Silver-Tongued Devil (19 page)

“But—” The demon strained to get a better view. “But—”

I looked at the three sets of eager gazes watching the party. Since Erron’s information about Cain really affected only Adam and me, I decided it was probably best to leave the others there. “Okay, you three stay here and enjoy the party. Adam and I will be back in a few.” I lifted the cat from my shoulder and handed him over to PW. “Behave.”

The cat blinked his eyes at me. “Sabina, you wound me.”

“Whatever. Just don’t hump anyone. You don’t know where these humans have been.”

We left them and followed Ziggy into a dark hallway that led to another dressing room. This one was larger than the other. Instead of the moldy Berber and office furniture of the other room, this one had plush shag carpeting and velvet divans and a tufted ottoman. Clearly, we’d entered the sanctuary reserved for the real star.

But the star was nowhere in sight. Instead, the only inhabitant was a tiny woman dressed in a red vinyl miniskirt, miniature fishnets, and a black-sequined halter top. I remembered her from New Orleans, but I’d never caught her name. However, I did remember she was Erron’s full-time hairdresser as well as a part-time gimp equestrian. Long story.

If she noticed our arrival, she didn’t show it. Instead, she busied herself painting her nails. Ziggy whistled to get her attention. She looked up then. “Hey, Zig.”

He nodded toward us expectantly. Her eye roll did little for my ego. “Oh,” she said in a bored tone. “It’s you.”

Before any of us could respond, Erron emerged from a side door. He wore the same leather pants he’d had onstage. But he’d thrown a black kimono over his torso, unbelted to show off his chest wound, I presumed.

When he saw us he stopped. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“How could I resist after I read your note?” I said. “Great show, by the way.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks.” He turned toward Ziggy, speaking as he signed. “Remind me to tell MC Macabre that he’s coming in too early on ‘Fuck the Clowns.’ ”

Ziggy flashed a thumbs-up and signed something back I couldn’t decipher. Erron merely nodded and collapsed with a groan onto the couch.

After that, Erron seemed to dismiss our presence altogether. The table in front of the couch was a mosaic of multicolored pills, snack foods, and drug paraphernalia. Erron grabbed a handful of M&Ms—or at least I hoped that’s what they were—and threw them into his mouth.

“Erron,” Adam said, speaking with exaggerated patience. “Your note said you had new information for us?”

The singer swallowed a mouthful of liquor. “Oh, right, sorry. I’m always a little spaced out after a show. I just need a minute to chill, if you don’t mind.”

I glanced at the dressing table where the little person continued to paint her nails. If we were about to discuss dark-races business, it probably wasn’t a good idea to do it in front of a mortal. “Um, maybe you should ask the midget to leave first.”

Erron looked over at her. “Who? Goldie? She knows everything.”

I choked. “Seriously? Your name’s Goldie?” The first time I’d seen her, Erron’s little friend had been peeing on his bassist during an orgy, so the name seemed too good to be true.

Goldie jumped down from the counter where she’d been perched. “That’s right, bitch. Goldie Schwartz. And I’m not a fucking midget. I prefer the term ‘fun sized.’ ”

I squinted at her for a moment, wondering if she was fucking with me. But she held my stare with the menace of a woman three times her size. “No offense intended,” I muttered.

She ignored me and sidled up to Erron. Rubbed his arm with her nubby fingers. “You need anything, baby?”

He took her hand and kissed the knuckles. “No, I’m good. Why don’t you go join the others?” After his initial stance that she was welcome to stay, she seemed shocked by his dismissal. But instead of challenging him on it, she strutted in her miniature stilettos toward Ziggy.

“Come on, doll,” Goldie signed as she sashayed toward him. “Let’s go get coked out of our minds and show those amateurs a real party.”

Ziggy’s eyebrows shot up to his pompadour. He nodded enthusiastically and saluted us as he followed her out the door. Once they were gone, the dressing room fell silent except for the muted beat of music from the party.

Adam and I exchanged a tense look. Erron had said he needed a few minutes, but I wasn’t really in the mood to cater to his rock star ego. I cleared my throat. “Listen, if this isn’t a good time—”

Erron set his bottle of Beam on the table and sighed. “No, it’s fine. I’m just so fucking glad this tour’s finally over. I was just savoring the silence. But I appreciate you guys coming.” He scrubbed a hand across the bandage on his chest, as if the wound still hurt him.

If he’d been an Adherant mage, one who followed the dictates of the Hekate Council, he’d have been able to heal that wound no problem. But that cut and the scars left over from other such stunts bore testament to his Recreant status. The minute he’d broken from the Council, they’d stripped him of his ability to heal himself. Judging from the multitude of scars crisscrossing his chest, I had to wonder if Erron’s little cutting hobby was really a “fuck you” to the Council. Sad, really, considering the Council paid no attention to his activities as far as I could tell.

“Do you guys remember what I told you about when I hunted down Cain?” Erron said suddenly.

“Yeah,” Adam said, dropping onto the couch across from Erron. “You said you hunted him down after he killed your band, but when you figured out you couldn’t kill him, you ran away.”

“Right. I also told you that after six months of hell I finally realized he wasn’t coming for me.” He took another swig of bourbon. “The news is, I finally found out why.”

“Well?” I demanded.

“For the last few months I’ve been on tour in Europe. While I was there, I tracked down that group I told you about.”

“Yeah, I remember you mentioning them in New Orleans. The ones who helped you find Cain to begin with,” Adam said. “Who are they exactly?”

“They’re a small band made up mostly of mages and vampires. They’re led by a male who calls himself Abel. Not the original guy from the mortal Bible, obviously. I never met him when I worked with the group in the past because he’s super secretive. But he’s a mage and he’s… weird.”

My eyebrows rose at the irony of hearing the leader of a shock-rock band with a penchant for midget strippers call anyone weird.

“He wears these robes like a monk and refuses to let anyone see his face. Still, his people helped me in the past, so I know he’s solid.”

“Any idea who he really is?” Adam asked.

Erron shook his head. “He may be weird but he’s dead serious about stopping Cain. Anyway, when I was in Rome, I got in touch with one of his associates. Set up a meeting.”

“Why?” Adam asked.

Erron leaned forward. Now that we’d gotten him talking, he’d dropped the weary rock star routine. Even his eyes had cleared, like he’d sobered up. “Because after my involvement in your mission in New Orleans, I wanted to be sure Cain wasn’t going to start gunning for me again. Plus, I might be a Recreant, but I still give a shit about whether someone’s planning on wiping all mages from the earth.”

“Fair enough,” Adam said. “What did this Abel tell you?”

Erron rubbed his hands on his legs, as if settling in for a long story. “Turns out he and his group finally made their move on Cain right after my encounter with him. This would be about ten years ago. There was some big showdown and they managed to bind Cain magically. He’s been on ice in a secret location ever since.”

Adam frowned. “Why didn’t they just kill him?”

“Cain can’t be killed,” Erron said. “When God marked him after killing his brother, he decreed that anyone who killed Cain would reap punishment sevenfold. So Abel’s only choice was to use a spell to put the asshole in a state of suspended animation, kind of like a permanent coma without the need for respirators.”

“Wait,” I said. “That doesn’t make any sense. Lavinia’s goons almost managed to summon Cain to that cemetery in New Orleans. If Abel’s spell was so great, how did the Caste manage that?”

“Naturally, I asked Abel the same question. He said I must be mistaken. One of his people is with the body at all times and no one reported anything out of the ordinary. He also claims only his blood can break the spell.”

“I’ve never met this Abel guy, but he sounds like an idiot.” I huffed out a breath. “I saw Cain begin to materialize with my own eyes. Plus, he visited my dreams more than once.”

“If Maisie had been dreaming about Cain, then we’d have a reason to worry,” Adam said. “But yours are just probably your subconscious’s way of dealing with everything that happened.”

“I can’t say whether that’s true or not, but Abel seemed convinced there was no reason to worry.” Erron shrugged. “Maybe the summoning was an illusion or a trick to make you think they had Cain on their side. Either way, Abel said he’d step up his wards around the body as a precaution.”

“Did you see the body?” Adam asked.

“Not in person. Abel isn’t messing around. He doesn’t let anyone near Cain except for his own people. But he did show me a video feed from the surveillance cameras. The body I saw was Cain’s. I’m sure of it.”

I snorted. “No offense, Erron, but there are so many holes in that story that I’m actually less convinced we’re safe.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. But if Abel is lying and Cain actually is capable of escaping, why hasn’t he come after you? Or me, for that matter?” He shook his head and took another swig.

“But if Cain has been imprisoned all these years, why did Lavinia claim she was working for him?” I asked.

“Just spit balling here,” Adam said, “but maybe it was because your grandmother was a vindictive, scheming bitch?”

“True enough, but she also had the Caste working for her,” I said. “Surely that suggests Cain’s involvement.”

“Or she convinced the Caste that Cain was communicating with her to get them to cooperate,” Adam said, almost to himself.

I jerked my head to stare at him. “Look, I want to believe Cain isn’t an issue anymore, too. But this is all a little too convenient, don’t you think?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I trust Abel,” Erron said. “That guy’s odd, sure, but I’ve never met anyone with more single-minded dedication. He eats, breathes, and sleeps keeping Cain imprisoned.”

I leaned forward. “That’s bugging me, too.”

Adam looked at me. “What?”

“Why is Abel so obsessed with Cain?”

We both looked at Erron for the answer. “I don’t know, but if I had to guess I’d say Cain probably caused some trouble in Abel’s life along the way. Isn’t that how all these stories start? Bad guy kills a man’s lover or family and that man turns into a vigilante?”

I sucked a deep breath in through my nose and leaned back. Releasing it slowly, I said, “I wish I could believe that was all true. But something tells me we haven’t seen the last of Cain.”

“Maybe not. But until there’s some reason to believe otherwise, why not relax a little?” Erron leaned back, cradling the Jim Beam like a security blanket. “Lavinia’s dead and the treaty is about to be signed. Even if Cain could somehow manage to escape Abel’s bonds without being noticed, he’ll still have a hell of a time trying to start a war now.”

I wished I could share Erron’s optimism. But my hands were clammy and a tickle at the base of my skull told me that letting my guard down would be a colossal mistake. I turned toward Adam, who looked pensive rather than skeptical. “What’s your gut saying?”

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. “That until Cain makes another move—if he makes one—there isn’t much we can do.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “All the leaders know what happened in New Orleans and are vigilantly working toward peace. They already rooted out any remaining Caste members they could find,” he said. “They even killed several human members of the Brotherhood of the Eastern Mystery for their involvement with the Caste in New Orleans. Even if Cain was really a threat, he’d have a tough time trying to start a war now. I vote we move on until there’s a concrete reason to worry.”

It all sounded so reasonable, but I couldn’t let down my guard that easily. “Does Abel have any plans beyond keeping Cain bound? I mean, they can’t keep him like that forever.”

Erron shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. But he’s a mage and mages live for a long time.” He rubbed his wound absently. “Most of them do, anyway.”

“I’d feel a lot better if I could talk to this Abel myself.”

Erron smiled tightly. “Sabina, I understand your concerns, but I have as much—if not more—reason to want Cain out of the picture. He killed my old band and, before that, he almost killed Ziggy and left him permanently deaf. I’ve looked into Cain’s face and seen the murder in his cold green eyes. If I had any reason to believe that sadistic bastard could get to me or anyone I gave a shit about, I’d tell you.”

I sighed and leaned back into the cushions. For all his strange fetishes and his angry music, Erron was a good guy. I knew I could trust him. He’d proven himself more than once in New Orleans. But my stomach clenched anyway. Why was letting go so tough?

“If you hear anything new from Abel you let me know ASAP.”

“Of course,” he said. “If it’s any consolation I understand how hard it is to relax. When you’ve spent so long waiting for an attack, it’s hard to believe you’re finally safe.”

I swallowed the knot of emotion in my throat. His words conveyed what I was feeling exactly. “I guess I do need some practice with optimism.”

“It just so happens I know the perfect way to start doing just that,” Erron said. “How about we all go join the party?”

I grimaced. “No offense, but I’ve seen what you call a party. Not exactly my scene.”

“Don’t listen to her,” Giguhl said from the doorway. “Give her five minutes in there and she’ll be snorting coke off a whore’s ass, too.”

We all turned to see the demon cat cradled in the midget’s arms. “Come on, you guys,” he said, nestling into Goldie’s tiny bosom. “MC Macabre is about to show everyone how he can blow himself.”

Adam squinted at the demon. “Are you drunk?”