Redemption Alley

Dainty, delicate, and dolled up in a red kimono, Shen An Dua stepped between the doors. They swung shut behind her and framed her with blank industrial steel; it was a good look for her. Catslit yolk-yellow eyes cradled in slight epicanthic folds swept the room, waist-length blue-black hair with the body of well-oiled straw was pulled into some sort of elaborate confection atop her well-modeled head. Probably matches the fountain, I thought with an internal snigger, and the scar on my wrist gave such a burst of burning pain my fingers almost clenched.

Great. Just great. Her aura was the deep sonorous bruising of a full hellbreed, the taint of Hell warping the strings of the physical world. Plucking, like little flabby fingers, the harpstrings of this place of flesh.

I pointed the gun, let it settle naturally so the bullet would follow its own path of consequence right between her eyes. Decided that the best defense, so to speak, would be a good offense.

Hey, it’s my usual method. Along with ripping Band-Aids off in one quick jerk and throwing myself off buildings after hellbreed, you could even call it my job.

“All right, bitch.” I bit off the end of the sentence. “Irene. The waitress. Bring her out, and maybe I won’t burn this whole pile of bad taste to the ground.”

Shen placed her small hands together and bowed from the waist, a slight inclination of her upper body. “Kismet. You honor our humble business with your presence.”

“Can the so-solly routine, Shen. Bring out the fucking waitress, or I start wasting paying customers and staff. Your call.”

The tip of a tongue, far too pink and far too glistening-wet to be human, crept out and touched her candy-apple lips. “What is the nature of her sin, avenging one?”

Perry asks me that occasionally. It’s some kind of formula in their weird twisted society, I suppose. Not that I cared enough to ask. “You just let me worry about that, hellspawn.” My pulse eased, settling into a hard rhythm, slower than the energy demand of combat but a helluva lot higher than just lounging on my couch. “Hand her over for questioning. And while you’re at it, sit yourself down and prepare to answer a few questions yourself.”

Her smile broadened. Her teeth were white bone behind bleeding lips, and her cheeks plumped up adorably. The kimono swished slightly as she settled—maybe on her heels, maybe not. I didn’t know what was under the long skirts she habitually wore, and experience has taught me not to even guess. “I do not think you understand the situation, hunter.”

Oh, you did not just start this game with me. I didn’t lose my temper. Instead, I squeezed the trigger. The report smashed all the air in the room, silver in my hair alive with blue sparks, their crackling suddenly a counterpoint to the dishes crashing in the kitchen.

“Huh. Will you look at that.” I sounded damn near gleeful, a laugh riding the razor edge my voice had become. “A thousand apologies, most honorable Shen An Dua. I must have become irritated. Do you want to see what’ll happen if you make me angry?”

Black strings of hair fell in her face. I’d shot whatever architecture underpi

But oh, it would be so satisfying.

That was a bad thought to have, because it was treading right on the edge.

I didn’t care as much as I should right now. Getting killed a few times will do that to you.

Carper made a thin moaning sound. I didn’t want to think about what had probably happened to him before I quit dithering and busted down the door. Instead, I shook the whip a little, its flechettes jingling. The circle of hellbreed and Traders around the table, like darkness pressing against a sphere of candlelight, shivered at the tinkling sweet sound.

The situation quivered on the edge of violence. If I was going to really get into it here, I would have Carp to protect. It would handicap me.

Deal with it, Jill.

Shen’s fingers flicked. I tensed, but a blood-haired female—the mop was really amazing, crimson hair to her nipped-in waist, a sequined maroon sheath just like Mae West’s hugging dead-white curves—was pushed forward out of the crowd. She had a pale, hard little face with the rotten bloom of hellish beauty on it like scurf powder on blood, and her eyes were dark and liquid under the flat shine of a Trader.

“This is the one you seek.” Shen hissed.

Great. Now I had to figure out how to get us all out of here.

“Now we’re all going to be civilized, aren’t we?” The whip moved, tick-tock, just like a clock pendulum, before it coiled almost of its own accord and was stowed in its proper place. My free hand now touched a gun butt, but I didn’t draw just yet. “I’m taking the waitress and this—” My heel gently prodded Carp’s temple, he made a thin moaning sound of a man caught in a nightmare, “with me.” My gun eased away from Shen, the assembled hellbreed flinched under its one-eyed stare. Then it came back to the mistress of the Kat Klub, settled on her forehead. If I kill her, the rest of them will swarm me. She knows it. Think fast, wabbit. “Anybody have any problems with that?”

Dead silence. The kitchen had quieted too, maybe finally noticing something was amiss out here in the dining room.

Shen made another quick movement, her dainty hands fluttering. I almost pulled the trigger—but no, the assembled damned pulled away, crawling or skipping, pressing back as if I had the plague.

Leaving a nice clear corridor between the mistress of the Kat Klub and yours truly.

Great. Wonderful. Jill, this is going to hurt.

“You and your master will pay for this.” Fat, oily strings of black hair writhed over Shen An Dua’s face, tangling together like live things. She didn’t look half so pretty now, her eyes alive with ru

My master? Mikhail’s dead. “My teacher’s in Valhalla.” Nothing in the words but flat finality. If Shen thought mentioning Misha would yank my chain enough to get me to make a mistake, she was either stupid—or holding something in reserve. And whatever else Shen An Dua is, she’s not stupid. “You can’t touch him, bitch.”

“His is not the hand that holds your leash, hunter.” Her razorpearl teeth showed in a snarl, all the more chilling because of the full-cheeked sweetness of her face. The kimono’s skirt rustled, shapes bulging underneath it. “Tell the master of the Monde he will pay for this.”

It was so out of left field I almost couldn’t co

“You will not—” Shen began, and my heartrate eased, smoothing out, as I lifted my head and regarded her again. They could all hear my pulse, and the sudden calm washing over me was as ominous as a thunderstorm.

Talk your way out of this one, Kismet. “This is one of mine, hellspawn. You don’t get to eat him tonight.”

There are six pounds of center-trigger pull on a Glock and I was at about four and a half. The world had turned into a collection of edges too sharp to be real, all my senses working overtime and amped up into the red.

Shen’s face contorted once, smoothed out, crumpled again. The bruise of her aura tightened like a fist. I watched, waiting. If Shen was more than normally upset at Perry or needed to regain some face in front of her minions and clients, this would get ugly really quickly.