“No.” My lids were getting heavy. She was lethal, but not to me. She was just psychotically addictive and gifted beyond words at her tasks, all of which drove me to the brink of collapse in seconds. “What do you want?” I had no idea what to expect.
“A good question, very good. The first time you’ve cut to the heart of the matter. Well done, pet.” She beamed at me from her perch on the edge of the table. “Let’s start with what I don’t want. Jewelry, no matter who the maker. Money. Things, or places to put them. I have it all. I want you to confirm your suspicions. About the Baron, that is. And Elizabeth. And what he really asked you to do, rather than bring a wayward daughter home to a lonely, glorified hunting lodge in a forgotten dale. What I really want is quite simple. Kill Elizabeth. Kill her and let me reign as I should, and you will have me in all of my forms for as long as you wish. All my things, all my power, all of my . . . passion, all yours. And all you have to do is rid the world of a greater evil. Kill my sister and let me reign in this hell as I was born to do.” Her lips touched mine with the promise of a silken prison and pleasures yet to come.
“Sister? Where is hell? What does it look like?” I asked, coming to an understanding that this was a family fight, on our world, and all of us were at risk.
Delphine snapped her fingers again for more wine. “Yes, sister, an uppity, frigid bitch. And right now, hell looks a lot like New Orleans.”
I slept, dreamless and still, my will spent in Delphine, allowing my body to take the lead. Delphine did the same in the morning. I awoke to her riding me, a coy wave with one hand and the other behind her, fingers dragging along my thighs in a double sensation that made me thrust upward involuntarily. It was spellbinding, especially considering I hadn’t brushed my teeth.
Her smile was amused “I couldn’t let you leave without another ride.”
I laughed aloud. Her brazen tongue clashed with her tousled hair and angelic expression. She pouted even as she settled on me, bending my will with each rise and fall of her hips. “I was army, not navy. But I accept your kind offer.” She bent forward to me, her work undone. I wondered how lonely the ride home was going to be, and what awaited me there.
Crow Hop handed me my bag as he refused my tip. “I’m well compensated, but thank you, Sir.” He was the model of discretion, carefully avoiding the door that opened, framing Risa and Wally, their distress visible even at a distance. My new behavior was fading with each moment away from Delphine. I could not say if that was welcome, because the memory of her touch was incandescent.
“A word of advice, Crow Hop, although you’re a grown man. Get away from her. Get away and stay away.” I shook his hand and he searched my face for anger, something. I’m not sure what. But I think, as he turned away, that I saw fleeting compassion for me, and that made me feel even more unclean as I trudged to the girls. The situation had changed, but they had not, and I had a great deal to explain.
I warily entered my silent home, but Risa broke the ice and put her arms around me. Wally waited and we embraced warmly. I was thankful and relieved. Until that moment, my tension had kept me subconsciously wired.
“Sit,” Wally directed. I sat. “Are you hurt?” When I shook my head, she said, “Tell us. Everything. Please.”
So I did.
My report ranged from a tale of sex to a clinical analysis of war between immortals for control of New Orleans, Miami, and points between. It was broken by occasional questions or clarifications between the three of us when I remembered a voice. Delphine’s voice, whispering to me in the night. I felt her lips at my ear, telling me secrets and promises in a sultry drone that drenched my psyche with a latent desire to do her bidding. The memory was hypnotic.
Risa wondered aloud if I was imagining it as I fought to heal from her feeding.
“No, it makes too much sense. And the things she said to me, they bolster what I heard while I was awake. Her little girl lost bullshit, her offer to me. Her needs. Her wants. It’s all a lie. Look, I went there to learn; I walked out riddled with guilt. Feels like fucking sinning. I’m sorry.”
“What? Sins? You didn’t sin, Ring, you fucked an immortal.” Wally was a bit pissed. “You did what you wanted, what we wanted you to do. I admit I do not like it, the knowing how good she was and all . . .” She trailed off, the sexual challenge of Delphine fresh in her mind as a threat.
“You learned a great deal. At some risk. So you had fun, then you came home to us, not her. We have no lease on one another’s bodies, only our minds, and only that by agreement.” Risa summed up our less than traditional household. “Was it productive? Do we even want to participate in the politics of hell, whether it is a real place, or some distant mine under a cabin buried with bones? Who gives a shit? Do we?”
I thought we did for several reasons. Suma. Boon. Pan. Their families. Our futures. I didn’t have to spell it out for them, the girls reached the same conclusion. “When Delphine was telling her story, I noticed some very human things about her.”
“Her tits?” Wally asked, archly.
“True, they were magnificent, but yours are better. And Risa has better legs, while you’re both better lovers. Less consuming, more giving. Although the burping . . .”
Wally kicked me and laughed. We were okay for the moment.
“No, I felt her insecurity through her sin. Pride, and plenty of it. No surprise there, but the self-pity was a shocker. I don’t think that there will ever be enough of anything to take Delphine far enough from the mud and rape of those camps she told me about. And that, ladies, is why I think she is easier to manage than Elizabeth. The devil we know, and all that.”
Risa was doubtful. “Easier how? Because she can’t kill you . . . easily? And Elizabeth can? How do we know Elizabeth is even truly immortal? We have flawed intelligence from dubious sources about women who may or may not have ever been human. How is that truly knowing anything?”
I presented my case. “Let’s assume Cazimir is an immortal, and somehow, his family spat has spilled into the wider world. We have daughters, sisters, all females, for some reason running wild, fucking and eating and murdering people on three continents. He concocts a plausible crime of theft, finds us, and does what? Hopes for the best, that we remain mute through the search? That his brawling family doesn’t turn on each other and inform us of the shitstorm we’re walking into? No. There are only two possibilities. He knows and doesn’t think it matters because the fight is happening whether we get involved or not. Or something that scares me.”
“Which is?” the girls said in unison. Too many days together can lead to that type of speech.
“Cazimir isn’t a father, brother, uncle, crazy cousin, or whatever. He’s a rival. And we are his brass knuckles. He doesn’t want peace. He wants war. Not to expand his empire, but to sit right where he is and reign, just as he has done since we, as humans, began to call him by his true name: Satan.”
54
Florida: Ring
Our problem had an expanding set of outcomes. I detest moving goal lines, so we agreed to thin the herd. We would start with our easiest target, and the current president of my fan club, Delphine. I had recovered from our twelve-hour dinner, so I could safely assume she was at her best as well. Girding my loins for battle, I made a mental note. Keep her mouth away from my zipper, and I would remain the picture of steady control. Of course, that meant violating many of my personal principles in which I was taught to never look a gift horse in the mouth, or in this case, refuse a gift whore’s mouth, neither of which sounded very mannerly but made my point nonetheless.
Hey, Delphine used that term, not me.
I was just going along with her ritualized self-empowerment, and she actually scared the hell out of me in the same way a superb rollercoaster does. She did everything except turn upside down, and we simply hadn’t gotten around to that position, I sensed.
Our plan seemed perfect with one small exception: When I called her phone, the number was disconnected. All of her ema
il accounts were invalid and her site had gone dark. Joseph would not miss the chance to shame me like the peasant he knew me to be, so when his number bounced back as invalid, I knew that Delphine had gone under, most likely minutes after I left. Risa and Wally tried every possible means we had of contacting her, all to no avail. When a street view camera outside her primary home showed a property that had been boarded up, we knew she was long gone. All of this meant that something convinced Delphine teaming with me was a losing ticket.
I respectfully disagreed. But we still had one grape to squeeze. Suma.
55
Florida: Ring
Risa is tenacious when she gets an idea. She had that quiet, I’m thinking look when I found her at the table after dinner. The cloud of stillness around her meant she had been thinking for some time.
“Hey.” She emerged from her reverie slowly. “I put a few ideas together while you were otherwise occupied, you tramp.”
I leaned against her partly in apology, partly because I missed her, and I craved her approval after my trip to slutville.
“I’m listening. My answers are a bit thin, and I’m getting tired of being outthought by immortals who are glorified criminals. Even if that’s actually what we are, but you get me.” I grabbed an orange and sat, whittling the rind while she gathered her thoughts. Wally came in from the yard, Gyro in tow, and stole the wedges I had peeled. She stuffed the first one into her mouth with an accompanying glare. I wasn’t out of the woods yet.
“Wally mentioned, as you were no doubt cavorting with that hag, that we are being taught a lesson.” Risa tapped at the laptop in front of her, opening a file labeled Names. “This is a compilation of our recent contacts. Guess what they have in common, other than all of them being acquainted with your penis?”
“Very funny. None of them stole my fruit and held grudges?” I wasn’t going down without a fight.
“Hah,” Risa said, grinning. “All female, but that’s old ground, no need to replow that furrow, unless you’ve a need?” She was really riding this whole unlimited pleasure with an immortal courtesan thing into the ground.
I sighed. “Go on, dear.”
“Okay, all kidding aside, Suma is our last, best rope still attached to the main fleet. She’s also a female, just like all the others. Wally thinks that this is not accident. Cut through the list, find the lesson. Remember how we used to think just follow the money? Well, Delphine just torched that idea. We were stupid to apply human traits to immortals. We got soft. Ring is too fucking good at killing the low-level vermin who pick off tourists from Ontario, the newbie vamps who get careless and hungry and come out a minute too soon. He pops them, cool as a breeze.”
I interjected, “Again, old ground. What of it?”
Risa went on. “No kidding, it’s old. But if we look at this list as two groups, well, that’s a different idea entirely. How about this for a schism? Some have, some don’t. And there is only one who has everything, the control, and the whip that will cow even the most aggressive immortal. We’ve been barraged with females over the last two years, three if you disregard those two warlocks who were operating in Palm Beach. Does that sound random to you? No. I don’t believe in random, not now, not at this level of deception.” She broke for a long drink of water, and gently closed her laptop. “Which brings us, or more directly, you, Ring, back to Suma, and soon. Because if we’re starting to ask questions about who belongs to which side in this ugly little power struggle, the humans on the list will be the first to die. And I do not want to be the one to tell Boon her sister is dead at the hand of the devil.”
“Not me, too sad.” Wally distilled it quickly. Honestly.
I knew we were missing something, but it was probably someone instead. “I’m calling Suma, for dinner. Tonight. I think it’s time to mention some specific names around her, shake her up. See if she blinks.”
My phone rang on the way to pick Suma up at the Center. “Ring, Blue,” she began without preface. “They were here, the two women smoking, drinking like fish, guilty of being sort of European. But still watching. No Brandi, but the girls got a good look at them. Come by when you can and the cocktail waitress can describe both of them to you, including the mystery woman.”
“Got anything general?” I had to know.
“Late thirties. Black hair, pretty. Asian. That’s all I’ve got for now. Gotta run, come by later.” She clicked off without knowing that she had given me too much. The weight of her call sank in me like a dying fish. As I fought the logic, the idea of dinner with Suma became as unappealing as telling her family the truth.
“We’ll eat on the water.” I held Suma’s arm as we were led by a suitably demure hostess to the abandoned deck of a discreet chop house on the Intracoastal. A Chicago theme was meant to lend gangster muscularity to the interior, but it ended up being wistful and a bit sad, clashing against the dark, briny water. Suma’s heels tapped across the weathered deck as we were led to the furthest table, a lone pool of light cast by a rustic hurricane lamp. It was ruggedly beautiful, and the potential scene of a crime. I felt sicker with each step.
Our server appeared, a white shirted specter with a tired smile. “I’m Jenna, welcome. You’re all lonely out here. Is it romantic?” she asked, hopeful that it might mean a lover’s gratuity this late in her shift. Her hair was falling from her bun, indicating another long day on her feet dealing with the public. I made a mental note that no matter what happened, I was leaving her a hundred bucks.
Suma smiled, pleased to be included in our mythical couple. “Very. Thank you.”
“We’d like a bottle of Pinot, any kind of bread, and surf and turf for two.” I took the lead, hoping for as much privacy as possible. We’d need it. Jenna appreciated my brevity and left, disappearing into the darkness with the alacrity of a woman on a mission.
Gentle changes in the wind made the lamp sputter and dance. Suma looked regal, her hair nearly blue with the night clinging to her at the edge of the glow. She was glowing like you do on a date that you’re looking forward to, and she didn’t suspect my intent. My anger gathered, like the shadows around us. I reached out and took her hand, desire for closeness and control overcoming my combat principles.
Pounding steps announced our wine and bread, while the wind brought a heavy aroma of tobacco. A waiter, wine bucket in one hand, clumped to the table, where he inelegantly deposited the basket of a sliced brown loaf before moving on to the wine service
“I’m Finn. I hope you enjoy your wine. Shall I pour?” He was thrifty with his words and uncomfortable as a server. The bottle had been opened before coming to the table, which even I knew to be an offense to any wine drinker. He held the glasses in his left hand, standing at the edge of the light and awaiting my instructions.
“I’ll pour, thank you. Finn, do you have a light in case we smoke?” I asked, taking the wine stems from him.
Before Suma could protest my sudden addiction, Finn produced a cheap lighter. “Keep it, Sir. I’ll check on you in a moment. Jenna isn’t feeling well, so she went home. I’ll take good care of you.” He handed me the lighter and pulled his hand back as if burned.
I bet you will. “Some more butter, too, Finn? This bread is excellent.” I smeared the last pat on a slice as he turned to the main area. “Oh, Finn? Could you bring me another knife, too?” I examined the blade with a critical frown.
“Certainly, Sir. Is that one dirty?” He leaned into the light.
My arm shot forward, stabbing him dead center mass. He fell over the railing into the water, dissolving into a sinking rabble of blue bubbles that seemed far too cheery for their purpose. His shirt floated, empty save for a ring of ash around the collar, and then drifted out of sight. In sixty seconds, there was no evidence he had ever existed.
Suma sat speechless as I critiqued the knife again. “It is now.”
We had an unusually awkward moment in the car, dead waiter notwithstanding, but then I asked, “Do you smoke? Ever?”
S
he shook her head vehemently. “I know it’s the dirty secret of the health profession, but no. Never. Hell, I’m a runner. But what does that have to do with you killing our waiter? I mean, even if he was an immortal?”
“The breeze. And his walk. And his hand. Together, I knew who he was, and where he had been before he appeared at our table.” I was driving carefully. Suma was precious cargo now. The situation had changed.
“His hand? What? His walk? I don’t get it.” It was my fault for being curt.
“Jenna, the waitress? She walked across the deck, made a normal noise. But Finn? He walked like he was in someone else’s shoes. Which he was, in a way. Blue called and said that two women we’ve been looking for—immortals, in all likelihood—well they were at her place. Smoking foreign cigarettes. Like the kind that made Finn smell like a dumpster fire. And his hand, the second finger had an extra knuckle, but just for a second. It was a problem area in his disguise, you see. He was a shape shifter, and a woman. And he has been moving about for the past months dressed up . . . like you,” I told her with relief in every word. I felt lighter. Like I could breath, finally.
“So you thought I was an immortal?” Suma knew that was a death sentence around me, and it settled on her slow and heavy.
I reached out and took her hand again. “Not just any immortal. One who was passing secrets to the Baron, or Elizabeth, or maybe whoever the highest bidder was on a day in their brushfire war for control of hell. Or New Orleans, if you believe Delphine.”
Demon Master Page 17
