The Devil's Due (9 page)

I supposed that meant it was time for me to have a face-to-face chat with Tommy, the superhost, and the scum-sucking bottom-feeder who currently inhabited his body.

In the end, I decided the easiest way to go about it was just to drop by his apartment and use my charm and persuasion to convince him to talk to me. Okay, so charm and persuasion aren’t my strong suits, but I didn’t see a whole lot of other options, so it would have to do.

Tommy lived near U. of P. in an ancient brownstone that had no doubt once been a single-family home, but had been converted into tiny apartments catering to students. It turned out Tommy was auditing some classes while he waited to start med school in the fall. I couldn’t imagine how he’d gotten into an Ivy League university with his God’s Wrath affiliation; unless, of course, they didn’t know about it. I also wasn’t sure why he was still going there now that he was possessed. It wasn’t that unusual for legal demons to go through med school and become doctors, but it seemed like an odd thing for a demon in Dougal’s camp to do. Unless he was in training to become another of Dougal’s mad scientists. And wasn’t
that
a cheerful thought?

Tommy wasn’t home when I stopped by, and his roommate informed me that this was the status quo. Being a helpful sort—and being at just the right height to stand eye-level with my breasts, a convenience of which he took full advantage—the roommate informed me that my best shot at running into the new demonic Tommy was at his favorite nightclub, The Seven Deadlies.

My friendly, if false, smile died on my face when the roommate—whose name I’d already forgotten—mentioned that proverbial den of iniquity. He was too enamored of my chest to notice, and I decided the little creep was icking me out. I forced myself to thank him relatively politely before I hastened away, wondering if I really had the nerve to show my face at the club where Raphael had held and tortured Brian.

The easy way to handle it would have been to call Adam and ask him to meet up with Tommy there. Adam was a card-carrying member, and far from being repulsed by the club’s sickening purpose, he actually
liked
the place. At least, he’d liked it before he and Dom had had a run-in with Shae, the club’s owner. I doubted Adam would set foot in there again for any reason other than official business. Besides, I didn’t want to talk to Adam, not with Lugh’s request/order looming. Yes, I’d rather present it to Adam and Dom myself, but I’m a big fan of procrastination.

I wasn’t what you’d call happy with my decision, but I suppose you could say I was resolved to it. I spent the afternoon and much of the evening loading myself up with caffeine to get me through a long night and trying not to think about what I was about to do. At around ten, I put on my favorite pair of black leather pants along with an emerald green halter top that left my belly button bare and revealed the tattoo on my back. It wasn’t the kind of top I could wear a bra with, but it had a flimsy built-in shelf bra that slightly reduced the jiggle factor. I finished the outfit off with some platform sandals that added another couple of inches to my already greater-than-average height, then looked myself over in the mirror.

I looked far more demure and conservative than I’d looked the last time I’d set foot in that club, but I was dressed sexy enough to fit right in. I was also dressed sexy enough that I could probably persuade some hormone-crazed demon groupie to take me in as his guest, seeing as I wasn’t a member myself. I’d then have to find a way to ditch said hormone-crazed groupie, but if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s the cold shoulder.

The Seven Deadlies is located on South Street, home to some of Philadelphia’s most outlandish citizens. Bars, clubs, tattoo parlors, fetish shops, New Age bookstores. You name it—if it’s off the beaten path, you can be sure you’ll find it somewhere along South Street.

I looked downright conservative next to some of the South Street regulars I passed as I made my way from the garage where I’d parked to the club. Mohawks, funky dye-jobs, ostentatious body piercings … Maybe I’d need to get another tattoo or ten. Nah. I didn’t plan to come here ever again.

On the outside, The Seven Deadlies looks relatively ordinary, just a normal South Street alternative club. Even on a Monday night, there was a steady stream of customers going in. Still, I decided I’d try to get in on my own merits before going for the charming-a-helpless-male technique.

I was glad to see the Guardian of the Gates was a young, handsome guy. That upped my chances of conning my way in. When I approached the window, I put on my friendliest smile and pressed my shoulders back a bit to make sure the halter top clung to my breasts just right. Handsome Guy gave me a thorough once-over with his eyes before greeting me with a bland “Can I help you?”

I might have been insulted that he didn’t seem to be reacting to my appearance if I hadn’t caught the quickly suppressed gleam in his eyes when he’d looked me over.

“I’ve heard great things about this club,” I gushed, trying to look young and brainless. “I was wondering who I could talk to about maybe buying a membership.”

He gave me another of those up-and-down looks, then smiled at me with what looked like regret. “Sorry, but our membership roster is full. The waiting list is about three months.”

Yeesh! There were that many people who wanted to hang out at a demon sex club? I made a pouty face—maybe I was laying it on a little thick, but I’ve never been a big fan of subtlety.

“Is it possible to buy a guest pass? I’d love to look around, get a feel for whether the place is worth waiting for.” A line was forming behind me, and I could feel the impatience at my back. Handsome Guy seemed to feel it, too, since his expression hardened into full authority-figure mode.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the club is only for members and their guests.”

“We can make an exception for this one, Deke,”said a voice from over my left shoulder.

I turned slowly, my fists automatically clenching at my sides, my teeth grinding as I struggled to control my primal impulses.

Standing behind me, where she must have emerged from a nearby door marked Employees Only, was Shae, last name unknown to me, the owner of The Seven Deadlies. Approximately my height, with deep ebony skin and hair cut so short she was practically bald, Shae reminded me of a black panther, a creature of deadly grace and beauty. She was also a predator, a mercenary, and an illegal demon, whom Adam refused to arrest because she served as his snitch—when it was convenient to her.

She was dressed all in red and black, an outfit that only heightened the aura of danger that clung to her. A black leather bustier, only half a shade darker than her skin, made the most of her minimal cleavage, the bloodred bow at the center drawing the eye. Her black leather pants were even tighter than my own, and her shoes—red patent leather pumps with spiky, four-inch heels—were a hell of a lot showier. She topped the outfit off with a dramatic floor-length black and red brocade duster.

I’d taken an instant dislike to Shae when I’d first met her, and nothing since then had persuaded me to change my opinion. I had sort of hoped she either wouldn’t be here, or at least wouldn’t recognize me, but I should have known my luck wasn’t that good.

She smiled her shark’s smile and put a hand on my arm, drawing me away from the window so the next schmuck in line could pay his way in. I let her touch me for about ten seconds, then jerked my arm from her grip. It was probably a good time to cut my losses and get the hell out of here, but as you may have noticed, I’m a bit stubborn. I had a plan, and I wasn’t going to let Evil Bitch from Hell ruin it.

“I had no idea you enjoyed yourself so much the last time you were in my club,” Shae said, still smiling. I tried desperately not to think about the things that had happened the last time I’d set foot in here, but of course it didn’t work.

“What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment,” I responded, then instantly regretted it as Shae’s eyes gleamed.

“You’ve come to the right place, sugar. Perhaps you’d like to venture down into Hell tonight as a participant, rather than an observer?”

I managed to suppress my shudder, but I’m sure the revulsion showed in my eyes. Shae laughed, and I wondered what would happen if I gave in to my temptation to introduce her face to my fist. I didn’t wonder very long, though. She was a demon, and my own demon was helpless against her unless I let him take over. I had no particular desire to get my ass kicked tonight, so I reluctantly kept my temper in check.

“Are you going to let me in or not?” I asked, not in the mood for a game of cat and mouse.

“I already said I would, didn’t I?” She reached into what must have been an inner pocket in the duster, then handed me a voucher. “I’ll even throw in a free drink.”

I took the voucher from her even as I wondered what the hell her game was. I don’t suppose she had any particular reason to dislike me—after all, she’d earned lots of money on me when one faction of demons paid her to help capture me and Adam paid her to help me escape. But I didn’t imagine she was welcoming me into her club with open arms because of any great affection she bore me, either.

“What’s your angle?” I asked her suspiciously.

“I have no angle,” she said, though her claim was patently false. “I regret some of the … difficulties you experienced the last time you were here. Since you were kind enough to stop by again, I figured it was the least I could do to show you the true face of The Seven Deadlies.”

I knew full well I’d seen the true face already, and it was uglier than even I could have imagined. Common sense told me that if Shae wanted me to come into her club, then the intelligent thing to do was to run the other way as fast as I could. But I wanted to talk to Tommy Brewster, and here of all places he would be most likely to be willing to talk to me. After all, who would ever suspect a patron of a demon sex club of being an exorcist?

“Your generosity is overwhelming,” I told Shae, and her eyes crinkled with amusement.

“Suspicious little thing, aren’t you?” she asked, then continued before I could slip in a cutting retort. “As a sign of good faith, I won’t even make you check your Taser at the door.”

That had been the part of this adventure I’d been dreading most. I’d been sure my Taser would be confiscated before I would be allowed into the heart of the club. The idea of walking unarmed into a club full of demons hadn’t exactly thrilled me, but I hadn’t thought there was an alternative.

I was caught between two aphorisms that seemed particularly relevant to the situation: “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth,” and “If it sounds too good to be true, it is.” Shouting down my more sensible side, I told myself that as long as I had my Taser, I couldn’t get into too much trouble.

Shae nodded approvingly as she saw the decision on my face, then led me past the line at the entrance and into the club itself.

The music was so loud it almost knocked me over, and I couldn’t hear whatever Shae said to me in parting. Probably just as well. She smiled at me, her eyes glinting, then melted away into the crowd.

I stood in the entrance for a while, trying to adjust to the sensory assault. The last time I’d been in here, the music had been a heavy, tuneless techno with a beat that made my teeth rattle. This time it was earsplitting hip-hop, but it still made my teeth rattle. I figured it was just as well I couldn’t understand the lyrics.

The dance floor was packed with gyrating bodies, some dancing in couples, some in groups, and some just doing their own thing. Here and there, I spotted people wearing angel halos or devil horns, picked up from the table just beside the entrance. They were cheesy as hell, but somehow seemed sinister now that I knew what they meant. People wearing the halos were in the market for some “vanilla sex,” and if they found a compatible partner, they would go up the stairs under the sign that said Heaven and rent a room for a little old-fashioned roll in the hay. Those wearing horns wanted to go down into the basement aptly named Hell, where the sex was anything but vanilla.

It was in Hell that the demons had held Brian, hiding him in plain sight in a place where screams weren’t necessarily sounds of distress. If Tommy was down there, you could bet your ass I wasn’t going in after him.

Of course, considering how packed the club was, I wasn’t sure my chances of finding him were all that great no matter where he was. Not knowing what else to do, I weaved and elbowed my way through the crowd until I reached the bar. I used the voucher Shae had given me to buy my favorite drink, a piña colada, then snagged a stool at the far end of the bar, where I had a decent view of most of the club.

It was a nightclub of course, so it was mostly dark as a pit. I stared out into that darkness, examining faces in whatever scraps of light I could find, hoping to spot Tommy. No luck, but then the night was young. I sipped my drink and wondered what the hell I was doing here. It wasn’t like Tommy was going to spill his guts the moment I started talking to him, or like I could do anything about it even if he admitted to being an illegal.

I sat there for maybe an hour, alternately scanning the crowd for a glimpse of a familiar face, and trying to talk myself into giving up. I’d already been hit on three times, twice by guys who were probably demons, once by a guy who definitely was not. The Spirit Society has strict standards as to what makes an acceptable host for their damned Higher Powers, and a five-foot-four man with a beer belly and no neck definitely did not qualify. The fact that he was wearing the devil horns did not improve the impression he made.