Demon Veil

DEMON VEIL

GRACE HUDSON

ISBN: 978-1-64316-974-3

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and events are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual person, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Copyright© 2018 Grace Hudson.

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without express permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover artwork by German Creative

To my partner.

An extra special thank you to Sheryl Lee, for her editing advice and general awesomeness.

A special thank you to Claudia Dahinden and Julie Whitley Pamerleau for their assistance with the Latin.

Thank you to my readers for all your support. You are awesome.

Subscribe to Grace Hudson's mailing list to get all the free stuff and new releases to your inbox:

Sign me up!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

– 1 –

– 2 –

– 3 –

– 4 –

– 5 –

– 6 –

– 7 –

– 8 –

– 9 –

– 10 –

– 11 –

– 12 –

– 13 –

– 14 –

– 15 –

– 16 –

– 17 –

– 18 –

– 19 –

– 20 –

– 21 –

– 22 –

– 23 –

– 24 –

– 25 –

– 26 –

– 27 –

– 28 –

– 29 –

– 30 –

A Note to Readers

Absit omen

– 1 –

Maia scratched at the heel of her boot, dislodging a chunk of dirt and kicking it under the table before the first guests filed through the door.

To elevate their status to ‘guests’ may have been a bit generous, she supposed, considering the main objective of most of the patrons at The Loaded Star was to drink large quantities of alcohol and, with any luck, get… lucky.

Scrunching up her nose, she cleaned out the dirt from underneath her fingernails with a broken matchstick as the crowd gathered outside the main doors. The backs of her hands bore faded scratches from an afternoon of stringing up fairy lights around the awning in the heat of the afternoon sun, but it was worth it to see the place lit up like a beacon, beckoning to the passing traffic from the main highway.

The bouncer, Marlon, poked his head through the double doors, nodding to Maia. Three minutes to go. Just checking some IDs and I’ll start sending them on in. He gave her a grin and ducked back outside.

Maia grabbed a large bottle of water from under the table and took a swig. It was easy to get dehydrated in this heat, and the southwestern weather was unpredictable at this time of year. The weather had been unseasonably hot for fall and today’s temperature had been the hottest on record.

The bass from the house stereo thudded through the walls, sending tingles through the back of her neck. Maia grinned, nodding her head to the contagious beat and tapping her foot. She checked the edges of her black nail polish for signs of damage. None so far.

Darlin’, said the first guy as he came through the door, tipping his hat until it tilted low over his eyes.

Hey there. It’s six dollars cover tonight, should be a good one, said Maia, clicking her counter to 001, then giving it another click when she saw the diminutive woman emerge from behind him and latch on to his arm. The man grumbled until the woman at his side whispered something in his ear.

Ten for two, right? He flashed a smile, tipping his hat again.

Irritation rushed to the surface as she willed her face to remain neutral. It figured. He looked like the type of guy to haggle the cover charge to save a few bucks. Perhaps that smile worked more often than not.

She jiggled the register, willing it to open.

Six each, like the flyer says, she said, angling her thumb at the Samhain themed display behind her.

The guy chuckled, shaking his head and slapping a few notes and coins on the table. Maia unhooked the velvet rope to usher them through.

Cool contacts, said the woman, peering over her boyfriend’s shoulder and giving Maia a wink.

Maia stared back.

I don’t wear contacts, she muttered as they disappeared into the darkness of the main room.

Cool contacts? Why anyone would bother with brown contact lenses was a mystery. Surely a bright blue or vibrant green would be more dramatic. Still, people were strange when it came to these things. His girlfriend didn’t seem to mind that he was hitting on another woman, for a start.

The shadow of Marlon’s hulking form continued to parade in front of the frosted glass window, his extra large black t-shirt blocking out the light from the flickering globe in the doorway. Maia wondered how he even managed to fit into that t-shirt without the seams busting apart. Clicking the register shut, she rested her chin against her hand, waiting for Marlon to send the next group through the doors.

A shout echoed, followed by a crash. Scuffles broke out in the crowd, shadows dancing across the glass. Marlon’s deep voice reverberated through the door as he ushered the troublemakers away, presumably back to one of the two sizable car parks flanking the building.

She felt a big hand mussing her hair. Guess who?

Quit that, Uncle Rob. I spent ages flattening out the kinks. Maia untangled her uncle’s rough hand from her locks, smacking it away.

The black looks good, but your hair doesn’t need all that shiny goop, kiddo. Uncle Rob smiled down at her, his eyes scrunching up at the corners. How’s it looking tonight?

Maia shook her head, attempting to smooth down her hair. Hmm. Well, let’s see… we’ve got two paying customers and even they wanted a discount, she said, holding up the clicker. So not great so far. How’s your night going?

I’ll know the answer when I finish doing the books. You going to help later or do you need to get back to the dogs?

Maia grinned at the mention of her bulldogs, Muffy and Jake. They had wheedled a few too many treats out of her before she left, but they would most likely grumble at her for more food when she returned.

They’ll be fine for another couple of hours. I’ll help if there’s food on offer.

Okay. You can take a break after the early crowd comes in. Marlon will keep the lines moving so you can load in the bands and set up the stage.

Can we get pizza?

Yeah, yeah, pizza… again. I’ll track down that menu. Guess I’m working out for the rest of the week.

I could cook, said Maia, grinning to herself.

Yeah, things aren’t that bad, kiddo. I’ll take my chances with Mamma Scilla’s.

Rob made his way back towards the back office, grinning at her over his shoulder. He was wearing his usual uniform tonight, a pair of worn blue denim jeans, cowboy boots and a red and black checked flannel over a black t-shirt. His hair was getting a bit long at the front, silver threads curling around his ears. He was handsome, for an older guy.

Maia couldn’t figure out why he never made too much of an effort to keep the same woman around for more than a few nights at a time. Perhaps they were similar in that way. Maia was yet to meet a guy who could hold her attention for more than a week. Maybe it was a family thing.

Making her way to the main room, she positioned a pair of speaker boxes next to the stage. Gathering up the spare cable rolls, she set them on hooks and pushed the drum riser back into position. She measured off lengths from a roll of gaffer, taping down a couple of stray microphone leads before heading back to her post, nodding to Gus on the way through.

It was a strange family she had at The Loaded Star. Gus, Marlon and the other guys had become more than just her coworkers over the years. Technically, Robert Gellman was the only family she had ever known. Her parents died before she managed to take her first steps, leaving Uncle Rob with the task of raising her on his own.

There was an accident, Uncle Rob explained to her, when she grew old enough to understand. He would never elaborate on this. It was an auto accident and that was that. Maia had grown up with no memories of who they were and what they were like in life. It had made things awkward for her at school and she found herself less interested in her studies and more suited to spending more time helping out at the bar with Uncle Rob. She had tried on many occasions to find out more about her parents, but Rob barely spoke of them, even when he was loose after a few whiskeys at the end of a long night.

Maia sighed, settling at the front table and doodling a leaf design on Friday’s flyer. It might have been nice to go to art college after school, but it wasn’t a likely option. A few requests confirmed the tuition to be out of her range, at least for another year. Rob’s bar was the only source of income for the two of them and, for the most part, she enjoyed helping her uncle. It was the least she could do for everything he’d done for her growing up. The bar offered the opportunity to hang out with her uncle, meet a bunch of interesting people, and see some great bands. Occasionally the bands weren’t so great, but it was a place where people cared about something bigger than themselves, and Maia wanted to be a part of it, whatever it was.

Peeking around the corner, she grinned at Gus. Gus was on bar duties for the early evening, changing over to bouncer duty in the late hours when Marlon needed to switch out. He gave her a wave with his dish towel, performing an exaggerated bow amongst the gleaming bottles of the new marble bar.

Admittedly, the renovations had improved the place, considering their budget. The bar wasn’t doing so well at the beginning, being little more than a glorified roadhouse just off the main highway. The upside was that it was the only bar for miles around, surrounded by acres of barley fields, a couple of farmhouses, a bunch of cows and a few truck stops.

Initially, it was a dump, but Maia put forward some design ideas about updating the tiny stage and the gaudy old 70s bar. It was a relief when they finally got rid of all that orange and red ringed wallpaper and uncomfortable white vinyl chairs. Frankly, the whole arrangement had given her a headache with its multitude of green lights and overdone wood panels.

After some resistance, she convinced Rob the only way to get the bigger name bands to play was to extend the stage to fit a five or six piece band, rather than suffering through half-empty shows watching various singers get poked in the back night after night by the crash cymbal. Now the stage was huge, and the back wall of the bar was exposed concrete, with a few posters to break up the gray. And best of all, no more orange.

Gus poked his head into Rob’s office, grabbing a stack of aprons and dishtowels as Rob returned to his paperwork. In the years they had been in business, Rob had learned to do the books himself and limit the use of an accountant to a couple of times a year. Things had started to turn around a few years back when the new refurbishments began to pay for themselves. The Loaded Star was off the main drag, but it was slowly getting a name around the touring circuit. Once word got out to the neighboring towns, bands would be lining up to play midweek as well as just the weekends.

She flipped out her compact and checked her lipstick, giving it another dab of Berry Rose, or whatever the hell it was called, and angled up the mirror to check her mascara was surviving through the heat.

It was one of those slow, sultry nights, where sitting outside in the light breeze would have been a dream. In less than an hour, it would be time to switch back to bartending and go check out the bands. The air conditioning unit chugged, making a whirring noise and leaking a trail of swampy-smelling liquid in rivulets down the wall. Next item on the refurbishment list would be a new air conditioner for front of house. Maybe next month.

Clicking the counter, she stuffed another lot of notes in the register, unhooking the velvet rope from its hollow stand.

Outside, the crowd gathered and grew, blocking out her blurred view of the sun setting over the slope, the half-full car park, and the fields blanketed in a dark mist, stretching out towards the highway.

A ringing buzzed in her left ear, moving to her right and blocking out all other sounds. Was twenty-six too young to start getting tinnitus? Apparently not.

Another half hour passed, forcing her to leave the rope swinging to concentrate on the influx of people. Notes, numbers, click, click, bang the till, repeat. Another shout, and sounds of a commotion outside. Preoccupied with the rhythm of the register and her clicker, she nearly missed the group of guys who appeared at the entrance, blocking out the light from the doorway.

The leader stood, dressed in black jeans and a dark t-shirt with an intricate logo emblazoned on the front. A shock of dyed black hair fell across one eye as he scanned the entrance. Dark eyes followed her movements as she handled the register. The others stood to the side, slouching to diminish their height.

Sometimes the bands had a cohesion about them, occasionally moving as one without being aware they were doing it. But there was something different about these guys.

They were almost too unified, moving as one entity as they gathered before her. These new guys seemed more like a cult or something. Maybe it was a goth thing.

Maia broke off her internal ramblings when she noticed the guy at the front still staring at her.

Raising an eyebrow at the guy, she counted the money on the table, ushering another group through the ropes. She banged the register in frustration when it refused to open for the third time, ignoring the throbbing itch in her shoulder blade.

Need some help with that? asked the guy.

Somehow he had managed to sneak up to the table without her noticing. He leaned in, grinning, and she resisted the urge to flinch at his proximity. Something about the way he moved made her uneasy.

An image rose in her mind, his lips dragging over her neck, fingernails scratching their way down her arm. She blinked twice, clearing her thoughts and regaining her focus.

What the hell...

I said, do you need any help? he repeated, nodding at the register. You know, with the tray?

Oh! The register. No, thanks, I’ve got it, she said, banging the register again. It refused to open.

Reaching out, he tapped the register, the shadow of his arm blurring over the