“You’re still fired.” He shut the door.
I got up and rang the bell. No response. I rang it again. And again. And again. And—
The door flew open. Lucado stood there in a blue and burgundy silk bathrobe, looking like he hadn’t had his coffee yet. “What?!”
“You can’t fire me, Frank. I’m not your employee. I work for myself, remember?”
He snorted. “Whatever. The bottom line is you’re gone. And I ain’t paying you for last night, neither.”
He started to close the door again, but this time I pushed back. After a second of tension, he gave way. The door opened wide.
“Hell,” he said. He turned and went into the kitchen. Smelling coffee, I followed him. Lucado stood with his back to me, pouring the steaming brew into a mug.
“So, Frank,” I said, leaning against the granite counter, “anything nasty show up last night?”
He turned, glared at me, and sat down at the kitchen table. “Just you. How’d you get in, anyway?”
I shrugged.
He stared at me, running his finger along his scar. Then he jumped up and ran over to a phone on the wall. He punched in a few numbers, listened for a second, then hung up without speaking.
“Rosie’s still at the desk. Jesus, for a minute I thought you’d scared him off, too.”
“Rosie? Do all your bodyguards have girls’ names?”
“Yeah. All of ’em except you. And, as we both already agreed, you don’t work for me. So why the hell are you in my kitchen?”
I strolled over to the coffeemaker and opened cupboards until I found a mug. I filled the mug with coffee, inhaling deeply. Took a sip. Mmm. Frank bought the good stuff.
I turned to him. “I’m trying to track down the demon that was here the other night. Not the Harpies I killed; the big one. The Hellion. I think it’ll be back.”
Lucado swigged his coffee and waved dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. The big bad demon. The one I ain’t never seen. You know what I figure? I figure you and Wendy cooked up that story between the two of you to extort money out of me. After I’ve paid you a bundle, you’ll give me another damn sleeping pill. Next morning, you’ll say, ‘Good for me, Frankie. I killed the demon. Thanks for the dough.’ Only you won’t have killed anything, ’cause there wasn’t no Hellcat in the first place.”
“Hellion.”
“Huh?”
“The demon is a Hellion, not a Hellcat.”
“What’s it matter what I call it? It doesn’t exist.”
“Interesting theory.” I sipped at my coffee. Lucado looked gratified, like I’d admitted he was right. “Only one problem with it.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“You’re paying me by the day. If I was going to rip you off by protecting you from an imaginary demon, I’d show up the first night, wouldn’t I? And a whole lot more nights after that.” I slammed the mug down on the counter. Lucado jumped. Coffee splashed on my hand. “Did it ever occur to you that it’s costing me money to protect you? You know how much I get for a Harpy extermination—you paid me for one.” I’d overcharged him, but he didn’t know that. “While I’m working for you, I’m losing clients.”
Lucado didn’t answer. I could see him thinking it over. Money was something he understood.
I decided to take advantage of his silence. “Besides, you never asked why I was late last night. Maybe I had a good excuse.”
He lifted his chin, and his thoughtful expression switched to skepticism. “Yeah? Like what?”
I told him all about yesterday’s kidnapping attempt. Well, okay, not allabout it—I skipped the parts where I almost ate a guy and slunk home in a garbage bag. Lucado listened, stone-faced. When I’d finished, he shook his head.
“You expect me to believe a word of that crap?” He checked his watch. “I gotta get dressed. I want you out of here before I leave for work.”
“I know it sounds far-fetched—”
“Far-fetched? Honey, you must’ve gone to Jupiter and back to fetch that story.” He stood. “Out. Now.”
Shit. Difethwr hadn’t attacked last night, but I knew it would return soon. It was locked on to Lucado; I could feel it. Lucado would be dead, and I’d be responsible for another Hellion victim. I couldn’t let that happen.
“You deaf or something? I said get out.” He pointed. “Door’s that way.”
“Wait—don’t you see? Somebody wants me out of the way so he can kill you.” It wasn’t exactly Kane’s plan—Kane only wanted to keep me out of the way until someone else knocked Lucado off—but it was close enough. And it got Lucado’s attention.
“You’ve got enemies, right?” He didn’t answer, but at least he didn’t argue. “I mean, it’s obvious. Someone conjured those Harpies to attack you.” He was listening now, stroking his scar.
“I killed the Harpies, and I chased the Hellion away.” Okay, so that part wasn’t strictly true, either. But I needed Lucado to believe I could protect him. “I’m the only one who can look out for you, Frank, and that Hellion knows it. If you want to be free of demons, really free, I’m your only chance.”
“So you’re saying this Hellcat—Hellion, whatever—didn’t show up last night because the grab went south. With you still running around, they didn’t want to take a chance on sending the demon.” He paused, thinking. I could practically see those wheels turning behind his eyes. His good eye, anyway. “Okay, Vaughn. I’ll give you another try. You don’t show up, though, don’t bother pushing your way into my kitchen tomorrow morning.”
He put his coffee mug in the sink, then turned to me, puzzled. “How did you get in?”
“I, um, might have broken that glass door to the garage. A little bit.”
He scowled. “That’s coming out of your pay.” The phone rang, and he crossed the kitchen. “And I still ain’t paying you for last night.” He picked up the phone. “What?”
His demeanor changed, became almost deferential. “Oh, hi. Yes . . . Yes, I know. But I’m having a discussion with my new bodyguard . . . Yeah, the one I told you about.” He looked up, scowled at me, and waved his hand to shoo me out of the room.
I left, letting the door swing shut behind me. No sense in annoying my client, now that he was my client again. I sat by the door, in Wendy’s chair, and waited. A few minutes later, Lucado came out of the kitchen and went upstairs. A few minutes after that, he came downstairs dressed in a dark olive suit with a beige shirt and a green-and-brown-striped tie.
“Come on,” he said. “Limo’s waiting.”
I COULD GET USED TO THIS, I THOUGHT, SINKING INTO THE leather seat. “You can drop me off at Milk Street again,” I said.
“Uh-uh. You still owe me a couple hours’ work, seeing as you were so late last night.”
“You said you weren’t paying me for last night.”
“If you can manage to keep from annoying me for the next hour—which I doubt—I’ll forget I said that. I’ll forget about the door you smashed, too.”
One hour for all that? I’d be on my best behavior.
“So where are we going?” I asked, settling back in my seat.
“Out for breakfast. Ain’t you hungry?”
“I had coffee back at your place. That’s plenty of breakfast for me.”
“Humor me.” Lucado looked out the window, making it clear that the discussion was over.
It was early, about seven fifteen, but there was a lot of traffic. The limo sat behind a double-parked delivery truck while the truck driver stacked boxes on a dolly and rolled them around the corner into an alley. We were on a one-way street, cars parked on both sides, so there wasn’t enough room to ease past the truck.
Frank leaned forward, knocked on the partition between us and the driver, and then saw that there wasn’t a damn thing the driver could do. “Never mind,” he growled, then sat back hard, huffing. He looked out the window, drumming his fingers on his knee.
When the truck driver reappeared, wheeling an empty dolly and with his cli
pboard tucked under his arm, Lucado pressed a button and his window glided open.
“Hey, asshole! Think you own the street or sumthin’?”
The deliveryman gave him the finger, then climbed into his truck, whistling.
“How do you like that?” Lucado said. “Guy’s mother never taught him any damn manners.”
Once the truck started moving, we inched forward, although pedestrians were easily passing us. When we’d moved up half the block, I could see why the parking was so tight here. News vans lined the street; one was parked on the sidewalk. We turned the corner and stopped in front of the Liberty Diner. Even from the limo, I could see that the reporters from all those vans were packed inside.
“This is the place,” Frank said.
I stared at him. “In there? With all those reporters?” I shook my head. “Uh-uh. Not me.”
He scowled, turning his head so the scar dominated his face. The guy had a hell of a scowl. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s someone in there wants to talk to you.”
“Yeah, I can see that—about a dozen reporters. I’m not being interviewed. I wouldn’t do it for Kane, and I sure as hell won’t do it for you.”
I sounded angry, but inside I was panicking. What if Lucado tried to drag me out of the limo? He wouldn’t win, but we’d make a lot of noise, and reporters would come running. Wouldn’t Kane love seeing that on today’s news? Lucado trying to haul me ass-first out of a limo? I braced myself.
But instead of arguing, Lucado started to laugh. “What makes you think those reporters want to talk to you?”
I must have looked flabbergasted, because he laughed harder. He laughed until he had to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief.
“Didn’t you see me on CNN yesterday?”
“What, that freak show in the Zone? Honey, that’s yesterday’s news.” He wiped his eyes again, then stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket. “The reporters ain’t here for you; they’re here for the guy inside, the guy who wants to talk to you.”
“Who’s that?”
“Aw, now you wanna ruin my surprise. Okay, okay. It’s Seth Baldwin, our next governor.”
Baldwin? Oh, my God. I’d rather have a nice little chat with Difethwr. The only thing Kane would hate more than seeing me getting out of a limo with Lucado would be seeing me cozy up to his idea of the Antichrist over a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.
“What does Baldwin want to talk to me for?”
“That’s what we’re going inside to find out.”
I shook my head. “There is no way in hell I’m going in that diner.” Last night’s pay be damned.
“Look—”
“No, you look. Baldwin’s in there doing one of those campaign breakfasts, right? Meet everyday folks, listen to the little guy. That’s why the cameras are there.”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“So he’s not going to have a conversation with me while that’s going on.”
“I never said you had to talk to him on camera. Just talk to him afterward.”
“Okay, fine. I’ll talk to him after. In here.”
“But I gotta go in there. Baldwin’s expecting me.” He checked his watch. “I’m already late, damn it.”
“So go in. I’m not stopping you.”
“I said I’d have you with me.”
I crossed my arms like a stubborn two-year-old. “I’m not getting out this limo, Frank.”
“Two rides in my limo and she acts like she owns the damn thing.” Lucado closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Headstrong broads give me a headache.” He leaned forward and rapped on the partition again. It slid open. “Ain’t that right, Gordon?”
“What, sir?”
“That headstrong broads give me a headache.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lucado made a face at me, as if to say, See? Then he opened the door and climbed out before I had a chance to tell him I wasn’t a “broad.” He pushed through the crowd on the sidewalk, half of them craning for a glimpse into the diner and the other half trying to peer into the limo. Then he disappeared inside the diner.
I leaned forward. “Hey, Gordon.”
“Yes, madam?”
The head didn’t turn; the eyes didn’t flick to the rearview mirror. I spoke to the back of the chauffeur’s cap. “Didn’t anyone ever tell Frank not to call women broads?”
“Apparently not, madam.”
“Well, somebody should.”
“Yes, madam.”
I could see that Gordon and I were not likely to have much in the way of a scintillating conversation, so I sat and stared out the window. Commuters hurried by on their way to work, some pausing to see what was going on in the diner, others rushing past without breaking their stride. Kane must be on his way to the office now, too. I wondered how he’d reacted when he found out his kidnapping scheme didn’t work. He must’ve been mad as hell at those norms for bungling it. I’d bet his next move would be to call me up, pretending to play nice, like nothing had happened. He’d be in for a surprise.
A tall blonde emerged from the crowd in front of the diner. I couldn’t tell whether she’d been inside or was one of the gawkers. But I knew who she was—Sheila Gravett, the biogeneticist. I ducked down in my seat, then realized she couldn’t see me through the tinted glass. I watched her pull out her cell phone and talk for a minute, one hand to her ear to block the noise. It was likely she’d been in there, chum ming around with Baldwin. She must love the guy, with his promise to take away PAs’ limited rights. He’d make it open season on monsters like me.
Gravett snapped her phone shut and briskly walked away, toward the Common. I sighed, wondering what Gwen had decided about Maria. I’d try to talk some sense into her tomorrow, when we met for lunch.
I looked back at the diner. Why did Baldwin want to talk to me? Probably he needed me to take care of some Harpies for him. After all, that’s how I’d met his buddy Lucado. Maybe Frank had given me a reference. Or maybe Daniel had briefed him that Difethwr was on the loose inside Boston. But there was no reason to do that, since Baldwin wasn’t governor. Yet, anyway. So why would Daniel—?
Oh, no. Daniel. My heart sank. I was supposed to meet him yesterday to talk to the witches. I’d missed the meeting because of the kidnap attempt, but I’d forgotten all about Daniel. I felt like such a jerk. I remembered the warmth in his voice when we spoke on the phone, the way he’d squeezed my hand at Creature Comforts. This was terrible. I needed to let him know why I stood him up.
I leaned forward again. “Gordon, you got a cell phone?”
“No, madam.”
Shit. “Then can you drive me to a pay phone? It’ll take two minutes, I swear. Frank will never know we were gone.”
Gordon was silent. I took this to mean he was considering my request.
“We’ll tell him the cops moved us along, and you had to circle the block. Please, Gordon. It’s urgent.”
More silence.
“I’ll give you twenty dollars. Twenty bucks, Gordon, for two minutes’ work.”
Gordon seemed to have lost the power of speech.
“Okay, fifty. It’s all I’ve got on me—if you’ll leave me fifty cents to make the call.”
Still nothing. That chauffeur’s cap didn’t move an inch.
Then the engine started up, and we cut off a taxi as we pulled into traffic. Over the blare of the taxi’s horn, I could hear, “Very good, madam.”
20
I STOOD AT A PAY PHONE IN FRONT OF A DRUGSTORE, listening to Daniel’s home phone ring. Butterflies galore, but this time there were lots of different kinds—the usual ones, definitely, but also anxiety that I’d stood him up and worry that he’d needed me at that meeting. I felt awful. It’d be reassuring just to hear his voice.
The line clicked as he picked up, and I felt my heartbeat go into overdrive.
“Hello?” said a woman’s voice, thick with sleep.
I nearly dropped the phone. “Oh, um, I think I must ha
ve dialed the wrong number. I’m looking for Daniel Costello.”
“No, Danny’s here.” Danny? “Hang on.” There was a thunk as she put the phone down. Her voice called out dimly, “Danny? Phone’s for you.”
My heart was beating harder than ever, but now it was beating somewhere down in the region of my toes.
Daniel came on the line with a voice like sandpaper. “Costello.”
“Did I wake you up?” Or maybe I’d interrupted some bedroom activity besides sleeping. The thought gave me a moment of grim satisfaction.
“It’s okay. I’d have been up in a minute, anyway.” He paused, and I pictured him running a hand through his blond curls. I wondered what he was wearing: Pajamas? A bathrobe? Boxer shorts? Nothing at all? “Um, who is this?”
“Oh, sorry. It’s Victory Vaughn.”
“Vicky! Thank God. I was worried about you.” Relief colored his voice, but I couldn’t help thinking yeah, right, so worried that you just spent the night with some bimbo. I almost said it, too, but I bit my tongue, hard enough to taste blood.
Be businesslike, I thought. I still wanted to know what he’d found out from the witches. “I’m sorry I missed our meeting yesterday. I ran into some trouble and couldn’t get to a phone. But I—”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
“Nothing serious. Just unavoidable.”
“So you’re okay.”
“Yes, I’m fine. I just wanted to know—”
“It is so great to hear your voice. I even called around the hospitals. Sounds like something my mother would do.” I could hear the smile in his voice, which brought up an image of the way his blue eyes twinkled. “But I was worried.”
I didn’t reply, because I was trying to figure out the best way to end this phone call both gracefully and fast.
“Listen, though,” he said, “I’ve got a few questions for you. Plus, I want to brief you on what the witches said, see if I’m missing anything. If you’ve got time, I’d love to see you. Can you meet me around ten, ten thirty?”
I wasn’t so sure I’d love to see him right now. But I might as well get it over with. “Can we make it earlier? I’m working dusk to dawn, so I need to get some sleep during the day.”
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