I’d suited up for the occasion with a forest green shirt and a metallic tie. Caitlin opted for a slender black dress with a short, cropped jacket. The throwing knives sewn into the jacket’s lining didn’t even make a whisper as we walked to the door.
“You clean up nicely,” she said.
“I can’t go making you look bad, now can I?”
“So what do you think our odds are?”
I opened the door for her, thinking it over.
“Fifty-fifty. In this town, that’s not a bad proposition.”
A lethargic, barrel-chested bouncer gave us a casual once-over and nodded over his shoulder. The sun vanished, replaced by stuffy darkness and the stink of cheap beer. A few patrons loitered in the near-empty club, each of them alone, watching a bored-looking stripper gyrate out of time to a hair metal song. We made a beeline for the hallway at the back of the room.
The bartender jumped out from behind the bar to get in our way, holding up his hands. “Sorry folks, no admittance. Bathrooms are over—”
He froze, taking a stumbling step back as Caitlin flashed molten copper eyes at him. When she spoke, her teeth were too many, too sharp, for any human mouth.
“Move,” she hissed. She gave him a charming smile as we passed, wearing her human mask once more.
I’d been here enough times on business to know that we wanted the door at the end, the one with the placard reading Private and the best lock in the building. I gestured to the knob.
“Want me to pick that?”
Caitlin thought about it for a moment and shrugged.
“Nah.”
The door blasted open under the heel of her calf-high boot, swinging wide and slamming against the inner wall. Nicky, sitting behind an army-surplus metal desk and eating lunch, froze with a forkful of steak halfway to his mouth. Justine and Juliette leaped up from their chairs. The cambion twins flashed fangs as they hissed and crouched.
“Bitches leave,” Caitlin growled.
I stared at her. “Did…did you just quote Robocop?”
She gave me a wink before looking back across the office. Nicky nodded slowly.
“Do as she says, ladies,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
“I don’t know if you can back that up,” I said, taking one of the chairs and dragging it over to the other side of his desk. The decor in Nicky’s office hadn’t changed since the seventies, just a cheap little hole-in-the-wall. You’d never know half the rackets in Vegas were run out of this room.
The twins slunk out the door. Justine paused on the threshold. Suddenly she leaped at Caitlin, fingernails hooked into claws, going for her eyes. Caitlin spun and grabbed Justine’s wrist in one hand and her hair in the other, using the cambion’s own momentum to force her down on her knees. Justine’s wrist bent back at a bone-grinding angle.
“Yield!” Justine gasped, gritting her teeth. “I yield!”
Caitlin kept the pressure on for a few more agonizing seconds before letting her go. Justine pushed herself up to her feet, rubbing her wrist, hovering on the verge of tears.
“I was just playing,” Justine whined. Juliette met her at the door, taking her sister in her arms and glaring daggers at Caitlin.
“She’s so mean,” Juliette said. “Why do you have to be so mean all the time?”
Caitlin shut the door in their faces. Dusting off her hands, she walked over to join us at Nicky’s desk.
“You have to excuse the girls,” Nicky said. “They’re a little, uh—”
“Sociopathic?” I offered.
“I was gonna say high-spirited, but sure, that works too.”
“Do you know why we’re here?” Caitlin asked.
“I know that when a cop asks you that, they want you to do their job for them. Pardon me if I don’t fall all over myself bein’ helpful. And what are you doing, Danny? You and the Wingtaker here, that’s a team-up I didn’t see coming.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m here for,” I said. “I’m here to save your ass.”
Nicky chewed a bite of steak, taking his time.
“That’s nice. You’d wanna do that why, exactly?”
“Because Lauren Carmichael is using you, and somebody else is playing her. There’s only one way this ends if you don’t listen to us. Badly.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nicky said flatly, his gaze drifting toward Caitlin. “Don’t know any Lauren anybody. Never met her.”
“I’m going to say two magic words,” Caitlin said. She loomed over his desk with murder in her eyes. “I’ve never said them in my life, and you’ll likely never hear them again. Listening?”
“I’m all ears,” Nicky said.
“Transactional immunity.”
That got his attention.
“I’m still listening,” he told her, “but I’m maybe not entirely sure what you’re offering me immunity for.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Let me paint you a picture. Lauren needed help setting up Carmichael-Sterling Nevada. She was an out-of-towner with big ambitions, and you were the guy who could pull the strings and secure the permits to make the Enclave happen.”
“I help lots of people,” he said, “in exchange for a nominal commission fee of course. What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing. But while you were greasing her wheels, she figured out what you really are. She brought you in on her real scheme. Problem is, how do you stall five murder investigations? There’s always blackmail, but that’s so messy, and payback’s always a risk. Lauren figured it out, or maybe you did. Why not use the ring to snare a succubus? And you knew just the target, somebody who’s been a thorn in your side for a long, long time.”
Nicky gave Caitlin a nervous glance, but he held his tongue.
“You used Caitlin’s powers to turn Detective Holt into a pleasure junkie,” I said. “He danced to your tune so long as he got his daily fix. It was the perfect setup. Sitri’s hound was out of your way, you had a homicide cop on a leash, and Lauren’s crew was free to open the Etruscan Box. A ceremony which, I’m sure you know, would drag Prince Sitri out of hell and give Lauren the chance to enslave him. Coincidentally leaving his throne vacant and your father primed and ready for a power grab.”
“And if you could prove any of that,” Nicky said, “we wouldn’t be having a nice chat like this.”
“You’re right,” Caitlin said. Nicky stared at her. It wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. “I can’t prove a single thing. Can’t do anything to you or about you.”
I nodded. “Only problem with the whole scheme, really, is that Lauren’s about to blow up the planet. See, that’s the part you aren’t in on. The thing in the Box? It’s an angel. And it’s really old and really pissed off.”
“You’re bluffing,” Nicky said.
“Are we?” Caitlin shrugged. “We’re keeping things under wraps to avoid a panic, but a full report’s been delivered to the prince and his inner council. A council which, last time I checked, includes your father. Why don’t you get in touch with him? Ask him who Belephaia is.”
He looked from her to me and back again, resting his hand on his desk phone. His brow furrowed as he worked out the implications. “Why don’t you two go out to the bar for a few minutes? I gotta make a couple of calls. Tell the bartender I said anything you want; it’s on the house.”
I stayed close to Caitlin as we stepped back into the club, taking seats at the end of the bar. She ordered a Manhattan, and I asked for a martini with top-shelf vodka. It was on Nicky’s dime, and seeing as he had tried to feed me to a pack of feral cambion I figured he owed me a little something. A Rolling Stones song played over the house speakers as a new dancer took the stage.
“He can’t actually call his dad, can he?” I asked. “Like, on the phone?”
Caitlin smiled. “No, but he can call my office and they’ll arrange a conduit. That’s how I spoke with my prince last night.”
“Conduit?”
“You take a human and—�
�� She paused. Maybe she saw something in my eyes, or maybe she just remembered my history when it came to demonic possession. She waved it off. “There are ways.”
Her hand rested lightly on the bar. I placed mine over it. She turned her hand, our fingers twining.
“We will stop them,” I said. “I promise. I’m not letting anything or anyone take you away from me now. Not a chance.”
She chuckled, shaking her head. “I forgot what it felt like to care about anything but my duty. To have something worth fighting to hold on to. I like this feeling.” She traced a fingernail over the back of my hand. “I like this feeling too.”
I started to say something, cut short by a voice at our backs.
“Oh. My. Light,” Juliette said. We turned to look at her. She pointed at our hands. “Are you two rutting?”
“That is so gross.” Justine stood next to her with her mouth agape. “You are so gross.”
“No,” Caitlin said, grinning. “We’re holding hands. What I did with your father, that was rutting.”
Justine made a strangled squeaking noise, like a cat had lodged in her throat and was trying to kick its way out. Juliette stammered incoherently as she dragged her sister away by the arm. I let go of Caitlin’s hand just long enough to hold up my open palm.
“High-five me.”
She slapped her palm against mine. We settled into a comfortable silence.
“You didn’t actually—” I eventually asked, and Caitlin arched an eyebrow.
“They’ll always wonder,” she said. “I do hope you’re not the jealous type, Daniel. I am a succubus. If you want me to list my lovers, we’re going to be here a while.”
I shook my head. “Not even a little bit.”
“Good. But for the record? Never. You don’t rut with a pride demon; you hold up a mirror for him to stare into while he pleasures himself. I’m only slightly exaggerating.”
Nicky appeared in the hallway, pale as a sheet. Beads of sweat pooled at his hairline. He looked like a middle manager who’d just gotten called on the carpet by his CEO.
“C’mon back,” he said. “Let’s talk.”
38.
“The first thing I want,” Nicky said, pouring himself a splash of whiskey from a bottle in his desk drawer, “is immunity for my dad, too. He didn’t know anything about this, and that’s the honest truth.”
“You set up a coup attempt without telling him?” I asked, sitting on the other side of the desk and cradling my martini.
“You gotta understand, Danny, how it is for people like me. My old man’s a big shot back home. Me, I’m nothing but his big mistake. I thought I could prove to him, y’know, that I can roll like he does, like a fullblood. Maybe if I did, I thought…maybe he’d like me.”
“You conspired against your lawful prince,” Caitlin said, “and that’s not even considering what you did to me. If I had my way, I’d teach you exactly how we fullbloods respond to insolence. Your usefulness is the only thing sparing you, for the moment, from an eternity of pain.”
“Of course,” I said, playing the good cop, “anybody who helps take Carmichael and her buddies down, well, I gotta think Sitri’s gonna remember that in a favorable light.”
“You think so?” he asked, and I looked to Caitlin.
“Your name will be mentioned in my final report. Favorably,” she said.
Nicky folded his hands behind his head, obviously liking the sound of that. He thought it over for a moment. “I got good news and bad news. Good news is, I can tell you exactly where Lauren and the Box are. Bad news is, they’re opening it tonight, so you’ve only got a few hours. You know the Silverlode, over on Fremont?”
I nodded. “Sure. It’s been closed for what, three years now?”
“Closed, but not abandoned,” Nicky said. “Carmichael-Sterling Nevada bought it up as soon as they hit town, thanks to a little help from yours truly. Officially, they’re renovating it for a summer opening. That’s just a smoke screen for the press, though. The only renovations going on in there are courtesy of that creepy chick Meadow.”
“Puppets?” I remembered her attack on Spengler’s house.
Nicky snorted and tossed back a swig of whiskey. “Try buzz saws and booby traps. She’s like that guy from the Saw movies, but without the sense of humor. They fortified the place just for tonight’s main event. You aren’t getting in there without a small army.”
“Fortunately,” I said, “I’ve got one. Any idea where in the building they’ll be?”
“Top floor. The old Klondike Room. The hotel elevator or the emergency stairs will take you straight to it, but it’s a suicide run.”
“We can manage it,” Caitlin said.
“I can manage it,” I told her. “As long as Lauren has that ring, I don’t want you getting within a mile of her.”
She frowned. “You’re not going in there alone.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t be. I’ll have the best backup in the business.”
“What else do you want from me?” Nicky asked.
“You’ve got friends on the force,” I said. “Things could get loud. It’d be nice if the police kinda forgot the Silverlode existed for a few hours tonight.”
“Done and done. And hey, one other thing. Lauren couldn’t use this. She tossed it my way like some sorta tip for good service. I figure you might want it.”
Nicky dug around in his desk drawer and dropped his find on the blotter between us. A leather pouch fringed with turquoise beads. Its dulled pewter clasp seemed to absorb the light. I could feel the raw enchantment from here, a hungry, sucking void, only half-satisfied with the partial meal it had already devoured.
Stacy Pankow’s soul.
I took the pouch. Tiny psychic needles bristled against my palm.
“I’ve been looking for this,” I said, then turned to Caitlin. “Shall we?”
She rose and walked with me. I was halfway out the door when Nicky called out.
“Hey, Dan?”
I looked back at him.
“We good?” he asked, wringing his hands and giving me puppy-dog eyes. I had to think about that.
“I don’t know, Nicky, are we? You told those feral cambion where to find me.”
He shrugged, biting his bottom lip. “You pissed me off. I mean, you know me—I get irrational sometimes. Besides, I knew you could handle those punks. I figured they’d just scare you a little. And I was right. Right?” He sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have done that, and I won’t do it again. We’ve known each other since old times, Danny. It bothers me, us being at odds like this.”
Nicky and I would never be friends again—we had too much bad blood for that, too much wreckage between us, but I didn’t need any more enemies.
“Yeah,” I said, not feeling the words. “Yeah, Nicky. We’re good.”
I pined for air-conditioning the second we left the club. Taking out my phone as we crossed the parking lot, I squinted against the sudden return of the sun.
“I’m texting everyone, calling for an emergency meet-up. We’re gonna need all the help we can get.”
“Go,” Caitlin said. “Call me when you’re done and let me know what the plan is.”
“Huh? You aren’t coming?”
She stopped next to the car, turning to look at me, her gaze unreadable.
“Daniel, introducing me to your friends, your community, would raise some very uncomfortable questions for you. I don’t need to put you in that position.”
I had thought about that. Yeah, it wasn’t going to make me very popular, and Bentley would hit the roof. I might have a hard time feeling welcome at the Tiger’s Garden for a while. Maybe ever again.
I put my phone away and rested my hands on her hips. Holding her close.
“We both knew,” I said, “this wasn’t going to be easy, you and me being together. This isn’t the first challenge we’ve faced, and it sure as hell won’t be the last. But I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. My friends will s
tand by me, and if they don’t, then fuck ’em because they weren’t really my friends to start with.”
She leaned in. Our lips brushed, soft as petals. She smelled like the ocean.
“All right,” she said, “let’s go meet the family then.”
#
I decided to skip our usual haunt. While its entrances move on a regular basis, the Tiger’s Garden usually hovers somewhere about a block away from the Silverlode. Lauren’s people would be watching the street like hawks, and I didn’t want to give them any sign that the Vegas occult underground was mobilizing for war.
“leave it 2 me,” Jennifer’s text read, and fifteen minutes later she sent over an address. We found parking in a garage off Las Vegas Boulevard and went a couple of blocks on foot, blending in with the tourist crowds.
“Really? Margaritaville?” Caitlin said, staring up at the sign. Calypso music bubbled out of an open doorway. Caribbean-style seating spread out under the wings of a dangling seaplane.
“Well, it is five o’clock somewhere,” I said, leading her inside. “And Lauren won’t be looking for us here.”
“Indeed. No one would ever look for magicians in a place that serves copious amounts of alcohol.”
Touché. I worried about the number of solid citizens milling around the place, considering what we had to discuss, but Jennifer had thought of everything. We found the whole crew up on the open terrace, where she’d evidently booked tables for a group three times our size. The tropical music, the noise from the street below, and a few empty tables for a buffer all worked together to give us a bit of much-needed privacy.
A rainbow of drinks decorated the table, garnished with springs of mint and wedges of pineapple carved to look like shark fins. The one holdout was Mama Margaux, sipping a layered milkshake topped with a volcano of whipped cream. Jennifer sat next to her, with a long flower box wrapped in gold ribbon taking up the chair on her other side. Bentley and Corman, each halfway through a frosted margarita, leaned against one another and watched the traffic go by. The gang was all here.
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