“Sure. What time is it now? Seven thirty. How about we meet at the precinct at quarter past eight?”
“Okay.” Hanging up, I felt a kind of sour pleasure in the thought that now he wouldn’t have time to go back to bed. Whatever he’d been doing there.
I WAS BACK AT THE DINER BEFORE BALDWIN FINISHED HIS meet-and-greet. Gordon stared straight ahead, the back of his chauffeur’s cap positively beaming with satisfaction.
Which wasn’t exactly the emotion I was feeling. Daniel had sounded genuinely glad to hear from me; he’d kept that sexy warmth in his voice throughout the call. But he didn’t live alone. No way that husky, sleepy voice that had answered the phone belonged to a housekeeper. Or his mom. I had to face facts. Daniel was married—so how come he didn’t wear a ring, damn it?—or else he lived with someone. Now that I thought about it, his wife or girlfriend or whoever she was couldn’t have been too pleased to overhear the conversation. It wasn’t anything he said so much as the way he said it: I’d love to see you, all warm and glowing and promising myriad pleasures. He probably got away with sounding like that because she was in the shower. Or in the kitchen, making his goddamn breakfast. What a jerk.
“You know something, Gordon?”
“What, madam?”
“That phone call wasn’t worth fifty bucks.”
“Few are, madam.”
Before Gordon and I could continue our philosophical discussion, the diner door opened. Cameras flashed like strobe lights as Lucado and Baldwin made their way through the crowd. Lucado barreled right through and got into the limo, collapsing on the leather seat like he’d just run a marathon. Baldwin, on the other hand, took his time, stopping to shake hands and give hearty thumps on the back. I didn’t see any babies in the crowd, but if there were any, I’m sure he kissed them.
Baldwin looked different in person than he had on TV. For one thing, he was shorter than I’d imagined him, but then he’d been sitting down during the interview. Funny how sitting down can make short people look tall. Also, as he ducked his head to get inside the limo, I could see that he dyed his hair—gray roots peeked out at the part. Once seated in the limo, Baldwin opened the window and waved to the crowd. Gordon steered the limo into traffic. And we were off.
Baldwin shut the window, then leaned back and closed his eyes. His skin was doughy and yellowish—another difference from his TV persona. Eyes still closed, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face. The effect was like a magician waving a magic wand. He sat up, eyes bright and attentive, looking almost as good as he had in the studio. He turned to me, smiling a big white shiny politician’s smile.
“So you’re Victory Vaughn,” he said.
No need to contradict him on that one. I waited to see what else he had to say.
“I wish you had come inside and joined us. It would have been something for voters to see me having breakfast with the woman who saved that poor man from the monsters.”
For one wild moment, I thought he was being sarcastic, talking about that thug I’d mauled in panther form. Then I realized he meant the director who’d gotten himself attacked in Creature Comforts, the norm who’d made me famous—temporarily, I hoped. I went for a nonchalant eyebrow raise, hoping my momentary panic hadn’t shown in my face.
“I’m not here to help your campaign, Mr. Baldwin.”
“No, I suppose not. You’re involved with that werewolf lawyer, aren’t you?”
Involved. What a word, especially since I had no idea what kind of involvement I had with Kane at the moment. So I dodged the question—not that Baldwin deserved an answer, anyway. “His name is Alexander Kane.”
Lucado piped up at that. “Kane? That’s the name you said before, ain’t it? The guy you said couldn’t talk you into doing an interview.”
“Is that so?” Baldwin’s finger tapped on the armrest.
“Shut up, Frank,” I said.
Lucado opened his mouth, but he didn’t say anything. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose again, reminding me of his opinion of headstrong broads. Well, he’d just have to learn to put up with me. He’d have a hell of a lot more than a headache if the Destroyer visited and I wasn’t around.
I ignored Frank and turned back to Baldwin. “Are we going anywhere special? I have to be at Government Center in half an hour, so you need to drop me off near there. If you’ve got something to say to me, Mr. Baldwin, you’d better say it soon.”
“Direct. I like that.” Coming from the man who was proving to be the king of beating around the bush, this was almost funny.
“I don’t care whether you like me or not, Mr. Baldwin. I’m just about out of patience here. Either get to it or drop me off.”
“Frank tells me that you’re working for him.”
“I work for myself. But, yeah, I exterminated some Harpies, and now I’m his nighttime bodyguard.”
“Against what, Miss Vaughn?”
“Didn’t Frank tell you?” I certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell Baldwin that a Hellion was in town.
“He did. He said that you claim he’s being stalked by a special kind of demon, bigger and nastier than people’s personal demons. He said you called it the Destroyer.”
“That’s one of its names, yes.”
“One of its names? It has others?”
“We don’t speak those names, Mr. Baldwin. The Destroyer is not a Hellion you’d want to invoke by accident.” I should know.
“It’s a Hellion?”
“Yes.”
Baldwin looked a little annoyed that he was the one doing all the talking. Sorry, but I didn’t see any need to be a chat terbox around Kane’s political nemesis.
“Frank also told me he doesn’t know what it looks like.”
“That’s right,” Lucado said. “I’m not even convinced the damn thing exists.”
I shot him a glare to remind him that we’d already been down that road. “It exists, all right.” But it wouldn’t when I was through with it.
“I wonder,” said Baldwin, “if you’d tell me a little about this demon—what it looks like, what its powers are.”
I regarded him through narrowed eyes. Was this the point of our interview? Or was Baldwin trying to trip me up into giving away some other information? I didn’t trust this norm. Even if he hadn’t been a politician, which automatically gave him a dubious relationship to little things like honesty, his arrogance would make me wary. Still, I didn’t see any harm in his question. I wouldn’t tell him anything he couldn’t look up in an Intro to Demonology textbook.
“It’s big and blue and covered with slimy warts. Hideous. Its mouth holds a couple hundred razor-sharp teeth, its claws are like daggers, and it can shoot flames from its eyes and mouth. Its purpose is to destroy.”
“But a human can actually control this monster?”
“It’s not a monster, it’s a demon.” I didn’t like the way Baldwin defined anything that wasn’t human as a monster. It reminded me of something Kane had said. “And yes,” I continued, “a human can bind a Hellion and force it to do the human’s bidding. But you’d have to be an extremely powerful sorcerer to try.”
He laughed. “I have no ambition to try such a thing, Miss Vaughn. But tell me, what happens if the sorcerer isn’t powerful enough?”
“The Hellion looks for every opportunity to break its master’s hold. Then it kills the master. This particular Hellion will also try to destroy the master’s soul.”
“How does a Hellion kill?”
“It depends on the Hellion. It might tear a person limb from limb, peel off the victim’s skin in half-inch strips, or rip out all the organs and leave them in a steaming pile on top of the victim’s dying body.” I glanced into Baldwin’s eyes, but I didn’t see any shock there. Only a kind of amused curiosity. Baldwin probably considered himself a cool head, but what I saw in those eyes was downright cold. “But since we’re talking about the Destroyer, that demon’s favorite method is to incinerate its victims—slowly
, from the inside out. It’s incredibly painful.” The scar on my arm burned with the memory of the demon’s touch. I rubbed the spot. “And if the victim’s body isn’t cut open to release the demon’s essence, it also burns up the soul. Even after the body’s dead, the soul suffers excruciating pain for days—weeks even—until it’s completely destroyed.”
Across from me, Lucado shifted in his seat and whispered, “Jesus.”
Baldwin’s voice, however, was clear and steady. “And that’s how this Hellion killed your father?”
I looked up sharply. “Who told you that?”
Baldwin’s eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. “Why, Frank did.”
“I never told Frank.”
“You did, when you first warned him about the Hellion. Didn’t she, Frank?”
Something flicked across Lucado’s face, then he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, she did. And I told you.”
My mind raced. Only a few people knew what had happened to my father. Gwen knew, of course. Kane knew, and Juliet. I’d felt it necessary to tell Daniel and Detective Hagopian in Kane’s office. But I didn’t let most people close enough to hear that story. Had I told Frank? I couldn’t remember.
Baldwin’s voice poured like syrup. “You told him the next morning, after you’d seen the Hellion in his condo. Frank didn’t take you seriously, and you had to convince him that he needed protection.” He glanced over at Frank. “Isn’t that right?”
“Yeah,” Frank agreed.
I was almost positive that I hadn’t told Lucado. But seeing Difethwr had shaken me up, and the Creature Comforts fiasco had left my head spinning. And how else would Baldwin have found out? Daniel? I couldn’t believe he’d tell. But then, I couldn’t believe some woman would answer his phone, either.
Baldwin’s lips curved in a half-smile, like he was enjoying my reaction to his question. Damned arrogant bastard. I stared straight into his brown eyes, my own eyes shooting sparks. “I will not talk to you about my father.”
Baldwin’s smile grew, as though I’d answered his question in spite of myself. “It really is a pity,” he said, “that you won’t help out with my campaign. Once I’m elected, I could find a position on my staff for someone like you.”
I almost laughed in his face. “You’re forgetting something: I’m one of the monsters.”
“You’re a demi-human. Inactive demi-humans will be allowed to stay in the state.”
“Yeah, well, I’m an active demi-human. And that’s just the name you blood bags give me. I’m Cerddorion.”
He didn’t flinch at my name-calling. “Like your father before you, eh? Only he couldn’t change his shape, am I right?”
“I told you, my father is off-limits.” I leaned forward and knocked on the partition, then slid it open.
“Gordon, I think I’ll walk from here. Would you mind pulling over?”
“Sir?” he asked.
“We’re not quite finished,” said Baldwin. “One more time around the Common, please.”
“Very good, sir.”
“Gee, Gordon, I thought we were friends.” Silence. Not even a no, madamin reply. Gordon had just lost his spot on my Christmas card list.
Baldwin looked out the window at Boston Common. So did I. The park looked lifeless; skeletal trees reached bare branches toward an empty sky. Benches sat vacant. A few people hurried through, their collars pulled up, rushing toward some warmer, more hospitable place. Like spooked-out norms passing through a cemetery at midnight.
As we turned the corner onto Park Street, Baldwin spoke. “If I’m understanding you correctly, a Hellion has somehow entered Boston. It would seem important to locate the sorcerer who summoned it, yes?” He waited for me to answer, but I didn’t reply. “You said a Hellion will look for ways to escape its master’s control. How does it do that?”
I kept looking out the window. As far as I was concerned, the interview was over. Baldwin had crossed the line by asking about my father, and we could circle the Common the whole goddamn day before I’d say another word. So I’d miss another meeting with Daniel. Given the way I was feeling about him at the moment, I didn’t really care. Anyway, I knew that Baldwin had plenty of demands on his time. At some point, he’d have to be somewhere else: a Rotary Club lunch or a TV interview or his campaign headquarters.
Baldwin tried coaxing. He tried appealing to my expertise. He got Frank to threaten to fire me again. I didn’t respond, not even to remind them both that Frank couldn’t fire me. I just watched the damp gray Common go by. We circled three more times. Finally, with a curse, Baldwin told Gordon to pull over. We were on Beacon Street, so I’d have to jog across the Common and down Tremont to make my appointment, but at least I’d be out of that car. I got out, slamming the door. I’d rather be crossing the gloomy Common, adding a little life to the place, than cooped up in a limo with those two humans.
21
BY THE TIME I REACHED THE PRECINCT, I WAS BREATHLESS but only a couple of minutes late. I was signing in with the receptionist when a passing detective overheard us. “You’re meeting with Costello?” she said. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”
We went through double doors, up some stairs, and down a hallway to a door labeled Homicide. She opened the door and walked in. I followed her into a room crowded with desks. The detectives, all men except for the one who’d brought me here, were already in their shirtsleeves, pecking at computers or talking on the phone.
“There he is.” She pointed. “Over there.”
He sat with his back to me, but I recognized his curly blond hair. Half sitting on his desk, facing my way, was a woman. Her raven black hair flowed past her shoulders, and she wore a tight black skirt with knee-high boots and a clingy red sweater that showed off her curves. She laughed, white teeth gleaming against red lips, then leaned over to say something to Daniel. Well, how nice and cozy. This had to be the woman who’d answered the phone this morning. Today must be Bring Your Bimbo to Work Day.
I strode over to Daniel’s desk. “Hello, Detective. Sorry I’m late.”
He looked up at me and beamed, his smile like the sun rising over a dark hill. He stood and said, “Perfect timing. Let me take your jacket.”
“That’s okay. Our meeting isn’t going to take long, is it?” I said it half in the direction of Ms. Desk Ornament, emphasizing our meeting, hoping she’d take the hint and leave.
Daniel’s smile dimmed a few watts. “No, not too long, I guess.”
The woman wasn’t leaving. In fact, she was looking at me with a smile that rivaled Daniel’s in candlepower. There we were, one big, happy family, having a grinfest around Daniel’s desk. In another minute, we’d burst into song.
Daniel spoke. “Vicky, I’d like you to meet”—Here it comes, I thought, wondering whether he’d say wife or girlfriend—“Roxana Jade. She’s the leader of the Witches of the Shield.”
I blinked. One of the witches. Not Daniel’s wife. Or his girlfriend. More relief than I’d care to admit washed over me. But only for a second. After all, somebody had answered his phone this morning.
Roxana pushed away from the desk and leaned toward me, her hand extended. “Victory Vaughn. Wow, I can’t believe it. I’ve always wanted to meet you.”
I shook her hand. “Um, you have?”
“Are you kidding? Your demon-fighting skills are legendary in my coven. I mean, it’s one thing to create a charm that repels demons, but you exterminate them.” She shook her head, pursing her lips. “You actually killthe buggers.”
I shrugged, feeling a little too aw, shucks and not knowing what to say. I’d been all prepared to hate this woman and here she was, my biggest fan.
Daniel rolled a chair over from another detective’s desk. “Why don’t you both sit down? Vicky, Roxana can bring you up to speed on what she told me yesterday.”
As we sat, Roxana was still gushing. “I told Daniel to call me the minute you got in touch. Day or night, I didn’t care. When he called this morning, I was so thrilled. I look a mess,
I know, but I had to rush over here right away. I wouldn’t miss meeting you for anything.”
If Roxana was a mess now, with her straight, gleaming hair and perfect makeup, I hated to think what I must look like. I hadn’t even glanced in a mirror since last night’s shower. I touched my own hair, fluffing it, then made myself stop.
“. . . and then, when I saw you on the news yesterday, I was bowled over. You were so brave!” She finally paused for breath, gazing at me like I was a rock star.
“Just another night in the Zone,” I said, and she laughed like I’d said something witty.
Daniel watched her laugh with the expression of someone witnessing a miracle. Maybe he was one of those guys who flirted with anything female, no matter who he had waiting at home. He caught me scowling at him, and we both looked away.
I turned to Roxana. “I don’t know much about witchcraft. All I know is what I saw on PNN after the plague, that you put up a shield to keep Hellions out of the city.”
“Yes, because large-scale destruction attracts Hellions in droves.” She put a hand over her mouth, blushing. “But of course you know that.”
“They’d say legions. Instead of droves, I mean. That’s what Hellions call themselves when they group together in an army.” She nodded, and I went on. “What I don’t know about is the shield. When it was created, I assumed—everyone assumed—that Boston was protected, a Hellion-free zone. So what happened?”
“Well, the shield is just a charm. A big one, woven from the magic of the best witches in the city, but still a charm. And charms grow old and fade. They need to be renewed. So we chose representatives from each of the local covens to maintain the shield. That’s us, the Witches of the Shield. We meet every year on October 30, the night before the spirits pass through the veil, to renew the charms that support the shield.”
I thought about explaining to her that “spirits,” meaning monsters and demons, don’t give a rat’s ass about Halloween, but she looked like one of those humans who’d be disappointed by the news. Besides, we needed to focus on what had happened to the shield.
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