Page 95 of A Shade Too Far
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The curio storereeked of patchouli, courtesy of an incense cone blazing away on a holder. Given that’s what dybbuks smelled like to Laurent, it was no surprise he was already bristling.
Chester, the proprietor, smirked, knowing exactly the discomfort this induced in the shifter. For a demon, even wearing a human glamor, he was surprisingly dapper. I expected some burly douchebag, but he was slender, in a gray pinstriped vest, a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a gray tie. He looked about thirty, with blue hair falling into his eyes of the same shade. I wasn’t sure the hair was a dye job.
He had a patch of rashy skin on the crook of his right elbow that I took for eczema, but upon a closer look, saw it had the texture of lizard’s skin.
The store was a cross between a hoarder’s lair and a magician’s trove of wonders, goods spilling off every surface: glass candelabras, stuffed birds, old clocks all displaying different times, and tiny framed vintage postcards.
I spun slowly, taking in the old palmistry guides tacked to the walls next to out-of-date maps. A metal bird cage with a mannequin head inside it shared window space with a replica dinosaur skeleton holding a baton in its mouth, while the long glass counter that Chester stood behind was crammed with mini faery figurines under glass, bells, and baby doll heads. I shuddered. Too many eyes.
Every wall was papered in strips of exquisite vintage wrapping paper from white lacy flowers to red poppies almost cartoonishly large, while a dizzying chandelier hung over the counter, the rest of the ceiling dotted with paper parasols.
A narrow staircase led to a basement, the dragon mounted on the wall along the railing beckoning patrons to enter its cave.
Overall, the store had a kind of kooky appeal.
We were the only ones here, plus Naveen had locked the door, so he spoke freely, explaining about the Banim Shovavim magic and asking if there was a way to stop the dybbuk without harming the woman.
Chester sprayed the top of the counter with cleaner, vinegar cutting through the patchouli smell. Not an improvement. “A dybbuk familiar is unkillable.”
“But isn’t her condition similar to someone who’s enthralled?” I said. “Those dybbuks can be dispatched.”
The demon vigorously rubbed a smudge with paper towel. “It’s similar only in the most superficial way,” he said primly. He barely made eye contact with me, like I was some groupie brought along by the rock stars.
“What if we took out the Banim Shovavim?” Laurent said, voicing my fear about our sole option.
“The dybbuk wouldn’t survive.” Chester tossed the paper in a small trashcan, stowing the cleaner behind the counter.
Laurent nodded. “That’s it, then.”
“There has to be another way,” I said, ignoring Naveen’s slashing motion across his throat. “One that allows her to live while handing her over to the Lonestars for justice.”
Chester laughed. “Justice like Deadman’s Island? Better to knock the wily bitch off.”
Laurent propped an elbow on the counter. “Sounds to me like you know her.”
“It’s hardly a stretch what the Lonestars would do, given her magic.” The demon knocked his elbow away.
Laurent’s hand shot out, sliding Chester’s tie around his own fist. “Who is she?” He wrapped the demon’s tie tighter and tighter, forcing the creature to rise onto tiptoe and lean forward practically bent double in order not to be strangled. The shifter might as well have been putting on a pair of shoes for all the emotion he displayed.
Was this cold anger all that was left of Laurent without his Ohrist magic? I stepped farther away from him.
“I don’t know.” Spikes glistening with iridescent tips burst out from the demon’s palms, but Laurent grabbed Chester’s arm and torqued it, snapping the humerus.
I took a steadying breath and Naveen sighed.
The demon cradled his arm to his chest. “You’re insane.”
Laurent leaned over the counter. “You haven’t seen the half of it.” His tone was almost conversational. “Now give me her name.”
Blood leaked from the demon’s tear ducts. “I’ll never help you. And you’ll never find her on your own.”
“Well done, mate.” Naveen elbowed Laurent in the back, hard, then muscled in between his friend and Chester. “Need I remind you that you stay in Vancouver at my pleasure?” He gestured around the store. “You want to keep this message drop and neutral meeting space for your kind open? Don’t get on my bad side.”
Who was Naveen? The godfather of the demon world?
“You talk a big game, Kumar,” the demon said. “But without this place, you’d be even more hard-pressed to keep a lid on us.”
