Viper Moon (25 page)

I laid the Devil chain—my Devil chain—on my chair and stood to face Pogo.

“Don’t have any guns with me, Pogo. Is it too much to expect a bastard—sorry, Bastinado—to play fair?” Nirah inched up. She had a three-foot strike range, but if she fell on the floor, some overzealous shit might try to shoot her.

Pogo smelled like he’d dabbed eau de Dumpster perfume behind his ears. He obliged me by moving closer and giving me a gap-toothed grin. He stood almost a foot taller than me and outweighed me by at least one hundred and fifty pounds.

I moved my breasts within three inches of him.

He seized the back of my neck and dragged me against his stinking body.

Nirah barely had to move to nip him right in the middle of his chest.

Pogo froze.

I punched up with my left fist and knocked his hand loose from my neck. Then I stepped back. Didn’t want him to fall on me. Nirah slipped back down in the pouch, out of sight.

I walked back, casually picked up the Devil chain, and sat beside Snag again.

Snag didn’t say anything. He, like everyone in the room, had his eyes on Pogo.

Pogo remained upright. Unusual for someone bitten by Nirah, but he had extensive body mass for the venom to cover. He gasped, hiccupped, and dropped to his knees. His eyes bulged and bloody teardrops formed in the corners. His head bobbed up and down like the little hula doll my grandpa kept on the dash of his pickup truck. Nirah’s poison finally completed the circuit and his nervous system shut down, his heart stopped. He toppled over and died.

For today, the Barrows held a little less filth. Guilt would never touch me on this one.

Silence held the room in a taut grip.

“Snag.” He jumped when I said his name. “You have any more cold beer?”

Snag nodded and snapped his fingers. One of the girls brought me the beer. She offered the bottle at arm’s length, then ran away the instant I had it in my hand.

Now all of the Slum Devils believed I was a witch. Not necessarily a bad thing. Bastinados lived in the Barrows and were, with good reason, a superstitious lot. Pogo’s disbelief in my witch’s power was foolhardy in their eyes. Certainly, Snag had faith in me, and the intelligence to maneuver me into solving his problem.

“Damn,” Snag said softly. “I thought you’d knife him.”

“What! And have him bleed all over me?” I wanted no more blood on me, thank you.

“Don’t know if I want you a Devil, after all,” he said.

“Aw, Snag, you’ve hurt my feelings.”

Snag shrugged. “Don’t know who the gunman is, but I’ll find out.”

“I appreciate that. Hardware like that is expensive. How’d the Slashers pay for it?”

Snag frowned. “Didn’t pay. Otto, one of my guys, was on watch. Weird. First, I thought he got high. Drugging on the job. Seeing things. Don’t think so now. He followed the Slashers into the Zombie.”

“I’d have to be really high to follow a bunch of Bastinados into the Zombie, Snag.”

“Me, too. Otto was a good little Devil, but he weren’t too smart.” He nodded at my Devil chain. Apparently, the dried blood had belonged to Otto. “Anyway, Slashers went together in a circle, made funny noises; then all the fuckers fell in line and kissed each other’s asses. Then they got the stuff.” Contempt filled Snag’s voice. He probably didn’t have weapons because whoever passed them out thought him too independent. He wouldn’t get in line for anything. He’d described what Abby once described as ritual binding.

“How were they delivered?” I asked.

“Trucks. No markings. What you think, witch?”

“I think you should avoid ass kissing at all costs, Snag. Move to California, maybe. But I’d appreciate it if you’d get me a name first.” I drained the beer and set the bottle on the concrete floor. “Let’s go, Dawn.”

Dawn made tentative steps toward me, but that required her to walk around Pogo’s body. She stopped. In a single small gesture of defiance, she found a tiny sliver of courage. She spit on him.

Snag grunted. He pointed at Pogo. “How’d you . . . ?” “Magic, Snag. Pure magic. Think hard about California.”

Dawn didn’t protest when we left. For some perverse reason, once some girls made it with a gang, they’d fight to stay there, no matter how brutal their treatment. Snag insisted I accept the gang chain. Big deal. Make the witch who single-handedly blasted the Slashers to hell an honorary Devil. I raised Snag’s status in Bastinado land, at the cost of making him a little afraid of me. Maybe he’d come through with the name of the weapons dealer. I stuffed the chain under the seat to throw in the river later.

I tried again to dredge up some concern that I’d become a cold, efficient killer with unorthodox weapons. I couldn’t find any remorse, in spite of my effort.

I drove Dawn to Sister Alice May’s place, a two-story storefront at the edge of the Barrows. Sister Alice specialized in helping girls brutalized by Bastinados. She had a good success rate—maybe ten percent.

“You’ll like Sister Alice,” I told Dawn.

Dawn, who hadn’t said a word until then, responded with a litany of obscene acts Pogo had forced on her since he’d snatched her leaving the mall one night. She gave no time frame. Maybe a month or even a year ago, but her torment stretched far too long. Her monotone voice sounded thin as her body, but when she reached the part about the “three-way” and “Boston Tea Party,” I stopped listening. With great determination, she chewed on her fingernails between words.

How much hurt I could have laid on Pogo if I hadn’t been in such a hurry. I should have used a knife—blinded him, cut his balls off, skinned him alive. Then I thought about doing the same to Snag, who richly deserved punishment. He let such things happen.

By the time we reached Sister Alice’s place, Dawn had finished her litany. She wiped her bloody fingertips, minus nails, on her pitiful shirt and shorts. I had to help her out of the car and lead her to the shelter.

Sister Alice met us at the door. Her face contorted with rage. “Who did this to her?” She sighed and shook her head when I explained. Her anger softened to resignation. I expected she’d seen worse.

“He won’t do it to anyone else, Sister.” I offered the information without hesitation. I trusted Sister Alice as I trusted Vic.

She gave me a sad smile. “No, but there are others—though a few less of them, I hear.” Half the Barrows probably knew about the Exeter Street explosion. And they believed I was responsible. I hadn’t done a damn thing except run through a room followed by a hungry monster. Another day in the life of the Huntress.

Sister Alice found a place for Dawn and began the search for her parents. As I left, the image of Flynn finding Selene in Dawn’s condition suddenly popped into my mind.

I checked my cell phone. No messages. I called Abby. Nothing from Flynn, either. Disappointed? Yes. I headed for the Archangel. Maybe Michael had some information.

Michael wasn’t at the Archangel, but when I was heading out, his Jag pulled into the parking lot and stopped beside my car.

The passenger window slid down. “Get in,” Michael said. “Please,” he added when I raised my eyebrows.

“Okay, but you have to promise to behave.” I opened the door.

“Oh, I promise.” He winked at me.

I climbed in and the window slid closed. Within seconds the AC compensated for the steaming hot air that flooded in.

“Have you learned anything today?” Michael asked.

“Oh, yes. Stale cookies taste nasty. Someone’s arming the gangs with heavy weapons. Orgies are a seriously sick way to have sex. Bastinados are
not
immune to snake venom.” I shrugged. “That’s it.”

“Stale cookies—how dreadful. Let me take you to the Lace Curtain for an early dinner. Take your mind off such unsavory cuisine.” He turned the Jag down onto Blanding Street and headed uptown. The five-star Lace Curtain, sitting atop the Princess Lily Hotel, charged a cop’s monthly salary for a single meal. Like most places, Duivel’s priorities sucked. An early dinner suited me, though. Only one problem.

“The Lace Curtain is a pretty fancy place, Michael. Let’s hit a drive-through and pretend it’s edible. I’m not really dressed and”—I peeked down my shirt—“I have a snake between my boobs.”

“The snake is fine, but you’re a bit shabby. There’s a private dining room.”

Flynn had accepted Nefertiti and Nirah, but not with the casual air of Michael, who’d seen far stranger things in the Barrows. If we managed to get through this and find Selene, he’d be gone. I tried to shake off the thought. I had to get out of my own head. Everything would depend on what happened during the dark moon, I supposed, and if I was able to rescue Selene. He’d never want me otherwise, because I’d always remind him of her—and my failure.

“Have you forgiven me for offering the reward?” Michael asked.

“Not forgiven. It takes too much energy to be mad and I’ve had too many things to do. Have you learned anything?”

“Not much, and I still can’t find Hammer. That should have been easy.”

“Hammer isn’t a problem anymore.” I wanted to move the conversation away from Hammer. “How’d you get so rich?” I asked. “Maybe I could invest my pissy little trust fund.”

“I’ll give you money if you’ll take it.”

“Shit. I don’t want—”

“I know.” He laughed. “Sorry. I forgot who I was talking to. Most women would—”

“Fall over and lick your feet.”

“But not the Huntress.” He reached over and stroked my hair.

“Nope.” The only one I wanted to taste was Flynn.

Michael sighed. “To answer your question, my mother was an only child. Her parents were wealthy. They wanted nothing to do with her or me, but they did set up trust funds. I’m good at making money, too. I quadrupled my inheritance before I graduated from college. I had to. The family had locked Mother up at Candlewood. They kept her in a cage the size of a coffin and gave her shock treatments. I couldn’t allow that to continue.”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael then asked me to tell him what happened at Avondale, right down to the smallest detail. He made no comment as I spoke, and offered no explanations when I finished.

“Here we are.” He drove into the underground parking lot of the Princess Lily Hotel. “What does the snake like to eat?”

“She prefers live mice.”

“Sounds delicious, but I don’t know if it’s on the menu.”

“She’ll settle for caviar.” I lifted my shirt and peeked down at Nirah. “Won’t you, baby? Get that nasty taste out of your mouth.”

Michael laughed as the hotel’s staff came running to open our doors and escort us to a private elevator for the forty-two-floor ride to the Lace Curtain restaurant—only it wasn’t quite a restaurant.

I expected to see the restaurant when the elevator doors slid open. Instead, we exited onto a windowless, ten-square-foot vestibule with pink marble floors, gilded walls, and a single door across from the elevator. The door opened and a sharp-looking man in a gray suit and gold tie greeted us. His eyes played over me, but his face never lost its smiling, servile expression.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Michael,” he said with a slight bow.

“Good afternoon.” Michael gave the man one of those gracious nods he occasionally bestowed on his followers at the Archangel. “Ms. Archer and I will be dining in.”

“Certainly, sir. I’ll have the maître d’ call, unless you prefer that he come up.”

“A call will be fine. The wine . . . ?”

“Is chilled and ready.” The man walked out and closed the door soundlessly behind him.

I studied my surroundings. “Hmm, this isn’t the Lace Curtain.”

Michael went to a sleek black marble bar. “The Curtain is two floors below us. This is my suite.”

“Yeah, this looks more like you than the decadent O\ Oriental harem room at the Archangel.”

I surveyed the elegant modern room, which screamed of luxury. It was masculine, powerful. A talented decorator had filled it with clean-cut furniture, leather, and brass accessories in a spacious area enclosed by sheets of glass windows. I gazed out the windows to the south, where the Barrows stretched in the distance. Today, a murky dirty brown haze spread over it, like oil skimming over a shallow pond.

“Decadent?” Michael came to stand beside me. “You mean my humble home?”

“Yes, your humble home.”

“I come here occasionally. When I have to meet people I can’t, or don’t want to, take to the Archangel.”

“So you rent hotel rooms?” I asked.

“No. This is the owner’s suite.”

Nirah’s head slipped out of her pocket. He held out his hand and she glided onto it and up his arm. She stretched forward and her tongue flicked across his ear. His eyes never left me.

“Huntress, if only you would care for me as the little one does.” Nirah kissed him, on the cheek, the lips, then glided across and onto his shoulder. “Was I getting close, before Flynn came along? If he left, would you come to me?”

I shook my head. “No.”

That probably wasn’t true. I would fight his attraction for the same reason I always had. Michael owned things—and people.

The phone rang.

I kept my face to the window wall as Michael sighed and answered. He told whoever called to send up some caviar immediately. He went back to the bar. “Come here, Cass. I’ll behave.”

He was on the other side of the bar, so I went to sit on one of the stools. Michael reached under the counter and handed me a bottle of beer. Expensive beer. He poured himself a glass of bloodred wine. Nirah curled on his shoulder, weaving her body in and out of his hair.

“The guns,” he said. “Did you learn anything?”

The sudden change of subject caught me by surprise.

“Ah . . . they belonged to your Goblin Den partner, Theron. I talked to him last night. They’re for his army of Bastinados. You know anything about an army? Theron said he was going to be the new king of the Barrows. Who’s the current king? The one he plans to replace.”