Phoenix Broken (23 page)

He'd said
was.

Des waited for him to gather himself. Her quiet patience soothed him.

"When her and I got together," Scott continued after a long beat, "…me and Jules kind of
had
to get along, or she would've knocked our heads together." 

He smiled, remembering those early days. Both him and Jules pushing at each other, neither able to back the hell down. Scott would tease, Jules would glower. Fannie finally sent them out on a mission to get drunk together. Now that'd been a fucking night to remember…

His smile dimmed.

"Cross kidnapped Rissa, back when her and Jules were just getting together. Cross is Rissa's sire. The son of a bitch also wiped out Jules' family when Jules was just a little kid back in Louisiana right after the Reveal. It's some fucked up shit. In every way you can imagine." Scott shook his head at her wide eyes. "We got Rissa out, but Cross got away. I scared the shit out of him though."

Scott could hear the satisfaction in his own voice. He wanted to see that terror on Cross's face when he finally got to tear the bastard apart. Not because it would put anything right, but because it would feel so damn good.

"But I had to let him go. He used a kid to get away. I would've had the bastard but ...” Scott shook his head. It still gutted him. That scenario had played back in his mind thousands of times, and he’d never once found a way out of the choice he'd made. “I don't know if he went after Fannie based on what happened in the woods that night, or because of what she meant to Jules. Or both. Really doesn't matter, does it?

"He ambushed us on the way to a party, Des. Tish was at a friend's, and Fan and I were dropping Toby off at her parents before heading downtown." He looked over. Des wasn't looking at him, but at her drink, blinking back tears.  Somehow Scott knew she was thinking of Toby right then; that the boy had been with them when it happened.

There was a terrible connection between his kids and this woman; the connection of having lost the woman who'd given you life. Toby had
seen
his mother torn away from him—had Desdemona as well?

Scott looked away, wanting another shot; for whiskey to burn away these tears stuck in his throat. He reached for the water instead, downing half the glass before he could say it. "Cross tried to get me to choose. My wife or my kid."

He waited for it, but her words surprised him.

"You refused."

"Good guess."

"Not a guess. You'd never choose."

"Yeah, well. Didn't do me any good, now did it? I tried to tell myself I could save them both." He gave a bitter laugh. "It was a lie. Fannie made the choice for me. She went with Cross to try and save Toby. The fucker tried to kill him anyway. Made him jump off a bridge. Toby barely survived. And Cross took Fan to Phoenix, ripped out her throat in front of Jules and threw her off the Atrium. That's what happened to my wife, Des. That's how she died."

He tried to turn away, but Des leaned forward and took his face in her hands. Scott was too stunned to resist. Her palms were soft and gentle, caressing his skin, smoothing the rough edges of his stubble. At the same time, her eyes caressed something deep inside of him; that soft, dark grey warm as velvet.

"Actually, I think that shows how your wife
lived.
Taking on the hard stuff, protecting her family as best she could, yeah?"

Scott didn't know what to say to that. Couldn't have spoken if he had. Des had no idea how right she was; that was Fannie down to the goddamn bone.

She stroked his cheeks one more time before dropping her hands. "Do I remind you of her, physically or otherwise? Is that why you have issues with me, in particular?"

"What?
No. Not at all." Yet, as he said it, Fan's smile flashed in Scott's head, followed by Des' laugh. Both happy, confident women; strong women, fearless in their way. There were many differences, but it wasn't like they were polar opposites. He frowned, opening his mouth.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or has the prodigal son returned?"

The lazy Irish brogue had Scott straightening, forcing a smile before he turned.

Thin, with spiky black hair and arresting light blue eyes that Scott knew damn well missed very little, Cullum O'Leary looked from him to Desdemona and back again.

"O'Leary," Scott said, holding out a hand.

"Davidson." They shook, while the reporter gave Des an appraising look. "She's pretty.
Very."

"She's also right here. And has ears. Along with a name." Des pointed out.

Somewhat reluctantly, over Cullum’s appreciative laugh, Scott introduced them.

Des took O'Leary's hand. The reporter was a charming bastard and Scott wondered if she thought him handsome. The thought annoyed him.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Baptiste." His voice had a slight Irish lilt, melodious in its way, but Des went pale. Scott reached out to rub her arm, frowning at the goosebumps there.
What the hell?

O'Leary's sharp gaze caught the movement. For a moment, he seemed startled. Then his eyes softened as he looked between them again.

Scott dropped his hand, he knew what that look meant. O'Leary clearly thought he and Des were a thing. The conclusion shouldn't bother him, it was what he'd agreed to. Just now, though, after talking about Fan, it had him feeling uncomfortable.

The reporter blinked, then pointedly cleared his throat. "So… Davidson. Thoughts on the vote in January? Or do you think 'important interests' will interfere," he used air quotes, "and delay it yet again?"

"I'm not Jules or Kelsey, O’Leary.”

"They're unavailable. And your PR man keeps giving me the run around."

"That's kind of Carter's job, isn't it?"

Cullum gave Scott a pained look. "Mathison hates me. A little help here? For old times' sake?"

O'Leary and the Tribune had been one of the only papers to stand by Phoenix when all the backlash had come from Fannie's death. Scott couldn't have forgotten that even if the reporter didn't remind him at every opportunity. "Fine. I'll get Carter to call you before he releases the official statement, fair enough?"

"That works." The journalist stood up. "Hope to see more of you, Miss Baptiste. And Davidson?"

"Yeah?"

"It's real good to see you out and about, man." With a nod at Des, he moved off. Scott watching him with narrowed eyes.

"You like him."

Scott turned back to her. "O'Leary? He's a goddamn bloodthirsty journalist. Worse than any vampire you'll ever meet. But yeah, I do like him. He's been good to Phoenix. Fair at least—even when no one else was. Miles actually invited O'Leary to his wedding, if you can believe that."

"Miles?" Des was incredulous. "I thought he despises the press."

"You can't stand him, can you?" Scott ran a finger over the rim of his glass, watching her. "Miles?"

"I don’t really know him," she hedged.

"I thought he was an old family friend?"

Des bit her lip, but said nothing.

"More fucking evasion." The irritation the encounter with O'Leary had already kindled flared to life. He could try and clear the air all he wanted, but it wasn't going to help if she kept putting up smoke screens. "Let's just go to your demon's club and get this over with."

They walked into Centaries less than two hours later. Both a little subdued.

Des looked amazing. Scott gave her another sideways glance. Decked out in a slinky blue tank that left the caramel skin of her back bare, and a long swishy skirt in silver. It had a slit that gave him a flash of her gorgeous legs with every step, like some erotic game of peekaboo.

It was hot as hell—which he tried to tell himself was annoying.

He needed to focus and the way she looked made that impossible. Especially with his fingertips running over that silky skin as he guided her through the throng.

It was another house night. Raw and throbbing beats filled the room, giving the very air a pulse.

Calimente approached; a dark shadow slicing deftly through the crowd. His eyes were focused on Des, and there was a look in them that hit Scott low and hard in the gut. Whatever Des thought about them being just friends, there was no doubt in Scott's mind that demon thought of them as more. For the second time that night, he wanted to tear a man apart because of her.

He had no claim on Desdemona.
And he didn't want one.
That didn't stop Scott from gritting his teeth when Calimente stopped in front of them.

"Dee." The demon leaned forward, one hand going easily to Des' hip, his mouth brushing her forehead. Those black eyes shone over her head as Calimente took him in. His gaze dropped to Scott's clenched fists. A smile twisted his lips.

"Bestia,"
he said, with a nod.

"Guido, honestly…"

Scott waved the insult away. He'd spotted Docie May behind the demon. She was in a corner table, all alone, her goons lurking in the shadows nearby.

"Why don't you go have a drink with your friend, sweetheart?" Scott felt Des tense under his hand at the endearment. "Catch up for a bit? I have to run to the men's room. Meet you at the bar in ten minutes?"

Des raised her eyebrows along with Calimente, but smiled easily.

"Okay if I hang with you for a minute, Guido?"

"
I actually have someone waiting for me in my office…" The big demon was looking back and forth between the two of them, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly,
"
…but, of course, you may join me,
polteriitae saed.
I will always welcome your company."

Shaking off a flicker of unease at the demon's expression, Scott wrapped an arm around Des' waist, pulling her close. Burying his face in that cloud of curls, he breathed deep before whispering, "Don't go anywhere alone, and don’t let him leave you."

She gave an imperceptible nod before taking the demon's proffered arm.

Scott watched them walk away, fighting the urge to step forward and pull her back to him. They looked good together; the demon all in black, Des shining at his side. Too
good
. Scott scowled before spinning away.

Walking briskly to the corner where Docie May sat, he let his foot kick her chair as he passed. Her head came up.

Minutes later she joined him in the hallway. Minus the goons.

"They were awfully easy to ditch," he remarked as she approached.

"They know there is no way out back here," the vampire's rich accent colored her perpetual sneer. He recognized the touch of Georgia in it—a lot like Gordy's, only with a feminine purr. "The windows in these bathrooms could only allow for escape if the rumors about us turning into bats were true. And the fire escape is down the other way." She lifted a hand, gesturing to the opposite hall, the one Scott remembered all too well. Des would be there right now. With Calimente.

He shoved the thought away. "You seem familiar with this place."

She made a sound of disgust. "As it's the only escape I've had in weeks, yeah, I've learned my way around."

What did she mean by that?

“Why am I here, Cantrell?"

“Because I told you to be.” She laughed lightly. “It's so fun to see
paras
jump when I call. Do you do any other tricks?” Her eyes trailed over his body speculatively. Scott's skin crawled.

“I thought you were the one looking for help. Go back to your handlers if you just want to play cat and mouse.” He pushed away from the wall.

“Wait.” She slapped a scarlet-taloned hand into his chest.

Scott halted. Her head was bowed, her eyes shrouded by that shaggy mane of hair. But she didn't speak.

“Let’s try that again.
Why am I here?”

“That stupid foundation of yours is going down, you know that, right?" Her voice was almost rote, but fear still tolled through every word. "
Phoenix Inc. in ashes.
It's all he talks about. Daimen always did love his metaphors.”

“Care to elaborate?”
And why do you care about us?

“This law that they are trying to pass is just the beginning.”

“The law won’t pass.” Scott made his voice firm.

“Oh yes it will. Daimen and his bitch are making sure of that.”

“How?” Scott’s heart was starting to pound. “The Society doesn’t have that kind of clout.”

“Ahhh, but they're making friends who do.”

“What friends?”

“Come on, cutie. You ain't dumb, you've must've figured that out by now.” She waved a hand behind them at the club.

The Convenīre. So Miles' suspicions and his own were true.

Or Cross wanted them to think they were true.

“Is this for real?”

“Not yet. Or else there’d be no point in me talking to you, eh?”

“Why
are
you talking to me?”

“I'm not entirely sure.”

He watched Docie May pull petulantly at her hair. “Maybe it's because Daimen picked me as their negotiation hostage.” When her eyes lifted to his, they burned. With hate?
No.
Maybe…fear?

Betrayal?

Scott knew the standard protocol in the often-times tangled conventions of shade interactions was to put up hostages for any prolonged mediation. To ensure that one party or the other would not be slaughtered at the negotiation table, both sides put up a valuable hostage who would then be the 'guest' of the opposing party for the remainder of said negotiations.

Hostages were usually valuable or high ranking…and were frequently murdered when negotiations went south. Naturally, they were often individuals the party offering them up
wanted
sacrificed. It was a dubious honor.

“You’re the Society's hostage?”

She gave him a sarcastic one-fingered salute. “Give the human a cigar for stating the obvious.”

“And you’re scared?”

She snorted. “Let’s say I am… concerned. That Abbey bitch has reason to want me out of the way, now that her and Daimen have taken to knocking boots.”

Abbey and Cross had become lovers? Nasty thought, but not an unexpected one.

"What do you want from us? From Phoenix? Why reach out to—"

Suddenly, the ring of footsteps sounded behind them. Scott slipped past Docie May into the men's bathroom just before voices cut down the hall. The goons were back. He cracked the door a fraction, watching them flank the vampire.

“What the hell’s taking you so long?”

“I was taking a piss, boys. Chill out.”

"You're supposed to be back in five,” one of them hissed at her.

“No offense, guys. But I needed a breather. You two kind of stink.”

“Come on, blondie. Let’s get out of here.”

“Hey, I don't want to go back yet. I'm not finished drinking.”

“You know what happens if you break the rules. Your night out just got cut short, bitch.” Scott cracked the door to see Docie May being dragged away.

“Now that’s not very nice.” Her head turned towards the bigger of the two goons. Docie May flashed her fangs right above his bulging bicep. The demon raised a fist threateningly.

“Bite me again and I'll hit you, you crazy cunt. Your boss man don't scare me.”

“Don’t worry, devil boy, you taste like shit. I found that out last time.”

She twisted in their arms right before they pulled her around the corner. Brown eyes shone at Scott.

Tuesday,
the vampire mouthed before they disappeared.

Inside Guido's office, Desdemona examined the collection of tiny sculptures made out of bits of bone on the floor to ceiling bookshelves with forced interest. Her ears couldn't shut out the whimpers behind her. Finally, she gave up, turning away to face the disturbing tableau in the center of the richly masculine room.

A small, balding man was kneeling on the crimson carpet. The security goon holding his skinny arms behind his back looked bored. Even giving a yawn as Des' eyes flicked to him. Guido's posture was equally casual, if more elegant. He had one hip against his ebony inlaid behemoth of a desk. He straightened his tie idly, not even looking at the man who'd been begging for mercy since the second they'd walked through that door.

Des knew this was Guido's life. His way. She couldn't interfere. But seeing him so cold, so ruthless…it always left a sour taste in her throat.

"You don't pass shit in my club without me knowing. No one told me you have—what is the term, Paulie? Balls of solid brass."

The man laughed nervously, a small hopeless sound. "I don't, Mr. Ricci. It was just a mistake, a really stupid mistake."

None of the humans here used Guido's real name. Demons, particularly members of the Convenīre, were very secretive with their names. In their world names had power and were not used lightly. In fact, speaking the leader of the Convenīre's name aloud within human hearing was a death sentence.

"Yes, it was, Paulie. One that will cost you. Say…those balls of yours, just to make sure they don't get you into more trouble in the future. Wouldn't want you to make the same mistake twice, now would we?"

A dark stain appeared on the man's pants as he started to cry. Des made a small sound, her stomach churning. Black eyes flashed her way briefly. Guido sighed and straightened, jerking his head at the man holding the sobbing Paulie. "Get this mess downstairs and take care of it."

"Yes, boss." With efficient coldness, the goon hauled the sobbing man from the carpet.

"Omno,
take this Psych Out nightmare," Guido muttered under his breath after the door shut on muffled wails.

“What’s that? Psych Out?"

Guido waved a hand in disgust. “A drug. On normal humans it causes hallucinations; powerful delusions of grandeur, similar in a way to their LSD. Though…" he glanced at her. "On
paras
it neutralizes their powers. Temporarily anyway."

Des paled, thinking of Scott and Phoenix Inc. “That would be a powerful weapon.”

“Indeed.” Guido smiled, “and that is exactly why this country’s military originally developed it. Before they realized
paras
were actually their best chance of surviving a shade apocalypse. Human stupidity at its finest. The formula hit the streets not that long ago. It's everyone's new favorite drug.”

“You sell it?” Her nose wrinkled.

“I allow it to be sold and I take a cut.” He shrugged. “It would be sold anyway."

“Does it work on shades?” She asked in a casual tone as her heart skipped a beat.

He chuckled. “No drug is going to make me human, even for an hour, Dee. Or turn a vampire into a vegetarian. Or bind a wraith to his corporeal form.”

She forced a laugh. “Of course not. I mean…say a shifter who had
para
powers. Would it work on them? Or confuse their ability to morph?”

Again he shrugged. “I believe so. It would burn off much faster in a shifter, though, so fast it would likely be pointless. Their metabolic rate is insane.”

“What about in a demon then, with elemental powers…or in succubae, like me? Would it take away my ability to see auras, for instance?”
Or to manipulate desire?

His eyes narrowed. Des gave him what she hoped was an innocently curious look.

“Potentially,” he said slowly. “We don’t run as hot as shifters. Our biology is far closer to the humans in that respect. Or rather theirs is closer to
ours,
so…yes, the drug should be effective in suppressing such powers in a demon, at least for a short time. But what demon would try such a thing?”

“I was thinking more along that weapon idea.” Des said, telling herself that wasn’t
really
a lie.

Guido laughed. “Let them try.”

She laughed with him, but a strange giddiness leapt into her tummy.

Was this the answer to setting her mind at ease about Scott’s accusations? If she took this Psych Out and he reacted to her
anyway,
wouldn’t that prove—at least to herself—that she wasn’t abusing her powers? Maybe.

How to obtain some though?