Beverly Hills Demon Slayer
Page 16
"I wasn't talking to you," I said, wiping at my phone. My ear sweated against the glass and we'd barely started the conversation.
Frieda wrinkled her brow. "That didn't sound too friendly," she whispered, scooting the pot to follow me when I moved away from her.
Like I needed the peanut gallery right now. I walked away, toward the vending machine, using full strides now, moving faster than she could inch that pot.
Frankly, it surprised me that Dad wasn't out of bed yet. After my run-in with the Earl, I would have thought they'd be in contact, coming up with a plan to zap me.
I ran a hand through my hair. "I'd like to talk," I said to my father. "I don't like how we left things yesterday."
"Is that so?" he asked, his voice sounding far away. He was noncommittal, overly casual. I heard the bedsprings creak as he sat up.
I dug my boot into the dirt near a cluster of lavender.
Maybe Dad wasn't as tight with the Earl as he'd claimed. It wouldn't be unusual for the man to exaggerate. Or flat-out lie.
This entire thing made me nervous. I had no idea what to say next.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, I'd told him to get lost, that I'd never be on his side. Now I had to do a complete flip-flop. I didn't know how I'd convince him I'd changed my mind. Yes, Dad was a reckless jerk, but he wasn't an idiot.
I could almost hear the indecision on the other end of the line, the mistrust.
Ant Eater wheeled the purple-draped cart out of the ceremonial area at about zero miles an hour. If she hadn't been careful, she'd have grazed my back. I ignored her.
At last, my dad spoke. "What do you want, Lizzie?" His tone was cold, calculated.
I watched the breeze play over the wall of ivy and I tried to play it cool. Relaxed. "I'd like to come by the church. Can you meet me there?"
He let out a low laugh that I didn't like at all "Let's make this more social." I heard ice hit a glass, the sound of a drink being poured. He'd better not be drinking drinking. Then again, I supposed it wasn't my problem. "Meet me at the Lynx at noon," he said, taking an audible sip.
"What's that?" I asked, hoping it was on Google Maps.
"Just be there," he said before hanging up.
I double-checked my cell phone, making sure the line had indeed been severed.
Fine. I'd take what I could get.
At least he'd hung up before either of us could change our minds.
I turned around and was startled to find Grandma and Frieda standing directly behind me. "Geez, people."
Grandma wore her rhinestone-studded readers. "The Lynx Club?" She asked, lowering her glasses. "On Sunset Boulevard?"
"You know it?" I asked. Hell, for all I knew, she'd partied there. Grandma and the gang got out more than I did, and there was a ton of nightclubs on the Strip.
I planted my hands on my hips. I just hoped this one opened at noon. Then again, I'd be willing to bet Dad knew his watering holes.
On one hand, I was glad he'd agreed to see me so soon. On the other, I really wished he'd have let me into his church. He probably didn't want me anywhere near the evil vortex that we now knew was located in the basement. I had to figure out a way to get down there and destroy it.
"Want me to lend you an outfit?" Frieda asked, glancing down at my soaked leather.
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. In the past, she'd lent me pants that zipped up on the sides and over the crotch, as well as a neon-orange top full of badly designed holes (I'd worn it with a sports bra), and a black barely there thong with "My Vibrator Has Two Wheels" embroidered on it (I went commando instead).
"What? Is this place so stuck-up you can't drip on the floors?" I asked, a little desperate and, well, it was kind of funny. Right?
Grandma didn't get the humor. "Don't fuck around, Lizzie."
"Yeah, yeah." I knew. For the good of mankind and all.
I just wished Frieda hadn't been so happy as she ushered me off to her room. Long nails caressed my back as she gently led me toward the motel. "Come on, Cinderella."
"I hate to break it to you, but where I'm going is a lot more twisted than any meet-a-guy-and-marry-him ball."
She simply laughed.
Shiloh was helping Ant Eater and a few of the other witches clean up planter pots that had turned over in the ceremony. She gave me an envying look as we passed. "Can I maybe get some dry clothes, too?"
I was about to say no when Frieda of all people gave pause. "What the hell?" she said. "You did good enough today." She gave the blonde she-demon a mock once-over. "I've got a corset I grew out of a couple years ago. I'll bet it'd look darlin' on you."
Well, yay for open minds. Although I was forced to point out as we followed her to her room, "You never gave me a corset."
"You look better in animal prints," Frieda said. "I don't have any corsets like that"— she considered the dilemma—"although maybe we could make one for you."
"You know what? Don't worry about it," I said. I did fine on my own.
Frieda opened the door to a hotel room with an earlobe-shaped rune on the door.
"What one is that?" Shiloh asked.
"Made it up myself," Frieda said, pushing inside. "It means vibrancy."
That was one word for it. Another word was disaster. It looked like a tornado hit her room. There were clothes on the bed, draped over the television. Plastic costume jewelry necklaces over loaded every doorknob. Motorcycle boots and flirty platform wedges in all colors lined the walls. Some of the shoes came very close to fitting my definition of hoochy-mamma stripper heels.
"Those are so exotic!" Shiloh said, rushing over to a pair of clear plastic heels with at least a two-inch lift to the underside of them. Add the five-inch heels and we were entering break-your-neck territory. She held them as if they were the most gorgeous things on earth. They had orange straps and fake goldfish in the heels. At least I hoped the fish were plastic. They almost appeared to be swimming.
Frieda lit up. "You want to borrow them?"
"Yes," Shiloh gushed, as if the answer were obvious.
She was a better woman than me.
"I don't think I need shoes," I said, squishing around in my soaked boots.
"Good," Frieda said, making her way toward the closet. She glanced at me over her shoulder. "Because I don't have any fancy shoes that go with the skirt you're wearing."
"Can I choose?" I asked, heading her off at the pass. It's not as though I'd find anything super appealing among the zebra prints and red sequined halter tops, but it was worth a shot.
Frieda slid open the mirror door and stepped aside. "Pickings are low," she said to Shiloh and me. "You can't have anything hanging around the room because the spells on those are still curing."
Shiloh took a step back. "You spell your clothes?"
"I'm on a manhunt, sweetie," Frieda said, "as in the kind that gets you laid." Her red plastic dangly earrings swung as she talked. "Now I'm not saying a nice spell is the only way to get that done," she clarified, serious as a heart attack, "but it sure can't hurt."
Not her, maybe, but "I don't want to attract men," I told her.
"I'll help you find a man," Shiloh said to Frieda, without missing a beat.
"No, you won't," I said quickly. Frieda didn't know what she was asking for.
"What?" The she-demon raised her brows in response. "I'm good at it." She gave a small huff. "Besides, it helps me keep my mind off things."
Focus on what you can control. I turned back to Frieda. "So you're saying the clothes in the closet aren't spelled yet."
"I didn't have time before the ceremony this morning." She drew out a white leather skirt shorter than my forearm with a zipper right up the entire front. "This is still cute, though," she said, holding it up.
Sweet Jesus. "I don't think you need a spell to get laid in that skirt." You just needed a pulse.
Shiloh clapped her hands together. "I love it," she gushed.
"Why?" I asked. That was another thing: "You don't
dress like this." Shiloh's personal style was more Lilly Pulitzer than Layla the Stripper.
Shiloh took the skirt from Frieda and held it to her waist. "I love to dress sexy. I just tame it down as part of my 'good girl' campaign." She grinned at Frieda. "Now I have an excuse! At least for today. Your clothes are so beautiful."
I took the skirt from Shiloh because the only other thing in the closet was a red latex dress that looked like it belonged to a dominatrix. "This one's mine," I said, heading for the bathroom.
"I'll find the matching top," Frieda called after me.
I could hardly wait.
If I'd been in a smaller bathroom, I couldn't recall. I tossed the skirt over the edge of the tub because the tiny counter was scattered with makeup, hair sprays, and what looked to be homemade skin remedies in recycled Vaseline jars. I picked up a container marked "Eyelash Bling" before hastily putting it down. I liked my eyelashes just fine.
It took some doing, but I managed to peel the wet leather pants from my legs. It felt good to get them off. Them and my soaked bustier. I dried off with a towel and grabbed for the white leather skirt before I could think about it too much. That's when I realized it was more of a skort, or at least it had a panel at the bottom, so I wouldn't be showing my hoo-ha to the entire interstate as I rode my bike. Yay for that.
The two halves zipped up and I studied my bottom half in the mirror. I was flashing a lot of leg, but at least I was presentable. Mostly.
Pretend it's shorts.
Frieda knocked on the door. "Lizzie." She inched it open. "Here." Her hand thrust inside, holding a white leather top. At least that's what it was supposed to be.
I took it, turning it over in my hands. "Do you have anything that's bigger?" And less like a tank top?
"Nothing dry," Frieda responded from the other side.
Lordy.
I tried on the top, which also had a front zipper.
"Brace yourself," I mumbled as I dared to look at my new outfit in the mirror.
It was official. I didn't need goldfish shoes to look like a stripper.
Frieda rapped at the door. "I don't mean to hurry you, but your grandma says you better get on the road if you want to make it to the Lynx Club on time. Parking's a bitch."
I groaned. And then there was the issue of persuading my father to work with me once I got there. Maybe this outfit would convince my dad that I truly had lost my mind.
Frieda whistled as I left the bathroom.
"Do you have any biker shorts I can wear under this?" I asked. Even with the little crotch guard underneath, I felt exposed.
Frieda broke into a proud grin. "Don't you look pretty?" She turned me around. "You'll do just fine."
I didn't have time to argue it. "Thanks," I said, buckling my demon slayer utility belt.
On the way out, I passed Shiloh, who stood modeling the red latex dress in the closet door mirror. Her boobs were pushed up to within an inch of her life and her hem was even shorter than mine. Frieda was right. I had the conservative outfit.
Heaven help us.
"Good luck," Shiloh said, stopping me to give me a big hug. "I know you'll do great."
She didn't say it, but I already knew the rest: they were all counting on me.
***
I ignored the feeling of way too much wind at my back—and my front—as I rode north toward Sunset Boulevard. It was dangerous to have so much skin exposed on a bike, but then again, it was also a little insane to chase down a demon.
I punched my bike and cursed at the late-morning traffic. I hadn't consulted my Google Maps application as to the exact location of my meeting place with Dad. I wanted to get the lay of the land first, see if I could spot anything unusual.
I opened my demon slayer senses and purposely pushed a little farther west in order to scope out my dad's church on the way up.
Darkness hit while I was still blocks away. It poured down the streets like water.
Cripes. I paused at a boulevard stop a few seconds longer than usual. There were people out, walking dogs, shopping. They shouldn't be here. Energy like this could tear little pieces out of regular mortals, making them tired, sick, less.
I didn't know how it had gotten this much worse in only a day. It seemed impossible, but maybe they'd fixed the tomb, or had another installed quickly. They had to have done something. If I could get in there, I could figure it out.
The Earl was gaining power fast.
The dark forces hit me like needles on my skin. They threw me off balance, muddled my head.
I braced myself and pushed forward. The worst part was, I wanted more.
I took a deep breath, then another. I couldn't afford to get distracted right now. Or worse, to succumb.
Easy does it. One step at a time. The turnoff for the church came up and I gunned straight past it. I didn't know if I could handle getting too close.
And as I fled the place, the knowing, an unwelcome realization settled over me: if the Earl gained too much power, I wouldn't be able to stop him.
I sped up, weaving in and out of traffic, running because I had no other options at that moment. The darkest shadows gave way to the light with every mile I put between the church and me, but they were still present, lurking between storefronts, oozing from the storm drains.
It's a wonder the regular people who lived and worked here didn't sense it.
Maybe they did. The traffic was awful, with people honking at each other and driving like maniacs. I couldn't decide if it was demonic influence or just a typical day in Los Angeles.
At last, I made it to Sunset and North Sierra Drive, on the west end of the block. The energy felt more muted here, which I took as a good sign. Sunset Boulevard was crazy enough.
I made a left and eased down the street, observing everything from the squat bars and restaurants to the low-level entities that seemed to cling just out of reach. I passed the dull black painted facade of the Viper Room, and the Roxy.
It was a wonder the Red Skulls hadn't holed up here. Then again, expensive real estate wasn't their style, even if it tried to look run-down. I kept driving until I spotted the Lynx Club, down by the Chateau Marmont.
I'd expected leather, leopard prints, and a dark facade. But knock me sideways; it looked like a nice place. Bamboo fencing barricaded the outdoor seating area, mimicking a jungle setting. Colorful palms decorated the patio, and well-dressed diners ate on tables laid with china and real linen napkins.
Leave it to my dad to try to throw me off again.
Parking was a bitch and I ended up leaving the bike in a twenty-dollar lot almost a block from the restaurant. Ridiculous.
I tried not to think of the picture I made walking out of the alley in my hoochie outfit. It wasn't as if I could change now. The restaurant didn't have a side entrance, so I strolled through the fancy patio and into the restaurant.
I bypassed the gawking hostess, glad to see my dad for once as he waved to me from a table by a rustic-looking fireplace with a portrait of a stalking leopard over it.
"Nice digs," I said, sliding in across from him.
The lunch crowd was out in full force and I didn't see a single empty chair. He must come here often to get a table at the last minute.
He took me in, from my knee-high black leather boots, to the rest of what I wasn't wearing. "Determined to rebel, aren't you?"
If that's what he thought, then sure. I might as well keep him guessing. "Sometimes I'm impulsive."
Like when I decided to eat all of the ice cream in the container instead of just a little. Sometimes, you had to live it up.
He handed me the drink menu. "Would you like a cocktail?"
At least we were coming up on noon. "No, thanks," I said, placing it on the table. Truth be told, I would like another hangover cure, but this wasn't the time to get nostalgic for my husband. I had work to do.
I had no clue how to convince Dad I was on his side. I had absolutely no reason to do it and I wasn't that good of an actor.
Subtle, they were not.
I gave a shrug. "They don't approve of our meeting," I told my dad.
He eyed me before downing a third of his cocktail in one gulp. "Your
Grandma's never approved of me."
That was a minefield. I stepped in it anyway. "How did you meet my mom?"
Grandma didn't like talking about it and the only time I'd met my mom, she'd tried to drug and kidnap me. Not the best bonding moment. As long as I had my dad here, I wanted to know.
He played with his glass, making the ice rattle. "She found me," he said simply. "She never wanted to be a demon slayer, you know."
"I'm familiar with the idea." It was why she'd foisted her powers off on me. Before abandoning me. I played with the water glass that had been in front of me when I sat down.
Every girl had some kind of issue with her mother. Too bad mine was such a doozy.
Dad went on, as if all of this were par for the course. "Your mom wanted to skirt the system. And she liked me. We decided to help each other."
That didn't sound too promising. It didn't matter. It shouldn't, but I had to know. "Did you love her?"
He shrugged. "She was beautiful," he said wistfully. "And she had power to burn. I figured she could give some to me. Right?" He took another gulp of his drink.
I didn't think the meeting would go well if I called my father an asshole, so I went for my water glass. I hoped the cold liquid would calm me down, but the only way that would happen is if I poured it over his head.
He didn't notice. Or maybe he didn't care.
"Anyhow," he continued, "all the power went to you, so there was no reason for me to stick around."
Gee. I could see where I'd gotten my practical side. Paired with his narcissism, it was quite disarming. "Do you still want it?" I asked. "The power, that is."
He moved his glass in circles on the table while he considered the question. "I'm not going to slay my own daughter for it, if that's what you're asking." He glanced up at me. "Even if I were the type, your power wouldn't go to me."