Dead Drop (11 page)

“Not even a little.” His smart-ass smirk faded. “Listen to me. This is important. If there’s trouble because of me, your neighbors are at risk. Whether they think you go for girls or boys or both, they won’t have done anything to deserve what’s going happen to them if some mage or witch decides they want payback for something I did for Nikodemus. Or if someone figures out what the deal is with you.”

She didn’t like this glimpse into his life. She liked his blunt explanation even less. He’d ripped away all the comfort of her life, and she hated him for that.

“My place is fully warded. No one gets in without me knowing about it first. Anyone normal sees me with you, they’ll think you’re the lucky girl of the week.”

She drew up her knees and rested her chin atop them. Palla’s casual words gave her an unwelcome insight into his life. The days he wasn’t with Maddy he was immersed in a world at the edge of war, where his kind fought to stay free, and where people–witches and mages–murdered the kin in order to extend their lives or increase their power.

Everything Maddy had said was true. There was magic. There were demons. She’d gotten too used to seeing the kin in their human forms. They looked normal. You could walk past them on the street and never know they weren’t normal people. Palla, standing there, looking all too human, wasn’t. She needed not to forget that.

He shrugged. “If it’s someone who knows what I am, they’ll think I’m boning one of Maddy’s street witches.” He paused and gave her a shit-eating grin. “Again.”

“That’s even more disgusting.” She could feel heat in her face. “It better not have been Randi.”

His gazed fixed on her, and it was not a comfortable feeling. “Not your business.”

That meant it had been. She needed to learn to think before she spoke, because he was right, his sex life was private. “True.” She returned his smile. “Your bad taste in women is not my business.”

“I wouldn’t have her over while we’re working. I need you concentrating on what you can do, not looking over your shoulder at some second-rate witch.”

“She’s not second-rate.”

He waved a hand, dismissive. “She’s not half as good as she thinks.”

She gave him a long look, and he returned it in measure. Not human, she reminded herself. Not human at all. “You’d have to protect me from her, wouldn’t you?”

Not a flicker of anything from him. “Pack, would you? If you run out of anything or need anything extra, I’ll get it for you later.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Call your boss and quit.”

She did. Because that was their agreement. When she gave back his phone, her hand shook. There was nothing she could do now except call and take it all back, and she couldn’t do that. The center of her chest hollowed out, and panic rushed in to fill the void.

He gave her a look. “What?”

“I just quit my job.”

“Yeah, and?”

Oh, God, oh, God. What had she done? “My rent is due in three weeks.”

“I don’t get where you’re going with this.”

She squashed the pillow to half its size. “I don’t even have a car to live in if you’re messing with me.”

“Number one, I’m not messing with you. Number two, you can afford to live someplace else now.”

She clasped her hands over her head. “No, I can’t. I have thirty-five dollars in the bank. My last paycheck is going to cover my rent and that’s it. God, I hope you’re happy now.”

“Delirious. Let’s get going.” He gave her time to get rid of the food that would spoil while she was gone, and then they were back in his car and heading for the Bay Bridge and San Francisco.

Palla lived on the top floor of an apartment building on Octavia Street in San Francisco. The tiny lobby and elevator had all the charm the 1970s had ever managed, which meant practically none. The hallway to his apartment was as depressing as the elevator. It made her feel better that his place had to cost a lot more than hers without being any less solidly no big deal. Besides, she lived in an actual house while he had to make do in an apartment.

At the door, he touched a carved wooden medallion set above the frame. He held her bulging suitcase in his other hand. Similar medallions were at Maddy’s house, inside and out. The back of her head tingled, and her stomach pitched. This was disconcerting, her being able to tell when he was drawing on his magic.

They went inside, and the lights slowly came on without him touching a single fixture. She walked forward to get a better look. Her vision adjusted, and she didn’t even care what he thought of her. The awfulness of the not-even-retro decor of the lobby faded away.

Palla’s apartment opened onto a room that overlooked the San Francisco Bay. She could see the lights of the Golden Gate Bridge to the left and the dark water of the bay in front of her. Behind her, she heard him set down his car fob.

When she tore her eyes from the view and actually looked around, there was more to love here. The living room was blue, sea-green, and bronze, and there were glowing bronze stars painted on the ceiling. His furniture was a mix of Stickley and Mission, and there was art on the walls. Real art, with colors that said, hell yes, this is color. You never saw red until right now this minute.

Words went straight from her heart to her mouth. “I want to live here.”

“Oh, fuck no.”

“You’ll never get me out of here.”

“Six weeks tops, angel.” He moved past her. “Enjoy it while you can. Guest room’s this way.”

“How about if I cook for you?” She stayed where she was. “Can I live here then?”

“I have a service. They do everything.” He kept walking, and when he disappeared down the hall, she gave up and followed him. He’d opened a door about halfway down the hall, and he’d dropped her suitcase just inside the doorway.

She followed him inside and couldn’t stop from yanking his chain. “Accountant, maybe?”

“Bathroom’s there.” Her suitcase looked cheap and battered in this room, but he flicked on the light and wow. Just wow.

“Look at this.” She turned in a circle. More stars were painted on the ceiling, copper instead of bronze. She’d be able to lie in bed, maybe, and watch them. One of the walls was vibrant ochre; the rest were linen white. From the window, she could see Pacific Heights and the sweep downhill, which wasn’t as amazing as the living room, but still nice. She loved it. “Gofer? Car washer in chief?” She put her back to the window. “Window washer? Person in charge of thinking up insults you can use at a moment’s notice?”

He faced her. “You need a filter.”

Their ridiculous exchange had broken the ice. She wasn’t feeling quite as weird and unsettled and out of place, and he didn’t seem like quite so much of an asshole. “I like your place. It’s beautiful. I love everything about it.”

“You haven’t seen everything.” He touched something high on the wall, and she got a chill.

“I bet I love that, too.” She watched Palla walk the perimeter of the room, pausing every so often before each of a series of carved wooden medallions set above the crown molding. “What are you doing?”

He pointed to one of the disks above the door to her room. “Adjusting the wards so you don’t get killed or worse if your magic goes off. They’re an early warning system. If anyone I don’t want here tries to get in and they have power, these will go off.”

“Like who?”

“Magekind or kin who aren’t sworn to Nikodemus. Magehelds. Like that. Anyone who wouldn’t think twice about killing either one of us.” He faced her again and shifted his weight between his legs. “Are you too tired to work tonight?”

She assessed her state and cringed at the idea, but if he thought they should work, then they should. “I am all wound up right now, so no, I’m not too tired. But I don’t think I’ll last long.”

“Humans and your need to sleep. Sucks to be you.”

“I can make some tea if you have it. Maybe we could get in a couple of hours.”

He nodded. “Settle in, then come find me.”

“Sure.” When he was gone, she put her things away, took stock of the bathroom–
en suite
said all her favorite house shows–and then joined Palla in the living room. He handed her a mug that wasn’t tea. “What is this?”

“Espresso.”

She stared into the cup. “I don’t like coffee.”

“I don’t like humans, but I’m letting you stay here. You can fucking drink the coffee.”

She gave him a fake smile. “I love doing favors for people who appreciate me.”

“Drink the coffee. It’ll keep you awake. You want sugar or milk in that?”

“Yes.”

He pointed to a table where he’d left a pint container of milk and a bowl of sugar. She doctored up the stuff and managed to drink about half before she was wide, wide awake and jittery as hell.

“Ready?” he said.

“No.”

But, of course, that didn’t matter. She hadn’t meant it anyway. By midnight she had a raging headache and had managed to dead drop him exactly once. For about three seconds. He was frustrated and back to being an asshole, and she was back to feeling like a failure.

“I can give back the money.”

“Not necessary.”

At one o’clock, he made her a pastrami sandwich that revived her spirits some. He was tireless because demons didn’t need to sleep. He was annoyed by the food break and didn’t care that she was dead on her feet because he was an insensitive jerk. Who wasn’t even human. She was horribly, awfully aware that only his oath to her kept him from another physical attack. Otherwise, he’d have had no compunctions about trying to kill her again to get her magic going.

She wanted to weep with relief when his phone rang.

“Palla.” He bowed his head and pressed three fingers to his forehead. Strange. “Yeah.” He walked to the window and stared out. “Tonight? Sure, but I have something going and need some time after. Personal business. No problem. Consider it done. Me, too.”

She sat down and wondered if that was Randi and what the hell Palla saw in her besides talent and spectacular looks. She tucked her legs under her and took apart her sandwich so she could eat just the meat. If she ate fewer carbs, she might lose those ten pounds that kept nagging at her.

He put away his phone and said, “I have to go out for a while.”

“Booty call?”

No reaction. Not even a scowl. “Don’t answer the door. Don’t let anyone in. See those?” He pointed to the wards he’d told her about. “If they go off, lock yourself in the bathroom and call that number I gave you. The last one. Don’t go calling my banker. He can’t save your life from Geneva. Whoever answers, tell them I gave you the number and that you’re at my place.”

“Okay.” Great, now she was going to think every sound she didn’t recognize was an imminent attack.

“Remote’s there if you want to watch TV. It’s internet connected so you can stream anything.” He pointed. “Food’s in the kitchen. Help yourself to whatever you want.”

“Thanks.” She was officially creeped out now. This was Palla, and he killed people for a demon warlord. On demand. Get a phone call. Go take someone’s life. As far as she could tell, he wasn’t bothered by that at all.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She gave him a big smile and spoke in her whitest voice. “Okay, sweetie. You be careful out there.”

“Fuck you.”

“When you get back, honey.”

Palla got home shortly before dawn. Sometimes his job was easy. Like tonight. A mage in Nikodemus’s territory had openly defied the truce by carrying out the ritual murder of one of the free kin, having, in the hours before the killing, first enslaved the demon. Against the rules.

Whether the mage was just plain stupid or a card-carrying member of the cabal of magekind in open rebellion against what Nikodemus was doing made no difference. He’d broken two of the rules for which there was no forgiveness. Damn straight Nikodemus authorized an immediate sanction.

The termination had gone down a lot faster and easier than anyone had expected. He’d led a team that included two of Nikodemus’s witches; one to sever any and all of the mage’s demons from their enslavement–the mage had brought several with him–the other to separate the mage from the life energy of every demon the mage had murdered in pursuit of prolonging his life.