“I have mace.” Nica said, not all that quietly, as she walked beside me, clutching her bag a little tighter.
I smiled. “Don’t worry. Mace will be the least of their concerns.” A tingle of energy trickled through me. My demon half stirred at the promise of violence. I shook the thrill of it from my hands, pushing back the thirst for chaos.
Nica gave me a sideways glance. She saw my smile and loosened her white-knuckled grip on her bag. “I forget what you are sometimes.”
“Thanks.” I took it as compliment as we approached a solid black back door in a three-story brick building. A scribble of unintelligible graffiti adorned the wall beside the door, but it was the small symbol etched into the painted wood beside the handle that caught my eye. The entwined scorpions stood out because they’d been painted white against the black of the door, but they were small, barely larger than a dime, not meant for the whole street to see. Just visitors. Nica saw it too. We shared a knowing glance before I knocked on the door.
Behind us, the three hoods watched our every move, muttering among themselves. They were unlikely to represent a threat, just curious as to why two young women were entering their neck of the woods. Nica and I probably weren’t the usual type of client for these parts.
The door opened, revealing a man who looked as though he’d just rolled out of bed with creases everywhere. His jeans and shirt crumpled like waste paper. Even his face had creases, hiking my age estimate to late thirties. He peered through narrow eyes at us, chewing on a toothpick. In dire need of a shave, his bristly chin and short ruffled hair completed the ‘disheveled and don’t care’ look.
He seemed to like what he saw in us because he grinned and draped an arm against the doorframe. “Hello ladies. Yah’ lost?” He slipped his attention past us to Nica’s car. The spotless paintwork gleamed like a beacon of temptation for any would-be thieves.
Plucking the toothpick from between his teeth, he pointed it at me. “He won’t be happy you parked that hunk of German metal outside his shop.”
“Are you David Ryder?” I asked, not in the least perturbed.
He tucked both thumbs over the waistband of his jeans. The last few buttons of his shirt were open. Evidently, he had problems dressing himself. I wasn’t surprised.
“Ryder, sure. Whatever. What d’yah fine ladies want?”
“Can we come in?”
He took another long look at us then glanced over his shoulder into the dark hall. “Well, sure, why not.”
Nica and I helped ourselves inside. The oppressive atmosphere of the hallway embraced us as she closed the door. I followed Ryder’s quick retreat down the hall, passing several closed doors before we reached what had, at one time, been a kitchen but now resembled a workroom. Cardboard boxes were stacked high in one corner. Beside them on a small round table, two guns had been stripped and were in the process of being cleaned. Small rectangular ammunition boxes lined the countertops beside half-finished mugs of coffee. Some harbored islands of mold.
“’Scuse the mess. Wasn’t expecting guests.” He made a half-hearted attempt at cleaning a space on the countertop but quickly gave up.
Nica stood very still beside me, hands clasped in front of her, as though afraid to touch anything. “Those marks on the door?” she asked in a rather curt voice. “The scorpions…”
Ryder shrugged. “Previous owner of this place, I reckon. Why? You recognize them?”
“No.” She smiled a little too sweetly to be convincing.
“Yes, actually.” I intervened. “I want to ask you about a man who has that exact same mark on a gun, a Desert Eagle.”
Ryder leaned back against the countertop, folding his arms crossed. His beady eyes assessed me. “Nice gun. Don’t get many of those ‘round here. Too big, bulky. You can’t stash ‘em easily, if you know what I mean.”
Not really. “The guy who owns that gun. He’s a friend of mine, and I just need to find him.”
Ryder suppressed a smile. “A friend, and you don’t know where to find him, huh? Maybe he doesn’t want to be your friend.”
“He’s tall. Blonde hair, about this long.” I touched the corner of my jaw. “Has a thing for red leather. Drives an old Charger—well, used to.”
Ryder’s smile had begun to fade away, the laughter fleeing from his eyes. He knew Stefan alright, but I was getting a distinct angry vibe off this guy, so perhaps they didn’t get along too well. Not surprising. Stefan appeared to have that effect on people.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked.
“Charlie. And this is my friend, Nica.” I held out my hand only for Ryder to look at it as though I’d just offered him a dead rat.
He popped the toothpick between his teeth, chewed on it, then grabbed my hand in his and shook it hard. Only when I tensed to pull away, I realized he wasn’t letting me go. I tugged, frowning, about to ask him what the hell he thought he was doing when he yanked me forward.
“I think you lost your way.” He leered down at me. “Best you run along now. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you fine ladies, now would we?”
Perhaps he expected me to squeal and flee. His leering face certainly betrayed a confidence in himself. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t look like much. Perhaps it was the way I held his stare and smiled a little, or he may even have sensed the temperature change in the room, but he was human, so he couldn't have seen the elemental magic spilling down my arm. It heated my hand. From the widening of his eyes, I knew he felt my grip tighten. The rising heat radiating from my palm must have been uncomfortable.
“You’d better leave,” he warned.
I pulled him toward me. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know who…” He yanked on my hand, trying to pull himself free, then growled when he realized I wasn’t letting go. “What the hell are you?” He twisted, trying to writhe free, but I wasn’t budging. The acrid smell of burning flesh permeated the air.
“Okay, okay!”
“Where?”
“I’ll take you! He’s right across the street.”
I released his hand and watched with a little too much glee as he quickly turned toward the kitchen sink and plunged his hand under the cool water.
Nica arched an eyebrow. She had her hand in her bag, ready with her can of mace just in case.
“Holy crap.” Ryder stepped around a knee-high tower of magazines and tugged open the rusted refrigerator. With his burnt hand, he reached inside and grabbed a can of beer, clasping it in his hand with an audible sigh of relief. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“That’s nothing compared to what I can do, so don’t get any ideas.”
Ryder didn’t look surprised by any of this. No flurry of questions about how I could heat my hand to those temperatures without burning myself. It made me wonder what he knew about demons. Despite appearances, he was not a typical gun dealer.
Nica and I followed Ryder back outside. The hoods had gone, and Nica’s car had survived intact. Ryder jogged across the street to the workshop, and snatching the handle at the bottom of a garage door, he lifted it high above our heads to reveal another classic car in the throes of restoration, this one stripped back to bare metal and awaiting its body panels. Mechanic’s tools hung on the walls. Every inch was covered with assorted equipment, from wrenches to jumper cables, hub caps to hood ornaments. The pungent odors of oil and metal reminded me of my lost workshop. A pang of sadness stabbed me in the chest, and a brief grimace touched my face.
I heard Stefan’s voice coming from the back and nodded at Nica behind me.
“Yo, Stefan,” Ryder called out.
I followed Ryder’s path past the partially restored car into the back of the workshop and through a doorway.
Stefan sat behind a desk, rocking his chair back, boots up on the desktop, legs crossed at the ankle. He cradled a phone between his chin and shoulder. When he laid eyes on me, his conversation came to an abrupt end. He hung up on his caller and tossed the phone into a pi
le of papers strewn about the desk. Making no attempt to stand, he flicked his cool gaze across the three of us.
“Hell must have frozen over,” he drawled, looking particularly pleased with himself.
“She fried my hand.” Ryder lifted the beer as though that explained everything and then cracked it open and took a few gulps for good measure. “She made me bring her.”
“S’okay. I’ve been expecting her.” Stefan stared straight at me, waiting for me to speak. I deliberately stayed quiet, drawing out the silence. Nica shuffled behind me, her fingers tapping out a restless little tune on the side of her bag.
Ryder cleared his throat. “Anyway… As I’ve opened the beers, anyone else like to partake?”
Nica looked at me, saw my encouraging expression, and sighed. “He’s an animal.”
“You have mace.” I grinned.
Ryder scowled at the both of us. “Standing right here.”
With a grumble, Nica reluctantly followed Ryder back into the workshop. I heard him attempting to engage her in small talk, but she wisely avoided him. If he tried anything, I’d be out there in a shot, but given Stefan’s reaction to Ryder, I was confident he wasn’t going to cause any trouble.
Stefan on the other hand… He hadn’t moved, and I wasn’t entirely sure how he’d react to my being there. His office–if you could call it that –was surprisingly normal. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected. Having seen him in action, perhaps I was hoping for something like my old workshop: weapons on the walls, maybe a demon head or two—not that I had those, but he might have.
“You’re a mechanic?” I failed to keep the surprise from my voice.
“When I’m not working.”
His half smile wasn’t budging but if he wanted an apology, hell would indeed have to freeze over.
I absorbed the normality of the surroundings. Apart from the mess of papers on his desk, the room was tidy, sparsely furnished, with one metal filing cabinet in the corner with a plant in a plastic pot on top as though that would make all the difference. It was an office in which he didn’t spend much time. That was clear.
He planted both boots on the floor and stood, moving out from behind the desk with a fluid stride. His blue jeans were worn threadbare in places with a few smudges of oil and grease across his thighs. His gray t-shirt sported the occasional oil stain, a trend which continued onto his face where a smudge of grease had been brushed across his forehead. He looked decidedly normal, and it completely threw me.
“How’d you find me?” He leaned back against the desk.
“Nica has a file on you.” I listened, hearing her clipped voice respond to something Ryder had asked. “I don’t trust her.”
“What does she know?”
“They think you’re an assassin, or a bounty-hunter, depending on the money at stake I guess. She’ll tell Akil about this place.”
He didn’t look concerned. In fact, he still had that smug smile on his lips. Placing his hands on the edge of the desk, he dropped his head. “I told you to stay in that apartment.”
“Yeah, I know.” I snorted a laugh. “I’m not very good at following orders.”
“This isn’t a game, Muse.” The smile had gone. In its place, he’d summoned concern from somewhere as though he actually cared.
“No?” I felt the power turning over inside me, roused by a little shiver of anger. “It feels like it is. Like some elaborate game and I’m the only one who doesn’t know the rules.”
“You’re right. You don’t know all the rules. They’ve been deliberately kept from you by a succession of owners, most recently Akil.”
“So why don’t you enlighten me?”
He shoved away from the desk and strode toward me. I straightened, refusing to give an inch. He stopped beside me and leaned in close. “I will, but first there’s something you need to see.”
Chapter 13
Nica was enjoying a beer by the time we left the office. She appeared to be relaxing around Ryder, who had ditched his surly persona for a friendlier version. I’d been about to advise Nica to slow down on the beers when Stefan had stopped me. He surreptitiously extricated her phone from her bag and removed the battery, placing just the phone back in her bag. He didn’t want her making calls, and quite honestly, neither did I.
Turning back toward me, Stefan ran a hand down the bare metal of the car that sat squarely in the middle of the workshop. “She’ll eventually replace the Dodge I wrecked the other night.”
I couldn’t help feeling a little responsible for that, seeing as the hounds had been after me. “Akil sent those hounds,” I blurted.
Stefan scratched at the smudge of grease on his forehead and nodded, for once avoiding the smug-son-of-a-bitch expression in favor of a sympathetic frown. “Follow me.”
He squeezed by me. The car’s bulk left little room to maneuver. A peculiar flutter of excitement flipped in my chest as he brushed against me. The fleeting reaction distracted me completely, briefly emptying my mind of rational thoughts while I watched him walk toward the back of his workshop.
“You coming?” he called, disappearing through a narrow doorway.
“Huh? Yeah.”
Nica and Ryder were deep in conversation. Ryder tossed me a wave, apparently enjoying his babysitting task. Who’d have thought Nica would be so easily led astray? Maybe she had a hidden desire for bad boys. She was distracted, and that was all that mattered. I’d worry later how I was going to prevent her talking to Akil.
Following Stefan’s path through the doorway, I found myself in a narrow hall. Bare bulbs flickered above, poorly illuminating unfinished, plywood walls and a bare concrete floor. A chill swept over me, snagging my thoughts. I glanced back, expecting to find someone watching me, but the doorway stood empty. I could still hear Nica’s voice, but it felt oddly distant. A little hesitantly, I emerged through a second doorway into what could only be described as an armory.
Symbols covered every inch of the walls, similar but not identical to those Stefan had used to ward off elemental magic. They were likely the reason for the chills I’d just experienced. My human senses never failed to detect forces that didn’t belong on this side of the veil.
Workbenches butted against the walls, stretching from one end of the room to the other, on them the array of weapons boggled the mind. Knives, daggers, swords, axes, guns. A deadly weapon for every occasion. Need a two-handed axe? A broadsword? A rifle? The room bristled with sharp edges like an underwater cave brimming with spiny urchins.
“That’s quite a collection.” I absently reached out to touch one sword in particular, a broadsword with substantial pitting on the blade. Before I realized I’d even touched the metal, a flood of images burst through my mind in such a flurry that the onslaught nearly floored me. It was only Stefan’s sudden grip clamped around my arm that brought me back. Stumbling against the workbench, I sucked in a few deep breaths. Usually, it requires blood to secure a link between my mind and the metal, but not this time. That sword wanted its history told.
“Don’t touch anything,” he warned, his azure eyes brilliant in the subdued lighting.
The sword beckoned, even now, its secrets demanding to be told. “I saw…” I couldn’t be sure what I’d seen. Blood, but that’s normal. You don’t read the history of a sword and see happy endings. It was almost always horrific and one of the reasons I didn’t like to do it. I tried to isolate the images in my mind—horses foaming at the mouth—a woman cowering over her motionless child—but Stefan’s voice pulled me back.
“You don’t want to know. There’s enough history in that sword to knock you out for a week.” He touched my face, fingers lightly brushing my cheek. I gasped, not meaning to, but my mind was elsewhere, and his touch so unexpected that a brief flicker of heat bloomed defensively inside me, an instinctive reaction to a perceived threat. He must have sensed it because he turned his back on me, instantly severing the peculiar moment.
The ghost of his touch still brushed my cheek. I
lifted my hand to my face where the cool imprint lingered. It hadn’t hurt—quite the opposite. It was as though his ice element had briefly eased through my skin. It was a natural reaction for two demons, like an elemental handshake, but our opposite elements made for an interesting interaction. I found it quite intriguing and deeply confusing.
“This is the sword that’s caused all the trouble.” He lifted a katana from its cradle and presented it to me in such a formal manor that I didn’t want to take it, especially after just having one sword download a gruesome fragment of its history into my head. The elaborate guard, unusual for a katana, confirmed it as the same sword he’d brought to my workshop.
Seeing my hesitation, he set the sword down on the workbench. “You need to read this.”
In my workshop when I’d first laid eyes on the weapon, I’d instinctively touched it, sensing a connection with it. Now though, I recognized my hesitation as fear. The undulating ripples along the surface of the blade were the result of the metal being folded over and over during its forging process. Each fold strengthened the blade and made the weapon unique. Like a fingerprint, those marks could never be reproduced. Whatever secrets it contained were there forever.
Stefan stepped back, giving me room, but I didn’t move. “It’s not going to be easy,” he warned.
“Why don’t you just tell me?” I shivered and clutched my jacket tighter around me.
He hesitated, as though considering it. “You won’t believe me.”
I didn’t like the sympathy in his eyes or the weight of his words. “This is the proof… About Akil?” I chewed on my lip.
“It’s all in there.”
“How far back do I have to go?” Old weapons have many memories. If I was going back more than a few years, it would take time and effort.
“Monday morning.”
“A few days, not long. Good.” I stalled. The recent event should be easy to pin down. All I need do was look for Akil. “Will I see you?”
Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld Page 153
