Personal Demon (12 page)

Now the phones came out. Guy wheeled on the closest woman to us, as she lifted one to her ear.

“Have a call to make? That’s rather rude, but go ahead.”

She pulled the phone from her ear and frowned at it.

“No signal? Handy things, reception blockers. Good for ensuring no annoying ring-tones interrupt a show.

I’m afraid you’d need to step outside to use that, though I wouldn’t recommend it. My performers hate to lose their audience.”

One man strode toward the closest door. Guy waited until he was two steps from it, then hit him with an energy bolt that knocked him to his knees, gasping, as sparks flew.

When a group of teenage boys ran for the front door, a cloud of red smoke appeared in their path, twisting and writhing. A demon’s head shot from the smoke. The boys fell back, screaming. A brave one raced for the next exit. Another red cloud. Then a huge dog’s head lunged from it, snarling and slavering. Trip-wire illusions—

sorcerer spells that activated when someone drew near.

Guy leaned down to me. “Cry havoc.”

“And let loose the dogs of war,” I murmured.

“And war it is, Faith,” he said, barely audible over the screaming and shouting, as illusions sprang from every exit. “Never forget that. It’s us versus them. They tell us not to make waves, to stay quiet, to buy peace by hiding.” He met my gaze. “Do you like hiding, Faith?”

Without waiting for an answer, he spun and waved his hands, not murmuring his spell but shouting it.

Sparks arced from his fingertips. Below us, Max cast and fog swirled through the room.

A vision flashed. A gun pulled from a pocket.

“Watch out!” I shouted to Guy as I spun, pinpointing the source. “There!”

The man didn’t finish pulling out the gun before Guy hit him with an energy bolt. As he went down, Jaz tackled him. Another flash. This one auditory, little more than a snarl of rage. I yelled and pointed. Max flung a knockback spell at a woman as she ran for the buffet table, probably hoping to find a weapon there. Sonny took her down before the fog swallowed them.

Streamers started going up in flames as Bianca—dressed in black and nearly invisible—circled the room, setting them alight with her fingers. Guy and Max kept casting. Nothing more than special effects—fog and sparks and colored lights—but from the screams that filled the room, they thought the building was on fire, and ready to collapse around them.

I drank it all in—the horror, the panic, the terror. Chaos, sweeter and purer than any I’d ever known. For once, even the deepest part of me felt no guilt. As I watched the partygoers racing about, I saw the friends who’d abandoned me after my breakdown, when I’d first started seeing visions. In their screams, I heard adults who’d known me from childhood, whispering behind their hands “She was never quite right after that. Her poor mother…”

Guy tapped my arm, telling me it was time to move to the next phase. I stepped to the edge of the hood, ready to jump. Jaz swung over and extended a hand to help me.

“Like mice,” Jaz whispered in my ear, gesturing at the partygoers. “See how they run. And for what? Fog and illusions and sparkly lights. Can you imagine what they’d do if we used real magic?”

His gaze met mine, sharp and hungry despite the lighthearted lilt in his words. Behind the mask, his pupils dilated and I could hear his breath quick and shallow as my own. Excitement. No, more than excitement. Arousal.

I looked up into those glittering eyes. Jaz stepped closer. His hand slid to the back of my head as he bent down, our masks rustling as they brushed, our lips—

A jolt and Jaz stumbled as Guy slapped his back.

“Save it,” Guy said.

Jaz’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing, lip curling as if ready to spit something at the interruption.

Then he went still, his eyes half closing, the look fading.

“Yes, boss.” He lowered his lips to my ear. “What a spoilsport, huh? Expects us to
work
.” His finger slid up my jawline and tickled my earlobe. “Later?”

I twisted to look up at him and our gazes locked.

“Please,” I said.

A sharp intake of breath and a final glimmer of frustrated lust. Then he dodged a second smack. We started forward, following Guy.

We found our target by the punch fountain. Cleo’s father stood there, alone, fists clenched, glaring around the room, as if that could fix matters, too enraged to even think of protecting his daughter.

Jaz’s hand slid from my waist and he was gone, circling wide around the man.

Guy stopped in front of the girl’s father. Not so much as a glance around to make sure Jaz was in position, trusting he’d be there when needed.

“You!” The father waved a hand, as if clearing the fog. “You won’t—”

“Get away with this?” Guy sighed. “So unoriginal. And, sadly, so wrong.”

“The police are probably on the way right now.”

Guy cocked his head. “I don’t hear any sirens.” His voice lowered conspiratorially. “Do you know why?

Because we’re using the best soundproofing money
can’t
buy.”

A thought flew from the father, as fast and sharp as a knife blade, and I only had time to start a warning, but Guy was ready and grabbed the man’s hand as he went to throw a punch.

The man stiffened as the barrel of a gun dug into his lower back. He glanced over his shoulder at Jaz.

“So you know what that is?” Guy said. “We normally avoid guns. Too easy to misuse. But this one came courtesy of your guests. You really should have tighter security. These days, you can’t be too careful.”

“What do you want?” the man asked through gritted teeth.

“We already have what we want.” Guy lifted the bowl he’d been casually toting in one hand. “Before we go, though, I wanted to congratulate you on raising such a philanthropic daughter.”

The man’s face screwed up. “What?”

“Philanthropic. It means—”

“I know what it means.”

“Do you? That’s not what I hear. Your family isn’t known for sharing with the less fortunate, but that’s about to change.”

“What the hell are you—?”

“Tomorrow, in the
Miami Herald,
you’ll find a small piece announcing your daughter’s decision to donate half her sweet-sixteen party money to women’s education in third-world countries.”

“You’re crazy. My daughter isn’t going to—”

“Oh, but she is.” He hefted the bowl. “You have my word that the charity will receive half the money in this bowl come morning…unless it’s reported stolen.”

“What?”

“If you report the robbery, I can’t donate the money, can I? But that article will still run, saying your daughter intended to make the donation. That won’t look good to the police—you saying someone ‘stole’ the money that your daughter promised to charity. They’re going to think
you
took it, especially if they get an anonymous tip claiming you weren’t happy with your daughter’s plan.”

“You—you can’t—” he sputtered. “Everyone saw you take that bowl. I have over a hundred witnesses—”

“—to performance art gone horribly awry. You will apologize profusely to your guests and swear to put this troupe of actors out of business. Then you’ll give your daughter her half of the money—from your wallet—and have a heart-to-heart with her on the obligations the wealthy have to support the less fortunate, which is why you contributed half the gift money in her name.”

“That’s crazy. I won’t—”

Guy leaned forward as Jaz dug the gun in. “Oh, I think you will. You’ve seen what we can do, and that’s only a taste. Trust me, you don’t want the full lesson.”

He cast two fog spells in quick succession, then strode toward the Jag, Jaz and me following. Another jump onto the hood, a quick walk over the roof and we were outside.

Guy called Bianca and told her to meet us back at the Rider. Then Jaz held the knapsack while Guy dumped in the envelopes.

“Party time, boss?” Jaz asked. He plucked out a handful of envelopes. Guy smacked his hand, and Jaz dropped all but one and stuffed it into his pocket.

Guy only laughed. “Yeah, it’s party time.”

HOPE: TEQUILA SHOTS

W
e dumped the getaway car, switched to a crew vehicle and met the others in the lot behind the Rider.

Jaz grabbed my hand, dragging me along as he jogged up behind Sonny. He draped his arm around his friend’s shoulders.

“Party time, bro.”

Tony looked over. “Seriously?”

Jaz hooked a thumb at Guy, still behind us. “Boss says so.”

Bianca dropped back to walk with Guy. Jaz laced his fingers with mine and swung our arms. I laughed, almost expecting him to start skipping.

“Know what that means, Faith? Party time?”

“I have no idea.”

“It means the Rider is ours. Open bar. No rules. No obligations.”

Tony strode up on my other side. “No making nice to the tourists.”

“No making eyes at forty-year-old humans,” Max said.

Jaz grinned. “Nothing to do but party until the sun comes up.”

“Then collect our share, go home and party some more.”

Max and Tony threw open the doors and we walked in, the guys still laughing, so boisterous you’d think they’d already had a few hours at the open bar.

“Hey, boss?” Jaz called back. “You joining us?”

“Unlike some of us, I have responsibilities, Jasper. Money to count. A donation to make…”

“You’re really cutting the take in half?”

Guy smiled. “More or less.”

“I’ll help you,” Bianca said.

Tony dropped back beside her. “Do you have to, Bee? I was hoping you’d come play.”

“Guy needs help—”

“No, I don’t. You go, Bee. Boss’s orders. Have fun. Get sloshed. Enjoy yourself.”

After one lingering look at Guy, Bianca let Tony lead her into the club.

THERE WERE A
handful of high tables next to the dance floor. The best seats in the house and always full. But when we strolled in, bouncers were already clearing two.

A server approached. “Mr. Benoit just called—”

“And said give us whatever we want,” Jaz cut in. To me, “You drink tequila?”

I didn’t, not straight, but I said yes. Hope Adams might not down tequila shots, but I was sure Faith Edmonds would.

Jaz ordered a bottle and Max asked for Scotch.

“Where’s Sonny?” Jaz asked.

“Took off,” Tony said. “Bathroom, maybe.”

We settled in, Jaz, Tony and me at one table, Bianca, Max and Rodriguez at the other.

The server returned.

Jaz stared at the bottle of cheap tequila. “Holy shit, you trying to poison us? The good stuff. The
best
stuff.”

Her gaze darted around the table. “Mr. Benoit didn’t say—”

“Then call him. Or, better yet…”

He was lifting his cell phone when Sonny appeared, a bottle of Patron Silver tequila in one hand and Glenlivet single-malt Scotch in the other.

“I didn’t trust them to fill the order right,” he said.

“Bro, you are a lifesaver. Grab a seat—” Jaz looked at the three chairs, already taken.

He pushed his chair back and tugged my arm, patting his lap. I obliged as Sonny passed the Scotch to Max, then opened the tequila.

“Guy is going to kick your asses,” Tony said, waving at the bottle.

We glanced at Bianca, waiting for her to tell us to stop.

“Jaz can handle it,” she said, mouth tight as she passed Max her glass.

“Sure, I can.” Jaz grinned, the subtext—that Guy wouldn’t chastise him for anything—flying over his head.

“We deserve this.” He handed me the first tequila shot. “
Faith
deserves this. When’s the last time we pulled off a big job without a hitch? Without one scratch or one close call? We owe that to our newest recruit. The minute someone even
thought
of causing trouble, she knew it. How cool is that?”

“How fucking
useful
is that?” Rodriguez said, shaking his head. “Do you know how many times I could have used your power, Faith? Would have saved me a whole lotta time in juvvie.”

“But then you wouldn’t have gotten all that special high-tech training,” Jaz said. “And put it to such good use.”

A round of laughter. I glanced around, unaccustomed to talking so openly about my powers, but no one was close enough to overhear. With the booming music, we could barely hear each other.

Jaz lifted his shot glass and whispered, “Ready?” Then, ignoring the salt and lime on the plate, we downed them together. The tequila hit my gut like a fireball and I struggled not to gasp. Jaz’s arms vibrated around me as he laughed, silently, not giving me away.

“So you really can read minds?” Tony asked as he finished his shot.

“Only chaotic thoughts. Sometimes.”

Jaz shook his head. “
Most
times, judging by that demonstration at the hall.”

Tony leaned forward. “So what am I thinking now?”

“Whatever it is, you don’t really mean it. For example, you can think you’d like to strangle Jaz, but unless you mean it, I won’t detect it.”

“What if it’s just wishful thinking?” Sonny said.

Jaz snatched the bottle from him and they parried insults for a minute.

“Cut it out, you two,” Rodriguez called over. “I want to hear more about this power. How about we all think something bad, and see if Faith picks it up? We’ll—”

I didn’t hear the rest, caught up in the vision of a voluptuous redhead, writhing, bound to a bed. I followed it to a red-haired woman on the dance floor, then tracked it back to the source.

“Tony!” I shuddered. “Please. I think I need brain soap after that.”

“What did you hear?” Jaz asked.

“Not hear. See. In living color.” I glanced meaningfully at the redhead.

“Shit,” Tony said.

“You doubted her?” Jaz smacked Tony’s arm. “Dumb ass. I warned you. So what was he thinking about the girl?”

I shook my head.

Sonny waved the bottle. “Another couple of these and she’ll tell us.”

“Shit, guys,” Tony muttered. “I was just joking.”

“Uh-uh,” Jaz said. “Remember what she said. If you aren’t serious, she doesn’t hear it. Or see it, apparently.”

Sonny refilled our shot glasses. Tony gulped his, then took a second. I lifted mine.