The soul strobed between Nim and the stain in the middle of the floor where Amber’s leg had lain. The path traced an after-image streak of light through the gloomy club. Abruptly, it added a third point in its rounds.
Fane followed the light to a round table tipped against the bar as if it had had one drink too many. He peered around. When the Amber soul materialized above his head in a silent burst of light, he ducked.
Nim snickered, then noticed the sudden tensing of his shoulders as he swooped down. “What did you find?”
“Demon droppings.” He cupped a shard of something in his palm. Glassy glints melded with dull bone.
Nim remembered the decomposing chunk of feralis in the tunnel below the club. “Not as useful as a business card, is it? You lured me here under false pretenses.”
From the back hall stepped a man with a shiny badge clipped to his front pocket. “What pretenses would those be?”
Nim winced. Here she’d been thinking the teshuva’s senses were warning against calling down a horde of tenebrae on their heads. Sometimes it was hard to remember all the ways she could fuck up.
Fane leaned against the table, as if he hadn’t a care in the world—this world, at least. He pocketed the shard so smoothly she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been looking for it. “I told her she could get her last paycheck.”
The cop came toward them, his right hand hovering in a way that made her think he wasn’t as comfortable as Fane and didn’t care about revealing his intention to shoot them, should he feel the need. After what he’d seen in the aftermath of the attack, she didn’t blame him.
He gave the corner of the stage a wide berth, keeping her and Fane in his sights. “You must be Elaine Hamlin.”
“The Naughty Nymphette,” Fane supplied helpfully.
Nim shot him a dirty look. But she’d learned a long time ago not to sass in front of cops unless absolutely necessary. “Yes, sir. That’s me.” Hard to deny with a boa constrictor wrapped around her neck, considering there was a rather lurid Viva Las Showgirls promo poster of her and Mobi in the men’s toilet.
“I thought I’d see you at your coworker’s funeral this morning out at Oak Woods. I’ve been trying to find you.”
She widened her eyes. “You have?” Her other old habit with cops was to lie shamelessly. Asking why he was looking might be a bit hard to swallow, considering she was standing in a murder scene, so she settled for, “I haven’t been checking my messages.”
The cop’s eyes narrowed as much as hers had widened. “So, you didn’t know what happened here?”
How to answer in a way he could believe? Answering with the truth was just too unbelievable. “I just can’t believe it,” she said, interjecting a quaver into her voice. That was true enough.
He sighed. “So after you left here Monday night with the man with the hook—Who was he again?”
“He was my”—she blinked slowly—“date.”
“And did your date have a name?”
She blinked even slower. “John.” Fane snorted softly, so she ignored him. “I’m sorry I can’t help you more, Officer . . .”
“Detective Ramirez. And where is John now?”
She shrugged. “I had another . . . date.” And this time she let her gaze slide to Fane, who stiffened in outrage. “Since I’m a little behind on rent, what with missing my paycheck and all.”
Ramirez tapped his finger against the gun butt. “Are you two aware that removing police tape to interfere with a crime-scene investigation is a punishable offense?” Frustration echoed in his voice. He wanted to get somebody for something.
“I’m sorry, Detective Ramirez.” Fane held out his hands in an innocent gesture. “The insurance company said I could do my estimate for the cleanup.” By way of explanation, he added, “Last Call Cleaning, services in decontamination and sterilization. Would you like my card?”
No, obviously, Detective Ramirez would not like it, not unless the card had a murderer’s phone number on the back, which, Nim could tell from his even deeper sigh, he’d already decided they weren’t.
Well, he was mostly right. They weren’t murderers. Not of humans, anyway. Or not directly. Not unless they were possessed.
Fane cleared his throat as Ramirez reluctantly took the biohazard-yellow card. “Detective Ramirez, I was wondering about some of the unusual damage here. Anything I should know?”
The cop gave him another once-over. Maybe it was Fane’s angel or the business card, but the wariness faded to weariness. “Your cleanup order should have noted special instructions for a hydrofluoric acid spill. Some of the bodies were . . . eaten away.” He rubbed his eyes. “The coroner said the acid sinks in without much pain and then dissolves flesh from the inside out. You die before you realize how badly you’ve been burned. So watch yourself.”
“Thank you, Detective. I’ll be careful,” Fane said humbly, and the humility sounded genuine. Which made Nim narrow her eyes at him. What was he concocting in that angel-addled head of his?
“Miss Hamlin, I’d like to talk to you more about that night. As far as we can tell, you were the last to leave the club before . . .” A haunted shadow crossed his face, deepening the lines around his mouth. “Before what happened. Will you come down to the station?”
“Of course,” she said, with as much sincerity as Fane. “As soon as I think of something to tell you.”
Ramirez looked up at her as if he could hear the echo of the unsaid words. “I’m sure you’ll call right away.”
“Whatever I can do to help.” Really, she was helping him by leaving him out of it. Bad things happened around her. He could just ask Amber.
Ramirez sized up Fane. “If you find anything during the cleanup . . .”
“Last Call Cleaning has a long-standing relationship with the Chicago PD,” Fane said. “And I have your card.”
“Right.” Ramirez sighed a third time, and Nim knew he was down for the count.
Out in the parking lot, the detective climbed into his unmarked car and pulled away. After the stinking gloom of the club, the hot glare off bare concrete was almost a relief. Still, Nim hunched against the chill between her shoulder blades as if the Amber soul might be watching her go.
“I’ll finish cleaning up,” Fane said. “On several levels. Don’t be troubled.”
Nim followed him to the car. “So, what did you put together in there? I saw something squirming in your brain. I’m assuming that was an idea and not the angel.” His gaze slid away, and she snarled, “Whatever it is, I helped you get it. You owe me.”
“Deals only work with devils,” he snarled back.
They each took a short step to the side, circling each other.
“Don’t try me, heshuka,” he warned.
“Don’t tempt me, gnuna zira.”
He jerked his head back. “What did you just call me?”
“Fucking wanker.” She hesitated. “In Aramaic, I think. Maybe Assyrian? I’d have to look it up again.” She held out her hand and tapped her fingertips twice against her palm in a give-it-over gesture. “So, what’s in your pocket?”
His hand hovered at his hip like one of her former customers running short on singles. “You should leave this alone, for your own good.”
“So I can be good?”
“Obviously, I’ve been led astray.” His glower returned. “Which is why the sphericanum commands we stay far away from your kind.”
“And yet you brought me here. Which tells me you don’t obey commands any better than I do.” She pitched her voice toward wheedling. “Come to the dark side, angel.”
He arched one eyebrow at her. “Please.” But he dug into his pocket. “Corvus Valerius has crossed a line in this battle. He must be stopped. Whatever the cost.”