Phoenix Broken (10 page)

Scott burst through the door into the night.

What was his mental issue around that goddamn woman?

Before his brain could attempt an answer he collided with something.

Someone.

A pair of annoyed brown eyes met his. In an instant, his issues with Desdemona and that big demon were put aside.

Docie May. Fuck. He'd run right into her.

Brown eyes narrowed as they locked onto his face. No question this time. Docie May definitely knew him. Her hands held his jacket for a moment as she steadied herself. Before he could do more than blink at her, she was hauled back by one of the two goons he'd seen her with the other night.

"Watch it, human," The one with a spider tattoo crawling up his face snapped.

"Yeah, move along," The other puffed out his chest.

Scott smiled sheepishly, stepping aside and hunching his shoulders as if cowed. They moved off with matching chortles. Scott watched as they manhandled the vamp through the doors. Docie May was watching him right back, a smirk on her face. Scott cocked his head, but she was gone. The door closed.

He struggled with the urge to turn around and go back inside. That was a stupid fucking idea, for a lot of different reasons. In the end, his brain won out.  Not because he'd been intimidated by some demon asshole either.

Only because he wanted information about said asshole before facing him again.

And Scott knew exactly where to go when he needed nefarious information quickly.

Twenty minutes later, he was walking through the door to Phoenix's IT room.

“Who the fuck is Guido Calimente?”

Stepping inside this room was always a bit like being tossed into the north Atlantic at night. Black and cold; with lights blinking on and off like ships passing by. Dustin spun in his computer chair and smiled up at him.

“Hello to you, too, buddy. How’s it hanging?” He wagged his eyebrows before his lightly kohled eyes dipped deliberately below Scott’s belt.

“Cut the crap, man. Not in the mood.”

“Ah, do you have a headache, sweetie?”

Scott rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. Dustin could be a little bitch when it came to manners.

“Hello
, Dustin,” he said, trying not to grind his teeth. “How you doing tonight?”

Dustin leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his pink-streaked black hair. “Oh, I’m doing good, man. Real good. Just got done manually updating the software for the whole security system. Only took about six hours.”

“Sounds like a pain in the ass.” Scott resisted the urge to grab the man by the throat and strangle him. He liked Dustin a lot, really he did. Sometimes though…

“Nah, it was fun.” The IT whiz cracked his knuckles. “Probably makes me feel about like you do after one of those insane workouts of yours.”

“Pissed off, pumped and dripping sweat?”

Dustin smirked. “Okay, maybe not. Thanks for the visual though.”

“Oh for shit’s sake. I played nice, will you just answer the fucking question?” Usually he took Dustin's shameless flirting for the harmless joke it was, but tonight his nerves were raw.

“Be happy to,” Dustin grinned and turned back to his computer, fingers flying. “But never underestimate the power of foreplay when you want something, darling. In and
out
of bed.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now come on, who is he?”

“Did you try the Internet?”

“Yes. I Googled him on my phone. Nada.”

“If you can’t find it on the World Wide Web it doesn’t exist, baby.”

“Oh, he definitely exists. Trust me. Big, scary-looking dude. At least 230. 6'4"or 6'5". Black and black. Italian maybe, or Mexican. Possibly Spanish. I don't fucking know. He’s got the whole Latin lover thing going on. But he's demon. 100% from what I hear."

“I prefer blondes myself, but to each his…
huh.”
Dustin frowned, his fingers pausing on the keyboard for the first time. “You’re right. Can’t find a goddamn thing. Maybe he gave you a false name?”

Scott shrugged. “I don’t think so. Who knows, though? You really can’t find anything? I thought you were supposed to have magic fingers?”

“Oh, I do, darling. I do. And I’m hardly licked yet. Let’s go deeper, shall we? Deeper is always good.” Dustin threw a wink over his shoulder, as his fingers started to blur again. Scott groaned, but Dustin’s teasing was actually starting to calm him a bit.

Earlier, he’d been so ready to tear that son of a bitch Calimente a couple new assholes, he'd actually lost control of his power. Just for a minute, but that hadn't happened to Scott in…
years.
It'd shaken him. Everything about the last few days had him feeling out of it. Ready to fucking explode.

"Ha!" Dustin's jubilant voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Got it. Not on the Net though, in house."

"What?"

"He's in Phoenix's private files. Guido Calimente. Alias Salvador Ricci. Demon extraordinaire. Dude, this guy is serious OG. Convenīre all the way, hence the alias. Those dudes never use their real name. He's over a hundred years old."

"He didn't look it."

Dustin snorted. "Those Latino types, good genes. Especially in his case." A long, low whistle. "Damn, he's smoking!" He turned the monitor so Scott could see the face he was already too familiar with. He supposed the guy was handsome enough, in a GQ/pirate sort of way.

"Not my type, you understand," Dustin continued, "but still…
hawt.
"

"Can I get details that don't have to do with his goddamn sex appeal, please? I know what the fucker looks like." He wondered if Latino was
Des'
preferred type. Maybe that was why they seemed so comfortable together, they could easily be old lovers. Calimente was demon, she was a half breed.

Des had called him her friend, but who knows what that term encompassed, especially to a succubus. And the way he'd warned Scott off her there at the end certainly seemed to fit. A sneer twisted Scott's mouth.

If he decided he wanted her, no fucking demon was going to stop him.

But he
didn't
want her. It was just her goddamn succubae bullshit making him think he did. That was all.

Liar,
a small, but steady voice whispered in his ear.

Scott scrubbed the top of his head, fighting the urge to put his fist through something. Most everything in here was worth more than he'd made in the last five years.

"There's a lot to sift through, Scott, but quick overview—he's demon, father Valencio. Total blueblood in a society that likes it really, really blue. Demon class, warrior. He's one of those freaky morphs."

"That's like a shifter, yeah?"

Dustin shrugged. "Little bit, though his type would probably yank your heart out by the roots for the comparison. When this guy goes into a rage, he'll out Hulk the Hulk. They almost double in height, triple their weight, grow horns and nasty ass claws and shit. Some even grow tails, or wings. Get scales, turn colors. Not usually green though, they favor red and purple and black. There's no photos on file of Calimente in morph." The tech studied the photo still on the screen and sighed. "I'm kinda glad. Seems a shame to mess with that face."

Scott rolled his eyes. So, Des' friend was a badass. No surprise there. The warrior in Scott had recognized the warrior in Calimente pretty much instantaeously. Call it the fighter's version of namaste. Curiosity struck him about something else. "What does bestia mean, or
dem?"

"Bestia is easy, depending on the connotation." Dustin looked at him expectantly.

"Let's assume…insult."

Dustin grinned. "Figures. Then I bet your man was using it in the Spanish vernacular. Meaning ignorant, or dull…like a beast. It has older roots, too. In the Latin, it's used to mean a fiendish creature, or monster. Ancient church texts often used it to indicate a demon. Interesting, as you say this Guido is a demon. Sounds like he likes a little irony with his insults."

Scott rolled his eyes. "If you're done fan-girling over his creativity, what is
dem?
"

'That's easy, too. It's Saanis."

The language of the demons. "I guessed that much, Dustin, but what the hell does it
mean?"
 

Scott spoke three languages; Russian and French besides English, but Dustin spoke like ten, including every shade language. "It's their name for us. Humans, I mean. Also ironic, if you think about it.
Dem,
demon." Dustin smirked. "It's considered derogatory, though. Not the preferred term in polite conversation. I take it you made an impression on him?"

"It was mutual, trust me. What about 'polter I tay said'?"

"One sec, I gotta think—ummm, 'my crazy little one' comes close." Dustin raised his eyebrows, but Scott didn't elaborate.

Instead he rubbed the top of his head, then sighed. "Listen. I got to get home to the munchkins and catch some zzz's. Could you go through his file for me? Pull out anything that catches your eye?"

“That’s Lydia territory,” Dustin grumbled. Phoenix’s librarian usually handled research and dossiers, but it was after midnight and Scott didn’t want to call her. He also couldn’t simply send the file to his home computer.

Phoenix had a strict policy about their internal files; no copies, electronic or otherwise, ever left the complex without approval from either Kelsey or Jules,
and
Nolan. After the bullshit with Jules earlier, he didn't feel like approaching any of those three.

Dustin took in Scott's expression, then gave a long-suffering sigh. "Sure, what the hell? I'm pulling an all-nighter to run through any bugs that come up from the software update anyway. Maybe his dossier will keep me from falling asleep. He looks like a guy that lives a little," Dustin gave the demon's image a conspiratorial wink.

"I'm sure he does. And Dustin…thanks, man."

"Yeah, yeah.
De nada,
amigo.
" He chuckled. "You owe me. Again. One of these days I'm gonna collect, damnit. Would you be opposed to payment in booty?"

Scott flipped him off. Just before he opened the door, an idea struck that made him turn back around. "Hey, could you also check and see who's looked at that particular file? Who and when, okay? Just curious if he's been on our radar recently. And call me if you find something. Or text if it gets too late. Please."

"Oooh, I get all shivery when you say please, blondie."

Scott flipped him off again before stalking out. Dustin's delighted laughter following him into the night.

Des squeezed her newly-minted ID in one hand as she approached the glass and steel atrium of Phoenix Inc.

It was a cold, clear day. The sun off all those windows made it look like the place was on fire. The complex was almost more intimidating in the daylight than it had been in the dark. Maybe it was because she could see so much more of it. Besides the huge pyramid of glass in front of her, nestled between rows of flanking trees at the head of the curved driveway, there were at least half a dozen other buildings scattered over the rolling green lawns.

She had come early, hoping not to run into Scott.
Coward,
Des scolded herself as she pushed through the doors.

Her heels clicked on the black tiled floor as she approached the security desk. The guard took his time examining her card, but eventually waved her on with a smile. Apparently she did have a job now, or at least a pretend one, since it wasn't as if she was
really
working for Phoenix. No, she was just bowing to the whims of Miles freaking Rousseau.

With a sigh, Desdemona made her way down the first hall on the right. Pretty soon she was going to need a pretend place to live, to go with her pretend job, and the pretend money she wasn't making. Her father's bank account had been mysteriously sealed the day he died, and she'd been forced to flee the estate with little more than the clothes on her back and one suitcase that had been packed for an upcoming vacation in France, not running for her life in northern America. She had her own, fairly fat, bank account, but Des was practical. She may be living like this for
years.
Money could become a very real problem, very quickly. Especially if she were forced to keep darting about the world.

She was damn sick of hotel living already. There was always Guido, of course, but much as she loved him, staying with him would be awkward. For both of them.

Des stopped in front of the door, staring at the ebony plaque next to it.

Kelsey Daegar Rousseau

Chief Executive Officer

Phoenix Incorporated

Miles had told her the file would be on his wife’s desk. He didn’t maintain an office of his own at Phoenix, despite his degree of involvement in the foundation’s affairs. She felt weird going inside, though she knew the woman was in Paris with her husband. Des shook herself and opened the door, leaving it wide open behind her. Impressionist and post-Impressionist artwork were displayed prominently, but Des ignored the temptation and headed straight for the wide, glossy desk.

There was a manila file on the green suede blotter. In it was a single photograph, just as promised. Out of it looked a blonde woman with a strong face and big brown eyes. Des studied it curiously.

I saw her last night, didn’t I?
She was sure she had, flanked by two of those cookie cutter goons Guido used for security, not too long after the debacle with Scott.

She flipped over the 5 x 7 photo.

On the back were noted the words: Docie May Cantrell
(vampire), known associate of
Daimen Levi Cross
(vampire w/ para abilities, pathokinesis?)
5/17/2005

Neither name was familiar. The photo was over ten years old by the date, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if vampires aged. Miles had already told her the person she was to observe was a vampire, and female, though he'd been forthcoming about little else.

She hadn't expected him to share with the likes of her. Unlike Scott, Miles didn’t really care that she was succubae; demon alone was enough to make the legendary vampire despise her.

Too bad for him her grandfather's blood ran in her veins, too.
And her mother's.
She wondered idly if the woman who used this office even knew her mother's name. Knowing Miles, the answer was almost certainly no. That man's compartments had compartments.

Des sighed again and tucked the pic back into the file and left the file were it lay. Well, her job for Miles was bound to be short if this chick
was
the one she had saw last night. Maybe she wouldn't even need that pretend apartment.

She turned and her hand went to her throat.

Someone was leaning in the doorway, watching her with a pair of coolly amused blue eyes.

“If you’re the welcoming committee, you need to work on your approach.” Des lowered her hand, her heart racing.

The woman smiled.

She was wearing a wrap-around dress in an intense Oriental print; all reds and gold on black. It was gorgeous, and made Des want to raid her closet. The woman was about her own age and drop-dead beautiful; slim with a waterfall of straight black hair and pale skin.

She was also intimidating as hell. Something about the intensity of those striking
eyes
…and the way she carried herself; like some kind of Celtic queen from ages past. Warrior-queen, Des amended hastily, as the woman took a long stride forward.

“No one with any brains would put
me
on the welcoming committee, if we had one. But I did want to come say hey to the newbie. I’m Magdalena Foley. Only don’t call me Magdalena. Ever. Call me Foley, or Mags.”

Des shook the proffered hand, the woman's paleness contrasting sharply with her own deep caramel skin tone. “Okay, Mags, I’m Desdemona. But don’t call me that either. I go by Des.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” Mags was eying her with apparent relish. “You’re the chick everyone is talking about.”

“Everyone, huh?” Des leaned a hip against the desk, somewhere between annoyed and amused.

“Yes, everyone,” the woman gave a snort at odds with her delicate features. “FYI, we
all
have big mouths around here, but Dustin has the biggest." At Des' confused blink, Mags amended. "The slant eyed freak with the pink streaked hair who's gay as a French poodle? He's my bestie. Plus, the man has no fucking filter, which, from what I heard about what went on in the gym the other night, neither do you. Did you
really
do the nasty with Davidson in Centaries?”

Des rolled her eyes. “It was just a blowjob, and it’s not like we were on the center dance floor when it happened. And god knows the man needed it.”
Oh my, did I say that our loud?

“Isn’t that the fucking truth?” Mags’ amused expression turned speculative.  “Not to pry, which of course means get ready for me to pry like hell, but what is it like—being a succubus? Are random blowjobs the norm?” To Des' surprise, there was no malice in the woman’s expression, just avid curiosity.

Des had to laugh. "No, they're definitely not. At least not for me. He was…different. A special case, you might say. I don’t know if I can explain it.”

Not when
I
don't understand it.

And she wasn't about to try to explain about the pain she'd felt eating away at Scott. That was something incredibly private, and not hers to share.

Mags' bright eyes narrowed. As if she'd sensed Des' avoidance—and guessed the reason for it—but was choosing to ignore it. "So, are succubae like horny
all
the time?”

“Hell no," It was Des' turn to let out a snort. "I suppose my sex drive is a bit more than the human norm…and I
definitely
don’t have all your ridiculous hang-ups about sex—“

“Hey now, let's not be racist. Not all humans have hang-ups—“

“Oh yes, you do. Particularly women. And
men
about
women
."

And wasn't Scott just living proof of that shit?

"I’ve read your literature. The Madonna or the whore. Though, if you ask me your Madonna sounds a lot like what you people like to call a whore; getting impregnated by some random guy and then blaming it on a deity… Actually, I suppose she was rather clever, if you think about it."

Mags choked. “Oh my god! You can’t say that shit to a Catholic, even a lapsed Catholic. My soul is in mortal danger just hearing that."

"Of course it is.
Demon
. Remember? Your mythology blames us for everything
." Not always unfairly.
Thinking of her father, Des' gaze fell to the floor.

When she looked back up, Mags was studying her, her blue eyes very serious.

“You really
didn’t
use those powers of yours on Davidson, did you?”

“No. At least not in the way he thinks. I sensed his need—his aura practically screams out for healing. Sexual or otherwise.” She gave Mags a rueful smile. “And there was just something about him… I couldn't help myself. Which is very much the exception and not the rule.”

Actually with Johnny, there was no rule. No
anything
to base her experience with him on because she'd
never
been drawn to a man so quickly and so thoroughly before. Let alone gone to her knees for him—

A chuckle interrupted her thoughts. “Ha. Just
something
, eh? Something like a body made to be licked all over. Davidson is one sexy son of a bitch, for all his issues.” The laughter faded from her expression. “Do you have any idea about his past? I'm curious what you might've sensed. I don't know squat about demon powers, and even less about succubae.”

“We don’t get specific stuff like that; no details, or memories. Only the emotions; pain, lust, rage...” Des hesitated. “He had all those and more.”

“I’m not surprised.” Mags said. She waited but Des didn't go for the opening. She didn't want to hear her Johnny's story second hand. Something flashed in the other woman's eyes. Approval?

After a beat, Mags spoke again, her blue gaze almost disturbing intent. “By the way, if you really need a place to crash while you’re in Chicago, I'm looking for a roommate.”

Wait.

How the hell did she know—

Omno,
Guido would tan her ass for missing something so obvious. She was in a building full of
paras
…and trying to make a deal with a man who could reach out to any one of them, at any time.

“Telepath?” The question was resigned, tired. Exactly how Des felt at the moment. The game never changes, only the players.

Mags didn't flinch. “Yup.”

“Miles sent you to feel me out.
Damn.
You just got more info out of me in ten minutes than that bastard did in hours. You’re good. I’ll give you that.” Her voice was only faintly bitter. She could hardly blame the woman for her own naiveté.

Mags stepped in front of her when she tried to leave, holding out a hand.

“Yes, Des,” she admitted quietly, “Miles did send me to check you out, but the roommate offer is my own—though I have to tell you, he'll most likely approve. But listen up. I'm
damn
good at what I do. I'm the most kickass telepath you’ll ever meet. So when I say that I'm good, trust that I mean
fucking spectacular.

"When I report back to Miles that you're telling the straight-up truth about everything you said, he's going to believe me.
Whether he wants to or not.
Got it? That can’t hurt whatever deal you got going with him.”

Folding her arms, Des looked at the dark-haired woman. Mags was right. She’d been very candid. Too damn candid, in hindsight. If Miles took the telepath at her word, it should help convince the son of a bitch she wasn’t her father in feminine form.

Des didn't much liked being tricked, though.

“You’re still pissed at me.” It was Mags' turn to sound resigned.

“Yup.” And she was, but it was fading already. Des had never cultivated the ability to hold a grudge and she wasn't going to start now.

“Well, you might as well take me up on the roommate offer then, because pissed is what living with me does to everyone.”

“Funnily enough, I have the same problem. Sure you can handle living with a demon, Catholic girl? You won’t attempt an exorcism in my sleep?”

"As long as you don't start making little girls projectile vomit on my floors, we're all good."

They exchanged grins. Mags curled a finger at her, holding open the door. "Come on, demon spawn, let me show you your new place. It's
fabulous."

Rage was pouring off Scott in waves so hot, he could feel them simmering over his skin. It was mid-morning and Phoenix Inc. was almost deserted as he made his way through the atrium. He'd had an appointment with Toby's teacher this morning.
Again.
Fourth one this school year, which since they were just over a month in, was not a good thing.

Her words still echoed in his head.

"While I do understand your family has suffered a terrible loss…"

No, you really don't understand shit, you smug bitch
, he'd thought, concentrating hard on maintaining a calm, non-murderous expression.

"Perhaps Toby is acting out a school to get the attention he is not receiving at home…"