The Demon and the Succubus (6 page)

T-Bone smiled revealing a gold front tooth with a glittering diamond set into it. “What makes you think I won’t just take the payment, buttercup, and send you packing?”

Uriel bit back his impatience and met the man’s gaze, glad he didn’t have to steady him when the man used his leaning stance on the bar to hold himself upright.

A cold rush of fear, bravado, and survival emanated from the man along with all the details of his life.

This wasn’t T-Bone but a bouncer of sorts for the real fence. This man had been wrongly accused of a robbery as a teen and was put into the prison system to survive, or not, on his own. He’d responded by bulking up, becoming a bully, and training himself how to be a predator. Weakness of any type reminded him of himself back when he’d first been tossed into jail, so he tended to react violently to any sign of it in anyone else—a psychological need to destroy what he hated about his old self.

“Sidney, I need to see T-Bone, now.”

The man’s eyes grew round and then narrowed into a glare as he straightened and stood toe to toe with Uriel. “Who the fuck are you? I don’t know any Sidney.”

“Sidney is your name. Your
real
name.”

Fists double the size of Uriel’s clenched at Sidney’s sides. “You don’t know shit about me, man.”

“I know you were innocent of that burglary that landed you in the system when you were sixteen. I also know what you had to do to survive, especially when not even your family would stand behind you. I know the terror you felt and still feel but lock away until you think no one sees it and ever will.”

Sidney threw a right hook hard enough to knock any human on his ass.

Uriel reacted quickly, ducking back and catching the oncoming fist in his palm the same way he would catch a baseball.

The sudden stop of motion reverberated back down Sidney’s arm and the first metallic stench of fear emanated from him. No human would notice since Sidney had honed his reactions over the years purely to survive. But Uriel was definitely not human.

Sidney dropped his hand and studied Uriel for a long moment. “Who the fuck are you, man? How do you know who I am?” The last sentence was said so softly that no one save a supernatural would be able to hear it.

Uriel softened his gaze. “I’m someone who wants to barter in good faith for the journal. Once I have that, I won’t remember you at all.” The implication that Uriel wouldn’t share his knowledge of Sidney’s real name or anything else hung between them like a tangible promise.

Sidney stared back at Uriel as if measuring the truth of the unspoken words. Uriel was impressed Sidney would even meet his gaze after undergoing the soul gaze. Most beings were leery of looking at him after that. But then, Sidney had trained himself to show no fear and face things head-on—something that had allowed him to thrive in his new circumstances.

After several tense seconds, Sidney nodded, but he continued to boldly hold Uriel’s gaze. “Down the hall, the room just before the bathroom. Tell him Diesel vetted you.” He glared at Uriel as if daring him to say anything about the name he’d been dubbed with back in prison.

“Thank you . . . Diesel.” Uriel materialized another hundred-dollar bill inside his pocket and slipped it to Sidney as he started past him.

Sidney laid a hand on Uriel’s shoulder. “If you ever come here again, man, dress the part. You stand out like a lone virgin in a whorehouse dressed like that.”

Uriel grinned. “Duly noted. It does tend to make people underestimate me.”

Sidney huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Get outta here, man.” He chucked a thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway where T-Bone waited.

Uriel walked down the hallway sidestepping a man who had passed out and looked like he’d been rolled off to one side to sleep it off. When he reached the door Sidney had indicated, Uriel slowly turned the knob and pushed the door inward. A slice of light spilled from the open doorway along with the promise of cleaner, clearer air.

Uriel stepped inside to find a man who looked like a cross between Harry Potter and an accountant. The spindly man wore rumpled unmatched clothes, round dark glasses, and a persistent frown. He sat behind a desk with a large calculator, a state of the art computer, monitor, and several neatly stacked books and ledgers.

He glanced up as Uriel stepped inside closing the door behind him. “Diesel vetted me. Are you T-Bone?”

The man nodded, his Adam’s apple working overtime in his skinny throat. “And you are?”

“Uriel. I’ve come for the journal.”

T-Bone leaned back in the office chair, which squeaked as it reclined. He held a well-chewed pencil between the tips of the fingers of both hands and studied Uriel, careful not to meet his gaze. “What’s it worth to you?”

“What would you like?”

“I’d like a lot of things that someone like you could provide.” His gaze stayed squarely on Uriel’s chin.

Uriel smiled. T-Bone’s aura told him that the man in front of him was very sensitive and somehow knew about the soul gaze. “Someone like me?”

“An Archangel. If you were just a human, we’d be talking dollars, drugs, guns, or something else tangible. But with you, I think we’re on a different barter scale.” He shrugged. “After all, if I have something that an Archangel can’t get on his own, then it’s got to be very rare and valuable.”

Uriel sat without being invited. The stained chair was as uncomfortable as it looked and Uriel suspected it was that way on purpose to give whoever sat here a distinct disadvantage. “What type of things did you have in mind. Even as an Archangel some things are not within my power to give.”

“And some you won’t. I totally understand.” T-Bone leaned forward, the office chair squeaking again with the movement. “What I want is purely personal and won’t affect anyone else’s free will, won’t endanger the balance between good and evil, and according to my research, is definitely within the purview of one such as yourself.”

“Your research?” Uriel raised a single brow as he waited for T-Bone’s answer. Other than the Bible and some scattered sources, there were only myths and legends with bare snippets of truth about him in them.

“The journals.”

“You have more than one?” Uriel asked calmly.

T-Bone shook his head. “Only the one in my possession. But the information the previous one contained is still available for a price.”

Uriel nodded not surprised the information still existed even though he’d recovered that journal. The information age made it highly improbable that purely laying hands on the journal itself would stop the information from getting out. But having the original did ensure he was dealing with the correct translations and the original text that they held.

“I’m not interested in secondhand information. Only the original journals interest me.”

Anticipation sparked inside T-Bone’s eyes and his expression turned shrewd. “I have one journal in my possession and I can contact you if any others come into my hands . . . for a price.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve been blessed with brains and an awareness of some things beyond the purely human realm. However, I was saddled with this body.”

“You want a new body?”

“Not all of it. I only want certain parts enhanced if you get my meaning.”

Uriel frowned. “You want me to enhance the size of your penis.”

“Yeah, man. Skinny white guy with book smarts isn’t exactly a chick-magnet scenario.” He held his hands out to his side, palms up. “If I go for the whole package overhaul, I’d have too much explaining to do and I’d have to fight to prove my dominance. When other guys see a big guy, they always want to kick his ass to prove where they are in the pecking order. I have no desire to get into all those pissing contests. I’m the brains and I know how to make a shitload of money, and the big guys respect that. But if I have something substantial to offer the ladies . . .”

Uriel nodded as the entire picture came clear. “You do understand that size really isn’t everything? Skill, patience, and the willingness to be a very giving lover play a large part.” He shook his head at the odd turn the conversation had taken.

T-Bone waved away Uriel’s advice. “I get that, man. But without the lure, not very many ladies will even give me the chance to hone my skills, if you know what I mean. I can pay for play, but I’d like a woman to be there willingly. Besides, I’d like the chance to build up that skill on my own, if you know what I mean.” T-Bone gave Uriel a leering grin that told him the man needed to hone more than just his sexual skills.

Uriel bit back the urge to explain the dichotomy between T-Bone wanting a woman to desire him for himself and the necessity to have a “lure” to pique her interest. But Uriel needed the journal, and what T-Bone asked was easily within his ability to grant it. He didn’t have time to debate the philosophical issues or wisdom of wishing for a larger cock with a fence named T-Bone. “Do you have the journal?”

T-Bone unlocked his top desk drawer and pulled out a slim leather journal with a worn blue cover. He held it up and wiggled it back and forth in the air between them. “Right here. Do we have a deal?”

“If that is the journal I seek, then we have a deal.” He held out his hand and waited until T-Bone laid the journal on his outstretched palm. As soon as he touched it, he knew this was the right journal. The words written within had power and just like the other one, that power beat against his hand in tangible waves.

For appearance’s sake, he flipped through the pages, impatient to find some time to spend reading the journal and deciphering its messages.

He glanced across the desk at T-Bone as he secreted the journal away inside an inner pocket of his suit jacket. “Imagine what you’d like vividly inside your mind and it will be yours. But make sure that’s what you really want. There is no return policy on a gift such as this.”

T-Bone grinned and stood as he held out a hand to Uriel. “I’ve been imagining exactly what I’d like for a long time.” He shook Uriel’s hand with a clammy palm and weak grip. “Nice doing business with you. How do I contact you if I find another journal?”

“A simple prayer using my name will be enough to summon me. Good luck.” As Uriel closed the door behind him, he heard the distinctive sound of a zipper unzipping and shook his head, glad he would miss the unveiling.

Uriel sensed him as soon as he stepped out into the hallway. The fallen’s energy signature was as familiar to Uriel as Raphael’s or Gabriel’s or Michael’s. After all, until the mutiny against their Father, in which Semiazas followed Lucifer, Semiazas was a cherished brother and friend. But too many eons of betrayal and bad blood stood between them now to ever reconcile things back to the way they had been.

Resigned to the conflict ahead, Uriel walked down the hallway past Sidney and back into the waiting bar.

Semiazas stood in the center of the room, a caricature of a biker badass. The strobing neon lights from the bar signs flashed illumination over him at different intervals, making him look even more menacing.

Whereas his normal form was tall and graceful, the one he resided in now was stocky and bulky, easily two times Diesel’s size and muscle. His normally dark medium-length hair was now close cropped and tattoos covered every inch of exposed skin including his face and neck. He wore black leather from head to toe including shit-kicker boots, which reminded Uriel of Raphael’s normal outfit of choice.

The humans had stepped back away from Semiazas leaving a several-foot clear circle around him. A quick gesture from Semiazas and the thumping music died away leaving only a strained silence inside the close-packed bar.

“Uriel.” Semiazas sketched a courtly bow, which looked odd in his present form. “I’ve been waiting for you. All that business with T-Bone’s cock all cleared up?”

A titter flowed through the watching crowd at the obvious implication.

“Did you let him have a test run? Is that what took you so long in there?”

Unconcerned with the glances and derisive sounds sent his way, Uriel kept the demon’s gaze while staying alert to every person in the bar. “What can I do for you, Semiazas? I have pressing business elsewhere.”

Semiazas laughed. “I’ll just bet you do.” He thrust his hips forward several times as if air humping someone in front of him. The appreciative crowd laughed but kept the volume low as if afraid to miss any of the byplay between the two.

Uriel sighed. The necessity of dealing with Semiazas’s dramatics grated on his nerves. Semiazas had always been this way, even before the fall, although he’d gotten even more irritating since then. “Interesting costume. A little cliché, don’t you think?”

“You don’t like it?” Semiazas glanced down at himself as if admiring a new suit. “It works for Sidney over there.” He gestured toward the man who stiffened and glared as the crowd laughed and jeered.

Sidney started forward and Uriel held out a hand, stopping the man’s forward motion. “He’s mine, Diesel,” he said pointedly using the man’s chosen name.

Sidney didn’t look happy about it, but he slowly nodded and stepped back. “I’ll take whatever’s left of him when you’re done, man. Besides, I want to see a dude fight in those fancy threads you’ve got going on.”

The crowd laughed, a general murmur of agreement flowing around the room.

Uriel knew Semiazas hadn’t come for the journal. The information contained inside had already made its way into the world. His reasons for being here had to be for something else, although with Semiazas the reason could be anything between something of huge significance all the way down to pure boredom. “What do you want, Semiazas?”

“I want so many things, none of which you are either willing or able to give me.” He shrugged, dark amusement shining in his eyes. “Why is that, Uriel?”

“Because you want things you’ve no right to.” Uriel knew he shouldn’t be drawn in to a banter session with Semiazas, but he wanted to try to find some way to diffuse the violence he knew the demon was trying to incite inside the tiny bar.