Fuck.
I jerked backward, but before I could do more, an imp appeared on the grass in front of me. If the one from Damon’s garden had an older, meaner brother, this was it. Half again as tall and broader, not so spindly. But it shared the sickly white, grease-bruised skin and the mouthful of teeth.
And the aggression. It lunged at me, arms reaching.
I dodged, moving faster than I knew I was capable of. But apparently not fast enough. Its hand clamped around my arm, and rot and death choked me as its breath hit my face. I jerked back instinctively and, by some miracle, pulled my arm free. The imp stumbled back, caught off balance as my jacket came loose and my weight was no longer there. I pinwheeled my arms to stay on my feet, then started backing up as rapidly as I could without taking my eyes off the creature.
The imp hissed and flung the jacket away, then bounded forward, but it didn't reach me. Instead it was flung sideways by Damon tackling it to the ground.
The imp shrieked and swiped at him with a long-clawed hand. Damon yelped but didn't let go.
I froze, not sure what to do. I couldn't fry the damn thing when Damon was in the way. I needed a weapon to at least distract it. A gun would have been handy, but I didn’t have one. What I did have was a rebar off-cut sticking out of the pile of construction junk in the front yard, the sensor lights from the house spotlighting it perfectly, about ten feet from where I stood.
I bolted, grabbed the bar, and ran back. The imp was starting to get the upper hand and had rolled on top of Damon, teeth glinting in the light. One thing nine months of renovating had done was improve my upper body strength. I smashed the bar down on its head. There was a sickening thud and crunch, and the imp collapsed.
Damon scrambled free and I grabbed his arm, pulling him to his feet. The imp hadn't moved. Was it going to wake up? But even as I lifted my hand, hoping like hell that I could summon the power to fry it again and could come up with a good excuse for a fire on my front lawn if any of the neighbors decided to report me, the imp vanished.
I stepped back, startled, relief sparking through me. But before I relaxed, common sense kicked in. Where there could be one imp, there could be another. The ward around the house was still up, but after seeing the wards at the boundaries fail, I didn't have a lot of faith in them. At least not without Lizzie or someone else who knew what the hell they were doing there to reinforce them.
"We need to get out of here," I snatched my jacket from the grass, then grabbed his hand again and started for the car.
He didn't reply, but he didn't resist, and by the time we reached the car, his focus had snapped back. He flung open his door and slid behind the wheel. I staggered around to the passenger side and climbed in too. I'd barely pulled the door shut when Damon gunned the engine to life and we took off down the street.
I was twisted in the seat, staring out the rear windshield, making sure another imp hadn't appeared, but the lawn remained empty until Damon turned the corner and headed down the hill.
Then I started to shiver as the adrenaline crash hit me.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember how to breathe. How the hell had another imp found us? Or broken the wards? If I wasn't safe at home, then...
It didn't bear thinking about, and I forced my mind to go blank, to just not think. But Damon hitting the horn to warn another car out of the way as he drove like a bat out of hell shook me back to reality.
I was freaked out. But he'd tackled that damn thing. My eyes flew open. Fuck. Was he hurt? It didn't take long to spot the tear in his jacket; the nanohide had peeled away in a jagged gash. And there was blood on the blue shirt below it.
"It got you?" I said. "Shit."
Damon didn't take his eyes off the road. Just as well. According to the car’s jet-engine suite of dashboard gauges, he was driving faster than it should have been possible to drive through Berkeley. "I'm fine."
"You're bleeding."
"It's not gushing. It's a scratch. I can hardly feel it."
I put that down more to adrenaline than reality. Sometimes it took your body time to catch up with an injury.
"Maybe you should let me drive."
That earned me a sideways glance. "Your hands are shaking."
"Shaking is better than bleeding." My hands tightened on the jacket in my lap as he overtook the car in front of us, coming a little too close for comfort.
"What's better is us getting to Riley."
"We're going to Riley?" I hadn't paid much attention to where he was headed other than registering we were going in the general direction of the bridge. "We should go back to Cassandra's. Or maybe a hotel like she said."
"You think we should go somewhere with lots of people? What happens if one of those things follows us?"
"Righteous has lots of people, too," I pointed out.
"Not where we're going. And not by this time of night. Everyone was busting their asses for months before the launch. They're under strict instructions to go home at a reasonable time for a few weeks at least, if they're not taking actual vacation."
Most of the people I'd met who worked at Riley adored their jobs to an unhealthy degree. And I'd worked plenty of late nights with them. I doubted all of them would obey an order. If Damon did a headcount, he might be surprised how many were ignoring his rules.
"No people at Cassandra's."
"She has neighbors. And we don't know if they're still there. Cassandra was going to talk to Ian and Radha. Riley is the best option. You can call Cassandra or Lizzie once we arrive."
I could keep arguing, but short of somehow wrestling control of the car from him, I didn't think I'd be able to change his mind. Lizzie or Cassandra might know how to put a convenient whammy on him and make him do what I wanted, but I didn't. I'd done it once, accidentally when we were fighting the demon, and it hadn't ended well. And his ex-wife had manipulated him with magic. If he and I were to have any kind of friendship going forward, I could never use magic on him again without his permission.
I wriggled into my jacket, settled back into my seat and let him drive, still shivering despite the extra layer. I couldn’t call Lizzie or Cassandra with my teeth chattering, so I focused on trying to calm down.
I wasn't sure whether he had some sort of “one of the richest guys in town” free pass with the SF police department, but no one stopped us as he sped through the city streets. We entered the Riley Arts campus by an entrance I wasn't familiar with, one on the opposite side of the swathe of city real estate that the company controlled to the main gate that I was used to. There was a guard and a gate that meant business, but the gate swung open as soon as Damon nosed his car toward it, and the guard didn't try to stop us.
We drove along one of the interior campus roads for a minute or so before pulling up in front of a small building I'd never seen. Which didn't mean anything in particular. I'd spent most of my time at Riley in the main building where Damon's office was or the development lab suite where the Archangel team had been working, which was several floors underground.
The building was only two floors, and other than a dim light coming through the frosted glass of the front door, there were no lights in any of the windows.
Damon said, "Madge, it's me," and a panel beside the door slid open. He pressed his palm to it, and the door swung inward with a soft click. We stepped inside.
"Unidentified person in building, Mr. Riley," a soft female voice said.
I smiled, recognizing the voice of the computer system that ran the security for the development buildings. Apparently she did more than that. I started to say, "It’s Maggie," but realized there was no reason for me to assume I was still in the system. Madge hadn't spoken to me when I'd been in Damon's office earlier in the week.
"Lachlan, Maggie Diana," Damon said. "Reinstate security clearance and palm/body/retina scan records."
"Please confirm," the voice, said and another panel on the wall closest to the door began to flash.
"Stay still," Damon said and walked to the panel. He pressed his palm against it, and the blink-buzz-flash red light of a body scan washed through the room. I wasn't sure if it was verifying him or me. The door swung shut with a decisive click. I stayed still. I didn’t know anything about what security countermeasures Riley might employ, but I had no doubt some of them might be unpleasant.
"Your respiration rate is high, Damon," Madge said as he stepped away from the panel. "Do you require assistance?"
"I'm fine, Madge," he said, but he was holding his left arm close to his body.
"Very well," Madge said. "Please ask Maggie Diana Lachlan to place her hand on the scanner."
Damon beckoned me over, and I followed the instructions. There was another scan-buzz-flash.
"Verified. Welcome back, Maggie," Madge said. "Damon, Mitch has asked for notification when you return to campus."
"Negative," Damon said. "I'll contact him later. For now, no one knows I'm here. No one else is to enter this building. Full Bond mode."
I lifted an eyebrow at him. Bond mode? Like 007? My grandad had loved Bond movies. I was familiar with all the movies in the franchise, including the last few holo extravaganzas that he had insisted were nowhere near as fun as the old ones.
"Password?" Madge said.
"Vesper Lynd likes it shaken," Damon said.
I clapped a hand over my mouth so I wouldn't laugh.
"What’s the point of having fancy voiceprint systems if you can't have some fun with it?" he muttered when a giggle escaped me.
"Some people never grow up," I said, grinning. "At least you didn't call Madge Moneypenny."
"Obvious is less fun."
"Bond mode. The building is secure," Madge said.
"Good," Damon said. "We'll be in Suite 1."
Madge didn't reply to that. Damon strode away. I followed. There was a single elevator door—matte black metal—across the foyer. It slid open when he touched the button.
Not unexpectedly, the elevator headed down. Like many companies, Riley favored underground secure locations these days. Underground rooms might get shaken around in a quake, but they didn't collapse. At least, that was the theory.
"Is this one of the employee accommodation buildings?" I asked. I knew Riley kept rooms and suites for employees on sensitive projects, executives visiting from other places, and the odd consultant they wanted to keep under wraps. Damon had wanted me to live on campus when I’d worked for him, but I’d refused. But I wasn’t sure this building was simple living quarters; the security seemed over the top for that.
"No," he said. He didn't offer an explanation.
I followed him out of the elevator and through a series of security checks and scans to arrive at another matte black door that Damon pushed open with his good hand. He had to push hard. The door was several inches thick, the kind of thing it would take a small bulldozer to get through. He was right. With all these layers of security, unless the imps were somehow locking onto Damon or me, then I doubted one would get anywhere near us.
"Okay, where exactly are we?" I asked. The room was small with blank white walls. A standard-issue Riley workstation big enough for two people stood against one wall, and there were two game chairs side by side in the middle of the room. Opposite the door we'd entered was another black door.
"It's a clean suite for testing," Damon said. "The system in here is completely isolated. It has its own server and internal network. It's not connected to the internet or any of our other networks. We use it for testing early versions or, lately, for testing any variations to our virtual reality generation code. In case of—" He waved his injured arm, then winced.
In case another demon decided to see if it could piggyback virtual reality to get to humans. I kind of wanted to wince, too. But better to focus on the more prosaic reason that Damon had.
"Does this place come with a first aid kit? You're hurt."
"Through here," he said. He led me through a small basic kitchen, then farther down a short corridor toward a utilitarian bedroom containing a double bed neatly made up with a navy quilt and pillows. Next to the bedroom was a gleaming white bathroom with a shower, a basin over a cabinet, and a toilet. A white plastic and metal chair stood beside the cabinet, topped with a neat pile of fluffy white towels.
I put the towels on the floor and pointed at the chair. "Sit".
Damon didn't argue. He was cradling his left arm against his body and, I suspected, working hard not to let on just how much it hurt.
I opened the cabinets beneath the basin. Sure enough, a portable first aid kit was tucked on one of the shelves. I pulled it free and flipped it open.
Gauze, bandages, scissors, dressings, Band-Aids, antiseptic sprays and creams, tweezers, various painkillers, disposable gloves, safety pins. That should get me started. There was a bottle of saline solution and a plastic version of the kind of metal pan doctors used to hold supplies. There were other packets of other medications that I ignored for the moment. Get him cleaned up, and then we could call Cassandra and whoever else we needed.
"Let's take off your jacket."
Damon started to remove it but winced as the torn sleeve began to move down. I stepped closer and helped him ease it off. His breath hissed a little as I pulled it away.
"Maybe we should just skip to the part where we call Cassandra? Radha or someone should look at this," I said.
He shook his head. "It has to be cleaned up at some point. Just do it."
I took him at his word. Part of his sleeve was torn, too, and blood stained the navy. But there was less of it than I had feared, so maybe the wound wasn’t too bad. I cut his sleeve away rather than trying to save it, schooling myself not to wince. Blood had never been my favorite thing. I'd gotten first-aid certified after the Big One, and I did refreshers, but thankfully I'd never had to use my skills on anything more difficult than patching myself or Lizzie up after a cut or scrape at home.
Three thin cuts scored down the flesh of Damon’s inner arm, but they didn't look deep and were only oozing blood in patches, some parts already crusted over. Not the kind of thing that needed stitches. There'd been some butterfly strips in the kit; I could use those after I cleaned him up to make sure the cuts stayed closed until someone better qualified could look at them.
Damon glanced down at his arm and then turned his face to look straight ahead. I rinsed the wounds with saline, then gently cleaned them with the antiseptic. He stayed silent.
"You were right, it's not too bad," I offered. Which earned me only a grunt of agreement. I placed a couple of butterfly strips over the widest parts of the cuts, sprayed again with a different antiseptic that said it had a numbing action on the label, and taped a dressing over it. "How does that feel?"
"Better," he said.
"Wait here. I'll get you some water and you can take a couple painkillers."
"It's not that bad."
"You're probably still in shock. Wait until that wears off and you might just feel differently. Better to get on top of pain early."
When I got back with the water, Damon was still in the chair, his right hand rubbing his left shoulder.
"Is that sore?" I asked, heart going to my throat. I'd been so focused on his arm that I hadn't stopped to think he might have other injuries.
"A little," he admitted. I interpreted that particular bit of man speak as “Yes, it hurts.”
"Scoot forward. Let me look."
He rolled his eyes but did as I asked. The back of his shirt was clean, no bloodstains at least. But that didn't mean no bruises or scrapes beneath it. He'd hit the ground hard.
"You're going to need to take that shirt off so I can see properly."
"Is anything bleeding?"
"Not that I can see."
"Then it's probably fine."
"Don't be a baby. Let me check, and then we'll be done."
"You just want to see me with my shirt off," he muttered.
"I can think of easier ways to get you to take your shirt off," I retorted, then blushed as he lifted an eyebrow at me.
"Oh, and what might those be?"
"Just take it off."
He reached his injured arm across to his right to pull the sleeve down and winced again.
"On second thought, let me take that off for you," I said. I stepped between his legs and started easing his right arm out of the Henley. That would give me access to his back without me having to try to wrangle the whole thing over his bad arm.
Damon went very still. Our heads hovered close together even though I was taking care not to touch the man anywhere I didn't have to. But being so close filled my head with the scent of him again, and it became very hard not to remember just how good his mouth had felt on mine. Which was a testament to just how stupid I was when it came to him. I was supposed to be checking him over, not checking him out.
I freed his arm as fast as I could, but leaning over to pull the shirt around to one side meant his head pressed against the side of my abdomen, and I swallowed hard at the sensation.
Imp attack, remember?
Right.
I studied his back. The skin was reddened in places, and there were, as I had suspected, grazes in a few spots. But there were no cuts, and nothing looked swollen in a way that might suggest he'd torn a muscle or cracked a rib or something. In fact, if you ignored the scraped skin, his back looked just as I remembered. A long reach of olive skin smoothed over muscles that told me he'd still managed to stay in shape while steering Riley back to success.
But I wasn't here to ogle the man. And I definitely wasn't going to stay leaning over him to clean those grazes up. That would just be asking for trouble. I eased myself away from him, bending to rummage in the first aid kit for more gauze and antiseptic
"You have some grazes. If you stand up, I'll clean them, and then we'll be done."
Fabric rustled as he followed my instructions. Which meant when I straightened, I was faced with a wall of pecs and abs.
"Turn around," I said a little too fast.
He stared down at me for a second, blue eyes darkened with an emotion I didn't care to name, before he turned.
I dabbed at the scrapes gently, working as fast as I could so he could put his shirt back on. "You're going to have some bruises tomorrow." Maybe not too bad if Lizzie or Cassandra needed to work some healing on him.
"Probably," he admitted. "But that's why they invented Tylenol."
Well, he could take plenty of that. I swiped the last of the grazes and stepped back, dropping the gauze into the small waste basket beside the cabinet. "You can put your shirt back on."
"You sure about that?"
I wasn’t taking that bait. "Yes I'm sure. I can't see anything else that needs my attention." I busied myself with packing up the first aid kit so I wouldn't have to look at him, pretending I hadn't heard the note of invitation in his voice. Because, quite frankly, there was quite a bit of him that drew my attention. But no way in hell was I telling him that.
I gave him what I thought would be enough time to dress before I turned back. He was looking down at the sleeve I'd cut away.
"Sorry."
"Not a problem. I have plenty of shirts." He reached for his jacket.
"Actually, if you're going to put that back on, it might be better if I put a bandage over the dressing. Less chance of the jacket dragging on it."
"You're the boss," he said.
"Just remember that." I smiled at him as I unrolled one of the bandages and started wrapping his arm.
"Probably not the smartest thing you ever did," I said. "But thank you for doing it."
"You'd do the same for me. Well, in your own way. Please don't ever physically tackle one of those things on my behalf. Or on anyone's behalf."
I looked up. His face was serious, brows drawn down.
"I have no intention of doing that," I said.
"That's not the same thing as a promise not to."
"I try to make it a habit not to make promises I might not be able to keep," I said, trying for lighthearted but falling short as I realized it was true. I was back in this world now, and short of me pulling the kind of disappearing act my mother had, Cassandra wasn’t going to leave me alone to stew in self-pity again. I had power. I owed it to everyone my demon had put at risk to at least learn to use it. And to help others who might face the same kind of problems one day.
If I ever learned what the heck I was doing.
A chill ran through me, and I almost lost my grip on the bandage.
"Maggie," he said softly. "You know, I didn't mean to be careless with you."
I flinched. I could tell he meant what he said. And worse, the way the words stung, made it even clearer that, despite what I'd said to him back by the taco truck, my feelings for the man, complicated and stupid and probably futile as they were, hadn't really gone away. And maybe as complicated and stupid and probably futile as they were, I should at least tell him.
I took in a breath. "You know in the movies how someone always has something big to tell someone important, but then, at the last minute, something happens to interrupt?" I pressed the tape down and he grunted.
"Yes."
"And then later, the someone important says something like 'Wait, you had something to tell me,' and the person says, 'It doesn't matter,' and because they didn't tell, lots of shit happens and one of them nearly always dies tragically?" I wrapped the bandage one last time and reached for the surgical tape to hold it in place.
"Yes," he said again, gaze not shifting.
"Let's not do that." I took another breath.
"Is there something you want to tell me?"
"I miss you," I said simply. "And I'm happy you didn't die today." Even as I said the words, the fear I'd felt came rushing back. Whether I'd reached the point in the day where I just couldn't deal any more or whether it was delayed shock, I didn't know, but suddenly the panic overwhelmed me, my throat closing and my heart going into overdrive.
I bent over, trying to breathe.
"Maggie?" Damon said, sounding alarmed.
I held up a hand, unable to speak.
"Shit," he muttered. "Listen to me. Listen to my voice. You're okay. It's okay. Just breathe." He kept murmuring to me, one hand rubbing my back. "Just breathe. It's okay."
It seemed to work, a little. I took another slow breath, the fear receding. But as it did, grief or something like it rushed in, and I started to sob.