Demon Song bs-3

by Cat Adams

  He paused for long enough that I would have thought he’d hung up if not for the traffic noise in the background. “Okay. I’m hanging out near the Sam’s burger place on Federal. Find some place to visit around here that would be normal for you. A gun shop or something. You won’t recognize me, so I’ll find you. I’ll start being more aggressive in my panhandling, so by the time you get here it’ll look normal for me to approach you. Push me away and then hand me a twenty when I plead. Put the note inside the folded bill. I’ll call you later after I’ve checked in and delivered the intel.”

  Wow. That was a lot of detail on real short notice. But it sounded like it would work. “I’ll be there at—” I checked my watch. Already eleven? Damn it. Where had the time gone? I’d have to cancel my meeting with Shawn. If he wasn’t already waiting downstairs. I looked over at the pretty young girl who was now looking at me with rapt attention and hope in her eyes. “At one or one thirty. How far do I need to walk in from so I still have wheels on my Miata when I get back to it?”

  Rizzoli let out a sound I realized was a small chuckle. “Come in with fangs bared and I don’t think anyone will mess with it. Come in with fangs and those knives of yours and you’ll have the street all to yourself.”

  I supposed an empty street was better than a faceful of holy water.

  Or worse … a crossbow.

  10

  It was twenty after one by the time I had Sam’s in sight. This block of Federal wasn’t one of the best. Litter was strewn haphazardly on the streets and sidewalks. Graffiti announced a gang’s turf over the top of a previous announcement, and the obvious hookers and addicted vastly outnumbered the people just trying to live their lives in peace.

  As expected, my car was creating quite a stir. I should have taken the bus. Normally I’d park right in front of the business I wanted to visit and get in and out quickly. But if I did that, then I couldn’t “wander” past Sam’s. My best bet was to drive around the block a few times, appear lost, and then ask for directions at a local business—one on the wrong side of the restaurant, so that I’d have no choice but to pass it on the way to the gun store. I’d looked the gun shop up on the Internet so I’d have some idea of what I wanted. There actually were some interesting items for sale, and I was always open to new places to buy gadgets.

  The song on the radio ended and a news report interrupted even though it wasn’t the top of the hour: “This is your KSML news center with a developing story. We’ve just learned that a warrior priest from Mission Viejo was found this morning buried in a shallow grave in the desert outside the city. According to police officials, Father Joseph Treer had been ministering to prisoners at the California State Paranormal Treatment Facility. Officials at the CSPTF haven’t responded to requests for an interview, but an unidentified source in the Santa Maria de Luna police has revealed that a joint operation with federal officials is being planned to investigate allegations of mistreatment inside the state facility. The governor’s office has indicated they’re working closely with all parties to monitor the situation and will respond with National Guard troops if required. This has been a KSML special report. Stay tuned for more information as it becomes available.”

  So it was starting. Muscles I hadn’t realized were loaded with tension relaxed just a bit and I could concentrate a little more at the task at hand. Maria was safe at the seminary and one of the priests was on his way to her parents’ house to collect them.

  Small groups of teens who should have been in school stared at me as I drove slowly by. Nearly everybody on the street was some shade darker than peanut brittle, which made my paleness all the more noticeable.

  All of a sudden I realized I was slightly screwed. It was the middle of the day and I didn’t dare walk around carrying my umbrella because I needed both hands free in case there was trouble. But my skin wasn’t going to hold up for very long with only sunscreen to protect it.

  It was a shame I couldn’t call Rizzoli back to change the plan, but real bums don’t normally have cell phones and I was pretty sure he’d turned it off after we spoke. And despite my best efforts as I’d driven by, staring at the various homeless men hanging out on the block, I couldn’t spot him.

  Great. I was just going to have to tough it out. I parked the car near a convenience store that was one of the few nearby businesses with an awning. The shop was so crowded with products that there was only a narrow lane between the racks of items. Junk food and trinkets of all descriptions made for a blur of color that was nearly blinding. The lone clerk was stuffed into a tiny space behind a counter piled to the ceiling with more things to buy. Talk about making the most of the space available.

  “Hi,” I said with a smile that mostly hid my fangs. “I’m a little lost. I’m trying to find Al’s Gun Shop. Am I close?”

  “No. Here there is no Al. You buy?” His eyes were bird bright, his smile radiant, and his words heavily accented—likely he was right off the boat from India.

  “I know there’s no Al here. I’m looking for his store. Is it on this block?” I motioned with my hands and he watched them carefully. I knew where the store was … and also knew I wasn’t going to get any information out of this clerk. But he’d probably remember me if anyone asked, and that was the point.

  “Ah! Al. Yes, yes.” He reached out and handed me a pack of chewing gum. How he’d pulled “Dentyne” out of “Al” was beyond me. But I reached into my pocket and pulled out a couple of dollars. He beamed, rang it up, and handed me some change. I presumed I could still chew gum. I hadn’t tried since the fangs.

  Armed with my pack of cinnamon-flavored “Al,” I started to walk out of the store. Then something caught my eye and I reached into my purse again. In a moment I was wearing an Angels baseball cap. It would protect my head and give my face a little shade. Standing there in the lone bit of shadow on the long, bright street reminded me of the time I hurt my knee while playing softball in school. The short distance across the diamond to the nurse’s office seemed to stretch to the length of a dozen football fields, with my throbbing knee my whole focus. That’s what the street looked like at this moment.

  Suck it up, Graves.

  I checked one more time to be sure the car was locked and started walking down the street. With each step I got hotter. The dim winter sun seemed to have the intensity of the desert in August on my fragile, exposed skin. There wasn’t much showing, but my hands and the back of my neck felt like they were starting to blister. I needed to remember to wear the blazer with pockets next time. I tried to walk quickly but not so fast it was in the paranormal range. I readjusted my hair to cover as much of my neck as possible and brought my reddening hands up to where they were shaded by the hat visor.

  I was sweating now and reaching the busy part of the street. People ignored me as I passed quickly by. The red and white sign of Al’s Gun Shop at the far end of the block was my whole world.

  “Can you spare some change, miss?” I heard the words, but they didn’t register until I felt a hand on my arm. I turned and pushed his hand away, recoiling from the scent of urine and days of sweat.

  “I haven’t eaten in days, lady. Please?” The bum’s wheedling voice didn’t match the strength in that hand, which finally pulled my mind away from the stinging of my skin. The intensity in his hazel eyes bored through the grime and the three-day growth of beard. His body shape finally reminded me of the stocky Italian who’d sat in my office in a charcoal suit and muted tie. I looked up and sure enough … I was standing right under the Sam’s sign. Rizzoli must have noticed something was wrong, because he frowned with concern. But I didn’t want to get into my own issues, so I just looked down at my purse and reached inside.

  My fingers found the folded twenty with the note paper-clipped inside. “Here. Skip the meal. Go buy yourself a bath.” I tried to make my voice sound like a disgusted tourist and I sort of was, so I pulled it off.

  A wry twitch of his mouth and a wink said I had the right man. “Thanks lady.” H
e turned without another word and walked through the restaurant door. I nearly sprinted to the safety of the air-conditioned gun shop.

  I needed to replace the boomers I’d used at the prison as well as pick up a few more mudders. Al’s had the products and they were cheaper here than at Isaac Levy’s store. Unfortunately, they were a brand I didn’t recognize, so I had no idea whether they’d work as well. Normally, I’d insist on trying them out, the way I usually did in the gun range in Isaac’s basement. Here at Al’s—no gun rack, no demo. Plus, the guy who waited on me was the only person in the store—stupid, in my opinion. But not my business and I wanted to get back to my car while it was still there.

  While he was writing up the paperwork for the ammo I’d also bought, I stared out at the street through the window. The bars and grate over the glass fractured the view, but I could still see a trio of street performers across the way. There were two men, playing guitar and bongo drums, and a dancer, a very flamboyant African-American woman who was dressed in a bright yellow tribal robe and hat with geometric designs in black and orange. The group hadn’t been there a moment before. A spirited Latin beat throbbed through the air. It was good music and good dancing and the performance was drawing a crowd. The woman twirled and stepped gracefully; the musicians gave it their all. A fourth man stepped forward, passing around a hat. Surprising to me, given the area, people were dropping money into it.

  The store clerk let out a small laugh as his eyes followed my gaze. “I see Gwyneth and her crew are back. It must be two already. Every day, same time. I don’t know what they spend their morning doing, but they make good money in the afternoon.”

  He handed me a bag with my purchases and I moved closer to the window to watch. My eyes were glued to her fluid movements. So much so that I nearly missed a familiar figure that darted by a few steps away.

  What the hell?

  I looked again, shifting my body and pressing my face to the dirty glass so I could see farther down the street. Was that El Jefe? What in the world would Kevin and Emma’s father be doing down in this neck of town? I was curious, but I was torn. I was still furious with Warren for betraying me. When Eirene kidnapped Emma, Warren and Kevin had decided to use me as the ransom. They’d drugged me, trussed me up, and tossed me in the back of the car—and only then told me what was going on. I’d nearly been killed and so had Emma. I hadn’t spoken to either of them since.

  On the other hand, I had no idea how Kevin was doing since the prison break … and once he and I had been the best of friends. I opened the door and stuck out my head. Cupping my hand to my mouth, I shouted, “Warren! Hey, wait up!”

  I wasn’t sure he could hear me over the music, but he turned toward me. I saw his face shift from delighted to confused and then finally to guilt and fear. Without a word, he turned on his heel and started to run.

  What the hell?

  I didn’t think it through; I just started to chase. What was he hiding down here in gangland? He knew full well I had vampire abilities now. I could overtake him in a heartbeat except that I didn’t want to draw a crowd armed with stakes and garlic cloves. The garlic I wouldn’t mind, but I’m starting to dislike pointy wooden things.

  He was pulling out all the stops, probably fueled by adrenaline. What was he afraid of? It couldn’t be me.

  There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I stared at the back of his head and thought hard at him: Warren! Would you slow down, please? What the hell is wrong with you?

  The effect of my voice in his head was sharp and immediate. He stumbled and grabbed onto a light pole for balance as he turned openmouthed to stare at me. I caught up to him in a few steps. The amazement on his face confused me until he spoke: “Since when do you have telepathy?”

  Oh. “Apparently it’s a siren thing. It’s new. I thought Kevin or Emma would have told you.”

  He shook his head. “It hasn’t come up. We’ve been … busy.”

  That and the return of guilt to his face told me a lot. “So I presume you know about Amy and Kevin and the zoo?”

  More surprise in Warren’s widened eyes. But he was more than surprised. He was tired. There were lines in his ageless, tanned face that hadn’t been there a few months before, and his silver hair was getting thinner. “How do you know?”

  So Jones hadn’t mentioned my involvement. Okay, I’d play along. “I just do. Are they okay?”

  Instead of answering right away, he pointed to my hands. “You’re getting burned. Let’s get you out of this sun.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest to tuck my hands under my blazer and ease the stinging. The bag thumped against my hip when I did.

  I motioned behind us with my head. “My car’s back that—” But he turned away and put a firm hand on my elbow to guide me farther from my sheltered ride. We stepped up to the entrance of an old brick building that looked like it had once been a drugstore, judging by the faded red Rx painted on the wall. Warren unlocked the door and ushered me inside.

  I heard muted voices, far below, like in a basement. “Who else is here?”

  “Kevin and Amy. You said you wanted to know how they were.” Warren’s voice was harsh, and even in the dim light from the fly-specked windows I could see he was worried. He led me down a creaking wooden staircase that was probably original to the building. But if the upstairs was old, the downstairs was ultra-modern. It contained the latest and greatest in containment units. Two shining silver-steel cells had been installed and John Jones was seated at a control panel, monitoring twin screens that apparently kept watch inside the cells. There was a scent of chemicals in the air.

  “Hello, Jones.”

  He turned his head in a flash at my voice and then shot an angry look at Warren, who shrugged with mingled annoyance and resignation. “She saw me on the street and chased me. What was I supposed to do? And why the hell didn’t you tell me she was involved, John?”

  Jones shook his head and let out a sound that was somewhere between annoyed and amused. “You have some kind of timing, Graves. That’s all I’ll say.” There was a snideness to his tone that made me respond in kind.

  “Well, if you hadn’t been so obvious in letting me know you bugged my office, you might have heard I was headed this way. Or maybe I’m here because I bugged you.”

  He didn’t turn his head, but I could see his frown, followed by a thoughtful expression, reflected in the monitor.

  Rather than ramp up the tension any more, I stepped forward to look at the screens. Amy was lying on a bed in the corner of a room. It was an actual double bed with head- and footboard, rather than an examination table or hospital bed. She was curled under sheets and a comforter, auburn hair tousled in quiet sleep. As far as I could tell, there were no restraints holding her down. “So you finally exorcised her? She looks okay. Why the silver-steel alloy?” Few things had raised the price of precious metals around the world more than the demand for silver steel—a blending of high-tensile steel, titanium, and silver of such purity and strength that it would contain nearly anything demonic.

  Warren leaned over the board and sighed. “Looks can be deceiving. She talks, acts, and moves like Amy. But she still sets off the demonic sensors. I don’t know if we’ve got a doppelgäer on our hands or if she was just tainted deeply enough that she has residual energy that’s setting off the detectors. We’ve got her sedated right now while we’re waiting on some more experts.”

  “Speaking from experience, demons can dig way down, so you don’t even know they’re there.” I hadn’t known it when I’d been attached to one and I’d passed every sensor with flying colors. “Why not take her to the university lab?”

  Warren shook his head. “She’s still a werewolf. We don’t need that kind of attention. A demon-possessed lycanthrope would make national news.”

  Should I tell them or not? Well, it hardly mattered anymore after the news report. But there was no reason they had to know it was my doing. “They probably already know. I take it you haven’t been liste
ning to the news.”

  Both men turned to me with concern, but it was Warren who spoke: “The news?”

  I shrugged as though I was just repeating what the radio had told me. “I heard on KSML that a warrior priest was found dead near the zoo. The local police and the Feds are putting together a task force to go inside.”

  Jones pulled out his cell phone with lightning speed and clicked on the Internet icon. His home page had reports scattered all over it, so apparently it was national news now. “What the fuck?” He stood in a huff and bolted up the stairs, the phone to his ear.

  I shrugged innocently. “Guess he hadn’t heard.” I sat down on the stool Jones had vacated and looked at the second monitor. Kevin was pacing the cell like an animal in a cage, reminding me so vividly of the people in the zoo that I felt a pang of revulsion, coupled with anger that I hadn’t been able to help those inmates. “Is Kevin having the same problems? Did the demons possess him, too?”

  “No,” Warren said with frustration. “It’s not demons. In fact, it’s his own damned fault he’s still in there. He needs his Vaso, but he won’t tell us who he or she is.”

  I reared back and looked at El Jefe. “Why not? Is it some sort of secret that they’re not supposed to tell?”

  He let out a small growl and the hand that was nearest mine on the desk clenched into a fist. “No. There’s nothing in the societal rules that says it has to be a secret. Normally the wolf tells his or her close family in case they need to contact the Vaso when there’s an emergency. We thought it was you, but if it’s not … well, I don’t know why Kevin won’t tell us. Or at least me.”

  Actually, I had a pretty good idea, based on what Edgar had said at the mall. He’d claimed I’d been protected by my status as Kevin’s supposed Vaso, but I was betting it was also because I was usually armed. Whoever Kevin’s Vaso was, he didn’t want to put them in danger. I motioned toward the monitor. “Is there a speaker in there? Can I talk to him?”