“If I were you, I wouldn’t be so quick to say that,” Wendell said. “With Thruvial dead, things are shifting. People are making a grab for his territory, and a couple of them are strong magic users. You don’t know who to watch out for, or where to go. You still don’t know anything.”
“Now you’re trying too hard,” Duncan told him. He pulled out some cash and laid it on the counter. “I make it just under fifteen minutes. Keep the change.” He turned to Seremela, his expression softening. “Let’s go.”
She nodded and stepped out of the door, and he followed.
Wendell called after them, “You’re making a mistake if you think you don’t need me.”
Duncan shook his head. Once they were outside, he offered Seremela his hand. She took it. His grip was like the rest of him, steady, calm and cool. She gripped it tightly and took a deep breath. The smoke scented night air seemed so much fresher than it had before they had stepped into Wendell’s shop.
“What a scurvy little bug,” she said between her teeth.
“I know. I want to squash him.”
He pulled her around to face him, cupping her elbows in the palms of his hands while he watched the crowd behind her. After a quick glance at his face, she did the same, watching what happened at his back. The red-tinged light from various campfires was indirect. Nearby someone laughed, a sharp sound abruptly cut off. Magic tinged the air, mingling with the physical smells of spilt whiskey and other sour odors.
“Would you leave if I asked you to?” he asked telepathically.
She glanced at his shadowed face quickly. He looked as casual and indifferent as if they were talking about the weather. A few choice responses occurred to her, but she saw too many reasons for why he asked what he did.
In the end she just simply said, “No.”
He didn’t look surprised. He nodded and rubbed his thumbs along the sensitive skin at the inside of her elbows, but she didn’t think he was aware of what he was doing.
“The thing that bothers me is the Djinn,” he said and frowned. “Well, there’s more than a few things that bother me.”
“Who was Thruvial?” she asked.
He met her gaze. “Do you remember that I traveled last year with Carling to Adriyel for Niniane Lorelle’s coronation?”
“Yes,” she said.
She wasn’t likely to forget it.
Adriyel was the Dark Fae Other land, and last year had been eventful for the Dark Fae demesne. Dragos, the Lord of the Wyr, had killed Urien, the Dark Fae King, when Urien kidnapped Dragos’s mate. Then the heir to the throne, Niniane Lorelle, who had been living under Dragos’s protection, had to travel to Adriyel to claim her birthright. Along the way, Niniane had survived two assassination attempts in Chicago. Seremela had been the medical examiner who conducted an autopsy on the bodies of the would-be assassins.
The Wyr sentinel warlord Tiago had left his position in the Wyr demesne in New York to travel with Niniane and protect her. As far as the public knew, he now worked for the new Queen as her chief of security, but privately, those who knew the couple also knew that he had mated with Niniane.
Since that time, news from Adriyel had come out in snippets interspersed with weeks of silence. A few months after her coronation, the new Dark Fae Queen had imprisoned several noblemen and tried them for crimes committed against the crown, including treason, conspiracy, the regicide of her father and the murders of the rest of her family. Shortly after the trials, the conspirators had been executed.
A short time after, around January or so, Adriyel had officially opened its borders to tourism and open trade. Still, six months later, it was rare to see Dark Fae in the general public.
Seremela asked, “Did you meet Thruvial in Adriyel?”
“Yes, briefly,” Duncan said. “Thruvial was a nobleman, and I was just a part of Carling’s entourage, so he and I had no reason to strike up a conversation. But I have a good memory for names and faces, and I remember him at the coronation and the celebration afterwards. Why would he come here, of all places?”
Now he had her frowning as well. Urgency pounded in her veins. She needed to get to her niece. Vetta had finally bitten off more than she could chew, and the poor little shit had to be scared out of her mind. Sometimes people had to hit rock bottom before they could change. If that was true, Seremela didn’t think there was any lower Vetta could go than sitting in the dark tonight, all alone, while she waited for her own execution.
But as much as Seremela wanted to barge over to Gehenna, Duncan was right to pause and assess the situation. They needed clear heads and to understand as much as they could about what was really going on, and part of that meant trying to understand the victim and why he had been killed.
She said, “The Dark Fae are famous for their metallurgy. Maybe the possibility of finding a node of magic-rich metal lured him here, especially now that trade has opened up between Adriyel and the rest of the world.”
“Maybe, but if that was the case,” Duncan said, “why didn’t Thruvial send servants or employees? Why come himself? And once he got here, why did he get involved in trafficking, and not excavation and mining?”
“I don’t know,” she said, as frustration welled up.
His grip tightened. He repeated, “But what really bothers me is the Djinn’s presence here, and his involvement. Seremela, if you left, you could reach Reno inside an hour. You could call out until you get cell phone reception, talk to Carling and Rune and tell them what is going on while I go talk to this Malphas and see what I can do here.”
“I’m not leaving,” she told him.
He looked as disturbed as she had ever seen him, and even a little angry. “I don’t want you to stay here.”
He was that worried about her?
She said gently, “Duncan, think for a moment. It would be nice if one of us could leave and tell the outside world what is going on, but there is a Djinn involved, and information works both ways. What if Wendell decides that other people would be willing to pay for what he learned about us? What if one of them is the Djinn? Nobody here has any legal authority or any right to execute Vetta. Hanging her is murder. I could get halfway to Reno—hell, we could both leave and he could still stop us if he wanted to.” She paused to let that point sink in. “We couldn’t know it at the time, but we hit the point of no return the moment we stepped into Wendell’s shop. We need to confront whatever this is together, head on. Right now.”
“Gods damn it,” he whispered. His lips pulled back from his teeth where, she saw, a hint of his fangs showed. Then his grip on her elbows loosened, and he stroked his fingers lightly down her forearms before he let her go. “All right. Let’s find Gehenna.”
The casino was easy to locate. It sat at the edge of the settlement in a large circus-sized tent. Raucous noise poured out of it, and drunks milled about the opening. Inside a blaze of electric lights flashed atop rows of slot machines. Malphas, or his casino managers, had invested in importing electric generators. Cigarette, cigar and hashish smoke hazed the air.
Seremela caught sight of movement out of the periphery of her vision and looked up. A boardwalk had been constructed around the edge of the tent where several large Goblins, weapons prominently displayed, walked and watched the crowd below.
Her lip curled. She and Duncan exchanged a glance then moved further into the tent where they found the game tables. People caught sight of Seremela and moved to give them both a wide berth.
She was okay with that. She wanted a three foot space between her and anyone else in this hellhole.
Male and female servers, both Elder Races and human, carried drinks and trays of chips for people to buy, dressed only in waist chains and dog collars. While Seremela wasn’t a prude by any means, she didn’t like strangers’ dangly bits paraded in front of her without warning, and she jerked her gaze away with a muttered curse.
A human server approached them with a bright smile, although Seremela noted that he came up on Duncan’s far sid
e, staying well away from her. “Want to buy some chips?”
“We want a manager,” Duncan said.
His smile never faltering, the server said, “Yeah, good luck with that. It’s a busy night, but they’re all real busy. Days too. Gehenna never closes, no matter how hot it gets. Offices are straight ahead.”
“Thanks,” Duncan said.
They barely took three steps forward when a female Vampyre, flanked by two Goblins, shouldered through the crowd toward them. The Vampyre had short blonde hair and was dressed in black fatigue pants and a black tank top, which showed off her muscled torso. She wore a semiautomatic in a hip holster and she moved like a fighter. She also looked intelligent, and she stopped right in front of them.
After one comprehensive glance at Duncan, the Vampyre focused on Seremela. “If you want to stay in Gehenna, you have to wrap up your snakes. You’re disturbing the customers.”
“We’re not here to gamble and we have no intention of staying on the floor,” Seremela said quietly. “We’re here to talk to Malphas.”
The Vampyre rubbed the back of her neck and studied them both under leveled brows. “You’re here about the girl, aren’t you?” she said. When neither of them confirmed nor denied, she shook her head. “Follow me.”
Dismissing the two Goblins, the Vampyre led them through the crowd to the back of the tent. Then, without stopping, she led them outside through another opening. Behind the tent several modular buildings had been set up, the area surrounded by a nine foot high barbed wire fence. Seremela looked around everywhere as they walked. She knew in her bones that Vetta was very close, probably in one of these buildings.
“She’s here,” Seremela said to Duncan. “I know she is.”
He moved as calmly as ever, hands loose at his sides, but she noticed how his sharp gaze roamed over the scene. “I believe you,” he said. “I think she’s here too.”
Their Vampyre escort was apparently not much for idle chitchat, for she didn’t say a word until they reached the last modular building. Once there, she propped open the door and flipped on an inside light. Duncan looked in but didn’t step inside. Seremela glanced in too. The interior was totally empty and lit by a single naked light bulb.
The Vampyre said, “If you want to talk to Malphas, go in and call him. He’ll come or not, as it suits him. If you’ve changed your mind, leave. Either way, the hanging is at dawn.”
Seremela clenched her fists and started after the Vampyre, snakes hissing. She ran into a barrier as Duncan’s arm shot out to block her way. “Easy, darling,” he said quietly to her. Telepathically, he said, “Don’t waste your energy on her. She doesn’t matter. We’ve got more important things to focus on.”
She sucked in a breath and struggled to rein in her temper. He was right. This Vampyre didn’t matter in the slightest. She gave him a curt nod, and he dropped his arm and stepped inside. With one last glare at the Vampyre, Seremela followed.
Inside the building was just as bare and unadorned as her first glance had told her it was. Metal walls, metal floor, metal ceiling. No chairs, no carpet, no wall hangings or desks.
After they had both turned in a circle, Duncan shrugged at her and said into the apparent emptiness, “Malphas.”
At first nothing happened, and a raging despair threatened to take Seremela over. He had to come. He had to.
Then black smoke slid into the building through the open door, and the air began to compress. Power built and built. It pressed against them so that Seremela’s breathing felt constricted and she had to swallow hard. This was a very old one, possibly a first generation Djinn. What was a first generation Djinn doing at Devil’s Gate?
The Power coalesced into the form of a tall, golden haired man, with an angelically beautiful face and two supernovas for eyes. Those piercing twin stars fixed on them, and the beautiful man gave them a deadly smile.
Malphas said, “Welcome to Gehenna.”
Chapter Six
Love
“What can I do for you?” the Djinn asked.
Danger breathed along the back of Duncan’s neck. After one glance at him, Malphas turned to Seremela, who regarded him with a calm yet tense expression. Her snakes draped across her arms and shoulders, and all of them watched the Djinn too.
“We were told my niece is going to be executed for murder at dawn,” Seremela said. “It isn’t true. Vetta would not commit murder.”
“Ah,” said Malphas as he gestured with one long white hand. “I’m afraid that the truth has limited efficacy, especially here.”
With that one simple sentence, the danger in the room skyrocketed.
No honorable Djinn that Duncan had ever met or heard of would have said such a thing, because the Djinn prized truth along with all other forms of information.
“Be careful,” Duncan said to Seremela. She gave him a startled glance as he asked, “Which House are you with, Malphas?”
The Djinn considered him for a moment. Then Malphas chuckled. “You believe the answer to this has any relevance?”
“With the Djinn,” Duncan said in a polite tone of voice, “the answer to this is always relevant.”
Malphas inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I hail from the House Shaytan.”
“Currently?” Duncan asked.
Malphas’s smile widened. “No.”
“Duncan, what’s going on?” Seremela’s telepathic voice sounded tense.
He kept his attention fixed on the deadly creature in front of him, the muscles in his body clenching tight. “He’s a pariah, Seremela. A very Powerful one.”
“I don’t know much about Djinn society,” she said. Her expression turned fearful as she picked up on his wariness. “I don’t know what that means.”
“I do,” he told her grimly.
The five Djinn Houses were built on their associations, and their associations were built on their word. A Djinn who broke his word was perceived as having no honor by other Djinn, and he became a pariah, without association with any of the Houses, lawless and rogue.
Seremela had said they had hit the point of no return when they stepped into Wendell’s shop, but here at Gehenna they had stepped into a place that was far worse, and infinitely more dangerous.
Scary dude, Wendell had said about the Djinn. I’m not sure what he cares about.
A stiletto of cold, icy certainty sliced through Duncan.
Whatever Malphas cared about, it wasn’t the truth, or the law. As a first generation Djinn, he would have the Power to know whether or not Vetta was telling the truth if she claimed she was innocent. Since he was still holding her in custody, he didn’t care who had actually killed Thruvial. Hanging Vetta must benefit him in some way, only now Duncan and Seremela had shown up to protest.
Malphas hadn’t come to this empty trailer to talk with them. He had come to figure out whether or not he should kill them too. The only reason why Duncan and Seremela were still alive was because the Djinn had not yet decided what course of action was in his best interest.
“Things were different when the girl was a nobody, weren’t they?” Duncan said. Malphas strolled leisurely around him, and he turned to keep the Djinn in front of him. “Because then nobody cared if she died. What I don’t understand is why hang her in the first place?”
“She’s a stupid child,” Malphas said. His tone was casually dismissive, as if they talked about a disobedient dog. “She’s insolent and rude, and she has behaved as though everybody else owes her something. Before you arrived, there was no one here in Devil’s Gate to miss her and several people who would say good riddance. In the meantime someone of Power—someone who had taken hold of a great deal of power here—has been killed, and there are many other Powerful creatures present who are disturbed by that. They want retribution. They want to know that the same thing cannot happen to them and go unpunished. They hear the word ‘poison,’ they see a medusa—” The Djinn let the sentence trail away as he shrugged. “The clamor to hang her became too loud to ig
nore. She had to be held somewhere, so I took her.”
“Then give us a chance to find out who really killed him,” Seremela said. Her eyes burned with repressed emotion but, Duncan was glad to see, her face and voice remained calm. “I’m—I’ve been a medical examiner. If I could examine the body, I can determine what type of poison was used and possibly learn a great deal more. I can guarantee you this much—even if Vetta’s snakes bit him repeatedly, they’re much too immature to carry enough poison to kill a mature Dark Fae male.”
“Keep a poisoned, rotting corpse here, in this heat?” said Malphas, his beautiful face twisting with distaste. “Oh no, Doctor. While your offer might carry a certain theoretical merit, there is no body left for you to examine.”
“What do you mean, there’s no body?” Seremela asked tightly. “What happened to it?”
“Thruvial’s own attendants lacked the proper Dark Fae herbs for preserving the dead. His remains turned so foul they were forced to burn him on a pyre yesterday.”
As Duncan listened, his mind raced. Discovering what the Djinn cared about was the key that would get them out of this trailer alive.
The Djinn didn’t care who killed Thruvial, and he didn’t especially care one way or another about using Vetta for a scapegoat, or he would have hanged her when Thruvial’s murder had first been discovered.
Why had the Djinn gotten involved in the first place? What did he gain from it?
Then Duncan had it, what Malphas cared about.
Earlier Wendell the pharmacist had even coined the term. Malphas owed his life to balancing power. As a first generation Djinn who was also a pariah, he lived with the constant risk of being hunted by others of his kind.
For the other Djinn, however, killing Malphas would be exceedingly difficult and costly. They would be reluctant to do so unless they were given no other choice.
When the others in Devil’s Gate had demanded action, Malphas had taken Vetta into custody and held off her execution for a few days, not because of a sense of justice, but because of a sense of self preservation.
Devil's Gate_A Novella of the Elder Races Page 6
