Demon Master Page 8

  He had slapped the table and said yes. And she had opened her briefcase without a word, arched a brow on her plain face, and asked, “How much?”

  Karolina was as plain, tall and thin with long brown hair that she wore in a hat more often than not. Hardly shy of work, she was used to joining Adam in the greenhouse. In time, they came to know each other. He was penniless and smelled of dirt at all times, but, on the rare occasions he showered and dressed for the world, Karolina would tell him, “I like you in your own element, love.”

  The confirmation of his work meant that he could have things a bookish dreamer once thought impossible, even a woman like Karolina and her unending passion as she climbed him like ivy. Many times, they lay twined on the soft earth of the greenhouse, the ventilation fans wafting humid air over the rise and fall of their bodies. Today would be the day for rewarding himself. They could marry. She would wear the ring her mother gave her until he could afford something more modern. For now, the antique gold and opal would have to do.

  This plant is from Eden. I will have everything now. Years of rooting in dirt, squinting into a lens, and now . . . all of it. Money, books, Karolina. Any woman at all, actually. It’s all here for the taking. And I am going to take every bit of what I can, and people will love me for it. Adam and his magic beans. It’s no fairy tale.

  A car door thumping closed broke his daydrem. Karolina was here now, and they would celebrate this final step before his glory. He felt his cock grow stiff as he thought of her legs. Her mouth.

  “You’re certain about it?” she asked, moving to him. Karolina sniffed at him and toyed with the buttons on his denim shirt that were ringed with sweat and grime. Her nose was very sensitive.

  “Take that off. I want you, not that rag.” Her green eyes were shining, her brown hair hanging limp in the moist air. She kissed him hard and took the shirt from his back as she slid onto the potting table they leaned against. In a violent sweep, Adam cleared the surface and lifted her cotton skirt. She wore nothing underneath, and he was in her in seconds, buried to the hilt.

  “My turn” she croaked, turning him to lay him flat and never breaking their contact. She rode him in a wave, biting his chest in tiny nips and pushing his arms over his head. He relaxed, letting her work. Her tongue flickered across his chest, his neck, coming to rest at the tender pulse of his axillary artery.

  She inhaled, her eyes rolling in delight at the unmasked scent of his flesh. So pure. Her mother would be jealous of this one’s blood. And soul.

  Hidden beneath her upper lip, a single, needle-like tooth slid from hiding, luminously hollow. Her bite was serpentine, the pleasure exquisite, and his flavor much richer for having cultivated him for so long. The fang sank to the root without resistance, filling the artery in a perfect diversion.

  He continued thrusting into her, unaware his lifeblood pumped down her greedy throat ounce by heated ounce in a coppery flood that left him pale, and then softly wheezing, only to buck slightly under her iron grip. At last, he slipped from inside her-- limp, bloodless, his heart silent and still. His booted foot kicked once and swung to a stop.

  She wiped her mouth on the hair of his chest. You were never meant to feed the world, Adam. Only me.

  25

  Florida: Ring

  Among my vices are fishing, beer, my boat, sunshine, and trading vehicles. I planned on indulging in all of them within the next twenty-four hours. Purchasing an unending array of used cars wasn’t just a hobby, it was a tool. At times, a ride was my accessory for surveillance, travel, or transporting the property of immortals that had moved on, courtesy of my knife.

  My current ride, a forgettable tan sedan, had served its purpose, but after six months, it was time to move on. I called the least reputable used car lot in Broward County, owned and operated by one Jim Broward, whose true name was an incomprehensible Armenian monstrosity I knew he kept wisely hidden. For legal reasons, of course.

  Jim answered on the second ring, a voice that was nicotine-scorched, deep, and Southern, all the more impressive considering he was from Chicago.

  “Broward cars, here,” he managed to drawl, coughing.

  “Jim, it’s Ring. I think it’s time I took a look at your lot. You around later?”

  “Sure am, Ring. I was wondering when you’d get the itch. How ‘bout an SUV this time? I’ve got something special sitting in the wash bay, pretty as a peach.” He wasted no time in appealing to my habit.

  “I’m interested. It might be nice to sit up high. I’ll see you after lunch with my checkbook.” I couldn’t negotiate on an empty stomach.

  “Music to my ears. See y’all later.” And we were done, as I wondered what color my new vehicle would be. Jim was a heluva salesman. I was sold before I left my house.

  Suma texted, and we agreed to dinner on the boat with a side of fishing. That meant that I had several minor but enjoyable errands, not the least of which was a trip to Publix, which I treat as a sort of pilgrimage each and every time. I entered, turned right, and headed to the deli, bought subs and beer, and wandered back out into the bright sun.

  I keep a cooler in my car. It’s the habit of a fisherman, beer aficionado, and resident of Florida who respects the heat. In went the boat lunch, to be covered with beer, ice, then beer and ice. I pack in layers. Since salmonella was being held at bay by my prescience, I turned west and headed to University drive, where Jim had my vehicle waiting for me.

  It was time to get acquainted with my new ride.

  26

  Florida: Ring

  The lot was crowded with cars roasting in the sun. I parked near the office, which was a converted hamburger franchise from the 1950s, covered in white stucco, with a single steel sign announcing that Broward’s cars refused to be undersold. The glass door swung open, and Jim ambled out, his cabana shirt straining over his stomach. His grey hair was slicked back, and his intense brown eyes sized me up as I stuck out my hand. He was having none of it. I was pulled into an Armenian bear hug as he said, “Good tuh see you, Ring!” and then deposited back on the ground, a bit flustered.

  “Same here. How’s Deb?” I inquired after his wife.

  “She’s dandy. Says you have to come in after you see what I got for you out here.” He turned toward the last bay. “I think this is exactly what you and the girls want. Style! None of that economical horseshit, an honest to God two tons of style.” He waved his arm with a flourish as I saw what he had, shined up and ready.

  He was right. A steel grey Jeep Grand Wagoneer sat awaiting my arrival, the red leather interior gleaming with polish. An acre of wood paneling ran down the sides underneath immense windows. Chrome was everywhere. It was a Yankee fantasy, twenty-five years old but kept perfectly by someone who had appreciated the vehicle as much as I did at that moment. I didn’t need to drive it. I knew. So did Jim.

  “Let’s write it up,” I told him, shaking his meaty hand.

  He laughed a spastic rumble. “Already did.”

  We settled in his office, the paperwork complete. He called for Deb, who was in the other room. I heard her feet tapping on the tile, and then she entered.

  “Hi Ring. It’s nice, isn’t it?” Her eyes flicked toward the Wagoneer. “Jim didn’t even bother putting it on the lot because he knew you were ready for something a bit more masculine.” Her tone was borderline flirtatious, which was at odds with her appearance. Deb was funny and smart, and regarding her looks, she was funny and smart. Tall, skinny, with a long nose, she had an awkward presence. But her smile was warm, and she was brilliant, qualities that go a long way in the world.

  Jim brought me back to the present. “And how will you be paying today, Ring? Cash? Check? Or perhaps something more interesting?”

  “Cash is so dull. How about these instead?” I placed Senya’s hair combs on the desk. Neither he nor Deb moved.

  She asked, “May I?” Seeing my nod, she picked them up and held them to the light. Jim’s other business interest was buying and selling unusual i
tems. Jewelry, weapons, the odd wayward artwork—all was within his, and Deb’s, field of expertise, along with the wholly legitimate car lot.

  I sat quietly while they conferred in the other room, finding a value for the combs. After a few moments, they returned. The combs were nowhere to be seen. Good for me, I thought.

  “They’re special, that’s for sure,” Deb began. “Probably fourth century, Byzantine or Roman. Would you take . . .”—she shrugged at Jim—“six?”

  Jim seemed a bit tense. The combs must be really unusual to get a reaction from a pair of old pros.

  “And the vehicle? Tax included, of course?” I smiled. I had leverage. It was deeply satisfying, even knowing that they probably had a buyer lined up already who would pay a huge number for the trinkets.

  “Taxes. Of course. Always a pleasure, Ring.” Jim shook my hand, and Deb began to count out money.

  The combs must have been much nicer than we could have imagined because she counted out six thousand dollars and set the Wagoneer keys on top of the stack. I was pleasantly surprised.

  “Do me a favor, Jim.” I had another matter in mind for later. “I need something for protection for the girls. No guns. Anything light, maybe a blade. Something very personal. Keep me in mind. Functional but well designed. I’ll go a thousand each for whatever you run across. It should be small enough for a woman’s hand, but lethal. Not decorative.”

  Deb and Jim both closed their eyes for a second in thought. Jim spoke first. “You betcha. I’ll send you anything appropriate that I might find.”

  We said our goodbyes, and I strolled through the sun to my new pride and joy. I shut the door with a satisfying thump. The engine turned over immediately and settled into the rich purr of an eight-cylinder powertrain. With a tweak to the mirror, I pulled out into traffic and headed for home, a yuppie to the core.

  And an elementary school art class was six grand richer.

  27

  Florida: Ring

  When Suma pulled up to our place, the boat was ready. Gyro greeted her at the door with a single reverberating WOOF and then fell to the floor, his security requirements fulfilled. Wally was cycling, and Risa had been at the heavy bag in our carport gymnasium. Her grunts of satisfaction with each strike had punctuated the last hour. She was working hard, and I didn’t wish to interrupt her, so I had Suma follow me to the dock, where we stepped aboard and cast off. The canal shone brilliant in the afternoon sun. The tide was running out, so I took a leisurely pace, opened two beers, and asked her what she felt like fishing for.

  “I don’t know. Can we sit still, drink beer, and technically still be fishing?” Her look was mischievous. I appreciated that type of angler.

  “Absolutely. In fact, the less we move, the better. It gains us tremendous fishing cred to remain in one location. I know just the place; it’s in Port Everglades. We’ll still be inshore, but there’s a deep hole where we might accidentally catch fish while we get sun.” I pushed the throttle forward, and we turned east.

  We coasted to a stop at the corner of two seawalls, where a lazy eddy circled underneath us. I dropped the blade anchor and let the line pay out until I felt the subtle underwater clink that meant we were stuck.

  “Okay, so, we have a hook, a small weight, and a shrimp. We drop this over”—I demonstrated with my spinning reel—“until the line goes slack. Then you reel up until there is a hint of tension and pray that nothing tugs at the bait, which would interrupt your sandwich and beer time.”

  “Like this?” Suma was very careful with the rod and had her finger lightly poised on the line.

  “Just right. That way, you feel the line, not the tip. If you get a bite, don’t reel—pull up quickly and then reel as you lower the rod, like a seesaw, up and down.” I mimicked my flawless strategy as she watched.

  “Can we have a snack? I’m starving,” she asked, smiling winningly at me from under her hat.

  I leaned toward the cooler and began to rummage. “Sandwich time?” I asked, and she reached with her free hand across the space between us. I noticed for the first time that her eyes were hazel. I handed her a one-pound section of sub, dripping lettuce and dressing onto the deck.

  “Are you from Thailand or the States?” I asked.

  “I’m American. And a little bit French. Our grandfather was from Marseilles. He met our grandmother in Thailand, though, so some of my family had dual citizenship. We—hey! A bite!” She cut off her speech and began to reel, the rod tip dancing in the water. After a few seconds, a wriggling fish swayed in the air, gill plates pumping in frustration.

  “Swing it over here. I’ll take it off for you, Fish Master.” I bowed solemnly as she led the fish through the air to my waiting hands.

  “What is it? It’s beautiful, like a blue and yellow mirror,” she said.

  “It’s a grunt. They carpet the bottom, but they’re delicious. Since we have sandwiches, we’ll let him go.”

  “A grunt? What a name.”

  The fish obliged me, barking several times like an old man clearing his throat. I tossed him back in as Suma laughed.

  “That’s truth in advertising. I never knew fish could talk,” she said, looking into the water where the grunt had submerged with a miffed flip of the tail.

  “They certainly can. Translated, it said we should have another beer, and I, for one, always listen to nature.” I reached for the cooler as she laughingly accepted the bottle, and we both decided to work on becoming better friends before the sun went down.

  28

  Florida: Ring

  That night, I walked silently to the back door. It was three in the morning, and Gyro rose to join me on the dock. I replayed my afternoon on the boat with Suma. She had flecks of green in her eyes when the sun hit them under the brim of her hat. She hated the texture of fish but loved their colors. I found her immensely likeable. Absently scratching Gyro, I knew that seeing her meant she could be in danger.

  We had lifted the curtain, and we could not lower it again. Suma knew about the real world now.

  I had Risa and Wally. I had a dog. Still, looking out over the dark water, it seemed that there were many things I would never have, and anger stirred within me at the loss of a future I could not know.

  I went inside, resolving to call the Baron and ask him if someday there might be room in the forest for three more people. Our lives suddenly felt more dangerous.

  Cazimir connected immediately and seemed genuinely glad to be in contact. After my description of fishing and general leisure, he grew quiet.

  “Ring, I do not wish to sound paternal, but are you serious about finding Elizabeth?” He waited for my answer, hands folded on his desk.

  I was brought up short. I didn’t have a legitimate reason for my inactivity.

  “I don’t know. I feel like I may need a point of origin, or something, I can’t exactly say what is missing here. What I’m missing.,” I admitted.

  “Allow me to give you some direction, Ring. You recall that I was able to identify you by looking for oddities within the news. Let me pass along something you may find useful. One of your local news sources reported a murder, quite gruesome, involving a highly respected surgeon who was found buried near the beach. After reading what is present and lacking in the crime description, I think you may be interested. I’ll email it directly, and please give me your opinion when you have read it.”

  I agreed and we signed off.

  We had a lead.

  The next morning, we all read the article describing the death of Arnaud LeConte, a surgeon who had donated countless hours to corrective surgery free of charge. He was a highly unlikely target for an immortal of Elizabeth’s standing. Internet searches revealed him to be of modest means and an all around good guy. Risa keyed on the body—and who found it.

  A caterer returning to clean up after the charity event stumble, on the good doctor and called the police. Photographs from the affair were everywhere online. For the people in attendance, being seen doing good w
orks was more important than the act itself. Social sites were pasted with smiling faces of socialites sacrificing for the greater good. In one photo, a caterer’s truck was parked in the background, the distinct blue and gold logo clearly visible.

  Le Renard Gris Catering.

  Arnaud’s body was discovered by a male, we knew that much. Our next move was simple. We needed information, and it had to be extracted with the least possible resistance. I searched for the company and found that they also staffed a yacht club in North Lauderdale. In all likelihood, our target could be found there, pouring stiff drinks for boating people with lots of money.

  “Get your miniskirt, gorgeous. You’re going to shake down a bartender for some gossip,” I said to Wally. I knew her evening would consist of, at the very least, an interminable flirting session with a side order of personal space violation.

  Wally hung her head, sighing dramatically. “I hate flirting with noobs for clues.”

  Risa put down the remote and softly called from the couch, “Be home by eleven, you tramp.” In answer, a flip-flop hurtled her way, followed by laughter as Wally headed to get ready.

  Risa stood and grabbed her keys. “Pizza and beer? I’m buying,” she said. My response was the only one a sane man could offer. I opened the door and wondered if Wally would have any luck.

  29

  Florida: Stacia

  His shoulders shook with hidden sobs. This was a man coming apart at the seams.

  Everyone was amazed that Don had been able to hold it together for this long after losing Janice to cancer.

  At the brink of a breakdown, he had sought help. He had turned outward and found a grief counselor. Stacia had been the only counselor willing to come to him. It was a huge step to even admit he needed assistance, but to publicly reach out was too much for Don. Sitting in his own chair, Don learned with each session to let go, just the smallest bit.