“You’ll let him knownow.”Darien’s voice was sharp. “I don’t know Dennis as well as you boys, but something tells me he wouldn’t be pleased to hear that you turned away a Devil at his door.”
The cawing of magpies filled the sky. Loren didn’t dare take her eyes off what was happening in front of her to count how many birds there were. Judging from the way the bouncers’ mouths had become thin lines, it wasn’t a promising number. And whether they were superstitious or not, only an idiot would ignore an omen.
Even the witches and warlocks nearby had stopped scribbling their chalk symbols. They still smoked from their pipes, but they now watched the scene unfolding before the bar, curiosity shining in their bleary eyes.
Darien smiled, fingers twitching at his sides, as the bouncers assessed him again. “Have I convinced you, or would you like to discuss this another time?”
The tallest bouncer got on his headset and let whoever answered on the other end know there was a Devil here to see Dennis Boyd.
Two minutes passed before the doors groaned open. Music with heavy bass drifted from inside as a stout balding man—part human, part warlock—pushed his way through the bouncers. He looked Darien over with eyes milky from substance abuse, and then took note of the girls standing on either side of him.
“Search them,” Dennis ordered brusquely.
His bouncers set about checking Darien first, who was still smiling as he braced his feet apart and held up his hands on either side of his head.
Dennis jerked his stubbly chin at Dallas and Loren. “I’m not stupid enough to think these two are of drinking age, Cassel.”
The bouncers retrieved Darien’s pistol and brass knuckles, and Darien didn’t bother to correct him as he went on to say, “I don’t think you need me to tell you that we’re not here to drink, Dennis.”
The bouncers seemed satisfied with the weapons they’d found on Darien and moved onto the girls. It didn’t take long to check them, and when the bouncers were finished, they stepped aside to permit them entrance. Darien led the way as they followed Dennis into the dark bar that reeked of vomit, watered-down booze, and stale cigarettes. The spongy orange carpet sank beneath Loren’s feet as she passed the foggy-eyed drunkards gathered at the tables and the bar, sipping everything from beer to magical tonics. She stayed close to Darien’s heels, Dallas at her back.
Dennis paused at the edge of the bar and scratched his bald head with his stubby fingers. “Before you get started with whatever game you’re playing… Can I offer you a drink, Slayer?”
“No game, Dennis.” Several people at the bar sidled away at the sight of Darien, while two witches who were heavily dolled up with makeup-glamours eyed him with interest as they fixed their hair. “No drink either. I’m simply here to ask you a few questions.”
It was hard to tell beneath the few bulbs lighting the interior of the bar, but Loren swore Dennis’s shiny face paled. “Alright then.”
Dennis’s eyes were wide and unblinking as he pushed away from the bar and gestured for them to follow him. He led them down a passage glowing with ultraviolet lightbars, to a dented door that hung lopsided on the hinges.
The office was roughly the size of a shoe closet, with barely enough space inside for one small desk and a peeling leather swivel chair. Dennis rummaged around behind a filing cabinet until he found three folding chairs and set them up on the opposite side of the desk, the legs squeaking against the linoleum. Darien claimed the chair between Loren and Dallas, while Dennis planted himself on the other side of the desk.
“Alright, Cassel.” Dennis fished a cigarette butt from the overflowing ashtray, lit it, and took a drag. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here for Chrysantha Sands,” Darien said, getting right down to business.
Dennis blew out a lungful of bitter smoke. “Did Logan send you?”
“I’ve sent myself. Word on the street says Chrysantha was bartending here the night she went missing. Care to go over the evening’s events with me?”
Dennis settled his chapped elbows onto the desk. “Nothing happened. I’ve been over this with Logan—it was just another normal Saturday night. Chrysantha was serving my usual clientele: bikers and vampires and such.” He waved the hand that held the cigarette through the air, as if it might help illustrate what he was saying. Darien tracked the movement with a deadly gaze. “Nothing beyond the ordinary happened.” He flicked what remained of the butt into the ashtray. “She got off when the bar closed at two in the morning and went home.”
“I didn’t know you catered to vampires.” Darien quirked an eyebrow. “What type of blood do you serve?”
“Animal.” Dennis gave Loren a greasy smile. “Mostly.”
She squirmed in her seat.
Darien’s answering grin looked more like a baring of teeth. “So, you’re telling me that nothing even vaguely interesting happened that night. No new faces to report, no odd behavior?”
“Correct,” Dennis said. But the word was a choked whisper. And the pudgy fingers entwined atop the desk trembled faintly.
“That’s it?” Darien prompted again. “That’s all you have to say about Chrysantha?” Propping a boot up on the desk, he sank back in his chair and laced his tattooed fingers over his chest. “Sounds more like a rehearsed speech to me.”
It took Dennis a long time before he nodded once. Moisture gleamed on his upper lip.
And Darien wasn’t buying it. He cocked his head as he surveyed Dennis, no doubt noticing that his neck was throbbing in tune with his heartbeat. “How long have you owned this festering shithole now, Dennis?”
A drop of sweat rolled to Dennis’s lower lip. “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
