A Devil in the Details (16 page)

“You said you were to be having a mission?”

For me, they were paying clients. For Ivan, they were missions to save worthy souls. I won’t even get into Ivan’s objections to me charging money for what I do. “Yeah, here in town.”

“Do not be taking it.”

I sighed and resisted the urge to bang my head against my steering wheel. The black marks on my skin proved it was already too late for that. “The contract’s already set. I can’t back out now. But I’ve got two weeks until the challenge. I’m in no immediate danger.”

“How powerful is it to being?”

“It’s a Skin.”

“A what?” Okay, so not everyone is up on my lexicon.

“A beast type. A wolf-hyena thing big enough that I could ride it to work.”

He said something that was undoubtedly a Ukrainian curse. “I am to be coming there, then. As soon as I am to be finished here. Things are to being very wrong.”

“Do you need me to track down any of the others, make sure they’re all accounted for?” I’d met three champions, besides myself and Ivan. I had no doubt that two of those were dead now. The rest . . . their names and contact information lay within Grapevine, and though they were only pixels on a screen for me, I’d do anything in my power to protect them.

“
Tak
. That would be most helpful. Do be telling them do not take on more missions until I am giving the word.”

I scratched my jaw. It itched where I’d shaved. “You think something’s taking a swipe at us?” Immediately, the blue Ford Escort leapt to mind. Yeah, something was after us.

“It is not to being possible. The contracts must be followed. They cannot to be attacking without permission.” He said it forcefully, as if sheer will would make it so.

In all honesty, it should have been true. Rule number one: A person had to consent to any harm a demon brought him. There was no such thing as an unwilling victim; unwitting, yes, but never unwilling. That rule was older than anyone’s memory, and inviolable—until now.

“Well, ’til we figure this out, you watch your own back. Nothing would cripple us faster than losing you.”

He sounded grim when he said, “
Tak
. I am to be realizing this more and more.” I didn’t like the sound of that. “I will to be calling you at this time tomorrow, if not to being earlier.”

“If you don’t, I’m hopping a plane to Mexico.”

He chuckled faintly, but it was forced. “God to be watching over you, Dawson. Whichever one will to be having you.”

“You, too, Ivan.”

I sat in my truck for a long time after I hung up the phone. Some random, unidentifiable birds hopped around the parking lot, picking tasty tidbits out of the asphalt. There was no breeze, but the day hadn’t yet hit that mugginess of which Missouri summers are capable. A multitude of cars drove up and down the busy street just beyond the parking lot, the drivers oblivious to the world changing right under them.

None of them knew two particular men were dead. Though an infinitely small drop in a huge bucket, those two men had fought all their lives to protect people they’d barely known. They had shed blood countless times for no other reason than it was the right thing to do.

Only last summer, Mira and I had gone to Mexico for Miguel’s wedding, and he had presented his beautiful new bride to us. His whole face glowed when he looked at her. I felt the same way when I looked at Mira. Now Rosaline was a widow, joining the growing ranks of women who were collateral damage in the battle between good and evil. Miguel also left behind his mother, three brothers, and who knew how many nieces and nephews.

Guy . . . I didn’t know Guy. Was there a Mrs. Lumberjack? Did he leave behind a family to mourn him or a child who would never know him? Or was he just one of the many nameless, faceless disappearances in the world? Would anyone have known, if Ivan didn’t keep track of us all?

Fame, glory . . . A Jedi craves not these things; a samurai doesn’t, either. But a part of me wanted to go grab some random person, shake him until his teeth rattled, and scream, “Don’t you know, don’t you care what these people have sacrificed, all for you?”

I was angry—angry at Miguel and Guy for not seeing a trap coming, because surely that’s what had to have happened; angry at the forces of Hell, for taking two good men away; angry at the forces of Heaven, too, if such a thing existed, for allowing Hell to happen in the first place; furious with myself for the black brand covering my right arm. Without that, I could have gone looking myself. But no, instead my soul was in the keeping of some metaphysical escrow agent for another two weeks. Without something to bargain with, there was nothing I could do.

I gripped my steering wheel until my knuckles went white, taking breath after breath to calm myself down. It wasn’t fair. The good guys were supposed to win. I punched the center of the steering wheel, and my dead horn gave a sad attempt at a chirp.

When I’m upset, there’s only one place I want to be.

I slammed my poor truck through the gears faster than necessary, and she shuddered and groaned as I pulled out of the parking lot. Anything less than the speed of light was too slow to get me to my desired destination, so I’d have to be content with what I could get out of the aging vehicle.

The drive gave me time to calm down. It also gave me time to watch for a blue Ford Escort that never appeared. Great, now I was pissed off, and completely paranoid. How comforting.

The Westport district, trendy and upscale, was fairly quiet on a weekday. Dotted with small shops and galleries, it easily seemed quaint, even touristy. The bars and clubs would light the night later, of course, and hordes of on-the-prowl singles would be out exploring the wonders of the opposite sex. You could find everything from Irish pubs and classy microbreweries to sports bars and actual dives, complete with sticky seats and questionable cleaning practices. But at the moment, I had very little traffic to contend with as I skirted the outer edges.

There were no open parking spaces on the street in front of Mira’s shop, so I whipped through the alley, around the back of the building, and into the tiny, oddly shaped parking lot. There was barely room back there for Mira’s car and that of her coworker, let alone any customers. Parking was at a premium in Westport, where the buildings and streets had been fitted together like puzzle pieces in all shapes and sizes.

Around front, I glanced at the sign hanging over the sidewalk—proudly proclaiming SEVENTH SENSE in green vine-covered lettering—and dodged a departing customer as I came in the door. The bamboo chimes overhead clunked together softly. The aroma of some delicate incense wafted around me, and I tried to place just what fragrance it was—something light and flowery. Freesia, maybe? Yet another thing no self-respecting man should know.

The lower floor displayed an assortment of tools, artifacts, icons, and memorabilia for almost every religion found on the planet. There were pentacles, crosses of every style imaginable, Buddhas and Egyptian deities gazing down from any and all conceivable surfaces. The south wall was a fragrant cornucopia of incense and candles, herb sachets, and . . . hell, I didn’t know what half of it was—smelly stuff. The north wall was devoted to an assortment of cheerfully bubbling aquatic hangings and displays, the gurgle of water a pleasant counterpoint to the faint Celtic music in the background.

A wrought-iron staircase spiraled up to the second floor, barely more than a railed walkway lined with shelf upon shelf of books. There were books on Christianity, books on paganism, books on ghosts and ghoulies, and books on pet psychiatry. If you wanted it, and it was slightly off-kilter, Mira probably had it or knew where to get it.

Mira herself was behind the counter, ringing up yet another customer. Her dark curls were a loose cloud around her shoulders, and she was wearing a lavender sweater over a silk skirt, tie-dyed in swirling shades of teal and green. When she moved, she almost floated across the floor. She offered me a smile, letting me know she’d seen me. “How was the appointment, honey?”

“Oh, fine. She wants me back in a month.”

“You knew she would.” She shook her head with a chuckle, returning her attention to her patron.

Annabelle was not so restrained.

“Daddy!” She came shrieking out of the back room, and I swept her into my arms, holding her tightly. “You came to see me!”

“I sure did! Are you being good for Mommy?”

She nodded solemnly, and I glanced at Mira for confirmation. Never trust a five-year-old’s interpretation of “good.” Mira chuckled as she joined us. “She’s been fine. And you shaved!” She stroked her fingers down my cheek. “You know you
still
have to get your mother a birthday present, right? Losing the beard isn’t enough.”

I drew my wife close and held both my girls as tightly as I could for a moment. The scent of strawberries and Play-Doh overwhelmed the incense, and I buried my face in Anna’s fiery hair, just to breathe it in. Heartbeats passed, one . . . two . . . three. . . . I held them too long, too tight.

“Daddy, you’re squishing me!”

Mira leaned back and gave me a quizzical look. “Jess?”

Anna wiggled impatiently, and I stooped to set her on her feet. “Go play, kiddo.” She scampered off obediently. Mira was still giving me that look.

“Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” It wasn’t, though. And in a world with so many wrongs, I just wasn’t ready for things to go
more
wrong. “Can you do me a favor when you get home tonight?”

“Sure.”

“Ward the house again.”

She frowned at me, those little creases forming around her eyes. “Why?”

“Just . . . humor me.” I couldn’t be with her every moment of every day. I couldn’t hire armed guards to protect her in my absence. I couldn’t put her in a pretty box and keep her safe for all time. All I had were the intangible, magical protections I couldn’t even touch.

Mira eyed me thoughtfully, chewing her lower lip, then craned her neck to see the upper floor. “Hey, Dee?”

Her one and only employee, Dee, glanced down from on high. The only word to describe Dee was jolly. I believe Dee was born smiling, and someday she’ll die, jiggling all over from irrepressible giggles, the beads in her cornrows clattering merrily. And there was a lot of her to jiggle. I don’t say that to be mean, but she was a large woman. Her dark eyes were always sparkling out of her equally dark face, and she had a heart big enough to go with the rest of her. “Yeah, Mir?”

“I’m gonna duck into the back room a second. Can you keep an eye on the door?”

“Sure thing!” Dee lumbered her way toward the spiral staircase, and for a moment, I wanted to linger just to see how she navigated it. Mira never gave me the chance, holding my hand prisoner as she dragged me into their storeroom, closing the door behind us.

It was truck day, and there were boxes stacked four high, leaving barely enough room for one person, let alone two. “You know she thinks we’re ducking back here for some nookie, right?”

She was neither amused nor distracted by my crude humor. “What’s wrong, Jess?” It was that “Don’t give me your BS” voice.

I sighed softly. I didn’t want to tell her, and yet I knew I would feel profoundly relieved once I had. “Guy Archer is missing.”

She was quiet for a long time, nibbling her lower lip. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“We . . . don’t know that for sure.”

“But you think they are.”

I ran a hand over my hair, habitually checking to see that it was still confined tightly in its usual tail. “Yeah. I think they are.”

“And the others?”

“Ivan wants me to send out an all-call through Grapevine. He’s gonna come up here, when he’s done down in Mexico.”

She sighed, shaking her head. “Goddess . . . Poor Rosaline.”

“Yeah.” There was no doubt in my mind that Mira would get along just fine when something happened to me. I wasn’t so sure about Rosaline. “Ivan will see that she’s taken care of, and she has all of Miguel’s family, too.”

“Is there any way to find out how it happened? To put their souls at rest?”

I shrugged. “Ivan’s working on that, too. If there’s a way, he’ll find it.”

“I could scry for Guy, too. If I had something of his.”

“No.” Even as I gave my flat refusal, her jaw firmed and I knew I should have chosen a different tone. “There’s no reason for you to tax yourself that way. If Ivan wants him scoped out, he’ll find someone to do it. Miguel’s mother, maybe.” Miguel’s mother was a powerful
bruja
in her own right.

“Or you could just find a way to get me something of Guy’s, and I could do it myself.”

“I’m not going to do that.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, and I did the same. Mexican standoff. Great. “We have to know, Jesse. If Guy’s in trouble, if we can find him, we can’t afford to wait.”

I chewed on the inside of my lip for a bit, debating the different courses I could take. And in the end, I caved—sort of. “All right. I’ll see if I can find something.
But
, we give Ivan a chance first. He may not even need you to do this.”

A certain wariness crept into her green eyes. “And when he finds who did this?” she asked as if she already knew the answer. Maybe she did. She married me, after all.

“Then I’m going hunting.” I could have told her I’d stay out of it, but she knew better. My wife is a smart woman. “I think I’m going to go in early to work. I don’t really want to be alone at the house.”

She nodded a bit, her eyes dark and unfathomable. “Okay. I’ll work on the wards when I get home.”

I reached for the door, then paused. “Hey, Mira? Keep an eye out for any blue cars cruising the neighborhood that you don’t recognize, okay?”

“Blue cars?”

“Yeah, little ones. Ford Escorts.” Mira wouldn’t know an Escort from a Humvee, but it was worth a shot.