look badass and deadly when one could look sweet and deadly?

  “Megan.” Rosemary knocked on my door, a funny tone in her voice. “Your dad is downstairs. He said he happened to be in the neighborhood.”

  My poor roommate probably still remembered the very first night I moved in, when an imposing man came charging in and, without a word, started sealing all the cracks in the wall, lest any supernaturals-in-disguise might sneak into his little girl’s new home.

  Esme blanched and made a universal I’m not here hand gesture. Not hard to guess why. Best to leave Dad out of the whole first-date business.

  Dad might’ve been possessive of Esme to a much lesser degree, seeing how her mother was a vengeance demon who catered to scorned women and had trained her on a whole arsenal of male-focused torturing tactics, but having your father getting involved in your love life was never cool, no matter what species you were or what plane you were on.

  “Tell him I’ll be right down,” I called out.

  “Sure, I’ll be in the basement. Today is canning day. I got strawberries on sale.”

  With a nod to Esme, I ran downstairs. There was Dad, alone in the kitchen, holding a brown paper package and beaming at me. He always seemed so…relieved to see me being well. It was kinda sweet but slightly annoying at the same time. I guess to him I’d always be sixteen. Or six.

  I felt a pang of guilt. I’d been a bad daughter. Ever since the suspension, I’d been so engrossed in the whole vengeance freelancing business that I hadn’t really been giving my father’s own punishment much thought. But it was because of me that he’d been getting these crappy assignments.

  Speaking of which. “Dad, when did you get back? Where’s Mom? I thought you were on this case in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I still am, but I managed to steal ten minutes of temporal dilation to visit you. Your mother sends her love. Here.” He thrust the paper package into my hands. “I got you a Hellhound-grade pepper spray.”

  “You already gave me two, remember?” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I had a triple of every weapon Dad could think of. Maybe I should make some credits by having a demonic garage sale.

  “Oh, I did? Well, doesn’t hurt to have another one around. This one is made with pure organic pepper. Anyway, off I go. Don’t let the suspension get to yoouu…” Dad phased out of my dimension with a slight time delay that was characteristic of temporal dilation. It made his body appear to be twisting and melting, like a distorted image in a broken television set.

  I heard a loud series of crashes behind me, and turned toward the source of the noises. Rosemary had dropped three or four large glass jars onto the floor. Her face was stark white. “I…I thought I saw…”

  Great, she must’ve caught sight of the last of Dad’s exit.

  I got Rosemary seated on the kitchen chair and started scooping up the pieces of broken glass. “Are you alright?”

  “I must be daydreaming.” Rosemary fanned herself with a recipe card she’d grabbed from the counter. “I thought I saw… Never mind, it’s silly. Just the other day I could’ve sworn I saw a transparent cat stalking across the hallway. If I believe everything my eyes tell me, I’ll go crazy.”

  Rosemary laughed at herself, and I silently breathed a sigh of relief. So Sassy had allowed Rosemary to see her. It showed that my roommate must be growing on my cat, but it wasn’t necessarily a healthy thing for the human if it made her think she was going insane. I quickly changed the topic. “So, um, how are things with Jordan?”

  A sweet smile came over Rosemary’s face. “It’s going great. Hitting our second month anniversary next Monday.”

  See, after finding the pencil sketches Jordan had drawn of Rosemary in his office, I’d casually maneuvered the two to go on a shopping trip to the local farmer’s market. That seemed to be just the nudge they needed, and things just sorta took off without further intervention from me. I mentally patted myself on the shoulder.

  I gestured at the trashcan full of broken glass. “Hey, that’s a lot of jars you’ve got there. The last time I was in the basement, I counted at least four dozen. Even with these write-offs, there are still a lot left. Won’t we get sick eating the same strawberry jam over and over again?”

  “Some of them are not for making jam.” Rosemary gave the pocket of her apron a pat, and for the first time I noticed the purple flowering plants she kept in there. “These are lavender. I’ve been growing them in pots. I’m going to make a batch of strawberry lavender
hair mask. My mother owns a chain of spa salons and she agreed to sell my products there. She’s already getting rave reviews for my seaweed facial.”

  “Wait a minute.” A light bulb turned on in my head. “Your mama runs a spa? So you’re good at hair and makeup, right?”

  Esme could really use her help. Though a swallow of Blue Unicorn could’ve gotten the beauty job done, it was considered rude to show up on a vengeance demon date with foreign substances in one’s blood. It messed with the demonic pheromones and made it nearly impossible to determine compatibility. Esme had to be dolled up the old-fashioned way, and I sure as hell didn’t know what to do. Heck, I couldn’t trust myself not to turn her into Dead Hooker Number Two from CSI. Rosemary couldn’t have come in at a better time.

  “Of course. My mom is also a fashion designer, remember? I’ve been helping her with her runway projects since I was seven.”

  “Look, I have a favor to ask. Esme’s going on a date, and I don’t know anything about this whole beauty business.”

  “I’ll do it.” Rosemary smiled. “You’re my lucky charm. Since you moved in, I haven’t been robbed once, and now I have a boyfriend!”

  Lucky charm. Ha, if only she knew.

  ***

  “Would you like the smoldering-kitten or the girl-next-door look?” We were all in Rosemary’s bedroom, and she showed off her makeup suitcase with a wide rainbow of color palettes.

  Esme glanced at me questioningly. She probably had no idea what the meaning of “girl next door” was. In our world, there was nothing innocent and harmless about a demon next door, girl or otherwise.

  “The girl next door would be fine,” I replied. The sweeter look matched the sundress, and besides, vengeance demon first dates were all about being proper and respectful.

  “Sure, one fresh and dewy, coming right up.” Rosemary started laying out her tools. Brushes, tweezers, a torture instrument that pulled on one’s poor eyelashes until they got longer, then mascara to slap on the said wounded lashes. It was a suitcase of horror that would make a vengeance demon proud.