“You think he’s afraid of me?” Curtis couldn’t keep the skepticism from his voice.
Mann raised his glass. “I’ve learned to take life’s pleasures where I can find them. And I take great pleasure in seeing the old bastard twitch any time he mentions your name.” He took a sip. “Oh, and pass on a hello to your friend Anders, if you would.”
“Will do,” Curtis said, working to keep his voice even. He was sure he was blushing up a storm.
In the hallway, Matthew aimed a thumb at the closed door.
“Is it just me, or does that man really dislike my great-grandfather?”
“You think?” Mackenzie said.
Curtis laughed. Truth be told, he’d rather liked seeing this side of the professor. If the sorcerers found small ways to rebel against the likes of Malcolm Stirling, it gave him an odd sense of hope for his own situation.
Then he remembered what they’d learned. If they were truly after an item as powerful as the knife used to flay Marsyas, any of those sorcerers could be the person they were hunting. Did he even know who the sorcerers were around him? No. He didn’t. Hell, he hadn’t known about his own professor until now. Could the knife be how the werewolf was throwing around bindings, too? He had no idea.
His fingers itched for his glasses. He needed to replace them, especially given how the spell itself went so out of control last time. He couldn’t afford a migraine every time he wanted to take a magical glance at the people around him.
They walked to the elevator in silence. After the doors closed and the elevator started to descend, Matthew leaned against the wall. “You know, he is hot. He’s got that whole deep voice thing, and there’s just something about a professor.”
“Anders says he has a thing for rope and handcuffs,” Curtis said.
“Really?” Matthew sounded intrigued.
“I am never going to make it through his class ever again unless you both stop talking,” Mackenzie said.
Sixteen
“Professor Mann says hello,” Curtis said, coming into the living room.
Anders looked up from his position on the couch. The demon was sprawled out in nothing but a pair of boxers, one arm tucked behind his head. It was a good look for him, and Curtis took a moment to enjoy the view. He loved the dark hair spread across the demon’s chest, not to mention the thick thighs that just didn’t quit. Only the faintest trace of the horrible claw marks which had crossed from one side of Anders’s stomach up to his shoulder remained, thin pale lines of new skin.
It said a lot they were still visible, even though they were nearly gone. How close did I really come to losing him?
“Just that? Just hello?” Anders said.
Curtis shook off his musings. “Yes. Just hello. Why?”
“He didn’t tell you to say ‘sir’?”
“This is one of those things I don’t want to know, isn’t it?” Curtis said.
“Huh,” Anders said, grinning. “No ‘sir,’ eh? Someone wants a spanking.”
Curtis held up one hand. “Putting that aside for…ever, can I ask if it ever came up that Mann, my professor, was a sorcerer?”
Anders’s grin vanished. “What?”
Curtis exhaled. He joined Anders on the couch, lifting the demon’s legs to sit. The demon lowered them back across his lap as soon as Curtis was comfortable.
“I take it that’s a no,” Curtis said.
“No. Though I guess it explains his ink. Guy has some seriously high-quality tattoos. All sorts of symbols and shit. Full sleeves, across his chest…You don’t expect that from a professor. Suits him. Never said he was a fucking sorcerer, though.” Anders shifted on the couch, a lazy smile settling into place, and he reached out and squeezed Curtis’s hand. “But most of the time his mouth is full. He likes to play in his office, and a big man like him can make some noise, so I gag him—”
“Stop,” Curtis said. “I’m begging.”
Anders tugged on Curtis’s hand and pulled him bodily toward him. Curtis slid up alongside him, and the demon wrapped him in his arms and rubbed his stubble across Curtis’s neck.
Curtis squirmed. God, he loved it when Anders did that.
“Begging? Yeah, sometimes there’s begging, too,” Anders teased. “But seriously? A fucking sorcerer? Definitely earned a spanking.” He gave Curtis’s ass a quick squeeze. Curtis turned his face sideways on the demon’s chest, exhaling.
“Well, apparently it’s why I ended up in his class. He’s a spy for Stirling.”
“What?” Anders’s tone had no trace of amusement now, and Curtis looked up, alarmed. He could feel heat rising from the demon’s skin, and the veins in the demon’s neck were showing. Crap. Not good.
“It’s not his fault,” Curtis said. “Sorcerers get treated like servants. Less than.” Curtis rubbed Anders’s chest with one hand. “He was ordered to do it. You hear me? Not. His. Fault.”
Anders grunted.
“Not whose fault?”
Curtis felt some relief at the sound of Luc’s voice. He was glad Luc hadn’t gone out for the night yet. If anyone could calm Anders down, Luc could. He slid awkwardly on to his side to look up at Luc, and Anders shifted on the couch, making a little room for him.
“My professor. Turns out my Friday morning poetry class is sponsored by Malcolm Stirling.”
Luc crossed the room and leaned over them both, giving Curtis a quick kiss. He glanced down at the mostly naked demon and raised one eyebrow.
“Which upsets you.”
“Fucking right it does,” Anders said. Luc gave the demon’s hair a rough tousling, and Anders playfully batted away the vampire’s hand.
Curtis blinked in surprise, watching the two men. Huh. That was new.
“It’s no big deal,” Curtis said, coming back to the conversation at hand.
Anders grunted again. Luc stepped away and sat in one of the two chairs. As always, he looked stylish and sleek. The rich blue V-neck was a bit less dressy than his usual attire, but paired with the black pants and shiny leather belt, the effect was still magazine perfect.
“What does Stirling have to do with your class?” Luc said.
“It turns out Professor Mann is a sorcerer, and he’s assigned to the Stirlings. Matthew’s going to run interference, and I don’t think it’s an immediate problem, but…”
“And you know him how?” Luc asked Anders.
Anders shrugged, making Curtis rise and fall. “We fuck.”
“Of course,” Luc said.
“In his office. With a lot of toys. That man has a whole cabinet of fun, I’ll tell you. Top quality stuff, too, none of your usual—”
“Okay,” Curtis said. “Super. Moving on. I have information on the knife, and it’s not good. Especially because of the sorcerer thing.”
“Sorcerers aren’t traditionally considered a threat, are they?” Luc was frowning. “My understanding is they have only a marginal magical talent.”
“Hey,” Anders said, “how come you flicks call really big magics sorceries, but the guys who are sorcerers are basically low-watt bulbs?”
Curtis shrugged. “Because English beats up other languages for words and doesn’t even follow its own rules.” He turned to Luc. “Professor Mann thinks if the knife is what we think it is, anyone with even a bit of magical ability is on the radar as a threat. We’re dealing with a loup-garou. The knife lets you take abilities from those you skin. French wizards used to use knives to skin werewolves, and then use their skin to gain werewolf form. And, hey, bonus points? It might work on demons, too, which means a hellhound, or someone with werewolf and demon abilities. On top of their whatever magic they’ve already got.”
“The wolf the doc was chasing vanished into a shadow,” Anders said. “She said he was just gone.”
“Merde,” Luc said.
“What?” Curtis said.
“Not an illusion,” Luc said.
“Shadow-walking,” Anders said. “Fuck.”
“Time out,” Curtis sai
d. “What doctor?”
“The werewolf druid,” Luc said. “She was the second wolf down by the canal. She said the wolf she was chasing just vanished into a shadow. It makes sense with what you’re saying.”
“It also makes for a huge list of suspects. This blade is old and powerful, and that’s a problem. Anyone with a bit of a magic could be capable of using it. Hell, it might be the actual blade that skinned Marsyas.”
“Who?” Anders said.
Even Luc shook his head.
“Let me start at the beginning, and then you can catch me up on everything your druid friend said,” Curtis said. He glanced at Anders. “And as much as I’m enjoying the view, maybe you should put some clothes on. I think we need to go visit Wheeler again when we’re done.”
Anders sighed.
*
“You three again.”
As welcomes went, it wasn’t quite “Welcome to Wheeler’s Pawn Shop, how may I help you?” but Curtis wasn’t expecting miracles. The rheumy-eyed old man had shuffled in from the back room, barely glanced at them, and turned again, heading into the back of his store.
They followed, taking his less-than-enthusiastic attitude as permission.
He’d settled into his chair again and was closing a drawer on his desk.
“Well?” he said. “What do you want now?”
“Names,” Anders said. “Everyone Faris dealt with on this last run and whatever you know about what he was bringing.”
“I already told you, I can’t—”
“Faris is dead.”
Curtis wasn’t sure if he expected to see shock on the old man’s face at Anders’s announcement, but he wasn’t surprised to find the news didn’t seem to bother Wheeler in the slightest.
The old man’s narrow shoulders rose and fell. “He was messing with demons down in the market. I take it he finally went after the wrong one?”
It was so blithely said, Wheeler might have been discussing having people over for a drink. Assault, retribution, murder. Oh, pass the green beans.
Curtis swallowed his distaste. “We’re not sure,” he said. “That’s why we want to know anything you knew about the items he brought in on his last visit.”
“I already said, I don’t know anything about the stuff.”
“But you arranged the meetings, so you know who he met with,” Luc said. “We want the names.”
“You want me to risk my own neck to help you figure out who killed some demons and a werewolf?” Wheeler snorted. “In what world does that make sense?”
“The world where we’re working for Malcolm Stirling, and you don’t want to piss him off,” Anders said.
For the first time, Wheeler’s mask slipped. He scowled. Wheeler was pissed.
“Not a fan?” Anders said.
“You know, you three had a reputation for being different. Live and let live. Not like the Families. We Orphans are at the beck and goddamn call of the Families. I’m at least as strong as Jonathan Mitchell, but what do I get to do? I get to run this place, and I get to go out in the middle of the goddamn night to draw obfuscation marks in the goddamn snow. That’s what I get to do. Jonathan says ‘jump,’ and I throw myself off a goddamn cliff. Jonathan Mitchell is cold.”
Curtis remembered the symbols around the scene of the crime. They’d been done by Wheeler? They’d been pretty good illusions. Subtle. Rebekah said her family was talented with fire magics. He supposed it made sense they’d adopted Wheeler into their ranks.
“We’re not asking you to jump. We’re trying to stop a murderer,” Curtis said.
“Right. And if the murderer turns out to be someone in the Families? What then? Then you’ll be sweeping it under a rug, maybe even slapping a wrist or two. That’s it. God, you have no fucking idea, do you?” Wheeler shook his head in disgust.
“I’ve got no illusions about the Families. They killed my parents.” Curtis’s voice rose, and he wasn’t sure if he was mad at Wheeler for not wanting to bring in a murderer, or if it was because Wheeler was right, and they were definitely not on the side of the angels here.
“So why help them now?” Wheeler shot back.
“Who’s on the list?” Luc said. His voice was a cool and calming break among the rising tempers. “What did Faris bring?”
Wheeler leaned back in his chair. He was breathing heavily, his slim frame almost shaking with the effort. He looked ready to collapse or burst.
Curtis forced himself to calm down, too. Wizards and tempers. They were a bad mix.
“Books,” Wheeler said. “Three of the packages were books. Wrap ’em up however you want, they’re still books. You can tell.”
“Okay,” Luc said.
“Two other things, though. Lighter, smaller.” He held up a hand when Anders opened his mouth. “No. I don’t know what they were.”
“Who picked up those?” Luc said.
“Malcolm Stirling’s driver got one of them. Ben. Arrogant, that one. You know him?”
“We’ve met,” Curtis said. He tried not to make eye contact with Anders. Ben and Curtis had gone on exactly one date. It hadn’t ended well.
“Almost killed him once,” Anders said.
Yeah, not well at all.
Wheeler rubbed his chin. “Right. Well, I’m guessing he was just being an errand boy for Malcolm, so you could always ask Malcolm what Faris brought to the city for him, right? Since you’re all so friendly now?”
Curtis clenched his jaw.
“And the last name?” Luc said.
Wheeler regarded them for a long moment. “Graham Mitchell.”
Curtis shook his head. Luc and Anders must have given Wheeler a similar sign, because he blew out a disgusted breath.
“Jonathan’s son-in-law.”
Curtis started. Rebekah’s grandfather. Oh crap.
“His son-in-law?” Luc repeated.
“Right, the goddamn chosen one. Most Orphans aren’t stupid enough to try marrying into the damn lineage, but Graham pulled it off, so I guess I’m the idiot for not considering the option, right? And hey, maybe she actually liked him, who knows. Me? I think he’s a self-serving manipulative piece of garbage who saw an opportunity and took it. That girl begged her father to let her marry Graham, and when he let it happen, she never stepped a toe out of line again until the day she died. Jonathan got what he wanted out of his daughter, so he probably figured it was a good trade, right? But Jonathan wasn’t laughing when he ended up with a half-breed inheritor, was he?”
“What?” Anders said.
“I’ll explain later,” Curtis said. He was talking about Rebekah’s mother. Half-breed. Wheeler was a racist piece of crap, apparently. He frowned. “The thing Faris brought for Graham Mitchell. How big was it?”
“Package was this big.” Wheeler held his hands about a foot apart.
“It’s the right size,” Curtis said, glancing at Luc.
“Right size for what?” Wheeler said.
“Never mind,” Anders said.
Wheeler narrowed his lips. “You have no idea, do you?” He shook his head. “These people do whatever they have to do to stay powerful. That’s the only way to make it in the Families. Hell, Graham’s daughter set up a goddamn affair with a demon so she wouldn’t lose the power she had, and then she tossed aside all the people who helped her arrange it.”
“What?” Curtis said.
Wheeler laughed. “Oh, you’re an idiot. You have no goddamn idea. None. You know what’s going to happen when Jonathan finally drops dead? We’ll have Graham in charge of the second most powerful Family in the city. And if you ask me, between him and his daughter, it won’t be long before they’re the most powerful. And all the people who could stand up to them can’t do a goddamn thing, because we’re not the next in line.”
“You think you’d be a better leader, eh, Wheeler?” Anders said. “Paragon of virtue like you? You think that’s likely?”
Wheeler glared at him. “Get out.”
Anders held up his hands
. “Now who doesn’t know the Families?”
Wheeler rose, and it was with a speed that surprised Curtis. He jumped back.
“Get out of my goddamn store!” Wheeler raised one trembling hand. “Or so help me I will toss you through a wall.”
“We done here?” Anders said, turning to Curtis and Luc.
Curtis strained to think of anything else they might learn from Wheeler. Not that he was in a co-operative mood.
“Yeah,” he said.
They left, Wheeler right behind them every step them to the front door of the grungy false front of the pawn shop. The bolt locked very loudly behind them in the winter night.
It was snowing again. They started walking to the car.
“The Mitchells keep coming up,” Luc said.
“I noticed,” Curtis said. “And it’s not just that.” He pulled out his gloves and tugged them on.
“What is it, lapin?”
“Anders, you said the werewolf made itself look like Flint, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Illusion. Illusions are fire magics. And the Mitchells are known for their talent with fire magics. That’s how Graham Mitchell got adopted into their family in the first place.”
Luc exhaled. Curtis knew Luc didn’t have to breathe, but the habit of expressing frustration with a sigh apparently didn’t fade even after you stopped breathing. “And David intimated the Mitchells were interfering with him, too. They also provided the list of werewolves, which was missing Faris.”
“Even Kavan’s pack,” Anders said. “I mean, he’s a Mitchell, sort of. The only demons attacked were from his pack.”
Luc nodded. “Do we tell Stirling? I’m quite sure he’d want us to, despite our lack of anything more than Wheeler’s word and a string of events which seem to involve the Mitchell family.”
Curtis blew out of a breath of his own. “Wheeler did have a point. About Stirling being the devil.”
“A devil who currently believes we are his allies,” Luc said.
“Right.”
They’d reached the car. By the time they’d gotten in and belted up, Curtis had made up his mind.
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