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Casanova paled. “Not some demon. The ruler of our court.”
“So this Rosier is what? A demon lord?”
“Don’t use his name!”
Billy Joe had said it, and I’d even heard a sort of admission from Pritkin’s own lips, but I still couldn’t believe it. “But Pritkin hates demons, he’s hunted them for years, he’s fanatical about it…”
“You don’t say.”
“But if he’s half demon himself, why would he—”
“I don’t know. Or, rather, they have issues; everyone knows that. Your mage has the distinction of being the only mortal ever actually kicked out of Hell, but I don’t have any specifics. I don’t deal in High Court politics; I have my own problems, most of which lately revolve around you!”
I ignored the obvious attempt to change the subject. “I don’t get it. How can Pritkin possibly be half-incubus?” I poked him on the arm. “You’re incorporeal.”
“I have a host—”
“Which is exactly my point. You need a host to, you know.” I waved a hand at his body, which was looking elegant as usual in a tan linen suit and snappy orange silk tie. Casanova raised an eyebrow. “To feed, okay? And wouldn’t that make the host the father of any children, and not you?”
Casanova sighed heavily, the weight of my stupidity clearly becoming too much for him to bear. But at least he answered. “The ruler of our court is powerful enough to assume human form at will, instead of having to find a host, and is therefore the only one of us to have progeny.” He made a face. “Considering the result, I can’t say I envy him that.”
“You mean, Pritkin is the only one of his kind?”
“There are plenty of demon races out there and many of them are corporeal all the time,” Casanova said crossly. “Half-demon children aren’t exactly thick on the ground, but they do exist. And most of them aren’t destructive maniacs.”
“But no other incubi?”
“The experiment wasn’t a roaring success,” he pointed out dryly.
“Okay, but none of this explains why Ros—” Casanova flinched. “That demon attacked me. He only went after Pritkin when he tried to protect me.”
“Protect you? That’s like sending Pancho Villa to keep Che Guevara out of trouble!”
“Would you just—”
“I don’t know.” Casanova saw my expression. “It’s the truth! I don’t know and I don’t want to know. The last thing I need is for certain people to decide that I’m interfering in their business!”
“Rosier killed Saleh,” I said, trying to fit the pieces together. “And when he came after me, he said it was because I’d talked to him. But the only thing Saleh and I discussed was—”
“Don’t tell me!” Casanova backed away with a panicked look, right into the line of dangerous-looking creatures who had just entered the salon. They’d been so quiet, I hadn’t even heard them. I assumed Casanova would have, under other circumstances, but he wasn’t at his best. That was even more true when he spun around and caught a glimpse of Alphonse’s smirking face.
He literally snarled, and casino security, which had been trailing the nattily dressed group of vamps, closed in a little more. “I invited them!” I said, before things could turn ugly.
“You set me up!” Casanova shot me a purely vicious look. And, okay, yeah, maybe I should have brought this up a little sooner. But I’d been busy.
“They’re here to help me with something, not to fight,” I said. I caught Alphonse’s eye, which was easy even with Casanova in the way since he is almost seven feet tall. “Right?”
“Sure thing,” he agreed smoothly, giving Casanova’s shoulder a friendly squeeze that had the incubus wincing in pain. “Came to see the bikes over at the Mirage.”
“You’re in my territory!”
Alphonse grinned lazily. “There ain’t no territories no more—or didn’t you hear? The Senate outlawed ’em to cut down on the feuding.” He chuckled, like that was the best joke he’d heard in a while.
“He likes motorcycles,” I reminded Casanova quickly. “You know that!”
It was true. Besides photography, B-grade vampire movies and killing things, Alphonse liked big, loud bikes that belched black smoke and choked anyone unfortunate enough to be behind him. For a cold-blooded killer, he was remarkably well-rounded.
He was also really good at getting under Casanova’s skin. Not that he had to work very hard. I got the impression that there was some lingering resentment over the fact that Alphonse had taken Casanova’s place as Tony’s second a few years back. I had no idea if that had been a purely business decision or was partly personal, but there was no doubt that the incubus resented it. And Alphonse showing up on his doorstep without so much as a by-your-leave wasn’t helping.
