by Reine, SM
Her assailant gurgled. Elise relaxed her hands.
“Oh, sorry. Are you okay?”
He coughed once and cleared his throat. “Yes… I think so. You haven’t lost your touch, have you?”
“There’s no chance of that happening with your help.” Elise backed off, allowing her aspis to step away from the wall. She flicked on the living room light, and James rubbed his neck.
“You could have pulled your punches,” he said. “Didn’t you recognize me?”
Elise smiled. She would have recognized him in total darkness. “It would be insulting to go gentle on you. What’s that I smell in the oven?”
“Prime rib roast with red wine sauce.”
She picked the side table back up. “Sounds great. What would I do without you?”
“Starve, I imagine,” he said as he pulled an apron that said Kiss the Crone over his head.
James returned to his cooking while Elise fixed the mess she made in the living room. The apartment was small, but he made good use of the space; James’s sense of aesthetics was far superior to hers. All his furniture matched in a Pottery Barn kind of way, his walls were decorated with fine photography, and he even had some kind of fancy throw rug. Elise’s idea of decorating was putting up movie posters with thumb tacks.
“It took you a long time to get up here,” he remarked from the stove. “I hid for ages. What were you doing downstairs?”
“Locking up. Someone forgot to shut all the windows.”
“I was busy making dinner. You’re welcome, by the way.” James turned on the oven light and peeked through the window. “Just a few more minutes, I think. Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
He gave her the kind of look that said he knew she wasn’t, but didn’t feel like arguing it. “Did you see the Ramirezes today?”
“Yeah. That was fun. They’re a mess.”
“Is it possession?”
“Maybe. Lucinde didn't like having St. Benedict flashed at her, but if she's possessed she must have skipped the oppression and suggestion stages. Her family insists that nothing strange happened leading up to Lucinde’s problem—she just woke up one morning the way she is now.”
“Perhaps it’s not possession, then. She may be deranged.”
“She did kick me in the face.”
James uncorked a bottle of wine and poured it into the waiting glasses. Elise picked up the Sierra Witch’s Almanac and peered at the bookmarked page. James’s coven published a new almanac every year with lunar correspondences and seasonal spells, and they always included an excerpt from their Book of Shadows in the back. The spell he was looking at seemed complicated.
He handed her one of the glasses. She dropped the book. “Your bruises look painful,” he said.
“She’s got a nasty kick for a five-year-old. Nastier than yours, anyway.”
“Very funny.”
“Marisa mentioned she was having nightmares. It’s possible Lucinde was attacked by a mara or an incubus instead. Maybe she went crazy.”
“But you don’t think it’s possession?” he asked, serving dinner using puffy blue pot holders.
“Probably not.”
“Good. That will make it easier.”
Elise shrugged. “It’s not my problem. I’m not an exorcist anymore.”
He turned on the radio on the windowsill.
“—other spooky news, a temp guard by the name of Richard Czynski disappeared from a cemetery in the north side of town,” the DJ said in a voice far too perky to be discussing a missing persons case. “Curiouser and curiouser, he’s not the only thing that’s disappeared. The grave of notorious Amber Hackman, one of the only people to escape this black hole of a town, has also been raided. Obviously she didn’t like having to spend her death here anymore than she did her life. Zombie attack? Your run-of-the-mill grave rob gone wrong? You ring in and let us know on Spooky News, your favorite—”
“What trash,” he muttered, switching it over to a classic rock station.
She felt the motion before she saw it. James’s hand whipped toward Elise.
Side-stepping his reach, she jerked his wrist forward and trapped his arm under hers. A twist, a hard shove, and she had him against the wall.
“Damn. You’re fast.”
“No, that was weak. Why don’t you give up on the war games for now? You can try to attack me again when we’ve eaten.”
James rubbed his elbow. “I’ll get you someday,” he said, failing to sound threatening.
“Yeah, me and my little dog too.” Elise gestured at the crystal in the middle of the table with her fork. “Are you setting up for a ritual?”
“I thought I could work with the coven on paper magic at the next esbat.” James moved the crystal to one of the couches before joining her at the table. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to clean up before you arrived.”
“Paper magic? When was the last time you did that?”
“Oh… about five years ago.”
The same night the death goddess had tortured Elise.
Magic was useless in battle because powerful spells took days to prepare. When James knew they were going into a fight, he took paper magic, which let him capture the effects of a lengthy ritual to be released later. The kind of spells he could capture in a three-by-five note card were impressive.
He freed Elise from the goddess and her army with a small library of paper magic. Elise hadn’t witnessed the rescue, but what he must have done to make it through an entire legion unscathed was not beyond imagining.
James wasn’t a violent man. He hadn’t just been burned out on magic after that.
“Are you going to include paper magic in your next almanac?” Elise asked.
“I’d rather not. That information is too dangerous.” He hesitated over a piece of potato, pushing it through the prime rib’s juices with his fork. “I think you should keep working with the Ramirezes.”
“Why? The coven can handle it. If you want an exorcist, we can call Father Night.”
“He’s in Washington, and I’ve never met another exorcist with your skill.”
She shrugged off his compliment. “I have too much work to do. Real work. The kind of stuff that pays the bills.” Elise smiled over her wine glass. “Unless you think the Ramirezes would pay me a consultation fee?”
“You can’t charge them money.”
“And I can’t pay the rent with thanks.” She tried to ignore his disapproving stare, but she could feel its weight as she picked at her salad. “I’ll investigate. Maybe I’ll find out something helpful.”
“Thank you.”
She grunted. “Do you still have my sword?”
“It’s in the locked case where you left it. Why? Did you want it back?”
“Not really. I was just thinking about it earlier.”
Elise used to have two falchions. She had used one of them to kill the death goddess and abandoned it in her cooling corpse. She would have left the other sword if James hadn’t picked it up.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he murmured over his glass of wine. He didn’t mean the falchion.
The sounds of classic rock intermingled with the soft pattering of rain on glass, making for a peaceful meal. Elise made a good show of picking at her dinner to appease James, but as good as it tasted, she left her plate half-full. She cleaned up her place at the table, shoveling her barely-touched potatoes into a container.
James wasn’t finished, but stood to help her anyway. “Eager to escape?”
“I have to follow up on some clients that aren’t paying,” she said.
He touched Elise’s chin, his thumb hesitating over the gash. “Are you certain you’re all right?”
“Yeah.” She turned from him to put the leftovers in the refrigerator. “I’m fine.”
He caught her elbow, but it wasn’t violent this time. James ran his knuckles down her cheek, and his power flowed around them, gentle and warm. It breathed through Elise,
and she felt as though she was sinking into the sky.
An instant later, it was over. Elise touched her lip, and the wound was gone. James held up a yellowed note card with a single, prominent rune inscribed on the blank side—an old healing spell. “Found this in my fire safe yesterday.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Might as well get some use out of these old cards. I don’t plan on using them ever again.” James took a knife of the cabinet and handed it to Elise. It was as long as his forearm and intended to be worn in a spine sheath.
The corner of Elise’s mouth twitched. “Hiding weapons in your kitchen?”
“I want you to take it.”
“I’m visiting a client, not going on safari.” She jabbed the dagger into an invisible enemy, and the muscles in her arm rippled. “I’m certainly not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.”
“Yes, but between Lucinde’s demon problem, and some of the other news I’ve been hearing…” He trailed off. “I would appreciate it if you humor me.”
“I always humor you.” Elise led him to the entryway and showed him the throwing knives hidden in her blazer pocket. “Anyway, I’m miles ahead of you.”
James’s smile was sad. “Be careful.”
“Always.”
She disappeared out the front door, and he lingered inside to avoid the dripping eaves. She waved at him from the bottom of the stairs and jogged off into the rain, long braid swaying against her back.
He considered calling her back, but restrained himself. Elise hadn’t been a teenager in a long time. She didn’t need his protection anymore—and perhaps she never had.
An uneasy feeling continued to linger in the pit of James’s stomach, like a hand squeezing his intestines, and he remembered it well. Years before, when most of their days had been spent fighting for their lives, it was the feeling he got before something went very, very wrong.
But of course he was imagining things.
James shut the door and tried not to think about it anymore.
III
Elise didn’t deal with many local clients, and of those nearby, only one would provide information as well as a paycheck: Craven’s, a small demon-owned casino with six months of outstanding debt to their accountant.
Craven’s wasn’t one of those big hotel casinos that booked Cirque-style shows and courted high-rollers. It was a little dive a few blocks off downtown with boarded windows and no flashy lights. Elise only discovered it wasn’t condemned when one of her oldest clients, a cambion that could barely stand, informed her that their racks of ribs were the best kept secret in the city. And they did have great ribs—but it wasn’t always from the kind of animal Elise was willing to eat.
Her contacts worked in the basement nightclub beneath Craven’s. It was the kind of place a kopis couldn’t visit unless she wanted a fight, and it wasn’t much safer for someone in a business suit, either. Instead, she went home to change into something club-appropriate. Elise didn’t go anywhere except work and the gym, so all she had was a black halter top and Lycra pants left over from Halloween. The pants were skin-tight, with nowhere to hide a weapon, but she fit an ankle rig under her right boot and a small knife under her belt. It wasn’t a fast draw, but it would have to do.
Elise was doing her makeup in the mirror when Betty got home.
“You look like you’re ready for a hot date,” she said, invading their shared bathroom without knocking. Betty was still in her barely-decent skirt, but her lip gloss was a pink stain at the corner of her mouth.
“How was dinner with your mentor? I take it your hunt was successful.” Elise gestured at her own mouth. “You’re messy.”
Betty wiped what little lip gloss remained off on her finger and laughed. “Successful? Yeah, right. He only wanted to discuss biomedical sciences, and not the naked kind. You using the sink?” Elise stepped aside to give her room, and Betty bent to wash her hands. “You didn’t answer when I asked about the hot date, I noticed.”
“My mission for the night is far more innocent than yours. I’m going to drop in on a client.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really. Why?”
Betty folded her arms. “How often do you visit your clients wearing skin-tight Lycra?”
“Any time my client happens to work at a casino nightclub and it’s a Friday night,” Elise said, tossing her sponge in the trash. “I can’t show up in business casual. I’d get laughed out of the place.”
“That might happen if you try to seduce the money out of your client, too. I’ve seen the way you dance.”
Elise pushed Betty away from the sink with her hip. “Out of my way. I’m an accountant masquerading on a mission.”
“Uh huh,” she said. “Sure. I’ll keep my phone on me tonight. Give me a call when you’re too drunk to drive yourself home.”
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m taking the bus.” She applied eye shadow with her fingers.
“Taking the bus and not planning on getting drunk? A likely story.”
“The casino is downtown, Betty,” Elise said. “There’s no free parking.”
Betty snorted. “Okay, have fun with your ‘client.’ I’m going to collect the withered scraps of my dignity and read research papers on the couch.”
She left. Elise ran her fingers through her thick hair to detangle it and appraised her looks. The look wasn’t “accountant,” but she wasn’t sure she would pass as an ordinary clubber, either. Elise didn’t feel convincing.
Fortunately, she also didn’t feel like caring. She grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair. “See you in the morning,” she called as she passed through the living room. Betty waved a hand over the couch.
Elise passed Betty’s cousin on the way down the sidewalk. He occupied the other half of their duplex, and he worked multiple jobs, so he was always coming and going at weird times. It looked like he had just left his job at the car shop. His jeans were covered in oil.
“Hey, Elise,” Anthony greeted, pausing on the sidewalk. “How are you? Did you—”
“Have to catch the bus. See you later,” she said, brushing past him without stopping.
She jogged down the street and around the corner. A breeze moist with distant rain washed into her face and down her shirt. The storm had passed, but the weight of the air promised more to come. A man in a bulky coat was slumped over the bus stop bench, holding the schedule over his head as though it was still pouring.
Right on time, the bus groaned up the street and paused at her curb. Elise took a seat near the back door. No amount of fresh, rainy wind could make the inside of the bus smell good—despite being cleaned frequently, it still smelled of sweat and the hundreds of people who rode it every day.
The lights turned off and the bus rumbled down the street again. It jerked and swayed with every bump in the road. The city quickly began to transition from small businesses into casinos, bars, and strip clubs. The change was abrupt—one second, Elise was staring at peaceful storefronts and the occasional tattoo parlor, and the next, she was surrounded by flashing neon lights and towering hotels.
The sign on an adult store displayed a woman wearing only a thong and a suggestive smile, its mannequins decked out in boas and corsets. The Wild Orchid’s sign flaunted its topless dancers across the street from the city courthouse. The bus hung a right, and tall signs over what had once been a casino advertised an off-Broadway show and a car event, both of which had left over a year ago.
People crossed from sidewalk to sidewalk amongst slow traffic, ignoring the buses and cars as they lurched from a bar to a pawn shop to get money for one more pull on the slot machine. A woman with overdone curls and skin hanging limply from her bones almost got struck by the bus as it turned onto Center Street. She didn’t notice. She wobbled on, disappearing into the maw of a casino and out of sight.
The bus stopped at the downtown transit center, tucked between a bowling stadium and yet another hotel-casino. Elise was the first to hop off.
The casino lights flashed in time with music piped over sidewalk speakers. A man by the front door played the saxophone. He hesitated when Elise passed. She gave him a quick once-over, taking in the translucency of his skin, his long, brittle fingers and strangely-proportioned face. Nightmare. Probably second class. Hardly a threat.
She nodded at him as she passed. He didn’t look worried, so maybe he thought she was a demon, too. As far as the underworld here knew, there were no local kopes. What was there to worry about?
Elise plowed through the casino, ignoring the glittering machines and their inebriated patrons. She passed the poker tables, the blackjack, the rows of machines in front of huge plasma TVs, and the diner in the back. She exited through an unmarked door to an alley.
Wedged between the casino and its attached hotel, the dark passage appeared to have no purpose except for gathering trash. A chain link fence blocked one end of the alley, and the other side was a rotten brick wall that most people wouldn’t realize belonged to the prettier side of Craven’s. Elise never went through the front door—too many people watched it.
Elise ducked around a Dumpster, kicking a case of empty beer cans out of the way. A set of cement stairs led down into shadow. She knocked on the door at the bottom. Only a single word on a small, rusted sign hinted at the door’s purpose—Blood, it said, the metal so pocked and rusted it was almost unreadable.
The door opened. A tall, broad-shouldered woman stood on the other side. She held out a hand without speaking. Thick tusks protruded from her lower jaw.
“How much is the cover now?” Elise asked.
“Ten bucks,” the bouncer said, lisping around her massive teeth. Elise handed it over. Demons didn’t care about age laws, so she didn’t need to show an ID. If you were clever enough to survive the nightclub beneath Craven’s, you were old enough to be there.
The bouncer took the money, tucked it in her pocket, and opened the door.
Elise was never sure how long it took to get from the surface to the club—time took on a strange quality in the descent, warping and fading. Maybe she only walked for a few seconds; maybe she walked for hours. The black walls narrowed as she moved down the passage, guided by the pulsing thump of bass.