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Frowning, I tried to get hold of myself. But the thought of Wilbur and Martin sitting there watching Seinfeld was too precious. “Does he wear his leash while you’re watching TV, or is he house-trained?”
“Menolly,” Rozurial said, a scowl creasing his forehead. “You really shouldn’t be such a bitch. He did help us out with information.”
I coughed so hard that a dribble of blood oozed down my chin, and I suddenly realized what I must look like. As Wilbur silently marched away, leading Martin behind him on the leash, I raced after them.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry—there’s just been so much tension . . .”
He shook his head. “Excuses. Tension’s no excuse for behaving so rudely.”
So our necromancer was cultured, even though he looked like a mountain man and was a dropout. I glanced up at him, deciding to eat crow.
“I apologize. It was uncouth of me to spout off like that. You and Martin . . .” I fought for control and forced a smile. “You and Martin have a good evening, and thank you again for your help.”
He looked skeptical but mumbled something that sounded like a vague acceptance and left, looking mildly disgusted.
“I think we’ll be asking Iris to bake a lot of cookies to send his way,” Camille said, giving me a shake of the head. “Menolly, sometimes you have to learn to keep your mouth shut. I love you, but you aren’t the most diplomatic person in the world.”
“You’ve got that right,” I said, feeling let down and vaguely guilty.
“Can we get a move on?” Vanzir broke in. “Carter’s waiting for us, and I don’t want to make him mad by showing up too late.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, heading toward my car. “The last thing we need is for another demon to be angry at us.”
As we headed out of the parking lot, I decided that maybe I should spend some time with Sassy Branson. She was, after all, the doyenne of the vampire set. If anybody could help me learn a few manners, it would be Sally.
CHAPTER 23
Carter’s place was a little basement apartment-slash-shop along Broadway, near where the junkies congregated. A metal railing kept passersby from falling into the cement shaft. I peeked over the rail to look at the steps leading down to the demon’s hangout. I had the feeling that if Carter hadn’t been who he was, the stairwell would have been packed with street-walkers and addicts, using the cover to keep their transactions semiprivate. But a palpable energy buzzed around the steps, warning, Stay away, or I’ll eat you.
Vanzir glanced around, but the walkway on our side of the street was devoid of people. A hooker leaned against a brick building on the opposite corner, dressed in a sequined mini-dress and platform boots. She looked bored, out of some retro seventies go-go act.
I wondered how old she was; she could have been thirty, she might have been fifty. How long had she been at it, and how many times had she tried to get out of the business? She sure didn’t look happy. It occurred to me that we should give her one of Lindsey Cartridge’s cards from the Green Goddess Women’s Shelter. While they primarily focused on helping women get out of abusive marriages and relationships, they also worked in concert with Reclamation, a group dedicated to helping women who wanted out of “the life.”
Three primer-splotched hot rods zoomed past, speeding. Bored teens, no doubt. I glanced at my Jaguar, parked right next to Carter’s place.
“You think it’s safe to leave our cars sitting unattended around here? The neighborhood looks kind of seedy,” I said.
Vanzir nodded. “Yeah, no problem. Carter paid a witch to cast a spell out to—and including—the parking spaces in front of his place. No thieves, no muggers. They get within ten feet of the circle and freak. If you ever see somebody suddenly look really uncomfortable and cross the street, you can be sure they’re up to no good.”
“Hmm,” Delilah said. “Where can we buy one of those for our home? If we could get one that encompassed the entire property . . .”
“You’d pay an arm and a leg. He has to have it reinforced on a monthly basis, and believe me, his witch ain’t cheap,” Vanzir said. “And her magic works. Every time.” He winked at Camille, but it still sounded like a slam.
Camille arched one eyebrow. “Ease it back, dream boy. A tad bit passive-aggressive, you think?”
He stared at her for a moment, then sniggered. “You’re good. You catch on quick.” He thumbed toward the door. “Let’s go.”
Vanzir led us down the stairs and knocked four times on the door. After a moment, a small click echoed through the air as the door swung open. We followed the demon inside.
I’d never been in a demon’s lair before and wasn’t sure exactly what to expect, but whatever my preconceptions were, they weren’t what Carter had going on. The room was large, with several doors leading back into the rest of the apartment. It was dark; the windows that lined the top of the wall were blacked out. No wonder I hadn’t noticed them as we headed down the stairs.
A mellow glow from a dim lamp set off the gold and red upholstery that covered the sofa and wing chair. The coffee and end tables were rich walnut, and the furniture had the same feel as the furnishings in older vampires’ lairs. Most of it looked decades old. I had the feeling Carter had been over Earthside for a long, long time, at least by human reckoning.
The walls were covered with tapestries that depicted wars and battle scenes, and one entire wall was taken up with bookshelves that were filled from top to bottom with books of all shapes and sizes. Our demon was literate, that much was clear.
A desk sat to the right of a side door, facing so that its occupant could see when anybody entered or left the building. And behind the desk—also dark walnut—sat an unassuming man who looked to be in his early thirties. He had wavy hair the same color as mine, and his eyes were like Vanzir’s, a whirl of colors that were impossible to name. Only this demon had two spiked horns curling out of his head, one on each side, reminding me of those on an impala, curved back, regal, and polished to a high sheen. He was meticulously groomed, even though his hair looked messy at first glance. But it was a deliberate mess, no doubt held in place by plenty of hair spray.
As he stood and walked around the side of the desk, I saw that he was using a cane. His right knee was in a brace. “Welcome. I assume Vanzir has told you that I’m Carter.” Sweeping his arm graciously, he motioned to the sofa. “Won’t you have a seat, please?”
