Ilona Andrews - Hex Appeal

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.

I leaned on the bar and buffed my purple fingernails, casual. Demon turf wars were dangerous, but they could be good for business. “Maybe. What’s the target?”

The demon drummed his fingertips on the bar, and tiny flames licked the glass. “You’ll fetch something for me. An amulet. From a strongbox.”

My ears pricked. Magic trinkets ahoy. “Yeah? What kind of amulet?”

“The powerful kind. It has … something inside it that belongs to me. I’d recommend you don’t break it.”

“What’s the security?”

He shrugged, heavy like granite. “I’m afraid I haven’t visited in a long time.”

“I can arrange a preliminary survey.”

“Not possible.”

“Always possible. For an extra fee, of course. How much did you say you were offering?”

Another smile, but this time his teeth sprang long and sharp, and ash drifted from his hair. “That depends on the condition it’s in when you return. If you return at all.”

I licked my lips, bitter. “Okay. Forgive me if I’m cautious. Where did you say this strongbox was?”

“Somewhere unpleasant.”

I sighed. “Enough with the evasive answers. I guess this is a bad idea—”

“One favor, Lena Falco.” The demon caught my hand, swift like a snake, and his touch rooted me to the spot. “Whatever you desire, large or small. No catch. No lies. Do you want the job or not?”

He stroked my knuckles, sparks dancing, and temptation licked my blood hot. Money. Magic. Whatever I wanted.

I closed my eyes on spell-sweet dizziness. He was playing with me. My fairy spells were useless. I wanted to sigh, press his palm to my cheek, lean in, and kiss him until I died. But my hex pendant buzzed angrily, the heat shocking me awake, and I blinked drunkenly and yanked my hand away.

The job sounded difficult. But I needed the break if I wanted to keep my blood in my body and not in a mobster’s liquid lunch. Either that, or I’d still be running the lipstick con into my mid-thirties. Cherry-cola cougar. Pathetic much?

Innate warning squirmed in my belly, the prehistoric kind that’s supposed to stop you getting eaten. Demon! Bad! Run! it shrieked, but I stamped on it. Sure, dealing with demons was dangerous. But I wasn’t promising this dude anything in advance. If I did the work, I’d get the prize—and if I didn’t like the outcome, I could simply cut my losses and walk away. Right?

I sucked in an ash-tainted breath. “Okay. Deal.”

He held out his hand again, silent.

I took it. Shook. His palm was warm, dry, smooth like glass. For a moment, sharp claws stung my knuckles. And then they were gone.

He smiled, all charm again. “Thank you, Lena. Sure you won’t take that drink?”

“No, thanks. Where’s this amulet, and what’s it look like?”

“You’ll know it when you see it. It’s in a private residence. In the strongbox.” He leaned toward me, sniffing. “You’ve got cash. That’s good. You’ll need it to get where you’re going.”

Shit. Should have included expenses. “Why? Isn’t it a local job?”

“Not exactly.” He smiled again at my expression. “Oh, it’s quite close. It won’t take long.”

“Enough with the doublespeak, hellboy. You hired me. Where’s the damned amulet?”

“Not damned, technically.” The demon licked pale lips, flames dancing in his hair. “Just hell-trapped. It’s at my brother’s place. In hell.”

Twenty minutes later, I stalked down a grimy alley, spray-painted walls looming. Trash littered the concrete, the stink crinkling my nose, and rats skittered and chewed. A fat yellow moon glared, warped through a dry heat haze that sucked the sweat from my skin, and my throat was parched, my eyes gritty.

I’d retrieved the knives I’d checked at the nightclub counter, and the twin sheaths were strapped crisscross to the back of my corset under my leather jacket. Serrated blades, well weighted for throwing, but mostly slicing and stabbing weapons. The handles lay within easy reach, and I’d cinched the metal bracelets that tricked the blades into returning to me around my wrists. More fairy magic. I’d made them myself, from a pair of coiled-wire bangles and a metalfairy’s sly magnetic kiss.

I had a pistol, too, but I’d left it at home, which was just as well. Ordinary bullets would do no good where I was going.

But I still had to get there, and my new demon employer wouldn’t help me. Apparently, he wanted plausible deniability with his pals in the demon court if I got busted. Typical politician, covering his ass.

At the alley’s end, beside a rusted iron fence, a bunch of skinny fairies crouched around a fire set in a broken oil drum, their faces dripping rainbow sweat. Firelight reflected on their damp, glittery wings. Against the fence, more fairies lay, drooling and twitching and fondling each other, asleep or insensible.

I strode up, clearing my throat. “Which one of you guys is Toffee?”

A golden-skinned one stretched long double-jointed arms and blinked at me, shirtless. Ragged orange hair stuck in knots on his shoulders, and his pointy nose twitched as he tested the air for my scent. “Toffee’s here. Who’s the pretty cherry girl?”

I didn’t move closer. He looked harmless enough. But I don’t trust anyone, remember? “Vinny D told me you’re holding,” I said, dropping the name of a gangvamp asshole who I knew had it over these guys. “Helljuice, I mean.”

Toffee flittered to his feet. His butterfly wings puffed caramel dust, and he scratched his pointed ear and gave me a sharp-toothed grin. “Mmm, Toffee’s holding, to be sure. What’s the pretty got?”

“Cash. Two-fifty. That’s it. No funny stuff.”

He sniffed at my hex pendant and licked my collarbone. His tongue felt rough, like a kitten’s, and he smelled of burnt sugar. “Toffee likes the funny stuff, tee-hee. Cherry-cola?”

“Forget it.” I pushed his face away. “Cash. Three hundred. Final offer.”

He giggled and licked my palm, wrinkling his nose. “Yick-yick, demon squick. The pretty wants to go to hell? Toffee’s got the juicy.” And he dug in his tight jeans pocket and came up with a long glass vial, filled with what looked like runny shit. Dirty brown gunk crusted the cork, and the contents bubbled, thick and lumpy.

My stomach churned. Great. Can’t wait. But short of damnation or a demon’s flashspell, drinking this stuff was the only way to get to hell.