Demon Chained (Shadowfae Chronicles) (20 page)

I lean over, stuffing my hot hands in my pockets so I don't smear the glass. "Got one that makes calls?"

Tran tracks beady black eyes on me, and jams his baseball cap tighter over the clump of brown wires he calls his hair. "Dude, I never seen ya. I never even smelled ya. Take off."

His gravelly voice is indignant, like he doesn't owe me about a hundred favors. This ungrateful sod and I go way back, and I'm not about to let him forget it because Ange has popped an artery at me. "Come on, asshole, I won't tell if you won't."

Tran stretches upright on plump bowlegs and grins maniacally, like the sadistic teenager his glamour paints him as. His pointy front teeth are broken, courtesy of too much snark and a DiLuca bike chain. He's got an iron safety pin shoved through one flabby earlobe and a black T-shirt stretched over his fat brown ribcage that says
If I got smart with you, how would you know?

He scrapes a crusty brown finger across the counter, and holds it up smeared with a blob of dust. "See this, Tamiko-san? This is you. You're housework. We're all just pretending you aren't there. Hoping you'll go away before we have to rub your slimy ass out ourselves. Get it?"

With parasites like Tran for friends, who needs a cat? "Bite me, mate. The only rubbing you're doing is in your pants. C'mon, I'm not asking for
I love you
. I just need a few toys."

He points at me and looks around, as if he's addressing the crowd. "This dude here? Never seen him before in my life. I'm just sellin' him a phone. Just gettin' on with business. So, strange dude I've never seen before, ya lookin' for Android or Windows?"

I give him my scary grin, complete with blood-blistered lip and shiny teeth, and squelch my hand onto his shoulder. I lower my voice, so no one else can hear in the bustle. "Tran, sweetie, you're hurting my feelings. I coulda sworn I was the one who bailed your sorry brown carcass out of the lockup after you totaled the getaway for that Fitzroy warehouse job."

His shiny gaze slips to where I'm touching him and back again, and his fingers writhe together like worms in the rain. "Maybe."

I swallow a laugh. Go ahead, freak out, you sniveling little turd. This is one more good thing about being dead: when I feel like it, I can be pretty damn creepy.

I squeeze tighter, and black ooze stains his wise-ass T-shirt. "Maybe. Seem to remember covering that same sad ass when you sold Ange's cousin Mario those dodgy North Korean satellite phones for his fucking shiraz vineyard a few months ago. Could be I'll remember who those came from some day."

Tran swallows, his pudgy brown throat heaving, and a line of sweat trickles from his hairy chin. "Now I think of it, maybe that was you."

"Yeah, maybe. So why do I bother to shelter your sorry, ant-bait existence? I do it because I like you, Tran. Your oily-ass graft amuses me. Don't ever stop making me laugh. Okay?"

"Sure, Tam. No worries. I misunderstood. I can help ya with a few things. Whatcha need?" His dark face shines pale, and his wet shoulder twitches under my palm.

I make him suffer for a few moments longer before I let him go. "The usual gadgets. Whatcha got?"

***

Twenty minutes later, Tran scruffs his stiff hair beneath his cap and follows Tam with careful eyes as the bastard stalks off with his stuff. The smell still lingers, thick and raw, sun-toasted skin and bile and the sour stink of Tran's own fear.

Stinky undead asshole. Tran shakes himself like a rat, fury thickening his skin, and darts his hand under the counter for his phone. So he's made a few mistakes, been careless a time or two. That doesn't give smart-ass corpses the right to wipe green goo on him and give him attitude. Oh no, it surely doesn't. Here's hoping some dirty sod pissed in that anti-rapture spray.

He tilts the phone in dying sunlight and pips in a number with one claw. It rings for a long time before she picks up. "Mina. It's me, Tran. Tran, from the computer market? Yeah, that's me, ha ha. Sorry to bother you. No, it ain't . . . yeah, look, I'll make it quick for ya. No problem. Just I know you and Joey are gunning for Tam from the Carlton crew and . . . no, he ain't here. I just seen him, passed him some gear . . . anti-rap, dog whistle, the usual . . . well, all of it, he wanted all I had . . . Not sure. I mean, it's B & E kit for some job, I thought you'd . . . yeah. No worries, Mina. I'll do that. No, I sure won't tell anyone else. G'night."

***

Chapter Twenty

The door slammed shut behind him, and tears built a blurry wall before my eyes.

Nice work, Jewel. Real smart.

I banged my head into the kitchen doorframe, and a dull ache spread in my skull like treacle in a cold jar. My body still shuddered and wept with the memory of his touch. It didn't change the fact that he was walking away from me.

Me. The girl everyone wanted. Over whom men had killed each other for centuries. I'd offered him everything I knew to give, and still he'd walked away.

I wiped my burning nose and scraped wet hair still scrunched from his hands out of my face. I guess if you took my magic out of the equation—and didn't drug me witless—there just wasn't that much to recommend me.

Our noodle bowls still lay where we'd discarded them on the couch, and listlessly I walked over to pick them up, my wet dress sticking to my thighs. I'd thought we had that much in common at least. Hunger, that is, not a wet dress, though I swear he'd wanted me as much as I did him, from the way he touched me to the way he smelled, so hot and strong and male, to the velvety feel of his hardness in my hand and between my legs . . .

Damn it. It wasn't even the sex, though I longed to have him, longed to strip away that wise-ass front he put up and taste him, real and naked and raw. It wasn't just that his bleeding mouth and stained skin and gorgeous slutty hair turned me on. I wanted him to need me like I needed him, and I'd come so far short of the mark he'd left me without a second glance.

Laughter crackled up my throat, ironic. Jewel, you're so pathetic.

I dropped the bowls next to the sink, losing them immediately in the train wreck of dishes Luke had left there, and stumbled out past the bed to the bathroom.

I pulled the cord with a pop, and dim yellow light sprang from the hanging bulb just above my head. The tiny spotted mirror bolted to the whitewashed wall showed my face, flushed and damp, my eyes fever-bright in dark rings of shadow. I studied myself, swallowing a nervous hiccough. Smudged black eyes, hair all over the place, dimpled cheeks, pointy chin. A foxy little face, sharp and inquisitive. Did he like me? Am I even pretty?

I mean, I knew guys checked me out from time to time. I had boobs, after all, kind of perky ones if I looked at them objectively, and my legs were strong and my bottom taut. I didn't think I was undesirable. But was I pretty? The kind of girl guys go out of their way for? Did I need a haircut? A makeover? Prettier clothes?

I wrinkled my nose and pulled a face at myself. That's really sad, Jewel. Never met a man you had to work for before, and all of a sudden you're thinking makeup and high heels. The fifties have really rubbed off on you, sister.

What I
did
need was a wash. Dubiously, I surveyed the facilities. No bath, a tiny shower with the screen missing, a tile floor edged with black mold. Baby Luke's a real class act. Either too proud or too stupid, if you ask me. He could make money as a tart no problem.

I had to use both hands to wrench the rusted taps around one by one, but the exposed pipes jerked and groaned appropriately, and the result was hot water. I stripped my grimy dress over my head, discarded it on the broken floor and stepped into the alcove. The hot flow stung my skin, rust-tainted steam rising, and I let the coppery water wash over me, clean Tam from my skin, my mouth, my dripping hair. Slick trails ran down my thighs to spiral into the water and wash away. I stood there for a long time, until my fingertips shriveled and my hair dragged saturated welts down my face, but still I smelled Tam, rich and strong like black forest cake on my tongue.

Tension still wracked my guts, and the noodles I'd scoffed with such glee globbed hard like a stone in my stomach. I wanted him here. I wanted him gone. I wanted none of this to matter, just me and my lamp and screw it all.

I couldn't wash him from my mind. I couldn't scrub his magical whisper from my blood. But I could damn well stop embarrassing myself in front of him. I could stop coveting his glance, stop acting as if his every breath was my world. And then, when my lamp was mine again and he'd served his purpose? I'd smile and leave him, careless and bright like he'd left me. Yeah?

My pulse swelled, determined. Yeah. I could, and I would.

I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the steamy white wall. Comfort washed over me with the spurting hot water, and not until the flow ran tepid did I drag myself out to find a towel. Crumpled and browner than it should have been, but at least it was dry.

I poked my discarded dress with my toe, and crusty stains greeted me. Probably about five people's sweat on that, along with whatever else. No way was I putting it back on, so I'd better hope Luke had something that didn't fall off me. I wrapped myself up, squeezed my hair out and padded into the bedroom.

On the unmade bed sat a transparent plastic shopping bag.

I halted. Definitely not there earlier. I craned my neck to peer out into the living room. No one. I tipped the bag up between a suspicious thumb and forefinger, and a mass of soft black silk spilled out onto the dirty brown sheets.

My fingers itched, even as my indignation rose. Touchable raw silk, fresh-smelling. But what, was he tarting me up? His dirty boy-brain ticking over at last? Fat Anwar dressed me up in bells and pink satin like his best Sheik-of-Araby fantasies. Didn't stop me resenting every second I spent sweating in his greasy hash tent. Didn't stop Katashi sucking him dry of blood like an overripe orange, either.

But treacherous warmth stole over my skin that Tam had even thought of me, and I extended cautious fingers to the bundle.

Black silk trousers, tied at the top with a wide sash. A matching top, fitted, with a round neck and no sleeves and tiny shimmering beads crusting the edging. Some really cute ankle-wrapping sandals. Not exactly house-breaking attire. More like something you'd buy for your girlfriend. It all even looked the right size.

Of course, he could have just said my name, asked me to dress myself. Stubborn prick.

I stuck my head around the doorframe, clutching the towel to my chest. "Did you get this for me?"

A rattle of metal, and Tam emerged from the kitchen, holding what looked like a big light bulb, without the screw part and with a murky grey mist writhing inside. He looked flushed and warm, dark sunburn washing the tops of his forearms. Redness stung his eyes, like he'd stared too long at the sun.

He grinned at me, model-flawless but for the bruises and the darkish tint of his lips. "Yeah, well. You wouldn't fit into any of my frocks. I figured you could use the change." After a moment when I didn't reply, he shrugged, bashful. "Hell, I thought you'd look hot in it. So sue me."

My cheeks heated. Was he apologizing? Trying to make up for rejecting me? Pretending nothing had happened?

Benefit of the doubt, Jewel. He's helping you get your lamp back. Isn't he?

"Uh-huh. Umm . . . thanks."

His gaze didn't slide. "Why don't you get dressed? Time to go."

***

Chapter Twenty-One

Darkness shrouded us as we crouched at the base of the tall pebbled wall. The garden air felt fresh and warm on my skin, dry with the smell of sun-warmed brick. Overhead, the pink haze of reflected city lights blotted out the stars, and only traffic noise, muffled by a row of dark green bushes and the scrape of my breathing, scarred the soft silence.

Even in the dark, awareness of my clothes made me flush. Black silk brushed between my thighs, tempting my skin to gentle tingles. The silken sash wrapped my hips, firm and comforting on my belly, and the soft leather straps around my ankles felt like cuffs, supportive and a little bit kinky too.

Close beside me, a shadow shifted. Unseen black hair trailed over my bare arm, and the dark scent of Tam's skin dizzied me like incense. His murmur brushed my ear, wet lips and warm breath, barely any sound, only vibration. "You okay?"

"Mmm." I nodded, so he could feel it. I'd stolen a glance at myself in the mirror before we left, and I had to admit he knew how to dress a woman. I looked hot in the things he'd bought me. I felt sexy wearing them. The roughness of the raw silk made me think of his palms dragging over me, that demanding caress as he coaxed my arousal from me, my nipples straining into his hands . . .

Stop it, Jewel. Remember you've got no underwear on.

His wet hand slicked over mine, and our fingers linked. I wanted to squeeze his hand, press his palm over my heart. I liked him touching me. I felt safe, though my heartbeat thudded in my ears and my skin shivered, anticipation and danger. I could see why he enjoyed this sneaking-about game.