I thought about the trio of agents and doubted very much they’d allow themselves to be compelled. “Even the special security team?”
The vampire’s shoulders tensed. “Ah, them. I thought you meant my usual staff.” His hands shifted to a splayed position. “No, they take precautions, not because of me, but as part of their job.”
“Your in-house security can’t handle an iron giant on their own?”
“I have a special arrangement with locally-based law enforcement so that events don’t spiral out of control. It’s best for my business, which makes it best for the city.” His finger cut a zigzag in the air. “Now tell me about this chip you wear.”
“Why don’t you tell me?” I removed the necklace and placed it on the desk in front of him. “One of yours, yes?”
He picked it up and scrutinized it. “I believe it is. Wherever did you get it?”
“It was worn by the monster that killed my father.” I waited to gauge his reaction, but the vampire’s expression remained inscrutable.
“Is that so? And you’ve come here because you believe what, exactly?”
“I don’t know. That the monster worked here. Or worked for you. Or lost a bet. His name was Quinn Wendell.”
“The monster?”
I gave him a look. “My father.”
“And was this monster real or figurative?”
“Real.” I described the creature from the campsite in as much detail as I could muster.
“The eyes make him sound like a K’uei demon,” he said. “Also known as a butcher demon. Skilled with a blade. They’re often hired as assassins or thugs. Their existence became more prevalent after the Plague.”
So my father was killed by a minion. That fact only added insult to deadly injury and made his death even more tragic.
“An interesting piece to wear as a necklace,” Ingemar mused. “It must’ve had significance to him.”
“That’s why I’m here.” I jerked my head to the door. “Your friend Oren seemed to recognize it.”
“Of course he did. It has the casino symbol on it.”
I folded my arms. “Mr. Halpain.”
“Please, call me Ingemar.”
“Ingemar. Your pal Oren suggested this isn’t a normal chip used to play a game.” I settled against the back of my chair. “So what’s it for?”
A puff of admiring laughter escaped the vampire’s thin lips. “I’m sure he only meant to suggest that it’s one of our old chips. We haven’t used this version in quite some time. Perhaps the killer held on to it for sentimental reasons.”
“You mean the minion. He might have done the killing, but he wasn’t the killer.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“You. You confirmed that his type of demon is a minion that serves a higher master. I find the higher master, I find the one responsible.”
“And what made your father a target for murder, do you think?”
I shifted uneasily in the chair. “I don’t know.”
“Let me get this straight. You came here all the way from the Rocky Mountains, where your father was attacked and killed by a K’uei demon, because you think someone here initiated the hit.”
“That about sums it up.”
“And you think this chip is the pivotal clue?”
My gut told me not to share my father’s warnings about Atlantica City. I wanted to ask questions about the demon, not answer questions about my father.
“Like you said, it’s a strange piece of jewelry unless it meant something to the demon.”
“What was your father’s name? Perhaps it will ring a bell.”
“Quinn Wendell.”
Ingemar shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Do you remember the name of everyone you’ve crossed paths with?”
“No, but I’d certainly remember the name of someone I wanted to kill.”
I leaned forward and looked at him as directly as I dared. “Do you use minions, Mr. Halpain?”
He seemed delighted by the question. “You are wonderfully direct, aren’t you? Most who sit in that chair would think twice before accusing me of such a serious crime. Are you familiar with the expression ‘know with whom you’re having the pleasure,’ Miss Wendell?”
“No, but I can guess what it means thanks to the magic of context clues.”
“Yes, I’m sure. You seem like a bright young woman with impressive skills. I’d hate to see you squander them thanks to unfounded accusations.”
“What will you do? Hit a button and have the floor open up beneath me?” I glanced down at the floor for good measure.
“You watch too many movies, Miss Wendell. I’m an ancient vampire. I could be across the desk and at your throat in less time than it would take you to blink.”
“But you wouldn’t do that. It might soil your expensive shirt, which is why you employ minions.” I paused. “How recently were you in the mountains?”
He broke into low, throaty laughter. “Not recent enough to be relevant to your situation, although I admire your tenacity. How would you like a job?”
I tried to hide my surprise. “Do I look like I’m in need of a job?”
“You arrived on a bus with vagabonds and dream seekers. Yes, Miss Wendell, I’d wager you’re in need of work during your stay here.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d be untouchable back in the mountains, at least until recent events faded from collective memory.
“Why would I work for the vampire that ordered a hit on my father?”
Ingemar dragged a hand through his mousse-laden hair and I wondered if he came away with a thin layer of film on his skin. Focus, my father would say. He used to tell me that curiosity was both my greatest virtue and my greatest weakness.
“I will tell you right now, Miss Wendell, in no uncertain terms that I did not order a hit on your father. Will that suffice?”
“Then how do you explain the chip?” I pointed to the necklace still on his desk.
“The only thing I can tell you about this chip is that the demon who wore it owed a debt of some kind—but not to me.”
I squinted at the chip. “Then it’s not a poker chip?”
“It was…once upon a time. Perhaps the wearer lost more than his shirt.”
“In your casino,” I said. “Do you keep records? Can you find out to whom he owed the debt?”
“To whom?” Ingemar repeated with a pleased nod. “Grammar, style, and a mean right hook. Wherever did you come from, Miss Wendell?”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Very well then.” He handed the necklace back to me. “I can check our records, but there’s no guarantee that he owed the debt to anyone on my staff. Or the debt could be from years ago. He might’ve borrowed money to play and then was unable to pay it back, the chip merely a symbol of his failure. The only thing I can tell you with certainty is that it wasn’t me.”
I believed him. I’d never been accused of being gullible. Generally it was Nathaniel in our little group who trusted too easily. My father made sure that it wasn’t me. Trust no one. Even his final words to me were laced with paranoia and distrust. Some legacy.
“Tell me, Miss Wendell, have you ever avenged someone before?”
“I can’t say that I have.”
“It only ends in success or defeat.”
“As do most quests.”
He brightened at the word ‘quest.’ “Is that what this is to you? Your hero’s journey?” His brows drew together. “Or shall I say heroine’s journey? I’m never quite sure of the appropriate verbiage. I still recall a time when I could safely refer to your kind as a dame.”
“My kind?”
“Women.”
Despite the stench of wealth and power emanating from him, there was something vaguely appealing about Ingemar Halpain. “What kind of job?” I asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You said you wanted to offer me a job. What would it be? I only accept
cash and I don’t give a hellhound’s left testicle about your 401(k) plan.”
His lips curved into a gentle smile. “I’m so glad you asked.”
Chapter Four
I didn’t object when Ingemar invited me for a late dinner. I was surprised, however, when he instructed me to meet him at the private exit where a limo idled.
“We’re not eating at one of your twenty restaurants in the casino?” I asked.
“I have another place in mind that I thought would appeal to you.” He took my hand and escorted me to the limo where a driver opened the door. I slid across the plush leather seat and melted against it like butter on a summer’s day. I’d never sat in a car as luxurious as this one. Ingemar sat beside me, eyeing me with mild curiosity.
“What?” I prompted.
“I don’t detect the slightest hint of fear.”
“And?”
“And that makes you either very brave or very stupid.”
I shrugged. “I tend to fall somewhere in the middle.”
The vampire shook his head. “Something tells me you don’t fall in the median for much of anything, Miss Wendell.”
“Callie,” I said. “Call me Callie.” The limo came to a stop and the driver opened the door. “That was quick. Did we just drive around the block for funsies?”
He exited first and offered me a hand. “No, but it’s safer to drive to this particular establishment.”
I barked a short laugh. “You’re too afraid to walk through a neighborhood you control after dark?”
His expression clouded over. “It’s not me I’d be worried about, Miss…Callie.” He opened the door to a nondescript building. The sign out front read Knives Out.
“How can this place be so dangerous with all these vampires and special security teams roaming around?” I asked as we entered the restaurant.
The hostess practically toppled us with her hospitality. “Your usual table, Mr. Halpain?”
“Not tonight, Penny. I’m meeting friends who should already be here.”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. Right this way.”
“The world is dangerous,” Ingemar continued as we trailed behind Penny. “Anyone who tells you differently is lying.”
“The mountains weren’t as dangerous as here,” I said. “We had Mother Nature to worry about, of course, but until that demon appeared, we didn’t fear for our safety.”
Ingemar studied me. “That’s not entirely true, is it?”
I thought of the feral vampires and werewolves and the wild fae without a court. “No, I guess not.”
We climbed a staircase to the upper level of the restaurant. “It’s never easy to admit that the world isn’t what we imagine for ourselves.”
“Because we can’t change it?”
“Oh, on the contrary. I believe that we can.”
Penny stopped in front of a table with three guests.
“Fashionably late as usual, Ingemar,” the sole woman at the table said. Based on the amount of raw energy she radiated, I knew she was a witch, and a powerful one at that. Her cropped white hair accentuated a long, elegant neck. She wore a sheer black blouse with sparkling silver buttons.
“Miss Wendell, may I introduce old friends of mine.” He gestured to the table with a flourish.
“He’s using the term ‘friends’ loosely,” the woman said.
“I prefer business acquaintance,” the man next to her added. His shaggy brown hair was streaked with grey and his brown eyes were soft and soulful like a deer’s. Despite that particular quality, I had no doubt he was a werewolf.
“Please, call me Calandra,” I said.
“Calandra,” the woman repeated with an undertone of surprise. “It’s Greek for ‘lark.’”
“Yes, that’s right.” It was rare that anyone knew the meaning of my name. My father used to tease me that he should’ve named me Hawk. “Everyone calls me Callie.”
Ingemar and I took our seats in the middle of the threesome and I was introduced to Abra, Purvis, and Emil.
“I love the old photos on the wall,” I said. The upstairs was decorated the same as downstairs, with framed black and white photographs of the area that made Atlantic City seem far nicer than the one I’d seen so far.
“This restaurant has remained relatively unchanged,” Ingemar said. “Even the menu is much the same.”
I scanned the entrees—rack of lamb, lobster tail and filet mignon, lobster thermidor, short ribs. Other than a few of the side dishes, these weren’t options on any menu I’d ever seen. I sucked in a breath when I saw the section entitled Raw Bar.
Abra noticed my unusual reaction to the menu. “Is something wrong?”
“My dad…He said a raw bar was one of the things he missed about his old life.”
“Was he a fisherman?” Emil asked. With his ash blond hair, green eyes, and fair skin, the fae looked far younger than his counterparts, though it was entirely possible they were the same age.
I laughed at the thought of my dad on a boat. Those spindly legs weren’t seaworthy. “No, but he lived on the East Coast before I was born, and I guess a raw bar is more common here.”
“Did the coast not agree with him?” Abra asked.
“He was partial to the mountains. The solitude suited him.”
“Not very solitary with a child in tow,” Ingemar said. “What of your mother?”
“She died not long after I was born.” I felt the familiar lump in my throat that appeared any time my mother was mentioned.
“I’m sorry,” Emil said.
“I’m sure your father has given you plenty to remember her by over the years,” Purvis said. “Raw bars can’t be the only thing he reminisced about.”
“Of course.” I offered an obliging laugh as my stomach tightened. In truth, my father didn’t speak of her at all and whenever I asked questions, he diverted my attention to something else. It was as though she’d never existed—or that he preferred she didn’t.
A server came to take our orders. Despite the lure of the raw bar, I went for the steak, as did Purvis and Ingemar. No surprise there.
“Is the owner of this place a vampire?” I asked.
Ingemar nodded. “He’s a dear friend.”
“Is he in any of the photos?” I knew from my father that vampires could, in fact, be captured on film and reflected in mirrors. After the Plague, humans were apparently shocked to learn that their ideas about supernaturals were inaccurate. One story involved a man selling garlic from his farm for protection, only to be attacked by vampires and have them take up residence there. Oh, the cruel irony.
“I believe he’s in a few downstairs taken at private events,” Ingemar said.
Abra smiled. “And a couple upstairs as well, but he won’t mention those.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because Ingemar’s archnemesis is in them,” the witch said. “The owner can’t play favorites, you see.”
I raised an eyebrow at Ingemar. “Your archnemesis is local? That must be uncomfortable.”
“Not simply local,” Emil said. He seemed enthused by this shift in the conversation. “She owns the other half of the boardwalk.”
Abra’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. “Kingsley Bryant is the head of the Opulentia family. She owns the south end of the boardwalk, from Sweetie’s to the biergarten.”
I looked at Ingemar. “And do you have a cool name for your gang?”
The vampire didn’t seem amused. “I do not operate a gang.” He practically spat the word ‘gang.’
“The Potestas,” Emil offered cheerfully.
Ingemar adjusted his tie. “We are a family, nothing more.”
“A crime family?” I asked and immediately felt a foot pressing down on mine. Someone wanted to silence me. My gaze shifted to Purvis across the table and he gave an almost imperceptible nod.
Ingemar spread his arms wide. “If I were the head of a crime family, would I be seated here with esteemed members of the inner circl
e of the Pride?”
I frowned. “What’s the Pride?”
The three esteemed members of the inner circle exchanged glances. “All in good time,” Abra said.
Servers arrived with platters of food and I salivated at the sight of my juicy steak. Steak was rare in the mountains, a definite luxury item, although it wasn’t nonexistent like a raw bar.
“Help yourself,” Abra said and handed me a plate.
I wasn’t shy about my servings. I loaded up on meat, roasted potatoes, and broccoli. Another server came along and filled the empty goblet next to my water glass with red wine. This seemed like the royal treatment considering all I did was keep a cyclops busy until he could be whisked away.
“We’d like to discuss your little adventure today,” Abra said. I noticed that she drank only water and wondered whether there was a supernatural reason why she avoided the wine or whether she simply didn’t want to risk a headache later.
“My little adventure?” I echoed.
The witch broke a roll in pieces and offered me half, which I declined. If I had a roll, I’d want butter and my body would be very unhappy with me later if I indulged in dairy.
“You mean the Abaasy?” I asked. I sipped the water in front of me instead of the wine. It occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t drink any alcohol in unfamiliar surroundings, but, for whatever reason, I didn’t feel threatened by this group. Maybe because they all belonged to groups with special names. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling at the absurdity of my logic.
“You’re familiar with the Abaasy?” Emil asked.
“No. This was my first run-in,” I said.
“You handled yourself well then,” Purvis said. “I liked the way you inserted yourself between the potential victim and her attacker. You have protective instincts.”
Wow. They really paid attention. Atlantica City was like a sewing circle with a body count.
“I think the real victim was the slot machine,” I said.
Ingemar carefully sliced his meat into equal portions. “Easily replaceable, whereas my customers are not.”
“What’s an Abaasy anyway, if not a cyclops?” I asked.
Double Down on Demons (Pandora's Pride Book 1) Page 4
