Blood and Sin (The Infernari Book 1) (14 page)

“She’s not here, Lana. Place has been abandoned for years,” I said, setting the deck of cards back where I found them.

Between a skull candle and an enormous gecko eyeing me warily, I made out one dusty bottle of Reed’s Ginger Beer—the one nod to something a human could consume.

“Grandmother!” Lana called again.

Finally, a figure separated itself from the shadows at the back of the shop, and Grandmaddox shuffled into the light. “My lovely child, come, come . . .” she whispered, “let me touch your skin.”

I recoiled.

Lana had filled me in on her details on the drive over, but I still wasn’t prepared. Grandmaddox might be half human, half demon, and blind as a bat, but she looked
full
demon to me.

Two cloudy glass eyes stared vacantly from a proud, ancient face. Her long, silver hair was tied back with what looked like a rat’s tail. Like a relic from the bygone hippie days, she wore sandals and an airy frock that flowed around her like a waterfall.

Instinctively, my hand went to my gun.

The demon groped around until Lana tackle-hugged her, kissing her on the cheek.

“Grandmaddox, I need a favor,” Lana said breathlessly, wasting no time, “I need to find the portal in Central America . . .”

“I know, dear. I know.” Grandmaddox patted her cheek. “Why don’t we discuss it over some crawfish bisque and jambalaya? And Mr. Asher—” one of her cloudy blue eyes swiveled toward me, “—that won’t be necessary.”

Slowly, I eased my hand off the holster.

Major affinity: some kind of second sight?

Hmm . . . I’d have to be careful around this one.

At the back of the shop, a rickety wooden staircase led to a cave-like kitchen on the second floor, where several boiling pots had fogged up the windows. Wedged under the staircase leading to the third floor, a tiny dining room table had already been set for three. The house was so narrow, most of each floor was taken up by the crooked staircases.

On the kitchen counter, a tank of live lobsters dripped onto the moldy, peeling linoleum. Not just lobsters. Slithering between their legs was another monster. I peered closer, and felt my lip curl. Some kind of water snake. Poisonous, no doubt.

Then I saw the terrarium next to it.

Giant spiders. Hundreds of them. They crawled over each other, chittering madly. A wolf spider the size of my hand had nudged the lid aside and was squeezing its way out, its legs and feelers probing a saucer of butter that had been left above it.

A smaller tank, half full of murky water, held what looked like wriggling leeches. They, too, had chewed their way through the screen top and were making their escape across a plate of biscuits. Making grandmotherly small talk, Grandmaddox picked them off and brought the biscuits to the table, along with the butter saucer, the wolf spider now clinging to the edge.

Jesus, this woman’s house was a liability.

Looking right at home, Lana plopped down at the table and patted the seat next to her for me to sit.

My head bumped the staircase, and three cockroaches fell on the table and promptly skittered under our plates.

The first hint of nausea began to rise in my stomach.

“So . . . why should I restore your memory of the portals?” Grandmaddox said, slopping bisque into our bowls with uncanny accuracy for a blind woman. “That’s why you’re here, I assume.”

I studied the woman, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Add clairvoyance to her list of affinities. As if she sensed me looking, her eyes drifted over me, giving me the willies. Without thinking, I draped my arm across Lana’s seatback.

That, too, she noticed.

“My backup portal’s in France,” said Lana. “But I don’t know why they even gave me that one, I’ve never flown before . . . so I’m stranded.”

France, huh?

I made a mental note of it.

The bisque wasn’t bad, actually. A bit on the salty side. But when I spooned jambalaya onto my plate, my stomach did another squeeze.

Cooked into the stew alongside andouille sausages were bits and pieces of bugs. Scowling, I freed a shrimp from the clutches of a spiders’ legs and bit into it. Except for the funny aftertaste, it tasted okay.

Just needed to wash it down with some wine.

I filled up from the jug on the table and tossed back a mouthful of what tasted like bloody vinegar.

I barely managed to spit it back into the glass without gagging.

“Mmm,” I pursed my lips, grimacing as I looked around for something to wash the taste out of my mouth.

“Water’s in the pitcher by the sink, dear,” said Grandmaddox, reading my mind. “Mind you, the tap’s broken.”

The pitcher she mentioned contained half a gallon of brownish, foul-smelling swamp bilge, its foamy surface crawling with water bugs.

Fuck that.

I grabbed a cup from a nearby cupboard, dumped out the husks of dead silverfish, and held it under the faucet. The handle thunked and squeaked, but all that came out were flakes of rust.

“Is this a fucking joke?” I said.

“How about you listen next time instead of being a dumbshit,” said Grandmaddox. “I told you it was broken.”

“Hey, demon,” I unholstered my Glock and pointed it at her face, “how many fingers am I holding up?”

Lana jumped between us. “Asher,
no!
”

“He’ll be happy to shoot you too, dear,” Grandmaddox said calmly.

Lana’s eyes pleaded with me. “
Don’t
,” she warned. “Just . . . behave. Please.”

Reluctantly, I holstered the weapon and returned to my seat, eyeing the woman as I did so.

“Grandmaddox, we need your help finding the portal in Mexico,” Lana said, trying to get back on track.

“What makes you think there’s a portal in Mexico?”

“Well, Jame thinks—”

“Ah, because
Jame
thinks there’s a portal in Mexico,” the demon interrupted. “So you’re on a first name basis with him, Lana?” The question dripped all kinds of judgment. Those nebulous eyes of hers swung in my direction, judging me too

“So you’re half-and-half, huh?” I said. “Who’s side you on, then?”

Ignoring me, Grandmaddox stood abruptly. “More bisque, dears?” As she reached for the pot, she bumped the table. One of her glass eyes popped out and splashed into the jambalaya. “Oh, that’s embarrassing.” She fished it out, hastily wiped it on the tablecloth, and pressed it back into her eye socket.

My fork clanged against my plate. I’d officially lost my appetite.

“So you’ll lift my memory spell, right?” Lana said, as if nothing had happened.

“What’s wrong with the portal outside White Sulfur Springs?” Grandmaddox asked, her back to us.

“It’s, uh . . . well, it’s broken.”

“Destroyed,” the woman said, turning back around, “by the very man sitting at this table, by the
enemy
, whom you have brought into my house. Do you know who he is, Lana? Do you know what he wants?”

“Yes, Grandmaddox,” Lana mumbled, poking her jambalaya with her fork. “I’m taking him back to Abyssos to answer for his crimes.”

“No, you’re taking him back because you’re hoping he’s changed. Dear, I’m sorry, but he hasn’t. He won’t.”

“He
will
,” she said, her eyes heating, “when he sees what’s become of our people. He just needs to see that.
Humans
need to see that.”

“He needs to die.”

Lana glanced sideways at me. “He saved my life,” she said, her voice lowering. “I’m honor-bound to protect him.”

“I’m not. Want me to do it?” The demon gave me a predatory smile, her stony blue eyes looking right through me.

I tensed up, and my hand went back to my holster.

“No,” Lana cried, edging closer as if to protect me. “No one else needs to die. Let me take him back to the primus. We’ll . . . we’ll let him rot in a dungeon.”

The demon chuckled. “Oh, Lana, you were never a good liar. That’s not what you want.”

“Let me take him back,” Lana insisted. “Through the portal in Mexico. Please, Grandmaddox.”

Grandmaddox considered this. “Why not let Azazel take him back? Or Clades? They’re up for the task, I think . . . unlike you.”

“They’d kill him,” she said. “Look, at least lift the spell so
I
can get back.”

“So he can kill you, and then destroy our portal? You are naïve, child.”

That was the second time someone had called her that today.

I noticed Lana’s grip tightened on her spoon. “He won’t do that,” she said. “I swear it.”

“
You
swear it? Only he can do that. Mr. Asher, you’ve been awfully silent.”

“Mmm,” I agreed.

“He does. He did.” Lana looked at me again. “You
did
.”

As I watched the exchange, saying nothing, I felt itchy in my own skin.

Lana was defending me.

I didn’t feel like lying anymore, I didn’t feel like betraying her anymore. So I told the truth. “Grandmaddox, I made a deal with Lana to visit Abyssos. She hopes to convince me to have mercy on demonkind. I doubt I will, and I intend to destroy the portal after that. But that’s the deal we made.”

“See?” Lana said, as if I’d cleared up the matter of my trustworthiness.

“Honey, listen to yourself,” Grandmaddox said, shaking her head pityingly. “This man is going to betray you.”

“He
won’t
,” she said.

“I will,” I whispered.

“He saved my life. And his heart was true . . . lift the spell.”

“You may stay here for the night,” Grandmaddox said, standing. “You’re a friend Lana, and I respect your oath. You have my word I will not kill him while he sleeps. But I will not restore your memory so I can watch more Infernari perish.”

Down a narrow,
creaking hallway on the third floor, our two closet-sized rooms each sported a twin bed. I had to climb over it to open the French doors. We had a connected balcony overlooking Toulouse Street, where glowing bar signs had already begun to draw in patrons like moths.

Seeing Lana leaning out over the wrought iron railings, I went out to join her. Her body looked heavy. Infernari were no good at deception. I’d always believed that it was a weakness, but now, taking in Lana’s slumped shoulders, there was something disarming and innocent about it.

“It was a nice try,” I said by way of greeting. “But it didn’t work. I want my blood back.”

“You were no help,” she said, her tone biting. Without glancing at me, she lifted the cord from around her neck and held it out.

“What, you didn’t think I was charming?” I took the vial from her, wondering how to dispose of it. Safest thing would be to drink it and get it back in my body, make sure no demon could use it against me, but after that dinner, I wasn’t interested in tasting any more strange fluids.

I closed my fingers around the container and stuffed it in my pocket. I’d pour it out on the ground somewhere, but nowhere near this house and the hag that dwelled here.

“You refused her hospitality,” she said, “you spat out her wine, you wouldn’t touch her jambalaya, and you pulled your gun on her. Of course she’s not going to help us now. It’s your own damn fault.”

“Because she’s a liar,” I said. “If that woman is blind, then I’m Helen Keller.”

She groaned into her hands. “You were a
monster
.”

“No, the monster was in her fish tank. That thing was
eight feet
long, in case you didn’t notice. The hell’s she doing with that thing?”

She looked at me funny. “You mean
Genevieve?
Her water snake?”

Drunken laughter drifted up from below.

“Jesus, I’m not even going to ask.” I patted my pocket before turning back to my room. “Get some sleep. We’re back on the road at dawn.”

But Lana didn’t budge.

She was watching the steady progression of people below us migrating to Bourbon Street with intense interest. “Is there a festival going on right now?” she said.

“No, it’s just New Orleans. This is typical.” I pointed down to the intersection lined with bars and clubs, which looked to be in full swing. “Every night, that whole street turns into one giant block party.”

She continued to stare wistfully, the flashing neon signs reflected in her violet eyes.

I could see where this was going, and I didn’t like it. “No, Lana,” I said firmly.

“No what? I haven’t even spoken yet.” She leaned out over the balcony railing to get a better glimpse of Bourbon Street, and the warm breeze swished her long hair.

Yep, just like I’d thought. Distracted by the pretty lights, like any twenty-three-year-old demon. “No to whatever you’re going to suggest. So don’t bother.”

Her eyes took on a mischievous twinkle. “Darn, I was going to say that we should stay here and be bored all night, but I guess if the answer’s no, then we
have
to go out.” She gave a fake sigh. “If you say so.”

“That’s cute,” I said. “You ready to act your age?”

She squinted toward the hubbub and slowly read off, “
Bourbon Street
 . . . so that’s where everyone’s going?”

I followed her gaze to a distant street sign, which I couldn’t make out. Her keen eyesight put mine to shame. “Trust me, it’s really boring. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Well, I don’t like it up here with you, either,” she bit out.

Ouch.

“Are you
four
?” I said. “Finished with your tantrum yet?”

“Gods, what is it with you and my age?” She stared imploringly at the sky. “You keep talking about how young I’m acting, like I’m breaking a law or something. How about you act how you want to act—like an old, clucking nursemaid—and I’ll act how I want to act. Then everyone’s happy.”

“Gawk all you want, Lana. From right here. But you’re
not
going down there.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you so worried about me anyway?”

I laughed. “Oh, you think it’s
you
I’m worried about. No, I’m worried about
them
.” I thrust my finger down at the oblivious tourists. “I’m worried about what happens when a bloodthirsty demon is set loose on the streets of New Orleans.
That’s
what I’m worried about.”

She flashed me a scathing look. “Ugh, I’m not going to
eat
them.”

“No, you’ll do worse. You’ll cut them open and drain their blood, you’ll heal as many demons as you can, and you’ll curse every living soul in this city . . . starting with me.”