Rob Thurman - Deathwish

“That Faust, he never could keep a secret.” He gave a slick smile and got in the car.

We beat the giant hairball hacker to Seamus’s loft. I could still smell the faint trace of death when we arrived. Old blood. Scrub as hard as you want, the scent still lingers. As for Cherish’s scent, my nose wasn’t good enough to detect relatives. I had no idea if she smelled like Promise at the genetic level or not. I could only detect a mix of pears and brandy. She smelled exactly like a dessert Robin had ordered once when he’d dragged us . . . well, me . . . to some expensive restaurant. Niko and Promise had enjoyed it, but I’d had to break out my good shoes: the black sneakers. What a pain in the ass. I’d take pizza any day. You can eat that in jeans. Hell, you can eat it buck naked on the couch if you want. As long as no red-hot cheese dripped on the important parts, you’re good to go.

“Madre.” She stood at the door, dressed all in white this time. There was a long white silk skirt that skimmed below her navel to reveal an amethyst on a silver hoop. She also wore a high-necked top that was a backdrop to a web of more silver and amethysts. Unlike the fake vampires that hung around the Goth bars, there wasn’t a whip, leather bra, or thigh-high boot in sight.

She kept us waiting for a second and then shook off the surprise to step back. “I’m sorry. Come in. I’m glad you’re here.”

Once we were inside, I smelled new blood thick over the scent of the old. I also smelled goat. The chupa, Xolo, was sitting on Seamus’s couch, watching a television, which looked new. I hadn’t noticed one in the loft the last time we were there. Seamus probably hadn’t spent a lot of time watching TV, what with all the painting and murdering. That kind of thing’s time consuming.

The chupa’s mild brown eyes were dazed and content as he drank the goat blood from a large glass. Apparently, that beat the tequila that they normally drank hands-down. The things were smart enough to carry around money, dress themselves, go to a bar, and point to a drink—I’d never heard one speak—but that seemed to be the sum total of their brain power.

“You sure he doesn’t need a sippy cup?” I asked. The whole thing was weird. Did Cherish want it as a pet, or the next best thing to a kid? Was her biological clock ticking, but she didn’t want the commitment of the real thing? Did she have a rhinestone collar for it, or a college fund? Did I actually care either way?

Nope.

She ignored me. Closing the door behind us, she fingered one of the teardrop amethysts on her necklace as she faced us. “I wanted to . . .” She trailed off and smiled, mostly at herself. “How awkward to find fault with yourself. I wanted to apologize to you, Madre . I’m a selfish creature, I know. But even I go beyond the pale to put my mother in danger when she’s already there to begin with. I am selfish, but not so selfish I want to see anything happen to you.” She dropped the amethyst and reached for Promise’s hand. “You are my only family. Thirty years may pass between my visits, but you are my corazoín . You gave me life. I don’t want to have a part in taking yours.”

Promise curled her fingers around her daughter’s hand as I drawled, “What about the rest of us?”

That dimpled smile reappeared. “Oh, the rest of you are as disposable as last month’s fashion.”

“Excepting the whole millstone around our necks dragging us to certain death, you’re quite entertaining.” Robin gave her what looked like a leer to me but probably had a more sophisticated name. I didn’t waste time trying to guess what it was. With Robin all roads led to Rome, and Rome was apparently in his pants.

Cherish’s own smile slid to something with more heat in it. “You aren’t wrong, cielito .”

“Little heaven?” He raised his eyebrows. “Not so little, anasa mou . And you owe me several thousand dollars. Perhaps we could arrange a trade?”

“We did come here for a reason,” Niko said, with little patience for the flirting. “Although I’m sure Oshossi and his ccoa would happily wait to let you consume each other before they consume you.”

“Oshossi? A ccoa?” Her eyes suddenly black, Cherish dropped her mother’s hand and went to the slit in her skirt. A knife appeared in her hand. “What did Oshossi say?”

“Threats,” Niko answered. “Very inventive threats. I doubt you’d want to hear them.”

“No, probably not.” The eyes stayed black. “I can handle a ccoa. You should go.”

“You could.” Promise lifted her hand to touch a smooth strand of Cherish’s hair, but dropped it before she did. Her expression clouded. “You were always brilliant at whatever you’ve done. Fighting, dancing, riding. . . .”

“Lying, stealing.” Which Promise had remembered, if not said. The dimple disappeared and the smile turned rueful. Her eyes cleared. “Go, Madre . I’ll send you its fur when I’m done. It’ll make a nice coat.”

“No.” Promise shook her head. “You could handle a ccoa, but a ccoa and Oshossi, I’m not so sure.”

It damn sure hadn’t been a walk in the park for us.

“He’s impressive and he seems clever,” Niko remarked, as neutral with the daughter as he was the mother. “Is he?”

“He is. He is very, very clever. The stupid rarely have anything worth stealing, but if I’d known how clever he is and how determined. How proud . . . No one who steals from him shall go unpunished. And I was a fool not to have determined all this beforehand.” She shook her head. “But it is done now. Until he kills me or I kill him, these attacks will never stop.”

That pretty much said it all.

Niko said, “Tell us more about Oshossi. How did you meet him? What weapons does he favor besides machetes, or does he prefer to let his animals do his killing for him?”

“It was at a party. An embassy affair—not your sort of party at all,” she aimed at Goodfellow. “The nudity was partial at best.”

“It’s not the quantity, it’s the quality,” he said loftily, “but go on. Tell us how you circled in on your mark.”

She went on to describe meeting Oshossi—an embassy party, he must’ve invested in some seriously inventive dentures to cover those pointed teeth. Both immediately recognized the nonhumanness of the other. They enjoyed each other’s company, each rolling in the dough. Jewelry for her, fancy suits for him. Cherish’s stolen, Oshossi’s his own. “He’s handsome,” she said, toying with her necklace again. “Yet . . . not. He’s hard planes and angles, much like an Aztec statue. But I’m sure you saw that for yourself. I never saw him carry a weapon.” She frowned. “I should’ve known by his eyes.”

“What about his eyes?” I asked. Those cold leopard eyes. Predator through and through.

“They were my eyes. Not the color, but the weighing and measuring. The assumption that everything is yours for the taking. That the world is for you to pick and choose.” She yanked the necklace from her throat in one fierce motion and let it fall carelessly to the floor. “I took my measure in mirrors of gold and found myself wanting. Too bad I only realize that now.”

“Yeah, too damn bad,” I commented with a lack of sympathy that had Promise giving me a glance of exasperation. I understood she wanted to protect Cherish, especially as Cherish seemed to be trying to change her ways. So I could see her wanting to protect her, just like I wanted to protect Nik, but the difference was Cherish had brought this upon herself. She could have a change of heart, but she couldn’t change that.

Too goddamn little, too goddamn late, and, worse yet, at the wrong goddamn time.

Niko folded his arms in consideration for a second, then told Robin, “Try looking among your kind for Oshossi.”