Under Wraps

Chapter Sixteen

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Nina had her small hands on her hips, her black eyes wide.

“My God.”

I was staring at the chaotic remains of the UDA offices. The glass partitions that separated staff from clients were cracked and in some places, caked with yellow goo mingled with drying blood. The velvet ropes that demons so patiently waited behind were shredded, and someone had tossed a potted ficus so hard it was sticking like a spear out of one wall.

“What happened here?” I asked, my feet crackling against the spray of plaster on the floor.

“Oh, Sophie, Nina, it’s you two.” Lorraine crawled out from underneath one of the half-crushed desks, and Costineau curled around my legs. I reached down and scratched him, then helped Lorraine to her feet.

“Hello, ladies,” Lorraine said sweetly, picking bits of drywall off of her blouse. “Did you get your invitations to my Tupperware party? There’s a whole new line of product. It’s called Calypso Cool.”

“Yeah, thanks,” I said, my brow furrowed. “Lorraine, what happened here?”

Lorraine pulled a Post-it note from her hair and bit her lip. “Well, things got a little out of hand last night.”

“I’ll say,” Nina snorted. “Look at this place! Who did this? Zombies, right? I knew we should have barred them from the Underworld. Let them stay up top where they belong. They have no manners.”

“It wasn’t zombies. Well, it was … zombies, witches, a centaur family, a couple of trolls. Basically, our whole clientele went a little”—Lorraine’s eyes raked the destruction—“batty.”

“Why, though? Why now?” I wanted to know.

“Well.” Lorraine wringed her hands. “It seems that someone let on that Mr. Sampson is no longer in control of UDA.”

“That’s not true!” I protested. “He’s still in charge. He’s just …”

“Indisposed,” Nina finished for me.

“Who would say that?” I asked.

Lorraine smiled thinly. “Vlad.”

“Vlad?” I groaned.

“What, exactly, did Vlad say?” Nina asked.

“Well, it seems he was holding a Vampire Empowerment meeting in the lunchroom. Something about taking back the Underworld, laying our stake to what rightfully belongs to demonkind up top …”

“Oh, hell.”

“It was rather interesting, actually.”

My eyes bulged.

“From an historical angle,” Lorraine quipped. “I don’t believe in all his separation-of-demon-species propaganda or anything like that, but it did seem to rouse the masses—some of them.”

“I’ll say,” I said, scanning the room.

“But anyway”—Lorraine leaned in, lowering her voice—“then word got out that Sampson has gone missing and that he did so right about the time that the murders in San Francisco went supernatural. After being a bit incensed by Vlad and the Movement, well, I guess our clients and staff started to think that if the head of the UDA doesn’t have to keep order, why should they? I mean, the rule is you go rogue and the Underground sets you straight. But if the leader of the Underground has gone rogue …”

Nina’s coal-black eyes were wide. “Whoa.”

“And the demons started to get anxious.”

Nina and I nodded.

“And then we were so short-staffed …”

I swallowed guiltily.

“It was like a powder keg, and Mr. Sampson going rogue, well …” Lorraine smiled weakly. “I guess that was just the spark that they needed.”

“What happened to Vlad? Where is he now?” Nina asked.

Lorraine shrugged, gesturing to the half-crushed desk from which she had climbed out. “You’ll understand when I say that keeping an eye on your rabble-rouser nephew wasn’t high on my priority list while demonkind was tearing apart our offices, screaming about Sampson going rogue.”

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Was I the only one who had any faith in Mr. Sampson at all?

“So everyone in the Underworld thinks Sampson is responsible for the murders, too?” I could hear the hysteria rising in my voice, yet again.

Nina took both my hands and led me to the remains of a waiting room chair. She sat beside me, her brow knitted.

“Sophie, I know how much you care for Mr. Sampson.”

I looked at my knees. “He’s been the best boss I’ve ever known. The only boss.”

“Look, I know better than anyone that people—even people we love—aren’t always what we think they are. Sometimes the demon in us takes over. Sometimes it’s just too hard—or too exhausting—to control anymore. Maybe Mr. Sampson had had enough.”

I shook Nina’s hands from mine and stood up. “No. No, I don’t buy that. Just suddenly, after all this time? And why the eyeballs? The blood, huh? Why the heart? Has Mr. Sampson not only become a crazed killer but some kind of disgusting part collector, too?”

Lorraine cleared her throat; up until that moment, I had forgotten she was there. “Add demon skin, crossbred blood, and the Sword of Bethesda and he’s not collecting, he’s creating.”

Both Nina and I swung our heads to gawk at Lorraine as she casually stroked Costineau.

“Creating?” Nina asked, disgusted.

My stomach rolled. “Like Frankenstein? Body parts? He’s making a monster?”

Lorraine wagged her head. “No. Well, not exactly. He’s not making a demon—he’s creating a pathway.”

“That’s what the Sword of Brunhilda is for? Creating a pathway?”

“Sword of Bethesda,” Lorraine corrected. “It’s a special, jeweled sword. Forged specifically for the purpose of opening portals, charmed by Irish Meers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”

Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So this stuff—the eyeballs and sword and stuff—it does what, exactly?”

Lorraine shrugged, nuzzled the cat. “The pathway, once open, will give the opener ultimate power—over demons, humans, whoever. Very enticing, but very dangerous. Most demons are too smart—or too frightened—to dabble in that kind of stuff, but to some the draw is just too great. That kind of power is … alluring.”

“Black arts,” Nina said with a shudder.

“No. Whatever is a shade darker than black—that’s what he’s working to open with the sacrifices. This kind of magic makes the black arts look downright PG. This kind of stuff will suck out your soul or what’s left of it. If you have any humanity—and some demons still do—it drains that out, too,” Lorraine informed us.

“But,” I said, licking my dry lips, “we haven’t found any demons hurt. Or”—I winced—“skinned.”

Lorraine smiled. “Actually, if Mr. Sampson is working the spell, he could use a bit of his own pelt. He is, after all, a demon, too.”

My mouth dropped open, a whoosh of air escaping. Nina rushed to my side, closing the gap between Lorraine and me. “But Mr. Sampson is not going to do that.” Nina’s eyes were hard and she swung her head toward Lorraine. “Is he, Lorraine?”

Lorraine shrugged. “I was just making an observation.”

I hugged my elbows. “No, I just can’t imagine Mr. Sampson doing something like this. And for more power?”

“Ultimate power,” Lorraine corrected. “Over anything.”

Nina raised her eyebrows. “He already lords over the entire Underworld.”

Lorraine didn’t meet my eyes. “Maybe he was ready to move on.”

“He has always been fair. And the whole Underworld looks up to him—he was voted in as president of the UDA. He didn’t even ask for it. He isn’t power hungry! Not enough to”—I looked sadly at the ruins of UDA—“not enough to cause this kind of destruction. He had to know what leaving UDA would do to our clients.”

“Maybe he just didn’t care,” Lorraine said quietly.

I bit my lip, pausing, before knocking on Parker’s office door. With Sampson going missing, the murders, and the imminent heart attack that was Parker Hayes, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. I popped another Tums, chewed, and rapped on the door.

“Come in.”

Parker was hunched over his desk, his big hands cradling his head.

“Oh, Lawson, it’s you,” he said without looking up.

“Did you hear about UDA?” I asked, taking a seat across from him.

Parker nodded, and I saw that his eyes were bloodshot. His tie was crooked and his face was pale. “The chief let me know earlier. I don’t know how we’re going to put all this together. I don’t know if we’re looking for a vampire, a werewolf, a troll, the bogeyman …” He wagged his head, blowing out a sigh.

“Well,” I said, trying to pump some cheerfulness into my voice, “the bogeyman isn’t real. So, we can strike that one from the list.”

“Up until a week ago vampires, werewolves, and trolls weren’t real either. What about the Loch Ness monster, Sasquatch, the abominable snowman? I mean, who are we looking for here?”

“Well, I don’t want to shoot down all your childhood fantasies….”

“Seriously, Lawson, how do you deal with this and keep your head screwed on straight?”

I shrugged, and a tiny smile escaped Parker’s pressed lips. “Oh, that’s right—you’re a little left of center.”

I wanted to be annoyed, but it was good to see him smile.

“So,” I said, lacing my fingers together. “Have you heard anything more about Officer Franks?”

Parker wagged his head. “It’s only getting weirder and weirder. Franks was scheduled to work last night. He was, at some point, armed. He was still wearing his holster, but the gun is missing.”

“Oh. Why would a killer who rips out hearts and eyeballs suddenly need a gun? Seems kind of … anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

Parker shrugged.

“Do you think he really was a victim of our killer? Maybe Franks wasn’t on the killer’s hit list, but he got too close? It doesn’t seem right. No gore, no”—I wrinkled my nose—“missing body parts, lack of fluids. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“Nina says that kind of stuff doesn’t happen with …” Parker paused, choosing his words carefully. “Those people. And besides, there just aren’t coincidences like that. In my experience I’ve learned that there are only three main reasons why people kill: love, power, or money.”

I crossed my arms. “What about the truly depraved who kill just for the fun of it?”

“Four main reasons then.”

“Well, supernatural or not—closet cop not included, maybe—it seems to me like we’re dealing with a hard-core number four. I have a hard time figuring out where eyeballs, blood, and a human heart fall into the love-power-money spectrum.”

“Good point.”

I bit my lip. “But I might know where they fall in the supernatural spectrum. Nina and I saw Lorraine today—the witch, from HR?”

“Right.” Parker sat back in his chair. “The one who knows more than she lets on.”

“Well, she’s letting on more. She said that the stuff—that the stuff taken from the victims? It can be put together to create something.”

“Like some kind of macabre macaroni necklace? Gross.”

I sighed. “No. Like something that can give the creator—or gatherer or whatever he would be—absolute power.”

Parker’s eyebrows rose. “Well, that sounds ominous.”

“It’s been your experience that people tend to kill for three main reasons. Power …”

“Power and power.” Parker ticked it off on his fingers as he spoke. “Miss Lawson, I think you’ve just given us a motive.”

Parker Hayes bounded over his desk and gathered me up in his arms, my breasts crushing against his solid chest. His breath was moist and warm on my neck as he muttered, “Baby, I knew you could do it.” Then his lips were on mine….

“Lawson? Lawson?” Parker was on his feet, waving his arms airline traffic controller style. “Are you okay?”

My face went hot and red. I cleared my throat and clamped my knees together. “Sorry just … trying to work on the case.”

Parker’s face broke into that sexy half smile and he leaned against his desk. “Sophie Lawson—dedicated player. We make a good team.”

“If you only knew,” I muttered under my breath.

“Okay, great. We’ve got motive. But where do we go from here?”

I raised my eyebrows. “I think I know. Lorraine mentioned that in order to perform the ritual, the demon needs not only the”—I shuddered—“stolen body parts, but to use a certain sword. It has to be charmed, the steel has to have been forged by one of the Meer demons in a remote part of Ireland, and it has to be inlaid with a purple quartz stone.”

“That sounds awfully specific.”

“Specific and rare. Not the kind of thing you pick up at the local Target.”

Parker rubbed his hands together. “Okay, then where would someone pick up something like that? It seems to me we find the sword, we find our killer.”

I nodded and flipped open my laptop. “There are a lot of demons in San Francisco but not a whole lot of demon retail. There’s a place in San Jose where Nina used to go, though….”

“A place where Nina used to go, huh?”

I nodded.

“You think Vlad might know about this place, too? Maybe know a little something about the sword?”

I looked up from my laptop. “I really don’t know anything anymore, Parker. Vlad wasn’t even here when the first two murders happened. Besides, he’s just a kid.”

“A hundred-year-old kid?”

“I don’t know,” I moaned, going back to my laptop. “Okay, got the address.” I jotted down the address to the Crystal Ball and held up the paper to Parker. “Feel like a road trip?”

Parker shook his keys between his thumb and forefinger. “Let’s go.”

I buckled myself into Parker’s white SUV when he pulled out of the police station lot, and turned away from the freeway. I jabbed my index finger toward my passenger-side window. “Parker, you’re going the wrong way. The freeway on-ramp is right over there.”

Parker’s eyes remained fixed on the road, but I could see his cheeks push up in a grin.

“Haven’t you even been on a road trip before, Lawson? The first rule of travel is road food. Can’t drive on an empty stomach.” He patted his trim stomach, then maneuvered the car into the McDonald’s parking lot, swinging through the drive-through entrance.

“San Jose is only forty-five minutes away!”

“Right,” Parker said, his eyes scanning the lit-up menu board. “I should get two cheeseburgers. You want something?”

I blew out a sigh. “Strawberry shake, please. And a small fry.”

Parker patted my thigh jovially. “That’s the spirit.”

Parker called our order out of the driver’s side window and handed me our spoils. Once the car filled up with the overpowering scent of grease and salt, we turned onto the highway, heading south.

“I know I keep asking this,” Parker said, mouth full of French fries, “but how is it that the whole Underworld—and UDA—can exist, and the regular world not know about it?”

“They know about it,” I said, sucking strawberry through my straw. “They just don’t think about it. Works in the demon’s favor. And besides, the demon world was around long before the human one ever was, so they—the demons—kind of have the upper hand.”

Parker furrowed his brow. “Where’d you get that?”

“I guess everyone has their own Big Bang Theory. Demons, too. According to the Underworld, demonkind existed long before humankind. The demons grew so arrogant—their words, not mine—that humans were created to replace them.”

“That’s rough.”

“Yeah. You can see why a lot of demons are a little upset and make humans offer them sacrifices or pay for favors or protection. After the humans were created, the demons were used to carry man’s prayers to the gods and the gods’ wills to mortals.”

Parker fished another fry from the bag. “I don’t know if I believe that.”

“Well, then Christianity spread, and all the spirits were demonized and shoved downward—into the Underworld, caves, eventually into sewers and cellars—and angels were created.”

Parker’s head swung toward me, and he swallowed hard. “Angels, huh?”

“Eyes on the road,” I said, turning his jaw forward. “Angels were supposedly created to replace the demons. They inherited the demon function of carrying messages and prayer. The demons were obviously upset that they, real beings, were replaced by a mythological, made-up creature.”

Parker smiled. “So angels aren’t real?”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.”

“But centaurs, wizards, trolls—they’re real?”

I finished the last of my milkshake. “As real as you and me.”

We drove along in companionable silence for a few minutes until Parker said, “What about you, Lawson? Do you believe in angels?”

“Of course not. I believe in God—but the whole winged angel thing?” I shook my head. “Silly.”

“Silly?”

“I’m sorry, did I offend you? I didn’t think—”

“No,” Parker said, “not at all. I was just asking. This is our exit, right?”

I nodded as Parker steered the car off the highway. “Right there, that’s the street. Turn there.”

We pulled into the Crystal Ball parking lot and jumped out of the car, pausing in front of the scarf-covered front door.

“Ready for this?” I asked Parker.

“If you are,” he said, his hand on the knob.

We walked in, a tinkling of bells signaling our entrance into the incense-filled shop.

Long counters and shelves were lined with all manner of trinkets—magical and non—plus miniature statues of stern-faced gargoyles and trolls interspersed with baskets full of crystals and rocks.

“Would you get a load of this?” Parker said, picking up a troll statue. “Remind you of anyone?” He grinned, and I took the troll doll—which did, in fact, bear a striking resemblance to Steve—and put it back on the shelf.

“Stop playing around, Parker. We’re here for a reason.”

“Yeah, but is anyone else?”

Parker was right—the store was deserted. No customers except for the two of us; no shopkeeper or employees standing behind the counter. “Hello?” I called out. “Is there anyone here?”

A young woman—younger than me, at least—pushed out from behind a curtain. “Sorry,” she said, chewing, and putting down a Chinese takeout box with chopsticks sticking out the top. “I didn’t hear you come in.” She wiped her hands on her skirt. “What can I do for you?”

I blinked when the woman smiled a dazzling, welcoming smile that made her hazel eyes crinkle attractively. She nodded to me and then focused on Parker, her grin growing broader. “Wow, we haven’t had one of you in here before.”

The woman pushed her long, corn silk hair over one shoulder, and I glanced at her beaded name tag: KISHI. She remained focused on Parker, and he was quiet, his eyes intense, entranced.

“Parker,” I whispered, shaking his arm.

“Oh, sorry.” He blinked, then grinned. “My partner”—he chucked me on the shoulder, locker-room style—“and I are looking for something in particular.”

“Oh yeah,” Kishi said, her eyes never leaving Parker. “What would that be?”

“A sword,” I interjected, stepping in front of Parker. “A jeweled sword that can be charmed. It’s called the—”

“Sword of Bethesda,” Kishi supplied, “and I don’t have one. Not anymore, at least.”

“Not anymore? Did someone buy it?”

“Yeah, just a few days ago, actually.”

My heartbeat sped up. “Who bought it? Can you tell us?”

Kishi cocked her head. “No, I really can’t. The patrons of the Crystal Ball expect a certain degree of anonymity.”

“But this is serious. It’s detective work. Parker, show her your badge.”

Parker tore his eyes from Kishi and dug out his wallet, flashing his badge.

Kishi half smiled. “And you’re a cop, too.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the counter, her chin in her hands. She pressed her breasts together seductively, and I noticed Parker’s eyes skim over them. “How does that work?”

“What is she talking about?” Parker whispered to me. I held up a silencing hand.

“Please, Kishi, lives could be at stake here. We could come back with a search warrant, but by then it might be too late, and you could have a portal to hell opened and a lot of innocent blood on your hands—human and demon.” I steeled my eyes. “You wouldn’t want that, would you, Kishi?”

Kishi blew out a long sigh and looked past me at Parker. She slid a crystal bowl full of pomegranate seeds toward him. “Fruit?”

I slapped Parker’s hand away and held on to it, staring Kishi down. “Who bought the sword?”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Give me a second.” She backed away, disappearing behind the curtains.

“Wow, she’s really something, isn’t she?” Parker said with a grin.

I slapped his chest. “And so are you. She’s a demon, Parker, a very, very bad one, and she’s entrancing you.”

“Kishi? Nah,” Parker said, reaching for the pomegranate seeds.

“Don’t!” I grabbed his hand, slapping a spray of pomegranate onto the floor. “If you eat food from a Kishi, you can’t get away. She looks beautiful, but she’s two-faced. Literally.” I leaned closer and lowered my voice to a barely audible whisper. “She will eat you.”

“Okay,” Kishi said, slipping back through the curtain with a receipt in her hand. “Whoever bought the sword paid cash. I sold it myself.”

I laid my palms on the counter. “Do you remember anything about the buyer?”

Kishi shrugged her shoulders. “Not much. It was a woman. Youngish, I guess. Black hair.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Kishi looked around me at Parker and held up the crystal bowl again. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to eat, angel?”

Parker paled and I mashed my foot on top of his. “No, thank you,” he said finally. “We should probably be going. Thank you very much for your help, though, Kishi. We really appreciate it.”

Kishi’s beautiful features went cold as she frowned. “Fine. Have a nice day,” she said sharply. Then she turned on her heel, and I grabbed Parker by the wrist, dragging him out of the Crystal Ball. I slammed the door behind us, and he turned for one last glance at the beautiful Kishi, and paled.

“Did you see that?” Parker breathed, pointing at the store. “Kishi, she—she’s—”

“Two-faced,” I finished.

Kishi was behind the counter, reaching for her Chinese takeout box. Her back was toward us, her rump perfect and perky under the loose folds of her skirt, her waist trim. Her long hair was parted neatly over her shoulders and a face—dark-eyed with salivating, pointed teeth—peered out from the back of her head.

“I told you. Kishis have beautiful faces on the front to lure their prey. On the backside, usually underneath their long, Pantene-commercial hair is their other face. The one they use to eat their prey.”

Parker’s breath was quick, and I crossed my arms in front of my chest, satisfied. “Guess you were lucky I was here, huh, ‘angel’? She must have really liked you. By the way—if you eat anything they offer you, you can’t escape them.” I leaned up on my tiptoes, my nose just inches from his. “Ever. So, you’re welcome.”

Parker pushed his hands into his jean pockets as we walked to the car. “Can Kishis … see things … about people?”

I grinned. “Like your angelic façade?” Parker’s eyes widened and I laughed. “Obviously not.”

After we had pulled back onto the highway, Parker looked at me. “So, how do you know all this about demons and the Underworld, anyway? I’m a detective, but I couldn’t tell you much about it or, you know … detective history.”

I smiled, remembering. While most kids my age were falling asleep to Disney movies on the VHS, Gram was in bed with me, telling me stories about the Underworld and the creatures that lived there. She told me about the pink-and-blue-bodied Oni, from Japan, who drinks too much, eats too much, and is known for occasionally drinking Japanese rivers dry, and the oversensitive, shape-shifting Bori, who likes to playact as a human just for fun. She told me which demons couldn’t be referred to by name (lest you trap them as your slave), and that you should always whistle when approaching certain members of the demon world. Fairies, pixies, ghouls, and crouchers were generally peaceful if left alone but quickly resorted to violence when snuck up upon. Gram had volumes of knowledge about the Underworld and treated each being in it with reverence and respect—always reminding me that the Underworld, with its thousands of demon species, survived because demonkind followed a code of respect that had been lost on humankind.

Parker tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and looked at me sideways. “So, the person who bought the knife was a woman.”

“Right,” I said, yawning.

“With long black hair.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Kind of like your roommate.”

I looked at Parker incredulously. “You can’t be serious. There is no way Nina, of all people, would be involved in something like this. Look at her! She’s five-one for God sakes!”

“She’s a vampire. Weren’t you the one who told me they have superhuman strength?”

“She’s also my best friend,” I said, staring out the front windshield, “and I know her a lot better than you do. This has nothing to do with her.”