by Jackie May
“You’re still doing it. You won’t hear me.”
“I can’t hear it unless you say it.”
I stand up. “I told him it was hopeless. We all know you would never give up the ten million, and neither would I.”
She pushes to her feet, somehow looking staggered, as though I’ve wounded her. How could she not have any idea? That’s some next-level denial.
“He wants to go, Charlotte,” I say, trying to conjure exasperation, but failing. “Okay? Matt wants you to let him go. That’s it. I won’t do the whole conversation again. If you want to know more, ask him.” After watching her for a moment, I have to leave the table, because the look on her face is haunting. It’s the same look I’m terrified to see in the mirror someday. Without any sarcasm or spite, I say the words that have always been the most difficult for me. “I’m sorry.”
Her face goes blank. Her voice is flat. “Sun’s going down. We need to get ready.”
After she trudges away, Russo tiptoes in from the back door. “She didn’t say a word to me all day. Seemed like she was waiting for you to get home.”
“She was.”
“Anything I can do for her?”
“I’m going to ask you straight up, Danny. Is she just the ‘next’ one? Because if so, you need to walk away right now.”
“Straight up. I love it. Straight-up question gets a straight-up answer. There is no ‘next’ one. Not after her.”
“No more Amy’s?”
“Not if I have anything to do with it. The question is, do I?”
“It’s complicated.”
“I’m starting to see that.”
“You asked what you could do for her, and I’ll tell you. What you can do is be very patient. You get me? You can wait. That’s all she needs right now. Be there, and be you. Think you can do that?”
He gives a satisfied smile. “As long as it takes. Anything else?”
“Yes. You can do something for me.”
“Anything.”
“You can bring her home safely tonight. I don’t know what shit’s going to go down at the Grande Ballroom tonight, but I do know that Jay and Charlotte both have tunnel vision. If they find what they’re looking for—if they find who they’re looking for—they won’t look both ways before crossing the road. You and I have to do the looking for them. I promised somebody that I’d watch Charlotte’s back, but I’ve got to keep both eyes on Jay.”
“Say no more. You get yours, I’ll get mine.”
“I mean it, Danny. No matter what happens.”
“You got big plans for tonight?”
“I don’t got shit. But Jay needs this. Even though I hate to admit it, I think he needs this more than he needs me, which is why I’m going to let him off his leash.”
Russo’s eyes grow wide. “Uh. Have you ever seen Brenner off his leash?”
“In bits and pieces.”
He folds his massive arms. “Just be careful what you wish for. I know how much you love this city, Shayne. He could burn the whole thing down by morning.”
“Danny, if that’s what he needs, I’ll give it to him.”
“There it is.” I point out the windshield of the Rolls-Royce at a building coming up on our right. The legendary Grande Ballroom, once the premiere ticket for rock bands of the sixties and seventies, now a two-story pile of rubble in a vacant part of town. Every window is boarded up. Trees grow out of cracks in the walls.
Russo eases up on the gas. “Look at this. What the hell?”
The road ahead is dark. I don’t mean dark as in no streetlights, I mean dark as in completely blank. A tunnel of black nothingness much darker than the moonlit sky.
“Elle told me they might do this. It’s a blackout ward. We won’t see, and we won’t be seen. Better for everybody.”
“What do I do?”
“Nothing,” Hillerman says from the passenger seat, checking the mag in her pistol, stuffing it into a crystal-beaded clutch bag. I feel an urge to check my own handgun again, but I’ve already done that twice since we left the house.
“Here goes…” Russo drives us straight into the blackness, and everything disappears—not just outside, but everything inside, too. It’s like we’ve just been blindfolded. I feel the seat next to me, relieved to find Jay’s arm. The car slows down, then takes a quick turn to the right.
“How are you doing that?” I ask. “Can you see?”
I hear Russo turn around in his seat. “I’m not doing anything. It’s driving itself.”
“Shayne, keep track of our location. Map it out in your head,” Hillerman says.
“No map needed. We’re only a block north of the ballroom. It’s right behind us.”
“We’re barely moving,” Russo notes. “Stop-and-go, like we’re in traffic.”
“A parking lot,” Hillerman suggests. “Waiting our turn for a spot.”
“It’s got to be at least two whole blocks they’ve completely cloaked, even from ourselves,” I say. “They’re really serious about keeping this anonymous.”
“Good for us.” Hillerman’s seat rustles. Her voice is now aimed back at Jay and me. “Last words. Remember that we’re supposed to be old money—filthy rich and obsessed with status—be sure to act like it. Don’t forget about the hundred-dollar bills I gave you. Tip generously and often. Understood?”
I flip through the stack of hundreds in my clutch. “Pass them out like candy. Got it.”
“We’re here to apprehend a target, any of the top three—Beyona, Tabitha Durran, or their necromancer, whoever that is. Let’s not get greedy. Their necro ring can only function with all three, so one’s all we need to break the chain. As soon as any one of us has got any one of them in custody, we get the hell out. Give me your hands. Feel that?” Into my outstretched palm she places something tiny and round, like a watch battery. “It’s a tracking device. Secondary objective. You see anybody or anything that looks important, you put that tracker on it. Sticks to anything, including clothes. If we can land one, we can track any of the worker bees back to the hive. Any questions?”
“What’s our exit strategy?” Jay asks.
“Good question. Exits are tricky in the best of scenarios, and this won’t be that. In fact, I think it’s fair you all know that I consider this to be one step above a suicide run. Demons and sorcerers working together means the entire building will be locked down and warded. Security will be everywhere, and they will be heavily armed. We can assume no cell phones allowed, so communication is out. There’s no backup, because we can’t trust anybody, even at the Agency. We are completely on our own, which means our exit strategy is simple. It’s Shayne.”
“Me? I don’t have any exit plan.”
“Not yet. But you will, or I wouldn’t be doing this. When it’s time for us to get out of there, we’re following you.”
“Geez. No pressure.”
The car comes to a stop and turns off. Russo and Hillerman step out and shut their doors. I hold Jay back. “Wait, Jay.” I feel around in the dark until my fingers find the bowtie at his neck. I straighten it.
“How do I look?” he jokes.
“Like ten million bucks.”
“Wow, ten million.”
“Every penny.”
“You okay?”
“That’s what I want to talk about. Where’s your hand? Let me hold it.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just shut up and let me do the talking right now. I love you, Jay, but we can’t keep living like this. Looking over our shoulder, hiding behind wards. If we ever want to have any kind of life together, we’ve got to end this. You have to finish it, and you have to finish it tonight. Getting here almost killed us several times over, and we might never get another chance like this.”
“Babe, what’s up? Just say it.”
“I want you to forget about me.”
“What?”
“No, don’t get all dramatic about it. I’m not saying for good, I’m saying for now, you do what needs to be done
, and you don’t stop to think about me, not even for a second. You don’t look for me or wonder where I am. You don’t worry about me, Jay. You put me out of sight, out of mind. It’s just you and them, and that’s all that matters tonight. No hesitation. No holding back. All in.”
He squeezes my hand. “I will, if you will.”
“Right behind you, babe, every step of the way. I promise.”
“Shayne, you need to understand what you’re saying. If I flip that switch, I…if I go down that rabbit hole, you can’t take it personally, the way I’d look at you.”
“You mean, the way you won’t look at me?”
“Right. If this thing goes down, I won’t see you. I won’t see anything but red. And even if we end it tonight, I can’t just turn that off again.”
“I know it, babe. Maybe it’s not tonight, and maybe it’s not tomorrow, but you will come back to me. All of you, hear me?”
There’s a knock at the window. Time’s up. Jay squeezes my hand. “Shayne, you have to be sure.”
“I’m sure, Jay. Go get ’em.”
His hand begins to tremble with intensity. Adrenaline rushes through his veins. “Fine, but I get a final wish.”
“Hold on; I’m not giving you permission to die, Jay. Let’s be clear about that.”
“A wedding date. Just a day. Any day.”
Another knock at the window, flustering me. “A wedding day? How should I know?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Opening day of baseball season. That’s in two months.”
My heart melts. This has to be the first time somebody else has ever given me an idea that was more me than anything I would have come up with myself. I pull him in for a kiss, then a firm pat on the face. “Now, go fetch.” He kicks the door open and practically leaps from the car.
“We got a problem,” Hillerman announces.
I see what she means. The blackout is still in effect, but now there is a red glow outlining our concealed weapons, as though we’re in some sort of magical x-ray machine. Four bright-red guns floating in the darkness.
“Shit. Red means bad,” I say.
Russo sighs. “So much for concealed weapons. We’re supposed to go in there unarmed?”
I take the pistol from my clutch bag and drop it into the car. As soon as I do, a faint blue glow outlines my body. “I guess blue means good.”
Jay tosses his gun into the back seat. After the others follow suit, we have to hustle to catch up to Jay’s blue silhouette. He takes large strides along a glowing blue path on the ground.
“Off the leash?” Russo mutters to me.
“For better or worse. You get yours, I’ll get mine.”
Russo drops back to Hillerman’s side while I lengthen my stride to keep close behind Jay. It sounds like we’re in a parking structure—there’s an echo from the click-clack of the men’s dress shoes. My feet are silent, because under my luxurious, emerald green maxi dress I’m wearing sneakers.
The blue path ends with a large East Side demon sigil that pulses with purple energy. A dark figure with glowing eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth appears in front of us. “Kindly stand inside the circle.” His glowing teeth are framed by the shape of a wide smile. “If you please, I will now inspect your invitations.”
After we move into the center of the demon sigil, he raises a hand that suddenly ignites with purple energy. The markings on Jay’s back appear, glowing purple—the words GRANDE BALLROOM and the symbol of the first quarter moon.
“Ah. So you are the Betrayed,” the demon sorcerer says, licking his lips. “Tell me, how did it feel?”
“It tickled,” Jay says.
The demon moves on to Russo and reveals the gargoyle bite marks on his bicep. “The Bitten. My, but what big arms you have.” He inspects Hillerman’s palm, which is stained purple. “The Betrayer. Did you hesitate?”
“I never hesitate.”
He waves his hand by my elbow, unveiling the ring around my arm where the gargoyle’s ass clenched. He giggles. “And last, but not least, the Privileged.”
“That’s exactly how I felt at the time,” I say.
“Welcome, all of you. Follow me, and mind your heads.” He leads us into a chamber with a low ceiling. Russo has to bow his head. Along one wall are a dozen long rows of elaborate masks, glowing like neon signs. Some are ghastly demon faces; others are animals; the top row is dedicated to a royal court—kings, queens, knights.
“Choose a mask at your leisure,” our host invites.
Russo reaches up to the top row and selects the court jester.
“A trickster, have we? Watch out for that last laugh. It’s a killer.”
Hillerman goes for a fawn with stubby antlers.
The demon’s voice turns thirsty. “Submissive and innocent. How…mouthwatering.”
Jay pulls a Day of the Dead sugar skull over his head.
“Very good, sir. May I say, death becomes you.” He looks at me. “And for the lady?”
My choice is obvious. Maybe too obvious, but I can’t help myself. “For the lady, her spirit animal,” I say as I place a grinning fox mask over my face.
“Ambitious. They say a vixen’s grin is irresistible.”
“I’m counting on it.”
Bowing, he sweeps his arm toward a concrete wall, where a door magically appears. “We will now proceed.”
As we pass through the door, the blackout is lifted. My eyes adjust to the flickering firelight of torches lining the walls of a concrete basement. The floor is littered with rubble from crumbling pillars, and one wall is dominated by a fireplace big enough for all four of us to stand in.
The boys are a striking sight, both in tailored tuxedos stretched across thick chests and muscled shoulders. Russo’s bodybuilder frame is a contradiction to the goofy jester’s mask, but Jay’s sugar skull perfectly suits his aggressive stance and burning eyes—a well-dressed grim reaper, looking for any reason to misbehave.
I see now why that demon called Hillerman mouthwatering. Her dark taupe gown is overtly modest from the front, covering all the distinctive tattoos on her arms and chest. When she turns around, however, spying eyes are treated to an open back all the way down to her ass, and it’s really not fair how sexy a toned back can look. With that demure doe-eyed mask, the total effect is both innocent and teasing. A predator’s dream.
At a table stands a tall, thin man with his back to us. He’s wearing a fedora and a pinstripe suit, as though he’s expecting Al Capone to walk through the door. As he makes notes in a ledger, he barks orders. “Coats on the rack, cell phones, all electronics on the table. I’ll give you a claim ticket.”
His gruff tone irks me. Since when did the help talk to distinguished guests like that? It deserves pushback, if only for the sake of staying in character. “Don’t got a coat or a phone, and if you take my Fitbit, you have to wear it. I’m still five hundred steps short.”
Well, I can tell he doesn’t care for my tone, either, because he stops writing, carefully lays down the pencil, and straightens his shoulders before turning to face me with a sneer. At first I think he’s wearing a mask, because his eyes are blank. When Jay’s body tenses, the jolt of realization strikes me—the pinstripe guy’s not wearing a mask. His eyes are glossy white from cataracts. When he talks, the points of his vampire fangs glint in the torchlight. “Let me put it this way. Any and all electronics not placed on the table will be destroyed. Fitbits included.”
“Wait a minute, this was not in the brochure. Alfred? Where’s Alfred?” I pin our gracious demon host with a look.
He gives a nervous laugh. “Yes, what he means to say is that all guests must be subjected to an EMP before entering. For security reasons, you understand.”
“I don’t understand shit, Alfred. I may be rich and powerful, but not all of us went to Harvard.”
He presses his hands together. “Apologies. EMP stands for electromagnetic pulse. Simply put, it’s a shockwave that will render all electronics useless.”
&
nbsp; I glance at Hillerman with panic. First, we had to leave our guns behind, and now the trackers she gave us are about to get fried. This deal’s getting worse all the time. I have an idea for saving one of our trackers, but it might not be worth the risk.
“We must take all precautions,” Alfred continues. “People less scrupulous than yourself might be tempted to make recordings of our little parties, which would ruin the fun for us all. You understand.”
I decide to go for it. “I gotcha, Alfred. Now let me tell you what to understand. Hit us with your EMP, but not until this pinstriped goon takes a hike. We ain’t doing shit at the request of a bloodsucking revenant.”
Luckily, Pinstripes reacts exactly as I had hoped. He takes a single menacing step toward me, and that’s as far as he gets before Jay tomahawks him in the throat. In the time it takes for the goon to drop to a knee, Jay has already unleashed two more punches to his face. I take advantage of the distraction, removing a small metal cylinder from my bracelet and sticking my tiny tracker to the bottom of it.
Recovering from the shock, the revenant dodges Jay’s third punch and is poised for a lethal counterstrike when I pounce on him. We slam against the table. When he feels metal at his neck, he goes very still.
“You know what I got for you, and it ain’t a Fitbit,” I growl through clenched teeth. “You may be demon on the inside, but this body is pure fanger.”
“That doesn’t work out so well for you,” says a deep voice behind me. “Fangers need blood, and you’re full of it.”
Seeing Jay’s eyes widen and his fists clench, I have a pretty good guess what I’ll see when I turn around. Releasing Pinstripes, I face the new threat: two more vampires with cataract eyes. The one who spoke is by far the biggest. A black stripe runs down his chin and throat. With a pencil mustache and wavy, golden hair falling to one side of his widow’s peak hairline, he has the swashbuckling good looks of a movie star from the Golden Age of Hollywood. Or he would have, you know, if he weren’t a demon zombie.
“Capra, yes, here you are,” says Alfred to him with a forced smile.
“Yes, here I am. And just in time, by the looks of it.”
“Oh, it’s nothing at all. These illustrious guests have simply expressed a modicum of distaste for the—I’m sorry to admit—rather unrefined demeanor of certain staff members.”
