Demon Bound

grimoire.”
    Jack shot a glance at the open door, judged the distance, and then folded his arms. “Not in the cards, mate.”
    “I’m not letting you bring your feud with Hell to me doorstep,” Seth insisted. “Give me the grimoire or I’ll take it from you.”
    Jack spread his hand. “Come on then, old man. Make your best effort.”
    A flutter of magic, like feathers across his cheek, and Seth balled his fist. A hex, a black flight of crow’s wings, flew toward Jack.
    He’d never been one for duels—silly, antique things for mages who still wore frock coats and wallowed their days away in absinthe halls. Winning a magic slap fight didn’t depend on how much power you commanded or how refined your hexes—it only depended on being the man who could duck faster than the other.
    Jack let himself fall, stumbling out the flat’s front door. He rolled to a stop against the railing and Seth’s hex flew overhead, magic screaming against his sight.
    Panting, Seth chugged after him, raising his hand again. Seth might be old, but he was mean and tenacious, and fear only made him meaner.
    “You stupid sod,” Seth wheezed. “Can’t accept your fate, leave them what still have a life to it and die like a normal bugger . . .”
    “Not in my nature.” Jack pulled his own power to him, the slimy magic of the Black slipping between his grasp, shield hex forming and fragmenting before he could cast it. “You of all people know that, Seth.”
    “Knew it would come to this, somehow. Always.” Seth’s magic flew to him, settled about his shoulders like a mantle of swirling black energy. Jack felt the cold, spindly fingers of a death curse reach out for him. “Sorry as hell, too. I did like you, boy. You can take that with you when you go.”
    A shadow fell across Seth’s face as he raised his hands, and before the death curse flew free, there was a
clang
of metal on bone and Seth crumpled.
    Jack sat up and shook off the first vestiges of the curse, his skin prickling. A figure crouched, and he saw Trixie’s bruise-colored eyeshadow and plum-painted Bettie Pagelips, masking an expression of dire worry. “Are you all right?” she demanded.
    “Fine.” Jack tested his shoulder, his ribs. They hurt, but he’d survived worse. “Thanks for the assist, luv.”
    “Wasn’t me,” Trixie said. She helped him up and jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “She came looking for you, and we saw Seth about to do you in.”
    Jack looked at the person behind Trixie and felt his guts drop into his boots.
    “Jack,” Pete said. “Glad to see you’re still making friends.”

Chapter Thirty-one
    Trixie set Jack up with a whiskey and retreated to the far end of the bar. Pete picked at the label of her Thai-brand beer. “Who was that on the landing, then? Jealous boyfriend?”
    “Cute.” Jack watched her, and grimaced when Pete’s expression went stony and blank. Her copper expression, used on suspects and scum. Jack drained his glass. “How’d you find me?”
    Pete’s expression darkened. “You aren’t as mysterious and unfathomable as you might think, Jack.”
    “Seth used to be a friend,” he offered. The warmth of the whiskey burned some of the aches and pains out of his body, but not his mind.
    “Your passport tripped a security alert at Heathrow,” Pete said after a time. “I had you flagged. Ollie’s mate at Interpol.” She turned on her stool and faced him, fingers tapping the wood of the bar. “So I knew you came here. Still waiting on the why.”
    Jack tipped his empty glass to her. “Sightseeing.”
    “Right, that’s fine,” Pete agreed. “Keep treating me likeI’m stupid and that your honeyed words are all I need to hear.” She leaned in, close enough that Jack could see the furious pulse beating in her neck. “I thought something had happened to you. That morning, when I woke up alone. I thought you’d gone and gotten yourself killed. I was frantic. I cried, Jack. Over
you.
”
    “Pete . . .” Jack slid his hand over her rattling fingers. “I had to go. I freely admit it was shit of me to leave you like that, but it couldn’t be helped.”
    “Very well,” Pete snapped. “Because lord knows your secrets and lies are more important than anyone they might leave behind.” She jerked her hand out from under his, the friction warming his palm. Pete glared. “Put your hand on me again and you’re going to discover exactly how sorry you can be, you ruddy son of a bitch.”
    She drained