A Demon in Dallas by Amy Armstrong Page A

alienate the local alpha even if he was an asshole. It was pretty obvious that Oliver wanted the book for himself, but until we were certain, we had to stay on his good side. We had enough enemies already and didn’t need another.
    “How well do you know the witch?” I asked.
    Oliver hesitated before replying, “Fairly well.”
    His pause was enough to reveal that he knew her better than he was willing to admit, although why he felt the need to lie about it I wasn’t sure. The witch in question was sitting cross-legged in the centre of the room. She didn’t look up as we approached. She was rocking back and forth and chanting loudly. It sounded like Latin, although I wasn’t an expert on languages. She looked like a redheaded version of Angelina Jolie, slim long limbs and a face that was all lips. She couldn’t have been any older than twenty-five.
    Another woman circled her, carrying two smoking pots of incense. She was at least twice the age of the first, but just as attractive. Unlike the first woman, the second watched our every move through light blue eyes that were cool and intelligent. She smiled as we approached, but the expression slipped when her gaze fell upon Oliver. The hint of disdain on his face intimated that the feeling was mutual.
    “Silvia,” he greeted dispassionately.
    It was only after he’d spoken that the seated witch opened her eyes and turned towards him. Her expression was the complete opposite of Silvia’s. Her smile was bright, substantiating the impression I’d received from Oliver about the nature of their relationship, past or present. Oliver returned her smile warmly. Crossing the room, he bent and took her hand with a surprising tenderness and placed a kiss on the back.
    “Cassandra.” His voice was as smooth and sweet as acacia honey. “Always a pleasure.”
    Her tingling peal of laughter was practically melodic. “And you are always the charmer. It’s lovely to see you again, Oliver. How have you been?”
    Connor stood back and watched their conversation with detached indifference while Oliver’s betas paced the perimeter of the large space talking between themselves. After the pleasantries were over, Silvia placed the incense on a folding table that had been set up against a wall on the far side of the room. She pulled the loose cotton covering off a wooden crate under the table then slid open the lock and reached inside, pulling out a live, squawking chicken.
    “Jesus Christ!” Connor exclaimed, staring at the black bundle in Silvia’s arms in utter dismay. “What the hell are you going to do with that ?”
    “Kill it,” Cassandra replied without any trace of emotion. “What do you think we’re going to do with it?”
    “They have to sacrifice the chicken as part of the spell to locate the demon,” I explained. I’d seen it done a couple of times in the past, although the spells I’d watched had been to locate humans—I hadn’t known you could find demons in the same way.
    “Right, of course you are,” Connor quipped. “How dumb of me.”
    “Are you a witch?” Silvia asked, eyeing me curiously. She placed the chicken on an altar that had been set up near Cassandra. She held it still and closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath.
    “She’s a hunter,” Oliver answered in my place. “Likes to kill things. Isn’t that right, Raven?”
    “Not really,” I disagreed. “Just doing my job.”
    “But you like your job, right?”
    I did. But for whatever reason I didn’t want to admit that to Oliver. “How long had the grimoire been in your coven’s possession?” I asked instead.
    “For ten generations,” Cassandra replied proudly. “It has been handed down from mother to daughter for over two hundred years.”
    “If it’s been in your coven for so long, how did the demon find out about the book?” Connor enquired.
    “We suspect he performed some sort of summoning spell to locate it.”
    I frowned. “Wasn’t it