She shrugged maddeningly. “Just to be clear, this isn’t God talking. This is you talking to yourself. But yes, you believe this to be the case, and also that God would understand such positions.”
I frowned. That didn’t mean I was right about it. “Basically, you’re here to help me see that I can be a good person no matter where I am Sunday mornings…” She nodded back happily. “But I could still be wrong with that assumption.”
She shrugged. “It wouldn’t require much to get to Heaven if the path had road signs, would it?” I scowled at that. “You’ll like this one even less, then. The path to Heaven is not an escalator.”
This time I actually growled back at her. “So helpful. It’s remarkable, really.”
“Long story short,” she said, sighing, “is that you do not need to fear the future. Deep down, you believe that God listens to those who do good by others. Especially at great cost to themselves. Stay true to yourself, and know that whatever you learn in the future, you are not required to make a life change. Your parents are not judging you. You are judging you. That’s what really matters, isn’t it?”
I nodded slowly.
“Right. Well, you have some things to do tonight. Put your big girl pants on to match those fetching kinky boots.” I grinned from ear-to-ear. “You were right. Need is the key to the Silvers. You just needed to heed this public service announcement first. In the future, if you want to gossip about boys or something, simply say your name into a Gateway…” She winked at me. “Good luck, and… Godspeed.”
The reflection vanished, and I was staring at a Gateway leading to Dorian Gray’s second balcony, where I had spent time talking with him and Beckett. I smiled to myself as I let it go. It was taxing, using muscles that had never been exercised. Not difficult, but definitely more draining than a typical Gateway. I wondered how much juice I had in the batteries, and not wanting to waste it, I decided I would only use it in case of emergencies. I knew with the wards around Dorian Gray’s house that I would have to use it there, but it wasn’t time for that yet.
I glanced down at my phone impatiently, and was surprised to find a text from ten minutes ago. I thought about it for a moment, realizing I knew the area well enough to wing it. I climbed to my feet, glanced around the room, and then used my magic to make a Gateway to a nearby alley where Beckett had asked me to meet him.
“Game on,” I muttered, stepping through.
Chapter 40
I sat in the shadows of the upper balcony overlooking the living-slash-orgy room below. The couches, furniture, and woodwork glistened in the dim lighting below, and everything smelled of cleaning solution and fresh cut flowers. I would have just lit the room on fire to be on the safe side, but I didn’t have a painting keeping me safe from things like that.
I was here for answers. No more playing nice. I was on a deadline. Literally. I had given Dorian the chance to help me, and he had instead led me astray. Perhaps I should have expected this from someone like him, but something he had said kept nagging at me. He was a concierge, and didn’t want to get involved in any infighting between supernatural factions. Which led me to believe that he hadn’t picked the side against me, but that he had very carefully tried to tell me something while appearing neutral. Just because it had fallen on deaf ears, wasn’t his fault.
Still, I was leaving with clear answers tonight. One way or another.
Because with Dorian’s connections in my community, I was betting he knew more than he had told, and not wanting to get involved, had tried to dodge the drama. But he had to know something about Johnathan’s focus on Missouri, and why so many beings seemed to be popping into the state around the same time, like some silent dog whistle had been blown, and everyone was simply answering the call – whether they realized it or not.
This time I would try throwing a Temple Tantrum.
Another factor bothering me was that both Johnathan and Dorian were interested in Nate.
And then there were the five territories on Johnathan’s map of Kansas City. But who ran which? I assumed that the vampires, bears, and wolves each ran one, but what about the other two? Other than as victims, the wolves and vampires hadn’t popped their heads out of their respective kennels and coffins in quite some time. Neither had the bears, but at least I knew why they were absent. They were busy looking after Claire while I did their dirty work. Finding Yuri. But I hadn’t heard a whisper of him, even though I knew his paw was deep in this honey pot.
But no one had retaliated to the murders. Not Master Haven and his vampires, not Armor and his bears, and not the wolves, who were still out of town. Really, Pastor Benjamin’s new church was the only voice crying foul.
Almost like everyone sensed an impending storm and had chosen to batten down the hatches rather than scream at the sky. But was that storm Amira or one of these two unknown territories? Johnathan had made a mockery of the bears, wolves, and vampires only a few weeks ago, and perhaps everyone was still reeling, licking their wounds, or not wanting to fuck with the second demon that had come to town so soon after the first.
Maybe the territories were like the mafia. Different families entering town and trying to take power over the existing families. That seemed to make more sense. Because those lines had looked like gang lines. Freaks of all kinds lived in my city, but didn’t have enough of a presence to own a territory. That didn’t mean they couldn’t live here, just that they likely had to pay dues to whatever family ruled their turf. Keep your head down and you can live in my neighborhood.
Regardless, I needed answers, because even if everyone wanted to fold, I had to go all in. I was being targeted, personally. Roland was right. Even the police were in on it somehow. Again. I wondered if all demons operated like this, more intelligent than I had anticipated.
I glanced down at the phone in my hand, and seeing the text, I typed off a quick reply.
Send it.
I waited, glancing down at the open vault door below, smiling.
It didn’t take Dorian long. He entered the room on silent slippers, wearing a silk robe and looking angry, wary, and murderous. A dark… miasma seemed to follow him like a shadow, but whenever I tried to look directly at it, it wasn’t there. More like a sensation I was feeling rather than a literal visible power. Since I had never looked upon him with my new power, this caught me off guard a bit.
But it told me something about him. Dorian had picked up a few things in his long life. Maybe despite his flamboyant persona, he wasn’t as peaceful as he led others to believe, hiding a scrapper of sorts beneath his sinful façade.
He studied the room anxiously, glancing behind any potential hiding place, up at the balcony above, and then finally, to the open vault door. He hesitated upon seeing that, the darkness around him seeming to ripple in agitation, but he kept his face a cold mask. He walked over to a tray of liquor bottles and poured himself a splash of amber liquid.
He sipped his drink for a few seconds in silence, as if waiting for an attack.
When nothing happened, he downed his drink and pulled out his phone. My phone began to ring, and his eyes triangulated the sound like a wolf, locking onto the open vault.
I bit back a laugh as I watched him from my hiding spot above, clutching Beckett’s phone in my fist. Because I hadn’t sent Dorian the text. Beckett had, using my phone.
No one answered, and I heard Dorian growl instinctively. “Bravo, Callie. You can come out, now,” he said in a resigned voice, carefully concocted to sound anxious, nervous, and fearful.
“I like the view better from up here,” I called out, standing and then stepping into the open.
He tensed like a startled deer, staring up at me with a shocked look. I waved. “Observe the cowardly lion in his natural habitat,” I said officiously, like those animal show narrators.
His lips tightened as he studied me. “Okay. I’m confused. You had me dead to rights with the vault. Why not stay there to threaten my painting? Or to destroy it, ending this farce of an e
xistence once and for all. I almost regret that you didn’t.”
I shrugged. “I like the paintings up here better.” I pointed at the open vault, which led into a small hallway with an alcove around a slight bend. “That one is much too vile.” And that was the truth. The painting we had seen in there was downright horrifying. “But this one,” I said, turning to face the painting that had caught my eye last night. “This one speaks to me for some reason.”
His shoulders were tight, and he looked ready to use his super speed to stop me if necessary, but his voice was entirely calm. “You can have it. Or I can put you in touch with the artist.”
I placed a hand over my chest. “Heavens, no. It’s worse than the one in the vault. I wouldn’t want anything else drawn by this artist, either.” I made a point to glance at the adjacent paintings, clucking my tongue. “Yep. I’m sure of it. One of these things is not like the other.”
“Since when did you become an art aficionado?” he asked harshly. “They’re all defaced. As they deserve to be.”
“Well, the other paintings are defaced, true. But this one,” I said stepping back to tap the glass with a fingernail behind my back, keeping my eyes on him. “The glass is defaced, and you cleverly used laser lights to make it seem like the others. But the painting itself?” I glanced over a shoulder and shivered. “Although hideous, it’s not actually defaced. Just made to look like it.”
His lips thinned, but he tried to splash on a grin. “Why the interest in a painting left out in the open over the one keeping me alive? As far as threats go, your tactics are quite… obscure.”
“I bet it would burn pretty easily,” I said, as if not hearing him.
He took a step forward. “Your magic won’t work here,” he snapped, shoulders almost quivering.
I lifted my hand to reveal a butane torch – one of the disposable ones. “That’s why girls always accessorize.” I clicked it on, filling the room with the hissing sound of live fire. I waited, but when he didn’t move, I moved the flame right up to the glass without looking.
“FINE!” he shouted desperately. “What do you want, you insolent child?” He was panting.
I clicked it off, smiling back at him. “Truce, and I won’t incinerate your portrait.”
“Yes. Granted,” he snapped eagerly.
“Oh, for him, too,” I added.
Dorian spun to see Beckett directly behind him, holding one of his gleaming butterfly knives in each hand. He wore a long dark coat, hanging below his knees, and was smirking. He dipped his head. “I really wish you would have come into the vault. I had something to show you.”
Dorian grimaced. “Truce,” he muttered darkly.
“Play nice, boys. I’ll be right down,” I called out cheerfully, not wanting to use my newfound powers in front of Dorian. I strode across the balcony to the stairs in the main foyer, calmly walking down them as I ran over my plan.
Dorian had to assume I had some ace up my sleeve to make it inside his home without setting off an alarm or using magic, but I wanted him to remain uncomfortable. Off balance.
Because I was beginning to realize that although dangerous, Dorian really wasn’t a fan of confrontation. Sure, he might be deadly, but he didn’t give off the vibe that he enjoyed it very much. Which seemed odd to me, seeing as how he was immortal as long as his portrait survived.
Then again, maybe it was because he owned a constant reminder of his impending death, and after living so long with it, it was pushing him further away from an immortal mindset. Forcing him to consider his weakness every day. To have to worry about keeping it safe at all times.
And little old me had just scared the shit out of him. Not only breaking into his vault, but noticing the subterfuge in his plan to hide the real portrait out in the open.
Which was exactly where I wanted him.
I entered the room to find them in the same position, glaring at each other.
Chapter 41
I stepped up to them, smiling brightly. “Let’s try this again. Know any demons in town?”
He grimaced. “Johnathan, or whatever name he gave you. But you killed him. I already told you, I don’t get involved in this kind of shit. I’m just here to have a good time.”
I nodded. “What about his sister, Amira? Or his pet project at the house on the hill?”
He stiffened, blinking at me. “You know about…” he whispered in disbelief.
I gave him a level stare. “I know quite a bit. Enough to know when you’re feeding me lies—”
As quickly as that, Dorian tried to escape, but Beckett had been expecting it. He instantly slashed out with his knife, scouring across Dorian’s back. Dorian groaned, but didn’t slow down, and I felt the unseen darkness suddenly growing thicker. Before I could do anything, there was a thunderous boom, followed by a splattering sound and a stunned, pained gasp.
I stared from the smoking barrel of the sawed-off shotgun in Beckett’s hands to the groaning form of Dorian Gray on the ground. I could actually see through the hole in his stomach. He grimaced, staring up at us in disbelief. Beckett’s coat had concealed the weapon.
I glanced back at Beckett, nodding approval. “That was really fast,” I complimented him.
He shrugged back, not a quiver of fear on his face. “If Mr. Fancy-pants hadn’t shown me his speed yesterday, I might not have been as trigger-happy.”
“You shot me!” Dorian hissed angrily.
“Just a minute, Dorian, my dear,” I said as if I was speaking to a toddler. I turned back to Beckett. “Still, impressive,” I said, watching his eyes for any sign of delayed shock. But not a glimmer of empathy lived in those baby blues.
He finally let a smile touch his cheeks, chuckling as he lowered his gun to continue aiming at Dorian, ignoring the man’s continued complaints about being shot.
“You… lunatic!” he screeched.
Beckett didn’t even look, just thumbed back the hammer on his shotgun as he continued to give me his full attention. Dorian ceased complaining. “I tried to tell you, Callie,” Beckett began. “When something doesn’t work, I just move onto the next tool in my belt. Then the next. Then the next.” He shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal. “The hard part was believing in this stuff. But once you accept that bit…” he smiled down at Dorian. “The rest is easy as pie.”
There was definitely fire in this man. He didn’t have an ounce of protection against Freaks, not inherently anyway. But… that just meant he needed a few more accessories than most. Simple as that. Have problem? Find solution. Beckett Killian’s motto.
I found myself considering him in a much different matter, and quickly schooled my features.
Dorian began to grunt and gasp on the ground as I heard a rattling from the tier above us. I turned from one to the other to see Dorian’s wound healing before our eyes, and the painting above rattling behind the glass.
“Huh. I wondered why the glass wasn’t flush with that particular painting. It’s to give it room to move and breathe, I guess. Makes sense. In a disgusting way.” Glancing back down at Dorian, I found him panting, his wound now a smooth expanse of healed flesh. He glared at the two of us at the same time, somehow. I let him.
“If you’re done pissing yourself, I believe the young lady asked you a question,” Beckett said with a faint grin. “And just to clarify, you tried to run away, so I shot you. Nothing personal. Nothing to cry about later. You really wouldn’t want to go crying to anyone about this. Wouldn’t be good for your health. Just give her what she came for, since you wasted her time earlier.” His eyes were ice. Emotionless. As was his tone.
Dorian glared daggers back, but finally climbed to his feet, moving slowly enough to not appear threatening. “I don’t know any more than you about that cursed mansion. I know he had a secret room there, and was interested with the politics in town – which was actually more Amira’s obsession – but I never saw the room. I swear it.” I believed him, judging by the look in his eyes. He was terrified of us. More
so than he was of the demons. The immortal Dorian Gray had been slapped down twice. By a young wizard and a Regular, of all people. After hundreds of years of safety, he had been put in his place twice in the space of ten minutes. He cleared his throat. “If you saw the room, I’m betting it’s gone, now, right?”
“How would you know that?” I demanded in a low tone.
He held up his hands. “It’s the way Johnathan worked. Redundancies and privacy.”
“Again, how would you know that?”
He sighed disgustedly. “He tried to convert me. A few times. Until he finally found out my legend. That I was already more depraved than any of his roommate’s downstairs. That he literally had nothing to offer me. Immortality? Nope. Sin? Nope. Money? Nope. And since I’m already pretty much guaranteed to wander the lowest pits of Hell when I do finally kick the bucket, he really had nothing to bargain with. It bothered him, but he kept in contact on occasion. The occasional brunch.”
I stared incredulously. “Brunch…”
He shrugged, smirking subconsciously at the absurdity. “Yeah.”
“And did Amira ever join you on these brunches?”
He shook his head. “If Johnathan was secretive, Amira was full-blown paranoid.” His eyes grew distant, as if thinking. “He called her his right hand, but I always got a bad feeling about her. That she had her own game.” He finally shrugged. “But I’m betting all of those bastards do.”
I nodded thoughtfully. Nothing new, but at least it was confirming my assessment of her. “Rather than confronting me directly, she fled the scene after I killed him. She plays the long game. I have reason to believe she’s the one behind all this chaos lately. To what end, I’m not completely sure. But the common denominator is that she doesn’t like me very much, and is using others to get to me. At least I know the priest isn’t involved,” I added with a glare.
He blinked back at me. “You went after a priest?”
“After your warning, yes.”
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