by Jenna Black
I didn’t answer her, too stunned by her conclusion to speak. That probably cemented her assumption, but I was pretty sure anything I said would only make it worse.
“I’m going to go out on a real limb here,” Barbie continued, “and speculate that you used to be Jordan Maguire’s demon. That somehow during the exorcism, Morgan made the mistake of touching Maguire, and you moved in.”
I was painfully conscious of the way her eyes bored into me, studying my responses. I didn’t know what she would make of my response to this particular theory.
I tried to imitate Brian’s lawyer face. “If you think I’m Jordan Maguire’s demon, why are you interested in helping me? I’m a violent rogue who has to be destroyed, remember?”
“And I say that’s bullshit. Knowing that beating someone up is an automatic death sentence for a demon in this state, the only way you would have hit Jessica Miles is if you were completely out of control. And if you were out of control, she’d be dead.”
I had no idea whether I should try to encourage Barbie to believe this theory of hers or not. So instead of talking about my supposed identity, I nudged the subject back to my original question.
“I still don’t get why you’d think I was going to South Street tonight.”
“Well, it’s something of an open secret that The Seven Deadlies doesn’t discriminate against illegal or rogue demons. It’s a slightly less open secret that if you want information about the demon underworld, that’s the place to get it. With Adam off your case because of the potential conflict of interest, and with the rest of the police force ignorant about the demon angle, if any good investigating is going to be done, you’re the one who has to do it. Ergo, you’re going to South Street.”
Amazing how many facts she could have wrong and still come to the correct conclusion about my destination and purpose tonight. My mind was wheeling around frantically, trying to figure out what I should say. I finally decided that, being such a lousy liar, it wasn’t worth the trouble to deny that I was going to The Seven Deadlies.
“I’ll neither confirm nor deny any of the guesses you made tonight,” I said, hoping I wasn’t making a big mistake, “except for the one about The Seven Deadlies. That is where I’m going, and if you have any tips on how to make a five-foot-nine woman less conspicuous, bring them on.”
There was no full-length mirror in Raphael’s house, so I had to make do with the bathroom mirror to examine the end result of Barbie’s makeover. She stood leaning against the doorjamb awaiting my verdict. All I could do was shake my head and give her a doubtful look.
“You call this inconspicuous?” I asked. My newly black hair was parted to one side—a neat trick, considering how short it was at the top—and plastered to my head with hair gel. And instead of my usual jeans and T-shirt, I was wearing a dark blue pinstriped pantsuit I’d borrowed, reluctantly, from Raphael. Tommy Brewster and I had remarkably similar builds, though we’d had to take in the waistband of the pants with safety pins. Beneath the suit jacket was a crisp white men’s shirt, and a conservative striped silk tie. Barbie had even insisted I stuff my feet into Tommy’s only pair of respectable dress shoes, which were at least a half size too small for me. I figured this had to have been Tommy’s interview outfit, because every other piece of clothing he owned was faded, ragged, and ultracasual. Also, he was an inch taller than me, but the cuffs of his pants were just the right length. He obviously hadn’t worn this suit in a while.
“Like you said, you aren’t a great candidate for inconspicuous. So instead of really trying to disguise you, we go for a little misdirection.”
My mouth was still hanging open. “You don’t think a guy wearing a business suit on South Street at this time of night is going to attract attention?”
“Sure. But you don’t really look like a guy even in that outfit. So people who look at you are going to be distracted wondering if you’re a woman dressed as a man, or a man with effeminate features.”
I frowned, looking down at my chest. “The boobs are sort of a dead giveaway, don’t you think?”
She laughed. “You’ve been on South Street before. Have you never seen men with boobs there?”
She had a point, but I still wasn’t happy with the idea of drawing eyes toward me. Barbie looked me up and down, tapping her chin. “Maybe we need to make a nice bulge in those pants, just to increase the gender confusion.”
“Do you really think this is going to work?” I asked skeptically. My mind kept conjuring images of cops converging on me with guns drawn.
“Yes. If people are preoccupied wondering if you’re a boy or a girl, they won’t be thinking to themselves, ‘Gee, that woman looks familiar. Maybe she’s that fugitive exorcist I’m supposed to be keeping my eye out for.’”
I can’t say I was entirely convinced. However, I had to agree I was harder to recognize now than I had been when I’d been wearing my jeans. Besides, I would have Raphael with me for company. If I saw anyone in uniform, I could make sure to put him between me and them.
When Barbie was satisfied with my appearance, she presented her new work of art to Saul and Raphael, who pronounced me unrecognizable.
Because we were all a bit paranoid and disinclined to trust an outsider, we “suggested” that Barbie stay with Saul until Raphael and I returned from our mission. I’m quite sure Barbie understood just what kind of “suggestion” this was, but she didn’t look offended. She didn’t even object when Saul patted her down for weapons before we left, just to make sure she didn’t pull the same trick on him as I had. She had a small gun in an ankle holster, but nothing else. Naturally, Saul confiscated it.
“Good luck,” she said as Raphael and I headed to the door. It sounded like she really meant it.
“Thanks,” I answered. “And sorry about, er …”
She waved the apology off. “No apologies needed. I wouldn’t blame you if you left me handcuffed in the closet.”
“Now there’s a good idea,” Raphael muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. He, of all of us, was the most concerned about Barbie and her motivations. He motioned Saul forward.
Looking wary and reluctant, Saul approached to within about three feet. Raphael grabbed his arm and pulled him in closer, lowering his voice to a level Saul and I could hear, but Barbie couldn’t.
“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her, son. Don’t fall for the oldest trick in the book. Keep it zipped, at least until we’re back.”
Not surprisingly, Saul’s eyes started to glow.
“Don’t you guys start that crap again,” I said impatiently. “Ra—” Damn. I really needed to break myself of the habit of calling Raphael by his real name. “Tommy, let go of Saul’s arm. Saul, back off and pretend he didn’t say a word.”
I was pleasantly surprised when they both obeyed. I knew Barbie was now curious as hell, and I also knew she hadn’t missed my almost-slip. I wanted to grab Saul and Raphael by the hair and knock their heads together, but I didn’t suppose that would solve anything. Instead, I merely grabbed Raphael by the arm and hauled him out the front door before he could start any more trouble.
CHAPTER 23
I was nervous enough about poking my head up aboveground—and about going another round with Shae—that I was able to keep myself from thinking about Brian and what my life would be like without him. The Morgan Kingsley solution to postbreakup blues: Do something that risks arrest and a possible life sentence, or even a gruesome death.
We got lucky with the parking situation and didn’t have to walk more than half a block before we arrived at Shae’s doorstep. I was conscious of the curious glances of various passersby, but I pretended not to be. If I’d had Barbie’s confidence, perhaps I would have winked and flirted and given people a “Wouldn’t you like to know” smirk. However, acting is a glorified form of lying, and, as we’ve already established, lying is not one of my strengths. I had to spend most of my concentration pretending not to be as nervous and generally twitchy as I
felt.
The demon who had previously inhabited Tommy Brewster’s body had been a big fan of The Seven Deadlies, having formed an agreement with Shae to provide him with good breeding stock as he tried to increase the genetic diversity in the lab-bred hosts. The good thing about this was that Tommy/Raphael was a card-carrying member, and was therefore able to bring me in as a guest with no fuss.
When we asked for Shae, we were told she was inside the club, keeping an eye on her domain. That translated into “If you want her, go find her, because I’m too lazy to page her.” I would have made an issue out of it—I didn’t want to set foot past the safe and tame lobby area—but Raphael slung an arm around my shoulders and directed me to the set of doors that led to the bar and dance floor. I elbowed him in the ribs, and he took the hint and let his arm drop back to his side.
As is typical of nightclubs, the music playing in the heart of The Seven Deadlies was loud enough to do permanent damage to my eardrums. I winced as soon as I stepped through the door and had to resist the urge to cover my ears with my hands. Tonight’s theme seemed to be tuneless techno with a heavy enough bass to make the floor vibrate like an earthquake with each beat.
The place was also dark as a cave, giving people an illusion of privacy as they clustered at standing-room-only tables around the dance floor or sat at the bar.
The delay in putting together my disguise meant that we’d arrived considerably later than we’d planned, so the dance floor was already packed with dancers, many of whom had the impossibly good looks of your typical demon host. The only place I could think of that I’d want to be less than here was prison.
Raphael cut a path for us through the crowd toward the bar. It wasn’t hard to spot our quarry. Shae probably couldn’t manage looking inconspicuous even wearing Goodwill rejects and camouflage paint. However, she obviously had no objection to attracting attention, and she always managed to look drop-dead gorgeous even when wearing the most outrageous outfits.
To my chagrin, her outfit tonight was also a suit and tie. However, that was where the similarity ended. Her suit was of pristine white, the better to show off the night-black color of her skin. And there was plenty of skin showing—the jacket was a flaring, one-button number, and she wore nothing beneath it but the neon blue tie that dangled between her breasts. She had to be using some of that double-stick fashion tape to hold the lapels in place; otherwise she’d be flashing the crowd every time she made the slightest move.
Shae was engaged in a shouted conversation with the bartender when she caught sight of us plowing our way toward her. Her eyes darted quickly between Raphael and me, and I didn’t think my disguise fooled her for even a fraction of a second. She said something to the bartender, then came to meet us halfway. The crowd parted for her automatically, even those with their backs to her stepping out of the way as if there were some force field that surrounded her.
“You two make a lovely couple,” Shae said when she reached us, flashing us her sharklike smile. Her teeth were as dazzling white as her suit, whiter than teeth had any right to be, and I wondered if that was the effect of tooth whitener or if they were all caps.
As usual, she’d managed to get under my skin almost immediately. It was a unique skill of hers.
“Can we talk in private?” Raphael asked.
She gave us another of those cool, appraising looks, and though she was being coy, I was certain she’d want to talk to us. The last time I’d come to her for information, I’d been asking questions about Tommy Brewster, and she’d told me enough to help me figure out what his demon’s mission was on the Mortal Plain. I’m sure she was surprised—and intrigued—to see us together. The plan was to dangle information about our alliance as bait in our attempt to get her to cough up anything she might know about a demon who was out to get me. Raphael, with his superior lying skills, would do most, if not all, of the talking.
“Sounds like fun,” she agreed with another shark smile.
Shae took us through a key-carded door marked Employees Only and led us to her office, which was decorated almost entirely in black and silver. If the idea was to make visitors feel cold and unwelcome, the design was perfect. Shae looked perfectly at home there.
“I’ve missed seeing you at my club, Tommy,” Shae said as she took a seat behind her desk. Her smile turned sly. “And I have a number of girls lined up who would meet your requirements perfectly.”
I gritted my teeth to keep myself from saying anything scathing. I didn’t think Shae was evil, precisely, but she certainly wasn’t one of the good guys, and if she had any morals or cared about anyone, I’d yet to see evidence of it. A mercenary to her core.
“That won’t be necessary,” Raphael said. “I’m not Tommy’s original demon.”
My jaw dropped, and I turned to gape at him. This had not been part of the script. “What are you doing?” I hissed, my hands clutching the cold metal arms of my chair.
Raphael spared me a mocking look. “You know me. I don’t have the patience for slow, tactful interrogations.” Then he turned back to Shae, who was making a visible effort not to look as interested and eager as she obviously was. For a woman in the information business, this bombshell had to be insanely valuable.
“We’re here looking for information about a demon who seems to hold a monumental grudge against Morgan.”
I groaned and covered my eyes. This was the problem with carrying out any plan involving Raphael— he had a tendency to ignore the script altogether and do things his way. I tried to comfort myself with the knowledge that, as distasteful as his way often turned out to be, it usually worked.
Shae cocked her head, smiling politely. “And why would I be willing to share this information with you? If I have it.”
“Because despite how much you enjoy watching the goings-on in Hell, you yourself are not overly fond of pain.”
The smile vanished, and she sat forward, menace flashing in her eyes. “You dare to come to my club and threaten me?” I got the feeling this was an experience she most definitely was not used to.
Raphael laughed. “Indeed.”
“Get out!” she ordered, jumping to her feet and pointing imperiously at the door.
“Oh, sit down,” Raphael said with a wave of impatience. “You don’t think I’d come in here with threats and not be prepared to back them up, do you?”
Her lips pulled away from her teeth in a snarl. “I don’t know who you are, but—”
“Well, let me clear that up for you right now. My name is Raphael. Do you begin to understand?”
“What the hell?” I asked, once again looking at Raphael like he was crazy. His identity was supposed to be a state secret.
Shae’s indignation had disappeared abruptly, replaced by wariness. “There are many demons named Raphael,” she said cautiously.
This time it was Raphael’s smile that was sharklike. “I’ll give you three guesses just which Raphael I might be. The first two don’t count.”
The starch went out of Shae’s spine, and she sagged back down to her chair. The whites of her eyes were startlingly bright in the dark of her face, and before she hid her hands under the desk, I could see that they were shaking.
Raphael turned to me, still smiling. “As you may know, I’ve established a certain … reputation for myself among my people.”
Yeah, I’d noticed that. But I wasn’t about to acknowledge that his reputation as a ruthless bastard might come in handy.
He turned his attention back to Shae, and she cringed. “Let me list all the ways you can earn yourself some quality time alone with me,” he said. “You could mention my true identity to anyone, human or demon. I could find anyone, human or demon, tailing me or otherwise paying too much attention to me. Regardless of whether it was you who set them on me or not. My host could die—again, regardless of your responsibility in that death.” He leaned forward in his chair, his eyes glinting. “Or you could fail to answer our questions with complete and total honesty.”
“Do you need me to describe what I would do to you before I burned you to death, and how long it would take for me to do it all?” Raphael asked in a pleasant voice as he relaxed back into his chair. “Or are you content to let your imagination fill in the details?”
“What do you want to know?” she asked. Her voice was breathy and shaken, and I almost felt sorry for her.
“You’ve forgotten my question already?” he mocked with a cluck of his tongue.
She raised her chin. I think she was trying to look defiant, but it wasn’t working. “I don’t know of anyone in particular who bears that kind of a grudge against Morgan.”
“That isn’t the answer I was hoping for.” Raphael’s voice was a menacing purr that made the back of my neck prickle.
Shae swallowed hard. “I’m telling the truth,” she said, and I, for one, believed her.
Raphael sighed in mock regret. “I’m disappointed in you, Shae. I was under the impression that you were at least moderately intelligent.”
Scared as she obviously was, there was still a glint of anger in Shae’s eyes. “I can’t give you information that doesn’t exist, and I’m not stupid enough to make up a bullshit answer. I know of no demon who has shown any particular interest in harming Morgan. That doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist, or even that one doesn’t spend time in my club, just that whoever it is hasn’t spoken about it.”
I didn’t think Raphael was going to accept Shae’s word, and I wondered what I would do if he tried to follow through on his threat. I couldn’t just stand aside and watch him torture her—I had no desire to see for myself why he had such a fearsome reputation—but I didn’t see how I could stop him. I didn’t even have my Taser with me, since we’d known I’d have to check it at the door if I brought it.
“I’m still not pleased with your answer,” Raphael said warningly, “but I’ll move on to the next question. Has anyone asked you to recommend someone who could falsify photographs convincingly—and discreetly?”