by Kim Harrison
“It’s what I live for, Rachel. I have a treat for you.”
“What?” I said, cringing at the idea of another one of his parties.
“Dalliance,” he said, dissolving me into a memory and pulling me into a line. I’m taking you to Dalliance.
Twenty-four
The transition was smoother this time as we crossed merely the ever-after, not realities, and my feet barely stumbled as the stink and grit of the surface echoed once and died, replaced by a heavy bass thump and the sound of clinking glasses. Laughter mocked me, and I looked up, numb as we misted into existence. Damn it, Trent. Trust me. He had said trust me. Did he have any idea of what he was asking?
“Right on the tick,” Al said jovially, his arm in mine as he checked his pocket watch. “Clean yourself up, Rachel. Dalliance is a respectable establishment.”
I didn’t know whether to cry or scream. I’d put my trust in a scheming elven drug lord. Al was right. How stupid could I be? I’d lost. I’d lost Jenks, Ivy, my church…everything, cursed to remain on this side of the lines unless summoned. If that didn’t make me a demon, what would?
A bar was to my left, full of demons in trendy clothes reaching over one another to get their drinks. The music was so loud that shouting replaced talking. In front of me was a much more refined restaurant, sedate but borrowing from the energy at the bar. The theme seemed to be Art Deco, with a lot of thick glass etched with circles and triangles. Gray-and-white-patterned carpet mixed with tile, again using the circles and triangles theme. It was modern, expensive, and looked mildly excessive. The smell of food made my stomach growl, which ticked me off. How could I be hungry?
A host wearing a tux was talking to the three people ahead of us, his goat-slitted eyes telling me that they used demons as workers here, not familiars. Trendy and expensive, indeed. The music thumped, and laughter broke out from the wide-spaced tables where waitstaff eased through like boats in the fog. The restaurant was only half full, and the host led the demon trio ahead of us to a table, their clothes and manners making them look like CEOs out for a night of schmoozing on the company’s account. Men. Everyone here was male. Behind the host’s mahogany desk, DALLIANCE floated in mist, sparkling like Jenks’s dust.
Jenks…
I blinked fast, my jaw clenched. A tingling at my shoulder pulled my attention to Al. He’d changed from his crushed green velvet coat and lace into a three-piece charcoal gray suit. A red handkerchief peeped from the breast pocket, and his hair was slicked back. He looked like a professional businessman, right down to the eight P.M. stubble.
“Cheer up, Rachel,” he said, shifting his shoulders as if fitting into a new suit. “This is Dalliance. You’re not still moaning about Pierce, are you? We’ll pick up your little pet tomorrow. Tonight is for celebration!”
“Where did you get that?” I asked, not caring about Pierce.
He looked at me, new lines in his face as he played the part. “My closet. You don’t think I am a one-trick pony, do you? Hold still. First thing tomorrow, I’m teaching you a brush-and-wash curse.”
I took a breath to complain, even as I felt a wave of his energy cascade over me, easing the pain in my knees if not the ache in my heart. Yes, I was depressed, and yes, I’d just lost everything, but I felt like a slob with the grit of the surface on me, and if it would clean me up, then all the better.
I shivered as the curse slipped away, looking up as Al took out a pair of modern wire glasses and perched them on his nose. They had a bifocal line, and I knew he didn’t need them. “Much better,” he said with a sniff. “No one takes you seriously if you’re in rags.”
I jerked when his energy flowed over me again, and my tight leather melted away into an uncomfortable gray business suit. A purple Gucci bag was in my hand, and a Palm Pilot on my hip. “Hey!” I exclaimed, my hand going to my hair to find that it was back in a bun. My shoes were so tight they hurt. “What was wrong with the leather dress? You picked it out for me.”
The host was coming back, and Al pulled me forward as if I was his arm candy. “This is Dalliance. If we don’t fit the theme, we can’t stay.”
The thought of Bis made my brow furrow. I should have called him when I had the chance. “I just lost everything in the world that means anything to me, and you’re taking me out to eat?” I protested.
Ignoring the host now looking at us, Al waited until I brought my gaze up to him before saying, “You just gained everything in two worlds, and I’m taking you to Dalliance. You don’t eat here, you network.”
My shoulders slumped. Networking. I was sick of demon networking/partying.
The host sniffed at us, and Al turned, his jaw a little heavier than he usually had it, his hair a little thinner. What do you really look like? I wondered, thinking of that black-skinned demon with the tail he’d scared his gargoyle with.
“Reservations for two. You’ll find it under Algaliarept,” Al said, hooking his shiny dress shoe behind my leg and pulling me forward.
The man looked at the folder open on his desk. “You’ve been declined,” he said distantly, his voice clear over the music thumping around us.
A growl escaped Al, and the skin around his eyes tightened. “There’s been a mistake.”
Looking Al straight in the eyes, the demon said, “Your credit sucks, sir.”
“Ah.” Al poked me in the ribs, making me jump and stick out my chest. “How long have you worked here…Calvin?”
Calvin closed the file. “Long enough to know that Dali is not your personal friend but your parole officer. No table.”
Dali? What did Dali have to do with this? Al was starting to look ticked. True, I didn’t want to be here, but I wanted to be at Al’s little four-room palace even less. “Al, I’m tired,” I said, wrinkling my nose as if I smelled something rank. “This slop will likely give me the runs. Can’t we just go home for a cheese sandwich?”
The host turned his attention to me, sneering. His expression became empty of emotion, and then I gasped when he reached across the desk, grabbed my arm, and yanked me closer. “You’re not a familiar,” he said, his face inches from mine. “You’re that—”
I yelped as I was jerked back, Al having taken my other arm and reclaimed me. “She’s not a that, she’s a whom. Hands off the lady.”
“Hey!” I said, my arms out like I was being crucified. “If you both don’t let go of me, you’re both going to be singing soprano!” Just because I was in heels and carrying a Gucci bag didn’t mean I didn’t know how to use them in new, creative ways.
The two men looked at each other and let go simultaneously. Regaining my balance, I snatched my bag from the floor and tugged my uncomfortable skirt straight. God, this suit made me look like a dullard.
A heavy, balding man in a tux strode from the kitchen looking bothered as he started for us. Eyes fixed on us, he gave a final bit of instruction to one of the waitstaff and continued forward. My eyes widened. I knew this demon. It was Dali, and suddenly the name of the place made sense. Demons could look like anything; why Dali wanted to be an older, over-weight civil servant who ran a restaurant was beyond me.
“You got her?” he said to Al, his bushy white eyebrows bunched as he took me in.
“She’s with me,” Al said as he beamed, taking my arm in warning.
Dali flicked his eyes over me. “And you’re sure she’s…”
Al’s smile grew even wider. “She is.”
I felt like a cow he’d traded a handful of magic beans for. “I’m what?” I asked, and Al inclined his head at me, his expression becoming decidedly—worriedly—fond.
“A demon,” Al said, and Calvin sniffed his disbelief. “We are here to celebrate, and this pile of crap won’t seat us.”
The host stood firm, and Dali looked at the list as if he didn’t care.
“Dali! She is!” Al protested. “I know it! They cursed her and everything!”
“Dali, she isn’t,” I muttered, and the older demon sighed, tapping the paper
with a thick finger. Behind him, six tables sat empty.
“I suppose I could give you a table by the kitchen,” he finally offered.
“The kitchen?” Al echoed, appalled.
Dali let the folder hit the desk with a smack, and Calvin looked vindicated. “I’ve seen nothing from her that warrants anything better,” Dali said, and Al huffed. “Cursing her doesn’t make her a demon.”
“I’m telling you, she is!”
Leaning in, Dali said calmly, “You’re a scam artist on the skids—”
“I am a procurer and instructor of fine familiars for the discriminating palate,” Al interrupted. “You’ve bought from me yourself.”
“—and I’m not about to fall for one of your Henry Higgins cons,” Dali finished.
Affronted, my mouth dropped open. “Hey!”
Al lost some of his confidence, hunching slightly. “Dali…Give me this one thing. A table. That’s all I’m asking. How can I prove her birthright if no one sees her?”
The music shifted to a faster pace, and Dali frowned. “Sit them in the corner,” he finally said, and Al straightened, beaming.
“I’m not a demon,” I said as the host moved to show us to a table.
“That’s what I’m thinking, too,” Dali said, his head down as he scratched something in that folder of his.
Al pinched my elbow. “If you can’t say something nice, keep your mouth shut, Rachel. You are not helping.”
Mood ugly, I followed Al’s not-very-subtle push to go first. My feet hurt in the gray pumps, but at least my knees were okay. Beside and a little behind me, Al nodded to the demons we passed as if they were great friends, only to get a lackluster response. Unlike most of the places Al had taken me, there were no familiars, and I didn’t like being the only girl in the place.
“Al,” I whispered as he led us to the back. “I’m not a demon. I know I said I was, but that was for the coven because I was mad. I’m not really one.”
Smiling at someone, Al waved. “I believe you are, and the sooner you accept it, the sooner we can get out of a four-room apartment and into something more suitable.”
Okay, I was more than arm candy. I was his ticket to solvency. “Al…”
“Relax, itchy witch. Smile!”
“I have a name,” I grumped, my stomach pinching me harder.
“Yes, but it has no pizzazz. Ra-a-a-a-chel. Rach-e-e-e-eel,” he said, trying it out in different ways. “No one will tremble in terror at that. Oh my God!” he said in a high falsetto. “It’s Rachel! Run! Hide!”
I’d had boyfriends who might differ with him, but I was silent when the host stopped before a booth behind a pillar. Al smoothly pulled out a chair from the adjacent empty table. “Relax,” he said as he invited me to sit. “You’re the only female demon besides Newt, and she’s fucking crazy. Let them look at you.”
Uncomfortable, I sat, amazed when Al expertly scooted my chair in without a scuff on the carpet. “They’ve seen me. Can we go home now? I’ve had a hard day.”
Home. His home, not mine. A pang hit me, making it hard to breathe. Ivy. Jenks. My mother. Trent better not have screwed this up. I was going to freaking kill him.
Al sat beside me, both our backs to the wall, and the host sniffed before he walked away. “A bite of supper is just the way to end a trying day,” Al said as he snapped out my napkin and draped the black cloth over my lap. “Don’t you think?”
Not saying anything, I settled back, trying to figure out what was going on. I mean, I knew I was at a restaurant and was on display, but Al wasn’t being lewd, lascivious, lustful, or any other nasty l word. I didn’t know where I stood, and that made me uncomfortable.
“Al,” I said suddenly as I looked over the table. “He didn’t leave us menus. How am I supposed to order if he didn’t leave menus?”
Al was fiddling with the lit candle, playing in the curl of heat like a five-year-old. “You eat what you’re given. It doesn’t get better than that.”
I frowned, not liking not knowing what I was eating. “No wine. No eggs. Nothing with a sulfur-based preservative. It gives me headaches.”
Sighing, Al looked at me over his new bifocals. “Rachel, Dali himself doesn’t get real eggs or wine. Chill and enjoy yourself, will you?”
Chill? Had he told me to chill? Al looked funny, still himself, but older as he played the part of the successful businessman taking his main squeeze—that’d be me—out to eat.
One of the waitstaff set twin glasses of water before us, her aggressive “Welcome to Dalliance. Can I get you something to start with?” bringing my head up.
“Brooke!” I exclaimed, and the older woman snarled at me, her eyes tired and her hair slicked back in an unflattering cut close to her skull. “You sold her as a waitress?” I stammered at Al. She was coven quality, and they had her slinging orders and clearing tables?
Brooke’s grimace curved up into a weird semblance of a smile. She was wearing a tight gray uniform that went with the décor but didn’t look good on her, the starched white collar and the cut making it second-class subservient. Her Möbius-strip pin still decorated her lapel, but it looked like a joke now, spotted with something. Spit?
“What would you like, Madam Demon?” she said, looking extremely pissed.
“See, even Brooke knows what you are,” Al said as he moved his empty glass. “Tell the piece of witch crap what you want to drink. Hurry before there’s a shift change.”
I stared, my heartbeat fast. “She’s a coven member, and they made her a waitress?”
Brooke waited, her face becoming red.
“What do you want me to do?” Al said, not looking at all embarrassed. “If I sold her as a skilled familiar, I’d get her back in a week. To tell you the truth, I’m a little disappointed.”
Brooke’s jaw clenched. “Can I interest you in the specials tonight?” she asked, the hatred in her voice coming in clear over the thumping of the music.
My head was shaking in disbelief. “Brooke, I’m so sorry. I tried. I really did.”
“Can I start you off with a drink?” she asked tersely. “The Brimstone Bomber comes highly recommended.”
Al gestured flamboyantly and leaned back. “Two of those, yes. And whatever the chef suggests. Something sweet for the lady, and something earthy for me.”
“As you will it,” she said, and turned to leave, her pace slow and giving the surrounding demons a wide space. I saw why when one reached to grab her ass, laughing when she scooted to avoid him.
I felt sick. Why hadn’t she listened to me? I’d told her not to summon Al. Hand to my middle, I looked away. “She’s too expensive for me to buy back, isn’t she?”
Al nodded, watching her walk away. “Very much so. Dali has wanted to bring familiars onto his waitstaff since he started dabbling in the entertainment field, but he hadn’t found any able to handle the shifts. As I understand it, she’s been good for business. Who wouldn’t want to have their ass kissed by a coven member? Relax. Enjoy yourself.”
That was the third time he’d told me to relax, and I was getting tired of it, but I froze when he took my hand, his usual white glove gone as he lifted my fingers to kiss them. Uncomfortable, I pulled away, ignoring his snort of amusement as I looked over the arriving people. The tables were starting to fill. Because of me?
My feet hurt, and I wanted to take off my shoes. Demons were looking at me, and I didn’t like it. “Al, how old do gargoyles need to be before they bond with a, uh, witch?” I asked him, thinking of the little guy.
Al was making the “phone me” gesture to someone. “Several centuries. Why?” he asked, seeming uninterested. “Once bound, they live as long as we do.”
I played with my silverware, feeling guilty. Several centuries. Bis couldn’t be that old. He acted like a teenager, and I remembered him saying he was only fifty.
With a soft sound of linen, Al turned to me, his strong features bunched up in question. “I said why, Rachel. Is Bix getting clingy?”
Like falling asleep in my kitchen? “No,” I lied. “And it’s not Bix, it’s Bis.”
Al rubbed his hands together in delight. “I thought as much. They don’t bond well until they can remain awake during the day. Bis is too young yet.”
My expression went flat. Oh my God. It was happening—whether I wanted it to or not. Bis was going to tie himself to me, and then we would both be stuck here. No. I wouldn’t allow it. “Hey, there’s Newt,” I said to change the subject, and as if my speaking her name caught her attention, her gracefully long neck turned our way.
“Don’t look at her!” Al exclaimed. “Don’t—” He groaned as the crazy demon smiled and changed her path to us. “Shit,” he added, slumping. “She’s coming over.”
“What?” I said, uneasy, but seeing two empty places at our table. “She’s the only person I know here besides you.”
Al looked at the ceiling as if in pain as Newt made her way to us, her pace both provocative and flat, her motions feminine but her figure androgynous. She was wearing a man’s business suit, and it changed to match mine as she approached.
“Well, that’s an improvement,” Al muttered as he brought his gaze from the ceiling. “See, Rachel, you’re having a positive impact already.” Pasting a smile on his face, he stood. “Newt! Love, I’m so surprised to see you here! Please join us!”
“Sit down, Gally,” she said, turning her cheek so he could give it a perfunctory kiss. “I know you loathe me down to my mRNA.”
My eyebrows rose, and I met his gaze glancing to me as he helped her with her chair.
“You seem unusually cognizant tonight,” he muttered, taking the purse that appeared as she handed it to him.
Newt, now wearing a blond pageboy cut, sniffed. “It’s amazing what one remembers given time.” Hand long and thin, she gestured for Brooke to bring her a drink, then focused on me, black eyes wide and wondering. “Did you bring me my ruler, Rachel?”
My mouth opened, then shut. “Um, I forgot,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Newt, love.” Al took her hand and gave it a kiss. “Let’s not talk business. Not tonight.”