Chapter 17
The clouds roiling over the jagged obsidian cliffs had nothing on my mood. I stormed inside the pancake house, shooting the dancing hotcake on the neon sign the finger for good measure. Why should it get to be happy?
The fly hostess was back at her podium. She’d gothed up her bulbous insect eyes with heavy dark liner, her bristly stick-thin legs that poked out from her black miniskirt rattling around in her shitkicker black boots with fat silver buckles.
“Where’s Delacroix?” I snapped.
She appraised me with a bored look then pointed a wing out toward the back veranda.
I barreled through the restaurant, every maple syrup and brimstone–scented inhale ratcheting my anger up like a cartoon character with an internal thermometer about to blow.
The “Bring Your Appetite; Leave Your Grudges!” sign fluttered merrily under an AC vent.
My glower did nothing to it, but the shedim nearby who was unlucky enough to catch my eye swallowed nervously with one of its four throats.
I slammed the door to the veranda open, killing any conversation at the large round table.
Eight shedim with their stupid hats and varying degrees of old man human glamors looked my way, the party rounded out by one pissed-off Prime, who glanced at me then pulled out his phone and started typing.
My heart twisted at the sight of him. Was he upset about the photo? I wrenched my eyes away to size up the demons. The more pressing issue.
It was the same crew as the first time I’d been here. A person-sized bat with an old man face wearing an “I Went to Hell and All I Got Was This Lousy Cap” hat slurped porridge up with his tongue. He sat next to the demon with the Popeye biceps in a baseball cap with “Flame-Grilled for Flavor” on it.
Kangol Demon with a pompadour was also present, loudly sucking back iced tea with eyeballs floating in the glass. Oh yeah, he was the Bilge. The one whose stomachs Ezra had to pump.
There was Goat Demon with holes cut into his top hat to accommodate his curved horns, a pudgy tiny danger whose hat boasted the dancing pancake from the sign with “Devilishly Good Eats!”, and the blue demon with one eye, four tusks, and a floppy hat adorned with sharp metal lures. A disturbing pile of what I prayed were chicken wings were scattered on his plate.
The last member of Delacroix’s evil motley crew was Eeyore Demon, a gloomy-looking creature with a donkey’s face and a mane attached to a sunburst of short hooved legs that sprouted from his neck. He looked positively miserable about the “Demon Tested, Hellfire Approved” cap perched jauntily on the top of his mane.
I hoped the extra helping of whipped cream on his runny waffles didn’t cause lactose intolerance and shuddered, imagining splash zones.
At the head of the table (yes, he managed to make a round table feel like there was an alpha seat) sat Demon Daddy, resplendent in a shiny silver shirt. It had a moiré pattern with a hypnotic effect, like staring out at the endless expanse of ocean. He’d tucked his windswept salt-and-pepper hair under his black baseball cap with “Hotter than Hades, Cooler than You” in a jaunty white script.
He dropped a half-eaten piece of extra-crunchy bacon on a side plate and wiped his hands off on a napkin. “What’s with the new look? Testing whether blondes have more fun?”
“Don’t ever use your magic on me again,” I snarled.
Delacroix flapped a hand. “Grab a seat and have some waffles, girlie.”
I got a chair but the decision of where to put it stopped me in my tracks for a second. My first inclination was to sit somewhere other than next to Ezra so that Delacroix didn’t get any ideas about us. But even as friends, obviously I’d sit next to Ezra since that was the safest place to be in this situation.
I shoved the chair between my boyfriend and my father.
“I’ve let Silas know you’re here.” Ezra’s voice deepened menacingly, and his eyes narrowed as he added, “And that you will be returned unharmed. Soon.”
Maybe he hadn’t seen the photo?
Delacroix rolled his eyes at Ezra’s threat.
I cleared my throat. “Get to the point of this visit.”
The bat demon with the old-man face reached the bottom of his bowl, swiped at it one more time, then leaned over and licked up the side of Ezra’s neck.
“?Cono!” Ezra half jumped out of his seat and punched the demon in the face.
His nose caved in, but almost immediately it bounced back into place, and unconcerned, he licked crumbs off the table.
“Some people would give their right eye to eat here.” Delacroix turned to the blue one-eyed demon. “Isn’t that right, Zzzzanooz?”
The demon made a sound like a chain saw starting up that was either a laugh or a death threat.
Delacroix looked around. “Where’s the waiter? You need a menu.”
“I’m not eating,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You and Lover Boy are the rudest guests ever,” the shedim groused.
I opened my mouth to retort that he had it all wrong. I was dating Silas. That would have been the right response for my undercover investigation, but even if Delacroix did believe me, I couldn’t bring myself to do that in front of Ezra.
To do that to Ezra, even if it benefitted a case.
My boyfriend snapped his fingers, startling me out of my unsettled emotions. “Guess I left my etiquette guide in my coffin. Why the fuck did you bring us here?” He practically vibrated with fury. It was a fair reaction; Delacroix abducting me was one thing, but Ezra was a Prime and his business partner. It shouldn’t have been possible to do this to him.
Delacroix pointed at the single-serving bottle in front of Ezra. “Drink your blood and calm down. You’re such a grouch if you don’t eat.”
Nope. I didn’t need any new weirdness factored into this gong show.
“Delacroix.” I practically growled his name.
“I’d like to propose a trade and I had to do it somewhere safe.”
Ezra arched one eyebrow. “And that’s here, is it?”
“It is, in fact.”
Popeye Demon held out a claw for the small jug of maple syrup, which the Bilge handed over.
“A trade like the game you agreed to,” I said, “where I give up all the information, and you just torture me?”
The shedim all snickered, Delacroix loudest of all.
Ezra draped an arm along the back of my chair. “Repeating that would be a very bad idea,” he said.
Bat Demon nodded gravely. “You’re right, Delacroix. They don’t have a sense of humor.”
“I’m not taking comedy tips from someone who taxidermies rats for fun,” I snapped.
Bat-demon’s old man face fell into a puddle of wrinkles, like a sad Shar-Pei.
“Your rats are unparalleled,” Delacroix assured him. “As for you,” he said, glaring at me, “I’ve located one of the Ashbishop’s victims. Someone who can identify the vampire, since all of Lover Boy’s flirting with Irene got him nowhere.”
I yawned at his attempt to bait me.
Ezra laughed.
“Retrieve an item in Tuscany for me,” Demon Daddy continued, “and I’ll tell you where the victim is.”
“Get it yourself,” I said. “I’m busy.”
Delacroix slapped his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He jabbed a finger at me. “The house where the item is stashed is protected by a mezuzah.”
“I’ll do it.” Ezra sipped from his bottle of blood, leaving crimson stains on his lips. “You don’t need Aviva.”
“Au contraire.” Delacroix turned to me. “Cardoso can portal you to the grounds, but the safe requires Eishei Kodesh magic to reveal the panel. You’ll punch in the code I’ll provide. Cardoso will stand guard for the three minutes time delay until the safe beeps, then you open the door and retrieve the item.”
“Back up,” I said. “Stand guard from what?”
“There’s bound to be a magic security system. Use your imagination. But you two can handle yourselves.”
The other shedim watched me expectantly.
Finding someone who could identify the Ashbishop would help immeasurably, except I didn’t have time for a side quest with an anything-goes magic security system.
On the other hand, Delacroix badly wanted whatever was inside that safe.
I crossed my arms. “What am I retrieving?”
“The brain of my enemy.”
I laughed but at Delacroix’s unamused expression stopped. Seriously?
“Do we have an agreement?” he said.
Getting a brain for some petty revenge wasn’t worth any danger I’d encounter or a loss of focus from everything already on my plate. “No. Now return me.”
I was getting antsier with every second not spent at the stakeout with Silas.
“Let me sweeten the deal for you,” he said craftily. “I won’t tell the Authority that you and Ezra broke Silas out of his cell with the help of a glamor. Personally, I can’t stand the taste of that dark magic liquid crap you used instead of going to someone to create the disguise, but I guess it was an emergency. Beggars can’t be choosers.”
How had he found that out? I clawed my panic down. “Even if that was true,” I said evenly, “that’s blackmail, not a deal.”
“It’s only blackmail if you don’t take the trade.”
“You’ll keep your mouth shut about what you think you know,” Ezra said, “and let Aviva back into the Hell.”
Delacroix made a buzzing sound. “New policy. No Maccabees.”
Eeyore Demon said something in a series of brays.
Delacroix groaned. “All right, my friend. I won’t stand in the way of true love. Girlie can visit but she’s the only one.”
Ezra shot me a sideways glance through slitted lashes at the “true love” crack, but when I didn’t object, he shrugged. “Your call, Aviva. There are other ways to find the Ashbishop’s victim.”
Delacroix snorted. “Good luck.”
The sooner the Ashbishop was stopped, the better.
“You’ll give me the Ashbishop’s victim, allow me back into the Hell, and get me the name of the female vampire who last took the test for the power word that the Ashbishop needs for this ritual,” I said. “Ezra will fill you in.”
Delacroix and his buddies had a brief, intense exchange in some demon language, then he nodded. “You drive a hard bargain, but you have a deal.”
“Wonderful,” I said coolly. “Give Ezra the details. We’ll do it tomorrow.” The demon opened his mouth, but I held up my hand. “This is non-negotiable. You need me more than I need you right now, Delacroix, so we’re doing this on my timeline.”
That was true, but it was also true that I couldn’t have him ratting me out to the Authority about Ezra’s and my roles in jailbreaking Silas. Luckily, the demon nodded again.
“Now send me back.” It sucked that I couldn’t talk to Ezra about the photo that was posted or even squeeze his hand, because all eyes were on us.
The portal opened.
“I’ll call you later,” he said.
I was about to warn Delacroix not to send me into a moving car and that I’d give him the gallery address, when a blast of hot air propelled me into the portal.
“Byyyyyeeeeee!” the shedim called.
I tumbled onto the back seat floor of the SUV with a muffled curse.
“Shh,” Silas said from the driver’s seat.
Gingerly, I picked myself up and leaned over the console. “What’d I miss?”
We were parked in an alley painted in crazy wonderful fat black and pink stripes, next to a metal door with a sturdy security gate and a high narrow window with heavy bars.
I climbed into the passenger seat.
My partner wore a headset and in his lap was what looked like a ray gun with a plastic cone over the barrel.
“What’s that?” I whispered.
“Parabolic mic.” He tilted the end bit higher toward the window. “I’m listening to Linda and Troy but there’s nothing of note yet.” He rolled out his shoulder. “Delacroix fuck you over too much?”
“Less than usual,” I said. “Hey, did you ever come across a piece of shit vampire called the Ashbishop?”
Silas whipped toward me so fast that the mic contraption fell to the floormat. “Please tell me you’re not digging into him. Avi, he was…” Silas shook his head, his jaw tight.
“Did he hurt you?”
Silas huffed a soft laugh. “You could say that.”
I curled my fingers into claws, wishing the Ashbishop was here so I could tear him limb from limb for harming my sweet friend. For killing Patrin. My heart sunk. Had Darsh mentioned his brother to Silas, and if he had, did it bring up fresh trauma? Telling Silas about my suspicions that the Ashbishop was alive was the last thing I wanted to do, but he deserved to know. “I’m worried he’s resurfaced.”
Silas flinched, his lips compressed into a flat line.
I explained about the vamp seeking procreation abilities and the woman who tested for the power word on his behalf. “Darsh said he was dead, but it doesn’t appear?—”
“Did the Ashbishop hurt Darsh?” Silas said in a strangled voice.
“No.” Well, not directly, and Patrin’s story wasn’t mine to share. “Can you tell me anything about him?”
Silas picked up his mic. “He’d been a good man in life.”
“You knew him.”
“Much as I wish I hadn’t.” He rested his head against the window.
“I’ve heard of his rampaging and violence but also that he took care of his crew. Was there goodness left in him after he was turned?”
“His crew were tools. He liked to keep them sharp and in good condition. Don’t mistake that for caring.” His voice was tight with pain.
Had Silas been part of his crew? Was that why he spoke of darkness inside him and why he clung to pacifist ways now? He was deeply and profoundly scarred?
“Could you describe the Ashbishop?” I might be able to duck out of this stupid brain retrieval for Delacroix.
A sigh shuddered out of Silas, like there was this final human breath in him that had been trapped in his belly for centuries. “I’ve spent years blocking every detail of him from my brain. I can’t go back into it. You aren’t hunting the Ashbishop. He’s dead.”
“Are you sure?”
He wearily slid his headset off. “I’m pretty damn sure,” he said in a voice thick with self-disgust. “Considering I killed him.”