Summoning the Night
Page 10
Something close to a smile crept over Lon’s face. The jerk was enjoying seeing me squirm.
Jupe continued. “Anyway, number four: today I became independently wealthy. . . .”
Uh-oh. Time to make a run for it before he ratted me out for the savings account. I mumbled an excuse about getting a drink downstairs in the kitchen and scampered out of the bedroom. As I did, Lon chuckled at my nightgown and made some comment about licking frosting off cupcakes while Jupe continued jabbering. Halfway down the stairs, I heard Lon say, “She did what?” So I took my time getting water. About twenty minutes’ worth, in fact. But long before their voices died down, my thoughts drifted back to the Snatcher. I wanted to know how Lon really felt about the missing teens, whether he was concerned about Jupe’s safety.
On top of all that, I was anxious about meeting Ambrose Dare for the first time. My last experience with the Hellfire Club wasn’t something I wanted to repeat. Lon assured me that Dare was made of better stuff than most of the other heathen Hellfire officers, but I didn’t know if I totally believed this. Regardless, why in the world would someone like Dare insist on speaking to me of all people about these missing kids?
Midday sun spilled over Ambrose Dare’s perfectly manicured lawn, which Lon and I could just glimpse as we drove onto the elegant estate through wrought iron gates. Gnarled Monterey cypress trees and palms lined a long, curving driveway that occasionally branched off to a small guest villa, gardens, and a pool. We headed to the main house, a multilevel Mission-style home with thick, white stucco walls, arched windows, and a red tile Spanish roof. The grand arcaded entry was studded with curving palmettos and housed a deep-set porch. Underneath its shelter, two rustic church pews flanked the massive wooden entry doors.
A petite housekeeper in a gray uniform led us through a two-story foyer with polished terra-cotta floor tiles, her voice echoing off the high ceiling as we followed. The scent of rosemary wafted from an enclosed atrium in the center of the mansion.
An hour before we’d arrived, Lon dropped the bomb on me that in addition to our meeting, Dare would be hosting a small brunch party during our visit. Casual, he insisted. I seriously doubted that my idea of “casual” jibbed with that of the wealthy La Sirenians who’d be attending. Then again, Lon had only bothered to upgrade to a nicer pair of jeans and donned a charcoal sport coat over a beloved T-shirt that was older than me and so well worn, the green cotton had faded to a soft gray. He told me that he’d learned a long time ago not to bother trying to please these people.
Dare’s atrium was overflowing with food, drink, and a mingling crowd. Money, and lots of it, as far as the eye could see. I glanced down at myself and winced. My fitted black shirt wasn’t living up to its enticing “no- iron” promise.
Lon slid a hand around my waist and pulled me closer, probably sensing my anxiety with his empathic mojo. “What’s that?” he whispered, feeling the top of the portable eight-inch caduceus I’d stashed inside my thin leather jacket.
“Insurance.”
Sure, Dare might be Good Guy of the Year, but a month or so ago, his club members had been prepared to feed Lon to a summoned wild Æthyric demon while considering ways to rape me on the sidelines. One thing I’d learned from all my recent woes was that trust had to be not only earned but also proven, on a regular basis. The Hellfire Club had a long way to go before I would ever trust them again. Not that I ever had. It’s hard to put your faith in a cabal of elite demons whose idea of relaxing involves commandeering Incubi and Succubi as entertainment for secret monthly orgiastic parties in caves along the coast.
I scanned the crowded atrium for club members. An older woman who’d tried to feel me up in the Hellfire caves was chatting near a buffet table, and a couple of others looked vaguely familiar. Now, instead of inhaling strange drugs and engaging in group sex, they were transplanted into a Bizarro World setting, eating finger food and discussing city politics while irritatingly smooth jazz drifted from hidden stereo speakers.
“Lon Butler.” A too-handsome blond Earthbound about Lon’s age stuck out his hand in greeting. His halo was blue. His teeth, bleached. “Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”
“Mark.” Lon flipped into defensive mode, narrowed eyes and stony jaw.
“Talkative as ever, I see.” Mark laughed, then slapped Lon on the shoulder before glancing my way. “And you must be his new girl.” He smiled like he was getting ready to sell me something and make a fat commission. “I’m Mark. CEO of Dare Energy Solutions.”
“Arcadia Bell. Bartender.” I declined to shake his hand, crossing my arms over my middle. Last week, some dickish Earthbound in Tambuku shook my hand and made me sick for several minutes, a lame attempt to force me into giving him free drinks. I doubted this guy would sink to something so low, but I didn’t know what his knack was. I also didn’t like him much.
He shot a wary glance at Lon and immediately evened himself out with a forced chuckle. “That’s right,” he responded cautiously. “I believe someone mentioned that you owned a wine bar in Morella?”
“Something like that.” Tambuku stocked one chardonnay and one cab sauv. I went through a bottle of each per shift, if that. People don’t come to tiki bars to drink wine; they come to get plastered on flaming rum and fruit juice, but clearly this cultural phenomenon was below Mark’s CEO caste.
When Mark introduced his wife, she hung back and gave Lon a tight smile. A well-toned beauty in her forties, she had glossy black hair that shone under the daylight that poured in from the glass ceiling above. She held a full wineglass in one hand, and on that hand was one of the biggest diamonds I’d ever seen outside of a cartoon. Blister-blue mist swirled inside—a sliver of Mark’s halo. Mark had a smaller diamond embedded into his wedding band that was tinged with the green of her halo.
Jupe continued. “Anyway, number four: today I became independently wealthy. . . .”
Uh-oh. Time to make a run for it before he ratted me out for the savings account. I mumbled an excuse about getting a drink downstairs in the kitchen and scampered out of the bedroom. As I did, Lon chuckled at my nightgown and made some comment about licking frosting off cupcakes while Jupe continued jabbering. Halfway down the stairs, I heard Lon say, “She did what?” So I took my time getting water. About twenty minutes’ worth, in fact. But long before their voices died down, my thoughts drifted back to the Snatcher. I wanted to know how Lon really felt about the missing teens, whether he was concerned about Jupe’s safety.
On top of all that, I was anxious about meeting Ambrose Dare for the first time. My last experience with the Hellfire Club wasn’t something I wanted to repeat. Lon assured me that Dare was made of better stuff than most of the other heathen Hellfire officers, but I didn’t know if I totally believed this. Regardless, why in the world would someone like Dare insist on speaking to me of all people about these missing kids?
Midday sun spilled over Ambrose Dare’s perfectly manicured lawn, which Lon and I could just glimpse as we drove onto the elegant estate through wrought iron gates. Gnarled Monterey cypress trees and palms lined a long, curving driveway that occasionally branched off to a small guest villa, gardens, and a pool. We headed to the main house, a multilevel Mission-style home with thick, white stucco walls, arched windows, and a red tile Spanish roof. The grand arcaded entry was studded with curving palmettos and housed a deep-set porch. Underneath its shelter, two rustic church pews flanked the massive wooden entry doors.
A petite housekeeper in a gray uniform led us through a two-story foyer with polished terra-cotta floor tiles, her voice echoing off the high ceiling as we followed. The scent of rosemary wafted from an enclosed atrium in the center of the mansion.
An hour before we’d arrived, Lon dropped the bomb on me that in addition to our meeting, Dare would be hosting a small brunch party during our visit. Casual, he insisted. I seriously doubted that my idea of “casual” jibbed with that of the wealthy La Sirenians who’d be attending. Then again, Lon had only bothered to upgrade to a nicer pair of jeans and donned a charcoal sport coat over a beloved T-shirt that was older than me and so well worn, the green cotton had faded to a soft gray. He told me that he’d learned a long time ago not to bother trying to please these people.
Dare’s atrium was overflowing with food, drink, and a mingling crowd. Money, and lots of it, as far as the eye could see. I glanced down at myself and winced. My fitted black shirt wasn’t living up to its enticing “no- iron” promise.
Lon slid a hand around my waist and pulled me closer, probably sensing my anxiety with his empathic mojo. “What’s that?” he whispered, feeling the top of the portable eight-inch caduceus I’d stashed inside my thin leather jacket.
“Insurance.”
Sure, Dare might be Good Guy of the Year, but a month or so ago, his club members had been prepared to feed Lon to a summoned wild Æthyric demon while considering ways to rape me on the sidelines. One thing I’d learned from all my recent woes was that trust had to be not only earned but also proven, on a regular basis. The Hellfire Club had a long way to go before I would ever trust them again. Not that I ever had. It’s hard to put your faith in a cabal of elite demons whose idea of relaxing involves commandeering Incubi and Succubi as entertainment for secret monthly orgiastic parties in caves along the coast.
I scanned the crowded atrium for club members. An older woman who’d tried to feel me up in the Hellfire caves was chatting near a buffet table, and a couple of others looked vaguely familiar. Now, instead of inhaling strange drugs and engaging in group sex, they were transplanted into a Bizarro World setting, eating finger food and discussing city politics while irritatingly smooth jazz drifted from hidden stereo speakers.
“Lon Butler.” A too-handsome blond Earthbound about Lon’s age stuck out his hand in greeting. His halo was blue. His teeth, bleached. “Where’ve you been hiding yourself?”
“Mark.” Lon flipped into defensive mode, narrowed eyes and stony jaw.
“Talkative as ever, I see.” Mark laughed, then slapped Lon on the shoulder before glancing my way. “And you must be his new girl.” He smiled like he was getting ready to sell me something and make a fat commission. “I’m Mark. CEO of Dare Energy Solutions.”
“Arcadia Bell. Bartender.” I declined to shake his hand, crossing my arms over my middle. Last week, some dickish Earthbound in Tambuku shook my hand and made me sick for several minutes, a lame attempt to force me into giving him free drinks. I doubted this guy would sink to something so low, but I didn’t know what his knack was. I also didn’t like him much.
He shot a wary glance at Lon and immediately evened himself out with a forced chuckle. “That’s right,” he responded cautiously. “I believe someone mentioned that you owned a wine bar in Morella?”
“Something like that.” Tambuku stocked one chardonnay and one cab sauv. I went through a bottle of each per shift, if that. People don’t come to tiki bars to drink wine; they come to get plastered on flaming rum and fruit juice, but clearly this cultural phenomenon was below Mark’s CEO caste.
When Mark introduced his wife, she hung back and gave Lon a tight smile. A well-toned beauty in her forties, she had glossy black hair that shone under the daylight that poured in from the glass ceiling above. She held a full wineglass in one hand, and on that hand was one of the biggest diamonds I’d ever seen outside of a cartoon. Blister-blue mist swirled inside—a sliver of Mark’s halo. Mark had a smaller diamond embedded into his wedding band that was tinged with the green of her halo.
