Demon Demon Burning Bright, Whisperings book four (13 page)

Had I not half expected it, I would not have
seen her leave. She moved in a blur of air, the door whisked open,
banged against the wall and she was gone.

I shivered. Rio calmly went back to the
kitchen for more dessert.

“Doesn’t it freak you out when she does
that?” I asked him.

He shrugged before he bent to pull the bombé
from the fridge. With his head in there, his voice sounded hollow.
“Yeah, but I don’t let her see. It’d bother her.”

And we can’t have dear Gia bothered, can
we,
I thought sourly.

She came back before I could open my mouth
again. The door closed softly and she returned to her seat.

“I lost him, but he will not escape me again
should he follow us.”

I lifted away from the couch. “You’ll
help?”

“Perhaps.” She jogged one shoulder, made a
moue. “You have not answered my question.”

I didn’t have to ponder my reply. “I would
happily tear the world apart to find Royal.”

She nodded. “Good. Who knows, it may come to
that.”

She rose up, walked to the windows and
looked down on the street. “Cicero lives on Burch Mountain. I will
take you to him, but you must do as I say.”

My spine went rigid. “What do you mean?”

“Bel-Athaer can be dangerous for humans.”
She twirled on her heel to face me. “I cannot guarantee your
safety, but the odds are in our favor if you do what I tell
you.”

For Royal, this is for Royal.
And I
should be grateful she’d take me to Cicero because I doubted I’d
find him myself, even if she gave me directions. “Okay, within
reason.”

I wanted to slap my mouth. I agreed to put
myself in the hands of a Dark Cousin.

She walked to the door and opened it.
“Tomorrow morning, nine, at the Gate in Montague Square.”

I got to my feet. “Any idea how long we’ll
be away? Do I need to make arrangements for my dog?”

“We’ll reach Burch Mountain in two days if
all goes smoothly.”

I nodded as I passed her. “Thank you.”

She nodded back and shut the door in my
face.

I sat in the Xterra outside Gia’s place and
waited for Janie to answer her phone.

“Janie speaking!”

“Hi, Janie. It’s Tiff. Can you take Mac for
a few days?”

“What do you mean by a few days?”

Gia said two days to reach Cicero. Two days,
and two back? But what if we had to go elsewhere afterward? I had
no idea how long I’d be gone.

“A week?”

“I can do that.”

My tension eased with relief. Mac would be
okay. I didn’t know what I would do if Janie couldn’t take him.
“Thanks so much, Janie. I’ll bring him tomorrow morning,
eight-thirty.”

Janie would keep him longer if she had to.
If this went bad she would adopt the cantankerous little beast
rather than hand him to a stranger, and she would never take him to
the animal shelter.

“I’ll see you then. Must rush; it’s supper
time for the pooches.”

I closed my phone, tucked it in my jacket
pocket and started the Xterra. The engine sounded a little sluggish
from the cold, but she warmed up quickly. I pulled away from the
curb and into traffic.

The street lights flashed in the corners of
my eyes and I’m sure that’s why tears pricked them. It had nothing
to do with the crazy mixture of emotions which surged through me.
Fear for Royal, relief Gia agreed to help, trepidation for what
came next. I dreaded this expedition. People speak of a sense of
doom - I felt it on a purely gut level, as if I naively ran toward
an escapade from which I might not return.

I glanced up at Royal’s windows as I drove
past his block.

And saw a diffused glow.

My foot hit the brake. Luckily nobody drove
behind me or they’d be up the Xterra’s rear. The car idled as I
hunched to see through the windscreen, not sure I didn’t imagined
what I wanted to see. But yes, the lights were from the living
room, shining through the open door to our office, and the gate
stood open.

I eased the car to the curb and put my hand
on the door, but it stayed there as all my old inhibitions
resurfaced. Royal was fine and had been all along. He’d been off
doing his own thing, getting away from me, he didn’t want to be
with me any longer. That’s why he didn’t answer his phone. Leaving
his cell in my drawer was nothing more than a mistake. He didn’t
want me, but didn’t have the guts to tell me.

What did I do wrong? Because it was always
me, wasn’t it. I should be surprised we lasted as long as we did. I
took my hand from the door. I’d survived broken relationships
before. I’d get over it.

I blinked up at the light owlishly, eyes
wide so they would not tear up.

The moment passed. I came to my senses.
Don’t be a drama queen, Tiff
. My hands tightened on the
steering wheel. Royal would have an explanation when I got up
there. His face would come alight when he saw me, arms clasp me to
him so tight I could barely breathe.

I scooted from the car and slammed the door.
In seconds, I stood at the bottom of the wrought iron stair,
brushing my hand over the black letters etched in our copper
sign.

Banks and Mortensen. Private
Investigators.
Partners.

I trotted up the steps, past the office door
and paused in front of his apartment entrance to catch my breath. A
ribbon of light showed beneath the door. It swung open as I reached
for the knob.

He stood in the glow of the half dozen
ceiling lamps, their light picking out glittering strands in his
hair. His mouth widened in a dazzling smile as his arms spread in
welcome.

Disappointment clogged my throat. Then I
scowled. “What the
fuck
are you doing here?”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Christopher Plowman took my hand and pressed
the back to his lips. “Mon amour, je tombe à tes pieds comme
l'adoration.”

I don’t know what he said, but
how
he
said it made me a little weak in the knees.

I stared at his bent head with something
like horror. I barely knew him, and Royal didn’t tell me much.
Chris was British to the bone when I last saw him in his Boston
hotel. The sleek Gelpha briefly lived in England and decided to
become an English gentleman; he embraced the concept
wholeheartedly. Now, not only must I deal with him breaking into
Royal’s apartment, I couldn’t understand a word he said.

“Don’t tell me, you decided you’re French
now?”

His lids lowered over smoke-gray eyes with
glistening pupils. “Cosmopolitan, my dear,” he said in that low,
slow, lazy drawl which made my stomach flutter pleasantly.

I tried to free my hand. His grip tightened.
I glared. “Loose it or lose it, bud.”

He sighed heavily and released my hand. “So
lovely, yet so cruel.”

All Gelpha are beautiful and Chris is no
exception. Not lovely like Gorgeous Gorge, and he does not have
Royal’s sheer masculinity. Chris is tall, slender and elegant. He
carries himself with an air of sophistication and total
self-assurance, and totes an ego the size of Texas.

“What are you doing here?”

He flipped one hand to indicate the room.
“It’s adequate for my needs and unoccupied at the moment.”

I leaned in. “How do you know that?”

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes. “Oh,
yes, closer, my Lovely. Closer.” He pulled a deep breath through
his nose as if sucking in my scent. “You smell wonderful.”

He smelled of citrus and ginger, cool
compared to Royal’s hot spicy scent. Silk-smooth, shoulder-length
hair of shimmering gray and glistening black strands draped the
wide shoulders of an impeccably tailored dark-blue jacket, a match
for sharply creased trousers. A black silk shirt opened at the
neck. From the material and cut, I could tell his outfit cost a
bundle, including the shining black shoes, heavy silver bracelet
watch and thick silver band on his index finger.

I moved back. Plowman stood high on the list
of people I did not trust since the day in Boston when he tried to
influence me in front of Royal. “What do you know about Royal?”

He inched one shoulder up. “I keep my ear to
the Gelpha community. I heard vague rumors you went to the High
House and asked about Royal. You seem to have misplaced him.”

“So you zipped to the States to see for
yourself?” He must have used the Ways to get here this quickly.

“I thought to hire a good private
investigator. Are you busy at the moment?”

I tucked my chin in my neck. “You think I’m
not already doing my damndest to find him?”

He reached for my hand again. When I glared,
he mockingly threw his hands to shoulder height. “Do come in and
relax, my dear. You are cold. Let me rub those icy fingers in my
hands. I will have you warm in a jiffy.”

“I’m fine. My hands are fine,” I said,
ticked to the nth degree. I marched past him and in the living
room, and stopped near the big leather travelling trunk. Chris
closed the front door with a soft click.

My gaze swept the apartment and stopped at
the mess in the kitchen, the counter littered with Chinese takeout
cartons and a pizza box. He sure ate a lot in the brief time he’d
been here. Dinner plates, utensils, an empty wine bottle and used
wineglass sat on the table. He’d spilled food on the board floor
and not cleaned it up.

He came to sit on the couch. Unbuttoning his
jacket, he casually cocked one knee over the other, tugged at his
cuffs and draped his arm along the couch back. He took his time
looking me over. “Do you always dress down? You would be stunning
in attire a little more . . . glamorous.”

“And you’ll be stunning in the next cab
outta here,” I snapped back. “If you have bags, you better pack
them.”

He brought his arm down and studied his
nails. “Oh, I think not.” He met my eyes. “You need help. I am here
to provide it.”

My hands went to my hips. “I have help. I
don’t need you.”

“Don’t go with her, Tiff.” His gaze became
intense. “She is dangerous. She has an ulterior motive.”

Flabbergasted, my lips moved but nothing
came out. I bet I looked like a fish with its mouth pulsing.

My brain went
ping
! “You were outside
her place! Did you follow me?”

“Fortunately. Tiff, do sit down.”

“Nope. Not staying long enough.” I twisted
and headed for the door.

With a burst of demon speed, he barred my
way before I could blink. Leaning on the door, he crossed his arms
over his chest.

I started to seethe. “Don’t make me do
anything you’ll regret.”

A spark lit in his eyes. “Promises,
promises.”

Ulterior motive? I eyed him narrowly. What
did he know I didn’t? I swung and went back to the couch in front
of the Christmas trees. He sauntered over and sat on the other
couch opposite me. I eased down, sat with my knees together, hands
clasped on them.

“So what is this ulterior motive?”

“I have no idea. But she has one. The
Cousins don’t care about Royal.”

“I know. I helped her out a while back;
she’s returning the favor.”

His eyes rolled. “You actually believe
that?”

Did I? I didn’t want to think about it, and
I did
not
want him to plant more uncertainties in my mind.
“I’ve made my decision. Let’s talk about something else. You heard
what I told Gia - what do you know about Cicero?”

He stroked the soft leather of the couch.
“Nothing more than he is one of the High House’s Seers.”

“And Orcus?”

“My parents threatened me with him when I
was a child. You know:
behave, or Orcus will come for you
,”
he said “Unfortunately, he’s no mythical monster. He’s very real
and someone to be avoided at all cost.”

“Why does he work for the High House, if
he’s so nasty?”

“Like Cicero, he’s a Seer.”

“What do Seers do, predict the future?”

“They seem to know . . . everything. They
provide intelligence to their House. In this time of unrest, it is
primarily rival House’s Machiavellian plots.” Chris now held a
white handkerchief with which he polished his silver cufflinks.
“Cicero has uncovered many a spy or traitor in the High House. He
also advises and guides the High Lord.”

“Isn’t that the Council’s job?”

“It is, but Cicero has the authority to veto
the Council’s acts or legislation and enact his.”

I silently whistled. “One powerful dude,
then. Do you know where he lives?”

“I can discover where in Bel-Athaer he
resides.”

I
humphed.
“But that’ll take time and
Gia already knows.”

“Tiff, Tiff,” he crooned melodramatically.
“Royal won’t thank me for letting you go with a Dark Cousin. My way
will be slower, but safer.”

I rose to my feet. “Listen up, noodle-brain.
It’s all arranged and you’re not included. I gotta go. And clean
the place up before you leave.”

“Before I leave? I’m not going anywhere,
Tiff.” Then he stared past my shoulder as a small frown formed
between his brows. “Excuse me, are you suggesting
I
clean
up?”

“Won’t clean itself and Royal keeps it
neat.”

“I would not know where to begin. My staff
take care of my domestic needs and I presumed you tend to Royal’s.”
He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively. “After all, you take care of
his other needs.”

I shook my head in disbelief and went in the
kitchen. He ate the toppings off three slices of pepperoni pizza
but left the crust. What a child. He’d demolished three cartons of
Chinese, but prawn and ginger, white rice, spare ribs, beef in
black bean sauce, and chicken chow mien congealed in open cartons.
And a box of spring rolls.

He’d better clear it up. Royal would have a
conniption if he found his kitchen in this state, but I would not
touch it. Not my mess.

I didn’t hear him move, but he stood close
behind me. “Can I tempt you?”