You Slay Me (21 page)

"See you later," I said with a wave to Rene, ignoring the squirming demon struggling to free itself from the twisted hold I had on its collar. After it made a few pathetic gasps for air around its tightened collar, I let go of it and headed for Amelie's shop. "Behave yourself and I won't command you to silence."

"You're assuming I can talk after you brutally crushed my windpipe."

"Jim, you haven't even
begun
to see brutal," I warned as I walked toward Amelie's shop.

"That's what you think," it muttered behind me.

I was careful first to make sure there were no lounging policeman on surveillance. My Uncle Damian's warning rang in my head:
Security every place, everywhere, all the time.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with a sudden sense of homesickness. What was I doing skulking around the streets of Paris at eight in the morning when I should be home getting chewed out by my uncle for allowing the aquamanile to be stolen from me? Why hadn't I taken Drake up on his offer to take my passport and run? Why was I putting my very life at risk by staying in a city that the police were probably scouring for me? And why did I feel like my heart was crushed in a vise whenever I thought about Drake betraying me?

"Because I'm fool, that's why. But I'm a fool who's got to clear her name, and by heaven, I'm going to do it." I marched forward to the shop, only to stop and stare first at the closed door, then down at my watch. "Rats. She doesn't open up for another hour. I forgot how early it is. Now what am I going to do? I can't stay lounging around here—Inspector Proust might send someone to watch the shop."

Jim peed on a lightpost. "Why don't we go to her apartment? You can talk to her there, and be off the street so the cops don't grab you."

"Brilliant idea, only I have no idea where her apartment is."

Jim nodded upward. "It's above the shop."

I looked up. The second floor of the long building that ran the length of the block held what looked like apartments—at least they had the same black wrought-iron railings at the bottoms of the windows that I had seen on every apartment building thus far. "How do you know she rives up there?"

Jim started off down the street. I followed. "Because, Einstein, I'm courting Cecile. You think I'm not going to find out where she lives? How can I serenade her at night if I don't know where she lives?"

"Jim," I said as we turned down an alley that ran behind the building, "you do realize that it's not quite normal for a demon to be courting a dog, right?"

Jim shot me one of its disgusted looks. "Of course I know, but I'm not just any demon. I'm a demon plus. I'm superior to your average run-of-the-mill demon. Think of me as Demon: The Next Generation."

I didn't make a face at that thought, but it was near thing. Instead I climbed the rickety wooden stairs that led up to a small landing, pressing on the bell beneath the neatly written
merllain.

"Oui?"

"Hi Amelie, it's Aisling. If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to talk to you."

"Aisling?
Nom de Dieu!
Stay right there. Do not allow anyone to see you!"

Twenty seconds later I could see a figure approaching through the wavery glass that filled the upper half of the door. Amelie hustled me into a dank, dark hallway. "Quickly, I do not want my neighbors to see you."

She gave Jim a sour look, but allowed it to follow me. I trotted down the hall to the open door I could see at the end.

"What a lovely apartment," I said, looking around. It
was
lovely, although surprisingly modern. I don't know why, but I didn't expect her apartment to be filled with pop-art, fiber-optic lights, neo-Baroque furniture in primary colors, and very pricey designer chairs that looked extremely uncomfortable.

"Baby!" Jim crooned, heading for a dog bed that was filled to overflowing with Cecile. "Daddy's home!"

Amelie waved my compliments away. "What are you doing here? No, you do not need to answer that—I can guess. You are seeking shelter, yes?"

"Yes, but—"

"You cannot stay here," she interrupted. "You must leave immediately. I cannot have you here!"

My shoulders sagged in disappointment. This wasn't quite the welcome I had expected.

13

It is not that I would not allow you to stay here if I could," Amelie said as she closed the door behind me. "But the police, they visited me three times last night, searching both my shop and this apartment."

"Oy," I said, slumping down into a scarlet chair. "I'm sorry about that. I thought they might watch your shop, but I never in a million years thought they'd disturb you."

"They said you murdered the Venediger." Amelie stood before me, her hands held tightly, her expression strained.

"I didn't. I swear to you, Amelie, when I arrived at his house, he was already dead. His body was cooling."

She stared at me for a moment, then put both hands on my head. I didn't know what she was reading—my thoughts or my emotions—but I fervently hoped she would realize I was innocent. "It is difficult for me to sense your thoughts, but I do not believe you are a murderer." She whooshed out a sigh as she collapsed onto one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs. "I had hoped you hadn't done it. I know you were frightened when you left, and the Venediger can be very . .."

"Scary?"

"Ruthless. You would not have been at fault if you were simply defending yourself against his attack. That could not
really
be considered murder." She said the words with just a hint of implied question that I felt compelled to answer.

"I didn't kill him. But I know who did. I just have to find somewhere safe where I can get the proof."

"Who would kill the Venediger?" she asked, leaning her elbows on her knees. "Who would have the power to kill him?"

I looked away. "I think it's better if I don't tell you. That way, if the police question you again, you can honestly tell them that I didn't give you any information." That was only part of the truth, of course. I felt so betrayed by Drake that I didn't quite trust anyone anymore. If Drake could prove to be false, anyone could.

She was silent for a moment, the only sound in her apartment that of Jim sucking Cecile's ears. "You are right. It is better if I do not know. As for a safe place for you to go—" She spread her hands wide. "—I cannot think of one. Most of the members of the
L'au-dela
have heard what has happened by now. They know the police suspect you of murder, and they will do nothing to protect you. It would not even be safe for you to go to G & T now."

My heart fell at her words. There was much to be said for not being a fugitive. "I thought G & T would be closed because of the Venediger's death."

'Won, it is to be open. The Venediger's second in command will make sure that all runs as it should. It is a very popular club, you know, the only club for
L’au-dela
.
It makes much money. She would be a fool not to open it."

"She?"

"Perdita Dawkins."

"Perdita is the Venediger's second-in-command? Wiccan Perdita?"

"Yes, she is. That surprises- you?" Amelie raised her eyebrows, then made an annoyed sound. "Oh, but what am I doing questioning you? My manners have flown to the cats. May I offer you tea? Coffee? I have some brioches...."

"No, thank you, we've had breakfast, and speaking of that, I apologize for disturbing you so early. I was in such a haste to leave where I spent the night, I didn't think about it being so early. Are you sure about Perdita being the Venediger's assistant? Both she and Ophelia seemed to be a bit... harsh when they mentioned him. I got the feeling that being pagan Wiccans, they didn't approve of him."

"Why wouldn't they approve? Perdita owes much to the Venediger. It was he who first saw Ophelia and recognized her." Amelie flitted about a tiny kitchen that opened onto the living area, stepping into a tiny walk-in pantry.

"Oh, were they separated when they were babies? I have a friend whose parents divorced right after they were born, and she got her dad while her twin went with their mom."

"Yes, I am sure about Perdita. Jean, the Venediger's previous second, he met with an accident. Perdita was named in his place," Amelie said as she emerged from the pantry. She set a plate of brioches on the table and cocked an eyebrow at me. "What did you say about your friend?"

"Nothing, really. Had Perdita and Ophelia been separated for long when the Venediger found Ophelia?"

Her eyebrow rose a smidgen. "Yes, they had. Tea or coffee?"

'Tea is fine, thank you. Hmm. Perdita," I said, thinking about the sisters. They were Wiccans; maybe I could appeal to them for help? Perhaps if I pointed out that I was trying to bring the Venediger's murderer to justice, they would take me in just for a day or so until I got the proof I needed? I was about to ask Amelie, but didn't when I realized that to tell her would be to put her in a compromising situation with the police. "I think I know of someone who might put me up for a couple of days, but I don't want to tell you who."

Amelie set down a tray with a pot of tea and two mugs. She nodded. "It is better that you do not tell me. I will not volunteer information, but I will not lie to the police if they ask me."

"Thanks." I accepted a cup of milky tea, gnawing on my lip for a moment before coming to a decision. "If you have the time, can you answer a couple of questions for me? I promise they're nothing that you can't tell the police I asked about, although whether or not you'll want
to..."

Amelie sat on the yellow couch across from my chair, tucking her bare feet beneath her. "I will answer if I can, but you must not stay too long. The shop, it opens in an hour, and for me to be delayed will derange the police."

"Well, I wouldn't want them deranged—Inspector Proust is pissed enough at me. My question concerns a set of three objects called the Tools of Bael. Have you heard of them?"

The quick intake of Amelie's breath pretty much answered my question. "I have, but I am surprised that you have, as well. Where did you hear of this?"

Time to pick and choose what I told her. "The object I was delivering to Mme. Deauxville was an aquamanile that I was later told was one of the three Tools."

"Sacrt!"

I nodded. I didn't need her to translate; the shocked look in her eyes said it all. "I happen to know that the Venediger had in his possession one of the Tools—the Eye of Lucifer—and had hired someone to acquire the other two."

"Nom de Dieu!"
Amelie said, jumping up to pace the length of the couch.
"Nom de Dieu.
It was Drake Vireo, the green wyvern, who was to steal the other two pieces, yes?"

"Yes," I said cautiously, not willing to tell her too much. "My question is how much damage could someone who used the Tools do? Say someone of the Venediger's power—are the Tools really so important?"

"Mon Dieu,
they are legendary!" Amelie stopped pacing to sit on the edge of the steel and glass coffee table in front of me. "They were lost for many hundreds of years, sometimes one of the three surfacing, only to disappear, but never, in all the ages since they were created, have all three Tools been brought together. For them to be used, it would be
une grande catastrophe!"

"How bad of a catastrophe?" I asked, the sick feeling of the day before having returned, making my stomach protest the yogurt and toast that had been all I'd been able to choke down in Drake's presence.

She waved her hands in the air in a gesture that was reminiscent of the shape of a mushroom cloud. "Most bad. It is not just the person using the Tools, you see. That person would be destroyed should he even try."

"Destroyed? Why?"

She got up and started pacing again, but slower this time, as if she was gathering her thoughts. "What I tell you, you are not to relate to anyone, yes? It is most important that no know the truth, else the whole fabric of
L’au-dela
,
it will come apart."

"That's comforting," I said dryly. "Go on—I won't breathe a word of this to anyone."

"I know this only because . . . because I have a friend who is a Guardian. She sometimes tells me things of importance." I nodded, silently urging her to go on. 'The demon lords, they are not easy, you understand. They struggle to rule Abaddon as we struggle to achieve greatness in our world. One lord dominates over the other seven; that is the way it has always been. The lord Bael has long been dominate, but recently the signs show that another lord is trying to topple him from power. In order to maintain his premier role, the lord Bael, he calls in his armies, his support, yes? His demons, the mortals he rules, all of them he calls to his aid to keep the usurper from gaining his power."

"OK," I said, more than a little puzzled. "But what does a battle to be king of the hill in Abaddon have to do with the Tools? Bael can't use them since they're meant to tap into his power."

"Oui,
but the power, it can flow both ways, you see?"

A light dawned in the musty darkness of my brain. "Oh, I get you. You mean that if someone tries to use the Tools to draw power from Bael, Bael could flip the switch and suck power from that person instead?"

Amelie nodded. "Yes, but it goes deeper than that. Before he took all their power, Bael would command his servant to use his abilities to feed him power from those within the servant's reach. So it would be that not only the person who used the Tool was drained by Bael, but too everyone with the reach of him. For someone of the Venediger's strength, that would mean everyone in the
Vau-delh
would have been drained in order to feed his master."

"Bael is the Venediger's master?" I asked, distracted by that thought.

"Was," she answered with a wry twist to her lips.

"Ah." That would go a long way to explaining the uneasy feeling I had around him. "And this draining, I take it that it's not a good thing?"

She laughed. It wasn't a happy laugh. It raised goose bumps on my arms. "It is deadly, the process."