“Then what he is, or any part of it, has to be the exact opposite,” I said. “Filthy and impure.”
“Exactly. He poisoned his own heart, long before he started infecting the cambion with his self-loathing madness.”
“How does he know Caitlin?”
Emma sat back, taciturn. She folded her hands in her lap.
“Come on,” I said. “You know I’ll find out, one way or another. You’re her friend. I’d like to hear it from you.”
She sighed. “A long time ago—and I mean a long time—Caitlin and Sullivan were an item. Their relationship was…problematic. You do understand that Caitlin is atypical of her choir, yes? The sons and daughters of Lust aren’t renowned for having a lot going on between their ears. Most of them end up as arm candy or playthings for more powerful demons, and they’re happy for their lot.”
I frowned, trying to remember something Caitlin had told me. “Isn’t Sitri from the Choir of Lust?”
“He’s the rare exception that proves the rule, as is Caitlin herself. When she was young, though, Sullivan was enraptured by her looks, and he claimed her for his own. He didn’t expect she had a mind and a backbone to go with her beauty. He didn’t like that very much. He enforced his will with the back of his hand. She was young, she hadn’t yet come into her full power, and she lacked the strength to free herself from him.”
Just when I was starting to pity Sullivan, I found myself hating him again. “What happened?”
“She refused to be his victim. And she grew strong. She worked quietly, bettering herself, learning the potential of her bloodline, while making social connections in Sitri’s court. Sullivan served under the prince, you see, as a minor cabinet minister. One day, when she was finally ready, she sprung her trap.
“She confronted Sullivan before the prince’s throne and the entire gathered peerage, with documented proof of his failures and lapses in duty. She petitioned that he be stripped of his rank—and that it be granted to her instead, as her proper spoils for uncovering the truth. Sullivan went berserk and physically attacked her on the debate floor.”
I leaned closer. “Did she win?”
Emma grinned. “I imagine it could have gone either way, if they’d had a proper fight, but the prince intervened to stop him. Then Sullivan screamed for a vote, only to learn that he had no friends left in that hall. Not one. Caitlin had spent years secretly forging pacts and negotiating trades of support with more than half of Sitri’s inner cabinet. They wanted her in Sullivan’s chair, since she’d proven she’d be far easier to work with.
“The prince decreed that her elevation had already taken place, at the moment she demanded it. Therefore, this was a case of a commoner daring to lay hands upon one of Sitri’s personal elect. A most serious crime. Sullivan lost more than his job. His lands, his thralls, his wealth…they literally tore the clothes from his body before casting him out into the street. As is custom, the prince took half of everything Sullivan had, and Caitlin was granted the other half. Thus began her rise to power. She became Sitri’s hound not too much later.”
I thought the story over. All the parts of the plan that could have gone wrong, all the variables. Only one possibility stood out in my mind, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“It was a setup, wasn’t it?” I said. “I mean, besides winning over the cabinet members in secret. She knew Sullivan would attack her, given his temper. The only way she could have known Sitri would back her play is if she set it up with the prince ahead of time. He went in for the fifty-fifty split.”
Emma cocked her head. “Nobody can say for sure, but the prince does love his little games, and he enjoys the company of people who know how to play. So. Sullivan’s back, and he wants vengeance. This isn’t good. I’ll fill Caitlin in, and we’ll decide how to proceed from there. You need to stay well clear. You don’t stand a chance against Sullivan, as I’m sure you’ve learned.”
“Don’t count me out yet. I’ve got—”
I was going to say something pithy about cards up my sleeve, but the words died on my tongue. What did I have, really? My apartment and everything in it was in ashes. My car was dead on some back street with a shredded tire and a bent rim, and even if I could afford repairs, it was probably already sitting in an impound lot. Sullivan’s goons had taken everything else I owned—my wallet, my cards, my keys. I had nothing left but the dirty clothes on my back.
I thought back to Pixie’s soup kitchen, how I thought a lot of the hungry people in line looked just like me. Now I understood why. Losing it all was so much easier than you’d think.
“Just don’t count me out,” I said. “I’m not done fighting yet.”
Eighteen
It was two in the morning by the time I got to the Scrivener’s Nook, with my feet aching and my bones tired. A door next to the bookstore opened onto a narrow stairway. I trudged up the steps, shoes heavy on the shabby carpet, and knocked on the door to the second-floor apartment.
Bentley opened the door. He wore a striped nightshirt and a stocking cap, like a character out of a Dickens novel. He took one look at me and waved me inside. He didn’t need to ask any questions.
Bentley and Corman’s kitchenette was as cluttered as their shop downstairs, festooned with antiques and curiosities and bric-a-brac. Spotlessly clean, but a tiny tornado of chaos. I followed Bentley into the kitchen and sat down at their folding card table while he put on a pot of hot cocoa.
“I was having one of my insomnia fits,” he said. “I suppose there was a good reason for it after all. I was just going to make some cocoa and indulge in a bit of Jane Austen.”
Corman poked his head around the corner, rubbing his eyes. He’d pulled a terrycloth robe over his boxers, letting it hang unbelted as he stumbled across the apartment.
“Thought I heard the door,” he grumbled. “Oh, hey kiddo. You look like shit.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ve had better nights. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to wake anybody up. I just didn’t know where else to go.”
Bentley shook his head as Corman dropped into a folding chair next to me.
“Never apologize for needing help,” Bentley said. “You’d open the door for either of us. Now then. Would you like to talk about your troubles? Or would you like to get some sleep? It’s your choice.”
The couch looked inviting, but so did the aroma drifting from the kettle on the stove.
“Is that the Ghirardelli stuff?” I said.
“It certainly is. Also, there are tiny marshmallows in a bag in the pantry. If you’re staying up, that is.”
If I’d really wanted to clam up and bed down for the night, they wouldn’t have pressed me. That said, Bentley knew how to bribe a man.
“Splash a shot of Kahlúa in there and you’ve got a deal.”
“Go grab it yourself,” Corman said, nodding toward the refrigerator. “This is your house too.”
That was when the tears finally hit me, and I had to clench my fists at my sides and breathe deep to keep from breaking down. I got the story out, bit by halting bit. The hot chocolate helped. So did having Bentley and Corman at the table, patient, listening. Everything is a little easier when you’ve got family around you, whether they’re family of blood or family of choice.
Bentley didn’t even say, “I told you so,” considering how he’d been portending doom since the day Caitlin walked into my life. The two of them had since established an uneasy détente, but he made no secret about how he felt when it came to me rubbing shoulders with “her crowd.”
Instead, he rapped his knuckles on the table and got down to business. “Right. First thing in the morning, we’re going shopping for the essentials. Clothes, toiletries, everything you need to get back on your feet. You can stay here until you find a new place.”
I shook my head. “You know I can’t take your money. The bookstore’s struggling as it is.”
“Call it a loan,” Bentley said, though I knew they’d never expect to be repaid. “I think y
ou need to ask yourself something, though, and I hope you give it due thought. It seems to me like you and Caitlin are finished. She gave you three days, and tomorrow the clock runs out. Whatever this rogue demon’s up to, it’s all hell’s business. Not something people like us need to get mixed up in. Nothing good can ever come of it.”
“You’re forgetting Lauren,” I said.
Bentley shook his head. “All you have is a wild guess, Daniel. You can’t prove Lauren has anything to do with the Redemption Choir. And even if she does, what of it? We’ll settle up with her, in our own way and on our own terms.”
I didn’t have an answer to that. I sacked out on the couch not long after, groping for a few hours’ peaceful sleep in the dying night. I found the sleep, but I didn’t find the peace.
• • •
I woke to the smell of eggs, bacon, and strong black coffee. Sunlight touched the fabric window shades, turning them a warm golden orange.
“Grab some plates,” Corman told me, flipping a fried egg on his spatula. “OJ’s in the fridge.”
“Funny how things look better in the morning light.”
“Yeah?” he said. “You make up your mind?”
I nodded. “Caitlin gave me three days to find a solution to this mess. I’ve got one left. I don’t walk from the table until the game’s over.”
Corman looked back over his shoulder. Up the hall, I could hear the shower running and the faint sounds of NPR on a tinny radio.
“Can’t say this in front of Bentley,” he said, “but I think you’re making the right call. You’ve gotta go with your heart. Only true compass we’ve got in this life. If you think the girl is worth the risk, if you really believe that, then the girl is worth the risk. We’ve got your back. No matter what.”
I took down some mismatched glasses from a cluttered cupboard.
“Thanks,” I said. “That means a lot.”
“Yeah, yeah, just don’t fuck up and get killed. We didn’t spend all that time teaching you sorcery just so you could pick a fight and lose. What do I always tell you about good, clean, fair fights?”
I grinned. “No such thing. Fair fights are for suckers. Always fight dirty.”
Corman slapped me on the back. “Damn right, kiddo. Damn right.”
After breakfast, Corman went downstairs to open the store while Bentley bundled me into his car, and we set off to get my life back in order. Or at least fake it. With a new pair of slacks and a mint-colored dress shirt, I could look at myself in the mirror and see what looked like a reasonably put-together guy. I picked up a cheap prepaid Nokia and made quick calls to everyone whose numbers I knew by heart, letting them know not to call the old number. Caitlin’s phone went straight to voicemail. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I wanted to talk to her, but not until I had some good news to share.
Bentley needed groceries, so I rode with him to the Vons on East Tropicana. I wandered off as he roved the supermarket’s aisles with an envelope of coupons. On a whim, I dialed my old phone number.
“Hello,” Sullivan purred.
“I want my phone back, asshole.”
“Daniel,” he said. “May I call you Daniel? I think we should be on a first-name basis, given how much we have in common. You know, when I was your age, the world was a very different place. A man might live his entire life never traveling more than thirty, forty miles from where he was born. The people around him were his community. They depended on one another to survive. Nowadays, who even knows their next-door neighbors’ names? All this technology hasn’t made the world smaller, it’s made it bigger. More faceless.”
“Doesn’t change the fact,” I said, “that I paid four hundred dollars for that phone.”
“You aren’t calling about the phone. You’re calling to goad me into revealing details about my plans or where we’ve relocated our operations. I’ve been warned about your little tricks.”
“And yet you just admitted you relocated,” I said.
“As if we’d stay at the mission, now that you’ve told Sitri’s minions where to find us. That clue was free. Here’s another one: walk away. This has nothing to do with you.”
“You made it about me, last night.”
“You were a lucky bonus,” Sullivan said. “Would I love to punish Caitlin? Unquestionably. Would I like to orchestrate your violent and painful death, for the morale of my followers? If time permits. But none of this is about you, or her. My goals won’t affect you in the slightest. So I’ll offer you a truce: don’t pursue us, and we won’t pursue you. It’s a big desert.”
I strolled down the baking aisle. A harried-looking mother pushing a cart with twin babies rolled past me, and I kept my voice low until she was out of earshot.
“Here’s my counteroffer,” I said. “Leave Nevada. Go back east, out of Caitlin’s jurisdiction.”
“East? You’ve heard of the Flowers’ pogrom, haven’t you? My flock will be slaughtered there.”
“Not them. Just you. Your followers can stay. Without you poisoning their minds, maybe they can have something resembling a normal life.”
Sullivan sighed, heavy and deep-throated.
“My flock goes where I go, Daniel. They need me. They love me. Besides, since when do you have the authority to negotiate on behalf of Prince Sitri? You really are working for him, aren’t you?”
“No. Not his rules. Mine. If you stay here, I’ll be coming for you.”
“Oh please,” he said. “Did you forget last night? Did the stripes I gave you fade so soon? Do they no longer sting? Because I can give you more. Or…is that it? Did we make a connection, Daniel? Do you want more? Maybe you’d rather submit to my hand than to hers. Is that it? Did you dream of me last night? Of feeling my firm hand, guiding you under my will?”
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. Then I took a deep breath. You know the game he’s playing. Flip it on him.
“You know,” I whispered seductively, “I did. I really did. Because when I see a guy who lost his title, his lands, and his cash all in one day, a guy who’s such a loser he got thrown out of two infernal courts and then had to hide out on Earth just so people would stop kicking his ass…I gotta tell ya, that gets me hot.”
The line went quiet for so long I almost thought he’d hung up.
“You don’t,” he said, his voice quavering, “know anything. You don’t know what really happened.”
“I know the whole story. You’re the talk of the town, Sullivan. Nobody can figure out how you manage to keep running while you’re wearing those clown shoes.”
“You’re going to die,” he hissed in a voice like simmering syrup. “You, and Caitlin, and everyone you know, and everyone you love. Dead.”
“Wait a second,” I said. “Does that mean you’re not giving my phone back?”
He hung up on me.
Well, that was a wash, I thought. Not unsatisfying, though. Time to check on Pixie. I called up St. Jude’s and asked if she was volunteering today. A few minutes later, she picked up on the other end.
“Faust! Where have you been?” she said. “I’ve been calling you since last night!”
“Shit. You haven’t been leaving messages, have you?”
“What? No. The NSA listens to those. Listen, we got a hit.”
“On the email tap?”
“Uh-huh,” Pixie said. “That mole you’ve been looking for? I know his name.”
Nineteen
She read the email to me over the phone. The second she named the sender, I had all the pieces I needed.
Gary Kemper. Hi there, Detective.
I’d gambled that Lauren had a mole on the task force, and I was right. Special Agent Black’s local man from Metro was a double agent.
No, scratch that. A triple agent. Maybe quadruple.
“Lauren,” he wrote, “got the manuscript. Somebody took a shot at me, not sure who, but I don’t think they saw my face. This shit’s getting deep and I NEED you to get me out. If AB finds out I’m wo
rking for you, I’m a dead man. If the RC finds out, I’m WORSE than dead, and that’s nothing compared to what’ll happen if S gets his hands on me. I didn’t mind feeding you intel, but this is going too far. I don’t even want the money anymore. Get me out of here!”
“Has she responded yet?”
“No,” Pixie said. “Doesn’t look like it’s been read on her end.”
“Can you pull that email, so she doesn’t ever get it?”
I listened to the rattle of laptop keys.
“Done. What’s the RC?”
I dropped the hemming and hawing. She’d shown she could take her answers straight.
“Redemption Choir. Half-demons who want to be human,” I said.
“So they’re the good guys.”
“No,” I said. “They’re nuts, and they just kidnapped a priest. They’re the bad guys.”
“Who’s AB?”
“Special Agent Harmony Black. FBI agent, trying to bust Nicky Agnelli. Honest cop, as far as I know. Straight shooter.”
“So she’s a good guy.”
“No, because she also wants to bust everyone who Nicky’s ever done business with, including me, and Lauren Carmichael’s pulling her strings. So she’s also a bad guy.”
“Who’s S?” Pixie asked.
“Sitri. Demon prince.”
“Definitely a bad guy.”
I sighed. “No. My girlfriend works for him, and she just helped save the world.”
“So let me get this straight,” Pixie said. “Some of the bad guys are bad guys, some of the bad guys are the good guys, and there aren’t any good good guys.”
“That’s right.”
“Hey, Faust?”
“Yeah, Pix?”
“You ever think,” she said, “your moral compass might be just a little bit fucked up?”
Redemption Song (Daniel Faust) Page 11
