Jenna Black - The Devil's Due

In the end, I decided the easiest way to go about it was just to drop by his apartment and use my charm and persuasion to convince him to talk to me. Okay, so charm and persuasion aren’t my strong suits, but I didn’t see a whole lot of other options, so it would have to do.

Tommy lived near U. of P. in an ancient brownstone that had no doubt once been a single-family home, but had been converted into tiny apartments catering to students. It turned out Tommy was auditing some classes while he waited to start med school in the fall. I couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten into an Ivy League university with his God’s Wrath affiliation; unless, of course, they didn’t know about it. I also wasn’t sure why he was still going there now that he was possessed. It wasn’t that unusual for legal demons to go through med school and become doctors, but it seemed like an odd thing for a demon in Dougal’s camp to do. Unless he was in training to become another of Dougal’s mad scientists. And wasn’t that a cheerful thought?

Tommy wasn’t home when I stopped by, and his roommate informed me that this was the status quo. Being a helpful sort—and being at just the right height to stand eye-level with my breasts, a convenience of which he took full advantage—the roommate informed me that my best shot at running into the new demonic Tommy was at his favorite nightclub, The Seven Deadlies.

My friendly, if false, smile died on my face when the roommate—whose name I’d already forgotten—mentioned that proverbial den of iniquity. He was too enamored of my chest to notice, and I decided the little creep was icking me out. I forced myself to thank him relatively politely before I hastened away, wondering if I really had the nerve to show my face at the club where Raphael had held and tortured Brian.

The easy way to handle it would have been to call Adam and ask him to meet up with Tommy there. Adam was a card-carrying member, and far from being repulsed by the club’s sickening purpose, he actually liked the place. At least, he’d liked it before he and Dom had had a run-in with Shae, the club’s owner. I doubted Adam would set foot in there again for any reason other than official business. Besides, I didn’t want to talk to Adam, not with Lugh’s request/order looming. Yes, I’d rather present it to Adam and Dom myself, but I’m a big fan of procrastination.

I wasn’t what you’d call happy with my decision, but I suppose you could say I was resolved to it. I spent the afternoon and much of the evening loading myself up with caffeine to get me through a long night and trying not to think about what I was about to do. At around ten, I put on my favorite pair of black leather pants along with an emerald green halter top that left my belly button bare and revealed the tattoo on my back. It wasn’t the kind of top I could wear a bra with, but it had a flimsy built-in shelf bra that slightly reduced the jiggle factor. I finished the outfit off with some platform sandals that added another couple of inches to my already greater-than-average height, then looked myself over in the mirror.

I looked far more demure and conservative than I’d looked the last time I’d set foot in that club, but I was dressed sexy enough to fit right in. I was also dressed sexy enough that I could probably persuade some hormone-crazed demon groupie to take me in as his guest, seeing as I wasn’t a member myself. I’d then have to find a way to ditch said hormone-crazed groupie, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s the cold shoulder.

The Seven Deadlies is located on South Street, home to some of Philadelphia’s most outlandish citizens. Bars, clubs, tattoo parlors, fetish shops, New Age bookstores. You name it—if it’s off the beaten path, you can be sure you’ll find it somewhere along South Street.

I looked downright conservative next to some of the South Street regulars I passed as I made my way from the garage where I’d parked to the club. Mohawks, funky dye-jobs, ostentatious body piercings. . Maybe I’d need to get another tattoo or ten. Nah. I didn’t plan to come here ever again.

On the outside, The Seven Deadlies looks relatively ordinary, just a normal South Street alternative club. Even on a Monday night, there was a steady stream of customers going in. Still, I decided I’d try to get in on my own merits before going for the charming-a-helpless-male technique.

I was glad to see the Guardian of the Gates was a young, handsome guy. That upped my chances of conning my way in. When I approached the window, I put on my friendliest smile and pressed my shoulders back a bit to make sure the halter top clung to my breasts just right. Handsome Guy gave me a thorough once-over with his eyes before greeting me with a bland “Can I help you?”

I might have been insulted that he didn’t seem to be reacting to my appearance if I hadn’t caught the quickly suppressed gleam in his eyes when he’d looked me over.

“I’ve heard great things about this club,” I gushed, trying to look young and brainless. “I was wondering who I could talk to about maybe buying a membership.”

He gave me another of those up-and-down looks, then smiled at me with what looked like regret. “Sorry, but our membership roster is full. The waiting list is about three months.”

Yeesh! There were that many people who wanted to hang out at a demon sex club? I made a pouty face—maybe I was laying it on a little thick, but I’ve never been a big fan of subtlety.

“Is it possible to buy a guest pass? I’d love to look around, get a feel for whether the place is worth waiting for.” A line was forming behind me, and I could feel the impatience at my back. Handsome Guy seemed to feel it, too, since his expression hardened into full authority-figure mode.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the club is only for members and their guests.”

“We can make an exception for this one, Deke,”said a voice from over my left shoulder.

I turned slowly, my fists automatically clenching at my sides, my teeth grinding as I struggled to control my primal impulses.

Standing behind me, where she must have emerged from a nearby door marked Employees Only, was Shae, last name unknown to me, the owner of The Seven Deadlies. Approximately my height, with deep ebony skin and hair cut so short she was practically bald, Shae reminded me of a black panther, a creature of deadly grace and beauty. She was also a predator, a mercenary, and an illegal demon, whom Adam refused to arrest because she served as his snitch—when it was convenient to her.

She was dressed all in red and black, an outfit that only heightened the aura of danger that clung to her. A black leather bustier, only half a shade darker than her skin, made the most of her minimal cleavage, the bloodred bow at the center drawing the eye. Her black leather pants were even tighter than my own, and her shoes—red patent leather pumps with spiky, four-inch heels—were a hell of a lot showier. She topped the outfit off with a dramatic floor-length black and red brocade duster.

I’d taken an instant dislike to Shae when I’d first met her, and nothing since then had persuaded me to change my opinion. I had sort of hoped she either wouldn’t be here, or at least wouldn’t recognize me, but I should have known my luck wasn’t that good.

She smiled her shark’s smile and put a hand on my arm, drawing me away from the window so the next schmuck in line could pay his way in. I let her touch me for about ten seconds, then jerked my arm from her grip. It was probably a good time to cut my losses and get the hell out of here, but as you may have noticed, I’m a bit stubborn. I had a plan, and I wasn’t going to let Evil Bitch from Hell ruin it.

“I had no idea you enjoyed yourself so much the last time you were in my club,” Shae said, still smiling. I tried desperately not to think about the things that had happened the last time I’d set foot in here, but of course it didn’t work.