Working for the Devil

CHAPTER 34

The stink of the street outside was almost fresh after the close, reeking air of the bar. I filled my lungs, walking quickly, Japhrimel matching me step for step. He didn't speak, and neither did I. We reached a slightly better-lit part of town. He touched my shoulder and pointed out a small restaurant; I didn't demur.

It was a little hole-in-the-wall cantina, and I ordered two shots of tequila to start off with. The waitress eyed me, nervously touching the grisgris bag around her neck. I didn't care anymore. Finally she took Japhrimel's money and hurried off.

I sank back into the cracked red vinyl booth, then leaned forward and rested my forehead on the table, trembling. Thunder muttered in the far distance.

"Dante." His voice was calm. I could feel his eyes on me.

"Give me a minute," I said, my words muffled.

He did.

I took in deep ragged breaths, trying to force my heart to stop pounding. Jace was a Corvin. He'd never told me—and I'd never guessed. Not even when Abra had told me Jace was Mob had I guessed he was a blood Corvin.

The second-to-last job I'd gone on before he left—that had been the Morrix fiasco. I'd barely escaped alive. I'd told Jace about it and he'd been worried, of course—any time your lover gets shot during a routine corporate-espionage, you can legitimately get worried—but he must have had a better poker face than even I'd guessed. He had lied to me about his origins, and I'd swallowed it like the fool I was.

And Lucas turning down payment was unheard-of. Whatever he knew about Santino, he wasn't going to tell—and he considered me already dead.

I was seriously beginning to wonder if he might be right. I was Santino's next victim.

And Jace might be working for the demon who haunted my nightmares.

The waitress brought the tequila. Japhrimel murmured to her, and I heard the rustle of more money exchanging hands. I wish I'd learned Portogueso, I thought, and slowly sat up. I took the first shot of tequila and tossed it back, hoping the alcohol would kill any germs on the dirty shotglass. Fire exploded in my stomach and I coughed slightly, my eyes watering.

Japhrimel sat bolt upright on the other side of the booth. I watched the front window of the restaurant for a little while—we'd taken a booth in the back, of course, so I could have my back to the wall. The water from the tequila-burn rolled down my cheeks; I scraped it off with the flat of one hand, keeping my katana under the table.

He examined me closely. I contemplated the second shot of tequila.

Finally, he reached over and took the shot glass in his golden fingers. He lifted it to his lips and poured it down, then blinked.

"That," he pronounced, "is unutterably foul."

I coughed slightly, and giggled. The sound was high-pitched, tired, and more panicked than I liked. "I thought demons liked liquor," I said. The slick plastic tabletop glowed under the high-intensity fluorescents set in the plasteel lamps hanging from chains, made to look like old-fashioned lamps.

"That seems to be something other than liquor," he replied.

I took in a shaky breath. The banter helped. "Do you have any ideas?" I asked him. "Because I've got to tell you, I'm fresh out."

He nodded, the light running over his inky hair and even face. "There might be something…" He trailed off, closed his eyes briefly. Then he looked at me. "I've ordered food. You must take better care of yourself, Dante."

"Why?" Another jagged laugh escaped me. "I have it on good authority I'm not going to live long enough to have it matter. Everyone keeps telling me I'm going to die." Including that little voice that happens to be my better sense, I added silently. I held up a finger. "I'm Santino's next victim." Another finger. "The Corvins want me unharmed, presumably for delivery to an interested party." I held up a third finger. "Jace is a Corvin. A blood Corvin. What does this add up to? Me being fucked, that's what it adds up to. Santino's a demon. If you can't kill him, what chance do I have?"

Japhrimel looked down at the table. He said nothing.

"Lucifer's set me up to die, hasn't he?" I said it quietly. "There's no way I can kill Santino. I'm supposed to distract Santino while you get the Egg. And when I die, it's too bad, so sad, but she was only a human after all." My fingers ached, gripping my katana's sheath. "Tell me if I'm wrong, Tierce Japhrimel."

He placed his hands flat on the table. "You're wrong," he said quietly. "The Prince believes you can kill him. You did survive him once, after all. And now you have me, not a human sedayeen, watching over you. I may not be able to kill him myself, but I can help you—and keep you alive and free long enough to kill him. And once we recover the Egg, I will be free." His eyes swung up, found mine. "Free, Dante. Do you know what that means? That means I can do as I please, no commands from the Prince, no shackle to my duty. Free!"

His eyes blazed, his mouth turning down in a grimace. I watched, fascinated, almost forgetting my sword. It was the most emotion I'd ever seen from him.

I swallowed dryly. I'd never heard of a free demon before. Lucifer must be desperate to drag me out of my house and offer a demon like Japhrimel complete freedom. "What would you do if you were free?"

He closed his mouth, dropped his eyes again. There was a long pause before he shrugged. "I do not know. I have an idea, but… so much may change, between now and then. I have learned not to hope for much, Dante. It has been my only true lesson."

I took this in. I was beginning to feel more like myself now. "All right," I said. "You haven't led me wrong so far. So what's this idea of yours?"

"Eat first," he said. "Then I'll tell you."

I tapped my lacquered nails on the tabletop. "Okay." I checked the front window again, nervous for no discernible reason. "So what did you order?"

"Arroz con polio. I am told it's quite good." He didn't move, hands flat on the tabletop, eyes down, shoulders straight as a ruler. His black coat and inky hair drank in the light, oddly glossy under the fluorescents. "Does it surprise you, that he would not tell you his Flight and clan?"

I shrugged. "I never would have dated him if I'd known," I admitted. "But still."

"Indeed." He waited for a few heartbeats. "He went back to his clan to protect you, it seems."

"He could have told me. Left a note. Something. Look, I don't want to talk about this. Can we pick another subject?"

He nodded, his left hand suddenly moving, tracing a glyph on the tabletop. I watched for a few moments, then looked at his face, studying the arc of his cheekbone, his lashes veiling his eyes, the curve of his lower lip. "I have a thought," he said.

"Lay it on me." I tapped my fingernails on the plastic. My rings were quiescent, dark.

"Sargon Corvin," Japhrimel paused, traced the glyph again. "In the name-language of demons, sargon means 'bleeder' or 'despoiler'." He looked up again. This time his eyes were dark, and I felt my pulse start to hammer again. He looked thoughtful. "So does Vardimal."

It was near dawn as we headed back for Carmen's bodega. Japhrimel was right, the world started to look a little less grim once I had some food in me to balance out nerves—and the tequila.

Nuevo Rio was hushed, the night people streaming toward bed and the day people not yet awake. That meant that the crowds had thinned out, and there was less cover for an Anglo Necromance trailed by a demon. I was a little more sanguine now, though. After all, I had a demon on my side.

And I was beginning to think he was trustworthy.

We turned the corner onto a long, empty street with boarded-up windows, Japhrimel pacing next to me, his hands clasped behind his back. I carried my katana a little more easily than I had before, since it didn't seem likely that I'd need it in the next few minutes.

"So what's this grand idea of yours?" I asked, checking the sky. Pale pearly dawn was beginning to filter through the lowering clouds, and the breathlessness of an approaching storm had intensified, if that were possible. I longed for rain, for lightning, for anything to break this tension. I hate muggy weather.

"You may not like it," he said, his head down and his hands clasped behind his back.

"Does it give me a better chance of killing Santino?" I asked, checking the street again. My nape prickled. Nerves, probably. It had been a hell of a night.

"It does. Yet…" Japhrimel trailed off again. "You do not trust me, Dante."

I shrugged. "I don't trust anyone, not until proven." That sounded rude, and I sighed. "You're okay, you know. But my jury's still out until you tell me this idea."

"Very well," he said. But he didn't explain—instead, he glanced up at the sky too, then down at me.

"I'm waiting," I reminded him.

"I would wish to give you a gift," he said, slowly, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "A piece of my Power. It will make you stronger, faster… less easy to damage."

I thought it over, skirting a puddle of oily liquid. The pavement here was cracked and dangerous, small sinkholes yawning everywhere. My neck prickled again. I was too nervous. Too strung-out. I needed sleep, or a fight… or something else entirely. "What's the catch?" I said finally.

"I am not sure you would wish to be tied to me so closely," he answered. "And the process is… difficult, for humans. Painful."

I absorbed this. "You would… what, make me into a demon?"

"Not a demon. My hedaira."

"I've never heard of that."

"It's not spoken of," he said. "It… ah, it requires a… ah, a physical bond…"

Was that embarrassment in his voice? Another first, the first time I'd heard a demon groping for words. "You mean like Tantrik; like sex magick?" I ventured, feeling my cheeks heat up. I'm blushing. Anubis guard me, I'm blushing.

"Very similar," he agreed, sounding relieved.

"Oh." I mulled this over, stepping over another puddle. Gooseflesh raised on my back, a chill breath on my sweating skin.

Why am I so nervous?

I opened my mouth to say something when Japhrimel froze between one step and the next. I halted, too, closed my eyes, and sent my senses out, winging through the predawn hush.

Nothing. Nothing but the demon next to me, and the persistent static of city Power—

— and a smell like cold midnight and ice.

My entire body went cold, my nipples drawing up hard as pebbles, my breath catching.

"Dante," Japhrimel said quietly. "Run."

"No way," I whispered. "If he's here—"

"Do not be foolish," he whispered fiercely, catching my arm and shoving me. "Run!" His hands flickered, came up full of silver guns.

My katana whispered free of its sheath, metal running with blue light and Power, runes twisting along its surface.

And then all hell broke loose. I'd like to say I was of some use once the fighting broke out, but the only thing I remember was a huge stunning impact throwing me to the ground, my katana still clenched in my hand, and Japhrimel's roar of furious agony. Plasgun bolt, I thought, I didn't expect a plasgun bolt from a demon. And darkness swallowed me whole.