He shrugged. “The Malik aren't likely to believe you took out a skornac on your own, so they probably won't believe you found a cache the Order's been trying to find for over a hundred years either. Halston was Golden, he had a falling-out with the Order and hid his books. He's part of the reason why this is a free city. I'll have to figure out who to blame the dead skornac on and figure out…” He blew out a long, frustrated breath, looking far less scary and far more human. “I'll do my best, sweetheart. I promise."

Again with the sweetheart. “You can call me Chessie,” she offered, taking a forkful of egg. “Everyone does. No more of the sweetheart stuff, okay?"

"Sorry.” He didn't look sorry. He kept rummaging in his bag, taking little things out, reorganizing. It looked like a nervous tic, but she couldn't imagine him nervous. “Look, there's something else."

"Huh?” Her coffee had cooled, and she took down half of it in three gulps, waiting for the caffeine to hit her system. I am dealing with this really well, she thought for the fiftieth time, and felt like it might actually be true. She had a bloody bully of a demon hunter sitting at her kitchen table, and he didn't look like he minded the books stacked on the other chairs and on the unused end of the table. He hadn't gone looking through her bookshelves yet, but she was feeling charitable. He didn't look as if he minded the clutter or her collection of Charlie Chaplin memorabilia.

The scrambled eggs weren't bad either. Neither was his coffee.

And he knew about demons. She could talk to him. Just the thought was enough to make her feel relieved.

"You want to be careful.” He stared at his left hand, lying spread on the table. “Drakul… well, we have instincts. And they're not pretty."

She waited, but he said nothing else. “Instincts? What kind of instincts?” This doesn't sound good.

"Don't run,” he finally said. “If I grab you and tell you to stay still, stay still. I've got a reason for everything I tell you to do. Can you agree to do what I tell you, at least for the time being?"

She finished her eggs, almost feeling her blood sugar level rise back up from the basement. All things considered, for being flung against a Dumpster and possibly given a concussion, she felt pretty good. Except for the deep bruising pain in her shoulder and the way her eyes refused to focus fully for a long time. Not to mention the headache pounding behind her temples, and the aching in her leg.

Yeah. Pretty good. “Is it… like a cat? If you dangle string in front of them, they'll chase it?"

"Kind of.” He looked like he wanted to say more, shook his head. “I've been hunting demons for a couple decades. I'm the expert here, and I don't want you getting hurt like last night. Okay?"

I never thought a man telling me what to do would be even remotely acceptable. “Decades? All right. For now, you're the boss. When it comes to demons, that is.” She nodded, her freshly washed hair sliding forward over her shoulders. “I generally work much better when people explain why they want me to do something, though."

He looked relieved. “I'll pretend you're a new Malik. I've trained a bunch of them, shouldn't be that bad. But it's very important that if I tell you to be still, you freeze. Got it?"

Why? “Why? I mean, why's that so important?” And it's going to be really damn hard to stand in one place if there's a demon around, buddy. I'll either want to run or take it on. I don't do well with doing nothing.

"It just is.” His jaw set again and his eyes glittered. “Trust me."

What the hell. Why not. “All right. For now.” She yawned, patting her mouth delicately, like Sleeping Beauty. I should call the library. “I need to call in to work, make sure everything's okay, and I should do some laundry if I'm going to be home today."

"You should rest.” His eyes dropped to the table. “Tonight's probably going to be a little stressful."

You know, when you say that, I bet it means something totally different than when I say it. “All right. After I put a load of laundry in and call the library, I'll take a nap. I feel like I've been thrown up against a Dumpster.” She managed a weak smile. “Why don't you go get cleaned up and I'll dig out a new shirt for you, to start with?"

He looked up, and there was something in the darkness of his eyes that made her heart do a triple backflip. Well, I suppose if I had to have a total bully of a demon hunter sitting at my kitchen table, he's not so bad. Her smile quickly grew more natural, and he searched her face as if wanting to be sure she meant it.

Then he offered his right hand over the table. “Sounds good. Partners?"

She took his hand. It was much bigger than hers, callused, and very warm. “Partners. Just don't boss me around.” A couple of halfhearted shakes, and she pulled her fingers away, pushed her chair back, and made it to her feet. Her knee twinged, and her bed started to sound really good.

"I'll do my best,” he muttered, messing around with his bag again. Chess decided that was good enough, and carried her dirty dishes into the kitchen. How much worse can this get? But if I'm going up against another demon, having someone like him on my side is far from the worst help I could have.

The trouble with being intelligent was that logic always had another link in the chain ready. Always assuming, of course, that he's really on my side.

"Hey.” A hand on her shoulder, a gentle shake. “Hey, wake up a little, sweetheart."

We're really going to have to negotiate something else for you to call me. Chess blinked, trying to wake up. Wait a second, who are you and what are you doing in my bedroom? Oh, yeah. Right. “Murph. Go ‘way.” She sounded slurred and exhausted.

Go figure. I was just getting comfortable playing possum.

"Someone's at your door. Sounds like a man."

"What?” Now she could hear the knocking. Three knocks, then two, a familiar pattern.

Oh, no. Could this get any worse? “It's Robert,” she managed, waking up a little more and propping herself up on her elbows. The light through her window had turned gray again, more rain. And the angle the light was falling through the door told her it was afternoon, the blue of her comforter and the rug making her room look filled with sky. She'd been asleep for a while, just passed out. Buster Keaton gazed sadly at her from the print on her wall. “Crap."

"Who's Robert?” Ryan stood by the side of her bed, sliding his hands into his pockets. The only shirt big enough to fit him was a black, long-sleeved NIN T-shirt she'd used for sleeping in after breaking up with Martin the Mexican Bandit, as Charlie had called him. He filled it out better than Marty had, his broad chest framing the logo nicely. Wow. He looks really good in that.

More knocks on the door. Great. Wonderful. Perfect. “Soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend,” she managed, sliding her feet out from under the covers and rubbing at her eyes. “Just a minute!" she called, loud enough that Ryan jumped a little. “Sorry,” she mock-whispered. “He's a real jerk, I've been trying to get rid of him."

"Want help?” And, wonder of wonders, the demon hunter gave a lopsided, very amused smile. He'd combed his short hair and taken a shower, the slice on his forehead was gone as if it had never existed.

She wondered if he'd used the salve or if being part-demon made him heal faster. Curiosity, my besetting sin. I should be scared of him, he's a big bully. But I haven't slept this well in weeks. “Where would we hide the body?” She yawned, stretched, and reached for her robe. She'd chosen a long-sleeved T-shirt and a pair of boxers to sleep in. Her hair was probably sticking up every-which-way, but she was long past any need to impress Robert. Did you get tired of that Cuban piece of trash, Rob? “He's been cheating on me with a waitress named Carmen. Plus, he only tips ten percent.” She struggled into her pink fluffy robe, tying the waistband with a savage jerk. “Anyway, I'll get rid of him. Just hold on."