The Devil's Due mk-3 Read online

“Adam is one of my subjects. If I command him to step aside while Saul takes his lover, he will do it.”

  If I ground my teeth any harder, they would break. However, I managed to keep my temper in check, waiting for him to finish.

  “However, Dominic is not one of my subjects, and I have no authority to give him orders. I will request that he agree to host Saul once more, but in the end, it will be his decision.”

  Dominic, like most legal demon hosts, had a hero complex. He might agree to take Saul back even if he knew it would mean losing what he now had with Adam. And even if losing him would break Adam’s heart. But I wasn’t one of Lugh’s subjects. Perhaps I could conveniently “forget” to mention his request.

  Lugh shook his head at me. “Would you rather I take over the next time you’re asleep and give Adam a call myself?”

  My heart sank at the thought. “You’re probably doing that right this moment, aren’t you?” It would hardly be the first time.

  Slowly, Lugh unfolded from his throne, forcing me to take a couple of steps back to maintain my personal space. I’m a tall woman, but Lugh is at least six foot five, and he towered over me. He reached for me, and I’d have backed up farther if I didn’t think I might fall off the edge of the dais. His hands landed on my shoulders, and he gave them a firm squeeze.

  “I’ll do you the courtesy of giving you the chance to do it yourself, first. But the request will be made, one way or another.”

  I swallowed past a lump that had formed in my throat. “I hate you.” I couldn’t stand to look up at him anymore, so instead I stared at one of the ornamental gold buttons on his waistcoat.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why does it have to be Dominic? Can’t someone else host him?” I was still staring at the button, but it didn’t seem to bother Lugh.

  “Do you have someone else in mind?”

  I scowled, because, of course, I didn’t. We no longer had anyone on the inside with the Spirit Society, so it wasn’t like we could get Saul into a legal host. So just who would I “volunteer” for the role?

  “Keep in mind also what you know of Saul’s. . inclinations, shall we call them?” Lugh said, forcibly reminding me of the kind of relationship he’d had with Adam. I didn’t know—and sure as hell didn’t want to know—what kind of S&M “play” they’d engaged in, but I knew it was brutal enough to be too much for Dominic—and to require a demon’s healing ability.

  “Many, if not most hosts would have trouble coping with his particular tastes,” Lugh continued, hammering away at me. “I know his union with his last host before Dominic was not a happy one.” He frowned. “I’m afraid Saul can be most abrasive when he doesn’t like someone.”

  “You mean more abrasive than Adam?” I asked incredulously, and I forgot to stare at the button and looked up into his amber eyes.

  “There’s a reason he and Adam are friends.”

  “You mean because they’re each the only creature in existence who can tolerate the other?”

  Lugh smiled crookedly. “A bit of an exaggeration, but fairly accurate.” The smile faded, and his grip on my shoulders tightened. “We already know Dominic and Saul get along well. Any other host might. . suffer.”

  I wasn’t keen on the idea of shoving a demon, especially an abrasive one, into any human host. If Saul ended up in another host, I’d feel guilty as hell at the idea that the host was suffering and being ill-treated. But better some stranger than Dominic. I suppose that was selfish of me, but I didn’t care.

  “Don’t do this,” I begged. “Don’t ask this of me, or of Dom.”

  His hands slid up the sides of my neck until he was cupping my face in his palms. His eyes were wells of regret, but there was no hint of yielding in them. His thumbs caressed my cheeks in a way that was either supposed to be soothing or sexy, I wasn’t sure which. And for the first time ever, my body failed to respond to him in any way.

  “Take your hands off me,” I said, and I’d never heard my own voice so cold.

  Lugh’s jaw tightened with what might have been anger, but he let go. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to approach Dominic and Adam with the proposal. If you haven’t done it by then, I’ll do it myself.”

  There were times I’d been angry, even furious, with Lugh before. None of them compared to how I felt now. I glared at him, for once glad that he knew exactly how I felt. His face didn’t change expression.

  Knowing things were only going to get uglier if I stuck around, I mustered my mental forces and slammed the doors of my mind shut.

  I woke up back in my own room, the rage still burning high. I wanted to break something, but I settled for hurling my pillow across the room instead. It wasn’t anywhere near as satisfying.

  It was only a little after four in the morning when I woke up, but I knew I wasn’t getting back to sleep. Cursing Lugh some more, I gave up the effort and hauled my sleep-deprived carcass into the kitchen to brew some extra-strength coffee. After I’d gotten the first cup down, a few of my still-sleeping brain cells woke up, and I realized I’d forgotten to ask Lugh an important question.

  Lugh was talking about summoning Saul to the Mortal Plain, but as far as I knew, the only way to summon a specific demon was by its True Name. As Lugh had explained it, only demons who were extraordinary in some way earned the dubious honor of being granted a True Name. Lugh and his brothers had them because they were part of the royal family. The only other demon I’d known who had a True Name was Der Jäger, and he’d earned it through being a sociopath with the unique ability to hunt demons on the Mortal Plain.

  I could only assume if Lugh meant to summon him that Saul had earned a True Name, but I had no idea how. Maybe that wasn’t important, but if he had any special abilities, I’d rather know about them. Of course, since I was planning never to speak to Lugh again—yes, I knew I’d have no choice, but it made a nice fantasy—I wouldn’t be able to question him. I could ask Adam, but since Adam wouldn’t tell me squat without Lugh’s permission, I knew it wouldn’t do me any good.

  When the sun came up, I made myself a cold breakfast of Cheerios with slices of a banana that was past its prime. I had until four o’clock tomorrow morning, give or take, to tell Adam and Dominic what His Majesty had requested. Until then, I would keep my lips tightly zipped, and I would do my best to ignore the problem.

  Instead, I focused on the problem of Tommy Brewster. Even if Adam dropped by Sammy Cho’s office and discovered he was possessed, there would be no proof that he’d been possessed when he’d examined Tommy. Demons might not have the same rights as humans in our legal system, but I still had to have some concrete evidence that Tommy’s demon had done something wrong in order to legally exorcize him.

  However, if Raphael believed that reality would cause me to drop the case, he didn’t know me as well as he thought. I’d just have to figure out a way to get proof.

  Easier said than done, naturally. I wasn’t what you’d call a private investigator. But it occurred to me that perhaps the best way to prove that Tommy’s demon had possessed him illegally was to get the demon to admit it.

  I supposed that meant it was time for me to have a face-to-face chat with Tommy, the superhost, and the scum-sucking bottom-feeder who currently inhabited his body.

  CHAPTER 9

  I wasn’t sure exactly how I was going to engineer this meeting with Tommy Brewster. After all, exorcists had very little excuse to hang out with legal demons, and I didn’t imagine I could just call him up and ask him to meet me for a friendly chat. Well, I could, but I sort of doubted he’d agree.

  In the end, I decided the easiest way to go about it was just to drop by his apartment and use my charm and persuasion to convince him to talk to me. Okay, so charm and persuasion aren’t my strong suits, but I didn’t see a whole lot of other options, so it would have to do.

  Tommy lived near U. of P. in an ancient brownstone that had no doubt once been a single-family home, but had been converted into tiny apartments catering to
students. It turned out Tommy was auditing some classes while he waited to start med school in the fall. I couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten into an Ivy League university with his God’s Wrath affiliation; unless, of course, they didn’t know about it. I also wasn’t sure why he was still going there now that he was possessed. It wasn’t that unusual for legal demons to go through med school and become doctors, but it seemed like an odd thing for a demon in Dougal’s camp to do. Unless he was in training to become another of Dougal’s mad scientists. And wasn’t that a cheerful thought?

  Tommy wasn’t home when I stopped by, and his roommate informed me that this was the status quo. Being a helpful sort—and being at just the right height to stand eye-level with my breasts, a convenience of which he took full advantage—the roommate informed me that my best shot at running into the new demonic Tommy was at his favorite nightclub, The Seven Deadlies.

  My friendly, if false, smile died on my face when the roommate—whose name I’d already forgotten—mentioned that proverbial den of iniquity. He was too enamored of my chest to notice, and I decided the little creep was icking me out. I forced myself to thank him relatively politely before I hastened away, wondering if I really had the nerve to show my face at the club where Raphael had held and tortured Brian.

  The easy way to handle it would have been to call Adam and ask him to meet up with Tommy there. Adam was a card-carrying member, and far from being repulsed by the club’s sickening purpose, he actually liked the place. At least, he’d liked it before he and Dom had had a run-in with Shae, the club’s owner. I doubted Adam would set foot in there again for any reason other than official business. Besides, I didn’t want to talk to Adam, not with Lugh’s request/order looming. Yes, I’d rather present it to Adam and Dom myself, but I’m a big fan of procrastination.

  I wasn’t what you’d call happy with my decision, but I suppose you could say I was resolved to it. I spent the afternoon and much of the evening loading myself up with caffeine to get me through a long night and trying not to think about what I was about to do. At around ten, I put on my favorite pair of black leather pants along with an emerald green halter top that left my belly button bare and revealed the tattoo on my back. It wasn’t the kind of top I could wear a bra with, but it had a flimsy built-in shelf bra that slightly reduced the jiggle factor. I finished the outfit off with some platform sandals that added another couple of inches to my already greater-than-average height, then looked myself over in the mirror.

  I looked far more demure and conservative than I’d looked the last time I’d set foot in that club, but I was dressed sexy enough to fit right in. I was also dressed sexy enough that I could probably persuade some hormone-crazed demon groupie to take me in as his guest, seeing as I wasn’t a member myself. I’d then have to find a way to ditch said hormone-crazed groupie, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s the cold shoulder.

  The Seven Deadlies is located on South Street, home to some of Philadelphia’s most outlandish citizens. Bars, clubs, tattoo parlors, fetish shops, New Age bookstores. You name it—if it’s off the beaten path, you can be sure you’ll find it somewhere along South Street.

  I looked downright conservative next to some of the South Street regulars I passed as I made my way from the garage where I’d parked to the club. Mohawks, funky dye-jobs, ostentatious body piercings. . Maybe I’d need to get another tattoo or ten. Nah. I didn’t plan to come here ever again.

  On the outside, The Seven Deadlies looks relatively ordinary, just a normal South Street alternative club. Even on a Monday night, there was a steady stream of customers going in. Still, I decided I’d try to get in on my own merits before going for the charming-a-helpless-male technique.

  I was glad to see the Guardian of the Gates was a young, handsome guy. That upped my chances of conning my way in. When I approached the window, I put on my friendliest smile and pressed my shoulders back a bit to make sure the halter top clung to my breasts just right. Handsome Guy gave me a thorough once-over with his eyes before greeting me with a bland “Can I help you?”

  I might have been insulted that he didn’t seem to be reacting to my appearance if I hadn’t caught the quickly suppressed gleam in his eyes when he’d looked me over.

  “I’ve heard great things about this club,” I gushed, trying to look young and brainless. “I was wondering who I could talk to about maybe buying a membership.”

  He gave me another of those up-and-down looks, then smiled at me with what looked like regret. “Sorry, but our membership roster is full. The waiting list is about three months.”

  Yeesh! There were that many people who wanted to hang out at a demon sex club? I made a pouty face—maybe I was laying it on a little thick, but I’ve never been a big fan of subtlety.

  “Is it possible to buy a guest pass? I’d love to look around, get a feel for whether the place is worth waiting for.” A line was forming behind me, and I could feel the impatience at my back. Handsome Guy seemed to feel it, too, since his expression hardened into full authority-figure mode.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the club is only for members and their guests.”

  “We can make an exception for this one, Deke,”said a voice from over my left shoulder.

  I turned slowly, my fists automatically clenching at my sides, my teeth grinding as I struggled to control my primal impulses.

  Standing behind me, where she must have emerged from a nearby door marked Employees Only, was Shae, last name unknown to me, the owner of The Seven Deadlies. Approximately my height, with deep ebony skin and hair cut so short she was practically bald, Shae reminded me of a black panther, a creature of deadly grace and beauty. She was also a predator, a mercenary, and an illegal demon, whom Adam refused to arrest because she served as his snitch—when it was convenient to her.

  She was dressed all in red and black, an outfit that only heightened the aura of danger that clung to her. A black leather bustier, only half a shade darker than her skin, made the most of her minimal cleavage, the bloodred bow at the center drawing the eye. Her black leather pants were even tighter than my own, and her shoes—red patent leather pumps with spiky, four-inch heels—were a hell of a lot showier. She topped the outfit off with a dramatic floor-length black and red brocade duster.

  I’d taken an instant dislike to Shae when I’d first met her, and nothing since then had persuaded me to change my opinion. I had sort of hoped she either wouldn’t be here, or at least wouldn’t recognize me, but I should have known my luck wasn’t that good.

  She smiled her shark’s smile and put a hand on my arm, drawing me away from the window so the next schmuck in line could pay his way in. I let her touch me for about ten seconds, then jerked my arm from her grip. It was probably a good time to cut my losses and get the hell out of here, but as you may have noticed, I’m a bit stubborn. I had a plan, and I wasn’t going to let Evil Bitch from Hell ruin it.

  “I had no idea you enjoyed yourself so much the last time you were in my club,” Shae said, still smiling. I tried desperately not to think about the things that had happened the last time I’d set foot in here, but of course it didn’t work.

  “What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment,” I responded, then instantly regretted it as Shae’s eyes gleamed.

  “You’ve come to the right place, sugar. Perhaps you’d like to venture down into Hell tonight as a participant, rather than an observer?”

  I managed to suppress my shudder, but I’m sure the revulsion showed in my eyes. Shae laughed, and I wondered what would happen if I gave in to my temptation to introduce her face to my fist. I didn’t wonder very long, though. She was a demon, and my own demon was helpless against her unless I let him take over. I had no particular desire to get my ass kicked tonight, so I reluctantly kept my temper in check.

  “Are you going to let me in or not?” I asked, not in the mood for a game of cat and mouse.

  “I already said I would, didn’t I?” She reached into what must have been an inner
pocket in the duster, then handed me a voucher. “I’ll even throw in a free drink.”

  I took the voucher from her even as I wondered what the hell her game was. I don’t suppose she had any particular reason to dislike me—after all, she’d earned lots of money on me when one faction of demons paid her to help capture me and Adam paid her to help me escape. But I didn’t imagine she was welcoming me into her club with open arms because of any great affection she bore me, either.

  “What’s your angle?” I asked her suspiciously.

  “I have no angle,” she said, though her claim was patently false. “I regret some of the. . difficulties you experienced the last time you were here. Since you were kind enough to stop by again, I figured it was the least I could do to show you the true face of The Seven Deadlies.”

  I knew full well I’d seen the true face already, and it was uglier than even I could have imagined. Common sense told me that if Shae wanted me to come into her club, then the intelligent thing to do was to run the other way as fast as I could. But I wanted to talk to Tommy Brewster, and here of all places he would be most likely to be willing to talk to me. After all, who would ever suspect a patron of a demon sex club of being an exorcist?

  “Your generosity is overwhelming,” I told Shae, and her eyes crinkled with amusement.

  “Suspicious little thing, aren’t you?” she asked, then continued before I could slip in a cutting retort. “As a sign of good faith, I won’t even make you check your Taser at the door.”

  That had been the part of this adventure I’d been dreading most. I’d been sure my Taser would be confiscated before I would be allowed into the heart of the club. The idea of walking unarmed into a club full of demons hadn’t exactly thrilled me, but I hadn’t thought there was an alternative.

  I was caught between two aphorisms that seemed particularly relevant to the situation: “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” and “If it sounds too good to be true, it is.” Shouting down my more sensible side, I told myself that as long as I had my Taser, I couldn’t get into too much trouble.