When Barbie was satisfied with my appearance, she presented her new work of art to Saul and Raphael, who pronounced me unrecognizable.
Because we were all a bit paranoid and disinclined to trust an outsider, we “suggested” that Barbie stay with Saul until Raphael and I returned from our mission. I’m quite sure Barbie understood just what kind of “suggestion” this was, but she didn’t look offended. She didn’t even object when Saul patted her down for weapons before we left, just to make sure she didn’t pull the same trick on him as I had. She had a small gun in an ankle holster, but nothing else. Naturally, Saul confiscated it.
“Good luck,” she said as Raphael and I headed to the door. It sounded like she really meant it.
“Thanks,” I answered. “And sorry about, er …”
She waved the apology off. “No apologies needed. I wouldn’t blame you if you left me handcuffed in the closet.”
“Now there’s a good idea,” Raphael muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear. He, of all of us, was the most concerned about Barbie and her motivations. He motioned Saul forward.
Looking wary and reluctant, Saul approached to within about three feet. Raphael grabbed his arm and pulled him in closer, lowering his voice to a level Saul and I could hear, but Barbie couldn’t.
“I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at her, son. Don’t fall for the oldest trick in the book. Keep it zipped, at least until we’re back.”
Not surprisingly, Saul’s eyes started to glow.
“Don’t you guys start that crap again,” I said impatiently. “Ra—” Damn. I really needed to break myself of the habit of calling Raphael by his real name. “Tommy, let go of Saul’s arm. Saul, back off and pretend he didn’t say a word.”
I was pleasantly surprised when they both obeyed. I knew Barbie was now curious as hell, and I also knew she hadn’t missed my almost-slip. I wanted to grab Saul and Raphael by the hair and knock their heads together, but I didn’t suppose that would solve anything. Instead, I merely grabbed Raphael by the arm and hauled him out the front door before he could start any more trouble.
CHAPTER 23
I was nervous enough about poking my head up aboveground—and about going another round with Shae—that I was able to keep myself from thinking about Brian and what my life would be like without him. The Morgan Kingsley solution to postbreakup blues: Do something that risks arrest and a possible life sentence, or even a gruesome death.
We got lucky with the parking situation and didn’t have to walk more than half a block before we arrived at Shae’s doorstep. I was conscious of the curious glances of various passersby, but I pretended not to be. If I’d had Barbie’s confidence, perhaps I would have winked and flirted and given people a “Wouldn’t you like to know” smirk. However, acting is a glorified form of lying, and, as we’ve already established, lying is not one of my strengths. I had to spend most of my concentration pretending not to be as nervous and generally twitchy as I felt.
The demon who had previously inhabited Tommy Brewster’s body had been a big fan of The Seven Deadlies, having formed an agreement with Shae to provide him with good breeding stock as he tried to increase the genetic diversity in the lab-bred hosts. The good thing about this was that Tommy/Raphael was a card-carrying member, and was therefore able to bring me in as a guest with no fuss.
When we asked for Shae, we were told she was inside the club, keeping an eye on her domain. That translated into “If you want her, go find her, because I’m too lazy to page her.” I would have made an issue out of it—I didn’t want to set foot past the safe and tame lobby area—but Raphael slung an arm around my shoulders and directed me to the set of doors that led to the bar and dance floor. I elbowed him in the ribs, and he took the hint and let his arm drop back to his side.
As is typical of nightclubs, the music playing in the heart of The Seven Deadlies was loud enough to do permanent damage to my eardrums. I winced as soon as I stepped through the door and had to resist the urge to cover my ears with my hands. Tonight’s theme seemed to be tuneless techno with a heavy enough bass to make the floor vibrate like an earthquake with each beat.
The place was also dark as a cave, giving people an illusion of privacy as they clustered at standing-room-only tables around the dance floor or sat at the bar.
The delay in putting together my disguise meant that we’d arrived considerably later than we’d planned, so the dance floor was already packed with dancers, many of whom had the impossibly good looks of your typical demon host. The only place I could think of that I’d want to be less than here was prison.
Raphael cut a path for us through the crowd toward the bar. It wasn’t hard to spot our quarry. Shae probably couldn’t manage looking inconspicuous even wearing Goodwill rejects and camouflage paint. However, she obviously had no objection to attracting attention, and she always managed to look drop-dead gorgeous even when wearing the most outrageous outfits.
To my chagrin, her outfit tonight was also a suit and tie. However, that was where the similarity ended. Her suit was of pristine white, the better to show off the night-black color of her skin. And there was plenty of skin showing—the jacket was a flaring, one-button number, and she wore nothing beneath it but the neon blue tie that dangled between her breasts. She had to be using some of that double-stick fashion tape to hold the lapels in place; otherwise she’d be flashing the crowd every time she made the slightest move.
Shae was engaged in a shouted conversation with the bartender when she caught sight of us plowing our way toward her. Her eyes darted quickly between Raphael and me, and I didn’t think my disguise fooled her for even a fraction of a second. She said something to the bartender, then came to meet us halfway. The crowd parted for her automatically, even those with their backs to her stepping out of the way as if there were some force field that surrounded her.
“You two make a lovely couple,” Shae said when she reached us, flashing us her sharklike smile. Her teeth were as dazzling white as her suit, whiter than teeth had any right to be, and I wondered if that was the effect of tooth whitener or if they were all caps.
As usual, she’d managed to get under my skin almost immediately. It was a unique skill of hers.
“Can we talk in private?” Raphael asked.
She gave us another of those cool, appraising looks, and though she was being coy, I was certain she’d want to talk to us. The last time I’d come to her for information, I’d been asking questions about Tommy Brewster, and she’d told me enough to help me figure out what his demon’s mission was on the Mortal Plain. I’m sure she was surprised—and intrigued—to see us together. The plan was to dangle information about our alliance as bait in our attempt to get her to cough up anything she might know about a demon who was out to get me. Raphael, with his superior lying skills, would do most, if not all, of the talking.
“Sounds like fun,” she agreed with another shark smile.
Shae took us through a key-carded door marked Employees Only and led us to her office, which was decorated almost entirely in black and silver. If the idea was to make visitors feel cold and unwelcome, the design was perfect. Shae looked perfectly at home there.
“I’ve missed seeing you at my club, Tommy,” Shae said as she took a seat behind her desk. Her smile turned sly. “And I have a number of girls lined up who would meet your requirements perfectly.”
I gritted my teeth to keep myself from saying anything scathing. I didn’t think Shae was evil, precisely, but she certainly wasn’t one of the good guys, and if she had any morals or cared about anyone, I’d yet to see evidence of it. A mercenary to her core.