Working for the Devil

CHAPTER 23

Jace Monroe hadn't just done well for himself.

He'd gotten absolutely, filthy, marvelously, stinking rich.

I took a long bath in a sumptuous blue-tiled bathroom while the demon laid his own protections in the walls and windows of the suite a hatchet-faced butler had led us to. Gabe and Eddie had their own set of rooms right next door, done in pale yellow instead of blue and cream. I wondered if Jace had picked the furnishings himself or had an assistant do it.

I wondered who he'd bought the house from, and how he'd managed to accumulate enough credit. Mob freelancers usually don't get rich—they usually die young, even the psionics.

I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the tub. The water was hot, the soap was sandalwood-scented—I knew that was Jace, he had to remember that I'd always used sandalwood soap—and I felt as safe as it was possible to be, in a Shaman's mansion with a demon carefully laying warding everywhere.

I wondered what Jace would make of Japhrimel. He hadn't seemed to even notice the demon. I wondered what Gabe had told him.

I lifted my toes out of the silky hot water. Examined the blood-red molecule-drip polish on my toenails. The heat was delicious, unstringing muscle aches and soothing frazzled nerves.

Gabe was right, really. This was better than a hotel. And if Jace would feed us, it would mean that we wouldn't have to spend a fortune tracking down Santino. We could spend our credit on finding the demon instead of hotels and food… and maybe hiring some mere talent to make things uneasy for him.

Feeding, I thought, and grimaced. What am I going to do about the demon? Blood, sex, fire. I can't give the last two… and he's refused the first.

A knock on the bathroom door interrupted me. "Dante, I've finished shielding the room."

"Come on in," I said, sinking down in the milky water. "We've got to have a little talk."

He opened the door. A burst of slightly cooler air made the steam inside the bathroom billow slightly. "Are you certain?"

"For God's sake. I'm sure you've seen a naked woman before. I'm under the water, anyway. Sheesh."

He stepped into the bathroom, his long coat moving slightly. He didn't seem to sweat, even in the fierce Nuevo Rio heat. He examined the mirror over the sink across from the bathtub as if he'd never seen one before, and I thought of asking him to sit down but the only place was the counter next to the sink or the toilet—and the image of a demon sitting on the toilet and looking at my profile was too much. While he studied the mirror I studied his broad back, turned to me and covered with that coat. "You wanted to talk?"

"You need blood," I said, wiggling my toes against the cobalt tiles. My sword leaned against the tub, a comforting dark slenderness. "The mark's hurting me, and I can't do my job with that kind of unnecessary distraction. Okay?"

He nodded, his dark hair beginning to stick to his forehead. He wasn't sweating—the steam in the air was weighing his hair down. "It may be uncomfortable for you."

"Well, you won't take mine, so… Um, how many pints do you need?" I should have suggested a Nichtvren haunt, I realized, kicking myself for not thinking of it sooner. Since the advent of cloned blood, Nichtvren social drinking had taken on a whole new context and popularity.

"I can visit a slaughterhouse," he said. "You still have slaughterhouses."

"Oh." I absorbed this. "You don't… oh. Okay." Silly me. I thought he meant my blood. I slipped my toes back into the water, yawned. Oddly enough, I was tired. "How about tonight? I need to do some recon anyway, get used to the whole place."

He nodded. His eyes were darker, their luminescence veiled. "Very well."

"Is it going to be really messy?" I asked. "We can't afford him being warned of our intentions."

"I think it would be best if I went alone, Dante."

I shrugged, water rippling against the side of the tub. "Fine." Another yawn caught me off-guard. "I'm going to finish up in here, and then you can have a turn."

"Not necessary. But thank you." He didn't sound robotic—his tone was merely polite, shaded with some human emotion. Which emotion? I couldn't tell.

I shrugged again. "Okay. Scoot along, then."

He turned to leave, then stopped. "I would not have you see me feed, Dante."

Why should I care? I thought. "Thanks," I said out loud, not knowing what else to say.

He ducked back out the door, steam drifting behind him. He didn't even sneak a peek, I thought, and smiled, ducking under the sandalwood-scented water.

When I emerged into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel and carrying my sword, the demon stood by a window looking down into a courtyard full of orange trees. Up here above the main bulk of the city, the smog wasn't so bad, and the heat was bearable due to the high ceilings and chill stone walls. Jace had climate control. But I was going to have to get used to the heat if we were going to be hunting here.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" I said, dropping down on the bed. Water weighed my hair, sandalwood smell drifting around me and warring with the heavy smell of demon. "I wonder how Jace affords this."

"Ask him," the demon replied. "You're tired, Dante. Sleep."

I yawned again. "If I asked him, he'd probably think I was interested."

"Are you?"

"We broke up a long time ago, Japhrimel. Why are you asking?"

"He seems to evoke a response from you." Did he sound uncertain?

"I suppose loathing might be a response," I admitted. "He's infuriating."

"Did you leave him?"

"No," I yawned again, closing my eyes, surprised. I didn't sleep much on hunts. And who would have thought that it could be comforting to have a demon in the same room? "He left me. Three years ago. Came down here, I guess…"

"Foolish of him," Japhrimel said, before I fell asleep.