Demon Hunt

by A. Blythe

  “He’s in session right now,” she said. “We need to wait.”

  I studied Standish Guthrie out of the corner of my eye. Expensive clothes and vacations. A chunky gold wedding band. Which client was he protecting and what did they want to prevent us from finding in the vault? I’d have to speak to Mix and see if he could offer any insight.

  “May I ask what your role is in all this, Miss Winters?” Mr. Guthrie asked. “Detective Thompson was a bit fuzzy on the details.”

  “When you reveal the identity of your client, I’ll reveal my role,” I said sweetly.

  His fake, easy-going smile melted into a genuine one. “You have my interest piqued. Well, now I really wish I could tell you.”

  “This isn’t a game, Mr. Guthrie,” Thompson said. “You’re impeding an investigation.”

  Mr. Guthrie winked at us. “You should have had the judge issue a nondisclosure directive along with the warrant. Then the bank wouldn’t have been able to notify my client.”

  I glared at Mr. Moyes. “We’re trying to help you. Your bank was taken over by three armed men and whatever they wanted is allegedly in that vault.”

  “Yes, but what’s in that vault isn’t evidence of a crime,” Mr. Guthrie interjected. “You have no reason to rifle through private safe deposit boxes to see what you can turn up. It’s nothing more than a fishing expedition and my client refuses to consent to it.”

  Give me strength.

  Thompson’s phone rang and she practically ripped the fabric of her pants to get to it. “Thompson here.” She walked out of earshot and I watched her body language to see which way the wind was blowing.

  “Judge Atwood will narrow the scope of the warrant,” Mr. Guthrie told me, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You’ll need to describe in more detail what you’re looking for.”

  “But we don’t know what we’re looking for,” I said in exasperation. “It’s like porn, we’ll know it when we see it.”

  He cocked a silver eyebrow at that but said nothing.

  Thompson stomped back over to us, looking as angry as I felt. “Useless son of a bitch.”

  “Don’t hold back, Detective,” I said. “Tell us how you really feel.”

  “We need to file a more detailed request,” she said hotly. “Whatever his client is hiding”—she stabbed a finger at him—“they’ll be able to remove it before we find it.”

  “Are you suggesting my client’s property is connected to the crime?” Mr. Guthrie asked, smoothly adjusting his tie.

  “No, you are by your shady appearance here today.” Thompson gave him the once over. “I might have glossed right over you and your client if we’d been able to inventory the vault like we intended to. Now you’re on my watch list, Mr. Guthrie. Congratulations.”

  Thompson glanced at Mr. Moyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Moyes. Do yourself a favor and shave that sorry excuse for a mustache. It looks like you have a baby caterpillar crawling across your upper lip. It’s pathetic.”

  She marched through the lobby to the door and I hurried after her, shooting one last look at Mr. Guthrie before we emptied out onto the busy sidewalk.

  “Of all the bureaucratic bullshit,” she muttered. Usually I walked at a rapid clip, but Thompson was giving me a dose of healthy competition.

  “Who do you think he works for?” I asked.

  “A wealthy client who is clearly hiding something,” she said.

  “Well, I guess that narrows it down.” I stopped talking to catch my breath.

  “I am going to find out who his client is and make sure I catch them red-handed with whatever it is they’re doing,” she said, continuing to fume.

  “He works at the law firm where my friend Jeremy is in IT,” I said. “I’ll see what he can tell me.”

  Thompson held up a hand. “Without breaking any laws, Winters. If he colors outside the lines, I don’t want to know.”

  “Got it.” Without access to the vault, I realized that we no longer had a way of working this angle of the investigation. All we had to work with were empty minds. I suddenly felt like a high school teacher.

  “Has Melania managed to extract anything else from the robo-robbers?”

  “No, we finally had to release them. If we can’t find the responsible party soon, these clueless men are going to take the blame. Two of them have families.”

  We couldn’t let the humans take the fall. It wasn’t fair. They were supernatural pawns in a game they didn’t even know they were playing. We had to root out the real criminal before these men kissed their families goodbye and spent the next ten years in prison.

  “I’ll talk to Mix,” I said. It was a big favor, but I had to do whatever I could to help these men. I knew all too well what it felt like to be a pawn in someone else’s game. Quite frankly, it sucked.

  I texted Mix to meet me outside the Starbucks after work. Although the pumpkin spice lattes were gone, the eggnog lattes were out in all their Christmas glory.

  He came straight from the office and was pleased to see no line ahead of us.

  “How can you drink that stuff?” he asked, opting for a Colombian blend.

  “They’re starting to grow on me,” I said. “I guess I’m going native.” I’d spent so many years abroad, I hadn’t had the full American experience in quite some time.

  We sat at a table by the window and watched the rush hour go by.

  “How’s your pig?” I asked.

  “Annie is fine,” he said, emphasizing her name.

  “Do you need to get home and take her for a walk?” I asked.

  He gave me a look. “Is this what you really want to talk about?”

  “No.”

  “Is this about Serena?” he asked, leaving back in his chair. “Because I don’t think we should talk about her either. I can feel the judgmental vibes from over here.”

  I tried to curb any possible vibes I was sending his way. Serena was his business.

  “Okay then,” I said. “Tell me about Standish Guthrie.”

  He nearly spat his coffee at me. “Mr. Guthrie? Why do you need to know about him?”

  “I met him. A real silver fox.”

  Mix stared at me intently. “You’re not thinking of dating him, are you?”

  “Good gods, no! I have enough personal drama, thank you very much.”

  He relaxed. “What do you want to know? He’s a partner. Corner office. Very respected.”

  “High-profile client list?” I asked.

  He crossed his arms. “What exactly are you trying to find out?”

  I filled him in on my experience at the bank. “He’s clearly sheltering some kind of criminal. Does he represent anyone in the crime syndicate?”

  Mix shook his head. “As far as I know, his clients are mostly from the Main Line.”

  With old Main Line money. The Main Line was the suburban expanse of Philadelphia that stretched northwest from the city all the way to Paoli.

  “You work in IT,” I said. “Is there any way to access client records? Emails, appointments. Maybe a list of people who called him over the past three days.”

  Mix chuckled. “You’re kidding, right? I mean, you’d never ask me to compromise my job to help you in your unofficial capacity.”

  He knew perfectly well I wasn’t kidding.

  “Come on, Mix. There are human lives at stake. You won’t get caught. You’re a Jann. Show off your skills for a change. You need to be more Superman and less Clark Kent.”

  “Appealing to my ego now?” He smiled. “You must be desperate.”

  “I know you like your human life, but don’t you want to flash your djinni badge once in a blue moon?” I prodded. “You can shift your way right into the system like that 80’s movie you love so hard.”

  “Tron.”

  I pointed to him. “That’s the one. Be Tron, Mix. Tell me which wealthy clients contacted Mr. Guthrie. It’s for a good cause, I promise.”

  His shoulders sagged. “I’ll see what I can do,
but you owe me. Big time.”

  “I’ll rescue you another pig from the market if you think Annie needs a friend.”

  “My apartment is pretty full with Annie right now, but I’ll think of something.”

  Yikes. Now I owed Mix, too? That was sure to come back and bite me in the ass.

  “Deal,” I said, because what choice did I have? “Soon, okay? Clock’s ticking.”

  “What the hell?” he said good-naturedly. “I was only going to spend tomorrow telling lawyers to reboot their systems. This will be more fun.”

  I took off the lid of my cup and sucked down the froth. “You’re welcome.”

  8

  “We should have a girls’ night out,” Farah said brightly, applying a coat of shiny blue polish to her fingernails. We sat in the kitchen, nursing a pitcher of sangria while Katrien slept in my bedroom. “Katrien needs fresh air.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “She’s not going to get fresh air in any of the places you like to frequent.”

  “She shouldn’t be holed up in this place for the rest of eternity.”

  “She was out with me,” I said defensively.

  “To the warehouse?” Farah scoffed. “Don’t make me worry more about you than I already do.”

  “She should be here as much as possible,” I said. “At least until it’s safe for her to leave.”

  “And when will that be?” Farah asked. “If you can’t help her exact revenge on Aladdin, then why is she still here?”

  “She needs to get her strength back,” I argued. “She’s been captive for gods know how long. If Aladdin’s thugs track her, I want her able to defend herself because I sure as hell can’t do it.”

  Farah polished her thumb. She always left the thumbs for last—one of those weird idiosyncrasies you notice about person when you’ve known each other for a long time.

  “Maybe we should call someone to look her over,” Farah said, choosing her words carefully. “You know, make sure there’s no permanent damage.”

  “What do you mean? You think something’s wrong with her?”

  “Don’t you think her recovery is too slow?” Farah queried. “She’s a Marid. She left Monaco and went to Dubai before she came here. She should be spinning into tornadoes by now instead of padding around the apartment with cups of tea.”

  Katrien did seem to like her tea.

  “I’ll talk to her,” I said. “See if I can figure it out. It could be psychological.”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” Farah said. “I can’t bear to think about what she had to endure during captivity.”

  I glanced at my cuffs and immediately felt guilty. My suffering was nothing compared to hers.

  “Let’s take her to The Night Owl,” I said. “It’s calmer than a club.”

  “What’s The Night Owl?” a sleepy voice asked.

  “Katrien, you’re awake,” Farah said. “Perfect timing. Take a shower and summon yourself a pretty outfit. We’re going out tonight.”

  Katrien glanced down at her T-shirt and pajama bottoms. “I managed a sledgehammer. I should be able to manage a dress.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a dress,” I said. “The Night Owl is low key. Jeans would work.”

  “And it is a safe place?”

  “It’s as safe as you’re going to find in this city,” I said. “We’ll leave at the first sign of trouble.”

  Farah cast a sidelong glance at me. “Usually you showing up is the first sign of trouble.”

  Katrien mustered a smile. “It sounds like it will be a nice diversion. I could use a bit of fun after what I have endured.” She lifted her chin thoughtfully. “I cannot remember the last time I heard laughter.”

  Her admission was a painful reminder of the torture and abuse she likely encountered on a regular basis.

  Katrien eyed the pitcher on the table. “I must ask—are you drinking wine out of a jug?”

  “Sangria,” Farah corrected her. “We’ll pour you a glass after you’re dressed.”

  “Deal.” Katrien hurried off to the bathroom, her steps more sprightly than they’d been since her arrival.

  Farah gave me a smug smile. “See? Alcohol makes everything better.”

  We were dressed and ready to roll in less than an hour. Katrien stepped out of the bathroom in a shiny black halter top, tight black pants, and spiked heels. Silver hoops dangled from her ears.

  “Wow,” I said. “You look ready to walk the runway.”

  She glanced down at her attire. “Wardrobe summoning was always one of my specialties. I suppose I have not lost my touch.”

  Apparently not.

  “How late do you think we will be out?” Katrien asked.

  Farah handed her the promised glass of sangria. “As late as you want. Bar’s open until Khalil kicks out the last patron.”

  “Let us know when you want to leave,” I said. “We don’t need to stay out late.”

  Farah began to pout. “Maybe she doesn’t, but I do. I’m nursing a broken heart, remember?”

  I rolled my eyes. Was she seriously comparing Katrien’s years of captivity to her recent breakup with Rocco? And everyone called me self-centered.

  “I thought you said you had a nice time with Luciano,” I said.

  Farah smiled and swung her red hair over her shoulder. “We had an amazing time.”

  “Luciano?” Katrien repeated. “He is a Hinn?”

  “No, he’s a mobster,” I said. “As was her last boyfriend. Farah seems to be living out her Goodfellas fantasy.”

  “They are humans, no?” Katrien asked.

  “Very,” Farah replied. “That’s what makes it so fun. You should have seen Luciano’s face when I…”

  I waved my hands. “Okay, Farah. We don’t need a reenactment. Are we taking a cab?”

  “I’ll drive,” Farah said. “You can always drive my car home if you want to leave sooner than me.”

  Drinking and driving wasn’t such an issue for djinn since it took an entire brewery to get us drunk. With my cuffs, however, my tolerance wasn’t what it used to be. I’d have to exercise a bit more restraint if I planned to drive.

  We were halfway to the bar when I realized that I’d left my weapons behind. I was too focused on my phone, wondering when Jonathan would return my call. I’d hoped to hear from him by now but, so far, no dice.

  “Farah, we need to go back,” I said. “I left my weapons.” I didn’t like the idea of being out on the town with Katrien without a weapon. Between my cuffs and Katrien’s weakness, we’d only have Farah to defend us. It wasn’t enough.

  Farah blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re worse than a toddler needing the toilet.”

  “I thought you said the bar was safe,” Katrien said nervously.

  “It is, mostly. But what if someone comes looking for you? Not to mention there’s someone in the city casting spells on humans and giving them guns.”

  “Alyse is right,” Farah said, slowing down the car to turn at the next corner. “You’re still too weak to fight and that would leave me.” She glanced at Katrien in the rearview mirror. “Bar brawls are my specialty, but not against seasoned professionals.”

  Katrien leaned back against the seat. “I don’t want to ruin the evening before it begins. Please don’t retrieve your weapons on my account. I will feel anxious all night if I know they are there.”

  Good thing I didn’t tell her about the armory then.

  “I understand, Katrien,” I said. “But I can’t risk it. Better safe than sorry.”

  Farah pulled curbside and I opened the door.

  “We’ll wait in the warm car,” Farah called.

  As I took out the key to unlock the door to Tops and Bottoms, I realized the door was already ajar. Slowly, I pushed open the door and slipped inside. Movement behind the counter caught my attention. A man was rifling through the cash register, but he wasn’t taking any money. To my right, another man was—wait, was he fondling the mannequins? No, he was padding down the clothes
. Okay, most of them were in skimpy lingerie. Not much to pad.

  I quickly weighed my options. I’d never make it to the armory without attracting attention. I turned and glanced through the glass at Farah’s Prius. I couldn’t get their attention either, not without alerting these guys. I’d just have to hope they were good, old-fashioned human criminals.

  I took a deep breath and sauntered further into the store. “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for a lace teddy with edible underwear.”

  The two men stopped and stared at me. I realized with a start that these two wore the same blank expressions as the bank robbers.

  “You have something like that in my size?” I walked toward one of the mannequins, pretending to admire the leather bustier with studs for nipples.

  The one behind the counter drew a gun.

  “That’s a bit on the small size, don’t you think?” I asked. I didn’t particularly want to be shot at, but I knew the sound of gunfire would alert Farah and Katrien to the trouble inside.

  Sure enough, a gunshot rang out and I jumped behind the mannequin. She managed to stop the bullet with her studded chest. Impressive.

  Farah and Katrien were inside in a heartbeat. There was no time for discussion. Farah shifted straight into a honey badger. It wasn’t her preferred form, but she recognized the need for intimidation and honey badgers were known for their aggressive behavior.

  “Don’t kill them,” I yelled, still using the mannequin as a shield.

  “Why not?” Katrien asked.

  “Because they’re humans, under some kind of spell,” I said. “It’s not their fault.”

  “If they are trying to kill us, then we must defend ourselves.”

  “Yes, but if we can do that without killing them, we should.”

  Katrien closed her eyes, concentrating on shifting. “I make no promises,” she said before her body dissolved into mist.

  Great. Now I’d need to worry about protecting the humans and defending myself against them at the same time. Now I wished my friends had stayed in the car.

  Farah’s honey badger form launched herself at the man who’d been pawing her mannequins. He managed to squeeze off a shot before she reached him. I watched in horror as the bullet ripped through her hind leg. She yelped and smashed against the mannequin. Together they fell into the display, knocking the other mannequins down like dominoes, but Farah was back on her feet in human form within seconds.