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“What do you have against him?” Max asked.
“Nothin’. Just don’t like him. I don’t like many people, Maxy.” A grin slashed across his face. “Especially ones that bring in more money than me. Is that really a surprise?”
Max shrugged.
“I bring in more money than you,” Darien teased.
The Butcher knocked him in the shoulder with a huge fist. “Yeah, but you’re hard to hate, kid. You ever gonna come fight at the Block, or do I have to beg you?”
“Maybe one day.” If he got desperate enough.
“The Pit still cutting it for you?”
No. “For now,” he lied.
Casen heaved himself to his feet with a grunt. “If you ever need anything from me, I’d be happy to help. Anything involving throwing scumbags behind bars is entertaining for me.”
“Thanks,” Darien said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The Butcher was several feet away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at the dancer writhing spread-eagled on the stage, when his offer made Darien think of something.
“Actually,” he called.
Casen turned, trench coat sweeping out around his towering form.
“If you’ve got any free men and an unused room,” he began. “I might’ve thought of something.”
—
Darien and Max were nearing the staircase that led up to the exit of the Doghouse—the set of doors that opened up from deep in the ground, just like a cellar—when the person Darien was calling picked up.
Christa’s smoky voice floated through the speaker, slurred just enough to suggest that he’d woken her up. “Darien?” He didn’t miss the note of hope in the question.
“You claim to look out for the people you care about,” Darien began. He and Max ascended the stairs, metal clanging under their boots. The stairwell was lit with crimson light that turned eyes into black pits and skin into freshly spilt blood. “How about looking out for me by telling me why your Head decided to back out of her end of the agreement?”
The line went silent, stretching on in a way that pushed Darien to look at the screen to make sure she hadn’t hung up.
The bouncer at the top of the stairs spotted them coming and threw open the heavy doors with a push of massive shoulders, revealing a canvas of stars diluted by a haze of light pollution. The Doghouse was on the southern end of Angelthene Boulevard, not far from the junction of Crystal Teeth and Redwater. The nightlife in these parts was filthier and harder than the kind farther north; that area was tamer and frequented by college kids who gambled with demons instead of criminals while they went bar- and club-hopping, banking on the slightly higher chance that they would return home without being drugged, killed, or assaulted.
Finally, Christa said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You always were good at lying.” They were outside now, the rusted doors pealing like a bell as the bouncers slammed them shut. The sidewalks here were lit with LED floodlights that felt like walking through a fever dream, but they were better at keeping demons away than HID and mercury vapor.
“Darien.” Her voice was a sleep-thickened croak. “I am not lying.”
“Alright, I believe you.” His car chirped as he unlocked it with the remote. He and Max got inside, shutting the doors on a warm gust of rotting meat and blood. There was exactly that on a stretch of pavement up ahead—a smear of blood and brains, the texture like cauliflower. A demon attack, by the looks of it; very common in this part of town. Or a really grisly murder. “Think you can find out for me?” he said.
There was a long pause. He checked the phone again, but the numbers that kept track of the length of the call were still ticking.
When she finally answered, her voice was so quiet he could barely hear her. “I’d be putting everything on the line.”
“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot,” he drawled. He started the car. “You can’t do that, but you expect the same thing from others. A very good trait you’ve got going for you, Christa.” He made to hang up.
“Wait.” A sigh rattled the phone. “I’ll see what I can find, and I’ll call you. Okay?”
“Agreed.”
“Please don’t call me if it’s about something like this again,” she whispered. Darien didn’t miss the subtle invitation in her words—the door she was leaving wide open for him.
