Cat Adams - Demon Song

Suck it up, Graves.

I checked one more time to be sure the car was locked and started walking down the street. With each step I got hotter. The dim winter sun seemed to have the intensity of the desert in August on my fragile, exposed skin. There wasn’t much showing, but my hands and the back of my neck felt like they were starting to blister. I needed to remember to wear the blazer with pockets next time. I tried to walk quickly but not so fast it was in the paranormal range. I readjusted my hair to cover as much of my neck as possible and brought my reddening hands up to where they were shaded by the hat visor.

I was sweating now and reaching the busy part of the street. People ignored me as I passed quickly by. The red and white sign of Al’s Gun Shop at the far end of the block was my whole world.

“Can you spare some change, miss?” I heard the words, but they didn’t register until I felt a hand on my arm. I turned and pushed his hand away, recoiling from the scent of urine and days of sweat.

“I haven’t eaten in days, lady. Please?” The bum’s wheedling voice didn’t match the strength in that hand, which finally pulled my mind away from the stinging of my skin. The intensity in his hazel eyes bored through the grime and the three-day growth of beard. His body shape finally reminded me of the stocky Italian who’d sat in my office in a charcoal suit and muted tie. I looked up and sure enough … I was standing right under the Sam’s sign. Rizzoli must have noticed something was wrong, because he frowned with concern. But I didn’t want to get into my own issues, so I just looked down at my purse and reached inside.

My fingers found the folded twenty with the note paper-clipped inside. “Here. Skip the meal. Go buy yourself a bath.” I tried to make my voice sound like a disgusted tourist and I sort of was, so I pulled it off.

A wry twitch of his mouth and a wink said I had the right man. “Thanks lady.” He turned without another word and walked through the restaurant door. I nearly sprinted to the safety of the air-conditioned gun shop.

I needed to replace the boomers I’d used at the prison as well as pick up a few more mudders. Al’s had the products and they were cheaper here than at Isaac Levy’s store. Unfortunately, they were a brand I didn’t recognize, so I had no idea whether they’d work as well. Normally, I’d insist on trying them out, the way I usually did in the gun range in Isaac’s basement. Here at Al’s—no gun rack, no demo. Plus, the guy who waited on me was the only person in the store—stupid, in my opinion. But not my business and I wanted to get back to my car while it was still there.

While he was writing up the paperwork for the ammo I’d also bought, I stared out at the street through the window. The bars and grate over the glass fractured the view, but I could still see a trio of street performers across the way. There were two men, playing guitar and bongo drums, and a dancer, a very flamboyant African-American woman who was dressed in a bright yellow tribal robe and hat with geometric designs in black and orange. The group hadn’t been there a moment before. A spirited Latin beat throbbed through the air. It was good music and good dancing and the performance was drawing a crowd. The woman twirled and stepped gracefully; the musicians gave it their all. A fourth man stepped forward, passing around a hat. Surprising to me, given the area, people were dropping money into it.

The store clerk let out a small laugh as his eyes followed my gaze. “I see Gwyneth and her crew are back. It must be two already. Every day, same time. I don’t know what they spend their morning doing, but they make good money in the afternoon.”

He handed me a bag with my purchases and I moved closer to the window to watch. My eyes were glued to her fluid movements. So much so that I nearly missed a familiar figure that darted by a few steps away.

What the hell?

I looked again, shifting my body and pressing my face to the dirty glass so I could see farther down the street. Was that El Jefe? What in the world would Kevin and Emma’s father be doing down in this neck of town? I was curious, but I was torn. I was still furious with Warren for betraying me. When Eirene kidnapped Emma, Warren and Kevin had decided to use me as the ransom. They’d drugged me, trussed me up, and tossed me in the back of the car—and only then told me what was going on. I’d nearly been killed and so had Emma. I hadn’t spoken to either of them since.

On the other hand, I had no idea how Kevin was doing since the prison break … and once he and I had been the best of friends. I opened the door and stuck out my head. Cupping my hand to my mouth, I shouted, “Warren! Hey, wait up!”

I wasn’t sure he could hear me over the music, but he turned toward me. I saw his face shift from delighted to confused and then finally to guilt and fear. Without a word, he turned on his heel and started to run.

What the hell?

I didn’t think it through; I just started to chase. What was he hiding down here in gangland? He knew full well I had vampire abilities now. I could overtake him in a heartbeat except that I didn’t want to draw a crowd armed with stakes and garlic cloves. The garlic I wouldn’t mind, but I’m starting to dislike pointy wooden things.

He was pulling out all the stops, probably fueled by adrenaline. What was he afraid of? It couldn’t be me.

There’s more than one way to skin a cat. I stared at the back of his head and thought hard at him: Warren! Would you slow down, please? What the hell is wrong with you?

The effect of my voice in his head was sharp and immediate. He stumbled and grabbed onto a light pole for balance as he turned openmouthed to stare at me. I caught up to him in a few steps. The amazement on his face confused me until he spoke: “Since when do you have telepathy?”

Oh. “Apparently it’s a siren thing. It’s new. I thought Kevin or Emma would have told you.”

He shook his head. “It hasn’t come up. We’ve been … busy.”

That and the return of guilt to his face told me a lot. “So I presume you know about Amy and Kevin and the zoo?”

More surprise in Warren’s widened eyes. But he was more than surprised. He was tired. There were lines in his ageless, tanned face that hadn’t been there a few months before, and his silver hair was getting thinner. “How do you know?”

So Jones hadn’t mentioned my involvement. Okay, I’d play along. “I just do. Are they okay?”

Instead of answering right away, he pointed to my hands. “You’re getting burned. Let’s get you out of this sun.”

I crossed my arms over my chest to tuck my hands under my blazer and ease the stinging. The bag thumped against my hip when I did.

I motioned behind us with my head. “My car’s back that—” But he turned away and put a firm hand on my elbow to guide me farther from my sheltered ride. We stepped up to the entrance of an old brick building that looked like it had once been a drugstore, judging by the faded red Rx painted on the wall. Warren unlocked the door and ushered me inside.

I heard muted voices, far below, like in a basement. “Who else is here?”

“Kevin and Amy. You said you wanted to know how they were.” Warren’s voice was harsh, and even in the dim light from the fly-specked windows I could see he was worried. He led me down a creaking wooden staircase that was probably original to the building. But if the upstairs was old, the downstairs was ultra-modern. It contained the latest and greatest in containment units. Two shining silver-steel cells had been installed and John Jones was seated at a control panel, monitoring twin screens that apparently kept watch inside the cells. There was a scent of chemicals in the air.