Now, he couldn’t even stomach thinking about it.
Except — he’d pulled Lily.
And she’d walked away regardless.
“It bears a little looking into, though,” Vivienne said, bringing his attention back to the present. “I wouldn’t have expected anybody so useless to have that kind of natural resistance, and it would have to be natural. She wasn’t shielded, or powerful, or … anything.” She shook her head, then reached down, pulled a long, thin, wickedly sharp knife out of her knee-high boot.
“Are you sure that’s below the legal limit?” he asked, allowing just a hint of derision in his voice.
“A woman that looks like I do, walking alone on the streets of New York?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “A little dagger in the boot is just an insurance policy.”
As if she would need a physical weapon for self-defense. It was ridiculous.
Knife in one hand, she reached with her other hand into the pocket of the little leather miniskirt she was wearing, and pulled out a small round compact made of dull bronze inlaid with glossy, polished bits of what Sebastian knew — to his disgust — to be human bone. She opened it deftly, one-handed, and set it on the desk in front of her. Its scratched and warped twin mirrors cast dull circles of light onto the wall beside the desk.
“Wait—” he began, leaning forward, but it was too late.
With a swift indrawn hiss and an oddly delicate motion, she sliced the knife along the meatiest part of her thumb. Blood welled up and spilled over immediately; she moved her hand so that the thumb dripped steady droplets onto one of the mirrors in the compact. He watched her lips move as she counted drops but he didn’t speak; talking while she was conjuring could have disastrous results. One did not divide one’s concentration when summoning an imp.
As the tenth fat droplet fell, light flashed from the mirror, bright enough that Sebastian squinted against it, and the room was immediately filled with the stench of rotten eggs. There was a hollow pop; it felt like all the air was briefly sucked out of the room. And there on the desk next to the compact stood his mother’s favorite imp.
Pusboil was basically human-shaped, though only about two feet tall, with leathery gray skin and irregular tufts of matted white hair under its arms and in the region of what would have been its genitals, if it had any. Its eyes glowed pink in the dim room as it slowly looked from Vivienne to Sebastian then back again.
Finally, it spoke, its voice somehow soft and shrieky and gravelly and echoey all at once. “What the hell do you want now, Vivienne?”
Sebastian rolled his eyes at his mother’s delighted smile. She actually liked the little shithead’s attitude. Sebastian wasn’t planning to call up any imps any time soon — he wasn’t even sure he could — but if he did, he’d certainly prefer one that was properly sober, and maybe even respectful.
“You’re supposed to call me ‘Mistress,’” Vivienne said in a stern voice, but reached out to scratch it under its chin regardless.
It flopped over onto its back like a dog asking for a belly rub, and stretched its neck out to give Vivienne better access. “And you’re supposed to be seven feet tall and have bat wings,” it said, smarting off in its dreadful voice even as it was writhing in ecstasy over the scratching, “but here you are all tarted up trying to look good for a bunch of puny humans.”
Vivienne’s fingers closed around its throat and she picked it straight up off the desk, where it dangled, glaring at her with its watery pink eyes. “I look good for myself, Pusboil,” she snarled, and Sebastian almost laughed at the incongruity of a creature like Vivienne spouting quasi-feminist Cosmopolitan-Magazine-style bullshit.
As though it had read Sebastian’s mind — and honestly, Sebastian couldn’t swear it couldn’t read minds, what did he know? — Pusboil said, “Yes, you’ve come a long way, baby. Put me down, please.”
Vivienne set it on the desk and leaned back in her — in Sebastian’s — chair, folding her arms over her chest. “I have a job for you,” she said. “It’s very simple, but it’s also important. And you must not be seen, no matter what, because we are dealing with an unknown quantity here.”
The imp mirrored her, leaning back with its tail propping it up and crossing its own arms. “An unknown quantity of what?” it said. “I hope it’s something tasty, like kittens.”
“That’s quite enough,” Vivienne snapped. “Now, Sebastian was just downstairs leg-humping some little chippy, and she left the club less than fifteen minutes ago. You go get a whiff of her, find her trail and follow her home.” The imp nodded. “I want to know everything she does, and with whom she does it. Any sense you can get from her of whether there’s anything otherworldly about her or any of her friends or acquaintances, I want to know about it.” The imp nodded again. “Oh, and anything you overhear her say about my darling son, of course.”
“Leave me out of it,” Sebastian said, knowing neither she nor the imp would listen but wanting to register his displeasure formally. Formality was important in this sort of thing — for all the casual language, she was forging a contract with the imp and he wanted his objections on the record. “It doesn’t matter what she says or does, about me or about anything else. I doubt she’ll be back.”
“Be that as it may,” Vivienne said, “your reservations are noted, but immaterial. Pusboil, do you understand your obligations?”
“You betcha,” the imp said, and hopped down from the desk and strode over to Sebastian. Without warning, and before Sebastian could even think to ask what the hell it was planning, the imp had buried its face in Sebastian’s groin and begun sniffing around.
Sebastian backhanded the repulsive little thing across the room and into the opposite wall, but it just continued to grin as it dropped lightly to the floor, landing cat-like on its feet.
“That’s where I could smell her best,” it said, and its grin was … well, impish. “Don’t blame me that’s what you lot get up to.”
And with another pop Pusboil was gone, and Sebastian was left to deal with the imp snot on his zipper.
Chapter 5
IN THE LIGHT of day, Abaddon was less magical. Without the lights and the music and the fog, it was just a big warehouse-style space. Lily despaired of finding anything to photograph.
“I was here last night,” she said to Scott, “and it was really hopping. But this —” She waved to indicate the exposed girders and the visible pegboard behind the bar supporting a sad string of bulbs that had, last night, been a dizzying display of colored lights chasing around the center area of the bar.
“You’ll figure something out,” Scott said. “You always do.”
She scowled, but didn’t respond. Stupid Scott.
Okay, not stupid. Scott was great. She liked Scott; he was one of her favorite coworkers and this was the third club article they’d worked on, so she knew they worked well together and he’d write good copy to showcase her photos. And honestly, no nightclub looked good in the light of day. That was why they were called nightclubs, right?
But she was in a foul mood and hated every damn thing at the moment. She especially hated being back here after … whatever that business was with the guy, the night before.
She’d gone home and straight to bed, but had woken up feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. Bad dreams had plagued her all night, and she’d kept waking with a terrifying feeling that someone was in her room watching her — going so far as to turn on the light the first couple of times she’d woken up.
Finally, at 4 o’clock, two cats had gotten into a shrieking fight outside her window. She’d given up hoping for even a couple of hours of unbroken rest and had gotten out of bed and started a pot of coffee.
She’d managed four cups before leaving for work … and it hadn’t been enough. Plus it was beastly hot outside; she was sweating even in her spaghetti-strap sundress, and her poor wilted ponytail was setting loose a spiderweb of hairs to plaster to her neck.
“Maybe some shots of the mezzanin
e?” Scott suggested. “There’s a lot of glittery decoration up there, maybe the owner would put on some spotlights for you.”
“Here’s hoping,” she said, trying to soften her grouchy tone. None of the things causing her mood were Scott’s fault. “I can’t do anything with this.”
“Maybe you can do something with that,” Scott said, raising his eyebrows almost to his hairline and using them to point behind her. She turned around and, shocked into silence, watched the guy from last night — Sebastian — striding across the floor toward them.
He faltered when he saw her, an almost imperceptible hesitation in his step, but he recovered quickly and approached with a hand out to shake Scott’s hand. Lily’s hands were full of equipment and she liked it just fine that way; she didn’t feel like shaking his hand after the weirdness of the night before.
She wasn’t sure if she should acknowledge they’d met; he solved that dilemma by addressing it himself. “Lily, I had no idea you were affiliated with NYC Monthly.”
“Turns out I am,” she said, inanely, genuinely surprised he had remembered her name. “And you are…?”
His smile was just as devastating as the night before. “I own Abaddon — well, half of it,” he said.
She shook her head. “We have the owner listed as …” She turned to Scott. “I forget.”
“Vivienne Malignon,” he said.
“Partial owner,” Sebastian said. “She’ll be down shortly. I’m a silent partner and I really must insist I remain one, even in your story.”
“Okay,” she said. That was creepy, for the owner to be trolling for chicks in his own club. “I’m Lily Randall. This is Scott Deaver.”
“Sebastian Batiste,” Sebastian said, and Lily almost swallowed her tongue. Sebastian Batiste was one of the richest guys in the country. He was known for being kind of reclusive and had a reputation for being ruthless in business, even though no one ever seemed willing to give any specific examples of what that ruthlessness entailed.
Scott, wisely, said nothing about any of that and instead made a gesture which somehow took in the whole of the place. “This is … big.”
“It certainly is,” Sebastian agreed. “Let’s go have a seat at the bar. I’ll tell you the history.”
Lily and Scott sat on barstools as Sebastian headed into the interior square of the bar and ducked down out of sight, coming up with three bottles of water. The bottle he handed to Lily was ice-cold and she was glad of it; the interior of the club wasn’t as hot as the air outside, but it was stuffy and warm all the same. She drank nearly half her water at one go, then capped the bottle and set it back on the bar.
Scott and Sebastian were already deep in conversation about the transition from warehouse to nightclub, and the steps it had taken to get from one to the other, so she wandered away from the bar, shooting a few desultory pictures of the more interesting of the decorations.
But most of the allure from the night before had come from the music and the lights, and she found herself thinking of Scott’s suggestion to put the lights on so she could capture something more interesting. She made her way back to the bar to ask about it. Sebastian and Scott were engrossed in a set of floor plans so she waited for a break in the conversation, taking the opportunity to polish off the rest of her water.
When it came, she cleared her throat a little, and both men looked up at her.
“This might sound weird, but Scott mentioned maybe getting you to put some of the lights on, for the photos,” she said. “Is that something we could do? There were some spotlights on the mezzanine, and also the way this string of lights behind the bar was flashing, if I get the right shutter speed, it would look really cool.”
Sebastian nodded. “One second,” he said, and picked up a phone under the counter, hit a couple of buttons. After a moment, someone must have picked up the other end, because he said, “Vivienne, can you bring down the renovations spreadsheet? I’m in the bar with the magazine people.” He listened for another moment, said, “Thanks,” and hung up, then came back around to the outside of the bar square.
“Bring your camera,” he said to Lily, “and come with me. The light booth is pretty impressive on its own. You might find a shot you like there.”
He took her water bottle from her and two-pointed it off the pegboard and into a recycling bin. “Scott, do you mind waiting here? My partner will be coming through any second and she can fill you in on the renovation costs. It’ll be ballpark numbers, of course.”
Is he trying to ditch Scott so he can get me alone? she thought, and felt a little shiver. He was standing entirely too close to her; it had been one thing when they were dancing, but it was entirely another thing when she was on assignment.
She took a couple of steps back, trying to be discreet about it and not look like she was fleeing his body odor — which he absolutely did not have. He smelled fantastic. Edible, even. What the hell was it about this guy that literally made her mouth water?
“Sure,” Scott said, nodding. “No prob. That cool with you, Lily?”
She smiled at him. Scott was a good guy, and probably wondering at the weird vibe between her and Sebastian. “Yeah, I’m cool.”
But she found, as she stepped through the door marked Private with Sebastian close behind her, she wasn’t cool at all. Her temperature, as it turned out, was rising. Fast.
The way he brushed up against her as the door shut, trapping them in a short hallway, didn’t help at all, or the way he squeezed by her to get to the second doorway at the end. She watched as he unlocked it then stepped to the side and gestured that she should precede him.
Squeezing past him brought pretty much every square inch of her torso in contact with pretty much every square inch of his, which would have made for an awkward moment no matter what, but it was exacerbated by his quick indrawn hiss of breath and the involuntary shudder that wracked her from head to toe. What on earth?
She froze, every nerve ending suddenly on fire. Bad move, since her spine was still pressed firmly against his chest and abs — his exceptionally firm abs, she noted with another shudder.
He nudged her the rest of the way through the door, followed her through and let it slam shut behind him. They were in a smallish room, made to feel even smaller by virtue of by a giant console set against a huge window that overlooked the dance floor and DJ tables.
He was very close behind her, so close she could feel the heat of his breath against her shoulders. If I’d known I’d be seeing him again, she thought, I might have worn something more substantial.
“Lily?” he said, his voice strained.
“Yes?” she said, barely recognizing her own voice, which had gone high and breathy. She knew she should move, even just take a step or two forward, but she was paralyzed.
He didn’t answer. Instead, whether cued by her voice, or the fact that she still hadn’t moved away from him, or just some crazy pheromone bullshit, he tilted his head forward and slanted his lips across the back of her neck.
What little of her composure was left crumbled to dust. She sagged back against him and dropped her head forward, powerless to stop him as his lips and teeth went busily to work on the most sensitive parts of her neck.
“This is crazy,” she managed.
“I know,” he said. “I don’t plan to stop.”
All the breath went out of her in a whoosh. “Me neither,” she said weakly, then cursed her stupid truth-telling tongue. Way to play hard-to-get.
Sebastian turned her to face him, looked into her eyes for a long moment, then claimed her lips in a kiss that sent shock waves all the way down to her toes. Every muscle in her body went limp, and she said nothing as he lifted her — effortlessly, and that was saying something — and carried her over to deposit her on the table in front of the console.
***
Sebastian had no idea how long the knocking had been going on. He was far too busy exploring the soft skin over Lily’s collarbone with his teeth and tongue to pay any
attention to earthly matters like door knocks. In fact, he could barely hear it over the sounds of the blood rushing in his ears — but once it finally did penetrate his consciousness he lifted his head and turned to look at the door. If he’d had the power to blow it off his hinges — along with whomever was behind it ruining his excellent plan — he would have.
Beneath him, Lily began to struggle to sit up, straightening her clothes. Her sundress had an even dozen buttons to fasten up the front and he’d managed to get half of them open. Sighing, he resigned himself to pursuing this particular activity at a later date and started to refasten them — but not quickly enough.
The knocking stopped and the door swung open, revealing Scott and Vivienne — with a key in her hand — on the other side, standing side-by-side in the doorway.
Scott’s expression might have been funny, but Sebastian could still taste Lily’s skin and was in no mood for hilarity.
“Generally when a door is knocked, one waits to be let in,” he snarled at them.
Lily stepped down off the table, set her last button right with trembling hands. “Um … ” she said, then said no more. Sebastian imagined she didn’t quite know what to say and he felt bad for her — but he felt worse for himself. The relief of finally being able to fill his hands with her had been profound; the rapid change in circumstance was infuriating.
“I think we need to go, Lily,” Scott said, and something in his tone set Sebastian’s teeth on edge. He didn’t sound … right. He didn’t sound like the guy Sebastian had been chatting with over floor plans. He sounded like a man talking in his sleep.
Sebastian shifted his gaze to Vivienne, who was sporting a half-smirk that would have told him everything already, if he’d been paying attention. He cast his gaze over at Lily, who was standing with her head down, staring at the floor.
And he caught a glimpse of Pusboil, standing about three feet behind Vivienne. So that explained how Vivienne had known what was going on. Well, he and Vivienne would be amending the imp’s contract effective immediately, to ensure any observation of Lily ceased when she was alone with Sebastian. He caught Pusboil’s eye, jerked his head in a gesture that said the imp should get the hell out of there right now, and moved to stand between Lily and the doorway.
One Hell of a Guy: The Cambion Trilogy, Book 1 Page 3
