Personal Demon (10 page)

“And funner,” Jaz said.

Sonny put his head in his hands and groaned.

“As you can see, there’s at least one gang member who’ll never leave me for college.” Guy put his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. “Seriously, Faith, Cabal life isn’t a route you want to take. Max’s girlfriend—sorry,
friend
—is a shaman. They’re a dime a dozen. If she’s careful, she can probably quit after a few years, no hard feelings, no bounty for her scalp. But an Expisco half-demon?” He shook his head. “If they get you, they’ll never let you go. Employee for life.”

“But if I’m so valuable, they’d pay me accordingly, right?”

“Have you got a price in mind? Proper compensation for your freedom? Your free will? Because that’s what they’ll demand. Yes, they’ll pay—they’ll pay for you as a commodity, not as a human being, because to them, that’s all you—”

“Oh, God, please, no.” Tony dropped his head to the table, then looked over at me. “You had to get him started, didn’t you?”

Guy pegged him in the head with a bottle cap. “Okay, okay. It’s Rodriguez’s celebration. No more talk of Cabals. That’s an order. You’ve got exactly ten minutes to goof off, then we need to get down to business and talk about tonight.” To me, he added, “If you want to continue this conversation, today’s a write-off, but grab me tomorrow. Don’t even consider Cabal employment until you’ve talked to me, okay?”

“I will.”

AFTER EXACTLY TEN
more minutes of eating and drinking and joking around, Guy moved on to our plans for that night. I expected a larger scale version of what we’d done yesterday—maybe knock over a liquor store or hijack a transport, both common gang activities according to Benicio’s notes. What Guy laid out though, made me realize why this gang, despite its size, was such a concern to Benicio.

His scheme was audacious. There was no other word for it. Clever, elaborate and mind-blowing in its boldness.

Bianca assigned us preparation tasks. I was put with Jaz and Sonny again, getting the equipment ready. As everyone filed out, Guy ordered me to wait.

“These marks tonight,” he said when the others had left. “They’re your kind of people, aren’t they?”

Society people, he meant. I considered distancing myself right now—sure I come from that, but they aren’t my people, not anymore. Too easy to see through that lie, so I nodded and said simply, “That’s right.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Any advice you can give? Potential problems I’m not seeing?”

After studying the plans, and rehashing his scheme, I ventured an idea to help him get away with it.

“Smart girl. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“The others might not be too happy. It’ll cut into the profits.”

He smiled. “Well, then, you won’t mind if I take credit, will you?”

“Not at all.”

LUCAS: 2

I SWIPED MY KEY CARD
at the office delivery doors and parked my motorcycle in the back hall. In this neighborhood, I wasn’t leaving a 1929 Indian Scout in the alley. While it wasn’t yet motorcycle weather, Paige had the car, so I’d brought the bike out of storage. I won’t say I wasn’t happy for the excuse.

I left my helmet on the seat and adjusted my glasses. For comfort, contacts are the preferred eye wear with helmets, but I couldn’t be bothered inserting and removing them for a short ride. Savannah tells me that I could resolve the problem by exchanging my glasses for contacts permanently. I tell her contacts irritate my eyes. A lie.

Glasses project an image and I’ve grown comfortable with that image. Investigating supernatural cases sometimes requires more than lobbing a few defensive spells, and I’ve won more than my fair share of fights simply because my opponent takes one look at me and presumes I won’t throw the first punch.

Another key card swipe to get into the stairwell, then up to our second-floor offices where yet a third pass of the card is required. I’d grown up with such security measures at the Cabal offices, but I often overheard Savannah and Adam cursing as they fumbled to find their cards. No one complained, though. When it came to the building, we were still in the honeymoon phase.

Cortez-Winterbourne Investigations used to be housed in a cramped spare bedroom, and we hadn’t dignified it with anything as formal as a name. It had been something to talk about in bed, late at night, how one day Paige would be able to quit her Web design business, I’d stop taking on commercial legal piecework and we’d run our legal-cum-investigative firm helping supernaturals full time, from an actual office. Now, some days, I walked around to the front door just to see the business name and reassure myself it was real.

Five years ago, I’d been a new lawyer, unemployed, no fixed address, chasing cases of injustice—and usually getting the door slammed in my face. No one slammed it harder than one infuriating, stubborn and absolutely bewitching young woman determined to protect her ward from the Cabals without any sorcerer’s help. I’d gotten the case, though. And gotten the girl.

As I opened the door to the second floor, the smell of coffee hit me. I paused, still holding the door handle.

No one should be here. Paige was at an appointment. Savannah and Adam were in Seattle, doing legwork for a case.

A pot left on the burner would mean burnt coffee, but this smelled fresh. Had Paige returned early? I smiled as I pulled off my jacket. Then I remembered the empty parking lot. If Paige’s car wasn’t here, neither was she.

I moved cautiously to the kitchenette door. A man stood at the coffeemaker, his back to me. His Rolex caught the light as his fingertips tapped the reservoir, waiting for the machine to finish brewing. He’d look at home in any financial district—the tailored designer dress shirt, pressed pants, polished leather loafers. Perfectly groomed, not a lock of dark hair out of place, not a shaving nick or rough patch to be seen. A man easily discounted as a soft urban professional. Just as one might presume that I’d caught him unawares.

I waited. He took two upside-down mugs from the shelf and flipped them over.

“Cream?” he asked without turning. “Sugar?”

“Black.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I helped myself.”

“Not at all. I hope you don’t mind if I ask for a refund on your work designing our security system.”

Karl turned and flashed me a smile that could, despite the cliché, best be termed wolfish. “What kind of thief would I be if I can’t break into a system I created? But if anyone else manages to do so, you’re entitled to your money back.” He filled the cups. “Or you would be, had you paid for my services.”

“I tried to pay. You insisted on doing it pro bono. In return, one presumes, for some future favor. If you’d like, I can cut you a check right now.”

“No, thank you.”

I really would rather have paid. Karl Marsten wasn’t someone I liked being indebted to. Clayton once told me, “Karl’s first priority is Karl. And his second. And his third. Being Pack now won’t change that.” Which was to say that while Karl was a loyal new addition to the werewolf Pack, his loyalty extended no further than his self-interest. The same, presumably, went for his relationship with me. As long as I proved a useful ally, he could be trusted…though not, apparently, to ring the bell before entering.

“I presume this visit is in regard to the task my father gave Hope?”

He clanked the spoon against the edge of his cup and handed me my mug before we walked to my office.

The smell of the coffee twisted my stomach. The mention of Hope’s name didn’t help. I’d spent the last two days wondering whether I’d done the right thing.

I didn’t doubt there were rumblings of gang trouble, but I knew my father had another angle. I just couldn’t decide what it was and, more important, whether it put Hope in danger.

If his ploy had been to get me to Miami to protect her, how carefully would he have evaluated the danger before setting her on the job? Was she in over her head while he bided his time, waiting for the panicked call from her that would bring me running? Something told me she’d never make that call, however bad things got.

Or was it all about Hope? His way of wooing her into Cabal life? If so, should I do something about it? Did I have the right to do anything about it?

My father had a knack for placing me in impossible situations. Damned if I acted, damned if I didn’t. Only this time I feared Hope would be the one damned.

“So Hope
is
in Miami,” Karl said as we sat. “I’ve been in Europe. I came back, had business in Philly and thought I’d take Hope to lunch. Her mother told me she was in Fort Lauderdale, pursuing an urgent story. When I heard ‘Florida,’ my first thought was your father. I’d hoped I was wrong.”

“So you came to Portland to check? I’m sure a phone call would have sufficed.”

“I had business here.”

Similar, I’m sure, to the nonexistent business that had him in Philadelphia. But Karl’s personal life wasn’t my concern and I was happy to leave it that way.

I sipped my coffee. Stronger than I liked, with grounds peppering the surface. Not someone accustomed to brewing his own.

“Your father and I had a deal,” Karl said. “He was not to call on Hope without notifying me first, and any debt we had, we’d repay together.”

“Did Hope know that?”

He shook his head and set his cup down, untouched.

“I don’t believe my father would put Hope in any real danger. He knows she’s under council protection, and he brought this arrangement to my attention, which would suggest he isn’t doing anything underhanded. I discussed the job with them both, and I’m convinced it’s a task suited to her talents.”

“What’s she doing?”

As I told him, his face darkened. When I finished, he let out an oath, then sat there, not moving a muscle.

His jaw was set so tight that, if I had werewolf hearing, I suspected I’d have heard his teeth grinding.

“I can’t see that it’s significantly different from the tasks Hope undertakes for the council,” I said. “Except, perhaps, in scale. You don’t have a quarrel with her council work—you were the one who brought her to them.”

“Not the same thing.”

“If you mean because she’s committing criminal acts with this gang, she cannot be held responsible—”

“My point exactly.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t, but I’m not sure I can say the same for your father. If he gave Hope this job, knowing what—” He rose. “I’m going to Miami. Put an end to this before it goes any further. Where’s Hope?”

“First tell me what you plan to do, so we can discuss your options with regard to my father.” Before he could argue, I went on. “As a member of the Pack, you represent the Pack. Any action you take against my father will be seen as the Pack acting against the Cabal. Is that the message you wish to send?”

His lips curled and parted, and I knew he was about to say that he’d send any message he damned well pleased, but he caught himself, realizing, perhaps, that such an approach would not be in his best interests.

“I’m getting Hope out of there,” he said. “That’s all I care about. Unless your father or his people interfere, there won’t be any trouble. I’ll deal with your father later—a civilized discussion about finding a civilized way to free Hope from our debt.”

“It’s my understanding that this isn’t only about what she owes him. She’s doing this of her own free will, and you might find she’s not so easily dissuaded.”

“Oh, she’ll be dissuaded—if I have to pick her up and carry her out of Miami.”

“Ah.”

“Now where can I find her?”

I hesitated. While I was reluctant to send Karl tearing down there without knowing why he so urgently wanted Hope out, I knew I wasn’t getting an explanation. Refuse, and he’d still fly to Miami, then make matters worse hunting her down himself.

“I don’t have the address of the apartment where she’s staying, but the gang owns a club called Easy Rider.”

As he nodded, I saw Paige, still wearing her coat, in the open doorway, hand raised to knock. She greeted Karl, who exchanged a few impatient pleasantries with her before brushing past.

“Did I just hear him say he’s taking Hope out of Miami whether she wants to leave or not?”

“So it would seem, but he was clearly not in the mood to discuss it further and I didn’t want him racing around Miami looking for her.”

“Should we call her? Warn her?”

I shook my head. “It would only make matters worse. As angry as Karl is, I trust him to be discreet.” I paused. “But we should probably clear our schedules. Just in case.”

HOPE: SWEET SIXTEEN

O
ur target was a sweet-sixteen party. When Guy first mentioned it, images of pillow-fighting, PJ-clad teenage girls sprang to mind, and the only profitable crime I could imagine was kidnapping, which would have had me on the phone to Benicio. But as he’d unveiled the plan, it became clear this was no slumber party, but a coming out worthy of a queen.

I’d heard of such parties in society circles, always described with the contemptuous horror the upper-crust reserved for the excesses of the nouveau riche. There was always a grand historical theme—Roman, medieval, Arabian. Tonight it was Egypt.

The party was held in a modest hall, one probably used mostly for weddings. Big enough to hold a couple of hundred guests, simple and security-free. This was obviously where they’d tried to cut costs, though it was the only place they had.

There were two Sphinxes—accuracy be damned—sculpted in ice and flanking the door. The pyramids were papier-mâché, and quickly relocated when guests realized how much dance floor space they took up. The mummies were, one hopes, also papier-mâché. Propped up in caskets, they wore masks and held trays of masks for the guests who wished to partake. Some of the young men and parents did, but few of the girls—there was no sense getting your makeup professionally done only to cover it.

The belle of the ball was a chubby, newly minted sixteen-year-old dressed as Cleopatra. On a litter borne by four young men in loincloths, she was carried through the crowd to the front, where her parents waited beside a silver bowl stuffed with envelopes. The guest of honor had requested congratulations in cash only, to fund a yearlong world tour before she went to college.