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"Santino—" I began.
A swift snarl crossed his face. I flinched.
"We will find a way to kill him, you and I. Pack your bag, Dante. If you are determined to leave this place, let us go quickly." He sounded utterly calm, the kind of calm that could draw a razor through flesh with only a slight smile.
"Sounds like a good idea," I managed. The flowers stirred. More thunder rumbled above the city, and a slight cool breeze stole in through the open window, ruffling petals, swirling the cloying stench of dying blooms against my face. I swayed in place. Japhrimel reached out, his golden fingers resting against my cheek for a moment. The touch made my entire body glow with heat. "Japhrimel—"
"Dante," he replied, his glowing eyes holding mine. "Hurry."
I did.
CHAPTER 30
The bodega was deep in the stinking well of Nuevo Rio, a small storefront marked with the universal symbols of Power: signs from the Nine Canons spray-painted on the front step, a display window showing small mummified crocodiles nestled among grisgris bags and bottles of different holy waters, lit novenas crowding on the step, each keyed to a shimmer of Power. The smell of incense from the fuming sticks placed near the door threatened to give me a headache, along with the breathless sense of storm approaching that hung over the city. I adjusted the strap over my shoulder, then rubbed at my dry, aching eyes. Japhrimel leaned on the counter, bargaining with the babalawao in fluent Portogueso. The woman had liquid dark eyes and a Shaman's thorn-spiked cruciform tattoo on her cheek; the cross shape and thorns told me she was an Eclectic Shaman—rare here in Rio for a native to be an Eclectic. She eyed me with a great deal of interest, stroking her staff at the same time. The staff thrummed with Power, as did her tiny bodega, and I counted myself lucky that I didn't have to fight her. She was tall, and moved with a quick ferret grace that warned me she was very dangerous indeed.
I was faintly surprised to find Japhrimel knew Portogueso, but I suppose I shouldn't have been. Demons like languages as much as they like technology, and have fiddled with both for a long time.
He finally looked back over his shoulder at me. "Carmen says we're welcome to stay up over the shop," he said. "Come. You need rest."
I shrugged. "How likely is it that we'll be tracked here?"
He showed his teeth. "Not likely at all," he replied, and I didn't press him for details. He probably wouldn't give them anyway. "She is of the Hellesvront—our agents," he continued, immediately proving me wrong.
"You have agents? Hell has human agents?"
"Of course. Human and others."
Then why didn't they track down Santino? I decided not to ask. The bodega felt like Abra's store—dusty, old, the same smell of chilis and beef. Yet the babalawao wasn't like Abra—she was powerful, true, but human. Only human. She swept her hair back over her shoulder and regarded me coolly, her eyes moving over my disheveled hair, dusty sweat-stained clothes, and white-knuckled grip on my katana. She asked one question, and Japhrimel shook his head. His inky hair lay still against his skull. He didn't seem to sweat even in this malicious wet heat.
Hell was hotter, anyway.
The woman led us to the back of her store, sweeping aside a curtain woven into bright geometries that writhed with Power. A narrow staircase threaded up into darkness.
Japhrimel touched the woman's forehead. She nodded, her brown skin moving under his hand, and gri
"De nada," she said, and returned to perch on her barstool behind the glassed-in counter. Glass jars of herbs twinkled behind her, and a rack of novena candles threw back the gleam.
I climbed the creaking stairs, the demon's soundless step behind me. We reached a low, indifferently lit hall, and a single door. I opened it, and found myself looking at a small, plain bedroom. An iron mission-style bed with white sheets and a dun comforter, a single chair by the empty fireplace, a full-length mirror next to a flimsy door leading to the Nuevo Rio version of a bathroom. I heaved a sigh. "I like this much better," I said shakily.
"No doubt." Japhrimel crowded past me into the room. It suddenly seemed far too small to contain him. The window looked out onto the street. I shut the door while he made one circuit of the walls, Power blending seamlessly to hide us. I dropped my bag on the bed, wishing I'd had room for more than one change of clothes. It won't be the first hunt I've finished dirty, I thought, and flipped open the messenger bag's top flap. I had to dig a bit to retrieve my datpilot. "What's that?"
"I need contacts," I said, waiting while the plug-in and the H-DOC established a linkup with the hand-held device. "Since we can't use Jace's, I'm going to have to look for anyone who has dual warrants in Saint City and in Nuevo Rio. That should give me a place to start. If nobody I know is in town we'll have to buy information, and that could get expensive."
"What information are we pursuing, then?" he asked, finishing his circuit of the room and making a brief gesture in front of the door. The whole building groaned a little, subliminally, and I felt a flutter in my stomach as the Power crested, ebbed. The room was now shielded—and if what I Saw was any indication, also invisible to prying eyes.
I took a deep breath. The medicinal effects of the brandy I'd taken down were begi
CHAPTER 31
The next day was hot and breathless, thunder rumbling off and on, the light taking on a weird gray-green cast. I spent most of the day trying to sleep, sprawled on the small bed. Japhrimel dragged his chair up to the side of the bed and watched me, his green eyes veiled. I didn't speak much. I slept thinly, tossing and turning, waking with my katana still clenched in my hands and the same muggy heat lying over the city.
And Japhrimel's green eyes resting on me, oddly dark. Glazed.
My mind kept worrying like a dog with a single bone, over and over again.
Jace. The Corvin Family. Jace. Santino.
Jace.
The afternoon was wending toward evening when I finally sat up on the bed, tired of retreading the same mental ground. "Do you think he's betrayed me?" I asked, without even knowing I was going to open my mouth.
"I don't know," the demon answered, after a long, still pause. He rose to his feet like a dark wave. Demon-smell washed over me. He'd kept the window open, but the air was so close and still that the fragrance clung to the room. "You need food."
"I'll be fine. There's hunting to do." I stretched, my back cracking as I arched, then I swung my legs off the bed, came to my feet, and picked up my bag from the floor. A few moments divested it of everything I wouldn't need tonight—I piled extra clothes, the spare plasgun, and some other odds and ends on the bed. Japhrimel watched expressionlessly as I clumped over to the bathroom door, and was still watching when I came out. I buckled on my holster, checked the plasgun, and slid it in. Shrugged into my coat, immediately starting to sweat again. I finally gave my hair a short, vicious combing and braided it back.
"Do you think he's betrayed you?" he finally asked me when I checked the action on my main knives.
"It's looking pretty fucking possible," I said. "If what Abra told me is any indication, he ran with the Corvin Family even before he came to Saint City. You don't ever escape the Mob. And if Santino's ru