by S. L. Wright
“For you, anything.” His sad smile blunted the cliché. “Though I don’t know why you’re protecting Savor, of all people.”
“I don’t know, either. But it feels wrong for someone to spread information that I let them overhear. I don’t trust Savor, but I don’t wish her harm.”
“Who else is on your list—” Ram started to ask.
The door flung open with a bang, interrupting him. Lolita stood in the doorway, with a huge silly grin. “I’m baaack, bitches!”
Her ringing laugh took all the sting out of her words. It was Lolita! My bestest friend, my rock, my shield against the world.
I laughed just to see her, and ran over to give her a big hug. I didn’t mind it when she squeezed me extra hard. “You look great, Allay. A few days off suits you.”
Regulars were calling out greetings, with some of her favorites coming over to say hi. She flirted and gave little put-downs for the guys who liked that, swaggering her way slowly to the bar. She was quite tall and imposing, with a coy sexuality that oozed out of her, all curves and special smiles for everyone.
When she saw Ram, she stopped in her tracks. “I remember you! Aren’t you our hero?”
It caught me off guard—how could she recognize him when he looked so different? But Ram grinned right back. “You got it.”
She gave me a special look of pride, like I had won a prize. “Good for you.”
Now I was completely confused.
Lolita confided, “You know, I didn’t like you at first. I even told Allay, here, to bounce you right back outside. But she wouldn’t listen to me. I guess I’m not right all the time.”
Ram looked surprised while Lo let out a loud laugh at her own expense. I didn’t—I wanted to tell her that she had been absolutely right about Ram. I should have kicked him out when she warned me, because then he wouldn’t have had the chance to try to kill Shock.
And none of this would have happened.
“I guess I’m lucky she’s the boss instead of the other way around,” Ram told Lolita.
“She usually does what I say.” Lo looked up at the television. “Happy hour’s over, so that goes off! We need to get some music going, liven things up.”
Somehow it sounded different when Lolita said it instead of Bliss. Lolita never judged me.
I let Lo sort everything out. She plugged in her iPod and was pouring drinks before I knew it. Together we caught up on the restocking and washing, getting ready for the night rush. The mood in the bar picked right up, along with my own.
When we had a moment, Lolita chastised me. “Why didn’t you tell me you were opening up, Allay? I had to hear it from a friend who lives nearby. He says the Den was open day before yesterday, too. What happened? I thought the owners were shutting us down.”
I patted her arm. “I wanted to be sure it wasn’t temporary. There are still things to sort out, but it looks like the bar is mine.”
“Yours? You own it? Allay, that’s fabulous! Mazel tov!” Lolita exclaimed in true New York fashion. “We have to celebrate—”
“No, not right now,” I urged, keeping my voice down. “Things are too weird with the emergency and what with that circus over in Brooklyn. The Fellowship was involved in the ownership of the bar, so I don’t want to make a big deal about it.”
She nodded, understanding instantly. So when one of the customers asked if I really owned the bar, she told him to mind his own business. “You just relax,” she ordered me. “I can handle this crowd myself.”
“Are you sure, Lo?”
Lolita gave a quick glance at Ram. “You have much better things to do.” Making sure he couldn’t hear, she added, “He’s more handsome than I remember.”
“I’m not taking him upstairs for a little nooky.” That reminded me of Bliss. I would have to explain her, but I hated to lie to Lo. “An old friend from California came to help me out. You can’t miss her—she’s a bombshell.”
“Where is she?” Lolita looked around with interest.
“Upstairs, with a guy she just met. They should be down soon.”
“A friend . . . that’s really good, Allay. You should have more old friends come stay with you.”
“Wait until you meet her before you say that.” At this point I wasn’t even sure I knew Bliss, much less could call her a friend. I finally understood what everyone had been trying to tell me: newbies need time to settle into themselves and shake off the vestiges of their progenitor. But the only thing that mattered was how trustworthy Bliss was—I didn’t care how many orgies she threw or which demons she hung out with. As long as she didn’t hurt people, I would support her.
“I can’t wait,” Lo assured me. Then she winked at Ram. “There’s a pretty moon you should be able to see from the courtyard.”
“Lo!” She was so obvious, it was embarrassing.
“I’d love to see the moon,” Ram said seriously.
“Of course you’d say that.” I made a face at Lolita. I didn’t need anyone encouraging me to have a relationship with Ram. Why wasn’t she warning me off him like she did the first time, like everyone else did?
Maybe because her instincts are right, and Ram no longer means me any harm.
It was tempting to believe it. I went outside with Ram, letting the door lock behind me, so we were alone in the courtyard. The bar wasn’t licensed to allow customers in the back, so it was just a bare concrete pad. I’d put a bench along the back fence, and Ram headed over to sit down.
I looked up at the second-floor windows of my back room, blazing with light. No shadows moved to indicate Crave and Bliss were inside. The overarching branches of the acacia tree blocked the moon from sight, but the glow lit up the sky. The city vibrated around us, filled with sirens, engines, and the thumping music from the bar, a perpetual mechanical racket. But in this little pocket of darkness, a dog barked a few houses down and then was quiet, emphasizing the calm of the interior of the block.
I wanted to say something ironic, like “How romantic.” But it was romantic, too much so for me to point it out.
Ram took my hand lightly in his as we sat down. He could feel my hesitation, despite the fact that I could hardly stop staring at him. I knew it was all fake, that he didn’t really look this way, but I was so attracted to him that my brain couldn’t convince my body of that. It wasn’t just his face and well-muscled body—it was the way he moved, how he looked at me, the timbre of his voice.
I wanted him to drop his shields so I could really feel his signature, that driving aggression that he rode so effortlessly. But that would sweep me off my feet and shut off my mind for good. And I wasn’t sure I wanted that mindless oblivion. I wasn’t sure I could risk opening up to him when I had to guard my secret about Cherie.
He leaned in to kiss me, his warm lips luring me in. I told myself it was only one kiss, only one long clench under the acacia tree. I wouldn’t let myself go this time, I would show a little bit of restraint until I could get him into a proper bed. We had never made love on a bed, not once.
As our kiss went on and on, I wanted to go upstairs and kick Bliss and Crave out of my apartment so we could give the old-fashioned way a whirl.
“I love how you catch fire in my arms,” Ram murmured.
“Yes, in spite of myself.” I ducked away, feeling self-conscious. “You’re like heroin. Not that I’ve ever tried heroin. You know what I mean.”
He had me completely ruffled. I wanted to go back to kissing him, but I felt like I was floundering on shifting ground. Why did he always have the upper hand?
Putting both my hands to his shoulders, I looked him firmly in the eye. “I need to know something, Ram.”
He settled back, unperturbed. “You’ve been dying to ask me, so go ahead.”
“Did you really kill Hope because she betrayed you to Bedlam?”
His brow lifted slightly. “That’s what you want to know? Ancient history?”
“Excuse me, but I think it’s important to know why you killed you
r wife. Especially before I get more intimate with you, if you know what I mean.”
He looked blacker than I had ever seen him. He could hardly speak. “I could never hurt you, Allay.”
“Why, Ram? I want to understand. You said you did something that made her angry, and that I would sympathize with her. You can’t tell me there’s a mystery and then refuse to speak to me about it. What happened between you two?”
“I’m sure Mystify told you everything.”
“I haven’t asked Mystify. I want you to tell me.” I didn’t add that Revel was out of the country right now tracking down information on Hope.
“You’ve been spending a lot of time with Mystify. Did he touch you? Did he take your hand and kiss it?” Ram lifted my hand, his lips brushing the back of my fingers just as Mystify had kissed me.
I snatched my hand back so quickly that he knew he was right.
“You were with him since last night, weren’t you?” he pressed. “He helped you, didn’t he?”
“What are you talking about?” I had to keep our secret.
Ram saw the truth. “He helped you deal with Cherie. You did something, didn’t you? If it was anyone else, I’d say you killed her. But knowing you, I’d say you’ve stolen her away and have her stashed somewhere. You do know how dangerous that is, Allay? When Dread finds out, he’ll kill you. Unless I can get to him first.”
I gaped at him. How did he know? Was it written on my forehead?
I might as well have spoken, because he said, “You weren’t with Shock, Bliss, Crave, Glory, Savor, or me last night. Revel’s out of town. The last time you disappeared, it was with Mystify, so that’s who you were with this time.”
Valiantly trying to recover, I insisted, “I went up to see Cherie at the hospital last night. Shock left for work, and Bliss and Crave went out to party. I was there when she was shot. Zeal did it.”
“You and that misbegotten offspring of mine did something to Cherie. Let me help you, Allay. I can make sure that Dread won’t find her. That way she won’t tell any tales.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stood up. “If you can’t handle my friendship with Mystify, just say so. Don’t make up wild stories about us.”
Ram stopped me. “I know it’s true, Allay. Because you didn’t ask me if I did something to Cherie. That’s bound to be everyone’s assumption when it’s clear she’s disappeared.”
I turned away so he wouldn’t see my face. I’m such a bad liar! I never should have let him hang around and spy on me. I should have known he’d put it all together. Then he brought me out here and got me all softened up with his kisses so he could get an honest reaction out of me.
Mystify was going to be so mad.
I needed a few minutes to wrap my mind around this. “I have to go see if Lolita needs anything.”
I made my way blindly back into the bar. He had peeled me like an onion. I never stood a chance. No wonder he could manipulate me so easily. Mystify was right—I was putty in Ram’s hands. I had been trying to pin him down about Hope, and he had turned the tables on me but good.
Deny, deny, deny was my mantra as I marched through the bar. I didn’t look to see if he was following. I figured on keeping busy and far away from him.
But as I neared the front of the bar, ready to slip behind the counter, a guy came in with his hood pulled up. It was warm out tonight, so that was odd, and even more so was the fact that the cord was tied tight over the top of his nose, hiding the lower half of his face.
His eyes met mine, fiercely bloodshot and filled with hatred. Then he pulled a gun out from his waistband and pointed it at me. It was sleek and black and looked heavy in his hand.
“It’s your own fault!” the guy shouted. “You made me do it, Allay.”
17
“Phil?” I blurted out. “Have you gone crazy?”
It was Phil Anchor, my first client as a bagman, one-time Pulitzer Prize contender, and lifelong coke addict. I had flirted with him, argued with him, kicked him out of my bar, and welcomed him in again. I’d recognize him anywhere, even with half his face covered.
His expression grew panicked as he realized I knew who he was. At that moment everything slowed down, as my brain caught up. Phil Anchor was pointing a gun at me. Phil Anchor was tightening his finger, intending to shoot me.
Like he had shot through the windows of my bar, killing me and nearly killing Pepe.
In one big rush, it all made sense. I’d been shot after I’d told Phil that I could reveal his petty dealings with the prophet. It hadn’t been Mackleby and it hadn’t been Vex. It hadn’t been Revel, either.
It had been Phil Anchor.
I could see it in his eyes, the desperation, the paranoia, the greed that drove him to do whatever he had to in order to feed the beast. This man could fire six rounds through my plate-glass windows.
I held up my hands in a futile attempt to stop him. “Phil, stop—”
His finger flexed, and I heard the explosion as the gun fired. Behind him were the shocked faces of my patrons, some already lunging to get out of the bar. In the ringing echo, their screams seemed very far away.
I was jolted backward. I saw nothing but exploding light; then everything went black, abruptly, finally.
“. . . but I just hung up the phone,” someone was saying. “How did you get here so fast?”
“The lieutenant told us to keep an eye on the place. What happened?”
I listened to a jumble of voices trying to sort them out. Lolita was telling them Phil shot me, and she was crying, huge sobs. I wanted to reassure her, but my sight was only mistily coming back and I couldn’t move my lips.
I was looking up at the ceiling of my bar. I’d been doing a lot of that lately, and in my gradual return to life I decided I was going to paint it some cheery color like blue or red. Peeling blackness with exposed ductwork wasn’t my idea of inspiring.
Coming back to life was no easier the second time around. In fact, this time was much worse because I seemed to be aware and present before I could fully speak. Pain radiated from my nose and cheekbones, my sinuses were pounding, and my eyes felt like they were about to burst from the pressure.
“Oh, my God!” someone screamed.
I could vaguely see backward movement, away from me. Oh, shit. I was regenerating in front of my patrons. And the police, for good measure.
And Lolita. She dropped down to her knees next to me. “Allay!” The dawning hope in her voice made my throat close. I realized then that I wasn’t breathing. Not yet. But I could see her leaning over me, begging for me to be all right.
The cops were standing at my feet, their hands on their guns, their eyes fastened on my face. Patrons fled, leaving overturned chairs and tables, but a good dozen people were ringed around me where I lay.
I reached up and touched my cheeks, feeling solid for the first time. “I think I’m okay.”
“Your face was blown off!” a cop exclaimed.
Lolita took my hand, squeezing it. She couldn’t speak for her tears, but she was laughing and crying at the same time.
Ram was kneeling on my other side. He took my other hand, letting me feel his comforting reassurance. He was the only one in the room who wasn’t panicked.
That helped.
“What kind of stupid stunt is this?” another cop demanded.
I put my hands to the sticky floor, and lifted them to find it was my own coagulating blood lying in a vast pool around me.
Lolita was kneeling in it, her knees stained red. But she ignored it, helping me sit up. “Are you really okay, Allay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“It’s like the miracle in Brooklyn,” one of my patrons said. “Cherie’s head came back that same way, transparentlike until it was solid again.”
I pressed my fingers against my cheeks. They were still sore with residual pain, my heart beating fast from the adrenaline rush. I wanted to throw up, but I did everything I could to control myself
. Too many eyes were watching me in lurid fascination.
The female cop was leaning over me; I recognized the powerful fireplug of a woman. She had responded to Ram’s 911 call when Dread came over to con me. “Explain this,” Suarez demanded, holding up an exploded bullet, the metal peeled back like a banana. It was coated in blood. It must have fallen out the back of my head as I healed. “A round like this doesn’t punch a neat hole. It blows your face apart, like your face was blown apart when I got here.”
“It was,” Lolita agreed. “Allay, what happened to you?”
Sirens were wailing in the distance, probably converging on the Den. Clearly the cops weren’t doubting their own eyes. Maybe Cherie’s resurrection had done that much to make people accept that such a thing could happen—people could rise from the dead.
But I didn’t want everyone thinking this had anything to do with religion, especially not the Fellowship of Truth.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I said to Lolita. “I’m a demon. I’m immortal. I live off human emotions, but I don’t hurt people, I promise.”
I wasn’t actually sure I’d said it in the ringing silence that followed. But Ram’s expression and the shock wave of absolute surprise that tingled through his fingers were convincing enough. I’d managed to amaze a man who had seen everything in two and a half thousand years.
“That’s ...” Lolita lowered her voice slightly. “Allay, come on . . . a demon?”
“I was born human, like you. But I was possessed by a demon right before I graduated. See, this is what I looked like then.” I transformed my face and body back to the fresh and innocent flesh of youth.
Gasps went up, even from the female cop. She looked left and right, as if searching for projectors. Or maybe for a camera crew to jump out and shout that they’d been punked.
I reverted to my usual facade. “Sorry about that. I’m just trying to prove a point. I am who I am, and I hate lying about it.”
More cops spilled into the bar on high alert. Lolita helped me stand up and move out of the slippery puddle of my blood. I let go of Ram and lost sight of him in the surrounding blue shirts, puffed out with bulletproof vests.