Get What I Came For
KASPAR
H owl is jumping tonight, as I’d predicted, despite the earliness of my arrival.
This isn’t nearly as busy as it will be when we get closer to the usual show times, but there are enough supes milling about and planted at primo tables for me to believe that I’ll find what I’m looking for.
A quick scan of the main room reveals a plethora of supernatural species, but I don’t see any of the two I think will help me find a trail to the species I’m seeking.
Annoying as fuck, because kitsunes are hackers and gnomes are information brokers, which would make this easier.
“Can I get you a drink, sir?”
My attention turns to the roving waiter in designer duds. Howl is edgy, so he looks very punk rock but sold by people who charge two grand for a pair of ripped jeans. Sighing, for a moment I feel extremely old, so I shake my head. “No, thanks, kid.”
His eyes dart back and forth for a moment before he replies in a lower tone, “Is there something else you fancy? Howl has many vices available for guests of your stature, Monsieur Moreau .”
I conceal my lack of surprise that this guy knows who I am without having to ask.
Clubs like this, who cater to high-end clientele, definitely have doorway enchantments to advise their security and management of who is present.
It’s not that uncommon or hard to do; the doorman touching my ID probably activated it.
The silence is making the server feel successful, so I let it hang another moment before I give him a slow, haughty grin.
“Do you? I was led to believe American establishments have far more restrictions than European ones because your humans are… more invasive.” I tilt my head, looking interested but uncertain to sell the statement. “Is it not dangerous to have such delights available for our kind?”
Punk Kid laughs and shakes his head, the long black bangs falling over his eyes as he smirks. “Perhaps, but this is a very selective club and our owners prefer to allow independent contractors to provide the resources for those who need things not easily obtained.”
That’s code for ‘not our asses on the line if you get caught’, if I’ve ever heard it.
“Very good.” Scratching my chin, I pretend to consider what I might want, so he doesn’t think I’m too eager.
I also want to scan the crowd again for my actual targets because I guarantee this little shit is going to expect a ‘tip’ for finding a solution.
I’m not opposed to paying off sources, but I’d rather give more money to the actual vendors than a guy who’s going to make at least a grand by flirting with people tonight alone.
“I suppose you know a vast selection of such vendors?”
The glint in his eye gets more avaricious and I narrow my gaze.
By that reaction, I believe he’s a demon from the greed line.
They’re usually assigned territories if they’re working the surface, so Mr. Helpful will ask for a deal if he’s not from a ‘feeder’ species.
The fucking last thing I’m going to do is make a deal with a random demon when Liam has access to the damn Prince now.
So I wait for the clearly low-level soot sucker to make his offer.
“I am well acquainted with the groups who offer services within our walls, Monsieur . For a small fee, I could guide you to whatever your heart desires.” He arches a brow, then grins wickedly. “After that, your business is between you and the broker. I am merely a middle-man.”
Yep, this cocky fuck is a Cubi, and he feeds off the crowd while raking in the dough for whomever his local leader is.
“Hmmm. Perhaps I will have a drink and a table while I consider the options, my young friend. Can we adjourn to a more conducive spot to discuss them?”
If my guess is accurate, this asshole will have some sort of menu for me.
Anyone working this angle so thoroughly wouldn’t leave their marks to conjure up vices on their own.
They could ask for anything, and when the server couldn’t provide them all, leave without giving him a damn thing for his time.
Punk Guy seems too smooth for that, so I’m baiting him.
“Absolutely,” he says, snapping his fingers. “Follow me to one of the booths in my section, and we can negotiate. I’m sure there will be something we can offer that will whet your fiery appetites.”
Demons are the easiest supes to manipulate, in my opinion.
They’re all descended from the seven lines, and no matter what species or hybrid they are, figuring that heritage out reveals their innate weaknesses.
I could meet ten shifters on the street and not be able to figure out all of their shit within a few moments.
But demons… they practically wear it on their sleeves.
That’s not to say they aren’t formidable, especially as they get older and more powerful.
But they’re predictable, and that means this will be far easier than if my ‘dealer’ was a mage or a mermaid or a damn wolf.
I follow my demonic hook-up to the section of the floor he gestured at, taking a seat at the small two-person booth. He tilts his head and I nod, then say, “Macallan twenty-one, neat, no back.”
“Excellent choice, Monsieur Moreau .”
My punky contact scurries off towards the fancy bar at the back of the room, so I focus on the stage and the crowd in the viewing area.
This part of the floor is definitely limited to the higher dollar clientele, and I turn to see the balconies above the back wall, including six luxury boxes.
I’m not sure who would qualify for those, but I’d wager they belong to local big wigs like the club owner’s family and politically connected supes.
There are probably rooms below this floor, and possibly others on the levels where those elevated viewing spots are—what for? That’s the question.
I really should have cased this place better a long time ago.
Identifying where powerful people might gather in relative anonymity off-campus needs to be a bigger priority now that Li is tied to Morgana.
Sighing, I tap my fingers on the table, using the rhythm to soothe my frustration.
The more this ‘conspiracy’ expands, the harder it is to keep details from the royal guards and the king.
Liam and I have spent many years on this side without raising his suspicions about why he’s doing his schooling on this side of the Veil.
Mating with Morgana and getting tangled in some inter-realm web of rebellion threatens the plans Li has had for decades.
But I cannot change what the crones have wrought, even if I yearn to with all my heart.
The sentiment is not about this mess as much as the events of our past, and it makes my dragon rumble in irritation.
He’s never gotten over the betrayal, which is fine, because I haven’t either.
I’m aware it’s not healthy, but I can’t seem to care.
Even though Liam and I patched our relationship up, I haven’t had an interest in anyone—male or female—since.
That meant it didn’t matter if I healed and I’ve grown comfortable with my pain.
“Until now,” I grumble as I see a dark-haired woman near the stage laughing with her friends.
It’s obviously not Morgana, but the image evokes the same resentment as the woman herself would.
“Damn Liam and his ridiculous need to help. Maybe he wouldn’t have even known if we hadn’t stopped to help the cub. ”
I frown, shaking my head as the events of the past months run through my mind.
So much bullshit and so many close calls with no answers that make my job infinitely harder.
Despite the bear getting released, we haven’t gotten him fully cleared, and we have no idea who poisoned him.
Everything that happened on the Coast only provided more questions, and more potential enemies.
I don’t like it and coming here was the best idea I could think of to locate the damn horned lie-detectors.
If we can eliminate some of Morgana’s problems, we can focus on the larger picture.
“I’m baa-aack!” My crooked server returns with a small tray with my glass, setting it in front of me with a flourish.
He places a small tablet next to it, his eyes dancing as he continues.
“This is our menu. Take a look while I check on some other tables, and when I come back, we can discuss your order.”
His patter is impressive; I’ll give him that.
He sounds like he’s doing normal waiter stuff, treating me like a regular customer while handing me the keys to the forbidden kingdom.
This demon has been working this place for quite a while, I imagine, because none of his fellow servers have given the fucker even a sidelong glance.
He must be making a fortune for everyone involved, including the Thermopolis family who own Howl.
“Got it. I’ll flag you down once I’ve decided. What’s your name?”
That question makes his eyes flash with the demon, and I know I’m right. “Oh, I don’t give that out to new customers. You’ll have to earn it through continued patronage. Just wave your hand and I’ll find you.”
I have to grit my teeth to keep from snarling at him—this is why I hate demons. Years of dealing with the Fae have made it easy to skirt their quirks and lexical gymnastics. Dealing with their brimstone loving cousins from the underworld is an entirely different story. “Understood.”
Punk Guy flits off to do whatever mischief he’s got on his mind, and when I’m alone, I sigh heavily.
Minding my temper with something like this is a challenge because I’m fairly certain this goddamn menu is going to piss me the fuck off.
The unfathomably wealthy often have unimaginable access to things the normal folks—supe or human—wouldn’t dream of.
This kind of secret bargaining definitely means very unethical, illegal, and probably immoral things are on the table.
Closing my eyes for a moment, I speak quietly to my dragon, begging him not to go off the deep end when I read it.
Storm dragons are vengeful and enjoy both justice and retribution almost as much as a vengeance demon does.
Mine is wired to protect at the moment, but I can’t guarantee that he won’t want to ‘save’ anyone he deems in danger of being abused.
So I sip my scotch while I talk to him, hoping to quell the urge to rip this place apart at the seams, and prepare my mind for the gut-clench.
When I believe I’m ready, I open my eyes and set my drink down, picking up the tablet.
I click it on, watching as the screen pops up.
The screen flashes with some unfamiliar logo before I’m presented with a simple, minimalist menu screen.
I push the icons to expand the sections, noting that there are two sections—human and supernatural—that expand with sub-categories.
Both types have listings for delectable, cerebral, sensual, and securable.
Of course, this is full of euphemisms until you go down the rabbit hole—they’re probably using the camera to capture the face of the client.
Luckily, I’m here under an assumed name. That should hold them off for a bit.
“Here it goes,” I mutter as I look through the expansions under each term in the supernatural section. “Delectable is shit you can eat, drink, or ingest; don’t need that shit and I probably don’t want to go further in the menu.”
My dragon rumbles and I shake him off as I check out the cerebral.
It’s information brokering, which might yield results, so I’ll come back.
I skip sensual; it’s self-explanatory and I don’t need to know what kinky shit they have on tap.
If I wanted that, I could find my own and I sure as fuck wouldn’t need to pay for it.
My brows furrow as I click on securable, scanning the various topics like weapons, art, and collectibles until I hit gold.
Species-Based Services—that’s exactly what I’m looking for. Time to flag down the mystery demon.