Dags nodded.
“When did he leave?” he said.
“Alvin?” Simon frowned, leaning both hands on the bar. “Maybe two o’clock?”
“Did you see the girl?”
“With Alvin, you mean? Apart from the dancing?”
“Or at all,” Dags said. “Was she still here after he left?”
There was a silence.
Then Simon frowned, looking at Dags. “I didn’t see her after that.”
“Do you remember if you saw Uri? The boyfriend,” he clarified, at the other’s quirked eyebrow.
There was another silence, then the bartended nodded, his eyes reluctant.
“Shit,” he said. “Yeah. I made him a drink after that… after I last saw Alvin. I remember because he looked freaked out, and I made it extra strong, thinking he needed to chill out. I put an extra shot of vodka in it.”
Dags nodded, frowning.
Fuck.
He needed to find this “Alvin.”
Well, assuming it was still him. Unfortunately, when demons jacked bodies, they didn’t always go back to their host’s homes. They often sought out new digs, sometimes even under different names.
Still, he needed to start somewhere.
“Full name of this Alvin guy?” Dags said. “Address? Phone number?”
Still looking disturbed at his jogged memories from that night, the bartender frowned, then nodded.
“I’ll see what I can find out. Give me your number, I’ll text it to you.”
Chapter 8
Bad Decisions
Dags talked to a few more people, but didn’t uncover much.
No one had seen this “Alvin” guy since at least two nights ago.
No one except Simon the bartender and one of the waiters remembered Jade.
The bartender wasn’t able to come up with an address for the guy.
Simon did find Dags a phone number, which went straight to voicemail when Dags tried to call it. He could ask Kara for the address, but she’d probably laugh in his face, then tell him to go to hell, especially after Dags sent Uri her way.
Anyway, he wasn’t sure how useful any of that would be, if it did turn out the guy was possessed by a demon.
Kara might appreciate having the guy’s full name, though: Alvin J. Richter, production assistant for Majestic Studios, another semi-odd coincidence in that Majestic is where Dags caught up with that last demon, just the night before.
Dags scoped out the upstairs, roof level, but almost no one was up there yet.
The pool had a few people in it. There were a few more leaning on a bamboo bar just past the pool’s deep end. None of them recognized Jade, or knew Alvin.
None had even been in the club the night she disappeared.
Eventually, Dags retreated back downstairs, and now he was starting to wonder what was taking Uri so long to get here.
Finding a booth in a corner, one that gave him a good view of the only entrance from the street, Dags sat in a shadowed section of it, in front of a candle made out of a glass fishing float. He ordered a cappuccino, then sat back to wait for Uri, tracking every face that came through, hoping he might luck out, and one of them might be Alvin.
The flow of people was a trickle at first.
Most didn’t stay in the indoor area for long, but walked through, making their way to the stairs leading up to the roof bar and pool.
A few stayed, sitting at other booths.
A few went outside on this floor, to the balcony through the open wall to the left of the stairs. Dags could see them out there at tables, most of them smoking.
From the smell, a lot of them were smoking pot.
The indoor bar itself was still mostly empty.
Catching movement in his peripheral vision, coming from the direction of the street, Dags turned⏤
⏤and his eyes landed on a face he’d been seeing in his head for weeks.
Months.
The same damned face made it impossible to sleep some nights, driving him into the shed outside his apartment, which he’d set up as a small gym. He’d spend hours there a lot of those nights, lifting weights, doing pull-ups until he was exhausted, practicing katas and other martial art forms until he fell into bed, his mind blissfully empty.
Until he woke up and it started again.
He stared, watching as she crossed the room, laughing at something one of her companions said. He found himself drinking in her features, studying every detail, from her black and pale green eyeliner, the glitter on her cheeks, to her hair pulled back into a complicated hairstyle that made her straight hair into spirals down the sides of her face.
The hair and eye-makeup somehow accentuated her high cheekbones, making her green and gold irises stand out, and that perfect mouth, which she’d painted dark red.
He didn’t notice anyone she was with.
He didn’t even glance at her clothes.
He couldn’t tear his eyes off her face, off those stunning green eyes with the gold flecks. He’d never seen that color before, not in human irises, at least.
Maybe on some kind of animal.
A big cat, maybe.
He couldn’t see her aura.
Just like before, when he’d spent time with her for hours, he couldn’t see her aura.
The space around her was empty, making her feel strangely far away.
Unlike the last time he caught a glimpse of her, she didn’t look at him.
She didn’t notice him at all, even though he was staring at her so hard, he feared she would surely feel it.
He watched as she and her friends walked past the glass bar with the virtual waves. He watched until they disappeared into the dark area of the stairs.
Even then, he swore he heard her laugh one last time, right before the sounds of them ascending up to the roof and the poolside bar faded.
He was still staring in that general direction, his mind exuding nothing but static, when another voice made him jump about a foot.
He turned, nearly knocking his cappuccino onto the floor with one arm.
“It’s you!” She gasped the words, staring at him, her mouth a round “O” of shock. “Oh my God. It’s really you! My guardian angel!”
Dags grimaced.
He couldn’t help it.
She was already walking towards him, though.
It was too late to get away.
“Hey!” The woman walked right up to his booth, sliding onto the leather seat next to him before he could protest, or emit so much as a sound. “You remember me, right? You can’t possibly rescue so many damsels in distress that you’ve forgotten me already?”
The woman’s friends remained by the bar. All three of them were watching her and Dags curiously, talking quietly by leaning towards each other’s ears.
Dags scanned their auras in a sweeping pass, then looked back at the woman with the long red hair and the pale-gold aura. Sparkles of red drifted through that aura, the exact same color as her long, thick, likely-dyed hair.
It was strange to Dags, how often that happened.
A surprising number of people dressed in the same colors as their auras, dyed their hair the same color or colors as their auras. It happened often enough, he had his doubts it was a coincidence.
It was almost like they knew.
She knocked him playfully in the shoulder, and Dags’ eyes rose to hers.
He remembered those brown eyes, but it was still disorienting, to see her without the demon-red glow he remembered from the night before.
“Hey!” she said, her voice mock-hurt, but also the slightest bit hurt-hurt. “Do you really not remember me? It was just last night.”
Dags forced a smile, still completely off-balance from seeing Phoenix.
“I remember,” he said. “How are you? Are you okay?”
She hesitated, glancing at her friends, then back at him.
When she spoke next, she lowered her voice.
“I guess so,” she said, her eyes and v
oice losing some of their flirty coyness. “I didn’t tell anyone at the studio. Maybe I should have. I don’t feel like I got, you know… molested or anything.” She reached up, wincing, touching the back of her head. “I have a nasty lump on the back of my head, though… and a lot of bruises.”
Dags fought not to wince.
Remembering how he’d hit her head into the road when she was a demon, he held her gaze with an effort, feeling his jaw harden.
“You still don’t know what happened?”
“No.” She exhaled, setting her purse on his table, her red-lipsticked lips pressing together. “Are you going to tell me your name this time, mystery man? Or just disappear in a puff of smoke?” Laughing a little, she leaned back in the high-backed booth. “I swear, when I woke up this morning I was sure I dreamed the whole damned thing… you included. Maybe especially you.”
She looked around the bar then, frowning.
“What are you doing here?” A flicker of hope reached her brown eyes. “Are you here for me? You could have just called me, you know. I gave you my number.”
Again, Dags wondered why it never seemed to occur to anyone he might be the one who hurt them.
Why wasn’t she afraid of him?
It was the same every time he “de-possessed” someone.
They seemed to instinctively cleave to him afterwards.
He found himself reminded of old proverbs that claimed you were responsible for the lives you saved.
The thought unnerved him.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he said. “I was worried.” Hesitating, wondering if he should have said that, he held out a hand. “Dags. Dags Jourdain.”
“Dags?” She shook his proffered hand, quirking an eyebrow and her lips. “A nickname?”
He nodded. “My real name is long and impossible to say.”
She laughed. “Really? What is it?”
He shook his head, smiling wryly. “Oh no. No way. You’ll never get that out of me. Anyway, no one’s called me anything but Dags in so long, I’m not sure I remember my real name.”
She laughed again, throwing back her head.
He found himself smiling back, almost in spite of himself.
“So what are you doing here?” she said, back to studying his face with pursed lips. “I know it’s not for me. As much as I would love to believe it was.”
“Working,” he admitted, holding up his hands.
“Working?” She blinked, leaning back in the seat. “I thought for sure you were an actor with those cheekbones. You’re not? An actor?”
He shook his head. “Private Eye.”
Her mouth pursed. “But at the Majestic. You said you were working⏤”
“Movie people hire private dicks, too,” he said, leaving it at that.
Her mouth relaxed, but she continued to stare at him, her eyes and aura reflecting surprise. He was still studying the currents in her aura when she leaned closer to him, wrapping her fingers around his wrist.
“Come upstairs with me,” she coaxed. “Hang with me and my friends. One drink. Then you can come down here and… work,” she said, her voice holding a glimmer of humor. “See how I’m not even asking what that ‘work’ entails in here?”
Dags smiled a little, shaking his head.
“I’m waiting for someone,” he said. “A client.”
“So wait upstairs,” she coaxed, tugging on his arm. “Have a drink with us. I’ve been telling my friends about you…”
At what must have been an alarmed look from Dags, she waved him off.
“…Not like that. I told them I got stranded at the studio and a hot mystery guy rescued me, and then was too gentlemanly to stay when I tried to seduce him.” Giving Dags a coy smile, she added, “They’d love to meet you. They were quite intrigued.”
Remembering who else he’d seen go upstairs, Dags fought a hard pain in his chest.
After a too-long pause, he shook his head.
“I can’t,” he said, making his voice regretful. “Some other time? I told my client I’d meet him down here. And I can’t drink while I’m working.”
“Is that, like, a law?” she said, quirking an eyebrow at him again.
“More like a personal rule. A standard, if you will.”
She nodded, mock-somberly, but a smile teased her red lips.
Then she was back to pulling on his wrist.
“Come with me,” she coaxed. “One minute. I’ll bring you right back. Promise. You won’t miss your client.”
Dags hesitated.
He could see plainly in her aura what she had in mind.
Inexplicably, he glanced at the dark opening to the stairs leading up to the pool.
Then he was allowing himself to be pulled, following her tugging fingers as she slid out of the booth, bringing Dags out with her.
He tried not to think about why.
He tried not to think about the real reason, at least.
She brought him to a private room behind the bar, under the stairs that led up to the roof.
At first Dags thought for sure she was bringing him up there, to the roof and the pool. He started to resist, to pull back, until he saw the red-painted door and realized she was aiming them there, walking them confidently past the stairs on her high-heeled black shoes.
She must have been to this bar a lot.
Dags hadn’t even noticed the door there.
Inside, it was dim, lit only by a bay window to the left, overlooking the Strip all the way up to Hollywood.
Daphne barely closed the door behind them when she had her fingers curled into his hair, pulling his mouth down to hers. She tugged him deeper into the room as she kissed him, and he half-stumbled with her when she knocked the back of his legs into a table.
She broke the kiss to laugh.
When she kissed him again, he wrapped an arm around her, yanking her up against him.
He didn’t know how long they stood there like that.
At some point, he realized they were lying on one of the round tables.
He kissed her harder once he had her pinned, using his tongue.
She tasted like pot and wine, and when he deepened the kiss, she let out a gasp, gripping his hair tighter, her other hand sliding down his body to his cock.
He gasped a little, breaking off the kiss when she wrapped her hand around him.
“Why didn’t you stay last night?” she murmured, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I practically tried to drag you into my apartment.”
His eyes closed, longer than a blink, when she massaged him harder.
“You know why,” he said, looking down to meet her gaze. “Something happened to you. I didn’t want to take advantage⏤”
“I didn’t want to be alone,” she cut in, jutting her jaw slightly. “You left me alone.”
He frowned.
“You don’t know me,” he said finally.
“You sure about that?” she murmured, gripping his cock tighter, massaging it sensually. “I feel like I do. I feel like I do know you.”
He fought with what to say to that.
He knew it was from what he’d done to get the demon out of her.
He also knew there was no way in hell he could tell her that.
Before he could come up with anything semi-coherent in response, she tightened her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth back to hers. A pain flared in his chest, somehow connected to that blue-green angel fire he carried inside him. He found himself remembering who was upstairs, and the pain worsened exponentially.
He hadn’t even looked to see if Phoenix had her boyfriend with her.
He had no idea if Karver was here or not, if she’d come in without him.
The pain in his chest grew excruciating.
The woman under him was unbuttoning his shirt, unbuckling his belt, still massaging his cock as she murmured in his ear.
Why the fuck was he thinking about Phoenix right now?
Phoenix hadn’t even seen him. She hadn�
�t noticed him.
Even with him staring at her like some kind of stalker asshole, she hadn’t felt him there at all.
What the hell was wrong with him?
There was definitely something wrong with him.
He lowered his weight, pressing deliberately into the woman under him, the one who actually wanted him. She let out another gasp, the hand that wasn’t between their bodies gripping his ass, pulling him tighter against her.
“Fuck me,” she murmured, half in his ear, kissing his neck.
He closed his eyes⏤
⏤then opened them abruptly when Phoenix’s face swam out of the dark.
Goddamn it.
His hand was between the redhead’s legs then, and she was gasping in his ear, egging him on, asking him, telling him what she wanted⏤
The door to the private room opened.
Dags froze.
He held his breath, going totally still.
The woman under him did the same, clearly feeling it on him first, before she noticed the change in light. She turned her head a beat later, staring in the direction of the door. Dags saw her aura change, sparking with annoyance as she realized why Dags had stopped.
The red-head’s mouth pursed.
Dags realized she was going to speak to whoever stood there in the dark.
She was going to tell the other person off. She was going to tell them to leave, that the room was taken and that the other woman needed to fuck off out of there.
Unthinking, Dags clamped his hand swiftly over her mouth.
He met her gaze, shaking his head at her, holding a finger to his lips.
Whoever stood there, they didn’t notice.
They hadn’t turned around, hadn’t yet seen or heard them in the dark room.
Dags could only see the person from behind, but his heart had already stopped beating in his chest. He stared at that back, at the long black hair done up in a complicated hairstyle that turned it into long, narrow ringlets on either side of her face.
He stared at her, paralyzed, caught in a held breath.
Then he realized she was shaking.
He heard it a second later.
She was crying.
She was doing it quietly, trying to do it silently.
Bad Angel Page 6
