Personal Demon (11 page)

There was a single gift—a brand-new Jaguar convertible, rolled in through two huge rear doors as Daddy handed the keys to his squealing daughter. Watching the spectacle, I suspected those doors were the real reason her parents had rented the cheap hall. Having their daughter walk outside to see her new car just wouldn’t have had the same impact as this tacky game-show moment.

The girl beamed as she was squired about the dance floor. She was Daddy’s princess and nothing was too good for her. How would any other night—or any other man—ever compare?

We were about to make this night memorable for a very different reason.

I watched it all from a storage room above the hall. The crew had prepared for this days ago, after finding the party mentioned in the local society pages. There were four of these hidey-holes, each with a newly drilled spy hole, each manned by a crew member. Mine was a tiny room that stunk of stale cigarette smoke.

The party was in full swing when Jaz slipped in and crept over to sit beside me.

“So, did you get a sweet sixteen like this?” he whispered.

I laughed. “If I’d even suggested it, my parents would have sat me down for a long talk about the responsibilities of privilege. No one I knew got a party like this one. It’s a different kind of ‘society.’”

“Old money versus new?”

“Something like that. Debutante balls? Yes. Egyptian extravaganzas with papier-mâché pyramids and a bowl full of money? God, no.”

“Debutante? You?” He grinned. “Say it wasn’t so.”

“What?” I waved at my T-shirt and jeans, grimy with storeroom dust. “I don’t look like one? I’ll have you know I can quickstep with the best of them, sir.”

He laughed, earning a mock glare. “Sorry. I just can’t picture you…”

The sentence trailed off as he watched the party below, then turned to me.

“No, actually, I can. You have that…I don’t know. Aura, I guess.” A small smile. “Even with dirt on your cheeks.” His head tilted. “I bet you were something. Nothing like the rest of them.”

“If you mean because I wasn’t fair-haired and blue-eyed—yes, I did stand out a wee bit.”

“Nah, not that.” He shifted, sliding closer. “You’d still have stood out among all those—” he waved at the party below, “—empty girls. They might have been dripping in jewels, but I bet you shone the most.”

My cheeks heated. I’m accustomed to flattery—the smooth, meaningless compliments that pass for greeting in the circles I’d grown up in and, later, the too-practiced, too-polished sweet talk of rich boys. But Jaz’s words—so sincere in their inelegance—made me feel like I
was
sixteen again.

“I’d love to have been there,” he said. “Of course, I’d have been serving champagne instead of drinking it.”

“That’s okay. There were a couple of times during my season when I ended up in the garden with one of the servers.”

He grinned. “I can see that. Society guys really wouldn’t be your type.”

“Some of them are very nice but, in general, no.”

“Well, if Guy had gone with his first plan, you’d have seen me in a snazzy little white jacket and bow-tie, with a tray in my hand.” He winked. “Maybe bring back some memories.”

“Guy wanted you on the waitstaff?”

“That was the original plan, before he decided it was too ballsy even for him.” He slid over to sit beside me, leaning against my side, voice dropping another notch as his arm rubbed against mine. “To tell the truth, I was kind of hoping I would get to play waiter. Not just for the added buzz…though I wouldn’t have minded that.”

His head dropped forward, eyes a few inches from mine and, in that impulsive shared grin, I knew he’d guessed I enjoyed a “buzz” as much as he did. I didn’t care. It felt good not to care.

“What I was really hoping for, though,” he continued, leaning against me as he whispered, “was the chance to make a little extra on the side. Lift a pair of gold cuff links here, a diamond tennis bracelet there, maybe a—” He lifted a silver-banded watch and peered at the face. “Cartier. Damn, that’s nice.”

I glanced down at my bare wrist. “How’d you—?” I remembered him moving closer, rubbing against me, and I let out a laugh. “You’re good.”

“Thank you.” He turned the watch over in his hands. “An older model, but in excellent condition. No scratches on the face. No engraving on the back. I bet I could flip this for two, three hundred.”

“Try twenty bucks. It’s a Cartier, but a cheap one. I got it for graduating high school.”

“Must be nice. Know what I got for graduating high school? Well, I didn’t actually graduate, but if I had, I’m sure there would have been a lovely Timex in it for me. I still say this is worth at least a hundred, for the name value alone, but I could be persuaded to let it go for less…to the right girl. Perhaps in exchange for a token of appreciation for my amazing talents?”

“Like a smack upside the head for stealing from me?”

His eyes glinted and he bared his teeth in a grin that sent a delicious shiver through me. “Perhaps next time.

Tonight—” He waved at the party below. “Tonight is for genteel, civilized solutions. Tonight, you are the sixteen-year-old debutante and I’m the cad who swiped your watch and is holding it for ransom.” He slid around to face me and dangled the watch between us. “So what would I get?”

“A smack upside the head.”

He chuckled.

“But, if it’s genteel solutions we’re looking for…”

I leaned forward and kissed him. His lips parted against mine in a kiss as sweet as any I’d hoped for when I
had
been sixteen, fending off insistent hands and wet lips, dreaming of something a little more…genteel.

We kissed until a noise from the hall made me pull back. I opened the door and peeked out. It was just Max making his rounds of the second floor. An exchange of thumbs-up and he went on his way.

Jaz still sat where I’d left him. “I don’t suppose you have any more jewelry I can steal.”

I took back my watch. “I do, but you’re not going to get it—or find it—that easily.”

“No?” That devilish glint returned to his eyes. “Don’t be so sure. I’m a master magician—”

My phone vibrated. I answered without speaking, as instructed.

“Five minutes to show time,” Bianca said. “Is Jaz up there?”

I relayed the message to Jaz. He looked as if he was trying to decide whether we had time to pick up where we’d left off. I settled the question by laying on my stomach and peering through the peephole at the party.

Jaz stretched over me, his body grazing mine. “They have no idea what’s coming. Supernaturals could take over the damned world if they wanted, and humans couldn’t do a thing to stop it.”

“Nah. Too much work.”

“True. Let them keep the bureaucracy; we’ll just reap the rewards.”

Still crouched over my back, he moved his lips to my ear and used the excuse to brush along me, groin rubbing against my rear.

“See anything you like?” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Necklace, bracelet…new watch?”

I gave a soft laugh and shook my head.

“Oh, come on.” He pointed to a fur-trimmed stole on a chair. “Dead animals?” His finger moved to a marble bust on the buffet table. “Butt-ugly statue?”

“No, thank you.”

“No? How about the keys to that sweet new ride? Might be your only chance to trash a Jag. Say the word and it’s yours.”

I rolled over, still under him, looked up and knew he was only half joking. If I asked for something—for anything—he’d get it for me. Steal it for me. I fought a shiver of excitement.

His mouth moved down to mine—

My cell phone vibrated, bouncing along the floor.

“Time to move,” he said with a sigh. A moment’s hesitation, then he got up. “But I
am
going to get you something. A surprise.”

WE SNUCK DOWN
the rear stairs and met Guy in the back room with Sonny and Max. We five would be on the front line, while Bianca, Rodriguez and Tony worked from the wings.

“Outfits there,” Guy said, pointing at a pile of staff uniforms as we walked in. “Masks over there. You have five minutes and counting. Pull ’em off and get ’em on. Faith, there’s a closet for privacy—”

“Here’s fine.”

Sonny tossed me the smallest server uniform. I faced the corner, peeled off my T-shirt and pulled on the uniform top. It smelled of knockoff perfume with a faint touch of body odor. As for the former wearer, presumably she was tied up somewhere. Bianca, Max and Tony had been luring servers out for the past twenty minutes, getting their uniforms. It wouldn’t be long before someone noticed a marked decrease in waitstaff.

“Sonny, here.” Guy handed him one of the masquerade half-masks. “You and Max go. Your trays are right around the corner. Jaz, stop fussing with the damned tie, get out there and start charming. Faith—”

“Stay with you. I know.”

He handed me my mask, and I put it on. It covered the top half of my face. I blinked, getting accustomed to it.

When the others were gone, Guy snapped on a mask, tugged at his tie, then rolled his shoulders. From the waves rolling off him, it wasn’t anxiety he was fighting, but anticipation. There was probably no one in the gang who didn’t get off on this, to some degree. That’s why they were here—to exercise their powers for profit and, yes, for fun.

The swirl of chaos…about to turn into a maelstrom. I looked away so Guy wouldn’t see my reaction.

“You ready, Faith?”

“Yes, boss.”

He smacked a hand against my back. “You’re doing just fine. We’re about to give those talents of yours a real workout. You know what you’re doing?”

“I’m your bodyguard against chaos.”

A deep laugh, all traces of the reserved leader vanishing. This was Guy in his element.

“Ready to have some fun?”

“Yes, sir.”

He put his hand against my back and guided me from the room.

HOPE: CRY HAVOC

T
he appearance of waitstaff in masks had caused little stir, even among the servers themselves. All were contract employees, and probably didn’t even notice their coworkers had changed. The girls noticed, though.

Soon each of the guys was surrounded by a coterie of admirers, cajoling them to take off their masks. Even Sonny was playing it up, making motions toward his shirt and, I guessed, offering the teens the choice between having him remove that or the mask.

Jaz had the birthday girl in his circle and was doing an impromptu magic show complete with sexy smiles aimed her way. Her parents watched indulgently, whispering to each other, probably trying to decide what kind of tip the catering service should get for this unexpected extra.

“Stay close,” Guy murmured as we headed for the front of the room, where the hood of the Jag protruded through the doors. A man stepped in front of us and fixed me with a sloppy grin.

“Did they save you for the second shift, cutie?” He waved his glass my way. “I’ll take another Scotch. And there’s a twenty in it if you just bring the bottle.”

Guy flicked his fingers in a knockback spell and the man stumbled.

“Hey,” he said, but it was halfhearted, as if he wasn’t sure whether the booze or Guy was to blame.

We were hailed several more times as we crossed the room, but we ignored the summons and the huffs of outrage when we didn’t stop. As we drew close to the car, Guy took a running leap and landed on the hood with a crack.

The room went silent as everyone stared at the masked server standing on the Jag’s hood. Yet scarcely a chaos vibe rippled from the crowd, the guests certain there was a logical explanation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Guy called. “I know some of you have already been enjoying the magic of our friends, but let me assure you, that’s only a taste of what’s to come.”

Guy shifted and the car’s hood cracked again under his weight. The general swirl of confusion swelled into anger. The birthday girl’s father strode forward.

“Young man, get off that—”

Guy’s fingers flew out in a knockback spell and the man staggered.

“I’m sorry,” Guy said. “We must ask that there be no interruptions during tonight’s performance.”

Not a single cry of horror or disbelief greeted Guy’s display. Instead, the anger wave subsided into murmurs and nervous giggles, as if the spell proved this was indeed a performance. The girl’s father started forward again, face mottled with anger.

“I don’t know what kind of stunt—”

He flew clear off his feet, sailing backward into the crowd. Now came the gasps, but scattered, most still convinced this was part of the show. What else could it be?

“And now, if my lovely assistant will help me get started…”

I walked toward the silver money bowl, aware of every eye on me. I concentrated on the vibes flowing past, searching for a clear, negative impulse directed my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaz step away from his admirers, ready to jump in if anyone tried to stop me. No one did.

I reached the bowl.

One man strode forward. “What are you—?”

Guy hit him with a knockback. “I know she
is
lovely, but we must ask you to admire the performers from afar, for their safety…and yours.”

I lifted the bowl. Jaz fell into step behind me. That wasn’t part of the plan, but Guy’s expression didn’t change.

A buzz of unease rippled through the guests now. I caught the odd half-formed thought, weak and disjointed, the negativity too low for me to pick up more than snippets of “Is this…? Shouldn’t someone…? What’s going…?”

Guy took the bowl in one hand and offered me the other, helping me onto the car.

“Money.” Guy’s voice echoed through the hall as he lifted the bowl. “It makes the world go round. Or so they say. For folks like you, this—” he ripped open an envelope and pulled out a handful of hundreds, “—is the source of your power. Your only power.”

A buzz of discomfort as some people glanced at their purses and pockets, thinking not of money, but of cell phones. No one took them out—they were just reassuring themselves that they were there, like sidearms, protecting them if this turned out to be more than a show.

“Where’s our birthday girl?” Guy called.

Her friends parted around her.

“This is a lovely party, sweetheart. But if your daddy really loved you, he’d be giving you self-defense lessons instead of sports cars. Because this—” he flung the bills, “—doesn’t protect you nearly as well as you think.”