Chapter 6
Chapter six
She was giving him the runaround.
Dominic glowered at the bookstore from where he’d parked down the street. Once more, her movements had grown erratic and unpredictable, but always circled back to Phoebe’s bookshop. He’d shadowed her all over the city while his mood shifted from confusion, to agitated impatience, and finally, resignation.
Instead of her usual haunts, she made regular trips to the grocery store. She’d even gone clothes shopping. Yesterday, she’d hauled a box of ferns and spider plants to Phoebe’s, and spent the afternoon arranging them around the store.
If she’d wanted to drive him crazy, she was doing a damned good job of it, and likely enjoying herself.
In the meanwhile, Dominic had started monitoring additional leads, so he could feed regular tidbits to the Council. His own notes on the anarchist group were far more extensive than anything Cooper had access to. He only reported back leads that would send agents sniffing around DFC units clear across the city, as far from Mira as he could manage.
She still wasn’t clearly identified on surveillance. Not her face, or her name. But with her distinctive looks and penchant for showing up right before trouble, it wouldn’t be long.
Perhaps he’d always known this day would come, when Mira was finally in the crosshairs of the Council. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d thought through what his next move would be. To get her out, and keep her safe.
A notification lit up Dominic’s phone, partially obscuring the cell tower map with a message from Bastian.
Up for lunch?
Bastian had given him an etched brass card that would grant him access, but the doorman only nodded at Dominic before pulling the doors open wide. Like many upper-class facilities, the staff were paid well to recognize any number of associates of the elite.
Le Prestige only served members of Bastian’s social club, but the restaurant itself was a social club in its own right. In addition to a dozen private dining rooms spread over its several stories, the restaurant had at least three bars, a library, and even a rooftop pool.
He was led to Bastian’s usual, reserved private suite on one of the upper floors. His friend stood at the floor-length window, gazing down on the Chicago River winding through the city.
Bastian seemed to spend the majority of his idle time admiring it. The river view from the dining room was only rivaled by that of his own downtown penthouse a few blocks away.
The host closed the door behind Dominic, sealing the two in the lushly appointed space that was closer to a studio apartment than a dining room.
Bastian studied his face. “I assume your little anarchist is still leading you on a merry chase.”
“You have no fucking idea.” Dominic slumped into one of the posh chairs near the window. “My only consolation is that any other agents who’ve managed to track her must be very confused.”
“Is that all you want to do with Mira? Track her?”
Dominic eyed him balefully. “Don’t start.”
His friend chuckled softly and took the chair beside him.
“You seem to have a little pet project of your own. Laara, right? That little food hoarder, who looks like she robbed a thrift store. Seems a bit young. Twenty years old, if she’s a day. Very naughty, Bas.”
Bastian glanced at him sharply, and quickly looked away again. “My interest in Laara is only professional.” He frowned down at the river. “She’s merely a lead for another case I’m working on.”
Dominic smiled slowly, noting his posture, and how he gripped the arm rests of his chair. “If you say so.”
He’d meant to ask more about her, but Bastian had obviously said all he’d intended to say. Dominic himself couldn’t figure the girl out. She’d smelled… different. Not like a demon, but not quite human, either.
Perhaps she was worth investigating, for that alone.
The two gazed out upon the river in companionable silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Two of the restaurant’s waitstaff slipped silently into the room, set the table for their meal, and disappeared once more.
“I pulled the personal records of the controlled smoke demons involved in the other two incidents,” Dominic finally began. “Before Nikhiv and the convenience store attack, another smoke demon rampaged a downtown pub after hours. Both men were single, lived alone, and worked manual labor for a living.”
“Vulnerable, isolated, and disposable,” Bastian surmised. “I can see why they would make attractive targets for an air demon searching for a pawn to manipulate. Nikhiv was much the same, before he took Phoebe as a mate. Although, I believe his puppet master underestimated the impact of his disappearance from this restaurant.”
As if on cue, the door opened once more, and a cart covered in domes was pushed inside. Dominic rose with Bastian, curious to see what the day’s prix fixe set menu entailed.
His French was just as horrendous as his Spanish, and he merely nodded as the waiter set a plate of chicken breast in cream sauce, sprinkled with bits of rose petal.
The two waitstaff hovered nearby, but Bastian dismissed them immediately.
Dominic shook his head and picked up his fork. “From what I understand, air demons have always had the ability to exert physical control over smoke demons. They just never did anything with it. Why now?”
“I’ve seen my share of it.” Bastian’s mouth twisted with disgust. “Demonstrated puppetry on a whim, usually as a low-brow parlor trick at private parties. Yet, most air demons I’ve encountered treated the skill as rather gauche. A distasteful reminder of how very little separates them from our supposed genetic impurity, as smoke demons.”
“Someone obviously thought the bar was set too fucking high, if this is their new play,” Dominic muttered angrily. He speared a slice of chicken breast, and shoved it into his mouth.
Several seconds later, his chewing slowed. He swallowed, and glanced down at his plate.
Bastian watched him across the table. “Can you taste it, now? Human diners praise the complexity, not knowing they’ve only tasted half the flavors he’s infused in his dishes. His recipes aren’t for them. They’re love letters, to the demon palate.”
A love letter that most demons would never experience.
When Dominic finally set down his fork, Bastian pressed a wireless button in the center of the table. The ma?tre d' arrived not even two minutes later, almost tripping over his feet to hear Bastian’s request.
“I’d like to pay my compliments to the chef,” Bastian told him. “Where is he?”
The ma?tre d' gave him an apologetic smile. “I regret that Chef Philipe is not currently available.”
Bastian’s expression turned to stone. “We both know that pompous prick didn’t come anywhere near these dishes.”
His eyes glowed, a deep lavender that left his irises gleaming like amethysts. “I want to compliment the true master of the kitchen. And please inform the owner that if he continues to under-compensate his most prized staff, I’ll need to reconsider my investment in his restaurant group. I’ll likely also poach the real chef on my way out the door,” he finished quietly.
The ma?tre d' shriveled up at the soft threats, his eyes wide. “The chef is in the library,” he whispered quickly. “Where he usually spends his lunch break.”
“Thank you.” Bastian’s smile held no warmth as he watched the head waiter flee. He blinked once, and the glow vanished from his eyes.
Outside Bastian’s insulated world, such a demonstration would have ended with a demon surrounded by the DCA for threatened violence. But rich demons were an entirely different breed. They lived openly among humans, and were tutored at a young age to wield their demon powers with the utmost control.
Never react strongly when a soft response will do, as Bastian had once put it.
Dominic’s brows came up. “All that trouble, just for a compliment?”
“It’s about time we deliver our proposition.” Bastian rose, and picked up a small black case on the side table.
Dominic sighed at the sight of it. “I have a feeling this will be a hard sell.”
“Possibly. But still worth a try.”