“Do you have a plan to get me into the system?” asked Tristin.
“I’m working on it.”
“You mean you don’t have one?”
“I said I’m working on it.” Samantha scowled. “Just stop complaining and follow me.”
The doors slid open and Samantha walked inside, Tristin trailing in behind her. The first floor looked like some kind of reception room. It was pretty empty, which was why she had decided to infiltrate it at night. Only people who worked the nightly news would be working.
Her black boots tapping against the white tiles of the floor, Samantha made her way to the other end of the room, where a set of elevators were stationed. She hadn’t studied the layout of the building beforehand because they had been unable to get a map, but she imagined all the work stations that were connected to the network were up there. It would also be more secure than using the one behind the receptionist desk, which anyone would be able to see them use.
Unfortunately, before she and Tristin could get too far, the receptionist sitting behind the desk called out to them. “Excuse me! Office hours are closed. If you wish to make an appointment or something, I suggest calling in next time. Or, if you have some news you think we’d be interested in reporting, just send us an email at [email protected] and if we’re interested, we’ll contact you.”
Samantha swore. She had hoped the woman would have been distracted, as she had been looking at her computer when they walked in. She should have expected this, though, and it would be just their luck to get caught before they could go too far. It had been too much to hope that no one would notice them trying to make their way to a higher floor. Neither of them were particularly stealthy.
Well, there was nothing she could do about that now. They had been spotted. All that was left to do was change their plans accordingly and hope for the best.
She walked up to the receptionist, a middle-aged woman who wore far too much make up. Samantha assumed she was one of those women who tried to make themselves look prettier than they really were. Perhaps she thought that by covering her face in so much powder that it was impossible to see her skin, some man would take notice of her.
Or maybe she just liked wearing a lot of makeup.
“I’m sorry,” Samantha’s tone was apologetic as she bowed to the woman. Too much makeup or not, there was no need to be rude. “But I’m going to need you to go to sleep now.”
“Wha―”
The woman barely had the chance to open her mouth and utter a slight squeak before Samantha rushed behind the counter and bashed her across the forehead with her sword case. The resounding “crack!” that resonated around the room as a result was far too noisy, a deafening roar as opposed to a muted smack. Samantha was only thankful that no one was in the room with them.
The woman’s head snapped backwards, lolled around for bit, then came down as she slumped forward. Samantha caught her before she could face plant against the computer. She then slid the woman off the chair and leaned her against the wall, out of sight from anyone who might walk in.
“That was pretty inelegant of you, boss lady.”
“Shut up. Can you hack into the network from here?”
The man brushed back his blond hair, thinking. “I can, but are you sure you don’t want me to do this in a more secure location?”
“I’m not sure we have the time anymore. Someone was bound to see what just happened.” Samantha then pointed out three different security cameras located in the room; one was in the left corner near the entrance, another was hidden behind a potted plant, and the last was directly above their heads. “Just make it fast.”
“Alright then.” Sitting down, Tristin cracked his knuckles before placing his hands against the keypad and beginning to type. “Let me work my magic and see what I can find.”
Samantha watched as Tristin’s hands flew across the keyboard. His fingers seemed to blur together as he began pulling up dozens of screens, folders, files, and all kinds of things. Samantha was not unknowledgeable about computers, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what half the stuff he was pulling onto the monitor was.
“How long is this going to take?”
“Patience, boss lady. I’ve already hacked into the system, though I wouldn’t call it hacking since it’s only a standard password-based security system.” He frowned. “I guess that isn’t very surprising. This isn’t a military network or something. Anyway, just because I’m in the system doesn’t mean pulling up all the relevant information you want is easy. It takes time to do this.”
“Couldn’t you just download all the information in their database and sort through it later?”
“Do you know how much information is in a news station’s database?” asked Tristin, the sarcasm in his voice so thick it couldn’t really be called sarcasm. “News stations like this have millions of gigabytes of data. Every single scrap of news they’ve ever told is stored in their network, and Las Vegas News was founded over thirty-five years ago. That’s over thirty-five years’ worth of news to store. Do you really want me to download all of that and sort through it later?”
“I see.” Samantha coughed into her hand, partly to hide her embarrassed. “In that case, keep doing what you’re doing.”
“Don’t worry. I plan to.”
“Also, your sarcasm wasn’t needed.”
Five minutes later, which was five minutes too long in Samantha’s opinion, Tristin leaned back in the chair and sighed.
“Did you find something?”
“No. It looks like whatever files they might have had on the incident were deleted. That, or they never existed in the first place. It’s quite possible that the Las Vegas News really did believe the incident was nothing more than a fuel truck crashing into a building.”
“Do you really think that’s the case?”
Tristin hesitated for a moment, then pressed on, his manner surprisingly serious. “No. The rumors Leon picked up at that bar the other day about a demon wrecking the city may have been the ramblings of a drunken fool, but there had been several dozen unrelated deaths the week before the explosion. The deaths weren’t accidents either. They were murders. Coincidence? Hell no.” Tristin ignored the scolding expression on Samantha’s face. “There is also a small note stating the police department was attacked. The building itself was damaged and several officers died, including a number of officers from the Los Angeles Supernatural Investigations Unit.”
“That’s nice and all, but it still leaves us with a problem. We don’t have any information regarding the incident that left an entire block of the city in ruins.”
“Oh? Is that what you two are looking for?”
Samantha and Tristin stiffened. They both looked up to find themselves staring at a man adorned in expensive clothing. A white top hat with dark velvet around the base covered his messy black hair. He wore an elegant white suit with a white undershirt beneath it, and a dark purple tie. Wrapped around his shoulders was a long cape that went down to his calves, the dark purple inner lining giving it a velvety appearance as it fluttered in a breeze. One purple gloved hand was tapping a cane against the ground, while the other was absently stroking his goatee. Bright, inhuman yellow eyes stared at them from beneath a fringe of bangs.
He stood in front of the receptionist’s desk, surrounded by several marionettes, all of which were dressed to look like security guards.
They were also all carrying guns.
“If you had wanted that kind of information, you should have just asked,” the man continued, lips peeling back in a dangerous smile that revealed sharp canines. “I wouldn’t have given it to you, of course, but asking never hurt anyone.”
“Samantha?” Tristin’s whisper sounded far louder than it should have. “I think we’ve been caught.”
“Really? Thanks for telling me. I hadn’t noticed.”
“Do you know who this guy is?”
“Not a clue.”
“This guy” smiled
at them, showing off his sharp teeth. “I suppose introductions are in order. It would be rude of me not to let you know the name of the man whose about to kill you.” While Tristin let out a mouse-like squeak, Samantha narrowed her eyes, her fingers tightening around the handle of her case. “My name is Mephistopheles, but you may just call me Mephisto, if you’d like.”
Samantha sucked in a breath. Mephisto was a high-class demon, much like Abaddon had been. Unlike the demon that Christian had killed, very little was known about this one, except that he served Satan as a sort of information broker, or something like that. The fact that he was there, standing in the Las Vegas News Station, lent weight to Tristin’s deduction about what happened several weeks ago.
That fact didn’t make Samantha happy at all. Not anymore.
“What is Satan’s information broker doing here in Las Vegas?” asked Samantha.
“Information broker?” Mephisto laughed. “My dear woman, I am more than just a simple information broker. I won’t be letting you know what I do, that would be telling. Suffice it to say that I am integral to Lord Satan’s many projects. As for what I am doing here, well...” he smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile either. Must have been the teeth. “I heard from a reliable source that a couple rats were scurrying around Las Vegas. Being the man that I am, I thought I’d do Lord Satan a favor and get rid of them.”
Samantha felt like swearing―she didn’t even care that it was a sin. Nothing had been going her way ever since she arrived in Las Vegas. Tristin annoyed her to no end. The sight where the “oil truck explosion” had taken place revealed nothing but giant crater and ruined buildings that were in the middle of reconstruction. And now she was here, standing before a demon of incredible power, with a scared intelligence agent quivering behind her, and half a dozen marionettes pointing shining, black barrels her way.
“We’re so screwed!”
She didn’t want to admit it, but Tristin might very well be right.
What a predicament.
CHAPTER 10
“Boss lady, I really, really hope you have a plan to get us out of this.”
“Maybe if you’d shut up, I would be able to think of something.”
If the situation weren’t so serious―not to mention potentially deadly—Samantha would have rolled her eyes. Here they were, caught between a rock and a hard place, or a desk and several dozen demons pointing guns at them, and Tristin still found it within himself to complain. There was just no pleasing the man.
She eyed Mephisto, noting the smooth lines of his face, all hard planes and sharp angles. He would probably be pretty handsome if it weren’t for his pasty white skin and yellow demon eyes. She wasn’t necessarily observing him for his looks, however, but rather, she was looking for something that might help her find a way out of this mess in a way that would leave her and Tristin with their lives intact.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t find one. She didn’t know what his powers were. She didn’t know what his weaknesses were. She didn’t even know what he did for Satan―because apparently their information was wrong. In short, she knew absolutely nothing that would help them.
What would Christian do in this situation?
“It’s such a shame to be killing off one as beautiful as you,” Mephisto harped to her. At least, she hoped he was talking to her. Samantha really didn’t want to think about a demon who batted for the other team. That would just be weird.
“You flatter me,” Samantha said, stalling for time. She needed to keep him talking. The longer he conversed with her, the more time she had to think. “Are you sure you can’t tell me what I want to know? My partner and I are going to die anyway―”
“Oh, so now I’m your partner. I see how this is. We’re only in this together when the pooch has been screwed up the ass with a crow bar.”
“―Couldn’t you at least give me some closure by telling me what I want to know?” Samantha finished, her right eye twitching violently. Did Tristin really have to be so crass? And hadn’t she told him to watch his language around her? Honestly. If they got out of this alive, she was going to smack his head so hard that all those people who became possessed in horror movies would be green with envy when his head spun around like a top.
“Hmhmhm.” Mephisto had an unusual chuckle, close mouthed and rumbling from deep within his stomach more than his throat. “That kind of word play might work on other demons, my dear, but not on me. I know that you’re only asking me because you think you can escape from this hopeless situation. But I do give you points for trying. Were I a teacher, I would have presented you with an A for effort, if nothing else.”
“You can’t blame a woman for trying.” She continued to stall. He might not be willing to give her the information she was looking for, but if she stalled him, they could still make it out of this without losing any limbs.
“No, I suppose I can’t,” he said. While he talked, Samantha ran through a mental checklist of all the items she had on hand. There was Zaphkiel, her trusty sword. There was Araton, her revolver, hidden within her left boot. It was only good for one shot, so that was a no go. What else did she have? Not much. Some lint. A few pennies and... oh! Didn’t she give Tristin a flash bang just in case they ran into trouble? “Still, you can’t honestly expect me to just hand over that kind of information, do you? Why, the trouble I would be in if I told anyone would be astronomical!”
Wanting that flash bang, but not wanting to give her intentions away to Mephisto, she tapped Tristin’s foot with her own. The man blinked, a sign that he knew she wanted something from him, which she saw out of the corner of her eye. She then gestured toward his pocket, keeping her hand below the desk.
Tristin seemed to get it―at least, she hoped he was getting it. He reached into his pocket, careful not to make any sudden or jerky movements that would let the demon in front of them know something was up.
And while the blond pretty boy was trying to find the flash bang she had given him, Mephisto was still talking. “He would probably kill me! And, no offense, but my life is way more important than your own.”
Like all demons, it seemed this one also had a love for listening to his own voice.
Pretty soon, Samantha had the flash bang in her hand. She continued listening as Mephisto prattled on―and boy could he prattle. She primed the charge, not bothering to set a timer.
And then she threw it. Without warning. Without even a hint of thought, she fast-balled the tiny sphere right into Mephisto’s face.
Despite his surprise, evident by the widening of his sickly yellow eyes, he still managed to catch the thing in his hand. Too bad for him that did nothing. Just as he was about to open his mouth, the entire interior of the reception room exploded in a shower of light.
There was a loud scream. Several actually. Or maybe that was just her imagination. Samantha, her eyes already closed, reached out to the last spot she had seen Tristin. She grabbed something soft, with a fabricy feel―his shirt, then—and yanked him behind her. There was a yelp, followed by the thudding of stumbling feet. She could feel Tristin almost fall over. She yanked him again, harder this time, forcing him to move along with her as she sped out from behind the desk.
Using the mental map she had created during Mephisto’s rambling, Samantha did her best to avoid the areas that she knew had previously contained marionettes and Mephisto. Ears straining to hear any shifts in her opponents’ positions, all she could hear was the dull pounding of hers and Tristin’s feet and the hammering of her own heart.
“Damn Executioners! Kill them! Shoot! Shoot!”
Samantha, running for her life, tugging along a terrified intelligence agent, almost snorted when Mephisto ordered his puppet demons to shoot them. Demons using guns? What an absurd notion. Not that she couldn’t see why. Marionettes were just that: puppets. They were low-class demons with no powers of their own. They were only good for cannon fodder and swarming enemies. If you wanted them to do some damage, you had to give them weapons.
Samantha hissed as the sting of a bullet grazing her arm ran through her. A yelp behind her informed her that Tristin had also been shot.
“Dammit! My ass! They shot me in the ass!”
And he had apparently been shot in a very unpleasant area.
She was still going to scold him for language.
Changing from a straight forward run to a swerve, Samantha grit her teeth. Bullets blazed all around them. She could hear them as they struck the floor, shattered glass, and pinged off the walls. She could practically feel the air currents as near misses ruffled her clothes. Yet she kept on her course, her mental map telling her she was only a few feet from the exit.
Then they were out. Samantha’s eyes opened to be greeted by the perpetual lights of the city. She didn’t stop to admire the sight—not that she would have even if she wasn’t on the run from a high-class demon—and instead bolted to the left, running past the building and around the corner. She kept running. Running and running and running. She had no clue how far. The length didn’t matter. She just had to run far enough to make certain they had escaped.
Just as Samantha was beginning to feel safe, a dreadful feeling overtook her. Abhorrent and terrifying, it washed over her like a rip tide threatening to pull her under. Her mind, her body, and even her soul shook as the power, arcane and mighty and unbelievably overwhelming, rushed across the cityscape.
Sin City was engulfed in red. The buildings, the cars, the streets, the sidewalks, everything blurred together in a crimson haze. The people walking down the streets, denizens of the city, dispersed into particles of red light, becoming ghostly images, a spirit form that reflected their inner selves. The dark sky, once a midnight velvet, became stained with blood.
A barrier. Mephisto had set up a barrier. Damn him.
Enclave Page 19
