“Now, now, Tweetie. Don’t look so sad. He’s not dead. I keep my promises . . . well, almost never. But this time I made an exception.”
I ignored Eli’s voice as I followed Zeke’s unwavering focus to Griffin hanging above us. His wrists were tied together and that rope wrapped several times to the wrought-iron rail of the second-floor loft. His feet hung just inches over our heads. In the low light, candlelight, I recognized without thought, I could see the purpling bruise that covered one side of his face, from temple to jaw. His shirt was ripped and bloody, but not saturated. The slashes were superficial, but the head wound, that wasn’t. Eligos was telling the truth though. Griffin was still breathing. He was alive, but unconscious. That’s why Zeke couldn’t hear him now, but would hear him again.
Absolutely goddamn would.
Zeke was growling now. It wasn’t the sound a human would make, nor an angel or demon. It was the sound of fury incarnate and Eli was a trigger pull away from being a puddle incarnate dripping off the chair he was currently sitting in. I’d looked away from Griffin and there was my least favorite demon in all his glory through the arched doorway to the right . . . having takeout on the dining room table by candlelight, which I knew he thought brought out the highlights in his hair. I was not in the mood for that or any other of his vanities.
“It’s Thai.” He tilted the chair back and waved a fork spearing a piece of chicken. I could smell the coconut curry. “I didn’t think you were ever going to figure it out and get here. I would’ve eaten my compadres instead of wasting them to grout cleaner if I’d known you’d be so long.” That’s when I saw the pools of black on the tile floor surrounding the table—enough to have been at least ten demons.
“So who told you?” he added as he leaned back farther and forked the chicken into his mouth. I put a hand on Zeke’s wrist before he could raise his hand and pull that trigger.
“Get Griffin down, Kit,” I murmured. “We need to get him to a hospital. He’s the important thing now, not Eligos.” Zeke often couldn’t see reason or rather, he saw a reason that escaped the rest of us, but he saw the truth in what I said and was gone instantly up one side of two sets of stairs in the foyer that led up to the second floor.
“Come on, Trixa. I saved your peri from some flunkies who thought they had enough brain cells to actually have ideas and plans of their own.” He snorted. “Plans . . . Can you believe that? I told you I wouldn’t make a move on your pets for a year, and I went wildly above and beyond that promise to save this one from demons other than myself. I think a little reward...”
“Beelzebub,” I said, cutting him off. “We left him on Tropicana Avenue. He was mostly in one piece if you’re interested in changing that.”
“Ah.” He made a face. “You made that far too easy. You’re no fun at all,” he grumbled, dropping the fork into the Styrofoam container. “I was ready to use my wiles, the pure sex appeal that comes off me in waves. Hell, it comes off me like a damn tsunami and you go and ruin it by just giving up that piece of fucking worthless shit.”
I gave him a smile, but it wasn’t for him or for me. . . . It was for Griffin. There was only one reason I hadn’t killed Beelzebub myself . . . because having a demon do it would be the worst death Beelzebub could suffer. His blackly pathetic hopes would die before his body did. Death of spirit, death of body, and it still wouldn’t be enough to pay for having a part, no matter how passive, in what had been done to Griffin.
“Think you’re clever, don’t you?” Eli said, waving a hand through the flame of the several candles surrounding his dinner. The flames spread over his hand before he extinguished them with a snap of his fingers. “But I know what you want, his death to be the slightest edge more horrifying because it comes from his most eager hope. Perhaps his last hope. I like the way you think, Trixa. But guess what? I’m no one’s subcontractor and I’ve done you favor enough today. Hanging around aboveground where Cronus could take my wings, all to save a former fellow rebel. I’d think you’d be grateful . . . not trying to shovel more work onto me.” He pushed the container of Thai food away. “I remember him, you know. There isn’t a demon in Hell I don’t know, but your pet . . . Glasya-Labolas . . . he hung with the big boys. Not as big or bad as me, naturally, but neither was he a former Candygram pigeon. He had balls. He was on the front lines in the Fall—one of the willing, not the wandering. Justly damned, not drafted. A true soldier, a warrior of God and Lucifer. And after we set up shop Downstairs, he did things....” He grinned, happy to be spreading the news. “Let’s just say he set the bar a little higher for those who someday might hope to be . . . well . . . me.”
“He’s not Glasya-Labolas. He’s not a demon. He’s something so different from you, you could never comprehend it.” Before I could move to stab him with the fork he’d discarded, Zeke called my name. I stepped back out of the doorway and beneath Griffin’s unconscious body.
“Catch him.”
I looked up to see Zeke’s face, pale and set, as he began to saw through the rope with one of his many knives. “I won’t let him fall,” I promised. No, no matter what Glasya-Labolas had done, Griffin would never fall.
The rope snapped. Zeke caught it and fed it hand over hand until I caught Griffin around the waist—a tumbling mass of limp legs, arms, and flopping blond hair. Either the hair or his soap smelled strongly of strawberries and I had an instant flash of who’d last done the shopping. Ninety-nine-cent shampoo. In the basket it goes. Pink? So what if it’s pink? It’s ninety-nine cents. Zeke, so very Zeke, and so very Griffin to have used it anyway, although on the weeks he shopped I knew he’d drop fifty dollars on shampoo alone.
It was a warm moment that vanished quickly when I realized that holding up one hundred and seventy pounds of unconscious male when I now had a completely human body wasn’t precisely easy. I’d have to start lifting weights along with the running.
With Cronus in my life? I should live so long.
I eased Griffin to the floor, made it look simple, and pulled my phone to call 911. It was a triumph over protesting muscles, the second part of it, but I did it . . . because Eli was watching. In the midst of it all . . . Cronus and Griffin . . . Eli was still watching and if I forgot that, I wouldn’t be around to worry about living with a Titan on the warpath. A demon would take me out instead. “Do me a favor, Eli,” I said as I put a thumb on Griffin’s right eyelid and lifted it and then followed with the left. His pupils were equal and reactive to the light. That was good, very good.
“Do you a favor?” He sounded interested and, worse yet, sounded as if he were right at my shoulder . . . ghosting up without me hearing a single scuff of his shoe. “You would owe me a genuine debt? One you would actually pay this time instead of being the liar and thief you were last time?” He said liar and thief with an oddly possessive affection. He’d said it before—fooling and cheating him while killing Solomon was as intriguing as it got to a demon bored with eternity.
“One I would pay,” I replied after I finished with the 911 operator. Zeke was beside us now, his hand cupping Griffin’s jaw and then his forehead resting against the slowly rising and falling chest. Listening . . . and not for a heartbeat. As much as he hated Eligos and Eligos being that close to any of us, he could see only one thing now.
“And how could I possibly take your word on that?” came a rightfully skeptical question.
Like Zeke, I had eyes for only one person and that wasn’t Eli. I had one aim, one goal, and I’d do anything to accomplish it. “In Kimano’s name. In my brother’s name, I’ll return the favor. Now take the car the demons drove out here with Griffin or the bus and drive away. I want something I can build a story on for the cops.”
“A small favor, then. Mine won’t be.” His hand was on my shoulder, but with a far different emotion than was passing from Zeke to Griffin. “You didn’t ask about the Roses.”