Demon Chained (Shadowfae Chronicles) (17 page)

Feverishly, I writhed, trying to drag my bits back under control. This never happened. I felt sick. I felt powerless. She'd magicked me, or something. Damn demons. I had to get out of here, lamp or no.

"Come to mumma, you meddling bitch." She inhaled deeply through her nose, and the air in the room sucked towards her, howling, as if towards a vacuum.

Terror slammed around me like a swinging door. I searched wildly for heat to swell me, lift me away. I scrabbled for Tam's final words, hunting desperately for that lost compulsion.
And bring it back to me.
Bring it back to me. Back to me.

My form rippled, tortured but expanding, and I dragged myself slowly free of the sucking mass, hand over ghostly hand, like escaping from quicksand.

"Get the fuck in here." Delilah breathed in again, ash crusting her nostrils.

But I'd done it. I was free, and I cracked into a tight, invisible arrow and darted hissing for the window.

***

Chapter Seventeen

My chest hit dusty carpet, and my breath slammed from me gut-first, echoes of the demon lady's laughter still pounding in my newly-made ears.

Stunned, I tried to lift my head. My eyes watered, freshly skinned. Dust balls, piles of metal junk, the yellowed couch and the stink of old pizza.

Home again. Without my lamp. A cold blade of despair plunged into my still-racing heart. There was no way I could get it from her, not while she guarded it so closely. She'd been waiting for me, and she'd nearly snared me, as easily as she'd trap a hungry rat.

I'd been reckless. I hadn't thought it through. And if Tam hadn't tricked me, hadn't said what he'd said, I'd have had no way out.

Cursing and wobbling, I dragged myself upright.

Tam winced. "That didn't go so well, huh."

I smudged dust from the front of my long-suffering dress and plopped back onto the couch to scowl at him. Just because he'd saved my life didn't mean he wasn't a double-crossing little bastard.

"She's got it in her hand. The demon bitch. She nearly sucked me in right there with some hellmagic vortex thing." I dragged frustrated hands through my hair, and magic sparked like static, sticking a few strands to my palm. "I can't do it. There's no way—"

"She fucking what? Are you okay?" Tam touched my shoulder, the other hand gripping his chair with white knuckles.

I slapped him away, horrid knots tying in my stomach. "No, I'm not okay. Do I look okay to you, Tam? Some purple demon broad's holding my lamp hostage and I'm stuck with you. Of course I'm not bloody okay."

He lifted his grime-scarred hands and held them away from me. "Hey, relax. Cool it, take a chill pill, whatever you sixties chicks say."

"Relax? Are you kidding? You've got a nerve, you know that?"

"You'd better hope so, sister. This is what I do, remember? This is my world. If I can't snatch this lamp, no one can."

He sounded confident. I hoped he was right. "Forgive me if I'm not brimming with confidence."

"Took it from under your nose, didn't I?"

That was a saucy wink. I saw it. I scowled. "So what do you recommend?"

"Well . . ." He chewed his wet lip absently. "If you could creep inside there and hide—"

"No!" My pulse scrambled for cover. "You still don't get it. She's got some kind of barrier up. I can't get in the lamp without her chewing my butt for breakfast—" I halted, indignant. At the mention of chewing, Tam actually grinned. The thieving prick was having fun.

He saw my glare, and shrugged. "It's a nice butt. Chewing's good."

"Mind on the job, wise-ass," I demanded, choosing to ignore the way his smile tweaked something fresh and sparkly in my heart. "Were you even listening?"

"Sure. I get it. No smoking." He tapped his bruised nails together, a tiny line of concentration crinkling his brow. "What if we get the lamp first? Then can you get in there?"

Suspicion tickled my nose. Was he tricking me? Then again, I was already beholden to him. How could it get worse than this? "Yeah, I suppose. If we get it away from her, those barriers should be broken. But you're not leaving me there alone, I'll tell you that now." I propped my hand on my hip, trying to make it look like I had a choice.

He just shrugged. "Good. Then all we have to do is make her give it to us, right?"

***

She gawps at me like I asked for a yeti hamburger. "Give it to us? Are you crazy? What happened to breaking in there and taking it?"

Amateurs. I smile once too often, and my bottom lip rips open, salt stinging. "Trust me. You don't break into the DiLuca clan's house and steal a dust bunny, let alone a demon's favorite new toy."

"Thought you were good at this."

"I am. Doesn't mean it's easy."

She scrunches her nose at me. "You chickening out, then, tough guy?"

Liquid leaks onto my chin, and I wipe my dripping lip. Greenish blood smears onto my hand. Nice. So much for hiding it from her.

"No. I'm just telling you, it can't be done. Not without sitting about in the dark for a month, watching Joey's cretins come and go, okay? Not without better info on where Delilah keeps the loot from minute to minute. Not without a digital foil for the alarm system and a vial of military-grade rapture suppressant and a trolls-with-big-fists-proof plan for getting out of there alive. None of which I can dream up on three hours' notice. Can you?"

Hell, maybe she can, if I ask her to. Hadn't thought of that. I wait for her to tease me, tell me I'm thinking small.

But her eyes brighten like a little girl's. "We're going tonight?"

Her gratitude shines on my skin like the sun, and my nerves prickle with guilt. She trusts me, this pretty dream girl, and I'm going to fuck her over as surely as if I pinned her naked to the floor and wrapped her perky legs around me.

Great. Now my mouth's all sticky. I'll leave that one alone. But I can't help my gaze slipping away. "Tonight? You bet we are. Why, got somewhere else to be?"

She withers my skin with a glare, and I feel better. "Funny. So what's the plan, then? Walk right up and say, 'gotcha, you purple hussy, hand it over?'"

I glance around at the hardware littering the floor. "Something like that. You got a computer that works in all this junk?"

"Huh?"

"Computer. You know— oh. Never mind." I creak up from the chair. My joints feel oily and untrustworthy, but I have to squat to sort through the crap, and my hips squeak but stay in place. I shuffle through a heap of old network cards, ripped anti-static bags and broken CPU fans, and uncover a scratched laptop.

It powers. It's even got wireless. My lucky day. I settle back into my seat and bring up some online maps, and all the time she's watching me like I might spring some eye of newt on her or something. The fifties must have been dead boring. No computers, no console games, no designer drugs. They didn't even have hair dryers or body wax. What the fuck did they do all day?

I zoom in on Albert Park, the lake showing shiny like a fat whale kidney, streets and houses laid out in spokes and crosses. I know which is the DiLuca mansion. It used to belong to old vampire Sal DiLuca, before his own people murdered him, if you believe the stories. Now, a few iterations later, the house is Joey's, and it's kind of a shady myth among thieves, a housebreaker's hard-on. I scroll over, and there it is, blocked out in white like an ancient space invader over green gardens.

She leans over my shoulder, and her smoky jasmine scent sparks life into some dead nerves in my nose. "What are you doing? What's that?"

"It's photos from a satellite." Christ. Where to start. "In orbit. Y'know. Umm . . . Sputnik? Were you awake for that one?"

I glance up, and she screws up her pretty nose again. "Russians? Hell, I was Russian once. Aren't we over that yet?"

"Well, yeah. Long story. Anyway, that's a picture of DiLuca's joint from space." I point to the dusty screen, where a crooked ring of white surrounds the house. "See that? Brick wall, glass-topped. Either we come in the gate, past Trolls 'R' Us and like a hundred cameras, or we go over it."

Her fingers brush my shoulder, and settle. Just that light pressure, and some ridiculous warm tingly business creeps into my skin, right down my arm to my fingertips. I really hope the battery doesn't go flat while I'm showing off. It's kinda fun, teaching her stuff. Maybe when this is over, I'll take her out for teppanyaki and a few beers and we can see the town. I could take her dancing. Not at Unseelie Court. Someplace nice where you don't have to wipe come off the couches to sit down. Maybe I'll even get to kiss her goodnight.

Yeah. Right after she chews my throat out for lying to her. That'll work.

I dare another glance up.

She's scrutinizing the screen, her cute nose still scrunched up. "Don't tell me. You want to go over, right?"

"Darlin', you read my mind."

"How high's the wall?"

"Ten feet. Twelve, some places." I'd seen that much from a distance. When you steal for a living—living, heh—you notice these things.

She laughs, rich like dessert wine. "Tam, look at me. I'm a tough girl, but I can't climb a twelve-foot brick wall."

"One, don't sell yourself short. Two, I can." Make that
could,
before the little matter of dying filled my leg muscles with jelly and rotted my joints till they slip. Still, no need to dwell on specifics, right? "I can lift you over. It's not a problem."

She shakes her head. "Not my chunky butt. You're gonna have to—"

"No." My guts squirm. She's right. Easier just to say her name. But I don't care. "I can lift you. Okay?"

"I guess so." Her fingers slide away from my shoulder, and she reclaims the couch, crossing her legs and arms again, like I might see something she doesn't want me to.

Not an emphatic vote of confidence. But it'll have to do.

I stare at the screen, new blood pounding an ache into my head as I think harder. Front door, two sides, the back . . . but what else? There's a pergola or something blocking my view. The street angle shows only the wall. I can't even tell from these pictures where the windows are.

Shit. I was flipping her off before, as is my classy habit, but I was right: I can't sneak in there. Not without someone who knows the DiLuca house. Someone who's been there, who notices things and can tell me where's what.

Someone like Gavain.

Ouch.

I flip the laptop shut and toss it onto the couch. So, no Lara Croft, black Lycra shit. That's a relief. Lycra and ooze don't mix. Instead, it's the old set-the-alarm-off gig: they catch us, beat us up a bit, take us to their leader. Hopefully don't kill either of us by mistake.

Hell, I don't even know if Jewel can die. It's not the kind of question you ask a lady. Hey, baby, how's it going, you immortal or what, let me get that drink for you.

When did I start trying to impress her, anyway? Was that before or after she chose Gavain over me? Jesus. What do I even care?

"Okay. Scenario: we sneak in there, they catch us, they drag us off to their boss. We trick the hellbitch into handing the lamp over, then I get you to smoke in there . . ."

Jewel snorts laughter again, tearing into my line of thought. "You're mad. She'll never just give it over."

"She might. She wants you in there, right? To own you?"

"So?"

"And she doesn't know the trick, right? So we convince her I need to hold the lamp to make the magic work. She might believe that."

"I guess so. But what then?"

Bones pop in my neck as I nod, my muscles cold and slow. "Then we get out. But I'm guessing you can't shift us, right?"

She frowned. "Shift? What do you mean?"

"If you have to fly to a restaurant to get me fries, I'm thinking you can't magic me about the place. True?"

"True." The corner of her mouth twists. "It doesn't work like that. I swap things. I can't just move stuff about whenever I feel like it."

Rubbery doubt wriggles in my guts. Have I offended her? Was it a dumb question? Have I just blown some secret taboo of smoke-babe-dom?

I swallow a grimace, my teeth aching. "So that means—"

"—that means we won't be able to get out." Jewel sighs, sweaty hair sticking to her hand as she ruffles it. "She'll just kill you and take the lamp back again."

"Unless I can escape. Unless . . ."

Blood jerks in my veins, like a swamp swallowing a dropped rock.

Tam, you sneaky dead guy, you're a fucking genius.

I wipe cold sweat from my face, and it's grey and greasy on my hand but I don't care because I'm alive again, this dark, fragile chaos that floods my bones with exultation. I love this. Love the crafty machinations, the wild plans, the deception, the lies, the hubris.

"Hold on a sec. You can turn to smoke whenever you want, right? So long as I say it properly?"