Page 94 of A Shade Too Far
I couldn’t make out Clea’s words, but she spoke in a monotone. Naveen watched me while he listened.
“Any movement on Miriam’s place, I want to know about it,” he said. “Thanks.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. “Is this why you wanted the ward?”
I moistened my dry lips. “Yes.” When he didn’t stop staring at me, I nervously tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “What?”
“Laurent’s magic, my hunt for the gloves, a human in the demon realm, why is it you’re connected to all these disparate things?”
While he sounded more resigned than suspicious, a flash of rage flared up, tightening my chest. But it just as quickly vanished, replaced by a deep fatigue.
“I wish I knew,” I said softly, absently touching the domino tile that I’d slid into my pocket when packing at Tatiana’s.
“You have to ask Laurent for his blood,” Naveen said.
I turned startled eyes to his because that was the last thing I expected to hear.
“If you don’t complete the ward while the vampire is on board…” He sighed, merging back into traffic with calm purpose and no trace of the urgency he’d exhibited moments earlier.
“Right?” I said blithely. “I have enough friends.” After a sympathetic look from Naveen, the one person who appreciated how much losing Laurent would hurt, I stared resolutely out the window at the passing city. It didn’t help me come to terms with the fact that the shifter was my sole option. I sighed. I’d go see him once we’d visited the demon.
However, when Robbie Williams started in on a darker haunting tune, singing about how he didn’t understand his role, about all the life running through his veins, and not wanting to die, I punched the music off.
Naveen pulled up in front of a store on a sharply angled corner at the edge of Gastown, outside the gentrified zone. It had bars over the windows and a bright red door; I’d driven past this place dozens of times, but never gone in.
Frowning, I unclipped my seat belt. “This is where your contact is?”
Naveen turned the engine off. “Give me the quick rundown.”
I told him everything I’d learned about the dybbuk familiar and her host, finishing up with the Wise Brothers’ fact that the only way to stop the curse was to comply or kill the woman.
“But I disagree,” I said. “If we can null her dybbuk, then the curse can’t be carried out. Find out whether the demon knows how to neutralize the magic. We also need her name and location to get the jump on her before the deadline.”
“Got it. Now remember,” Naveen said, “Chester looks harmless, but he’s not.”
We exited the car and my nerves at this encounter twisted into a different kind of anxiety at the sight of Laurent, farther down the block, pulling off his motorcycle helmet.
My heart sped up.
The shifter stilled, then looked directly at me.
I lifted a hand in a tentative greeting.
He gave me a single curt nod then busied himself locking up his bike.
Naveen took long, purposeful strides over to him, a scowl on his face, with me hurrying behind him. “Why must you make everything seven times harder?” he said. “Chester hates you.”
“The feeling is mutual.” Laurent’s voice was rough, raspier than usual. His olive skin had a wan pallor and there were faint purple bruises under eyes devoid of all their usual luster.
I drifted closer to him, trying to wrap myself in his scent.
“Then why are you here?” Naveen said. “I’ve got this.”
“Because it doesn’t just involve you but my—”
Naveen raised a pointed eyebrow and damn it, my breath caught waiting for his answer.
“Aunt,” Laurent said. “I’m not letting the fucker wiggle out of answers.” He glared at me, baring his teeth. “Stop sniffing me, Miriam.”
My mouth fell open, a fiery blush hitting my cheeks, and I stumbled back, allowing him to stomp past me.
Naveen’s eyebrow shot higher, so I flipped him off and followed Laurent, intent on getting through this interrogation as quickly as possible and making the shifter talk to me.
The sign over the door had a quaint nostalgic feel to it that I would never attribute to a demon proprietor. Black filigree decorated the edges of a cream oval, much like a cameo brooch. In it was a painting of a curvy woman with dark hair tumbling out of her updo, her white Victorian nightgown spilling off one shoulder. She sat at an antique makeup table under the word “Curios” written in script.
I smiled at its vintage charm, but as I crossed under the sign, “ity killed the cat” flashed in black next to “Curios,” and the woman disappeared, replaced by glowing red eyes and an evil floating Cheshire-cat grin.
Shivering, I froze, but Naveen clamped a hand on my shoulder.
“Show no fear,” he murmured and nudged me inside.
I wasn’t sure if he meant the demon or Laurent.
