I was halfway to the door before Japhrimel fell into step beside me. He said nothing.
"Danny, what's wrong?" Gabe called. "Danny!"
I found the grand wide staircase and started to climb, the premonition beating under my skin. Premonition—and shock. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.
But he betrayed me once, didn't he? Left without a word—what do you want to bet he was called down here by the Corvins and that's why he left? Abra warned me … she knew. And now he's so willing to help… so very hospitable, stay in my house, it's safer there, he said he bought himself free of the Corvins but I know the Mob, you never get free. Even if he bought something from them, they can squeeze him until he hands over an ex-girlfriend, can't they?
My brain shied away from the cold, logical conclusion. I didn't want to believe it.
The demon stepped behind me, soundless, his musky aura closing me in, a shielding I ignored because I didn't have time or concentration to spare to shake it aside. He only touched me once, a subtle push on my blood-crusted shoulder when I almost got lost in the hallways. When we reached the blue room, I shoved the door open and bolted inside, trembling. Stopped.
The room, instead of blue, was now white. Heavy fragrance drenched the air.
Flowers. White flowers. Lotuses, roses, lilies, scattered over the room as if a snowstorm had dropped its blossoms. Gooseflesh raced up my arm, spilled down my back; my teeth chattered and my nipples drew up hard as pebbles. The flowers lay on every flat surface, even the floor, the smell was stifling, heady, and cloying. They piled on the bed, fluttered near the window, and I could see the bathroom was full of them, too.
Santino had sent blue flowers to Doreen. Great sprays and cascades of flowers in every shade of blue. I still couldn't look at irises or blue roses or cornflowers without shuddering.
"Dante?" Japhrimel definitely sounded alarmed now. He closed the door, then stepped aside, his long coat brushing his legs with a soft sound. "My shields are intact; only the house servants could have—"
"They were probably delivered and brought up by the staff." I sounded like I'd been punched in the stomach. "Look, I need to change. And pack my bag." I flattened my free hand against the door to brace myself. "Can you get me out of here without Jace's shields reacting?"
"Of course," he said, lifting one shoulder and dropping it. All things should be so easy, that shrug said. "What is this?" he asked. "Did your former lover perhaps—"
"Santino sent all his victims flowers," I said numbly.
The demon stilled, his eyes turning incandescent.
"He knows," I continued. "He knows I'm here, and looking for him. And I'm a Necromance. He's picked me as his next victim."
"Dante—"
"That means I won't have to worry about finding him," I said. "He'll find me." I laughed, but the sound was gaspy, panicky. The world roared underneath me, spinning carelessly away, almost like a slicboard but my feet supping, slipping—
"Dante." He had me by the shoulders. "Stop. Breathe. Just breathe." His fingers bit in, and he shook me slightly. My teeth clicked together. I tasted apples, and the sour smell of my own fear.
A whooping breath tore between my lips. My left shoulder gave a livid crunching flare of pain, shocking me back into myself. I found myself shaking, my hands trembling, the demon's chin resting atop my head, his smell enfolding me. His arms closed around me, the feverish heat of Hell flooding my entire body. I was sneakingly grateful for it—I was cold, so cold my jaw clenched, my teeth chattered, and goosebumps rose everywhere. He had my sword—had I dropped it or had he just taken it from my numb fingers? That was three times he'd taken my blade. Was I really getting sloppy? When I was younger, I never would have dropped my blade.
"Breathe," he murmured into my hair. "Simply breathe. I am with you, Dante. Breathe."
I rested my forehead against the oddly soft material of his coat, filled my lungs with the musk smell of demon. Alien. It steadied me. The lunatic urge to sob retreated.
"Calm," the demon said. "Steady, Dante. Breathe."
"I'm okay," I managed. "We have to get out of here."
"Very well." But he didn't move, and neither did I.
"We have to find a place to stay," I said, "and I have to… I have to…"
"Leave it to me," he answered quietly.
"I've got to pack." I sounded steadier now. "Anubis et'her ka. Se ta'uk'fhet sa te vapu kuraph." The familiar invocation bolstered me.
He didn't move until I did. I rocked back on my heels and he let me go, his arms sliding free. His face was blank, set, his eyes burning holes. The mark on my shoulder throbbed insistently. He held my sword up, silently, and I took it from his hand. "Thanks." I was shaky, but myself again.
Japhrimel nodded, watching me. I wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he examined my face as if the Nine Canons were written there. Heat, a purely human heat, rose to my cheeks. "It is my honor," he said quietly. "I swear to you on the waters of Lethe, Dante Valentine, I will allow no harm to come to you."
"Santino—" I began.
A swift snarl crossed his face. I flinched.
"We will find a way to kill him, you and I. Pack your bag, Dante. If you are determined to leave this place, let us go quickly." He sounded utterly calm, the kind of calm that could draw a razor through flesh with only a slight smile.
"Sounds like a good idea," I managed. The flowers stirred. More thunder rumbled above the city, and a slight cool breeze stole in through the open window, ruffling petals, swirling the cloying stench of dying blooms against my face. I swayed in place. Japhrimel reached out, his golden fingers resting against my cheek for a moment. The touch made my entire body glow with heat. "Japhrimel—"
"Dante," he replied, his glowing eyes holding mine. "Hurry."
I did.
CHAPTER 30
The bodega was deep in the stinking well of Nuevo Rio, a small storefront marked with the universal symbols of Power: signs from the Nine Canons spray-painted on the front step, a display window showing small mummified crocodiles nestled among grisgris bags and bottles of different holy waters, lit novenas crowding on the step, each keyed to a shimmer of Power. The smell of incense from the fuming sticks placed near the door threatened to give me a headache, along with the breathless sense of storm approaching that hung over the city. I adjusted the strap over my shoulder, then rubbed at my dry, aching eyes. Japhrimel leaned on the counter, bargaining with the babalawao in fluent Portogueso. The woman had liquid dark eyes and a Shaman's thorn-spiked cruciform tattoo on her cheek; the cross shape and thorns told me she was an Eclectic Shaman—rare here in Rio for a native to be an Eclectic. She eyed me with a great deal of interest, stroking her staff at the same time. The staff thrummed with Power, as did her tiny bodega, and I counted myself lucky that I didn't have to fight her. She was tall, and moved with a quick ferret grace that warned me she was very dangerous indeed.
I was faintly surprised to find Japhrimel knew Portogueso, but I suppose I shouldn't have been. Demons like languages as much as they like technology, and have fiddled with both for a long time.
He finally looked back over his shoulder at me. "Carmen says we're welcome to stay up over the shop," he said. "Come. You need rest."
I shrugged. "How likely is it that we'll be tracked here?"
He showed his teeth. "Not likely at all," he replied, and I didn't press him for details. He probably wouldn't give them anyway. "She is of the Hellesvront—our agents," he continued, immediately proving me wrong.
"You have agents? Hell has human agents?"
"Of course. Human and others."
Then why didn't they track down Santino? I decided not to ask. The bodega felt like Abra's store—dusty, old, the same smell of chilis and beef. Yet the babalawao wasn't like Abra—she was powerful, true, but human. Only human. She swept her hair back over her shoulder and regarded me coolly, her eyes moving over my disheveled hair, dusty sweat-stained clothes, and white-knuckled grip on my katana. She asked one
question, and Japhrimel shook his head. His inky hair lay still against his skull. He didn't seem to sweat even in this malicious wet heat.
Hell was hotter, anyway.
The woman led us to the back of her store, sweeping aside a curtain woven into bright geometries that writhed with Power. A narrow staircase threaded up into darkness.
Japhrimel touched the woman's forehead. She nodded, her brown skin moving under his hand, and grinned at me, her teeth flashing sharp and white. "Gracias, filho," he said quietly.
"De nada," she said, and returned to perch on her barstool behind the glassed-in counter. Glass jars of herbs twinkled behind her, and a rack of novena candles threw back the gleam.
I climbed the creaking stairs, the demon's soundless step behind me. We reached a low, indifferently lit hall, and a single door. I opened it, and found myself looking at a small, plain bedroom. An iron mission-style bed with white sheets and a dun comforter, a single chair by the empty fireplace, a full-length mirror next to a flimsy door leading to the Nuevo Rio version of a bathroom. I heaved a sigh. "I like this much better," I said shakily.
"No doubt." Japhrimel crowded past me into the room. It suddenly seemed far too small to contain him. The window looked out onto the street. I shut the door while he made one circuit of the walls, Power blending seamlessly to hide us. I dropped my bag on the bed, wishing I'd had room for more than one change of clothes. It won't be the first hunt I've finished dirty, I thought, and flipped open the messenger bag's top flap. I had to dig a bit to retrieve my datpilot. "What's that?"
"I need contacts," I said, waiting while the plug-in and the H-DOC established a linkup with the hand-held device. "Since we can't use Jace's, I'm going to have to look for anyone who has dual warrants in Saint City and in Nuevo Rio. That should give me a place to start. If nobody I know is in town we'll have to buy information, and that could get expensive."
"What information are we pursuing, then?" he asked, finishing his circuit of the room and making a brief gesture in front of the door. The whole building groaned a little, subliminally, and I felt a flutter in my stomach as the Power crested, ebbed. The room was now shielded—and if what I Saw was any indication, also invisible to prying eyes.
I took a deep breath. The medicinal effects of the brandy I'd taken down were beginning to wear off. My knees felt suspiciously weak. "I need to know two things: first of all, if Santino's running the Corvin Family from behind. And second—" I tapped into the datpilot, setting the parameters for the search, "I need to know what Jace has been doing these past three years."
CHAPTER 31
The next day was hot and breathless, thunder rumbling off and on, the light taking on a weird gray-green cast. I spent most of the day trying to sleep, sprawled on the small bed. Japhrimel dragged his chair up to the side of the bed and watched me, his green eyes veiled. I didn't speak much. I slept thinly, tossing and turning, waking with my katana still clenched in my hands and the same muggy heat lying over the city.
And Japhrimel's green eyes resting on me, oddly dark. Glazed.
My mind kept worrying like a dog with a single bone, over and over again.
Jace. The Corvin Family. Jace. Santino.
Jace.
The afternoon was wending toward evening when I finally sat up on the bed, tired of retreading the same mental ground. "Do you think he's betrayed me?" I asked, without even knowing I was going to open my mouth.
"I don't know," the demon answered, after a long, still pause. He rose to his feet like a dark wave. Demon-smell washed over me. He'd kept the window open, but the air was so close and still that the fragrance clung to the room. "You need food."
"I'll be fine. There's hunting to do." I stretched, my back cracking as I arched, then I swung my legs off the bed, came to my feet, and picked up my bag from the floor. A few moments divested it of everything I wouldn't need tonight—I piled extra clothes, the spare plasgun, and some other odds and ends on the bed. Japhrimel watched expressionlessly as I clumped over to the bathroom door, and was still watching when I came out. I buckled on my holster, checked the plasgun, and slid it in. Shrugged into my coat, immediately starting to sweat again. I finally gave my hair a short, vicious combing and braided it back.
"Do you think he's betrayed you?" he finally asked me when I checked the action on my main knives.
"It's looking pretty fucking possible," I said. "If what Abra told me is any indication, he ran with the Corvin Family even before he came to Saint City. You don't ever escape the Mob. And if Santino's running the Corvins from behind, they might be running Jace—or he was using me to pressure them for something. Or maybe just holding me until the Corvins reached a point in negotiations with Santino…" I trailed off. "It's very possible." I slipped my turquoise necklace on over my head, settled the pendant between my breasts. Japhrimel didn't reply. I finally settled my bag strap across my body. "What do you think?" I asked him.
His jaw set. "Do you truly wish to know?"
I nodded. "I do."
He shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back. "My opinion? He wants you far too badly to give you up to this Family," he said. "All the same, it would be foolish to trust him."
"If he wants me so much, why did he leave me?" I flared, then closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
"It seems we must discover this," he answered. "Do you care for him, then?"
"I used to," I said, opening my eyes and looking down at my free hand, clenched in a fist. "I'm not so sure now."
"Then do not decide yet," was his equable reply. But his face was full of something dark. I didn't want to know.
It was my turn to shrug. "You have agents in the city, you said."
He nodded. "They are already searching for information. Quietly, so as not to alert our quarry."
"That's good." My conscience pricked me. But that was ridiculous. He was a demon. He wasn't human. He wasn't even close to human. "Hey… you know, I…" Was I blushing? I was. Why?
I don't have time for this.
I approached him cautiously, laid my hand on his shoulder. His smell closed around me, vaguely comforting. "Thank you," I said, tilting my head back to look up into his face. "Really. I really… well, thank you."
One corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. It was by far the most human expression I had ever seen on him. "No thanks necessary," he said quietly. "It is my honor."
"Do you really think I can kill Santino?" I asked.
His face changed. "We have no choice, either way. I will do all I can to protect you, Dante."
"Good enough." I dropped my hand. "Let's go find our first contact."
CHAPTER 32
The police net plug-in gave me a current map of the city and tag-locations of landmarks loaded from my dat-band to my datpilot; the DOC told me who was in town. It wasn't too hard to find a familiar face. Whatever city Captain Jack was infesting, he always hung out near the prostitutes.
We visited five bordellos before we hit paydirt. I scanned a two-story building and brushed against weak, familiar shielding. After running into Captain Jack on four bounties, one of which had almost cost me my life when he turned traitor and sold me to the criminal I was hunting, I could tell his shielding even through a building reeking of sex and desperation. It was an unpleasant skill. "Come with me," I told the demon, pushing through the crowd. "Look dangerous. Don't kill anyone unless I do, okay?"
"As you like." He shadowed me as I crossed the street. We ended up on the doorstep, two Nuevo Rio prostitutes eyeing us. They made no move to stop me as I strode past them. The heavies guarding the door—two rippling masses of black-market augmentation—examined me, looked at the demon, and stepped back.
It was kind of useful, having Japhrimel around.
Inside, the place was done in threadbare red velvet, waves of perfume and hash smoke, naked women pressed against lace, offering their breasts and other things. One bronzed Nuevo Rio man, reclining on an overdone mahogany and black satin couch with a guitar in his supple
hands, plucked out a mellow tune—an accompaniment to the girls' blandishments. Two customers, neither of them Jack, stared at me with wide eyes. Seeing a fully clothed woman carrying a sword in a Nuevo Rio bordello must be a huge shock.
I scanned the room—no, the Captain was up on the second floor. It figured.
The madam came fluttering out in a pink synthsilk robe, a tall and heavily lipsticked woman, her thinning hair padded out with horsehair. She carried about fifty extra pounds, and I felt the skin on my nape prickle. The three whip scars on my back gave one remembrance of a twinge, then subsided as I took a deep breath.
At least being a Necromance had saved me from being a sex worker.
She fired a chattering stream of Portogueso at us, and Japhrimel answered her with a few curt words. She paled, and he held out two folded notes—Nuevo Rio paper. Currency for those without datbands.
She snatched the notes from his hand and leered at me. I turned my cheek so my emerald sparked at her, and she almost fell over backward in her haste to get away. If the Nuevo Rios were easier with Shamans and demons and loa, they were even more frightened of Necromances. They had old legends here of the spirits that walked in Death and the humans that could talk to them—while Shamans were mostly acceptable, a Necromance definitely was not.
I took the stairs two at a time, following the pattern of instinct, intuition, and Power. A long hall, some open doors with women standing in them, their usual catcalls dying on their lips as I came into sight; other doors were closed, the reek of sex and hash in the air thick enough to cut. I tapped in, shaping the Power deftly, and by the time I smacked the door open and came face-to-face with a half-naked and disgruntled Captain Jack I was all but humming with invisible force. Any more and I'd go nova. It alerted him to my presence, of course, but by then it was too late for him.
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