Hell's Belle (4 page)

All in all, it had been a good day.

* * *

Denoir, Hours Later

Falcon was surveying the battlements when Vanguard, his oldest friend and the only one he trusted with his search, approached. He noted that the other man’s short-cut hair, the same midnight black as his own, now had one white streak. Vanguard’s expression was unreadable.

“My Prince.” Vanguard dropped to one knee. “I have news, but not of the sort you may be expecting.”

Falcon cast a shadow spell around them to avoid prying eyes and ears. “Speak, my friend,” he said as they made their way back to the main hall. “Do not stand on ceremony. I can tell your journey has been difficult.”

Despite the magick’s protection, Vanguard leaned close, nearly whispering his report. “Hours ago, the scouts manning the towers near the wasteland saw something fly across the sky. It flamed like a star, but there was blackness at its heart. My Lord,” Vanguard said slowly, “it was The Betrayer’s soulless, and it was covered in hellfire.” He paused, adding carefully, “Your fire.”

“No, I have no—” Falcon stopped, his expression darkening as he came to the same conclusion as his old friend.

“There is more, my Prince,” Vanguard said urgently. “The scouts tried to track the soulless. They followed his trail, finding bits of odd metal, glass…and this.” He passed his Prince a sliver of bloodstained wood. “It is from a tree that grows in the Overworld.” He had made many trips to the realm called Earth and was familiar with such trees. The demons’ keen noses easily detected the blood—demon mixed with something else—that lay under the scent of smoke and scorched wood.

“Where is the soulless now?” Falcon asked.

“Fled,” Vanguard shook his head, “to another world. Perhaps back to his master.” He had ridden hard to arrive so quickly. His tired face could not hide his worry. There was only one reason why the Betrayer’s soulless would walk in the Overworld. And it did not bode well for any of them.

When they reached the hall, Falcon dismissed his friend to care for his own needs. Standing as he was by the inner wall, the prince and lord of this land could see his people as they went about their lives. Which of them plotted against him and those he held dear? For surely, someone
must
have helped the Betrayer send his soulless to the Overworld. He was still hidden within his spell when the first of only two women who could see through his shadow-cast approached.

“My son.”

Although Falcon felt little relief these days, his mother’s soft voice still gave a small measure of comfort. “Mother.” He nodded respectfully, unsurprised by her approach. The Queen’s spies were vast. Blue eyes, so like his own, looked back at him from beneath short, silver hair. “You are aware?”

“Yes, I believe I was informed just prior to you. Although,” she cast the exiting Vanguard, whose looks were almost a mirror-image of Falcon’s, a disapproving glance, “I would have chosen a more discreet manner than your cousin.” It went without saying that even here the other Demon Lords had eyes. Falcon was secure in his magick’s protection, but it was always best to act with caution. He nodded again, acknowledging her rebuke. She continued, “I have sent word to the Council. They will dispatch a Draig.”

“Which one?” He hadn’t heard tell of this species in centuries.

“The only one.” She turned and walked away.

Not surprising. As Queen, she always had the last word. He’d learned over the years that some things were the same with women, no matter the species. Only one female, the same contentedly pacing by his side, had ever let him have the last word. A draig was good, but he wanted his own eyes. While extremely powerful, the species had once been their ancient enemies. This one might have its own objectives. Falcon ruffled Wrin’s fur once before sending her on her task.
Watch and wait, my friend. Intervene only if the draig fails.
He lowered the piece of bloodstained wood. Her eyes flashed red with hellfire as she took in the scent. Then she was gone, traveling to a world he could no longer enter.

Chapter Two

“And Hansel and Gretel thanked the nice witch for their gingerbread snacks and returned home to their mother and father. When the witch opened a Sweets shop in town, they were soon her favorite customers.”

—Excerpt from
The New Politically Correct Fairytales

Day Two

The phone rang. Loudly. With a jarring start I awoke, grumpy, disoriented, and grabbing for the papers attached to my forehead. I’d been having a wonderful dream that I now couldn’t remember. Good dreams had been in short supply lately, so though I was supposed to be reviewing the papers that had become my pillow (and subsequent headdress), I wasn’t happy about having my midmorning nap interrupted. I picked up the phone and hearing the dial tone slammed it down again. I took a sip of chai tea, grimaced at its chilly, over-steeped flavor, and listened as Mynx in the outer office answered the call. The clock said I’d slept almost an hour.

The night had been long. I’d arrived home to find Aunt Helena back early for an extended visit. She’d patched up my arm (jabbing me with needle and thread more than I thought necessary), removed a few splinters from my nicked cheek, given me a long, loud lecture about the dangers of leaping before looking (especially if I was going to bound in head first), then taken a look at Bob’s body. His missing legs had elicited a raised brow, but for once she’d been blissfully silent.

I’d then called and explained to a coldly polite Carmel the day’s events. We’d come to a win-win agreement. Or rather, it was win-win for the Kin. I’d be paid for bagging Bob’s body as previously agreed upon. But if I figured out where the money went, there would be a substantial bonus…more so if the money was recovered. Not that the latter would happen. Ill-gotten gains tended to burn a hole in a man’s pocket, as well as his soul. But if I found Sarkoph’s accomplice, Nicodemus, the Vamps would owe me a favor. And that was worth more than money in the bank. Most importantly, while I was working for them, the undead wouldn’t be out for my blood. And if I didn’t find Nicky-boy and the money? Well, the vamps weren’t out of anything but my original fee.

After our talk, I’d waited patiently for Carmel’s cleanup crew. I really didn’t want to know how or why they’d had an ambulance complete with stretchers and body bags ready to go in record time. Before they’d arrived, I’d done a quick search of the remains, turning up car keys, several gold chains, and a black medallion with a strangely familiar golden sun design.

I couldn’t place the design but knew it was demon made. Hopefully, Aunt Helena would know what it was. Given the day’s heat and Bob’s near incineration, the medallion had been surprisingly cool to the touch, only warming with my body heat. Every other piece of metal on the corpse, including his car keys, had been soaked in evil magic, requiring a good cleansing before their return to his family.
Everything
but the medallion. It had been free of tainted magic. And considering where I’d found it, that shouldn’t have been possible.

The metal disc now sat on my desk. I ran my fingers over its blazing sun. My gut said the demon had stolen it—the most unlikely and irrational of possibilities. But I had an unshakable belief that it belonged to someone else, someone more powerful. I’d return it to the Kin after I had some answers. If the piece was important, its owner would come looking.

And I didn’t want it in my possession when that happened.

I’d started reinforcing the house’s wards before the ambulance’s dust had even settled, not stopping until I was certain they would halt anything short of an atomic bomb. Call it another gut feeling, but I knew a storm was on the horizon. A big one. And I planned to have a pair of waders and a Delacy-sized ark handy. Though maybe I’d overdone it. I’d been low on power from the day’s fight. A nap and some herbal tea had helped. But by the time I’d crawled into bed at dawn, I’d been blissfully numb from the strain of using so much magic.

And that’s where I should’ve stayed—in bed, sleeping. But no, I was reviewing the notes my aunt had made on the state of Bob’s body. From the level of decay and black-magic saturation, Aunt Helena estimated that Bob had been dead for nearly a week before he’d absconded with the Kin’s money. A nice trick, but a pain in my ass nonetheless.

I’d already put the word out that I was looking for a character named Nicodemus but knew I’d probably have as much luck following the paper trail, which meant I needed to investigate everything Sarkoph had done as Bob. And if that didn’t lead anywhere, I’d go over the week before and determine how the CPA was targeted. That was a hell of a lot of paper to go through. Did I mention that I
really
hated paperwork, dealing with pencil-pushing vampires…and Mondays? The devil could keep them all. Their only redeeming quality was the satisfaction one received from putting them in an industrial-sized shredder and hitting
puree
.

This time when my phone rang, I didn’t jump. I heard Mynx say the call was for me, but I must’ve still been sleep-fogged because I sat there rubbing the phone against my temple, staring unseeing at my nearby tank of magical piranha…mind simply wandering…not realizing that she’d already transferred the call.

“Lace? You there?” The smooth bass brought me to my senses. I moved the phone back to my ear. “You must be on a case. I can hear the wheels in your head moving from here.”

“Luke?” Voice scratchy from lack of sleep, I stuttered then laughed. It had been awhile but I’d know that voice anywhere. Our romantic relationship had ended three years ago, but we were still friends…although not through any real effort on my end. Like a good Southern boy, Lucas Deveroux felt responsible for all the women he knew and called to check in regularly. Mynx said he wanted to rekindle our relationship, but I disagreed. Lucas simply had a soft heart and an overactive sense of obligation. He was also a cop, which made him all the more protective.

I disregarded the “Lace.” I’d given up years ago asking Luke to stop using that silly nickname. For some reason, he thought butchering my last name was cute, especially since I wasn’t exactly a lace and roses kind of girl. I asked, “Hey, how are things going? How’s your mama?” I’d skipped yesterday’s bi-monthly Sunday tea with Mamie Deveroux to track down Bob. I cradled the phone against my shoulder and grabbed another sip of chai.

“Mam’s good. It’s you I was worried about.” Luke cleared his throat. There was a significant pause before he spoke again. “I ran into your old pal Jupiter down on Bourbon.”

I hadn’t seen Jupiter Jones in weeks. Possibly the darkest-skinned African-American I’d ever met, he looked to have been carved directly from a slab of ebony. Jup played the trumpet for the tourists who flooded New Orleans. Human, as far as I could tell, he always knew what was happening with everyone, human and Sup alike. I could hear Luke breathing, hesitating. He’d never really cared for my friends, especially those with a Y-chromosome, and though the man was old enough to be my grandfather, that included Jup. So why would Luke call me about seeing the trumpeter? Surely I would’ve heard if something had happened to the old man. I leaned forward. “Luke, Jup’s not sick or anything?”

“No, the old man’s fit as a fiddle and as ornery as ever.” I released a breath and relaxed back in my chair. “Jones said to tell you to be careful. He said and I quote, ‘That girl has a heap of trouble heading her way.’”

I set my teacup down with a thump. The old man was never wrong. Still, Luke had never given stock to his warnings. If my ex was calling to pass the message, Jup had made
some
impression.

Before I could offer assurances, he continued, “You do know, Cate, that you can call me if you’re in trouble?”

Eyes misting, I spoke softly, “I know.” I leaned my head back, suddenly exhausted. They were getting easier, but interactions with Lucas were still emotionally draining. Although we were no longer together, in a way I still loved him. My walking away had hurt us both. Luke hadn’t understood, and I couldn’t explain. That hadn’t changed, which put a strain on our continued friendship. Because of this, his offer, which I knew he’d stand behind come hell or high water, was no small thing. Trying to keep my voice steady, I continued, “I’m okay right now, Lucas. But thank you. You know I’ll call if there’s a need.” The words seemed so inadequate to express how I felt. But some things couldn’t be said without changing
everything
.

Luke again cleared his throat. “I’ve moved up in the Pack, Lace. If you need us, the wolves will be there.” He was promising the Pack’s protection—an offer my ex really couldn’t make. Still, I had no doubt that he and his friends would come if called.

“You always were a sucker for a damsel in distress, Deveroux.” He chuckled at my reference to our first meeting. I tried to put a smile in my voice. “Don’t worry. If I get in over my head, you can throw me a life preserver. But if I catch you doing CPR on me, your furry ass is toast.” His deep laugh as we disconnected brought a true smile to my face. Even so, I was worried. What did Jupiter know that I didn’t?

And how much was it going to cost me to find out?

* * *

Day Three

“Catherine Eleanor Delacy, you get your butt right back here!”

My left eye twitched. Aunt Helena’s voice was usually slow, sweet, and full of that Southern drawl that always seemed to charm men, especially men who didn’t know better than to be charmed by a Southern woman with a legendary temper. But on days like today, when her mood was boiling, my aunt’s voice could compete with a banshee’s wail. And I mean that literally. I’d seen my aunt’s banshee secretary, Elvira, cringe in the face of her boss’s vocal intensity. Not surprisingly, Elvira had stayed in Europe for a “vacation.” The woman had probably jumped at the opportunity to have an ocean between herself and her sometimes cranky boss.

“I’ve gotta run, Auntie. I’ll be back by ten,” I yelled over my shoulder, bumping the foyer table while rushing to the front door. I grabbed for a toppling vase, barely making sure it was steady before exiting, not waiting for a reply.