Beauty's Beasts (19 page)

“Really?” His smile was sleepy. “In my day, it didn’t even occur to men that women could deliberately be made to climax. If it happened, it was something that sluts did accidentally, because they were oversexed. Ladies never did, of course. Prostitutes saw it another way altogether. Information was very confused back then.”

“And you were a model of propriety, of course.”

“In public,” Nicholas agreed, with a grin. He wrapped his arms around her. “For all its drawbacks, progress and enlightenment is worth it. The worshippers of history and a quieter age have no idea that what they long for is an illusion, filled with misery and disease.”

“You’re glad to be here, aren’t you?” she said softly.

“Immortality has a price. You get to watch friends and lovers die. I’ve fought tooth and nail for five centuries to never love another human, because I just couldn’t stand to lose another one. The pain is just too great. Over and over again, decade after decade, watching humans grow old and die and helplessly standing by and letting them wither away. I couldn’t do it anymore. So I just…stopped. It never occurred to me in my arrogance that I might lose Damian.” He sighed and his lips pressed against her neck. “But what I had forgotten about human love is that it keeps me human, too.”

“Damian didn’t forget that. He told me as much.”

“He managed to keep his humanness intact somehow. That’s why you were drawn to him.” Nick rested his head on her shoulder. “And so was I.” Then he lifted her up off him, very carefully, and put her on her feet. “We have preparations to make for tonight.” He swatted her ass. “And you have a sword to clean.”

They arrived at the gallery ten minutes before the guards changed shift, and Riley, already seriously scared, just about jumped out of her boots. Fábio Natan was sitting on a bench at the top of the first landing, watching everyone who entered the gallery, a sketchbook in his hands.

“Relax,” Nick murmured. “He’ll never recognize you like that.” He picked up her hand and squeezed it.

She glanced at him and did another small double-take, as she had been doing ever since they had left the apartment. Nick was not Nick at all. He was wearing a knitted cap pulled down low over his ears, wraparound sunglasses and what looked like three day’s growth on his cheeks and chin. A long-sleeved Ed Hardy tee shirt, and very baggy black jeans that looked like they were only barely hanging onto his hips completed the outfit, along with a very heavy, large crucifix swinging from a silver chain around his neck. He’d thrown a sleeveless black denim vest over the top of it.

But the most startling difference was his eyes. He wore brown contact lenses and every time he took off the glasses, she was astonished all over again at the stranger looking back at her. It wasn’t just the eyes. It was the attitude, the demeanor. The swagger. Nick had disappeared, and a lanky, lazy, street punk was shuffling along next to her, his hips swinging in time to unheard music.

But her own appearance had shocked her when she’d caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror as they’d left the apartment. She wore the boots Damian had bought her, but everything else was pure gang whore—purple pantyhose and a short, tight denim skirt that she didn’t dare bend over while she was wearing, and a black leather bra top with a mesh tee shirt over the top. Nick had bundled her real hair up under a wig of spiked hair that was blonde at the ends and black as midnight at the roots. He helped her slide black contact lenses over her eyes. She’d applied masses of mascara and eyeliner to her eyes, and black eye shadow and dark lipstick, and blinked at herself in the mirror. It was a stranger blinking back.

Nick added big chunky silver earrings that hung to her shoulders and a cheap green faux fur coat that came down to her knees and itched despite the thin lining.

“I look…” She grimaced at herself.

“Different,” Nick said flatly. “Even if Natan took our photos with that cell phone, they won’t even twitch when they see you.”

She shuddered. “I look ugly,” she breathed. “That’s what it is.”

Nick rested his hand on her shoulder. “I can still see you behind it all.”

Riley turned to look at him without the mirror. “Really? Because I can barely see the real you.”

He slid on the glasses. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, babe. Pick up y’shit and let’s get out of here.”

Startled—again—she followed behind as he slouched his way to the apartment door. Their walk to the gallery was an education. People actually stepped around Nick. Some even crossed the road when they saw him coming toward them. Women slid their hands under the arms of their male companions.

No one looked at Riley. No one even noticed her. She was almost invisible because everyone was watching the dangerous man beside her.

By the time they turned into Vandam Street, where the gallery was located, Riley had relaxed and was beginning to play along. She was the gang tart, with her man, and no one would mess with her while she was with him. She straightened her spine, stuck out her chest and began to strut a little. She worked hard to hide her smile, because she felt totally ridiculous. But people were taking Nick very seriously indeed.

When she saw the gallery, she remembered why they were there, and her amusement died. They were there to kill a gargoyle. A creature that was eating humans. Nick was going to kill the demon that had murdered Damian. This wasn’t play at all.

Now, as she stood in the foyer of the gallery, her hand in Nick’s, she took a deep breath and nodded. “I’m fine,” she told him.

“I’ll get tickets,” he told her.

She cocked her hip, crossed her arms and looked bored while Nick murmured to the ticket clerk and bought a pair of tickets for the exhibition. The clerk looked nervous, her eyes darting over to the security guards manning the walk-through screen, as she pushed the tickets and program under the glass partition.

The security guards were also watching Nick, even as they were processing visitors through the walking-through frame. He was naturally drawing their attention, like filings to a magnet.

Riley looked around, making it look casual. Indifferent.

Natan was also watching Nick as he swaggered toward the guards.

Nick wasn’t going to bring the tickets to Riley. She was expected to run over to him. As she looked at him, he jerked his head, a silent command that she get her butt over and join him. She flounced over, and he silently shoved a ticket at her, and pushed at her shoulder, indicating she should go first through the scanner.

Riley handed her ticket to the guard on the near side of the frame and he silently tore the ticket in half and gave her back the stub. It was odd not to get even a smile from a man, and she worked hard not to show her surprise or discomfort. She stalked through the frame, head up, knowing there was nothing on her body that could possibly set off any alarms.

She turned to see Nick dropping his sunglasses into the plastic tub in front of the guard. Then the crucifix, followed by the heavy silver rings on his fingers, and the belt holding up his jeans. He grinned at the guard and held out his ticket.

The guard took it, ripped it in half and handed it back, all without smiling or taking his eyes off Nick’s face.

Nick shoved the ticket stub into his back pocket and walked through the frame. It stayed silent, but the guard with the manual scanning wand waved him over. “Step over here, please, sir.”

Three guards were picking suspiciously through the jewelry Nick had dropped into the tub to have passed around the frame. They were frowning, turning the pieces over, and giving them more than the usual scrutiny.

The guard in front of Nick passed the wand up and down his body and in between his legs. He was also frowning, not happy that there was nothing to set off the metal alerts.

They’ll be focused on the suggestion of gang trouble and won’t look anywhere else
, Nick had explained when he had first outlined the reason why they would be dressing to draw this sort of attention.
It seems like we’re drawing attention to ourselves, but what we’re making them focus on is the illusion we’re painting, and that is all
.

Finally the guard stepped back and nodded. He didn’t apologize or thank Nick, but that would have involved loss of face.

Nick winked at the guard.

Red flushed up the guard’s neck, into his face, but he stayed silent.

Nick waited for the other three to finish with his jewelry, then put it all back on again, including the sunglasses. He cracked his knuckles, clicked all four fingers in a waterfall staccato and pointed at the guards with both forefingers. “Later,” he said.

Riley drew in a deep breath and let it out. She didn’t know if she wanted to howl with laughter or throw up. The expressions on the face of the guards was priceless.

She hurried after Nick as he headed for the stairs. He was already five steps up when she reach them, and climbing two at a time with his long legs, the saggy jeans flapping around his limbs. She clambered after him, glad that the cheap fur coat came down to the back of her knees, giving her at least a little dignity as she climbed the stairs in such a short skirt.

Natan was watching them both as they moved up to the landing. Nick angled to the right, heading for the turn and the staircase that led up to the gallery on the next floor. Riley followed him, which allowed her to naturally turn her head away from Natan. She kept her gaze on the steps, watching her footing, or on Nick’s back.

Then they were past Natan, and moving up the second half of the flight, heading for the second floor. She could see the feet of the gargoyles already, and people wandering among them, looking small and insignificant between the dark stone giants.

They reached the gallery level and Riley looked at the clock. “Eight minutes to go,” she murmured.

“’Kay,” he replied and wandered off without looking at her.

For the next few minutes, Riley toured the exhibition, gazing up at the gargoyles in frank wonder. She stayed away from Lirgon. She didn’t think her nerves were up to facing the leader of the clan just yet. The time was soon approaching when she would be challenging him directly.

When she rounded the hulking stone mass of one of the gargoyles that Damian had told her was not one of the Stonebrood clan, she found herself face to face with Natan, his notebook under his arm.

“’Scuse me,” she said, and went to step around him.

He stepped sideways to block her way. “I know who you are,” he said softly. “The disguise has fooled everyone else, but I carve shapes for a living, and your face, you see… You should have changed the shape of your face if you wanted to hide from me. It’s so very nearly perfect in symmetry.”

She put her hands on her hips. Bluff. It was all she had left. “Who the fuck are you, mister?” She could hear Sabrina’s indignant Louisiana accent in her head, and injected it into her voice. “You’d better get out of my way if you don’t want me to scream down this building right now.”

“Trouble, babe?” Nick had come up behind her.

Natan shifted his gaze up to take in Nick, then looked back at her. “Your face, and his height and build. Together that is conclusive. You’ll notice I haven’t called the guards this time?”

Riley didn’t know how to respond. Nick also stayed silent.

“What happened to your friend, the one Jeremiah shot?” Natan pressed.

“He’s dead,” Nick said flatly.

Natan closed his big eyes. “That…was not what I intended,” he said softly.

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you bargained with the devil,” Nick said in his own voice.

Natan swallowed. “You said he was a…a demon, not the devil.”

“Who do you think he works for?” Nick replied dryly.

Natan was squeezing his notebook convulsively. The pages tore at the edges and crumpled with each contraction. “The police…I told them nothing. I lied and said you were kids looking for cash.”

“Why?” Riley asked.

Natan looked at her. “Jeremiah,” he said flatly. “He shot your friend just to hurt you. It was…it was….”

“Evil,” Nick finished.

“Yes,” Natan agreed.

“Help us,” Nick said quickly.

“Help you do what? Why are you even here?” Natan asked. “Jeremiah said you would come, but I didn’t believe you would be that stupid.”

“I’m here for Lirgon,” Riley told him. “But Nicholas is here for the creature you call Jeremiah. His real name is Azazel, Natan. He must be stopped tonight, or more people will die.”

“And who is Lirgon?”

She pointed to the carving behind Natan. “That is. He is the leader of the clan. You carved him and Azazel brought him back to life. For the past ten days he has been feeding on human flesh and tonight I have to send him back to the earth where he should have been all along.”

Sweat glistened on Natan’s forehead. “You’re going to destroy my sculpture?”

“I’m going to destroy a killer, Natan, just as he rises from his sleep. A killer that you had a hand in creating.”

Natan seemed to be on the verge of protesting.

“Do you want me to show you what Azazel’s gun did to Damian, Natan?” Nick said, his voice harsh. “Do you want to see what concentrated gargoyle toxin does to the victim? It’s not pretty, you know. Normal toxin takes about twelve hours to petrify the target. Azazel has beefed it up. Damian was dead inside ten minutes and he didn’t die peacefully. His skin turned black and the edges of the wound were rigid, like solid lava. You could see the toxin burrowing under his skin—”

“Stop! For god’s sake, stop!” Natan breathed, his eyes very wide and glassy. His face was white. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. For several minutes he just breathed hard. “I thought it was inspiring, to know about…demons. About this other world. I thought it would help my work. I actually felt superior because I knew and no one else did.” He looked woebegone. “But it doesn’t work that way at all, does it? It’s a responsibility.”

“Yes,” Nick said flatly.

Natan nodded. He wiped his forehead. Then he took another breath. “What can I do?” he asked Nick. “I can’t fight,” he warned. “I am a natural coward, and I am very good at it.”