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“Only pretzels. No peanuts. Peanuts smell better.”
“Ain’t life a bitch.”
She wiped long-clawed hands on her dress, leaving a wet stain. “I like your shorts.”
“Yeah?” Briefly, I considered trading with her. I can always use more fairy spells. And there were plenty more hot pants where these came from, which was generally the SHOPLIFT HERE! section of the local discount store.
Just as I was about to make a bargain, my message tone chimed.
I dug out my phone. Turn around.
My skin prickled. Mysterious. No name, no number.
Another chime, and more words flashed up. I have a job for you, Lena Falco. Turn around.
Mysterious, nameless dude who knows my name. For all I knew, he was standing right behind me.
And here’s where I had a choice.
Switch off, make my bargain with the fairy girl, and go home, with her dress on and a new spell in my pocket, all set for another petty score tomorrow night.
On the other hand, mystery means danger. Big danger means big payoff, and there’s always the chance it’ll be The Job. The big one that sets me up, so I won’t need to worry about rent and protection for a long, long time.
I flicked a fifty from my new cash roll and tossed it at the bloodwhore who sauntered by in a red rubber dress and six-inch heels, the ring of dripping scars at her throat proclaiming her trade. I pointed at the unconscious vamp. “See this guy? He’s fevertripping. Make sure he gets some.”
She eyed me suspiciously, blonde pigtails bouncing. “Who the fuck are you, the Salvation Army?”
“Maybe I’m his mother. What the hell do you care?”
The bloodwhore sniffed, tucked the money away, and strutted over to him. My good deed for the day. I’m a thief, not a vamp killer.
And then, just like the man ordered, I turned around.
Easy to spot, even in this crowd. Big guy, black hair, black eyes rimmed with red. Green lights reflected on glassy cheekbones, lasering those midnight eyes with menace. Dark lashes stark against pale skin, exotic, luminous like he’d been out of the light for too long. He wore unrelieved black, like it was all he had in his wardrobe, and damn it if that suit didn’t look good on him. He looked like a cross between a vampire mobster from Moscow and a model for the Armani Fall Collection.
Danger, Will Robinson. No real person—no human person—looked like that.
He leaned back, ankles crossed, elbows on the white neonglass bar. He smiled at me, angelic, and sparks danced in his hair. Come closer, he mouthed, and my message screen typed the words along with him. He wasn’t even holding a phone.
Yeah, this is my guy, all right.
I swallowed and walked over.
He pushed a drink along the glowing bar with one finger. “Vodka tonic, ice, no lemon. Right?” His voice was soft yet somehow carried over the nightclub noise. I didn’t hear him so much as feel him, a warm and creepy caress, and against my throat the hex pendant pulsed in warning.
“Very good. Who are you?” I didn’t take the drink. Spiking is one of my tricks. I don’t trust anyone.
He leaned closer, and my mouth parched. A bitter, chalky taste. Ash. Suddenly, I felt dizzy, and I inhaled on the stink of ozone.
Thunder. Ash storms. Not vampire. Demon.
But everyone knew Kane, the local demon lord. This wasn’t he.
The demon grinned, dentist-perfect. “I think we’ve established who I’m not. You’re still standing here. Does that mean you’ll take the job?”
I studied him and decided the resemblance wasn’t accidental. Kane was blond and baby-faced, where this guy was all darkness and sharp angles, but the eyes were the same. Black, shiny, empty. Dip Kane in soot and starve him for a few millennia …
So what was going down here? Kane was jealous and territorial, and he and his vampire mobsters remorselessly crushed anyone who crossed the line. Unlikely that he’d ask big brother here over for a playdate.
