Page 95 of The Shade of Things
21
I didn’t confrontLaurent right away because it was too easy to be emotional when I was angry. I wanted my feelings to cool and harden into a brilliant diamond.
After a turbulent sleep, I armored up on Wednesday for my first visit of the day: a demon. I wore a red pencil skirt, a red silky blouse, and red heels, with my hair pulled tightly back into a sleek ponytail and a slash of red across my lips. I’d worn all the pieces separately while employed by the law firm but had never had the guts to go for such a bold, monochrome look.
Hello, brand-new day.
I’d given myself one last, admiring glance when, speak of the devil, Laurent texted me, asking me to come over and talk. I didn’t answer, not ready to deal with him yet.
I drove to the curio shop on the edge of Gastown that had been run by a demon called Chester until he’d been murdered by a Banim Shovavim. The business had been a neutral drop-off and meeting spot for demons, and as it was still in business, I figured the new proprietor wouldn’t be human either.
After parking down the block, I approached the red shop door with a confident stride. Above it was an oval-shaped cream sign edged in a black filigree design, with the world “curios” in script. In its center was painted a rosy-cheeked maiden whose white nightgown slipped off one chubby pale shoulder, her dark hair tumbling out of her updo.
As I reached for the door, the letters “ity killed the cat” floated next to “curios,” and the maiden was replaced by glowing red eyes and an evil smile.
“You don’t find signs like that anymore,” a woman behind me said.
Was she Sapien? Ohrist? Demon? “No, you don’t. Especially the…” I waved my hand around. Which sign did she see?
“She’s like something out of a Frederic Leighton painting.” A smile creased the woman’s plump face. “Absolutely lovely.”
“Right.” Oh good. She saw only the regular sign, not the devilish smile. The Sapien and I entered the store, and I groaned.
The person behind the counter was not a demon, though I’d have a better chance of getting my soul back from Satan than assistance from Clea, the second-in-command of Carpe Demon.
The operative shot me a glare as severe as her dyed-black bob.
I browsed through the treasure trove of goods, waiting for the other customer to clear out and composing an argument that would sway Clea to my side. Why was she here anyway? Had Carpe Demon taken charge of the shop?
Not much had changed since the last time I’d been here. The store still reeked of patchouli. To me, dybbuks didn’t have any particular scent, but that’s what they smelled like to Laurent, and I wondered if it was an innate odor to demons as well? Strips of vintage wrapping paper covered the walls and delicate paper parasols jetted down from the ceiling like stalactites. Objects from old clocks to baby doll heads to china figurines, candelabras, and empty glass bottles crowded the shelves, while the walls were adorned with faded vintage photographs and even the occasional goat skull.
To the left of the glass counter with the old-fashioned cash register was a narrow staircase. Mounted along the wall was a dragon with a cocky look on its face as if daring you to enter its lair.
I tamped down a smile. It was similar to Clea in that respect.
My goth adversary wrapped up the bronze lion medallion that the Sapien had purchased in brown paper and waved her off with a smile, which, if you squinted, might almost be called friendly. She cracked open a new roll of quarters and dumped them into the drawer in the register. “What do you want?”
I approached the counter, my heels ticking a rapid beat, channeling the badassery of my red outfit. “I’m looking for information.”
She cracked her gum and slammed the drawer shut. “Try the tourism office at Waterfront Station.”
“Well, it’s not your affable customer service that landed you here. Why would anyone—” I bounced on my toes. “Is this a punishment? What did you do?”
“The previous owner and I had a disagreement.” Clea stabbed an X-Acto knife into the top flap of a small box on the counter. “I’m filling in until we’ve vetted a replacement. Come back next week when I’m gone.”
“Look,” I said, exasperated. “Much as you think I’m some mercenary, unlike your noble self, Sapiens are being kidnapped and forced through a nightmarish competition as an experiment to turn them into dybbuk hosts.”
“Are demons involved?” She unwrapped a series of tiny demon masks carved out of wood, each one more hideous than the last.
“Not as far as we can tell, but they’re using an old demon space to run this game.” I wrinkled my face at the collection, but she nodded in satisfaction.
“Then it’s the Lonestars’ problem.”
“It should be their problem,” I said, “but they’ve been ordered otherwise.”
“You’re going to fix it?” She laughed.
The diamond-hard rage inside me glittered, urging me on. I slammed my hand on the counter, making Clea flinch.
