Demon Chained (Shadowfae Chronicles) (13 page)

Tam wasn't Javier, but he was trouble of a similar sort. Romantic, alluring, vulnerable.

The poor sweetie. Pity the local nasties would tear his heart out to get at me, and then the whole sordid moon-and-french-fries business would start again.

Which brought me back to the same question: what to do?

One: convince Tam to let me go. Hasn't worked so far.

Two: retrieve my lamp on my own. Not possible. I can't use my magic, and I don't know where to start looking. Which leads me to . . .

Three: smoke into the lamp and take my chances. No way. I've already spent decades cold and alone in there, and I'll be stuck there until Tam lets me out. Or someone kills Tam. Whoever it was, I doubt they'd think twice about torturing me to dribbling pulp so I'll tell them my name.

Four . . .

I pressed the cool glass to my forehead, willing away the ache. There's a four, Jewel, and you know what it is.

Four: kill Tam. Then I'll be free, and I can smoke in, steal the lamp back and scoot off into the sunset before anyone realizes I'm gone.

Five. Come on. Five. There must be a five.

Do nothing. Sit here, paint my nails and wait for someone to chew Tam's throat out and claim me. He didn't look easy to kill, what with the bone splinters and all, but they'd be desperate enough to find a way. I might as well smoke right now.

I kicked the broken cupboard in frustration. Saucepans jangled. Damn it. I'm not a killer. I never was, no matter what some of these bastards ordered me to do.

That didn't excuse anything I'd done. But I'm not murdering someone of my own accord.

I thought of Javier, crackling to dust at my touch. Over the years, I'd relived that scene to the point of insanity. Maybe I'd had a choice. Maybe I could have fled, defied Shazad, killed him, killed myself. Maybe Javier didn't have to die... even if part of me, deep in my soul in the silent depths of the witching hour, insisted that he'd deserved it.

He betrayed you, Jewel. He said he loved you, and then he gave you to an evil sorcerer to save his own skin . . .

I scoffed. Ridiculous. What did I think, that love was the kind you find in books? The kind where you sacrifice everything, even life itself? It was all bullshit. No one loves anything that much. Least of all my masters, who only ever wanted me for my magic tricks. Javier included.

But . . . could I let Tam die? A man I barely knew, whom I'd stumbled over by accident. If I'd never let that randy fae boy drag me up the stairs in the club, none of this would have happened. An annoying theft shouldn't earn a person a death sentence.

But Tam wouldn't help me. Worse, he'd ordered me away from him.

I hurled my glass into the sink, where it clattered back and forth. Maddening, inscrutable man. What the hell did he think he was doing? It wasn't as if we didn't connect, at least in the lust department.

My lust department, anyway. If he'd only given me a hint of encouragement, I'd probably be in his bed now, where we could get the hot dirty sex over with and carry on with important stuff, like retrieving my lamp and staying alive.

But instead, he'd die. Whether by my hand, or some nasty Jewel-coveter's. What a rotten waste.

My throat swelled, and I squeezed my eyes shut against foolish tears. Damn it. I'd watched Javier shatter into frozen black shards, petrified by Shazad's magical staff in my hands. Shazad himself dragged to hell by fanged imps. Fat Anwar's throat slashed by jealous vampires. Sweet, mad Katashi staked to a sun-baked salt pan and starved until his body shriveled and crumbled away.

What macabre fate would Tam suffer because of me? Must everything I touched turn to poison?

My face stung and burned, but I wouldn't cry. Blindly, I retrieved the glass and refilled it, and as I shut the tap off, something scratched at the door.

Not knocked. Scratched. Like claws. Nasty, Jewel-coveting claws.

My heart clenched, squeezing my pulse tight. Quiet as snow, I set the glass back on the sink and padded across to the door.

Scratch, scratch.

Holding my breath, I leaned my ear to the flaked paint. Nothing else. No breathing, no metallic clicks and crunches that meant weapons. No murmured voices, no whispers. Probably one person, alone.

I swallowed, my fingers tense. Whoever you are, we can talk about this. Tam doesn't have to die. And please don't shut me in there. I'll do the grapes, the sex doll stuff, even the hits. I don't care. Just don't leave me alone in the dark.

To hell with it. I can't hide in here forever.

My pulse thrummed like a bird's, weak and jittery. I gritted my teeth, and reached up to slip the rusted chain from its socket.

***

Chapter Thirteen

I jump off the tram at the Elgin Street corner, the yellow mid-morning sun glaring in my eyes. The street's crowded as usual, shoppers and students, but I step onto the pavement and slip into the throng and no one notices a thing. My skin looks good, fresh and unbroken. I'm not limping, and I've popped my knuckles straight. I've even got my hair tied back, and they still don't see.

All that from a hot shower and a blowjob. Imagine what I could do if I actually got laid.

Already it's hot, and I'm sweating, which reminds me I haven't drunk anything except bourbon and shower water in too long. My body doesn't react well to dehydration, even when I'm feeling this good, and all the fluids I'm using to stay so pretty this morning need to be replaced.

I duck under the vine leaves at the front of Valentino's. There's the usual morning trade, coffee and cake and milkshakes for the kids, and already I get a whiff of the rich tomato and herb scent of lunch cooking. A pair of fat green trolls sip espressos, tusks clinking on the cups. A giggling blue-winged fairy licks the chocolate sauce from his banana split, a blob of ice cream on his pointy nose. A couple of broke students masquerading as waitstaff flit back and forth. I ask the cutest one for iced water, and look for a seat.

There's a space by the wooden railing under the leaves, and I perch on the edge of the chair and sip my water slowly. Ange'll know I'm here. I'm nowhere near important enough to actually ask to see him, but if I sit here for long enough, he'll ask to see me.

"Tam? You waiting on Angelo?"

I know that sexy Lahore accent, and I force a smile before I turn. "Yeah. You?"

"Just doing him a favor." Rajah gives me the once-over with those honeyed fuck-me eyes, his golden thrall bangles gleaming damp in the sun as he stirs a straw in a tall glass of OJ. Tall, graceful, gorgeous like Bollywood on GHB. Envy stings me, and I try not to scowl too much. I mean, I know he's an incubus, but some guys just get more than their share of good looks.

Needless to say, I don't like him much. Doesn't smoke, doesn't drink, doesn't curse, probably wouldn't even screw unless Kane made him. Dislike compounded because he thinks—and not without reason—that he's the hottest piece of ass in Melbourne.

I crunch a piece of ice, enjoying the cold crackle between my teeth. "Heard you got a girlfriend, girlfriend."

Rajah refuses my jibe with a scintillating smile. For a demon's fuck-slave assassin, shackled to Kane's petty whims for a thousand years, he's pretty laid back. "Fast news. Look, I don't think you want to stick around here this morning."

"Yeah, I think I do."

"Suit yourself. I did warn you." Rajah's gaze catches on something beyond my shoulder, and he glides to his feet.

Idly, I turn my head to follow him. It's a nice view, even if I can't afford the rent.

I jerk up from my seat, my glass spilling. Cold water forces up in my mouth, rich with bile. I'm scrabbling for my pistol. My wet fingers slide on the metal, and my elbow pops as I wrap the grip in shaking hands. "You son of a bitch."

After all this time, that's the best I can come up with.

A woman screams, and drags her children back into the street. A few customers scramble under the tables, their chairs scraping on the concrete. The troll brothers just murmur and sidle, wary. Rajah gives a grimace and a shake of his beautiful head to say he told me so.

Joey DiLuca just eyes me calmly, a smile twisting his cold lips. Dark suit, black cane, fedora tilted over unblinking green eyes. Joey rarely blinks. Snakes don't need to. "Daylight, Tam? In front of all these people? What are you thinking with, kid?"

Blood thuds in my head, my newly healthy nerves twitching like a pile of ants. He doesn't look like much: slender, pale blond, quiet. But you only need to see Joey bug out once. After that? You take no chances.

Mina, his blue-haired banshee sidekick, snarls beside him, her wiry limbs quivering in tight leather. But I'm not concerned with her, even though this entire fucking thing started out as her fault. So we had a fight. So she got a few bruises. Wasn't like I hurt her, or slept with her or anything. But try telling Joey that, with his psycho bloodsucker minions pouring poisoned lies in his ear. As if he wasn't already Mr. Insecurity, what with his little reptile problem. And you think
I've
got body image issues.

I step closer, willing my aim steady. "Well, shit, since you blew my fucking brains out it's hard to tell. Wanna give it a go?"

Rajah raises a placating hand. "Not here, okay—"

"Don't even talk, bangle boy." But confusion thrashes in my guts along with fury. What's Joey even doing here? At Ange's place, in broad daylight? Those two are claw-your-eyeballs-out enemies. Is something big going down that I've been too self-obsessed to notice?

Then again, who gives a fuck? Sweat burns my skin, my muscles aching all over again. Compulsion slashes through my veins like lust. This slimy dogshit is mine. I don't care if people see. Right now, I don't even care if I get arrested and miss Kane's timeline and slide screaming back to hell. If I can smear this scaly asshole's guts on the pavement, my work here is done.

I sight along the smooth black metal at his temple, his nose, his smug unblinking eyeball. He's too cool. I want him angry, spitting, helpless, the way I felt when I woke up to find Katie a corpse. "How much glamour you got, Joey? You gonna scale up where everyone can see? They'll stick you in a tank and feed you maggots, you snake-ass freak. How'll Mina like you then?"

Shiny black webs spring between Joey's fingers, and a reptilian hiss wells up in his throat.

That's more like it. I'm gripped by this macho urge to throw my weapon down and attack him with my bare hands. Heh. Don't fucking think so.

My trigger finger jerks tighter. There are seventeen rounds in this magazine. Let's see how many I can get into his smarmy serpent head before Mina and her goons—who are no doubt lurking outside—rip my arms off.

Joey's green eyes light up, and his forked tongue slides wet between his lips. "For what it's worth, asshole, I didn't shoot your daughter. I shot
you
. Job done. Why would I—?"

"Because you're a sick fucking monster? How about that?"

"Granted. I also have enemies with messy grudges. Not that you care."

Dirty motherfucker, trying to weasel out of it now. "You're right. I don't care."

A snaky shrug. "Fine. Have it your way. Your baby screamed, you know that?"

My blood pounds, a savage ache in my head, and my balance wavers. It's too easy for him to push my buttons, but today I don't care. Let it burn.

I grip the weapon harder, shaking. "Don't say a fucking word about her."

"Such a soft little mouth, I had to taste it before she died. Like a baby mouse, it was, all trembling and warm—"

Scarlet fire explodes before my eyes, blinding me, and I pull. Over and over. Screams and gunshots, muffled beneath the deafening thud of my pulse.

A steel bar smashes into my wrist, and the weapon spurts from my clumsy grip like a wet sausage. I stagger, but the steel wraps itself around my forearm, dragging me upright.

Heat sears my cheek, salty breath and a scrape of razor teeth. "Not in my place, understand? Not ever."

The red mist clears, and shapes emerge, a head with short dark curls, black-clad shoulders, a glinting golden crucifix. It isn't steel holding me. It's Angelo's fingers, crushing the skin on my forearm to pulp. His fangs glint, three inches from my nose. Warm ruby blood leaks around his grip, stinging my open flesh like poison.

Not my blood. Too fresh, too bright. He's bleeding. It stains his wrist, his shirt, his suit. Jesus. I shot Angelo. I didn't even know he was there.

He must have dived in front of my weapon. For Joey fucking DiLuca?

I don't get it. My grandmother ran opium rackets in Osaka, for God's sake. I'll never understand this Italian mobster bullshit. "Christ, Ange. I didn't mean . . ."

Ange shoves me away, ungentle, clotting blood squelching. Fury darkens his flat grey eyes to black, angry spit sliding on his teeth. "A life, for your daughter's sake. Don't cross me again."

I stare, bewildered, my brain smothering in wet cotton. Behind him, Joey's got the grace to look embarrassed, his pale cheeks flushing. He snarls at me, green venom leeching between his teeth. "Eyes in the back, deadshit. You'll get no life from me."