by Riley Archer
“Ellis.” Damian nudged me and brought me back.
“Yeah?” I squeaked.
It was all coming together even if the pieces were a complete mess. My death. The Glitch calls. The necromancer jerks. I was putting this ugly puzzle together whether it killed me—again—or not.
Erik looked at his hands. “You should know that nobody is friendly to reaper kids. Not even their parents.”
Despite the violent swell of excitement in my head, Erik’s tone hit me cold. Haggling and energy-eating abilities or not, he was a lonely kid. I recognized it. I hadn’t known I had forbidden DNA, and my childhood still hadn’t been the greatest. Especially now that I knew my “foster parents” had been under a magical contract.
I knelt in front of Erik’s desk. “That’s okay. We’ll have each other’s backs then, huh?”
His eyes popped with surprise. They went dark again when I ruffled his hair.
“Take care of that book,” I said on our way out. “Or you’ll make Damian cry.”
17
The Minions
The Vamp Room was all red velvet, cramped booths, and expensive frills. Even in the dark lighting, I spotted Ash and Jose right away. They were cozied up together, watching the small stage.
Some macabre theater was going on. I was pretty sure they were reenacting Interview with the Vampire. A tiny girl with yellow ringlets ripped vintage stuffed animals from her bed, exposing lifeless bodies beneath them.
Please, please tell me they aren’t real.
I cared if humans had been murdered for an intimate show, I really did, but I could not handle another zombie battle right now.
The bodies suddenly stood and did a choreographed tap dance.
“The little girl is to blame. I have been drained!” they sang and finished with a flourish. Their smiles showed off rows of fangs.
The crowd filled with quiet claps and the heavy curtains came together. Intermission, I guessed.
Ash and Jose were entranced. They didn’t notice us until we squeezed into their booth.
“How’s your private area, Damian?” Ash asked, swirling her pink drink. And he gave me a dirty look. “Oops. I meant business. How’s your business?”
“Looks like it could be good,” Jose added before he stole Ash’s drink and sipped from the straw. “Ellis, is it good?”
Like the children they were, they burst into laughter.
“I’m regretting every decision that led me here.” Damian waved down a scantily clad waitress.
Spiky brunette bob, short black skirt, a teeny midriff button-up with a tie. She graced us with an extra-pointy smile. Damian liked the look of her too much, I thought. His smile teetered the line of flirtatious.
“I’ll take a gin.”
“You got it.” She glanced at me. “And you?”
“I’ll take a, um, Sex on the Beach.”
She nodded and walked away. Ash and Jose ogled me with eyebrows up to their hairline.
“What?” I barked. “I was murdered at twenty-one. I don’t know the name of any other drinks!”
“Ooh, let’s play that game.” Ash pushed her elbows onto the table. “It’s my favorite.”
“We have to play. Ellis already started it.” Jose faced me completely. “Ellis, I’d like to hear about your gruesome murder.”
I’m not going to play, I told myself.
But my Sex on the Beach was delivered and devoured. Then a Long Island iced tea, the other drink I’d managed to order, met the same fate. My bones fizzed like Coca-Cola, and I was ridiculously impressionable.
This meant, under Ash and Jose’s sly prodding, I told them almost everything. I replayed my recurring nightmares to them in lavish detail, talking about my confined apartment, which I’d loved before I’d been suffocated in it. I told them about the reflection of the business card in the glass. It was so cathartic, actually talking about it, that I couldn’t shut up. I even told them I needed to infiltrate the Black Diamond Gentlemen’s Club, find my killer, and undo the curse a wicked necromancer had cast on me. When I finally stopped talking, it was like I’d vomited poison. It felt good to get out, but the aftertaste was sour and nauseating.
They huddled in close while I downed the melted ice from my glass.
“We’re in,” Ash whispered.
I woke the next morning not remembering how I’d gotten back to the apartment, much less in bed. I yanked the covers off me and sighed in relief. I was still in the same clothes as last night.
I rested against the headboard, a dull throb pulsing behind my eyes.
“If you thought last night was ducking awesome, wait till you see what’s in store for today.” Ash meandered into the room, donning dark jeans and a leather jacket. Her hands were behind her back.
I gave her a sheepish smile. Was last night fun? Did I make plans for today?
Ash sat at the end of the bed and passed me the cup of coffee she’d been hiding. It was a sight for hungover eyes.
“You’re a problematic angel. Thank you.” I breathed in the magical fumes.
“No problem.” Ash winked. Her expression was pure mischief. “So, you and Damian …”
I froze mid-sip. “Absolutely not.”
If she had a reason for that look, drunk me was in bold print on my shit list.
“Well, he did carry you here. And tucked you in. And you”—I paled, and she grinned—“called him every name in the book. I mean, you didn’t start until a deceased pigeon pecked you in the face, but you were on a roll! I think my favorite was, ‘butcher from cosplay hell.’ If I were him, I would’ve dropped you.”
We both chuckled.
“I’ll text him an apology.”
No, I wouldn’t, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
Ash waved a hand and got up. “Don’t bother. You’ll see him soon enough.”
Coffee dribbled down my chin.
“What’s that?”
“Yeah, girl. If we’re infiltrating an elite club of killers and stealing an ancient spellbook, we need to look the part. Which means”—she clapped her hands together—“we’re going shopping.”
On the way to SoHo, Ash filled in the parts of my memory that had gotten a little hazy. I had a vague recollection of giving the young blonde actress a standing ovation and asking pretty vampires with sparkling canines for dentist recommendations, but that was pretty much the extent of it.
Apparently, after I’d spilled my guts, Ash and Jose had declared themselves my vengeful minions and guilted Damian into going along with it. After we made a pact over margaritas, we flirted around The Vamp Room until we made friends with a particularly connected vampire. This wealthy bloodsucker had lots to say about the Black Diamond Gentlemen’s Club, including the quarterly passcode and the dress expectations for guests.
I’d almost asked why McFangBang—Ash’s endearing moniker—was privy to divulging these delicate details, but then I’d noticed pairs of purple bites on Jose’s inner forearm and the back of his neck.
The paranormal version of hickeys was answer enough for me, but that didn’t mean it was the last I heard about it. I received all the nibbling details in the gracious lighting of a boutique dressing room. A very cramped dressing room.
“Vampires have the best taste,” Jose said while spinning for himself in the mirror. He ran his hands down the gold vest that he’d paired with a silk purple top and skintight dress pants.
Ash came back in, and I barely had space to spin around.
“Why do I have to share a dressing room with you guys?”
“Quit being such a prude, Ellis.” Ash slapped a shimmery silver dress into my hands. “We’re a posse now. This is how we do things.”
The dress—or what existed of a dress—was gorgeous.
I checked the price tag. “Three hundred dollars!”
“Shh!” Ash pressed a finger to my lips. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You can say that, but I have like”—I rummaged my pockets and pulled ou
t what was there—“two bucks.”
“Actually”—Ash tore off her top and pulled on a little black dress with glittery ruffles from the waist down; it was like a sexy one-piece tutu—“I texted Atlas for you. I said you needed a weekend and that you were low on food and stuff. Some Enforcer came to the door this morning. I pretended to be you and asked him to slide it in the mail slot. You have three hundred dollars. Side note: you should probably put a passcode on your phones. You’re a terrible spy.” She smiled at her reflection and then jeered at me. “Put it on!”
She and Jose winked and pinched each other as they cleared the mirror.
“This is for fun,” I said with a scowl even though I couldn’t have put on the shimmery fabric any more lovingly. “If I have three hundred bucks, I’m not spending it all on a damn dress. A damn pretty dress.”
The neckline plunged just enough to be inviting, and the bodice hugged my curves with a casual squeeze. The hem ended mid-thigh, the lower end exposing a tad more skin with three delicate chain straps. I turned just a bit, and the shift in light transitioned the silver coloring to a soft purple.
It was gorgeous and obscene and not a bit overpriced. I wanted it so hard that my heart rate spiked.
“I didn’t say you had only three hundred dollars.” Ash propped her elbow on Jose’s shoulder. She was tiny, and he was tall, so it was a reach. “Atlas had fifty fresh hundred-dollar bills delivered to you.”
I pointed my eyes at the ceiling and tried to do some fast math. I mouthed silently and then my jaw dropped. “Five grand for food and stuff?” I whispered.
Jose smoothed out his stick-straight vest and stuck out his lower lip. “Being that we’re your minions and all, we were hoping we could share in the glory of your revenge?”
Now, he and Ash were both giving me fat-lipped pouts and puppy-dog eyes. I tapped my finger on my waist, and their desperation bled into the small dressing room.
My lips curled in a slow, evil smile. “Okay,” I said simply. “But we also need shoes.”
I could admit that I jumped in excitement with them. I had been beaten worse than a dog’s chew toy, and I deserved a moment of materialistic delight.
Ash noticed me pressing one of my bruises, and she adjusted my dress. “Don’t worry. A little bit of makeup, and you won’t look like you got in the ring with Rocky Balboa. Those thieving, murdering assholes won’t know what hit them.”
“And wearing that”—Jose joined us in the mirror—“they’ll be begging you to hit them some more.”
They were weird. What was even weirder was that they had kind of become my friends.
When we were on our way to check out, the seemingly invincible burner phone buzzed. I flicked it open and closed. “Damian said he’ll meet us at Café Underground.”
Jose shook his head. “Big mistake.”
“Why is that?” I asked as the cashier rang up our various clothing items.
The grand total came to $897.10, and we still needed accessories. I didn’t even flinch when handing over the cash Ash had slipped to me in the dressing room. Life was short.
“Because”—Ash twirled the fancy shopping bag over her head—“he won’t be prepared now. When he sees us all gussied up tonight, it’s gonna knock him dead.”
“Rest in peace, Damian,” Jose sighed.
18
The Heist
“Rest in peace, us,” Ash said after a few beats. She’d been speechless for a whole minute.
I hadn’t known her long, but I figured that was some kind of record.
Her sentiment echoed through me though. Damian cleaned up nice.
“I see you took my advice about showering,” I said as we approached.
He’d done way more than that. He’d also gotten a subtle but significant haircut, added a single silver loop to one of his ears, smelled like expensive cologne, and I was pretty sure he’d lightly applied eyeliner. He wore a sleek but casual suit with the inside blouse only halfway buttoned. Holy tease.
If my first encounters with him hadn’t been him spilling my drink and then him spilling someone’s blood, followed by me blackmailing him, followed by him getting me cursed and almost killed …
His mossy-green eyes scanned me from head to toe. My stomach swooped.
What was I thinking? Oh, yeah. If it hadn’t been for all those things, I’d have considered him downright drool-worthy.
“I see you took your own advice.” Damian batted his long lashes and turned.
Ash mouthed a dramatic, Oh my God.
She and Jose were just as jaw-droppingly stunning. It had taken us hours to get ready, and I supposed it’d paid off. We didn’t wait in line, not even for a blink.
Café Underground was as thumping as ever. Techno music bounced off the walls with neon lights, and my nerves got a bit zappy. We pushed through the excited crowd and reached the Black Diamond Gentlemen’s Club elevator.
I scanned to see if anyone watched us. I kept a special eye out for anyone with a burlap bag.
Damian whispered to the diamond logo, “The sage’s starry eyes stole the quiet moon’s light.”
The upside-down triangle flashed white, and the elevator opened. I curled my nails into my palms to keep my hands from shaking. We were moving.
Damian put his hand on the small of my back and pushed. I wasn’t the least bit hesitant to enter this place and tear it apart; I was just frozen in a moment of shock.
Once I stepped out, cool confidence broadened my shoulders. I looped a shimmery arm with Damian—Ash had talked me into body glitter—and the scent of leather and cigars caressed my skin.
The club had an abstract layout. Down a few steps and to the back, burlesque dancers moved in hypnotic rhythm behind soundproof glass. Creatures of all sorts played games in stippled, circular sofas. A massive nook of a bar was down the hall, but the hallway didn’t end there. It opened into a cul-de-sac filled with more schmoozing. Curtained doorways padded the outskirts of the social loop.
Everyone here looked like they knew dark secrets. Everyone looked like they had dark secrets.
“If you were an ancient book, where would you be?” I whispered into Damian’s ear and got a whiff of whatever extravagant scent he’d spritzed on himself. It was like dusky spice and a hot drink on a cold night.
“We’ll go do some recon.” Ash tucked her head between ours, her baby blues full of excitement. She and Jose went off together, looking for a place to mingle.
Damian brushed the hair from my shoulder. “Nine o’clock. Top hat. There’s an incubus staring at you. He has a golden ring with the club’s symbol engraved on it. Now might be a good time for a lovers’ quarrel.”
As he said it, the opposite of a werewolf—a feline shifter?—sauntered by, and Damian’s gaze landed right on her tail. Her actual tail. Her bright red leather pants were designed with a hole for the flicking furry thing.
Well, okay then. I slapped Damian in the face and not-so-subtly fluffed my boobs, and like an independent-ass woman, I took one of the stray lonesome seats attached to the wall. I didn’t even glance at what looked like the epitome of a tall, dark, and handsome stranger.
A minute later, a shadow filled my peripheral vision. I feigned indifference. A smooth voice, one that oozed appeal, soon followed.
“This is not a place for being alone.” The incubus took the seat beside me and lifted his scotch to his lusciously full lips.
I wondered how Damian had known he was an incubus. He was hot, and his skin glistened like freshly brewed mocha, but I couldn’t tell.
I crossed my legs and smiled. “It’s a good thing I’ve found company then.” I felt like I’d slipped into character, into the kind of chick who had casual conversations with male supermodels in top hats.
A coy smile traced his lips. “What brings you to this establishment?”
He was flirty enough, but I sensed a heavy undertone to the question.
I shrugged and scanned the room. “Curiosity. It took me long enough to g
et an invite.”
“Really? The proprietor is always an elusive reaper. I’d have guessed a reaper of your”—his dark eyes sparkled—“status would be a regular by now.”
Elusive? Reaper? The gorgeous face of a very suspect Grim came to mind. And this incubus knew I was a reaper. I wondered if his sexual energy–eating ways lent a keen eye for that kind of thing.
“Well, it’s not too late to right those wrongs. Where might I find this proprietor to file my complaint?”
His chuckle was a rich rasp. “I should have known you were trouble.”
“Why is that?” I twirled a lock of hair around my finger. I told myself I’d made my voice husky on purpose, that I was immune to the pheromones this creature-dude was spilling in buckets.
“That dress, for one. Your eyes, for two. Your energy, for three.”
“My energy?” I said in mock offense.
“Mmm. Smoldering but distant. I couldn’t help but take a closer look.”
I crossed my arms. “And?”
“And … I believe we might make a regular of you yet.”
He took off his top hat. The inside had two holes that were perfect inversions of the charcoal horns protruding from his skull. He reached inside, and I was half convinced he was going to pull out a white rabbit or a bouquet of fake flowers. Instead, he handed me a business card.
From the moment I caught glimpse of it, everything went into slow motion. My ears rang and muted my surroundings.
It was a much closer view now, but I knew every bold curve of every swoopy letter at the top of that vertical card. The bottom half was new to me, but it was just the club’s logo in gold lines.
Sound rushed back into my ears, and I forced a smile. “What am I to do with this?”
“Find the proprietor, if you wish. This card is an invitation, and the invitations upstairs are much harder to acquire.” He winked, flipped his hat back onto his head, stood, and walked through a curtained doorway.