Excerpt: MYSTIC TAXI

He stood slowly, making sure the cop's eyes followed every inch of height he gained while straightening his back and legs. Oh, Mr. Policeman noticed, all right. His eyes widened and his face bleached of color again. But knowing how this man reacted to fear, Henry also knew the situation was about to get worse. Sure enough, the cop's hand made a fast move to the gun on his hip.

Ah, shit. Henry didn't want to hurt the guy. He could let the man shoot him for all the good it would do, but there'd just be more questions when his wounds healed as the cop watched. Hybrid demons were like that. Fast healing was in their genes. At the age of a hundred and fifty, but looking like a man in his twenties, Henry had been shot, stabbed, strangled, and beaten enough times to prove just how sturdy he was.

The cop's hand shook as he pointed the gun. "You're Hellspawn."

Damn. Henry sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "So what's your point?"

"It's past curfew for Spawnsters." He stepped sideways toward his steamer. "Mac? Mac, get out here. I got me a big one."

His partner slid from the car, knees bent in a slight crouch. Every movement he made shouted his intention to bolt at the first sign of trouble. "What's he done?"

"Nothing," Henry said.

"Shut up." The first cop circled him slowly. "Who said you could talk, Spawnster?"
Henry winced at the nickname given to half-breeds. Living among humans as human children had been easy until puberty, when telltale signs of their demon side started showing up. It was a surprise for everyone, the Hellspawn included.

"Curfew breakers get tossed in the clink." The cop jerked his chin at Mac. "Get the squirter from back of the steamer."

"Ah, Ned, that's goin' a bit far, ain't it?"

"Bullets won't hardly stop him," Ned said, circling around to stand in front of Henry again. "But I know what doesn't heal so fast." Mac handed Ned what looked like a rifle with a tank the size of a small fire extinguisher attached to the stock.

Sweat beaded on Henry's forehead.

"You recognize this, do ya?" Ned grinned, showing a silver tooth that glinted in the light cast by a gas lamp on the sidewalk. "It's a brine gun. You never know when you're gonna meet up with a trouble-making Spawnster."

Henry shifted uneasily on his feet. "I didn't make trouble—"

"I told you to shut up!" Ned lifted the gun and aimed it at Henry's face.

Henry sucked in a breath. Salt water. Not lethal to Hellspawn, but it burned like acid. He'd seen the scars worn by friends who'd been sprayed with the stuff. Never having had the pleasure himself, he sure as hell didn't want it now.