Trick Of The Light Part 14

Nor was there any need to find out. When I found the Light, I wanted a virtual crowd around me. Demons, angels, humans. Whatever it took to muddy the waters. If they were preoccupied with one another, they wouldn't be concentrating on me. If Eli showed up with the price I was charging for the Light, if Solomon showed up to demonstrate what side he was really on-angels, demons, humans-it was going to be one ma.s.sive brawl.

Finally, after all these years, Kimano could rest. I could rest.

As for Heaven, h.e.l.l, and Earth . . . let the pieces fall where they may.

My way.

I looked at Griffin and he wrapped his fingers around Zeke's wrist. He didn't say "Safety on" to halt Zeke, but I imagine he thought it loudly enough that Zeke heard it in his mind. He had to have because he growled and moved away from them all, not showing them his vulnerable back once. Lenore had flown back to his shoulder with a shred of anchovy in his beak and was eyeing the angels with suspicious, beady eyes. He swallowed the bit of fish and squawked at the angels, "Whom the angels named Lenore." But these angels hadn't named Lenore. He had more or less named himself, and he definitely didn't consider himself birds of a feather with them. "Nevermore. Nevermore," he hissed with dark emphasis. That the angels didn't give him a second glance was their mistake, a huge one. Forgive me if I didn't bring it to their attention.

We waited a few more hours. What I had to do might be better done in the dark with no tourists around. Better safe than sorry. It gave me a chance to get the rest of the plaster dust out of my hair and pull it up in a twist with loose curls springing everywhere. It also let me brush my teeth free of garlic, because offending Trinity wasn't worth offending myself and half the city to boot. I didn't bother with makeup this time. If I was going to wear war paint at the end of this day, it would be made of blood. But hopefully we'd get past this last bread crumb without a fight. Don't get me wrong. There would be a fight, but I wanted it at the end . . . when I claimed the Light. When everyone tried to buy it from me or take it from me.

Then there would be blood.

Finally we left, and "finally" truly was the word for it. Except for Griffin, Zeke, and Lenore, the company wasn't entertaining. The angels and their servants didn't play pool or darts. Or talk. Or do much other than blink balefully at us (that would be Goodman), coldly (Trinity), and not at all (the angels). It made my eyes water to watch the latter; unmoving, unblinking, they were like silver and marble statues, nothing like Malibu Angel from Wilbur 's place. I don't think they even breathed-although in human form they would have to. At least, I thought they would.

Zeke spent his time gathering up weapons, some of his that he kept here and some of mine. Since he seemed to have enough for Griffin and me as well as him, including three shotguns, I stuck with my Smith. I did make sure to slip several speed loaders in my messenger bag just in case. I expected Trinity or at least Goodman to protest, but they didn't. I guess having three s.h.i.+ning warriors of Heaven on your side evened the odds and then some from their point of view.

Rhyolite was about two and a half to three hours north of Vegas, taking U.S. 95. There were ten of us. We took three cars-mine, held together by once-s.h.i.+ny red paint and sheer hope, and two of the Eden House cars, big, black, and official looking. "Why aren't they white?" I asked Griffin, who sat beside me in the pa.s.senger seat. "Isn't white all that is holy and good? Pearly gates? Fluffy-white-cloud cities?"

"Too hard to keep clean with all the dust and sand," he grunted, sliding down and pus.h.i.+ng the seat back to close his eyes. "And demon blood."

"So cleanliness is better than G.o.dliness, not just next to it? The things you learn." I looked at the brown-gold skin of my hands on the steering wheel and grinned. "And pure white isn't all that. I could've told you."

"I was born pasty. It's not my fault," Zeke grumbled from the backseat.

I reached back with one hand and smoothed his copper hair. "No, sugar, none of this has ever been your fault."

He looked confused for a moment, then did what Zeke did best with confusion-he ignored it. "What are you going to do with the Light when you get it?"

"More to the point, do you think either side will let you keep it or choose whom to give it to?" Griffin murmured, his eyes still shut, obviously still wiped from the night before. Emotionally and physically. The death of so many comrades. That was triply hard on an empath as it was on the rest of us. "It's going to be a ma.s.sacre."

"Yes, indeed it is." My grin tightened to something with very little humor. I put my sungla.s.ses on and ramped the speed up to ninety.

"Sounds fun," Zeke said seriously. "Can I kill Trinity then?"

"Kit, when the time comes, you can kill anyone you want," I promised. Griffin opened his eyes and shot me a questioning glance, but I didn't answer. When it was time, he'd see-see if he'd still serve Heaven or serve anyone but Zeke and himself. I wasn't the only one whose life was going to change. He and Zeke were going to have to make a choice, and I had to say I was really curious to know the way they were going to go. Maybe even worried. You try and raise them right, but in the end, they have to make their own way. Make their own decisions. I shook my head.

Kids.

Chapter 14.

Rhyolite was a few miles from a tiny town called Beatty. I stopped there at a little gas station. I didn't need gas, but I was thirsty and a candy bar wouldn't kill me. Mainly, though, it was to irk the rest of the wagon train behind us. There was a bigger place, the Death Valley Nut and Candy Company on the north end of town, but they were so big, bright, and s.h.i.+ny that I figured they had all the business they needed. I liked giving my business to someone who actually could use it, and this ramshackle place looked like it could use all the help it could get.

I got out of the car and headed in, smiling at the actual rusty ding of a bell overhead. Didn't hear that much anymore. I touched a dreamcatcher hanging from the ceiling and gave it a gentle push. Inside, an American Indian teenager slouched over the counter, thumbing slowly through a magazine. He had short black hair, copper skin, and a long-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt that used to be black but now was faded gray. "What you want?" he said, with such incredible boredom that I was amazed he could keep his heart pumping from the sheer weight of the tedium of it all.

"Food, water, peace on Earth." I spread my arms, braced my hands on the counter, and gave him a big smile as a reference point. "And service with a smile maybe?"

He looked up when he heard my voice . . . female-ding . . . and smiled back. Smirked, rather-a genuine, h.o.r.n.y sixteen-year-old smirk. I might have pa.s.sed the big three-O, but I still had it. I laughed at myself-which is some of the very best laughter there is. "I've got more than a smile for-" A dark wrinkled hand smacked the back of his head hard. His grandfather or great-grandfather stepped up beside him.

"You show respect, Aaron. You show it to every visitor. You never know who might walk through our door." With iron gray hair streaked with white and tied back into a long ponytail, the man bowed his head. "I apologize for my grandson's slothful, rude ways. I am Samuel Blackhawk. Welcome."

By this time, Griffin and Zeke were wandering the whole two aisles of the store and Trinity and his men stood behind me. I gave Trinity and the others a dismissive look over my shoulder. "I'm hungry. So wait here or wait in the car. Up to you." Then I turned my attention back to Samuel Blackhawk and held out my hand. He hesitated for a second, then took it with exquisite care.

"Your eyes-I remember them." His own dark eyes flickered. "You are beautiful. You are terrifying."

"And you're a wise man with a silver tongue and one who knows how to treat a lady." I gripped his hand. Because I wasn't beautiful in the physical sense. My mixture of races made me striking, unusual, and definitely eye-catching. I was happier with that. Why be beautiful like so many when you can be uncommon? When you can stand out like the single exotic glow of a garnet in a field of tacky gold? As for terrifying, there were some demons and others on my s.h.i.+t list that could testify to that too. "Samuel Blackhawk, I would like three bottles of water and six candy bars. What would you like?" I released his hand and held up a finger as he began to demur. "I like you, Samuel, and I want to give you a present. And those men behind me with sour faces and even more sour dispositions are going to pay for it. Now, what would you like?"

He smiled then, showing one missing tooth at the bottom, and the look he gave Trinity and his crew wasn't the respectful one he gave me. "A truck. I would like a new truck. Mine only runs when it rains." Which out here was to say never.

I turned, pushed up, and sat on the counter. "Well? Someone go buy Mr. Blackhawk a truck. It's a small town, but I'm sure someone has something for sale." They didn't move. Neither did I, other than to examine my nails. I kept them short, but the bronze was still chipping. Considering the week I'd had, I wasn't surprised. I'd gone with the red first, but, no, the bronze was better, I thought. In fact . . .

"The Light," Trinity said tightly.

I raised my eyes. Who was pulling whose leash now? "When we have the truck."

He could have shot me. He wanted to, I knew. But there were Griffin and Zeke and civilians. He wasn't running the show anymore, not that he would admit it. He turned, back straight, and left the store to confer with his men. Thirty minutes later Samuel had his new truck. It was big, desert worthy, and a dark metallic green. I frowned, but took the keys from Goodman's stiff fingers and handed them to Samuel.

"Paint it red," I said. "Red is my color. Red is good luck. Red will always bring you good luck."

He nodded instantly. "I will."

The teenager, Aaron, protested, "But that's a cool-a.s.s green. Why should we-" He received another smack on the back of the head.

I took the bag of water and sugar and started back toward the door. I gave one last smile over my shoulder. "I liked you, Samuel Blackhawk. I still do."

Outside it was full dark and it seemed as if the stars should've been dancing as the cool wind blew through. "I thought you said you'd never been to Rhyolite," Griffin said.

It was true. I'd mentioned it in the car. "I haven't, but I've traveled around the desert. Just because I didn't stop at a tourist trap ghost town doesn't mean I don't know where the good-looking men are." I winked back at the door where Samuel stood and waved. Back on the road, we headed west to the ghost town, and Zeke ate all our candy bars.

"Killing takes a lot of energy. Sugar gives you energy," he said as he avoided Griffin's grab at the last bar.

"So killing and sugar go hand in hand? Is that what you're saying?" Griffin snorted.

"That is what I'm saying," came the answer, without a shred of doubt. Lenny, sitting on the top of the backseat, leaned closer and reached for a nut with his black beak. Zeke, who'd just denied one of the most prolific demon killers other than himself the chocolate bar, hesitated, then let him pick out a peanut and crunch placidly on it.

"Zeke, swear to G.o.d. You're not afraid of a demon, but you're afraid of a bird. I have so lost any respect I ever had for you." Griffin shook his head and swiveled to face the winds.h.i.+eld again.

"No, you haven't." Unconcerned, Zeke finished the chocolate.

"And how do you know that?" Griffin fiddled with the radio before shutting it off "If you had, you would've shot me and taken the candy bar."

The side of Griffin's mouth curled. "True."

"This is all entertaining," and it was, "but I'm hoping we can go for no killing tonight. I want to find the Light itself before any moves are made. This isn't the Light, only the last step before we get there. So be good boys. Don't kill the jacka.s.ses."

"Which is everyone in this convoy but us?"

I leaned over and opened the glove compartment to pull out a PayDay I'd been saving for emergencies and tossed it back to Zeke. "Good answer."

Griffin glared, a very much out of sorts Griffin indeed. The worst I'd seen him. In his life I'd seen him scared, sad, confident, in pain, angry, amused, happy, but I don't think I'd ever seen him quite this p.i.s.sed. We had had some bad, bad days this week, and he'd taken the brunt of it-literally feeling the pain of his partner being wounded, not knowing if he would live on top of it, losing more friends-even if he would've lost them anyway when Eden House kicked him out or put a bullet in the back of his skull. It was a lot to deal with. I reopened the compartment and gave him two PayDays and a kiss on the jaw.

"I'll always be your family, Griffin. Leo and I, as long as you want us." I would travel again, but there was no reason Griffin and Zeke couldn't come with me if they wanted. A newly rebuilt Vegas House wouldn't want them anymore and that was if they weren't actively trying to kill them for betraying House secrets. "You and Zeke will never be alone." Or lost as they'd been those seven years in foster care, when they'd had only each other. "Now, have some sugar, Sugar. We have work to do."

I don't know if the candy bar or the hand that I saw Zeke secretively place on Griffin's shoulder helped him more. They might be able to block out other human empaths and telepaths as well as the angel and demon variety, but I don't think since they'd come into their powers they'd ever put that to the test. I thought they were most likely wide open with one another, and that was what helped them survive before they knew what empathy and telepathy were. Before Eden House had come to clue them in, and once they did know, why close the barn door when the horses are jumping the fences and running for freedom? They were whole together in a way they couldn't be apart. Zeke needed Griffin to keep him human, to meet society's and the mental health system's definition anyway, and Griffin needed to be needed. Most of all he needed to save Zeke, but he also needed to save people, to save everyone he could, to save the world in essence. Why?

It was a good question, and like all good questions had to wait until the end of cla.s.s. Or the end of it all.

Whatever emotion Zeke pa.s.sed on to Griffin through his touch, it worked. The stiff shoulders slowly relaxed as did the bunched muscle of his jaw, and his eyes, hard as stone, returned to the blue warmth I was used to. "Thanks," I heard him murmur softly. Then I heard him think it as well. Not in my head, but I felt the s.h.i.+mmer of it pa.s.s through the air back to Zeke, the grat.i.tude in it so strong that the night air itself reflected it.

"Wuss." Zeke grinned. "You'll make me cry."

Although he never had. A baby died and he tried to slit his throat, but he hadn't cried. I didn't think Zeke was capable of crying, not yet. Self-mutilation and suicide, yes, but crying was far down the spectrum when one had to learn the full range of human emotions instead of being born with them. Suicide was easy; crying wasn't. It was a thousand small suicides scattered throughout your life. It made the big one, the only one, more logical-at least to the teenage Zeke, who was mystified by most emotions every moment of the day. He was still mystified, but he was better. Much better. Without Griffin, he would've been a sociopath. I knew it. But look at him now. I did just that, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

"a.s.s." But Griffin pa.s.sed back one of the PayDays.

I laughed and shook my head. Both of them scowled at me this time. "What's so funny?" Zeke demanded as he clutched the candy bar possessively.

"Just something I saw on the Discovery Channel once." I turned into Rhyolite. "Are you coming with us, Kit, or are you going to stay in the car and play with your s.h.i.+ny pebble?" I nodded at the PayDay.

They were both confused now, but I didn't have time to explain it. I also had no future plans of explaining it. They'd have to stumble their way through this on their own. I wasn't going to rob them of the thrill, the excitement of their entirely ridiculous and oblivious natures.

Rhyolite wasn't much to see at night. There was a caretaker, but Goodman and his magic encyclopedia of fake IDs took care of him. With Eden House though, they may not have been fake. Everyone might be as genuine as my knife in a demon's gut. We moved past the ruins of a foundation, some kind of miner 's building, and stopped at the Bottle House. The train station and abandoned Cook Bank were farther down the gravelly dirt road.

The Bottle House was fenced in, sadly enough, with chain-link topped with barbed wire and the saddest paddock lock I'd seen in my life. A five-year-old could've strolled through in less than thirty seconds, although I imagined our guitarist had climbed the fence and vaulted the wire. A five-year-old probably could've done that as well, the security was that half-hearted.

On the front of the gate was a plaque telling us that it had been originally built by a Tom Kelly in 1906. All the bottles, set in concrete, were beer or medicine bottles. Tom Kelly must have spent most of the early 1900s in a happy haze. The house had fallen to ruin once and since been redone-just a tiny L-shaped structure with the walls of bottles of clear green and amber gla.s.s. All the round bottoms of the bottles faced outward. It wasn't particularly attractive or interesting, not to me, but Jeb had liked it for some reason. Griffin popped the fence lock with the universal key-a pair of bolt cutters. The windows were boarded up and I tried the door. It was locked or relocked after the guitarist had broken in, and Goodman had sent away the caretaker with the key.

I sighed and dug in my pocket. Within seconds I was picking the lock, which was quite a ch.o.r.e considering the difference between locks now and then. I'd have been better off picking it with a fork than my tiny instruments. "Why not just kick it in?" Zeke asked, already losing his patience. No demons, no gunfire-what a waste of time in his opinion.

"Because, unlike some"-I tossed a narrow-eyed glance at Trinity, who stood to the side-"I respect other people's property." There were two things wrong with that statement. Granted, Trinity had one of his Eden Housers kick down my door, but I burned down Solomon's nightclub anytime I couldn't find anything good on late-night TV. That was the first thing. The second thing came in a matter of minutes, and it wasn't my fault. I could do a lot of things, but predicting the future wasn't one of them.

Once I was able to get the door open, Griffin, Zeke, Trinity, Goodman, Oriphiel, and I all went inside. It was a tight squeeze for just the six of us and the others were sent back to the cars. As Griffin turned on a small flashlight from his pocket and Zeke pumped a slug into his shotgun, Goodman moved in front of Trinity and raised a shotgun of his own.

"Stop with the testosterone. I'm trying to concentrate," I said absently. I could feel it-a sliver of the Light. But where? Before it had been easy. Touch a shark's brain, touch a drug addict's melting mind, but this-this was different. The Light wasn't in anything organic. It was here and everywhere, but I couldn't pin it down. I knelt down and touched a hand to the wooden floor. No. Here, everywhere, but not there.

I stood and looked around as Griffin's flashlight hit one of the thousands of bottles that made up the wall. It shone in the light like diamonds. In the Light. That was it. . . . That was where it was. The last sign. The last stepping-stone to the Light and vengeance. Awed, almost unbelieving after all this time, I stepped forward and placed a hand against the cool gla.s.s of the bottles.

That's when the house blew up.

Technically, not true. The house blew outward, every bit of it. Had it simply blown up, I doubt too many would've been left, sliced to pieces, to tell the tale. It sounded as if the roof landed in two or three sections several hundred feet away, and the walls . . . those incredible walls of gla.s.s . . . how had I not seen how beautiful they were? The gla.s.s poured outward into the night like a sideways rainfall. And every fragment of them, every piece, every shard, glowed like a white-hot sun.

Trinity and Goodman had dived to the floor. The angel had disappeared. Griffin and Zeke flanked me as I stared at my hand that glowed as brightly as the flying gla.s.s. None of the three of us had a single cut. The shattered gla.s.s hung in the air for nearly a minute, s.h.i.+mmering brilliantly, before finally settling in the sand like the glitter of thousands of falling stars; the glow faded away slowly as it did in my hand. But I could still feel it. Warm, powerful, mine.

If anyone lurking around had seen that, we'd just created a new Roswell-Elvis-loving aliens welcome. Either that or they'd think something had made it out of Area 51. It was only about one hundred miles northeast-a short hop for escaping aliens.

Zeke looked around at the debris: the scattered gla.s.s, the pieces of roof-all the remains of a miracle of light and destruction. "Huh. Cool." Then he shrugged, walked back over the now-flattened door, and headed for our car. And probably that PayDay. Mysteries of the universe, yeah, whatever, was his att.i.tude. Job done. Let's go. There were times I almost envied Zeke's been-there, done-that, live-in-the-moment att.i.tude. Not the consequences of it, but the escape it could be.

"Holy s.h.i.+t," Griffin said, scanning the s.p.a.ce where the walls had once been, then up to see sky where a roof once was, and finally back down at the floor still st.u.r.dy beneath our feet-and beneath Trinity's and Goodman's bellies. "You . . . d.a.m.n . . . Holy s.h.i.+t," he repeated, and managed to slide it by without comment as Goodman, normally our "Thou shall not blaspheme" enthusiast, was still covering his head and praying fer vently under his breath. Although I didn't think "holy s.h.i.+t" counted as a true blasphemy.

"Not me," I denied. "The Light." If such a minute bit of the Light could do that, what kind of power would the entire thing hold? I knew if I was wondering that, Trinity was as well. Savoring it. Picturing the moment he held it in his hands, although I didn't think the now-absent Oriphiel was picturing the same thing. Let a mere human touch such a glory? I couldn't see him allowing it.

But back to business. "Whatever card Goodman flashed the caretaker, I don't think is going to cover this without a lot of talking. And it's almost bedtime." I stepped over Goodman on the floor, saw the chilly bite of Trinity's eyes, and kept walking. Griffin followed me, still shaking his head in awe as gla.s.s crunched under his shoes. "Just be thankful Zeke didn't ask me to do it again," I said as I gave him a light shove to the shoulder.

I climbed back into the car, this time in the pa.s.senger seat, and Lenore hopped onto my shoulder. "Nevermore?" he cawed doubtfully.

"No, Lenny. No nevermore. Now. The time is now." I propped my knees against the dashboard.

"Now," he repeated, and squatted up against the warmth of my neck. He sounded as grimly contented as I felt. "Now."

We made it ten miles, Griffin driving this time, before Eli materialized in the backseat next to Zeke. If it had been daylight, we could've cruised through Death Valley, past the Artists Palette, a chunk of mountain striped in pastel greens, yellows, blues, and pinks, or seen the Devil's Golf Course, a salt flat that had cracked and bubbled with escaping air until it looked like the surface of an alien moon. But it was night and instead of nature-made tourist attractions, we were given Eli. I definitely did not consider it a fair trade.

I knew he was there before I turned my head. I smelled him. Not sulfur or death. No, I smelled freshly popped and b.u.t.tered popcorn. I turned to see him toss a few dripping yellow kernels into his mouth. "Thanks for the invite. That was quite a show." He grinned. "Heaven, h.e.l.l, and a fireworks extravaganza. What more could you want? I'll bet you scared the a.s.s feathers off those parrots from Upstairs."

Zeke had put his hand on his shotgun by his leg, but then I could see the memory in his pale green eyes of what had happened at the bar the last time he'd fired at Eli and Solomon. He could fire as often as he liked and he still wouldn't hit the demon. Solomon and Eli were simply too quick for a human body's actions and reactions-when they were prepared. There was no chance that Eli wasn't prepared now. He, like Solomon, had already made that mistake once before with me and ended up with a pool cue through his abdomen. He wasn't going to be unprepared again. Zeke knew it and only rested his hand on the gun instead of yanking it up to fire. Eli's grin became mock solemn. "You can learn. Not fast, but you can learn. Good for you." He extended the bag of popcorn toward Zeke. "Treat? Go on. A nummy-num for positive reinforcement?" Zeke ignored him, and you truly haven't been ignored until you've been ignored by Zeke. As far as he was concerned, Eli had been plucked from the fabric of existence itself. The seat was empty and a demon called Eligos didn't exist. Never had. Unless he made a hostile move.

Eli offered the popcorn to me instead. Who knew where his hands had been, besides down his own pants? No thanks. I turned back and watched him in the rearview mirror. "Trixa, you were a star. You glowed like the most brilliant of supernovas."

"Mmmm?" I raised an eyebrow suspiciously. It seemed rather lame for Eli. Slick for a science geek maybe, but that wasn't the kind of s.e.xy Eli liked to put out. "You think?"

"One of those amazing ones that wipe out entire peaceful civilizations. Billions of lives gone in one matter-destroying radioactive glare of cosmic poison. You were magnificent." Happy as a serial killer with a full dungeon in his bas.e.m.e.nt and a week off work to enjoy it, he slid down in the seat and continued with the popcorn and watching the stars above us. The convertible top was down and the sky was spectacular; I had to give him that.

Or maybe he wasn't watching the stars; maybe he was watching for something else. Someone else-someone bright and silver. I didn't think exploding gla.s.s would scare off angels long. "I don't think I've ever been so . . . d.a.m.n . . . elated before," he said, before continuing nos talgically. "Well, there was that time with one d.a.m.n unlucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d; a red-hot poker; four horses aimed north, south, east, and west; and the crowd cheering me on. The Coliseum was always a great place to go on vacation. Reinvigorated you. Taught you the little things in life can still make it all worthwhile."

"As much as I'm loving the trip down memory lane," I said glacially, "stop sending me body parts. I already hate your kind. You don't want me hating you specifically, Eligos. Trust me on that."

"My full name." He flashed his teeth at me, unabashed. "Makes me feel like I've been a bad boy. I need some punishment. Up for that?" When I didn't respond, he crumpled the bag into a ball and sighed. "Ah well. And I really hoped that would work. I searched for someone who resembled your friend, and he's a big guy-it took some time. Dulled my best carving knife, but the h.e.l.l with Thanksgiving, I said, and this is what I get? Not only you don't fall for it, but you don't appreciate the effort I put into it. That's just uncivil." He leaned forward again. "How'd you know? He hasn't come back. I have a few low-level flunkies watching the place. Did he call? I stole his cell phone the last time I was around him so you couldn't call him, but there was always the chance he'd call you. I was playing the odds."

"And you c.r.a.pped out big-time." I wasn't about to tell him how I knew.

He drummed the back of Griffin's seat with one hand and tossed the red and white paper bag out the window. He could've made it disappear, but littering was a little sinful, right? You took them where you could get them, I guessed. Even the tiny sins. "It doesn't matter . . . although it was still a daring plan; you have to admit that."

"No, I don't. And why doesn't it matter?"

This smile was gloating. This smile said he had me right where he wanted me. "I found your brother's killer."

I'd known it. Felt it. The Light, Eden House, angels and demons, all of it converging together after all this time. It left only one thing-Kimano's killer. There was a synchronicity to it, an inevitability. The moment I'd heard that demon I'd killed whisper of the Light with his last worthless breath, I knew it would bring Kimano's murderer to me, because it was the only thing that everyone would want. Do anything to possess. Above and Below. Someone would be willing to pay the price.

I turned again and smiled at him. You wouldn't think a demon, especially one of Eli's rank and caliber, would flinch at the simple curve of two human lips. And he didn't . . . quite, but he s.h.i.+fted his shoulders and puffed up as all male creatures do to ward off predators. "He'll be there, then? When I find the Light?" I asked.

"He'll be there. I'd swear to it, but we both know that would just be fun and games in futility." He frowned, puzzled. It put a crease between his eyebrows I doubt he'd have been fond of had he been human and that crease permanent. But demons don't need Botox, and Eli didn't need any sign of weakness from me. "Don't you want to know the name? Don't you want to know, even if I won't trade him until you give me the Light?"