The Devil Is a Gentleman (A Niki Slobodian Novel: Book 2)

by J. L. Murray

  “Sorry,” he said again.

  “It's okay,” I said. “Not your fault.”

  “Will it be this way forever?” he said. “Will I just be a spirit skulking around unseen?”

  “I don't know,” I admitted.

  “Will I forget everything? Eventually, will it all go away?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “You have to be prepared to face that possibility.”

  He nodded. “Just do one thing for me before you go,” he said. “Promise you'll check on Olivia from time to time. Make sure she's safe. Make sure my daughter's okay.”

  I nodded. “I'll try, Frank. I'm not promising anything, but I'll try.”

  “She didn't deserve to be married to me,” he said. “She was so much better.”

  “She'll get a second chance now,” I said.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I suppose that's the upside.”

  On the way back into town I told Gage what Bradley said. We were bumping along the washboarded little road, swerving occasionally to avoid a rock or a pothole. “So he didn't remember where the place was?” he said.

  “Only that the girl was in a vault of some sort.”

  “The sleeping guy is probably the angel,” he said.

  “The thought had crossed my mind,” I said. “How many buildings in the city have vaults?”

  “Every single bank in the city has one,” he said. “Including all of the companies that are run by this Dorrance guy.”

  Chapter 10

  Gage's house was not what I'd expected. I thought we were at the wrong house, that Gage had stopped to return a casserole dish to an old auntie. The house was at the edge of town, where it turned from light industrial to farmland. It had a white picket fence and blue-painted shutters. The large front yard was well-kept, and a recently turned patch of earth formed a perfect circle under a wide front window of the white house. I got out of the car and looked up and down the street. Not many ghosts here. A few, but not nearly the number that coagulated outside my apartment.

  “Are you serious?” I said, when Gage closed the car door behind him.

  “What?” he said.

  “You really live here?” I said. “Do you live with an elderly relative?”

  “No. Why would you say that?”

  “Because this looks like a sweet-old-lady house,” I said. I followed him through the little gate that led to a stepping-stone walkway free of weeds or moss. Gage looked back at me and smiled.

  “I like to keep busy,” he said, when he saw me eying the sprouting daffodils planted around a birdbath.

  “How long have you lived here?” I said.

  “Lived here with the wife,” he said. “Bought it just after we got married. It was seized when I got nailed onto the Registry. But after I started working for Sam, I found out it was up for auction. Bought it back.”

  I stopped. “So this is where...” I swallowed, not sure how to proceed.

  “It's where they died,” he said. His face had become solemn, but not sad. “It reminds me why I do this. And everything I do, the yardwork, repairing the roof, whatever, it makes me think I'm doing it for her, you know? For them.”

  “That's admirable,” I said.

  He snorted and walked up the stairs. “Nothing admirable about revenge,” he said. “But it is what it is. Someday I'm going to find that bastard demon that took them from me. It ain't gonna be pretty.”

  The little house was just as homey on the inside as it was on the outside. Lace curtains, quilts on the furniture, even a fireplace, clean as a whistle, with an unburned log in the grate. And then there were the books. Bookcases on every wall, filled with books. Hallways lined with bookcases. Piles of old and new-looking books piled on the coffee table, on the floor along the wall, in stacks on every surface and next to every chair. They filled up an old rocking chair.

  “Nice place,” I said. “But I think you need more books.”

  Gage shrugged. “Gotta do something with my time. Let's have some coffee. I'll make a pot.” He led me through the living room and into the kitchen, passing a set of stairs that had piles of books against the banister on one side, leaving a path to walk up. The landing was piled high as well. The kitchen was relatively book-free, except for a small stack on the table, which Gage pushed aside to make a place for me to sit. He busied himself with the coffee, whistling as he went. Then he got some cups down from their hooks and set the steaming cup on the table in front of me. “Don't have a lot of food,” he said, grabbing something out of a cupboard. “Just these.” He held up a bag of cookies. He sat down beside me and handed me the bag. I realized how hungry I was and took a handful.

  “So the books,” I said, taking a drink to wash down stale cookies. “What are they?”

  Gage shrugged, his signature gesture. He took a cookie out of the bag. “Magic stuff mostly. Theory and philosophy some of them. Lot of books about casting. You know, the usual stuff.”

  “Sure,” I said, brushing off my hands. “So you think you can find this angel?”

  “Piece of cake,” he said, stuffing the cookie in his mouth. He washed it down with coffee.

  “So what, you just need a part of them or something? To do the location spell?”

  “A piece of them, yeah,” he said. “Hair, fingernails, clothing even.”

  “Or blood,” I said.

  “Or blood,” he agreed. “You can do it if you have a clear idea of the person, too. A picture or knowledge of who he is. But angels, I don't know. They're pretty high out of my range. I'm good with lower demons and humans. Never looked for an angel before.”

  “Now's your chance,” I said.

  “Guess so,” he said. He drained his cup. “I'll go do it now,” he said. “Got that vial?” I stood up and handed him the angelwine.

  “Careful,” I said. “It's hot.” His eyebrows shot up when he felt it.

  “Damn, it is.” He held it in his hand for a moment, seeming to weigh it in his fist. “I can feel the magic coming off of it,” he said. “It's powerful stuff.”

  “So what do you want me to do?” I said.

  “Best if you just wait here, sis,” he said. “You remember how you get when you hear me casting. Your ears start bleeding and shit. Just drink another cup of coffee. I'll be done by the time you are.”

  I shrugged and Gage headed for the living room. I heard a door close. I sipped in silence for a little while, the drone of Gage's words muffled somewhere in the house. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and turned to look toward the pantry. There was a woman standing there, staring at me. I could tell she was a ghost. “Well, that's new,” I said.

  She took a step forward. “You can see me?” she said, her voice hollow.

  “Yes,” I said slowly. “Who are you?”

  “So it's true,” she said. “What they're saying. What the spirits are saying. I hear them whisper from outside. I've never gone out there, I'm too afraid. But I can hear them. You're the one that can save us.”

  “Lady, I can't save anyone. Not even myself.” I looked her over. She was plump in a pretty sort of way. She had short dark hair that curled to just below her ears. She had been so young. “You're Bobby's wife, aren't you?”

  “You can see me,” she said again, not seeming to be able to get past it.

  “Why are you here?” I said.

  “I live here. I mean, lived here. I never left.”

  “But why are you still here?” I said. “You died way before people stopped crossing over.”

  She shrugged, a gesture that mirrored Gage's shrugs. “Please,” she said. “Don't tell him. Not yet. He's just getting back to normal. It would kill him if he knew. Men are so fragile.”

  “You never let go,” I said. “That's why you're still here.”

  “That's what he said. He told me I had to let go. To forget it all. To forget Bobby. But I ran away. I won't let him take me.”

  “Let who take you?” I said.

  “Death, of course.”

  �
��I am just learning all sorts of stuff today,” I said.

  “Death didn't come back, though,” she said. I heard Bobby muttering in the next room, a bang as if he'd tripped over something or knocked something over followed by cursing. “Please don't tell Bobby. He's been through enough.”

  “Why didn't you let go?” I said. “Why hang around so long?”

  She shrugged. “I don't remember. I loved him, I know that. I just knew I couldn't leave.”

  “So you just watch him? Every day?”

  “I suppose you could put it like that. I forget things now. Every day, things go forgotten. But when I look at him, I can remember.”

  “Sorry, lady, but that's damn creepy.”

  I heard Gage's footsteps approaching before he entered. I smiled.

  “Who you talking to, sis?” he said.

  I looked at the ghost. She put her finger to her lips, her eyes pleading. “No one,” I said. “Just talking to myself again.”

  “Yeah, well, you know what they say. Just don't start answering.”

  “I'll try to remember that,” I said. “So did you find anything?”

  His eyes were excited and he looked like he was about to jump out of his skin. “You're not going to believe this,” he said. “You remember the Dark?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly.

  “That office building that we caught it in?”

  “H&H Financial?” I said. “How can I forget?” He just smiled. “You're kidding me,” I said. “They're keeping an angel in an office building?”

  “Well, according to Eliza they kept the Morrigan in a vault, right?” he said. “What do banks and financial buildings have?”

  “I'll be damned,” I said. “Is that why the Dark went there? Because there's an angel there?”

  “Could be,” he said. “Spirits can sense magic, and it would make sense that a Hellion spirit would be attracted to a place with someone so powerful. Which reminds me.” He held out his hand, the glowing vial in it. “You'd better hold onto this. I'm afraid I'll drop it.”

  “Can all spirits sense magic?” I said, taking the vial. It was so hot. It never stopped surprising me. I put it in my inside jacket pocket and zipped it up, but I could feel the heat of it through the thick fabric.

  “Far as I know,” he said.

  “So, could the ghosts sense my ability too? Could that be why they're after me?”

  Gage shrugged. “I dunno, sis. Your ability, it's not really magic, you know?”

  I nodded. “So how are we going to do this?” I said.

  “Break into a vault and steal an angel?” he said. “Is there a good way to do that?”

  I thought for a moment. “Our best chance might be that they don't expect us to know the angel is there.”

  “If the angel's there,” Gage said. “This stuff ain't a hundred percent. There's a margin for error.”

  “Even if the angel isn't there,” I said, “this Morrigan, she seems to be pretty important, too. A little girl living in a vault? What the hell is that all about?”

  “That's been bothering me, too,” he said. “I thought maybe she was feral. But Eliza said Bradley talked to her.”

  “That's what we'll do, too,” I said. “Let's go talk to the Morrigan. If we're lucky, the angel will be the sleeping man.”

  “Can you break into a vault?” said Gage.

  “No,” I laughed. “I have no idea how to get into a vault.”

  “I can do it,” said Gage, raising his eyebrows. “No, seriously. I have a book around here somewhere. I've been practicing on locks and doorknobs and an old gun safe I found at the dump. It's in my bedroom.”

  “Anything in it?” I said.

  “Nah. No one ever throws anything good away anymore.”

  “Not like the past,” I said, “when you could find bags of gold at the dump.”

  “No need to get pissy,” said Gage. “I'll find that book. With any luck we'll get there before they close.”

  I looked at my watch. “Better hurry,” I said. “It's almost four.”

  Chapter 11

  H & H Financial looked much less ominous than the last time I'd seen it, when wehad followed the Dark there to kill it. Now it looked like a normal office building. Maybe a little shinier and foreboding than the surrounding buildings, but just a bland and utilitarian office building. “Don't look like the sort of place The Blood would hang out,” said Gage.

  “What, you want them to have a secret lair?” I said.

  He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe a place like the Deep Blue Sea or something. Only all gentlemanly. With high-backed chairs and cigars and brandy.” I rolled my eyes. “No, seriously, sis, Dorrance is CEO of Enterprise Bank, right?”

  “I guess,” I said. “You're the one that seems to know all about him.”

  “So what's he doing here?” I looked at the building and realized he had a point.

  “I don't know,” I said. “Think there's something inside he's eager to stay close to?”

  “Gotta be something pretty important. I've seen their corporate headquarters. It's a hell of a lot fancier than this place.”

  “Could be the angel,” I said.

  “Or the Morrigan,” said Gage.

  “Let's go find out,” I said.

  It was hard, as we stepped into the dimly-lit lobby, not to remember the bodies littered across the floor and blood smeared and spurted across the muted wallpaper walls. I frowned as I recalled the shellshocked spirits, haunting their own bodies and whispering “Why?” as I passed. The lobby was clean and shone to a sparkle. People in suits, mostly men, but a few women as well, were filing out of the elevators at the back. A few of them waved to the large man at the security desk as they passed. I was no expert on fashion, but I was guessing they paid more for a suit than I did for rent. We were a glaring example of what didn't belong, and the security guard narrowed his eyes at us almost instantly.

  Wading through the suits, Gage and I made for the elevator, trying to blend in with the crowd. But since we were the only two people wearing jeans, it wasn't an easy thing. We were also going the wrong way. No one else was entering the building at almost five o'clock.

  “Hang on,” the guard called. “Hey, you two.” I looked up, as if surprised. “You gotta sign in,” he called.

  “Make a dash for the elevator?” I said, turning to Gage.

  He frowned. “It's like you want them to kill us,” he said. “Follow me.”

  Gage sauntered up to the desk and nodded at the guard.

  “Are you here to see someone?” the guard asked.

  “Yep,” said Gage. He reached into his pocket where he kept his Department of Order and Chaos badge. Sam had given them to us just for times like this. People liked to cooperate after they looked at our badges. But this time I touched his arm and shook my head. He looked at me quizzically, but took his empty hand out of his pocket.

  I smiled at the guard. “The thing is, we know what you're hiding here,” I said, “and I know who's running the show.” The guard paled and swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing. “I'm sure you don't want to get into trouble, do you?”

  “No, ma'am,” he said.

  “Good,” I said. “Who owns this building?”

  The guard smiled nervously. “That's a joke, right?”

  “Does the lady look like she's joking?” said Gage.

  “Sorry,” said the guard. “It's owned by Hal Dorrance. I thought everyone knew that.

  “Why's it called H&H?” said Gage.

  The guard shrugged. “I don't know,” he said. “Never thought about it, I guess.”

  “That's great,” I said. “So now you walk out that door without another word, and the worst thing that will happen to you is unemployment. If you stay, the whole damn story's coming out, and you'll have some explaining to do.”

  “Look, Mr. Dorrance said — ”

  “Mr. Dorrance is a rich bastard with nothing to fear,” I interrupted. “Can you say the same?”

  The g
uard looked twitchily from me to Gage. Finally he nodded, grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair, and headed for the door, melting into the crowd exiting the building.

  “Why'd you stop me?” Gage said.

  “Sam asked me not to use the badges,” I said. “Said they'd make trouble.”

  “No one told me,” he said.

  “Sorry,” I said, “I thought you knew.”

  “Whatever,” said Gage. “Up or down?”

  “Dorrance and company are probably up,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Gage.

  “Don't really know what to expect with those guys.”

  “Nope,” said Gage.

  “The Morrigan is possibly somewhere below.”

  “Yep.”

  “And there's an angel somewhere in this building.”

  “You got a point somewhere in this running commentary?” said Gage.

  I shot him a look. “My point is we're screwed if we do and screwed if we don't. Let's go down. Got your book?”

  He patted the satchel thrown over his shoulder. “Got it. Let's go.”

  We opted for the stairs to avoid the outpouring of office workers filing out of the elevator. We walked down, our steps echoing in the empty stairwell. We came to a door where the steps ended labeled Basement 1.

  “Why does it say Basement 1?” said Gage. “Is there more than one?”

  I looked around for another door but there was none. End of the line. “Only one way to find out,” I said. I opened the door and walked through.

  The dank, musty air felt cool and wet. I looked around for a switch, but the lights flickered on, apparently on a motion-sensor.

  The basement was being used for storage and was piled from floor to ceiling with office desks, rolling chairs, file cabinets, bookshelves and boxes on top of boxes of office supplies, each box clearly marked with what it contained in black marker on the sides. We walked past staples, printer paper, and ball point pens.

  “All the trappings of corporate culture,” said Gage.

  There was a clear path through all the stuff, but Gage was right.

  “You see a vault anywhere?” I said.

  Gage shook his head. “I can't see anything in here,” he said. “All this junk.”