Half-Demon Huntress (Harlow's Demons Book 2)

  Half-Demon Huntress

  Harlow’s Demons book two

  Jen Pretty

  “I can’t drown my demons.”

  “They know how to swim.”

  CHAPTER ONE

  My arm whipped out, just barely missing the little shit.

  “Thirty-love,” my tennis instructor said with a smirk. She was mid-thirties, wearing a tiny white skirt and matching tank top. She was a professional tennis player several years ago, but now she just creamed me once a week and called it a tennis lesson.

  Since my roommate, and saviour, Lincoln had informed me of my ability to run significantly faster than the average person, I was teaching myself to be normal so that I could get control over these crazy superpowers of mine. Demon-touched gifts. That’s what Lincoln called them.

  I was sure they were more of a curse than a gift. I could return a gift to the store and buy something fun like a pinball machine. Instead, my “gifts” allowed me the strength and speed to chase down the little stone hell-spawns that flew around at night, returning them to their proper places on the bank and library of my small town.

  “Oof!” The ball pelted me because I wasn’t paying attention, and if I didn't know better I would think my instructor came straight from hell.

  “Forty-love.” The scorekeeping for tennis was weird. Why am I love? I’m zero. The whole lesson I sit at zero; she might as well not keep score and just whip balls at me.

  Now if I could use my super speed, I would get that little ball every time, but no… This was Lincoln’s idea. He’s a jerk.

  I sprinted for the next serve, throwing myself at the ball, but I still missed it. I hit the ground and slid along the artificial grass on my face. My cheek felt like I had thrown hot grease at it.

  “That’s game,” my instructor chirped.

  Tennis sucked.

  I hobbled back to the country club with my hand covering my cheek and dragging my tennis racket beside me. My speed control was getting better, but I think my tennis skills were getting worse. Glancing down at myself I found stains on my cute tennis skirt and my shirt that read “Sometimes I wrestle with my demons, and sometimes we snuggle.” I found the shirt online and had it shipped. There was no way I would snuggle demons, but I thought it was funny.

  Inside the country club sat most of the town’s upper-class people. They only let me in because of Len, my old boss at the pizzeria. He was a high-brow member of the club because he liked to play golf and he was my adoptive father, of sorts.

  “Oh God, did they run a greasy pig competition?” my nemesis, Rhonda, said from her table. She was sipping fruity drinks with other stuck up snobs in skanky low-cut tops, and fancy sun hats they thought made them high class, but just emphasized their need to get a life.

  “Thank you for your concern, Rhonda.” I narrowed my eyes at her and continued to the kitchen to get ice.

  “Hey Harlow, how's it going?” said nemesis number two. I had a new hatred for Derrek since I returned from New York because it turned out his daddy was the former hunter and didn't want to hand down the job to his bouncing baby boy. It was maybe not his fault since he had no clue about gargoyles, but I still blamed him. Someone should take the blame.

  I waved and passed him without looking.

  In the kitchen, I rummaged in the freezer and pulled out some ice cubes. They were freaking cold but felt nice on my face.

  “You need help?” Derrek asked from behind me. He had followed me into the kitchen—stalker much?

  “Nope, I’m just dandy.” I turned and tried to go past him, but he put his hand on my arm and stopped me.

  “Go out with me? Please, Harlow? I’ll make it up to you.”

  He was talking about prom still. It was three years ago, and he ditched me for Rhonda, so, you know, I was still holding a grudge.

  “No, I have stuff to do.”

  “Every day?” he asked with a chuckle like it was funny.

  “Yes, every damn day.” I walked on, leaving him behind. The country club was on the edge of town, so it was about a three-mile walk home, but I didn’t mind. I could run it in about five minutes, but it was a beautiful day, so I strolled down the side of the single lane highway and just enjoyed the silence. Birds were chirping, and butterflies were flitting about.

  A horn cut through the silence, and I jumped, spinning around just as Rhonda and her asshole friends blew past in the pink convertible Rhonda purchased recently. It was a nice car. I flipped them off, but they were already gone. I threw what remained of my ice in the ditch and kept walking. My face felt better already.

  A few other vehicles went by, but our town was sleepy, even on a beautiful day. I made my way to Len’s Pizza in town and pushed open the door. The old bell over the door rang, and the smell of fresh crust and melted cheese smacked me in the face. My stomach began its protests. Pizza was my primary source of nourishment, but now that I no longer worked at Len’s, I had to make a special trip to get some.

  “Hey honey, what happened to your face?” Len asked, eying me like I was up to no good.

  “My boyfriend beat me,” I replied. The young kid in the back looked up startled, but I laughed, and he went back to slowly cutting vegetables for pizza.

  Len raised his eyebrows. He was not one to let these things go.

  “I fell playing tennis and burned it on the artificial turf.”

  Len turned and limped to the sink where he kept the Pam cooking spray.

  “Oh, come on, Len. Not on my face.”

  “Close your eyes and hold your breath,” he said, as he walked towards me, aiming to spray my face with Pam. He had this idea it would prevent blistering from a burn, but I’m pretty sure that doesn’t even work on real burns. I was about to protest again, but he had the can pointed right at my face, and I enjoyed having vision, so I closed my eyes and held my breath. A quick spray and I was ready for the frying pan.

  “Thanks, Len,” I said even though I just wanted to pitch his damn cooking spray into the garbage. Manners matter.

  “Now you gonna have to make your own pizza today. I’m teaching the boy to cut.” Len limped back to where the kid was cutting peppers. He seemed to still have all his fingers. That was a good sign. The new kid lived upstairs in one of Len’s low-rent apartments he rented to troubled families. Len was a good man and probably the only real reason I’m still alive.

  “All right.” I secretly loved making my own pizza. Staring into the old brick oven as it melted the cheese and turned the crust a golden brown was like watching a sunset. Losing my job at Len’s Pizzeria still stung a bit.

  I went into pizza making mode, flattening out Len’s special dough and topping it with his perfect fresh toppings; then I slid it into the oven, set the timer, and sat on my old favourite stool to watch it.

  Len’s voice instructing the new kid on the proper technique to chopping vegetables was as comforting as a warm hug. He used the same words he used when he tried to teach me to cut, but I was never very good at it. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board as he demonstrated was soothing, and I nearly nodded off on my stool, but the timer buzzed, and I snapped back to attention.

  “You are not sleeping enough,” Len said as I passed him with the hot pizza. I slid it into a box and sliced it into eight.

  “I’m trying, but my brain won't shut off at night,” I said, pulling a piece of pizza out and laying it on top of the box to eat on the walk home. Grease coated my fingers, and I stuffed a couple of napkins in my pockets, too. I wasn’t lying about my struggle with sleep. I had the worst case of insomnia since I came back from New York. It didn't help that when I got to sleep, I would wake up in a cold swea
t after a repeat performance of coming face-to-face with the demon. They were ugly and terrifying. Nobody would sleep well after that.

  “Hmm, well as long as you aren’t out partying all night long,” Len said with a suspicious look on his face.

  I laughed. Party, table for one. “I promise I am not out partying all night.” I hugged Len and headed for home.

  As soon as I was out on the sidewalk, I pulled out a napkin and wiped the Pam cooking spray off my face. My poor face was all greasy, but it was the buttery Pam, so it tasted okay. I munched my pizza and strolled through town, counting my gargoyles because old habits die hard. Everyone was there, except the bastard on the back corner of the Library. The demon inside that gargoyle possessed me three years ago and then disappeared when the demon shit happened in New York. No one had seen it even though Lincoln had put the word out through the sculptors that we were still missing one. That gargoyle could be anywhere by now, but I needed a clue before I could go track him down.

  I propped the pizza box on my hip and used my greasy fingers to turn the knob to the mechanic shop-turned-apartment I shared with Lincoln. The sound of his power tools buzzed from the garage as I set the pizza box on the table in the kitchen and then went through the door to summon Linc to the feast.

  “Linc!” I waved my arms, staying back so I wouldn't get pelted with bits of stone as he carved the gargoyle. “Linc!” I squatted down trying to get in his peripheral vision. One time I threw a tool at him and he nearly lost a finger to the grinder. I learned my lesson — don't scare a man with power tools.

  I moved closer and yelled as loud as I could “Lincoln!”

  The grinder clicked off and he set it down. “Hey, Har. How was tennis?” He chuckled looking at the road rash on my face.

  “Not fun. I made pizza.” I strode out to get another slice while Linc dusted himself off. Our kitchen always took the worst of the stone dust, but at least the apartment was small and easy to clean.

  Linc sat down with me, his goggles and noise-reducing headphones left behind, but his face was half stone dust and half clean, making him look funny.

  We ate pizza in silence, except for my yum noises.

  “Did you stick to normal speed today?” Linc asked as we both leaned back, finally full.

  “Yup. That’s why I messed up my face.”

  “I have seen you mess yourself up at demon speed, too,” he said with a grin.

  “Thanks for the reminder.”

  Linc’s face went serious for a moment then he spoke again. “A package came for you.”

  I slumped in my chair and sighed. “Another one?”

  He nodded. “It’s in your room.”

  “Shit.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  In my room, sitting on my bed, was a box. It wasn’t a large box; maybe it was a toaster or something I'd ordered online and forgot about.

  I approached it cautiously until I was close enough to see the return address. New York. I picked it up. It was light, probably not a toaster. I opened my closet door and chucked it in, then slammed the door shut again, dusted my hands and grabbed clean clothes from my pile. After a deep cleansing breath, I sauntered back out and towards the bathroom.

  “Did you open it?” my nosy roommate asked.

  “No.” I shut the bathroom door behind me, ending that discussion. I had about a dozen boxes of different sizes and weights in my closet now. They were from the new leader of the half-demons, Julian. I hadn’t spoken to him in the three months I had been back. He kept sending me stuff. I had no idea what was in the boxes, and no interest in finding out.

  I turned on the taps to the bathtub and let it fill with lots of smelly soaps, then took out my new phone and played some candy blasting game that was highly addictive. Five-stars, definitely recommend. The music was a nice little tune that got stuck in my head as I blew up little gumdrops and peppermints. I bought the phone with the money that Lincoln had been hoarding away from me. It came from some demon fund that a super-secret government agency controlled. It was more money than I had ever seen in my life, but I didn't have much to spend money on, so I bought a few things, and the bank account was still growing every month.

  I set down my phone, stripped out of my dirty clothes and stepped into the hot water. My hip hurt from my fancy dive for the tennis ball, but otherwise I survived another lesson with the tennis bitch.

  I sighed and thought about what could be in the boxes in my closet. My curiosity grew every day, but I was still afraid of Julian and all the half-demons.

  My phone made a little whistle sound indicating I had a text. I considered leaving it until I finished my bath, but I had to know who texted me. It was amazing how fast I had become addicted to the tiny device. I stood up and stepped out of the tub, dripping water all over the tile floor.

  It was from Nick, my demon-touched gargoyle-hunting buddy. Maybe buddy was the wrong word. If we weren't half a country apart, I think we would both be cool with a real relationship, but that wasn’t meant to be.

  His text read, “How are things in Humber Falls?”

  I smiled. He had been down in Florida this week chasing gargoyles after a hurricane blew a couple across the state.

  “Just peachy, you back from the south?” I replied.

  I was getting cold standing in the middle of the bathroom in a puddle, so I slid back into the tub, careful to keep the phone away from the water.

  “Yup, but I heard from our friend, Julian. He has news.”

  “What news?” I typed. The news he was likely to offer involved danger and demons. I hovered my thumb over the send button, biting my lip.

  “Fuck,” I whispered out loud to myself and hit the send button, knowing full well I was stepping into a pile of steamy half-demon poo. That was a gross visual.

  My phone whistled and I took a deep breath before looking at it.

  Nick sent, “He will only talk in person, and only if you are there.”

  I banged my head off the side of the tub a few times and wondered if I could hit it hard enough to knock myself out and drown peacefully here in my warm tub instead of at the hands of some killer demon. So much for my relaxing bath. I told Nick I would think about it and he reminded me this was kind of what we did. If he was going to be the voice of reason all the time, I might have to rethink our friendship.

  I popped the plug on the tub, dried off and changed into some fleece pyjamas. It wasn’t cold, but fuzzy clothes were nice, and half-demons with secrets were not.

  I strolled out to find Lincoln sitting at the kitchen table with a bottle of rum. He rarely drank.

  “What's going on?” I asked in a suspicious voice.

  “Sit down, Har.” He was very serious, almost sad. I sat down and grabbed the bottle, taking a few quick swigs before he spoke again. “The Demon Division have asked you and Nick to team up to take down Collin.”

  Collin nearly killed me last time I saw him. Only Julian stabbing him stopped him, but he wasn't dead. He had run off and was probably doing dumb demon stuff now.

  “Why do they need Nick and me? We are gargoyle hunters.” My hands shook and I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “Because Collin is fast, Har. He can fly for fuck’s sake.” Linc stole the bottle back and took a swig. He gritted his teeth against the burn of alcohol before he continued: “Julian asked for you, and the Division agrees that since you and Nick took down a demon, you two can take down Collin.”

  I stole back the bottle and staggered to my room without another word. Under my blankets, I drank until I passed out. It didn’t take long.

  I startled awake in the middle of the night. My clock said one a.m. My heart was racing in my chest as I had fallen into the dream where I was being strangled by the giant demon again. He had me pinned to the ceiling and his sharp nails were cutting into my neck. I put my hand to my throat and everything was fine there. A set of tiny scars from that demon’s nails were all that remained but no new injuries. I collapsed back into my pillows and convi
nced my heart to slow down through the deep breathing exercises that Lincoln suggested. He was full of brilliant ideas.

  Once my heart calmed down, I got up and stumbled into the kitchen in the dark to get a glass of water. I chugged it back, then caught my breath while I filled the glass again. Glancing up, I caught sight of a figure standing in the darkness. I screamed and threw my glass of water at it.

  “Shit,” the intruder said. Direct hit, the glass hit the floor and shattered.

  I backed up and slammed open the cutlery drawer, scrambling around until I found a knife. I held it up ready to fight to the death. “Bring it, bitch,” I said.

  The robber-slash-murderer laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” I hissed.

  The lights in the kitchen flicked on, burning out my eyes. I dropped the knife and covered my face with my hands trying to stop the pain.

  “Harlow, what the hell are you doing?” Lincoln asked.

  “Shit, Linc. There’s a robber.” I took my hands away and peeked through tearing eyes at a form I recognized.

  “Nick, what are you doing here?” I asked as he crossed the room towards me. He crouched and picked up the knife I had intended to stab him with. It was a butter knife. Well. Not too stabby, really. Then his arms were around me, wrapping me up in hot man. “I came to get you,” he whispered.

  “On that note, I’m going back to bed,” Linc said. He flicked the light out as he left.

  Nick’s hot breath traced along my jaw until his lips met mine. He felt so good. He pushed me back against the counter; his body pressed to mine. His hand tangled in my hair and I folded into him for a moment like he was a cozy bed after a long night out chasing demons. Unfortunately, that thought reminded me of why he was here. The demon division had decided we should go chase down Collin, aka “Batman”.

  Nick pulled away but pressed his forehead to mine. We were both a little out of breath. “It's good to see you,” he said in a low voice.

  “You, too. Why didn't you say you were coming?”