Poison Fruit

Both of us thought about that in silence for a moment. “We might have to consider using someone she’s already targeted as bait,” Cody said reluctantly. “Get them to remove the protective charms.”

“Not the Reynolds kid,” I said. “He’s only seven. Remember, the Night Hag is only corporeal to her victims. It’s not like we can use one to summon her and then take charge. Even if his parents would go for it, which they wouldn’t, you can’t ask a seven-year-old to try to bind a fucking nightmare.”

“No.” Cody drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “But that only leaves Scott Evans.”

“Scott Evans throttled his wife and nearly blew his brains out the last time the Night Hag attacked him,” I pointed out. “Do we really want to take a chance on a repeat performance?”

Cody blew out his breath in a sigh. “We’re screwed, aren’t we?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “I mean, there are things you can do to induce nightmares, right? Watch scary movies before bedtime?”

He spared me another glance. “You want to take her down yourself, don’t you?”

“Look, I’m not thrilled by the prospect, but I sure as hell don’t want any innocent victims to suffer further damage,” I said. “This damn Night Hag is here without permission and she’s preying on fragile mortals in Hel’s territory. That makes her my responsibility.”

One corner of Cody’s mouth quirked in a smile. “I kind of like it when you get all territorial, Pixy Stix.”

“And I kind of like it when you tease me,” I murmured. “Which is why I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Daise—”

I looked at him. “Don’t.”

“Okay.” He was silent for a moment. “So what’s your plan? Go home and watch a scary movie, eat a big sandwich before bed?”

“Basically, yeah,” I admitted. “Only . . . crap, I forgot about Mrs. Browne.”

“From the bakery?”

“She’s a brownie,” I reminded him. “Talk about territorial . . . I don’t think a Night Hag would dare attack someone in a building that’s been claimed and protected by a brownie. And Mrs. Browne comes in every night to bake.”

“Can’t you just ask her to take the night off?” Cody asked.

I shook my head. “You can’t ask a brownie for anything. They bail if you do. And if Mrs. Browne’s bakery shut down—”

“—Amanda Brooks would have a cow,” he finished. “Hell, she wouldn’t be the only one. You’d probably be run out of town if you were responsible for shutting down Mrs. Browne’s Olde World Bakery, Daise.”

“No kidding,” I said. “I’d hate to lose her, too. Most of the time I’m grateful to know she’s there in the wee hours.”

“So do it at my place,” Cody said without looking at me.

“Werewolves aren’t territorial?” I said with a lightness I didn’t feel. “I’m not buying it.”

“Only when it comes to other clans.” He gave me a quick glance. “Look, Daisy, I’d actually feel a lot better about it if you did. I’d do it myself if I could, but if something attacked me in my sleep . . .” He let the sentence trail off.

“You’d shift?” I asked.

Cody nodded.

“Yeah, it would be pretty hard to pluck a strand of someone’s hair with paws,” I agreed. “And I doubt a Night Hag would attack a werewolf in the first place. I’m guessing they just prey on humans.”

“What makes you so sure she’d attack you?” he asked.

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m just hoping I’m human enough to fool her, what with not having claimed my birthright and all.”

Cody pulled into the alley alongside my apartment building and parked. “So are we going to do this or not?”

It felt awfully sudden, and the thought of spending the night at Cody’s gave me butterflies in the pit of my stomach, and not in a good way. “I don’t know,” I said. “Do you have any scary movies on hand?”

“My cousin Joe’s got the whole Saw franchise on DVD,” he said. “I’m sure we can borrow it.”

Oh, gah. “That would fit the bill.”

“So?”

“Can we get hoagies from the Sidecar?” I asked.

Cody gave me a smile filled with rueful affection. “Yeah, Daise. We can get hoagies.”

My tail twitched. “Okay, let’s do it.”

To make a long story short, it didn’t work. It wasn’t for lack of trying, that’s for sure. After I grabbed an overnight bag from my apartment and filled Mogwai’s bowl, we picked up a couple of hoagies from the Sidecar, then swung by Cody’s cousin’s place to borrow the first two Saw movies, which we watched in Cody’s den, sitting a self-conscious distance apart on his couch. Let me say upfront that I’m not a fan, but if anything was going to give me nightmares, three solid hours of torture porn on top of a big, greasy hoagie ought to have done it.

It didn’t.

Between the bogle hunt, the heavy food, the torture porn, and my conflicted emotions, I was so worn out that by the time I went to bed, I slept solidly through the night in sheets that smelled like laundry detergent and a lingering trace of Cody’s scent. He’d insisted I take the bedroom while he crashed on the couch. It wasn’t the soundest night’s sleep I’d ever had—my dreams were restless and uneasy and filled with disturbing images, but I couldn’t call them nightmares, and beneath them, I was aware of Cody’s reassuring presence in the next room.