jinn 02 - inferno (11 page)

“What’s your name, pal?”

He sat on Maggie’s bed, his back resting against the white padded headboard, his feet stretched out in front of him. “Tom Jameson. And you’re Baker McGovern.”

“At your service. Have we met?”

“You can wait around here until dusk, but when she comes out of the closet she won’t have any more interest in talking to you than you would talking to a cow when you’re hungry for steak.”

“That so? Well, the way I see this, you have two choices. You can tell me why you chose Maggie and why you want her, and I’ll make sure her family doesn’t systematically dismantle your life and body.
Or
, you can wait for Holden and pray he’s in a good mood.”

Tom laughed, but the sound faded into nothing as a black mist filled Maggie’s living room.

“Too late.” I winked at him. Mist gathered and formed into Holden. If ol’ Tom hadn’t recognized Holden by name, he sure as hell knew him now, judging by his “I just stepped on a landmine” expression.

Holden eyes swiveled around until they landed on me. He was in the room in two steps. “Who the fuck is that?”

“That’s the vampire who turned your niece into a card carrying member of the undead.”

Tom was still as death and Holden’s glare froze on his face. “Repeat that.”

I did as I was told. Holden leaned his head back ever so slightly, flames dancing in his eyes—
actual flames
. I’d never seen anything like it. Blue flickers of curling, wisping
fire
erupted through his green eyes. It was eerie as fuck. “Why is he still alive, Baker?” His voice was soft and tendrils of smoke escaped from his mouth as he spoke.

“Anything we do to him, she’ll feel. The better question is why did he choose her? Ol’ Tom here wasn’t inclined to answer that question for me. I thought you might like a crack at him.”

“How long will it take to get a coffin?” he asked, his gaze not wavering from Tom.

“How fast do you need it?”

“Now.”

“Give me a few minutes.” I left without looking back. I hadn’t the foggiest idea how to legitimately get a coffin without going through a funeral home, but even then I didn’t think they’d just let me walk out with it, so there was only one choice. We would have to “borrow.” I pinched a motorcycle parked on the street and went in search of a funeral home. After about fifteen minutes, I found one. It actually had a funeral going on. Bingo!

I shifted into a man who was at least 103 and wore a three-piece suit that was too short. A stogie sat perched between my nicotine stained lips, and my yellowing fingers grasped the handle of a steel-tipped cane. I hobbled inside, nodding to people as I went. After signing the guest book as Odell Hollingsworth, I stuck my head into the sparsely attended viewing room. But in the place of the body was a picture of an old woman and an urn. Damn it. I turned to leave and a younger man came up to me.

“Were you friends with Mrs. Jones?”

“Uh…I knew her many years ago,” I said in a froggy voice.

“I’m sure the family would love to see you again.” He put a hand on my back and all but shoved me back into the room.

I pushed back against his hand. “I was just headed for the restroom. The old bladder ain’t what she used to be.”

“This will only take a minute,” the slick little man insisted. Holden was going to burst into flames or shit a brick while was I was giving my respects to an old dame I didn’t even know.

I stopped resisting, deciding to make the most of it. So long as I had no choice, it was go big or go home. I eyed the two middle aged people sitting in the front row with a four foot gap between them. Kids probably. They certainly didn’t look close.

“This is mister…” The bland eyes of the funeral director looked at me.

“Uh, Hollingsworth.”

“Yes, of course. Mr. Hollingsworth. He knew sister Jones when they were young.”

Both heads turned toward me. I cleared my throat. “Yep. Sure did. Your mom was a real looker back in her day. And she had legs”—I glanced back at the pictures and the woman in question couldn’t have been more than a stocky five feet tall—“that were stout. Like tree trunks. I always loved a husky woman.”

The woman’s eyebrows pulled together and she frowned. “How did you know Aunt Agnes?”

“We dated.” They looked at me blankly, compelling me to expand. “Hooo boy, let me tell ya, she was a wild one. Dancing, drag racing, never met a struggle buggy she didn’t like—”

The man pressed his lips together in a thin line. “You knew her in Germany? Before she became a nun, I take it?”

Shit. “Yeah, I was stationed there. It was good meeting you. Better hit the head. Forgot my diaper today.”

The woman stifled a laugh with a gasp.

“Incontinence is not a laughing matter, dearie.” I all but ran toward the exit, amused but aware that time was passing me by.

The second funeral home was a squat tan stucco building with burnt orange awnings. A smattering of people in black milled about outside, smoking. I parked around the block and shifted into a woman in a snug black dress with a plunging neckline. Donning large black sunglasses, though the day was overcast, I headed for the door swinging my hips and sniffling. A couple mourners nodded at me as I went inside. I signed the guest book “Anne Marie Cooley,” and grabbed a copy of the program so I could see who died. An old guy named Winston Barnaby. I hovered around the doorway searching the room for someone who looked like they worked there. Finally my eyes landed on a man with a discreet golden nameplate pinned to his chest. I caught his eye and nodded slightly. He stopped talking midsentence and his ruddy cheeks brightened even more. I winked and beckoned him with a finger. Moments later he excused himself and headed toward me. I moved from the entry and went to the restroom door. When he was in sight again, I smiled and inclined my head toward the restroom, then slipped inside.

“Did you need something, ma’am?” He quietly shut the door and flipped the lock into place.

I ran a hand down my side shimming up my dress to expose even more leg. “You.” I sank my teeth into my lower lip and heaved my chest, showing off my amazing rack.

He fumbled for something to say but took steps toward me. When he was within a foot, I hit him. The rotund man dropped like a sack of flour. I took him by the ankles and dragged him into the stall, locked the door, then shimmed out beneath it. One more shift and I emerged from the restroom as him.

I headed for the back of the home. There had to be a back exit somewhere. I found a room filled with empty coffins, each next to its own brochure.

“Paul,” said a feminine voice. “There you are. Are we ready to start the service?”

I looked up. “Let’s give the family ten more minutes, then we’ll start.”

“Very good.” The door softly shut behind her.

I lifted the end of each display coffin, testing weights, until I found one I could lift on my own. Now I just needed a way to transport it. I went through two more doors before I found what I was looking for: the back alley with a hearse primed and waiting. I rapped on the driver’s window. He rolled down the window.

“Hey, man. You have a phone call in the office. You have time to take it if you want.”

The guy got out. “I’m so sorry about this, Paul. It won’t happen again.”

I waved him off. “Don’t worry about it.” I followed the man in, then lifted the lightest coffin to the ground and dragged it outside.

While Baker was gone I fixed the runes, rearranged the furniture, and learned three new languages. Well, two out of three wasn’t bad. What the hell was taking him so long? I’d said two hours.
Two
. It was clear, decisive, and I didn’t stutter. The kid would be fine if I left. There was nothing she could get into here and not much could walk through the door. I checked on her again and she was still out like a light. They leave the only sane woman to babysit. What a bunch of bullshit!

I pulled my ponytail over my shoulder and examined the ends as I lay on the couch. Finally the door clicked and Holden and Baker came barreling through, carrying a coffin. “Redecorating?” I asked.

Holden just glared as he charged forward, looking utterly pissed off. Baker trudged behind him, supporting the back of the coffin, and nodded to me. “Watch him,” he said—a line that sounded all too familiar. What? Was I carrying a “crappy job wanted” sign or something?

I glanced back at the door as a person came through, shrouded in a thick black blanket. What the hell was going on?

“Do you mind getting the door?” a muffled voice asked from under the blanket. It was vaguely familiar, which sent my curiosity into overdrive. I closed and locked the door. A moment later the blanket fell to the floor.

Bright blue eyes met mine, freezing me in place. The guy had the nerve to smile. “Surprise,” he said.

An arc of emotion seared through my mind, starting with shock that quickly faded to relief that skyrocketed into anger. I was beside him in two steps, my fist connected with his stupid ass jaw. It was hard to say whether the cracking sound came from my bones or his bone breaking, but I didn’t care. Son of bitch. I went to hit him again, but Holden appeared between us and caught my fist in his hand. We still hadn’t found a rune or script that could keep him from transporting which posed a security issue when Olivia freed the jinn.

Thomas stumbled backward, holding his face. Baker sprinted into the room.

“Let. Me. Go,” I told Holden. “This has nothing to do with you. Whatever he told you, it’s a lie.”

Holden merely shook his head, though he looked like he wouldn’t really mind me having a go at that lying, cheating, rat bastard of a vampire.

“Whatever he did, kitten, you can’t hurt him just yet. We have to figure out some things first.” Baker stood next to Holden, making a wall of muscled chest in front of me.

I narrowed my eyes. “You can’t trust him.”

“Who said anything about trusting him?” Baker said. “All I said is we can’t hurt him at the moment.”

“Why?” I asked.

“He turned Maggie into a vampire,” Holden said, his eyes bursting with blue flames that were so strange I forgot all about wanting to kill Thomas.

“Maggie? Like your Maggie?”

“She’s
my
Maggie now,” Thomas gloated.

Holden’s jaw flexed. “Get him out of here, Baker,” he said.

“Will do, boss.” Baker grabbed Thomas’s arm, trotted him over to a cell, and shoved him inside.

The flames in Holden’s eye died down and he rubbed a spot on his forehead.

“What was that?” I blurted.

“What was
what
? I didn’t hear anything,” he said though his head snapped to attention.

“No, man. Your eyes.”

He gave me an impatient look. “What about them?”

“Well, they’ve burst into flames a couple times today,” Baker said.

Holden raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Blue flames,” I said, nodding. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s totally badass, but weird.”

Holden looked at us, then gave a half-hearted shrug. “I haven’t noticed but I don’t stare at myself in mirrors all day. Olivia would know better than me.”

“Well, you’re not hard to look at. There are worse things to stare at,” I said with a wink.

“Never mind about the eyes. We have a vampire situation?” Holden asked, ignoring me.

There was a knock on the door. Holden pulled his gun, unlocked it, then pulled the heavy door open. “What are you doing here?” he asked not stepping aside.

“The demons aren’t exactly thrilled with this most recent development,” Phoenix said.

“Not my problem,” Holden said, placing a hand on the frame and blocking the entire door.

“Come on, man. Don’t be a dick.”

“I didn’t tell you to free yourself. You’re the one who insisted. Deal with it.”

“Better with us than against us,” I said, interrupting their stare off. “We already have one weasel inside, might as well let in two.”

Holden shook his head, but stepped out of the way. Phoenix limped through the door, a chunk of oily black hair covering half of his bloody, beaten face—even his guyliner was smeared.

“How’d you get away?” Baker asked.

“I waited until morning, picked the handcuffs and broke out a window,” he said. “I didn’t tell them anything.”