Hell's Gates (Urban Fantasy) (9 page)

I was going to find a way to make that wish come true. I’d track this shit to its source… before it infected all of Orlando.

I
balanced
the end of my bat on one finger, the pale ash remaining perfectly in balance while I paced the outer edges of the room. I eyed the Mona Lisa, her secret smile, and noticed the red hue of her eyes. I flicked my attention to the corner, searching for the artist’s signature:
L da Vito
.

Lucifer da Vito. Devil’s life. Cute.

I snorted and moved on to the next painting, The Birth of Venus with more red eyes. This one by
S da Parto.

Satan da Parto. Satan’s birth. Or delivery.

I circled the entire office, making the rounds with my pretty little bat still in place, ready to be used if needed. The sword hadn’t done anything and two of those strapped to my back were a hell of a lot more conspicuous than a baseball bat. With me in boots, ragged jeans, and a thin shirt, I looked like a grub ready to play ball, not a bitch looking for a reason to swing.

A door quietly opened and then swung shut, the latch snipping into place.

“Enjoying the artwork?” Killian’s voice flowed over me, his cultured accent holding a slight purr.

If only he did something for me. “Pretty.”

He hummed and I listened to his approach, eight-hundred-dollar dress shoes sinking into the plush carpet. I was sure he paid retail, too. I was a shoe girl. It was a thing. “The human copies are nice,” he paused beside me, “but I prefer the originals myself.”

I could understand why. Some of my uncle’s evil coated the painted surface, his passion for the art imbued in the canvases. Appealing to lesser demons.

I shrugged and moved to the next. Or pretended to anyway. Taking two steps away from the lawyer gave me enough space to flip my bat and swing it around, pressing the end to the center of Killian’s chest.

“As nice as Uncle Luc’s artwork is, that’s not why I’m here.”

He simply smirked, a tilt of his lips. Yeah, still nothing going on below the belt. If anything, the wolf was acting as an anti-arousal.

“Then by all means.” He took a step back and slowly strolled to his desk. He lowered himself to the leather chair and placed his folded hands on the shined surface. “Let us discuss the reason you’re here.”

Bat slung over one shoulder, I dug in my pocket with my free hand and tossed the small baggie onto Killian Howe’s desk. I stared him right in the eye, silently daring him to lie. “What do you know about this? Is Uncle Luc in my sandbox? Is that why he’s not answering me?”

Killian flicked his attention to the bag and then back to me. If he was surprised to see it, he had a damned good poker face. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

I tightened my grip on the bat. My nerves were ragged, scraped raw by the events of the last few days and I knew I’d snap soon.

Chicago in Orlando. How fun.

“You…” I whispered the word. “You’re
not at liberty
? And what, exactly, does that mean?”

“Confidentiality.” He spread his hands apologetically, but I saw the joy in his eyes. “There are certain issues I can assist you with, and others I cannot discuss. This is one of the latter.”

Rage burned. It bubbled in my veins, pumping to the beat of my heart and a single tendril of smoke rose from the handle of my bat.

I wasn’t going to blow up the building. I wasn’t. I spoke through gritted teeth. “Then what the fuck
are
you at liberty to discuss? Because so far, I’ve gotten jack all from your ass.”

“I’m at your disposal for any matters that would normally fall under your uncle’s purview.”

I licked my lips and tilted my head to the side, giving the lawyer a narrow-eyed stare. I rolled his words around in my head, dissecting them and trying to discover Killian’s real message. My uncle was a frustrating man at the best of times, so it wasn’t easy to figure out what I could get out of the attorney.

Perhaps I’d stormed out of our last meeting too soon. As frustrated as I’d been with Killian, he was probably operating under a certain set of restrictions. Lucifer was all about fine print and carefully worded contracts.

Contracts signed in blood.

Hypothetically, Killian could even want to help me, but be unable due to his Hellborne agreement. Something that restricted what he could say or do. Which was totally Uncle Luc’s style. Then there was the other angle; it could be one of Killian’s other clients and he couldn’t exactly reveal that information either. Yet Uncle Luc had sent me Killian Howe for a reason.

“So, you can help me.”

Killian nodded, smirk back in place.

“And my answers are only as good as my questions.”

“Correct.” He leaned back in his chair, hands steepled, and studied me with his cold, dark eyes. I had a hard time holding his gaze when his eyes went all black. Too much… nothingness there.

“But you won’t tell me what to ask.”

“Not within my purview.”

I was gonna take his purview and shove it up his ass. The only thing that stopped me was the sympathetic look in his eyes. Or that was my imagination. Beings from Hell didn’t have much in the sympathy department.

Neither did lawyers.

I flopped into a nearby seat, the antique chair groaning beneath my rough treatment, and Killian flinched. Yeah, whatever. I ignored that and focused on playing twenty questions with the devil’s advocate. I didn’t see that I had much choice in the matter.

“We’ll start with Captain Obvious. Who’s behind the dem drug?”

“Who has the most to gain from its distribution?”

I leaned forward. “How should I know?”

He shrugged. I hadn’t asked the right question.

“Fine,” I sighed and leaned back, picking up the bat once more, balancing it on my fingertip. Some people paced when they had to think. I toyed with weapons. “It’s a dem. Someone from Hell trying to make a move on the tween. Not a weakling from the outer circles, though. They’re pushovers and idiots.” Killian didn’t contradict me, so he had to agree. “To develop something that affected so many and then distribute it under my nose.” I flicked my fingers, making the bat spin on the tip. “Whoever it is has power.”

Killian didn’t say a word, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something other than unending darkness. I took his silence as confirmation that I was headed in the right direction.

“Who has enough power to pull this off?” I quirked a brow.

“That depends,” he mimicked my expression, “on
how much
power it would take.”

As soon as this mess was finished, I was gonna shove my bat up his ass.

“As a note, just because the famous mouse now owns Yoda’s ass doesn’t mean you have to give me your best impression.”

He smiled, probably taking my frustration as a compliment.

Demons. Twisted fuckers.

But he
had
given me something I could work with. “Who has enough power?” I murmured to myself. “Compile a list of entities with enough power and influence to pull this off and there’s my list of suspects.”

Killian didn’t say a word, but the look in those dead eyes told me I was at least still heading in the right direction.

“Thanks.” I pushed to my feet. “I guess.”

I turned and faced the door, feeling the heavy weight of Killian’s gaze on my back, his dark eyes caressing me, and I suppressed the shiver that skated up my spine. He liked what he saw and I… still didn’t want anyone but Sam.

I strode from the office, pausing just beside the door, and stared at the painting. An evil version of Starry Night, the swirling paintbrush in shades of red instead of blue. Flames danced over the town and the moon itself was blood red. I tilted my head, staring at the work of art, trying to figure out what made this one different. The signature was right, another variant of my uncle’s name, but the feel…

I reached out my hand, fingers gliding over the waves of evil that permeated every brushstroke. I glanced over my shoulder, grin in place. “You’ve got a decent collection of my uncle’s artwork.”

“Thank—“

“Unfortunately,” I pointed at my
mother’s
version of Starry Night, “that’s not his.”

The look on Killian’s expression told me that it was news to him. Good. At least I wasn’t the only one annoyed by our meeting.

Of course, the joy of frustrating him only lasted until I pulled up in front of Momma R’s house. She’d fixed the gravel driveway, her flowerbed back in perfect condition, and hadn’t yelled at me too much about fucking it up. Though as soon as Bry was better—and
he would
get better—I was sure I was in for a bitch session.

Not that I didn’t deserve it.

I kept my steps soft as I entered the home, unwilling to disturb Bry. I peeked in on him, happy to see that Sorsha’s magic still held and kept him from getting any worse.

Now I just had to figure out how to make him better. Easy, right?

I put a pot of coffee on, filling a couple of mugs, and then dragged Jezze to Momma R’s library. The woman was the most knowledgeable tweener when it came to demons and she had to have a list of the biggest, ugliest dems out there.

“It’s someone who can influence the tween.” I flipped another page, running my finger down the aged paper over Momma R’s flowing script. Jezze sat across from me, curled in a chair and taking notes, her coffee sitting on the arm of her chair. “Imps and other little fuckers can’t get out on their own. They have to be summoned. So we’re looking for someone who can cross the veil on their own, or at least reach through and possess a mortal host. Or just whisper in someone’s ear and give them directions.” Whispering was far easier than crossing the realms on their own. It was a better choice for lesser demons who had trouble crossing the veil on their own, or for those who wanted to conserve their power.

Once they had a mortal working for them, it was easy to encourage them to learn enough dark magic to open a ritual circle and summon their demon “lord.”

“Got it,” Jezze set aside her notebook and wiggled forward in her seat. “That’s a big assed list though. Any other way to narrow it down?”

I twirled my pen, sliding it between my fingers while I stared at the tabletop. “Most of them have certain… styles. Demons are vain. If they do something, they want their own flair added on. This thing with the drugs and the tainted water, that’s pretty specific.” I rolled the demons I knew through my mind. “Prince of Sloth is too lazy. Vanity wouldn’t sit behind the scenes. He’d be obvious. Could be Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, maybe Greed.
Maybe
Lust, but I think his drug of choice would be an aphrodisiac. This is causing chaos.”

“That doesn’t include the quiet ones.” Jezze tapped her pencil on her notepad.

The quiet ones really were the dems to be wary of. They were always the ones that no one heard from until it was time to blow the world up. Some of the older ones hadn’t even been recorded by human history. Many humans thought Hell began and ended with the Bible.

Idiots. That much evil couldn’t be contained within one book. There were so many lost histories and forgotten times, things that predated human civilization. Primordial evils from beyond time. Uncle Luc was still the baddest of the bad, but there were… others.

Human news reports were finally coming in, the authorities catching on that shit was going down. Thankfully the station did some of our work for us and displayed a list of incidents around the city. We managed to scratch a few names off the list, but it still felt like we were spinning our wheels and getting nowhere. If it was one of these dems pulling the strings, he was going to meet my blades.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t just go ripping
all
of their heads off.

Then again, Killian hadn’t said I
couldn’t
and Orlando
was
still my town so—

Glass shattered, panes breaking into thousands of pieces and raining down in the room. I jumped from my seat, chair clattering to the ground, and raced for the door. I bent low, snatching my swords while I raced toward the front door. More thumps. More glass.

“Nothing’s getting in past Mom’s wards.” Jezze tried to sound unaffected, but there was tension in her words.

“Maybe.” I lifted the straps and slipped them over my head, settling my sheathed blades on my back. “But I’m not hiding in here, and whoever it is might have some answers for us.”

“You sure you’re not just tired of studying and itching for a fight?”

I grinned and reached back, tugging one gleaming sword free. “They brought the fight to us.”

“Caith…”

I shrugged. “Sue me.”

I yanked the door open and rushed outside, already calling on the flames of Hell and keeping them at the ready. My wolf rushed forward as well, aching for a fight. I was truly my fathers’ daughter, desperate to watch the ground become soaked with blood.

A bottle flew through the air and toward me, a flaming piece of cloth dangling from the neck. I brought my right arm up and slashed it mid-air, shattering the bottle before it could reach me. Some of the liquor inside splashed over me, setting my shirt on fire, but I wasn’t worried about being burned. Lucifer’s niece could stand the heat of some bullshit tweener Molotov cocktail. My shirt though… it was not faring as well. I patted at the singed edges, smacking out the fire and doing my best to save the fabric. Man, I really loved that He-Man and She-Ra shirt, too.

“Mother fuckers.” I lifted my attention and sought out the attackers. A dozen pairs of red glowing eyes stared me down.

“Dems,” I hissed, my anger bubbling beneath my flesh and I was surprised it didn’t melt off my bones.

I rushed forward, slashing my blade at the nearest dem, arm raised and muscles flexed. The wolf was ready to pounce and tear into this one.

He reached up and grabbed my wrist, awkwardly blocking my swing. I snarled, baring my elongated fangs, and rammed my head forward. The crunch I heard was satisfying, the way he fell to the ground even more so.

I flipped my grip, fisting the handle, and brought it up, ready to drive it down into the asshole’s chest. Right through the bastard’s heart and send him back to where he’d come from.

Uncle Luc wouldn’t come and claim his dems? I’d ship ‘em home myself.