Touched by Fire (Demons of New Chicago #1) - Kel Carpenter Page 0,18

she wasn’t wrong. Any that weren’t dead would be labeled as either a traitor or a coward. What I couldn’t figure out, was why she would bring my attention to that.

“What do you want?”

Another dry chuckle slid between her lips. “You’re straightforward. I like that,” she said. “I want to work with you.”

“Why?”

“A witch without a coven to protect her is a dead one. Same for wolves without a pack. Vampires without a clan. We all need someone in this new world order.” She didn’t look away. Where many of her kind would rather lop off a limb than admit their own shortcomings, she leaned into it. “Except for you. If you’re strong enough to live and get away from both a demon and a coven—you’re strong enough that I want to be on your side.”

I blinked. “I work alone.”

“And how much good did that do you?” she asked, descending into a fit of coughing.

“By your own admission, you’re not a gifted witch. You wouldn’t last on your own, whereas I managed to capture you, evade a demon, and take out some of the Antares Coven. You’ll only hold me back,” I replied.

She sniffed once. “Maybe. Maybe not. I can help you find Kenneth du Lac, though. Whatever you want from him, you risked everything to get it. I have to think that’s worth something.”

It was worth everything, but I didn’t tell her that. In this world, knowledge was power, and I’d already said too much.

“I work alone,” I repeated. Leaning forward, I reached for the rag to stuff it back in her mouth. For the first time since we’d started talking, she struggled against her bonds.

“Wait! I can help—”

A knock at my door made me pause.

I sat back, looking between my hostage and the door.

“If you so much as try to curse me—”

“That’s not a convincing strategy when I’m wanting you to work with me,” she said. I pressed my lips together, slowly getting to my feet.

There was no way in hell that was happening, but instead of telling her that, I put a finger to my lips in the universal sign of silence. She nodded.

Quietly, I made my way toward the door, walking softly and using my knowledge of the apartment not to step on a creaky board.

Not once in the last ten years had I given my address out, and people didn’t just come knock on a door in this age. Not unless they wanted to end up full of lead.

Which meant it was one of three parties standing outside.

The sick feeling churning in my gut had a feeling which, and I wasn’t sure if it were better or worse than the others.

I peered through the peephole.

Anders stood on the other side.

Wedging myself between the door and the rest of my apartment, I pulled the gun from my left holster and cracked the door, angling the barrel of my firearm through the three-inch gap.

“Why are you here?” I asked him, not wasting time.

He stared at me, and I saw the answer in his eyes.

“You fucked up, Pip. You fucked up big.”

8

“How’d you know where to find me?”

He gave me a scathing look, like I knew better than to ask that. “Can I come in?”

I raised the gun until it was chest level, then repeated myself. “How did you know where to find me?”

“Come on, Pip. You’re not going to shoot—”

A flick of my wrist was all it took. The barrel of the gun swung downward. I pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the empty corridor, but not a single one of my neighbors opened their doors to see what was up.

I would say they were smart, but the truth was less complimentary. They were self-serving. Surviving. You didn’t get far in this world by sticking your nose where it didn’t belong, and the people in this building knew when to butt out.

Anders staggered, taking a single step back. He reached behind him and gripped the railing. His face was pale, and lips pinched together.

Red formed a puddle around his left foot.

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked, and it was the last time I was going to. “Answer the question, or the next one goes in your brain, Anders.”

“I had you followed,” he said. Panted breaths punctuated his words with pain.

“When?”

“Last year,” he answered. His knuckles had gone white and his knees trembled.

“Why?”

His eyes rose from the gun he was still staring at to look me in the face. “You had made a