Otherworldly Bad Boys: Three Complete Novels (86 page)

Her eyes were wide. “Does it have to do with the girls that are being killed? That man they’re calling The Phantom?”

“Yes,” I said.

She turned back to Vigil. “You are going to catch him, aren’t you? You’re going to stop him?”

Vigil looked at me, as if he expected me to field that question.

I didn’t say anything.

He looked back at her. “Yes, I am,” he said in a low voice. A confident voice. A voice that sent shivers through me.

“Good,” said the woman. “This city has belonged to the scum of the earth for far too long. It’s about time we had someone like you. A real hero.”

Vigil looked uncomfortable. “I’m not—”

“He’s so modest,” I interrupted. “Really, you’ll make him blush.”

The woman tittered. “Oh. Him blushing? Well, I couldn’t even imagine that.”

I smiled back. “As soon as he does it, I promised to report it. Even snap a picture if I’ve got the chance.”

“Well,” she said. “I suppose that I’d never be able to forgive myself if I didn’t let you see Burl Herbert. I’d be obstructing justice. I can’t have that.”

“No, you can’t,” I said.

Burl Herbert was sitting in the corner of the common room. He had a deck of cards, and he was shuffling them and muttering to himself. He was a relatively young man, but he’d gone prematurely bald, and he made a pretty pathetic picture there in his robe and slippers.

Vigil and I approached him.

Burl looked up to see us. He gave Vigil a look, pursed his lips, and then went back to his cards.

“Burl?” I said. “My name is Cecily. This is Vigil. We wondered if we could talk to you for a few moments?”

Burl shuffled his cards. “Talk about what?” He had a nasally voice, timid, but cunning.

“A roommate of yours,” said Vigil. “He stayed with you here in the hospital for about a month last December.”

Burl’s lips curled into a small smile. “You’re talking about Hayden Barclay.”

“Yes,” I said.

Burl set his cards down. “I’d have to be a really big idiot to just start singing about one of the Barclays, wouldn’t I? Even in here, the Barclays have ways of getting to you. I faked being crazy just to keep out of jail, you know? If I’d been in prison, the Barclays would have killed me already.”

Faked crazy, huh? So, Burl was actually sane, and he’d just wormed his way into Chilton?

Vigil took several steps closer to Burl. “I know all about that, Burl. But you’re here because you wanted to stick it to the Barclay family, aren’t you? They gave you up because you screwed them over.”

Burl laughed—high pitched, hysterical. “No honor amongst thieves, sir. No honor amongst thieves. They should have known better. I’m a con man, I am. A good con man.”

“I know you are,” said Vigil. “So, if you needed to con the Barclays, you could do it again if you needed to, couldn’t you?”

“I could,” said Burl, grinning. “Oh, I could.”

“So, then help me. I want some information about Hayden. Will you tell me if I ask?”

Burl picked up his cards. He shuffled them. “Will I tell you? Well, that depends, it does. It depends on what you ask. Some things might be too dangerous to reveal. Hayden may have made threats. Oh, he’s a one for threats. He could be violent too. He never forgets. Never forgets.”

“Stay with me,” said Vigil.

Burl’s eyes darted around, wild, worried. “He has spies. Hayden has spies. In the walls.”

Vigil’s jaw twitched in irritation. “Help me take him down. Help me take down his spies.”

I was beginning to think that Burl wasn’t faking being crazy after all.

Burl shuffled faster. “You can ask your questions, you can. But I can’t say whether I’ll answer until I hear them. Oh no. Can’t say.”

“He told you things, didn’t he?” said Vigil. “He told you about things he did to girls.”

Burl’s hands moved lightning quick, and the cards danced from hand to the other. “He hurt them.”

“Yes,” said Vigil. “How did he hurt them? What did he take from them?”

“Legs,” whispered Burl, shuffling away. “He took their legs.”

Vigil knelt down in front of him. “Burl, did he tell you what he did with those legs? Did he tell you where he kept them?”

Burl shook his head furiously. “Oh no. I can’t answer that question. Too much. Can’t say. The spies would hear.”

Vigil rolled his eyes. “Burl, there are no spies.”

“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean that they aren’t there,” said Burl, his eyes flashing.

Vigil snatched the deck of cards away from him.

Burl whimpered. “Give them back. Give them back, now!”

“Tell me where the legs are.”

“Give them back!” Burl shrieked. He got up out of his chair and grabbed for the cards.

Vigil held them out of Burl’s reach. “In a minute. Tell me where he keeps the legs, and you’ll have your cards back.”

“
Give them!
” Burl began to beat his chest, letting out strange, loud screams.

Across the room, one the orderlies was looking our way.

“Um, Vigil, maybe you should give them back,” I said.

The orderly started for us.

“Shit,” said Vigil. He thrust the cards back at Burl.

Burl took them, breathing hard, his face red. He began to go through the deck as if he was afraid that one of them would be missing.

“What’s going on here?” said the orderly, looking Vigil up and down.

“The spies are everywhere,” said Burl. “I couldn’t say. No, couldn’t say. All I might say, if you wanted to know, is
Davy Jones
.” He nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Yes. Yes, if you figure that out, you might find what you’re looking for. Might indeed. You might indeed.” He sifted through the cards.

CHAPTER TEN

“Davy Jones,” said Vigil, shaking his head. We were in the alley behind my apartment building. The air was sticky and warm. Vigil was pacing in front of his motorcycle. “What does that even mean?”

“The lead singer of The Monkees?” I said.

He glared at me.

“You know, little known fact, but David Bowie’s name is actually David Jones, too.”

“I don’t think it has to do with classic rock,” he said.

“Well, I don’t know if I’d call The Monkees classic rock,” I said. “I mean, they weren’t a real band exactly. They were just on this TV show, and—”

“Cecily.”

I bit my lip. “Sorry. It’s only that I’m nervous, and when I’m nervous I tend to get scattered.”

“What are you nervous about?” he said. “We’re fine.”

I shrugged. “I’m nervous we’re in over our head. I thought it would be easier to get to Burl.”

“He’s not stable,” said Vigil.

“If Barclay’s that messed up, I can’t believe they let him back on the street.”

“Oh, Barclay’s not like that,” said Vigil. “Barclay’s different. Barclay’s worse.”

He was right.

He touched my cheek. “I need to do a quick sweep of the docks to make sure that there aren’t any girls in danger. I’d like to see you afterward.”

I smiled shyly. “I’d like that too.”

He kissed me quickly. “Leave your window open.”

“No,” I said. “Not in my room. Airenne will hear and ask questions.”

He sighed. “Your roommate is becoming really annoying, Cecily.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But in her defense, it’s not really her fault.”

“Leave the window open anyway,” he said.

“But—”

“Don’t ask questions.” He got back on his motorcycle. “Just do it.”

I awoke to Vigil lifting me out of my bed. He pulled me tightly into his arms and kissed me thoroughly.

I responded, my lips moving on his, my arms going around him.

He pulled me out the window with him.

My heartbeat sped up.

We were swinging above the city on a narrow rope.

“It’s okay,” his deep voice rumbled. “I’ve got you.”

He pressed a button on his wrist, and we were moving upwards, the rope pulling us higher and higher.

I looked down. I could see cars on the street below us, too tiny for dolls. My mouth was dry. I wrenched my gaze away, looking at his face instead.

Vigil pulled me onto the roof of my building. It was cooler up here, away from the pavement and concrete and people. Once I was safe on solid ground and peering down over the city, I was glad he’d brought me up here. I gazed out at the glittering lights.

“It’s beautiful,” I said to him.

“You’re beautiful,” he said.

I could feel myself blushing. I liked it when he said things like that. I ran my hands over his chest, inspecting his hard muscles. “Well, you’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

He grinned. He eased his hand under the hem of my pajama shirt, his gloved hand brushing my bare skin. “I miss the t-shirt you were wearing before.”

I had on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a loose fitting shirt. “You mean you miss my lack of clothing.”

He laughed. “You got me.” His fingers worked under the elastic of my pants, grazing my belly, moving lower. “At least we’ve got a general lack of panties going on here.”

I sighed at his touch. “I refuse to wear underwear to bed. It’s not comfortable.”

He put his other hand under the elastic band and eased the pajamas over my hips.

My heart began to pound again, harder than it had when I’d been dangling in midair.

He pushed them over my thighs, letting them pool around my ankles.

I gasped, feeling the night breeze against my nakedness.

He knelt in front of me. With one finger, he traced the outline of my mound.

I shivered.

His finger went lower, stroking my slit. “Cecily, you have the most perfect pussy.”

I clenched all over at that. But I didn’t really believe it. “You don’t mean that. It’s… messy.”

I wasn’t a big fan of female genitalia in general. It did the job okay, but, as sexual organs went, I thought it was kind of ugly. I thought it should look sort of sweet and pretty, like a butterfly or a flower. Instead it was this sort of musky place, full of flaps and layers. And, for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what the purpose of pubic hair was, except to be something that needed removed.

“Messy?” There was amusement in his voice.

“Guy parts are clean,” I said. “Straightforward. Much nicer to look at. Girl parts are just kind of gross.”

“Nothing about it is gross,” he said. “Nothing about you is gross.” He planted a kiss on the top of my mound. “You shouldn’t say things like that about yourself.”

I shrugged. “It’s just what I think.”

“Well, I think it’s perfect.” His voice had gone breathy. He kissed me there again, and his tongue darted out, easing between my lips, tickling the edge of my clit.

I gasped. I started to tell him to stop that, not to bother. I didn’t much like it, because I thought it was kind of disgusting. Plus, guys didn’t seem to be able to understand the pressure aspect properly. I either couldn’t feel them at all or it was full on too much. Neither was much fun.

But his tongue found me, and it was perfect.

He grazed my clit, applying just the right amount of pleasure.

I moaned, low in my throat.

He chuckled, his breath tickling me in my most sensitive place, turning me on even harder. “I want to make you make that noise again,” he murmured.

His tongue moved again, dragging over my clit, lapping at it.

My legs felt weak. Delight radiated through me. My body clenched.

I moaned again.

“Very good,” he whispered.

I clutched his shoulders. It was suddenly hard to hold myself up. “Where did you come from?” I gasped. “You’re too good to be true.” No guy had ever been able to do this to me, to awaken me with his mouth and tongue.

His tongue moved in circles. In figure eights.

I cried out, digging my fingers into his shoulders. That felt better than anything I could even imagine. The pressure of his mouth—the slick friction—sent jolts of ecstasy through me.

He pulled back for a second, looking up at me with his pale, glittering eyes. “I’m not good, Cecily. I’m anything but good.”

Maybe he was telling me the truth.

But the orgasm he brought me to was better than good. It was earth shattering.

And he made love to me afterward, on top of the building, both of us staring down at the lights in the darkness. While we heaved and panted against each other.

I came two more times.

He
was
too good to be true. He was some kind of sex god. I’d lucked into him, and I wasn’t ever letting him go.