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"Quit your bitching. Who's leaning on the Corvins to put my ass in a blender? Huh? Who?"
"Some big dude!" Jack moaned, his eyes rolling. "Don't know! Five million credit and a clean slate for bringing you in. Whole city's lookin' for you—"
"That makes you the lucky one, doesn't it." I eased up a little on the pressure. "You must have heard rumors, Jack. Who's pushing the Corvins?"
"Same as always, the big dick Corvin. Jace was their front man in Saint City, man. Goddammit, lay off!"
"Jace was their front man three years ago?" That was something I hadn't guessed.
"Hell, he's been working for them his whole life! Ran off about six years ago, worked mercenary, they let him go for a while and then sank their hooks in good when he started seein' some bitch up Saint City way. I ain't been back there for five goddamn years, Valentine, I don't know who he was screwin' up there! Lucas will know, go bother him!"
That was unexpected news. "Lucas Villalobos? He's in town? Where?"
"Man, do I look like a fuckin' vid directory?"
I shoved. He screamed, the sound of a rabbit caught in a trap.
"Las Vigrasas! He hangs out at Las Vigrasas on Puertain Viadrid, goddammit, motherfuck—"
I looked up at the demon. He nodded slightly, understanding. It sounded like Jack was telling the truth.
I gained my feet, scooping my sword up; watched Captain Jack struggle up to hands and knees, then haul himself into a sitting position, facing me. "Hesu Christos," he moaned. "Look at this mess. You used to be such a nice girl, Valentine."
"Yeah, I had to grow up. Sucks, doesn't it." My lip curled. "Thanks for your time and trouble, Captain."
"Fuck you," he spat, his watery brown eyes rabbiting over to the demon and halting, wide as credit discs. He crossed himself—forehead, chest, left shoulder, right shoulder—while I watched, fascinated. I'd never seen Captain get religious before. "Nominae Patri, et Filii, et Spiritu Sancti—"
Does he think Japhrimel's going to disappear in a puff of brimstone? I thought, feeling a sardonic smile tilt one corner of my mouth. "I never knew you were a Novo Christer, Jack. I thought fucking so many prostitutes would have made you irreligious."
He kept babbling his prayer. I sighed, backed up a few steps, eased for the door. It wasn't wise to turn your back on Captain Jack.
I made it to the door before he broke off long enough to glare at me. "I hate you, Valentine," he hissed. "One of these days—"
Japhrimel tensed. His eyes flared. I reached behind me for the doorknob. "Promises, promises," I said, twisting the knob and opening the door. "If you go ru
"They'll catch you!" Jack screamed. "The whole city's lookin' for you!"
"Good luck to them," I said, and ducked out of the room. Japhrimel followed me.
"Shall I kill him?" he asked quietly as we made our way down the hall. The entire bordello was silent, waiting. "He threatened you."
"Leave him alone. He hates me for a good reason."
"What would that be?"
"I killed his wife," I said, checking the stairs. Looked safe enough. "Come on. Let's go find Lucas." My jaw set, and fortunately, Japhrimel didn't ask me anything else.
CHAPTER 33
Las Vigrasas was a bar. The street it crouched on lay under a drift of trash, furtive shadows sliding from place to place, danger soaking the air. I shivered, peering at the front of the bar from our safe place across the street. Japhrimel had suggested watching the place for a few minutes, and I'd concurred.
I sca
A lonely sign with a peeling L's Vig asa painted on it swung slightly in the freshening breeze. The air was so muggy, even the breeze didn't help much. Bullet holes and plasgun scorches festooned the buildings.
I took a deep breath. "What do you think?" I asked him.
I can't believe I'm asking a demon his opinion, I thought. What the hell is wrong with me? Then again, he's my best backup, at least until I find this Egg thingie.
"I think this is a dangerous place," he said softly. "I would ask you to be careful, but—"
"I'll be careful," I said. "Look, don't hesitate in there. You see someone go for me, take them down."
"Kill them?"
"If necessary." I paused. "I trust your judgment."
His eyes sparked briefly, turning bright laser-green, and then just as swiftly darkened. "You do?"
"I guess so," I answered. "You haven't let me down yet."
He didn't answer, but his eyes held mine for a long moment.
I finally eased out of the shadows and crossed the street, skirting mounds of rubble and trash. I didn't have to look—Japhrimel seemed melded to my shadow. Three steps led up to Las Vigrasas's swinging door; I heard rollicking shouts from behind it, a barrelhouse piano going. I pushed the door open, grimacing inwardly at the feel of greasy wood against my fingers. A roil of smell pushed out—alcohol, vomit, cigarette smoke, the stench of an untended lavatory, unwashed men.
Eau de Nuevo Rio bar, I thought. I wish Gabe was here.
That startled me. I wasn't used to hunting with anyone in tow, but it had been nice to have Gabe around. At least she was honest—or I hoped so. Then again, she had suggested staying with Jace, and contacted him.
It truly sucks to doubt your friends when you only have one or two of them, I realized.
I strode into the bar, Japhrimel behind me. Cigarette smoke hazed the air. The dark and sudden quiet that fell over the raucous drunken pit warned me. Oh, what the hell, I thought. In for a pe
A long bar crouched on the left side of the room, tables and chairs scattered to my right. I stepped down, my boots making quiet sounds against the wood of the stairs and then a muffled deadened sound as I stepped onto the oiled sawdust.
Dark eyes watched me. Several Nuevo Rios, lean ta
I knew better than to think he didn't know who had just come in from the cold.
I made it two steps across the sawdust before the bartender spat something in Portogueso, a long deadly-looking shotgun in his brown hands. He wore a stained apron and a sweat-darkened white shirt, oddly luminescent in the gloom.
Japhrimel said something in reply, and the air temperature dropped by at least ten degrees. Nobody moved, but there was a general sense of men leaning back. I waited, eyeing the bartender, my peripheral vision marking everyone in the room. Lucas wore a Trade Bargains microfiber shirt, like me; run-down jeans and worn engineer boots. But he also wore a bandolier, oiled supple leather against his shirt; his greasy hair lay lank against his shoulders.
The bartender spoke again, but his voice quivered slightly. I watched the shotgun.
Japhrimel said nothing, but the air pressure changed. I felt like a woman holding a plasgun over a barrel of reactive—my pulse ran tight and hot behind my wrists and throat, my nape tingling, my skin bathed with Power.
Five seconds ticked by. Then the bartender dropped his shotgun on the bar. The wood and metal clattered. I tensed, bile whipping my throat. Do all these places have to smell so bad? I thought, and then, If I didn't have Japhrimel with me, someone would have tried to kill me by now.