“Can we just pick out all the smelly leaves?” Dante peered at the pile I’d left on the bar, but was careful not to touch.
“I can’t be sure we’d get them all. Or what else someone has put in this thing.” It didn’t feel like any magic, but was that because the horehound was masking it? I rubbed my fingertips together, wondering what effect just handling the leaves would have on Mira’s protective spells.
They were all looking at me, waiting to see what they should do. I hate that.
“Okay. Okay, let’s do this. Bobby, get this thing out of here. Just take it out and dump it in the trash somewhere downstairs. It’s going to weaken the wards on the door some more, but I’ll take the one off my room and add it to this one, after the plant is gone.” Sure, that’d leave me without a secure room to fall back to, but I was here to protect Gretchen first and foremost. I’d just have to make do.
After a moment of silence, Bobby nodded. “You heard the man.” He took the flowers from me and went to dispose of them.
“See if you can find out who delivered those, Bobby,” I called after him.
As I’d feared, the ward was noticeably depleted by the second pass of the bouquet through its barrier. It barely registered to my senses as I crossed the threshold to go to my own room.
It took only a moment to tear down the blessed string around my own doorjamb and replace it around Gretchen’s waning ward. Thankfully, that snapped the protection back to full force. Dante stood beside me in the hallway as I worked, just watching in silence, and Tai stood on the inside of the door, nodding his approval as he tested the feel of it. “Yeah, that’s better. Like when you first set them up.”
“It’ll do for now.” But I was going to need a backup plan. I could see that already. Man, I hoped I could think of one before I needed it.
Gretchen also watched the proceedings, her brow furrowed as she pondered all the implications of this interesting development. “So, is it still safe for me to go out? I mean, the spa thing and this meeting at the movie lot?”
“Should be, I would think. Might even be better to be out in public, with lots of witnesses.”
“All right. Get the car, I’ll be down in a second.”
Tai plucked at my sleeve. “Come on, you can sweep the car or something.” Hell, why not? I followed him.
The Maori kept giving me odd looks as we rode the elevator down. “Something you want to ask, Tai?”
“You really believe in all that, don’t you? That string thing? What the hell is that, anyway?”
“Would you believe me if I told you a priest blessed it, and I’m using it to keep evil out?” I raised a brow at him, and grinned when he looked skeptical. “You don’t really believe in this whole ‘demon’ thing, do you?”
“No. Not really.” He looked a bit sheepish. “I mean, no offense, but you all sound like crackpots when you talk about stuff like that.”
“No offense taken. We do sound like crackpots.” For some reason, this amused me. Tai, of all people, with magic almost literally flowing through his veins, didn’t believe. There was some irony there. “Just remember that you can feel the ward in that doorway, Tai. Believe it or not, you know something’s there. Think about why that is, sometime.”
The big man snorted. “You sound like my grandma. She was always talking about magic and spirits and stuff. Bedtime stories.”
“All stories gotta come from somewhere.”
The lobby was dazzlingly bright as we stepped off the elevator, and it took me a moment to realize why that felt so wrong. Missouri winters were uniformly gray and overcast, punctuated only by occasional subzero temperatures or an ice storm. Here in California, the sun was shining brightly, and it wasn’t even what I’d call “cool” outside. Unnatural, I tell ya.
The Town Car was waiting outside already, and I gave a small show of giving it a once-over with my mirror. There was nothing there, that I could see, but honestly, how would I know what to look for anyway? I mean, really, what was the demonic equivalent of a car bomb? Cam’s danger disk was neutral, and I had no goose bumps or stomach cramps, so I finally deemed it safe. Tai called up and gave Gretchen the all clear.
“The heart calls to him who would listen.”
The voice startled me, and I almost smacked my head on the roof of the car as I backed up in a hurry. Somehow, the eccentric homeless guy had managed to sneak up on me. Well, that wasn’t promising. “Felix, right?”
The odd man nodded happily, pleased that I’d remembered. He looked just the same as yesterday, his layered clothing a riot of colors and…interesting odors. There was a tiny white feather tied into one of his silvery dreadlocks now, fluttering with the rest of the colorful bits of yarn and cloth as the breeze whispered by.
“I try to listen to my heart, y’know,” I told him. “It’s not the smartest thing in the world, sometimes, but I do try to listen.”
The old man’s smile grew, his weatherworn cheeks almost splitting, so wide was his grin. His teeth were half rotted, I noticed, but his eyes gleamed with a cheerfulness that was almost infectious. Up close and personal like that, I could see his eyes were an odd, pale brown color. Almost gold. Like whiskey. Considering what he smelled like, I had to wonder if maybe his liquor of choice had just filled him up that far. “Listening and obeying aren’t the same. Listen when the heart calls, then let the head roll it around a bit. Sometimes, it’s destiny. Sometimes, it’s just a plain ol’ booty call, and somebody’s gonna get screwed.”
Despite the serious turn the day had taken, that made me laugh a little, and I nodded. “That it is.” Behind me, Bobby came out of the sliding glass doors with Gretchen and Dante in tow. “Nice talkin’ to you, Felix. I gotta go now.”
But I’d lost the homeless man’s attention, his gaze fixed firmly on Gretchen as she passed. “And they cry out to be free, wailing in the silence that holds no souls…”
“Get on outta here, you freak!” Dante glared and gestured angrily at the doorman. “Can’t you do something about this loony?”
With a sigh, the doorman moved to hustle Felix along as I climbed into the Town Car, riding shotgun to Tai’s driving. I turned to watch as we pulled away, noticing that not once did Felix take his eyes off the car. It was like nothing else existed in his world but us, for that brief moment.
There was something in those whiskey-colored eyes, I decided. Something that just didn’t belong in that jovial face. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it looked like hatred.
10
Trying to get more information on Felix out of the crew in the car was worse than useless. All anyone really knew was that he’d been wandering in the neighborhood “forever” and that he was totally harmless. His origins, his current crash space, all that seemed to be shrouded in mystery. More likely, it was shrouded in “we don’t really want to see the homeless guy on the corner, so we’ll look the other way.”
“Why, do you think he’s a threat?” Bobby wanted to know.
“If I say yes, are you going to go break his kneecaps?” The look on the former soldier’s face told me everything I needed to know. “No, I don’t think he’s a threat. He’s just unusual, and in my line of business, unusual never turns out well for me.”
“Felix is just eccentric.” Gretchen dismissed my concerns with a wave of her manicured hand.
“Can we please talk about something other than the old skeezy guy?” Dante didn’t want to have the conversation at all, it seemed. “They oughta throw his rank ass in jail.”
And that was the end of that.
Did I think he was dangerous? No, not really. My advance warning system hadn’t let me down so far, and there were no goose bumps, no stomach cramps around the strange old man. In fact, he’d even touched my hand without repercussions from Mira’s protective spells, so I think that safely eliminated him from “bad guy” contention.
Still, I decided to watch him. Face it, Felix was one of the more interesting things to happen since I touched down in L.A., an
d he made more sense than half the people I’d spoken to so far.
As for our little outing, I still wasn’t sure exactly what a “spa day” entailed, despite the fact that it seemed to be one of those things the women in my life enjoyed. I was also unclear as to just what I was supposed to do while Gretchen was doing…whatever it is they did.
“Mostly we read magazines,” Bobby answered from the back when I asked. “Though Tai got a manicure once.”
The Maori blushed, his dark skin getting even darker. “In all fairness, the girl doing it was hot. That’s the only reason.”
Gretchen chuckled, though it was obviously forced. She was trying to paint on a lighter mood. “We could see if she’s there again…I’ll even pay.” Reaching up, she pushed Tai’s shoulder playfully. The big man ducked his head and muttered to himself, but it was all in good-natured fun. “What about you, Jesse? Manicure? Pedicure?” She grinned wickedly. “Bikini wax?”
“I’ll pass, thanks.” It was interesting to watch the shields come down over her eyes, the walls build up around her face again. She painted on her bright and frivolous persona like an artist on a canvas. It was an elaborate show, one she had obviously practiced for a very long time. She sat in the back between Dante and Bobby and chatted until we pulled up to the salon, and you’d think she never had a care in the world.
The place we stopped at was a salon. That’s really all I can say about it. Trendy, I’m sure. Everything done in black geometric shapes. The employees were all dressed in severe black clothes, and the clients seemed to be wandering around in metallic silver robes and fuzzy slippers like some clan of befuddled Martians.
I recognized the music playing softly overhead as some popular Irish-type artist Mira carried in her shop, and the air seemed to be layered with a floral scent. Freesia, I think. Or lavender. I get those mixed up, which is why I’m not allowed to help Mira stock shelves at Seventh Sense anymore.
They greeted Gretchen with hugs and squeals, and swept both her and Dante into the back with very little ado. Bobby and Tai each took up position in a couple of chairs that looked very artsy and were probably uncomfortable as hell. They both, however, were facing the front door. The nonchalance wasn’t entirely authentic. “So how long does this stuff usually take?”
“Couple of hours?” Tai shrugged, picking up a magazine to flip through it. “She’s got a meeting after, so it’s not likely to drag on longer than that.”
Couple of hours? Cripes, I could get my hair cut in a couple of minutes! Glancing around the room one more time, I knew I was going to go stark raving mad if I had to sit here and listen to Irish tin-whistle music for hours.
I’d seen an alley as we’d pulled up to the building, which probably meant I could find the back door to this place. “I’m gonna check the perimeter.”
The back door was in the back. That’s about as interesting as it got. One of the salon employees was in the alley, sneaking a cigarette, and raised a brow as I wandered through. Couple of Dumpsters, some scrubby weeds in the pavement cracks, but nothing sinister. I checked my danger disk as I passed the smoker, but it didn’t react and I had to mentally mark her as clear. Perimeter secure. Sir, yes sir. I felt a little ridiculous.
Returning to the front, I found a place on a bench just outside the door. The least I could do was enjoy the weather. My seat was what we’ll call less than comfortable, but the California sunshine more than made up for it. Seemed like everyone else was enjoying the fine weather too, a constant stream of people parading up and down the sidewalk despite the fact that it was the middle of a weekday. Did no one work here?
People-watching is fun. Well, it used to be. Now, my eyes swept over bared arms, looking for telltale black swirls. Even with the temperatures fairly cool, sun worship ruled here, and most folks had short sleeves on. Made it a little easier. I saw plenty of tans, both real and sprayed on, but no demon tattoos.
I stretched out my legs, got as comfortable as I could, and tried to clear my mind. I had some things to think on.
There definitely was a bad guy in play. That much was certain. Someone who knew I was here. Someone who knew I’d warded the doors. While once upon a time, that would have narrowed down my suspect list, my picture in the morning paper meant that just about anybody could have seen me. And face it, in the demon world, I’m memorable. I’d spanked too many of them for me to go unrecognized.
Hm. If I were a demon, who would I send?
Images of a handless, armless female zombie flashed through my mind’s eye, and I shuddered in spite of the sun. Handless was still out there, somewhere. Prowling the Colorado Rockies, last I knew. Her master was out of the picture for the time being (I hoped) so I didn’t expect to see Handless make an appearance. Besides, she didn’t seem the type to send flowers.
My mirror had ruled out Scrap demons, and honestly, I had no idea what else was even on the table as far as demonic minions.
Maybe just a guy. Some poor demon-sworn schmuck, just following orders in the vain hopes of getting his soul back. I’d encountered that before too. Had the scars to prove it, though not nearly as impressive as some of my others.
Or, maybe Axel was just screwing with me. Though, I couldn’t see him wasting his favor on an elaborate practical joke. That favor was a valuable asset to him, so if he was spending it now, he had his reasons.
In the midst of my deep and circular thoughts, a shiver ran through me and my head snapped up, immediately scoping for the danger. About three seconds later, I realized it wasn’t my danger sense spiking. It was my cell phone, buzzing in my pocket. Mira…
But no, the caller ID said IVAN ZELENKO. Hell. The phone kept buzzing insistently as I stared at it like an idiot, and I started to feel like the old man knew I was debating on whether or not to answer. I could feel that icy, blue-eyed glare across the distance, however great it was.
To pick up, or not to pick up. That was the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to answer the phone and get my ass chewed out (probably rightly deserved), or to valiantly let the call roll to voice mail…yeah, by the time I got done trying to recall my very rusty Shakespeare, the phone stopped ringing. A minute or so later, the message notification blinked on.
I still debated on listening to it. Ivan had been dodging me for three months. I didn’t think he was calling just to catch up. But best to rip the bandage off quickly, right?
The deep gravelly voice forced me to hold the phone away from my ear, but there was no chance of me not hearing him. “Dawson. Am I to be understanding that you are to be working in California, and have not provided this information to Grapevine? This is to being unacceptable. It endangers you, and others. It is to be fortunate that your student is to be worried for your well-being and called me. You will to be returning this message.” Click.
I decided then and there I was gonna beat the crap out of Estéban when I got home. The little twerp narced on me! I was almost thirty-three years old, dammit, I didn’t need to check in with Daddy every time I set foot outside my door. And really, Ivan of all people was gonna quibble about sharing information? Mr. Hide-the-Champion himself? I wondered if he’d understand me if I called and said “Hi, Pot, this is Kettle.” Probably not.
Feeling inordinately rebellious, I hit the DELETE button, erasing the message. He’d kept me waiting this long, I’d call him when I goddamn well felt like it.
Yeah, I’m twelve. I admit this.
Sitting there pissed off and brooding for a few hours didn’t sound like a lot of fun. I eyed the bench for a moment, then managed to fold my long legs up into a close approximation of a lotus position, just resting my hands on my knees. When in doubt, meditate. And if anyone thought it strange, seeing the scrawny blond dude meditating outside the trendy salon, no one said a thing.
They did, however, stop to take pictures. I thought at first they were just getting the salon. Maybe it was the location of a famous hairdo or something. But no, when I cracked one eye open, there were people stopped, taking m
y picture. “I’m not him. That guy from that show. Move along.” Visibly disappointed, they did, but that didn’t stop the next batch. After a while, I stopped protesting. It just wasn’t worth it.
Time went on, waiting for Her Highness to get her nails done or whatever, and about the time I started worrying about impending sunburn, the door opened and Tai came out, giving me a wave as he headed to get the car. “You asleep out here?”
“Not for lack of trying.” I stood up, stretching muscles that reminded me how crappy my seat had been for the past couple of hours. “We all done here?”
“Yeah, with this stage at least. Dante promised her some retail therapy, so we’re about to be relegated to pack mule duty.”
Oh, hell. Seriously? “Shopping? Are you kidding?”
He was not.
Look, I have no idea where we went, and what I know about fashion involves making sure that the shirt I’m wearing doesn’t smell bad when I put it on. But I’m pretty sure that this was the kind of store that invented the phrase “if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”
It was also the store where the paparazzi found us again. We were standing around, watching Gretchen and Dante coo and squeal over their apparently amazing acquisitions, when Bobby gave a short jerk with his chin. “Heads up. Cameras.”
Turning, I found the windows of the entire store front plastered with cameras, their owners pressed against the glass like land-roaming lampreys. Even as I hunched in instinctive defense, five flashes went off, dazzling my vision. Behind me, Tai tsked in disapproval. “Amateurs. You can’t use a flash through the glass like that. Those shots will never come out.”
Dante snorted. “Hey, it’s their paycheck.” He selected a shining silver shirt off the rack they were currently plundering, holding it up to the windows. “What do you think?” Four or five of the paparazzi gave him a thumbs-up, a few gave him a thumbs-down, and the rest just snapped away on their cameras.
A Wolf at the Door: A Jesse James Dawson Novel Page 12
