Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
At seven the next morning, Thomas sat at his new desk, in his new office on the top floor.
The morning sky was still a pale salmon gray.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, he had a view of Oakland’s Lake Merritt, and the Bay Bridge beyond, with San Francisco’s skyline in the distance.
The office itself was luxuriously appointed—he did, after all, have appearances to maintain.
Everything screamed indulgence, expense, and an almost sinful decadence.
He could have been sitting in a cafeteria, for all he cared. His focus was entirely on the old man sitting in the red leather chair across from his desk.
“When I brought you on board two years ago, Al,” Thomas said, his voice mild despite the anger simmering in his blood, “I frankly thought the process would be a lot further along by now.”
The little man snorted derisively, the sound dry as old paper. “Talk to your consultant over there. It’s not my fault you didn’t have my home ready on time.”
Thomas glanced over his shoulder at Yagi, his “consultant.” The guy looked like the stereotypes of Yakuza from movies—impeccably dressed in a three-piece black suit, yet emanating an aura of badass around him like a cloud.
Of course, the Yakuza would probably pee their pants if they ever met a guy like Yagi in real life.
Yagi’s face was placid, but Thomas had worked with the man long enough to recognize the irritation in his dark eyes.
They’d both had enough of Al. Too damned bad they still needed him.
“Building an internationally—and inter-dimensionally—acknowledged sanctuary is no simple feat, as you well know, Aloyshus,” Yagi said, in his lightly accented English.
“Neither is building a military-grade, and paranormally protected, fortress such as this headquarters. If you didn’t have such powerful enemies in the Underworld, the precautions might not have been necessary. ”
Al frowned, making the mass of wrinkles on his face shift like a Slinky. “Well, pulling soul contracts from Hell’s archives and ‘relocating’ fifty Ammonite demons isn’t exactly a picnic either, Kato.”
Yagi didn’t respond, but Thomas bristled at the old man’s insolence. “You’re valuable. You’re not irreplaceable.”
“Aren’t I?” Al’s responding look was smug. “You really want fifty demons on the loose in your pretty new headquarters?”
Now Yagi took a step forward, his small smile lethal. “I feel confident I could return them to their homes fairly easily.”
Al tried to stare down Yagi, but blanched when Yagi didn’t blink. He shifted his focus back to Thomas, licking his lips nervously. “Yeah, but I’m the only one who can get more demons here if I need to. And they’re the only ones who can look through the contracts and find the signatories you need.”
Thomas gritted his teeth. “I ask again—what’s the hold up?”
“They’re Ammonite demons.”
Thomas waited. “So?”
Al rolled his eyes. “Ammonites are the lowest class of demons. They’re not affiliated with the hierarchy. They aren’t subject to any demon lords. That means that they’re rogues, or running scared… or useless, and nobody wants ‘em. They’re dregs.”
“Then why do we have them?” Thomas snapped.
“Think! Do you really want a demon foot soldier in here? Or a spy?” Al snapped back. “Ammonites are runty and vicious, stupid and weak. But we’re not looking for fighters. We’re looking for…” He screwed up his face derisively. “Clerks.”
“Can they read, though?” Yagi asked. Thomas wasn’t sure if that was a selling point or not, based on the man’s tone.
“Enough.” Al shrugged. “Don’t worry about my end, shinobi. They know what to look for.”
Thomas noticed that Yagi finally made the barest grimace when Al used the Japanese word—shinobi. From what Thomas knew, it meant covert agent, mercenary.
Apparently, it also meant ninja.
Demon wranglers and ninjas. Thomas sighed, covering his eyes for a moment. Ever since he’d started tackling his little soul contract predicament, his payroll had gotten weirder and weirder.
“I need those names, Al,” Thomas repeated wearily.
“Don’t sweat it. The demons will get ’em.”
“You don’t understand, Al,” Thomas emphasized, his voice cold and hard as an Arctic ice floe. “I need them now.”
Al huffed but there was a little flicker of fear in his dust-gray eyes. “Like I said, they’re stupid. Lazy, too. They’re going as fast as they can.”
“You’d better hope not.” Thomas rested his hands on the desk surface. “You’ve got one month.”
Al looked startled. Then his expression turned crafty. “One month, or what? We’ve got a contract. You promised me a place to live in The Havens—and sanctuary—for as long as I’m working for you. And it’s not like there’s any other way you can find the names.”
“One month, Al.” Thomas’s voice was quiet, and the mildness of his tone only underlined the deathly seriousness of his statement. “Or not only will I kick you out of The Havens, I’ll make sure all your old employers know exactly where you are—and what you’ve been up to.”
Al turned white, then purple. He scrambled to his feet, hanging onto his cane like a life preserver. “You can’t—”
“Don’t fuck with me, Al.” Thomas nodded at the door. “Just get the names.”
With one last murderous glance, Al turned and hobbled out of the room.
When the door closed, Yagi sighed. “We can’t trust him. You know that.”
“You’re the one that hired him.” Thomas walked to his credenza and poured himself a cup of coffee. “I don’t have a lot of options, Yagi. I’m down to one year. Just one damned year to find all these guys and take care of them.”
Yagi was silent for a moment. “Do you think you’re ready?”
Thomas took a big sip of the coffee, scalding the roof of his mouth. Still, the caffeine was worth it. “You’ve been training me for five years. You tell me.”
“You’re ready physically,” Yagi admitted. “Considering you don’t have the powers most signatories bargain for, your reflexes and abilities are fairly impressive. But mentally, emotionally…”
Thomas frowned. “What are you saying?”
“You’re going to need to kill twelve people.
Thirteen, including Cyril.” Yagi’s face was stern.
“More than that. You’re going to have to bend rules and break laws.
You’re going to need to do things you find repugnant, with people you find repulsive.
If you aren’t willing to do that, you won’t be free.
Once you take this path, you can’t go back. So I repeat—are you ready?”
Thomas closed his eyes for a second. He pictured Elizabeth, the first time he’d met her, smiling quietly behind her desk, looking like Grace Kelly. Then later in their relationship, hanging on his arm, dazzling paparazzi in a stunning white dress.
Then much later, writhing in agony in a hospital bed.
Finally, lying still in a pool of blood.
He grimaced, then forced himself to drink the rest of the coffee, putting the cup down before his hands shook.
This wasn’t about getting free.
This was about revenge.
“I’m ready,” Thomas said, and his voice rasped slightly. “I will do whatever it takes to kill Cyril Roman.”
Yagi nodded, a small smile of triumph hovering around his lips.
“To start with,” Thomas added, turning back to his desk, “I think I may have figured out a way around Al.”