Demon Night

him and almost stumbled over the opposite curb. “The, uh, white collar division.”
    “You like numbers, Charlie?” He looked behind them, his nostrils flaring, his lips forming the beginning of a snarl.
    “When they add up.” She darted a glance over her shoulder, panic starting to fill her belly with jittering bugs. Nothing there, nothing there. “When they don’t, not so much. Ethan—”
    “I’m not all that fond of shit that don’t add up, either.” He suddenly stopped walking, and slowly turned. “And I don’t like five against two.”
    Her stomach dropped to her feet. Five figures slunk out of the dark. In the arc of the streetlights, their skin was pale—then concealed by shadows again as they came closer. Not as fast as they had the night before, but like a pack of wolves edging up on their prey, not wanting them to scatter too early.
    Ethan’s jaw hardened, and he breathed out long through his nose, a heavy sound of resignation. She couldn’t read any fear in his face—just determination. “But I reckon five against one will suit me just fine.”
    Did he think he was going to fight them? But the incredulous thought had barely formed when his arm came around her waist. The world tilted, whirling and spinning, her cheek against his neck, her fingers clutching at his arms.
    It stopped, and her bag thumped against her back, finishing its swing. She staggered into Ethan’s chest—she was on her feet, but not steady.
    “Can you stand, Charlie?”
    She blinked. A silver-and-black telephone box hung near her left arm. Ethan filled up the booth, hunching over her.
    The material beneath her fingers was roughly woven—not soft as she’d expected his shirt to be. She looked down, saw the brown sleeves. A long knife appeared in his hand.
    She jerked away, the back of her head rapping against plastic as she crowded herself into the corner. “Oh, no.”
    No no no. He was so big. Huge. She thought she’d be grateful, awed—but she was only afraid.
    His face was set as he turned and dug his blade into the trim beside the door. The flashing point of the dagger scratched metallic shrieks from the aluminum. Shadows surrounded the booth, flashes of dark and pale.
    Charlie slid to the floor, wrapped her arms around her shins, making herself as small as possible. The scraping stopped, and it was suddenly so quiet she could only hear the thudding of her heart, her crazy breaths.
    Then a flutter of movement as Ethan crouched in front of her, his knees filling up the space on either side of her legs. The brown coat pooled around him, his boots longer now, a smooth shine the length of his shins. Buckles winked dully at his ankles.
    “Charlie.” He ducked his head into her line of sight, forced her to meet his eyes. Hard and sharp, like shards from amber stone. She looked away from them, letting her gaze fall to the holsters hanging low on his hips and anchored with braided leather around his lower thighs. “You’ve got to stay put, Charlie, you hear me? Don’t you open this door, don’t you leave this booth for anything—until either I come get you or the sun comes up. For anything . Promise me that.”
    Shivers wracked her body; a cold breeze snaked around his legs, seemed to wriggle its way through every thin point of her clothes and skin. Outside, a shadow formed a human shape; a white hand tapped soundlessly against the plastic, then a face looked in, grinning.
    She’d seen that face before—for just an instant. An arrow had been through his forehead.
    “Charlie?”
    She met Ethan’s eyes. “I promise.”

    There was no escaping Charlie knowing now. And he’d lose this opportunity to make these sons of bitches talk by running with her.
    A man played the hand he was dealt, but Ethan had learned to carry an ace or two up his sleeve. And a Guardian against a vampire was like having a whole goddamn deck full of aces.
    With a burst of speed, he caught the first vampire. A male, yelping like a coyote when Ethan got hold of his collar. Ethan pivoted, slammed the vampire flat against the pavement, intending to keep him down with his boot against the vampire’s neck until he handled the others.
    Ethan heard the crunch of the vampire’s skull against concrete, felt the sudden blandness in the male’s psychic scent that wasn’t unreadable, like psychic blocks or the spell, but just empty.
    Hell and damnation—he’d slammed him too hard. Until the vampire’s brain healed, he wouldn’t talk any