Dark Around the Edges

by Cari Z

  Oh, right. “Tesoro mio.”

  “That. I like that. S’nice.”

  “I like it too,” Rio whispered. “Sleep now, tesoro mio.”

  Devon did, and after a while, Rio followed him.

  Chapter Ten

  Lynlis Syfer did business out of a pawn shop creatively called Cipher Pawn, located down a narrow flight of stairs between two souvenir shops on Fremont Street. Fremont Street was a truly stunning locale at night, a pixelated, surreal canopy of light and color and shape. During the day though, it wasn’t nearly so appealing. Natural light washed out the thrill of the neon, and the whole place felt kind of sad.

  Rio took the lead down the stairs and Devon let him, taking the time to absorb his surroundings. There was a dead ficus tree right outside the door, not exactly inviting, but a merry little bell tingled as they stepped inside, which just seemed incongruous. The interior of Cipher Pawn was fairly dark, with a skylight set in a far distant ceiling and a few lamps lit here and there. The place was packed with display cases, racks of vintage clothes and random pieces of furniture. It didn’t feel like magic happened here. It just felt like a hundred other semi-tawdry pawn shops.

  A man sat behind a desk about halfway back. He didn’t bother to look up as they entered, just started in on his bored monologue as he bounced a pair of dice in his hand: “Welcome to Cipher Pawn, purveyors of fine jewelry, clothing, weapons, and classic Vegas memorabilia.” He spoke with a casual British accent, not the kind that made you think tea and crumpets, more like Tom Hardy after a few drinks. His dark blond hair was longish on top and close cut on the sides; it would’ve been a mohawk if he’d bothered to style it. “Take your time and look around. If you have any small children with you, please keep them by your side at all times.” He had a longish nose on a sharp-edged face, wore a goatee and had two gold hoops through the top of his right ear, the only ear Devon could see given his profile position. His bare arms were covered with tattoos that Devon couldn’t really make out. “If you’re looking to sell, sorry, we’re full up right now, so sod off.” The man was leanly attractive, and different enough to be interesting. Devon almost reached out with his allure, before he remembered what happened the last time and reeled the compulsion back in.

  “We’re not here to sell,” Rio said as he walked up to the desk. The guy looked up, then did a double-take. “We’re here to trade.”

  “Bloody hell!” The dice vanished from the man’s hand as he straightened up and got a good look at Rio. “You’re a right fuckin’ giant, mate. And you,” he looked around Rio at Devon, and Devon could immediately sense the change from near-fear to smoldering lust in the man. It was very gratifying. “You’re, like, the definition of fit. Unreal fit. Maybe I’ve fallen asleep.” He glanced at Rio, who was looking at him implacably. “You don’t have a briefcase full of weed for me, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  “And you’re not actually a rentboy lookin’ to make me a deal, are you?” he asked Devon.

  “No, but that sounds like a fun dream,” Devon offered with a wink.

  “Oh yeah, it is, mate. Shit.” He ran a hand through his scruffy hair and smiled a little sheepishly. His entire right arm was wrapped by a tattoo of a dark green piece of rope. “So then. I know I’m coming off as mental right now, but I swear I’m not. You’re both real, that’s brilliant. What can I do for you gents?”

  “You can introduce us to Lynlis Syfer,” Rio told him.

  The guy shrugged one shoulder. “Not that easy, and don’t beat me up just because I’m sayin’ something that you don’t want to hear. She’s a rather private girl, busy too. You’ve got to have something worth her time, and if I see you pull out your wallet, let me tell you, you’ll be getting off on the wrong foot.”

  “We brought along proof of our serious interest,” Rio assured him. He reached into his pocket, pulled out something too small for Devon to see and handed it over to the guy, who took it with a bit of a grimace.

  “Oh, cheers, straight up her alley. Right, give me a minute.” He opened a door behind the desk and headed into the back. Devon sidled up to Rio’s side and bumped his hip.

  “What did you give him?”

  “Three front teeth.”

  “God, really?” Devon was intrigued. “It’s like a twisted version of that children’s Christmas song. Are they Jackie Miranda’s teeth?”

  “Only in a symbolic kind of way, but I think she’ll like them. You’ll see what I mean when we get in there.”

  Devon decided not to push. “I like our greeter boy. He’s cute.”

  Rio hummed noncommittally. “Not really my type, but he seems like the kind of person you would enjoy. Different,” Rio clarified. “Collectible. Discreet.”

  “We should take him back to the motel and share him tonight.” It seemed like a solid plan to Devon. He was sure the guy would be game.

  “We’ve kind of got this mission, maybe you’ve heard of it? We need to be on the road and hunting down our target as soon as possible.”

  “Killjoy,” Devon accused him, but his heart wasn’t in it. While he’d love to have a threesome with Rio and hottie desk guy, he was actually pretty happy with things just as they were right now.

  Speaking of whom, hottie desk guy returned with a smile. “Right, so you’ve got her attention. She’s in the back room. Keep your weapons, s’fine, we’re all friends here, but know that if you try to use them, I’ll have to shoot you through the head.”

  Naturally, that was the thing that got Rio’s attention. “You think you could?” he asked, and he sounded genuinely curious, not offended.

  “Look, you’re a bad man, that’s clear, mate. But yeah. I could.” Before they could blink the guy was holding a two-shot derringer in his right hand. Devon couldn’t explain it. There was no draw, no twist of the wrist, nothing. And where would this guy hide a gun anyway? He was wearing a sleeveless, skin-tight shirt.

  The gun vanished a second later, and again, Devon couldn’t track it. Judging from the look on Rio’s face, neither could he. The guy held out his hands peaceably and smiled. “But look, let’s not get into a pissin’ match here, yeah? I’m a friendly sort and you’re here on business, so let’s all just behave and we’ll leave it at that. C’mon, she’s waiting for you.” He motioned them around the desk and followed them after locking up the front door.

  At the end of a short hallway was a doorway covered by a bright green beaded curtain. Rio had to duck to get in, and he held the beads aside for Devon, who stepped through and was immediately set on edge by the smell in the air. There was incense burning to mask it, strong stuff that smelled like leather, but beneath it was a layer of decay so thick that nothing but fire would purify at this point. He looked around for evidence of whatever it was that was dead in here and got more than he bargained for.

  The room was small and square, and just as full of detritus as the store out front. Only the stuff lining these shelves wasn’t kitschy, it was macabre. There were a few gamey stacks of bones, dirty sackcloth that Devon recognized as part of an old burial shroud, feathers and talons and assorted other animal parts. One shelf was devoted entirely to small leather bags, gris-gris of some kind, and another held mason jars full of alcohol with…things floating inside.

  Against one wall was a small altar with a figure kneeling before it. The figure was completely stiff, unmoving, and covered with so many lace veils that Devon wasn’t even sure it was a person beneath them, but after looking at the rest of the room, odds were good that it was. Devon could smell the acridity of preservatives and natural lacquers wafting from the corpse. Gross, dead person just sitting there in the room with them.

  The one spot of incongruity Devon found amidst the tomb-like air of the place was the girl sitting at the card table in the center of the room. Lynlis Syfer was small and slender with a round, rosy-cheeked face. She wore a bright yellow sundress, and the wide, looping ringlets of her dark hair were as perfect as a doll’s. Her eyebrows were thin and ra
ised in the middle, making her constantly look a little bit surprised. Her delicate little feet were crossed at the ankle, and she looked down at the table as they entered. The beads slowly stopped clacking, and when the noise vanished, she spoke.

  “Manuel Escobar.” She held up a slightly yellowed tooth with a tiny ruby set in the center of it, then laid it back down. “Kenneth ʻKelso’ Sloan.” Another tooth, slightly larger than the first and with another ruby. “Billy ʻThe Kid’ Endo.” A final tooth joined the other two in a neat line on the cheap vinyl surface of the card table. “Three sad mama’s sons. Three killers. Three lovers. Two of ‘em gone for good.” She smiled down at the teeth. “I think I’ll get ‘em set in a bracelet.” She looked up expectantly at Devon. “And what did you bring me?”

  The knowledge that Rio had killed two people just before he’d come back to the motel room and had monkey sex with Devon didn’t bother him as much as that smile. It was so banal, so perfectly pleasant, and nothing in this room should have been pleasant. She was kind of awful to look at.

  Nevertheless, Devon reached into his pocket and pulled out the faded Jack of spades. He handed it over, making sure not to touch her skin, and watched uneasily as she took it and slid a shiny pink fingernail along its edge.

  “The symbol of a final contract,” she said. She had a strange accent, slightly southern and thick like molasses. “A death warrant. You two gentlemen have style. Steven, is the front door locked?”

  “Yeah,” the desk hottie—Steven—said. Devon was glad to know his real name.

  “Good. We could be here for some time, and I don’t want to be interrupted.” She nudged the chairs in front of her with her feet. She was wearing ballet flats. Wrong, so wrong. “Please sit.”

  Rio sat first and Devon scooted his chair close enough that their knees were touching. It was a small thing, but it made him feel better. Steven plopped down on a backless stool a few feet away, tucking his toes beneath the crossbar on the bottom.

  “I’m sure you know who I am,” she said. She spoke softly, with every expectation of being heard no matter what her volume was. “But I don’t know who you gentlemen are. Or even,” her eyes darted sharply between the two of them, “what you are. Though this young man is easy enough to guess. Cambion.” She smiled prettily at him. “You’re too perfect to be anything else, sugar.”

  Devon forced himself to be polite. “You flatter me.”

  “No, I flatter my women’s intuition, I think. Well, your secret is safe with me. You, though.” She looked at Rio, and now there was more than curiosity in her eyes, there was avarice. “You I can’t place. I’ve never seen anything quite like you before.”

  Thud. There was a faint sound like a rubber ball falling onto the floor. Devon looked around, but nothing was moving, and the noise didn’t repeat. He mentally shook his head and refocused on the bitch who looked like she wanted to eat Rio up.

  “I’m a man.”

  “No. You’re no more a man than that pretty boy, half at best.” She batted her long dark lashes at him. “Tell me what you are, and I’ll tell you what I am.”

  “I know what you are,” Rio said. His tone was cool, his expression unmoved. “Witch. You make dead things dance and you haunt the living. You take your payment in blood and tears and flesh. You know things that no one should know, much less use. Clearly your father taught you a lot before he was sent up the river.”

  “Daddy was a very good teacher,” she agreed pleasantly. “But not my only teacher. Continuing education is crucial to maintainin’ your focus and honing your craft. What are your names?”

  Rio shook his head. “You don’t need to know that.”

  “I have to call you something in my records.” She patted a thick black notebook sitting on the table. “I keep meticulous notes on all of my deals.”

  “You could call us whatever you want, just don’t expect details.”

  “Very well. Then you can be Saint.” Then she smiled at Devon. “And you can be Sinner. Life makes for some odd bedfellows, clearly. What can I do for you gentlemen?”

  “We need to track a man down,” Devon said, wanting to rejoin the conversation. He wasn’t content to let Rio do all the talking, not when this operation was his responsibility in the first place.

  “What sort of man?”

  “The kind of man who knows how to hide.” Porter Grey had been little more than a ghost for over a decade, and he wasn’t going to make it easy for them to find him. “He’s a powerful man.”

  “Powerful men leave their own unique trails,” Lynlis said with a nod. “I can find almost anyone, but I need something of his to do it. The more intimately connected, the better.”

  Shit. Devon didn’t have anything like that. He looked at Rio with consternation, but to his surprise Rio was already taking a small plastic box out of his jacket pocket. “I’ve got something that will work.”

  Lynlis’s smile brightened when she saw it. “You certainly are one for odd trophies, ain’t you?” she laughed. “If only I could find the proper leverage, I would get you to come and work for me. You’d be worth almost any price, sugar.”

  “Why? What’s in the box?” Steven asked from the sidelines, and Devon was glad that he’d spoken first, because he was beyond curious now but he didn’t want it to seem as though they were keeping each other in the dark, even though Rio clearly was. That smarted, just a little bit.

  “A piece of their target,” Lynlis explained. Steven wrinkled his nose. “Oh, don’t be so delicate. You’ve handled plenty of bits and bobs in the past.”

  “Don’t mean I enjoyed a moment of it,” Steven muttered.

  Lynlis ignored him and continued. “What do you offer in exchange for my work?”

  “What do you want?” Rio countered.

  Lynlis sat back in her simple folding chair and crossed her hands in front of her middle. She tilted her head and stared at them for a moment before coming to some sort of decision. “When I was a brand-new baby, I was blind.” The seeming non sequitur startled Devon, and she acknowledged his new attention with a little nod. “After a month I could see, but I couldn’t hear. A month after that, I lost my sense of touch. So it went. Doctors couldn’t explain it. My body would only let me have four senses at a time, not five. It got to the point where I could juggle ‘em, somewhat, but I was always missing one. Never whole. Never complete.

  “It drove my daddy crazy. I was all he had, and he hated to see me suffer. Eventually he learned enough of the craft to let me borrow other people’s senses. They never stick, but I can use them for a while. I’ve had the vision of a mass murderer.” Her dark eyes seemed to glitter. “I’ve had the hearing of a man who strangled his wife and babies to death. I’ve had the touch of a beggar and the nose of a parfumier. People came to Daddy wanting, and he made deals that made me whole. After he went to prison, Genevieve helped me. Now I help myself, and I want to help myself to you.” She looked between them. “Both of you.”

  Thud. There was that noise again, that strange, hollow noise. No one else seemed to notice it. Devon would have asked, but he could feel the pressure of Rio’s leg against his suddenly increase as Rio stiffened. That was a bad sign. “No. You don’t get to have one of our senses.”

  “It’s not permanent,” Lynlis said soothingly, as though that made it all right. “I’d take ‘em for, oh, no more than a week.”

  “I don’t want to be without one of my senses for a week,” Devon said, even though the thought didn’t bother him as much as it seemed to bother Rio.

  “Well, I suppose I’d accept a loan from just one of you. That’s all it is, a loan. Think of it as a chance to improve your other senses.”

  “No.” Rio’s voice was absolutely firm. “Whatever you touch will be tainted. Absolutely not.”

  “Are you really so sure?” She looked at him challengingly. “You need to find your target, don’t you? The longer you wait the longer he has to run, and there ain’t another person with my skills before you reach
Los Angeles, now that you’ve taken Jackie Miranda out of the mix. I think you need to make a deal with me.” She leaned forward and folded her arms across the table. “It’s time to bargain, gentlemen. You’ll find me plenty reasonable.”

  “I don’t bargain with witches.”

  “I can do it.” It was out of Devon’s mouth before he could second guess it, and by then it was too late.

  Rio turned to Devon with a dark scowl on his face. “No.”

  “It’s not a big deal.”

  “It is a big deal. She doesn’t get to violate you like that.”

  Devon tried to keep the mood light. “It’s kind of hard to violate me,” he said with a smile. “And for all intents and purposes, I’m already tainted. I don’t mind, really.”

  Rio reached out and took his hand. “You’re not tainted. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  “I know.” It was a familiar refrain; he’d heard it from his dads for years. He almost believed it nowadays, but that didn’t matter at the moment. Rio obviously had a problem with Lynlis, one that went beyond the obvious creepery of her entire scene, and if Devon could spare him that pain, he would. “But we really don’t have time to waste. I can do this. And it won’t even be for a week.” He turned back to Lynlis but kept holding on to Rio’s hand. “One day, and you can’t have eyesight or hearing. I need those.”

  “Oh sure, those’re the ones people tend to focus on,” Lynlis agreed. “Though I think you’ll find that you’re never quite right without all of ‘em. But fine. I’m losing my sense of touch tomorrow, and I’d love to have the proprioception of a cambion. It promises a whole heap of pleasure for me. But just a day ain’t enough. Five days.”

  “That’s too long.” Devon was pretty sure that he was going to need all of his senses to go after Porter with any hope for success. Five days put him out of perfect function for too long. “Two days.”

  “Four.”

  “Two and a half.”

  “Three.” Devon started to shake his head, but Lynlis followed up quickly. “Three’s the absolute minimum I can accept; that’s when my next deal comes due. Three days, and I’ll give you Steven’s services for the actual takedown. I’m sure you’ll find him useful.”