You Slay Me (20 page)

"Thank the fires of Abaddon you're done!" Jim panted.

"What's wrong? Why do you look so frightened?" My breath caught in ray throat as my heart started galloping. "Oh, god, the police aren't here, are they?"

"No, it's worse than that," Jim said, turning back to the door.

My heart settled down into its normal rhythm, the horrible suspicion that Drake might have turned me in evaporating even as I drew a breath. "Don't scare me like that! What could possibly be worse than the police?"

"You'll see. Come on."

"If you're dragging me somewhere to see another dog you've fallen in love with—," I warned as I followed Jim down the hallway, past the big staircase and into the wing that housed Drake's bedroom.

"Are you kidding? I'm a demon, not a two-timer. My heart belongs to Cecile."

"You don't have a heart," I pointed out. "I thought you were on the verge of starving to death."

Jim stopped in front of a door and gave me a scornful · look. 'There are some things more important than feeding your face, Aisling."

That stripped the grin off my lips. If Jim thought something was more important than having breakfast, it would have to be something tantamount to the apocalypse.

"Isn't this Drake's room?" I asked, looking at the closed door.

"No, we passed that. Go on in."

I wetted my lower lip, suddenly nervous. "What's in there?"

"I can't tell you," Jim said softly.

"Why?"

"Just go in."

I gave Jim a steely glare. "If this is some sort of a setup between you and Drake—"

"Fires of Abaddon, will you just
go in!"

I put my hand on the door, a familiar feeling of dread swamping me, stripping the air from my lungs with its intensity. "Oh, no, not—" I threw the door open. The room must have been the communications center that Drake had mentioned earlier, because it was filled with a bank of computers, monitors showing various parts around the house and grounds, and one big control panel laid out like a soundboard.

Oh, and one demon in a shiny, electric-blue suit.

I stared speechlessly at the demon in man form that swiveled around in its chair to look at me. It looked like a man, a rather handsome man with high cheekbones and elegantly coiffed blond hair. It even had a tiny, discreet earring. What the devil was a demon doing in Drake's house?

"What is your name, demon?" I asked.

It smiled. The monitor nearest it went snowy. "You know the rules, Guardian. You didn't summon me, so I don't have to answer any of your questions."

I looked back through the open doorway to where Jim sat in the hallway. "Do you know who this is?" I asked.

"Yep. But if you are expecting me to tell you, I can't. That's another one of the rules—no narcing on fellow demons."

"I could command you to tell me its name," I said.

Jim shook its head. "Still wouldn't be able to tell you. You really do need to read the rule book."

I made an exasperated noise. Jim cleared its throat. "However, nothing says I can't give you a hint.... Think about the demon you've been chasing."

"Bafamal?" I asked, turning to look at the demon-man. "You're Bafamal?"

The demon snarled something as it stood up. Jim flinched. Two monitors flickered, then died.

Bafamal? What was it doing here in Drake's house... ? The penny dropped. I stared in horror at the blond demon as all the pieces came together in my mind with one solid
whomp.
Drake had lied to me: he had been lying to me all the time. He said dragons couldn't summon a demon, and yet here was Bafamal looking quite comfy and at home in his communications room. He said he didn't kill Mme. Deauxville and the Venediger, and yet here was the instrument of their deaths. The only thing I couldn't figure out was why Drake hadn't hidden the signs that he had used a demon to commit murder, but I was sure I'd figure out that last puzzle. Right now I had to get out of Drake's house before he found out I'd seen his demon.

I turned back to Jim. "Is there any way I can get rid of a demon I haven't summoned?"

"Sure. You draw a circle, say the words, and poof! He goes up in smoke."

"Words, what words?" I asked, wringing my hands. It was becoming a bad habit, but I didn't have time to take myself to task about it. I had a demon to send back to Hell. "I don't have my notes or the book I need."

'To send the demon back, you need its twelve words, the ones ruling it."

"If you think I'm going to stand here and allow this Guardian to send me back without breaking her neck, you're as crazy as she is," Bafamal said to Jim.

I didn't need Jim's warning to guess the demon was about to attack me. Without thinking, I opened the door in my mind, summoned Drake's fire, shaped it, and sent it to my attacker just as Bafamal lunged toward me, its hands outstretched claws.

"That shiny material sure does burn," Jim commented from the hallway as inside the room the demon shrieked, spinning in a circle, frantically trying to beat out the fire that erupted all over its body.

"Quickly," I said, running to Jim. "Where do I find the twelve words?"

"Each demon has twelve words binding it: six that identify it, six that define it. Usually the only way to get them is to capture the demon and torment it until it tells you."

"Usually?" I asked, glancing back over my shoulder at Bafamal. It had put out almost all the flames on its suit.

Jim smiled. "Yeah, usually. The exception is when you have an extraordinarily handsome and intelligent demon of your own who doesn't mind telling you the other demon's words."

"You just said you couldn't help me!" I yelled.

"I said I couldn't
name
him. That doesn't mean I can't give you other information about him."

I grabbed Jim's furry head and kissed its muzzle, jumping back into the room to search for a felt pen I could use to draw a circle on the cream-colored rug that graced the middle of a highly polished wooden floor.

Five minutes later I opened the windows to let out the last whiffs of demon smoke. "That was close," I croaked, rubbing my throat.

'Too close. You really do need to find yourself a mentor, someone to show you the Guardian ropes. There
are
binding wards you can use to keep from being throttled while you're conducting the ritual."

Jim followed as I ran back to my room. "I don't have time to think about that now. I have to get the proof that Drake murdered Mme. Deauxville and the Venediger. Where did I put that extra plastic bag? There it is." I shoved all my new clothes and my soiled pantsuit into the bags, including the sandals. I opened the window, checking for anyone who might be loitering along the side of the house, then tossed the bag of my clothes out. "Come on. Drake will get suspicious if we don't show up for breakfast. As soon as we're done, I'll tell him I need to take you walkies again, and we'll hightail it out of here."

I fished a card out of my purse, stopping by the phone that sat on the nightstand.

"Where are we going to go? The police are going to be looking for you."

"I'm aware of that," I answered as I punched the buttons on the phone. "Rene? Hi, it's Aisling. Are you free in about half an hour? Jim and I are going to need a ride. We're making an escape."

"An escape? Yes, yes, I can pick you up." Rene promised to be outside Drake's house at the appointed time. "Has he hurt you? Should I bring my revolver?"

"No, he hasn't hurt me, and no, definitely do not bring any guns. I have a feeling Drake is a hard guy to hurt, and he can zap you. . . . Well, just don't bring it. See you in thirty minutes."

"That takes care of being seen on the streets by the cops, but where are we going?" Jim asked.

I opened the bedroom door and peered down the hallway. It was clear. "The only place we can go— Amelie's."

"OK, but don't kiss me again in front of Cecile. She's the jealous sort."

We trotted down the stairs only to meet Drake coming in the front door.

"Good morning. You look lovely. Pal has a good eye,"

he said, looking me over, flashing me a sexy smile. My fingernails bit into my palms as I tried to keep from throwing myself on him. Honestly, what was I thinking? How could my body know the truth about him and still not care? I was thoroughly ashamed of myself—he was a murderer! He had lied to me! He had stolen from me! He was amusing himself with me at my expense, and
still
I wanted him.

I didn't have to let him know that, though. I raised my chin and gave him a cool look. "Yes, he does. You were out?"

His eyes—lying, traitorous eyes—flashed puzzlement. "I had to get something. For you, as a matter of fact."

"Oh really?" I turned and walked with him toward the kitchen, Jim trailing behind us. "What would that be? Cyanide? Strychnine? Hemlock?"

"Nothing so exotic," he said, holding the door open for me. I stepped into the sunny, cheerful kitchen and mused on how a man could have such a black heart and yet appear so utterly droolworthy at the same time. But then, he wasn't really a man, was he? He was a dragon, and dragons loved treasure above all else.

With a flourish, Drake pulled a small container out of a paper bag. I blinked in surprise at the sight of it. "Lemon yogurt. I had an idea you might like it."

My cheeks burned with a blush at the flames of desire visible in his eyes. He had invaded my dream, the erotic dream I was having about him just an hour ago. The beastly man! "Thank you," I said thickly, taking the yogurt and claiming a seat.

Breakfast was difficult to get through. Drake clearly was puzzled by my reaction to him, but he didn't say anything beyond asking me what steps I thought we should take to find the killer or killers.

I looked him straight in the eye. "I think the best thing to do would be to talk to the witness."

"Witness?" His brows pulled together in a frown. "What witnesses?"

"The demon that was summoned by the person behind the murders."

"Person? You think it is just one person?"

"Oh, yes," I answered, my gaze steady on his.

"I suppose that makes sense. The two murders are obviously related." His brows smoothed. 'Talking with the demon is one idea, yes, but I believe a more practical one would be to speak with Therese, the Venediger's mistress. She would be able to tell us who visited him yesterday."

Hmm, what was wrong with that picture? Let's start with Drake had already admitted he was at the Venediger's yesterday, not to mention his plan drew my attention away from questioning the demon he had used. Still, it wasn't wise to let him see I had figured him out. This was obviously a time when it wouldn't hurt to play stupid. "Good point. Very well, just as soon as I've taken Jim for his walkies, we'll go question the mistress."

I hurried through the rest of the meal, wanting nothing so much as to get out of there before my resolve cracked. Drake was using me, nothing more. He didn't really care about me. He didn't like me. He only wanted the lode-stone; that's why he was protecting me from the ponce.

"Go out to the side of the house and get my bag of clothes," I instructed Jim quietly at the bottom of the staircase. "Take it around front, to the street. I'll meet you there." I glanced at my watch. "Rene should be there in a couple of minutes."

"Where are you going?" Jim asked. "You're not going to let loose that dragon fire all over Drake's house, are you?"

"What do you take me for, an arsonist?"

"Well, you did burn the Venediger to a crisp—"

"We don't know that. I'm sure the fire department put the gazebo out before his body was torched. Besides, that was an accident. Now, go do what I told you to do. I'm just going to leave Drake a note that will hopefully buy us a little time."

I ran up the stairs to my room. I left a note on my pillow that simply said I was going to pursue another avenue of investigation on my own, one that Jim and I were better qualified to do than him. I ended with a request that he question Therese while I was doing my thing. I doubted if it would convince Drake to leave me alone permanently, but hoped it would give me a few hours' head start.

Rene was waiting by the time I made it, breathless, to the rendezvous point. I pushed Jim into the taxi, jumping in after it as I gave Rene the order to leave.

"Where do you wish to go? Why are you in the hurry so great? What has happened?"

I told him to take us to Amelie's. "Nothing has happened, except I found out that Drake is the one who murdered both Mme. Deauxville and the Venediger."

"Drake? He is a thief, yes, but a murderer, too? And who is this Venediger?" Rene asked, peering over his shoulder at me.

"Eeek!" I screamed, pointing at the parked car he was about to plow us into. "Eyes forward and I'll tell you."

It took the length of the trip through a morning rush-hour Paris to tell the tale of my experiences during the last twenty-four hours, but by the time Rene pulled up to Amelie's shop he had the bulk of it, everything except the fact that Drake was a dragon.

"I would ask you to stay with me until it is safe for you," he said apologetically as I got out of the taxi, "but with five small ones running around, my apartment is filled to the overflow."

"That's OK, I totally understand. I didn't know you had five kids, though!"

He made a wry face. "Why is it you think I work so many hours, eh? Now, before you go, you repeat for me what it is you will say if that murdering thief comes to seduce you with his so-handsome face."

"Rene, Drake isn't going to—"

"Repeat it!"

"Chat echaude craint I'eau froide,"
I dutifully repeated. (It meant "A cat washed with hot water fears cold water," which evidently was the French way of saying once burned, twice shy.)

"You forgot to add the sneer to tell him you are so high above him. That is very important. Ah, well, you are improving.
Bonne chance,
Aisling. If you need me, call. I will come."

"Thanks." I gave in to impulse and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "You're a doll."

Rene looked embarrassed by the gesture.

"She's not gettin' any from Drake," Jim explained in an annoyingly confidential tone. "She's kissing everyone. You should have seen her this morning, she was all over me—awk!"