by Debra Dunbar
Celeste waved a hand about like she was Vanna White, walking backward through the living room. “Living room. Dining room. Kitchen at the back. Stairs come up in the middle of the second bedroom, with another bedroom at each end of the house. That’s why I’m thinking that middle one would be better suited for a private sitting area, or a study.”
It was a pit. The walls could use a fresh coat of paint. The carpets needed to be ripped up and replaced. I could tell from ten feet away that the kitchen appliances most likely didn’t work. But as I walked through the living room I realized the floor was solid and in spite of the cosmetic ugliness, the house wasn’t too bad. The upstairs was better. Two decent-sized bedrooms and a bathroom that looked as though someone at some point had attempted a remodel. My thoughts whirled as we went back down the stairs, Celeste’s chatter fading to a background buzz. I’d grown accustomed my third floor apartment in Fells Point with the crappy parking and the nosy neighbors. This was bigger, and slightly worse for the wear. Instead of pubs and the harbor a walk away, I had a convenience store across the street locked up like Fort Knox, and half the houses on the block boarded up. The heat kicked on with a clank sound in the steam radiators, and in the distance I heard the noise of police sirens.
Baltimore. Love it or leave it.
“Washer and dryer are downstairs, as is the furnace and oil tank.” She opened a door with a creak, her heels clacking on the wooden steps. “No central air, but there should be some window units. Oh God.”
I hurried down the stairs, curious as to what elicited an “oh God” out of this woman who had probably seen everything in the course of her fifteen year real estate career. A dead mouse? A live snake?
It wasn’t animal, vegetable, or mineral at the bottom of the steps, it was a circle, acid etched into the concrete with interlocking rings and pentacles of cemented rock salt, silver, and gold. This wasn’t a bunch of kids playing with rituals in the basement of a trashed rental house either, this was serious mage work. It was someone with the money and the know-how to lay down a permanent ritual space. I edged past Celeste, grabbing the rickety railing for support.
“Shit. Shit.” Celeste shifted to the side. “No wonder it hasn’t been shown yet. I had no idea this was down here. I haven’t been in this unit before. The LLC that owns these places just settled on it last week. We haven’t had a chance to get painters in here or do more than check major appliances and the heat system. The repair guys didn’t say anything…we would have cemented over that if they’d said anything.”
Celeste was babbling. I was sure the repair guys had kept their mouths shut, carefully avoiding the symbols as they checked the furnace, or perhaps not bothering to check the furnace at all. And I hated to tell the woman, but there was no way to cement over the circle. I reached down and touched it with a finger, my hair nearly standing on end at the energy surging through the markings. Nope. She wouldn’t get rid of this without a jackhammer and a priest. Or another mage. Or a Templar.
I was a Templar, but I had no intention of getting rid of the circle. And in spite of the crappy neighborhood and dilapidated state of this house, it was about to be my next home. I’d always longed for the room to have a magical workshop, to have a dedicated ritual space. It seems that I’d found it.
“I’ve got a few more places I can line up for you to look at,” Celeste told me. “Finding you something is a top priority. One of our biggest clients asked me to help you out. We’ll find something in the next day or two, something without…this.”
Her words put the brakes on my eagerness to move in. Their “biggest client” was the Balaj’s investment company.
“Who owns this house? Silver Dagger Investments?”
“No.” Celeste looked through her binder, edging toward the staircase and keeping one eye on the casting circle. “It’s an LLC. Adeyemi Properties. The guy owns a few row houses in the west end as well as some neighborhood commercial properties. Retail. Liquor stores, quick marts, and a sub shop.”
Sounded innocuous enough. I didn’t want to live somewhere vampire owned, but I also didn’t want to live in properties owned by a drug lord or anyone where my Templar activities might lead me to a conflict of interest.
“Have you met the owner? Do you know him at all?”
Celeste gave me an odd look. “You won’t be dealing with the owner at all. We act as the property manager, so any issues with appliances, rent, etc. will be through us.”
“I haven’t had the greatest landlord experience so far. I’d feel a lot better if I knew who the owner was, if I was sure he could pay his mortgage so I didn’t get foreclosed out of a house. I want to ensure I don’t get kicked out because some sicko happens to leave dead bodies in my parking spot.”
Oops. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the last bit judging from Celeste’s shocked expression. I got the feeling that if their largest client hadn’t been behind me, I’d be back looking for apartments to share on Craigslist again.
“I can promise you that there won’t be a foreclosure. All of our clients are on solid ground financially. This particular investor pays cash for his properties, and judging from the income stream, I have complete confidence that he’ll be paying the tax and water/sewer bill on time, and that repairs will be prompt.”
As reassuring as that was, it still didn’t answer my question about the owner’s humanity, or whether his business dealings were all legal or not. A property search on the Maryland Tax Assessment database would probably only turn up Adeyemi Investments as the owner, but I had the advantage of a top-notch researcher—Janice. That reporter could track down anything. Finding the person behind the investment company wouldn’t be a problem. And once she knew the name and address, a quick call to Tremelay would get me information on his background, even if it wouldn’t tell me whether he was a vampire or not.
But I had to make a decision now. I had less than two weeks before I needed to be out of my place, and some of that time was going to be taken up with Lenora’s security detail job and my Halloween night ritual. This place was cheap. And there was this sweet circle in the basement next to the boiler.
“If you want it, I can have the painters in here tomorrow. New carpet by week’s end,” Celeste said, her tone hopeful. “I’ll make sure they cement over this…thing here. I can even get a priest in to bless the house if you want.”
There was no need for a priest. If I needed the placed blessed, I could do it myself. “Leave the markings down here. And I’ll take it.”
I’d need to raid the checking account my parents had set up for me to pay the security deposit and first month’s rent, but as soon as I had finished Leonora’s job, I could put that money back. A feeling of relief washed over me. I could move in next week and never have to deal with the parking space issues, the complaining neighbors, the nasty landlord ever again. Well, hopefully not.
“Perfect.” Celeste smiled and gestured for me to head up the stairs. “Let’s swing by the office and fill out the paperwork. I’ll get a check from you, and we’ll be all set. You can move in next Monday, if you like.
I climbed the stairs and glanced down at the circle once more before Celeste switched off the light. I liked. Oh I really liked.
Chapter 12
I did a quick check-in with Zac prior to my coffee shop shift and was relieved to hear he was up and about. It seems many of the others from the event last night weren’t so lucky and almost twenty people had gone to the hospital, unable to shake the food poisoning and suffering from severe dehydration. They weren’t the only ones. Once at Holy Grounds, Brandi and Chalese filled my ears with tales of salmonella from a well-known food truck downtown, listeria and norovirus cases all over the city, and at least fifty separate cases of botulism in various upscale farm-to-table restaurants throughout the county. I eyed the pastry case with concern, wondering if I dared to sell anything from there.
In spite of the food sanitation crisis the city had been plunged into, the coffee shop had brisk b
usiness, and I was running my socks off for most of the afternoon. Finally, around five I had a break and could call Janice.
“Found a place,” I announced. “It’s a block west of MLK. Three-bedroom row house. They’re painting and putting in fresh carpet this week and it should be ready soon.” I didn’t tell her about the added incentive in the basement, figuring that would be my little secret.
“That’s awesome! When do you move in?”
“I need to be out in less than two weeks, and I can start moving in Monday. You wouldn’t happen to know someone with a pickup truck, would you? And can you run a quick check on the owner?”
“Umm, no on the pickup truck, but I’m happy to haul boxes there in my car. Who’s the owner?”
“Adeyemi Properties, LLC,” I told her.
“Oh, that’s easy. An LLC would have the owner and officers listed on the incorporation paperwork filed with the state plus a physical address. All public record.”
“Thanks. I just want to make sure it’s not owned by the mafia or some drug lord, or vampires.”
I heard her typing in the background. “Yeah, that would be a bummer, you busting your landlord for some crime, or putting a stake through his heart. Looks like the LLC is incorporated in Maryland by an Irving Blackwell. Lives in Bolton Hill. From his Linked In profile he’s a game developer. Adeyemi Properties, LLC incorporated two years ago and started picking up distressed properties. Looks like he flips some and rents others. On the up-and-up as far as I can see.”
I wrote down the address for the corporation and Irving Blackwell’s name and texted them to Tremelay for a quick check. I trusted Janice, but if there was anything that was shady about the guy, Tremelay would know.
“Thanks,” I told Janice, glancing at the clock. “I’ve got to get back to work, but I’m totally taking you up on the moving help. I don’t have a ton of stuff. I’m hoping we can get it done in one afternoon.”
Well, if I could find someone to help with the larger furniture, that is. I hung up with Janice and went back to ringing up lattes, a weight off my shoulders now that I knew I had somewhere to live, and that I wouldn’t find myself beholden to vampires or anyone else on the other side of the law.
“Hey, Brandi, know anyone with a pickup truck?” I asked at the next break in our customer rush. “Or you, Chalise?”
Chalise laughed. “Uh, no. Pimped up SUVs and Japanese coupes, maybe. Pickup trucks, no.”
“A cousin in Richmond, Virginia,” Brandi said. “Might be cheaper just to buy new furniture, Aria.”
It might be. But before I could reply Brandi grasped her stomach and doubled over. Chalise began to cough uncontrollably. The door chimed. I looked up. And I saw a demon.
And he saw me. “Hello, little Templar. How many of those maple brown-sugar scones have you sold today? Have you checked the freshness of the creamer? Mold in the storage room? Or asbestos? Lead paint dust?”
My sword was in the back room. I wasn’t completely defenseless, but unless I could manage a quick dash for my weapon, I didn’t have the tools to banish him.
“Leave them alone,” I commanded with far more confidence than I felt.
He smiled, rotted black teeth in a white puss-filled mouth. “I will release my grip on your co-workers if you give me an audience. Five minutes is all I ask. After that you can make a run for your sword and chase me down the street.”
The demon waved a hand. Brandi gasped and ran for the bathroom. Chalese stopped coughing and sat abruptly, taking small sips of water from one of the bottles on the storage shelf. I walked around the counter toward the demon, motioning for him to step outside. I didn’t trust him in here with my co-workers or with any customers who might come into the store.
Plague demons. Gah, I hated them. After he’d left I would indeed have to check the milk and the scones as well as run around with the bleach spray bottle searching for any mold. He might have backed off whatever infection he’d given Brandi and Chalese, but I was pretty sure he wouldn’t vacate the shop without leaving his mark somewhere. And although he said he’d released his grip on the two women, I was also sure they’d feel ill for at least the rest of the day.
The demon walked outside, rubbing his pale, waxy hands together. He didn’t look quite the same as he did at the tourney, but I still recognized him. Tall, skeletal-thin, greasy dark hair and jaundiced eyes. His fingernails were jagged with brown around the edges, and his teeth were horrendous. A faint odor of rot came from him as he spoke, making me want to stand as far away as possible. No wonder everyone had gotten food poisoning at the post-tourney feast. No wonder Baltimore hospitals were filled with a sudden influx of illness.
But why was he here? The veil between the worlds was thin enough to allow those from the netherworld to cross for three days around Halloween. That started two nights from now, which meant this demon had been in town at least three days early. I remembered the demons who’d killed the Fiore Noir, the one who’d impersonated the Angel to try to lead me even further into sin. They’d all rode into town across the veil via a demon-marked human. There certainly could be another one of us in town, but I was worried this plague demon was here because of me. Or rather because I’d been marked by Balsur. The sun demon wasn’t an idiot. He must have known that I would try to get rid of the mark on Halloween. This guy was his way of threatening me, or punishing me.
Which meant all the sick people from the tourney were my fault, as well as the epidemic of food poisoning cases throughout the city, and the weird viruses sweeping through town.
“I command you by my power as a Templar, a warrior of God to tell me your name and your purpose here.”
He laughed. Laughed. Some mighty Templar I was. “Call me Bruce. Or Mike. Or whatever you want. And just in case you’re as stupid as you seem, I’m a plague demon. I’m here to kill people—well kill them after they suffer horribly for days, weeks, maybe even months.”
“Are you one of Balsur’s minions?” I asked. He probably wouldn’t answer but it was worth a shot. I was wishing that I had him bound in a circle right now. Maybe I could convince management to let me put one on the coffee shop floor. Given that this was the second time we’d been visited by a demon in the last month, it might be a wise idea.
He smiled, flashing me those rotted black teeth. “Actually Balsur is the reason I’m here, although not in the way that you think. It’s important to stay on that demon’s good side, even if you’re not a member of his legion.”
If he hadn’t come over through Balsur’s mark on me, then who was responsible for his presence in the city? My mind raced through the possibilities. People didn’t often bargain away their souls to plague demons, although it occasionally did happen. All it took was one person with meningitis or a resistant bacteria strain, or cancer to trade their afterlife for a cure. Plague demons weren’t usually enthusiastic about that sort of bargain, though. The few recorded instances where they’d accepted the deal, they’d immediately stricken the poor human with another illness that caused him or her to die with pretty much the same life expectancy that the previous disease had given.
But they did like doctors. And a doctor frustrated over seeing his patients die might be willing to bargain away his soul for a chance to play God, or at the very least a miracle worker. Patient, doctor, or perhaps someone with a grudge had summoned this demon and sicced him on the city. No one I knew from Haul Du would do such a thing—especially after two of their mages died at the claws of the demon they summoned last month. But who’s to say there wasn’t another groups of mages angry with the city that might not have Haul Du’s restraint?
“Who summoned you?” I demanded. I seriously needed to get this demon into a circle, otherwise the only information he was going to give me was out of the goodness of his rotted little heart—and even that might be lies.
He blinked his rheumy yellow eyes in mock surprise. “Why would you assume that? I will tell you that I’m here for a specific purpose. And in the course of my wo
rk, I’ve decided to have a little fun. Did you like the Salmonella? Have you seen the Enteritidis? The Campylobacter jejuni? Now that was a real beauty, a work of art if I do say so myself. You know, I’m not just about plagues. I like to shake things up a bit. I might just throw something into the water supply, or maybe an airborne disease. Not Yersinia pestis, though. That’s so last century.”
Well, at least we didn’t need to fear Bubonic plague. At least not yet. “So far, outside of that one case of leprosy at Mercy, you seem to favor gastrointestinal problems.”
“That leprosy isn’t mine.” The demon looked actually affronted that I could accuse him of such a thing. “Not my style at all.”
And each one did have a preferred style. This guy liked issues of the gut. Lovely. It helped narrow things down, though. If I could just find out more about him, I might be able to call him into a circle and banish him before half the city was vomiting with explosive diarrhea.
“The Salmonella was pretty impressive, but only twenty people ill enough to go to the hospital? I’d expected a better success ratio than that. Clearly you’re pretty low on the totem pole in hell.”
He snarled. “I would have gotten more if they hadn’t burned half the fondue and not served that batch.”
I snorted, trying to convey disbelief as well as doubt as to this demon’s abilities. “Still… Have you ever gotten more than twenty? Seems like you can only do a few here and there.”
The demon recoiled. “I’ll have you know I was responsible for that C. diff outbreak in Los Angeles three years ago. That took down fifty people and killed six. Then there was the Norovirus five years ago. It was so widespread that Germany declared a public health crisis.”
I shrugged. “I’ll bet Mansi could do better.” He was the only plague demon I knew. Hopefully this guy’s response would help me pinpoint his level.
He looked outraged and opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut with a glare. “I’ve got no more time to waste with you. The only reason I’m here at all is to do Balsur a favor, otherwise half the city would be incapacitated before you figured out what was going on. I’ve got work to do. Catch me if you can, Templar.”