A horned figure suddenly loomed behind the mage.
Oh God . . .
Tires screeched behind me.
In that instant, it wasn’t my life that flashed before my eyes. It was gratitude. I was grateful that I was about to become the city’s newest speed bump rather than a demon meal.
Just as the stink of burned rubber overrode my senses, the portal snapped shut, leaving no sign that it’d ever been there.
My body went limp in a fit of shaking.
I could move again.
Doors opened and arms were lifting me off the concrete. Ian’s arms. Oh God, that hurt. The parts of me that weren’t still numb had concrete burn.
I couldn’t make sense of Ian’s words over the sound of my ragged breathing. Since the ones I did hear were creative variations on the four-letter variety, my partner appeared to be going for emotional expression over sentence structure.
“Sq . . . squid.” Great, my teeth were chattering, too.
I tried to point toward the portal.
It was gone. The Suburban’s headlights lit the garage like high noon. The corner walls were just concrete. There was nothing left of the portal but the stink.
And the black blood on the floor—and on me.
Ian had one arm around me; the other hand held his gun. Yasha wasn’t encumbered.
When in human form, Yasha’s favorite weapons were his Suburban and his Desert Eagle. The Eagle was the only handgun large enough for his hands. He had it in his hand now. The other held a flashlight that could fry your retinas.
The Russian swept the entire garage with its beam.
“Is gone.”
“It was a shapeshifter,” I told them “I didn’t do this . . . to myself.”
Ian’s expression was grim as his eyes scanned the cars. “I know you didn’t. Yasha, get a—”
“Sample for lab,” the Russian finished for him.
“Thanks, buddy.” He looked down at me with an expression that said, unlike Yasha, I wasn’t his buddy right now, or at the very least he was pissed at my show of initiative.
I pulled at my shirt. “I’ve got lab samples, too. He bled all over me when I cut off his tentacles.”
Ian’s expression changed from definitely pissed to possibly impressed.
“Just the two,” I clarified. “He had six. It was kind of like cutting bait.”
Really big bait.
For now, I left out the panicking and whimpering part. I wanted to keep my badass illusion going for as long as possible. Impressed while looking at me was a new expression for Ian, and I was enjoying it. Besides, he didn’t look like he wanted to yell at me—at least not as much.
I thought I had enough breath now for the really bad news. My partner was going to have a lot of questions, and I needed the wind to answer.
“Ian, there was a portal . . . and a mage.”
* * *
Within fifteen minutes, SPI had investigative and cleanup teams on site, complete with agency demonologist, Martin DiMatteo. The teams were disguised as elevator repairmen. Their job was to get in, get readings, get rid of the evidence, and get out. And they actually did do what the name on the van blocking the garage entrance indicated. They repaired the elevator—which was needed after they disabled it to keep anyone from descending into the garage.
Both teams had plenty of practice in being thorough and fast. The NYPD could have closed the garage as a crime scene for hours. Since SPI didn’t officially exist, we couldn’t officially do anything, and didn’t have time on our side. The disguise was to keep the curious from asking too many questions; the speed was to prevent anyone from seeing squid demon blood splattered on both concrete and cars. Fortunately for evidence eradication, squid demon blood dried to the consistency of blackberry jelly and was easily powerwashed down the garage’s storm drains. Unfortunately for the cars, it ate through the paint.
That was why I was wearing Yasha’s spare sweats that he kept in the Suburban. My clothes had quickly developed holes. To keep those holes from being eaten into me, I got into the back of the Suburban with its conveniently tinted windows and stripped down. Going werewolf quickly was hell on a wardrobe. The Russian was tall enough in his human form; going wolf added another eight inches in height, and let’s just say an impressive amount everywhere else. If he didn’t have time to get naked before going wolf, his clothes didn’t stand a chance.
Right now, I was glad he kept spares.
Yasha’s sweatshirt hung nearly to my knees. If it hadn’t been November, and cold, I’d have left it at that; but it was, so I couldn’t. Keeping his sweatpants where they needed to be on me required sitting down and staying there. After running five blocks then wrestling for my life and soul with a determined squid demon to keep from being dragged through a portal to Hell, sitting down was exactly what I wanted to do. It ran a close second to drinking the massive hot chocolate Ian had gotten for me. I loved New York. There were coffee shops on every corner. My partner knew exactly what I needed. I was still shivering, and I didn’t think it was from cold. At times like this, a girl needed chocolate—or a stiff drink. Despite what we did for a living, drinking on the job was still frowned upon, so a hot chocolate it was.
At the moment, Ian was talking to our lead investigator, but he kept the Suburban in sight at all times. I smiled around my cup. Yasha wasn’t the only protective one.
I was sitting curled up in the Suburban’s second row of seats in the exact middle. Just because the portal and Sar Gedeon’s murderer were gone didn’t mean I didn’t want as many exit options open to me as possible—or the protection of armored glass on every side. It probably wouldn’t stand up to demons, but it was what was available, so I gladly took it.