You Slay Me
Page 38
I waved good-bye and trotted out to find a taxi to take me to the address she had given me.
"Metro's cheaper and has the added benefit of crotches right at nose level," Jim said as I walked toward a main street where Amelie said I'd find a taxi stand.
"You are in such hot water right now, I don't think you need to be saying anything, especially on a street where people might hear you."
"You're the one who's on the Venediger's hit list, andI'm in hot water?"
I stopped listening to Jim, concentrating on what I'd say to the Venediger when I met him, polishing up my apology for the police closing down his bar (even though that wasn't technically my fault), and trying to form a re-quest for help with Drake that wouldn't involve me sell-ing him anything I was attached to, like my soul.
By the time the taxi pulled up outside the four-story building in a quiet neighborhood in the fourteenth arrondissement, I had my groveling down perfectly. Trees lined a street almost empty of traffic as children ran up and down, romping on the sidewalks, dodging little old ladies with black scarves and mesh bags. The Venediger's gray stone building looked like any other in Paris, com-plete to the ubiquitous black scroll wrought-iron railing that graced the bottom third of every window. Twin white French doors were set back into a recessed entrance.
"Looks nice," Jim said as I paid the taxi driver. "Maybe he can put us up? It would be a nice change from those dives you like to hang around."
I shuddered. I didn't even want to think about staying with the Venediger. I had a feeling it wouldn't be at all healthy. "Effrijim, I command thee to keep thy piehole shut until I inform thee otherwise."
Jim, unable to refuse an outright order, glared at me. I smiled at it, patting its head as I pressed the buzzer. "Why didn't I think of this before? Silence, sweet silence."
Jim lifted its leg and peed on the side of the entrance-way.
"Bad demon, bad!" I scolded, quickly straightening up from where I was about to try to rub Jim's nose in the puddle when the door opened. A pretty brunette stood in the open doorway, her bright pink lips pursed in what I suspected was a perpetual pout as she looked first me, then Jim over. She was wearing the sort of black leather straps and fishnet ensemble I had always thought meant bondage queen. All the important parts were covered— just barely—but the rest was left open to inspection. "Oui?"
"Bonjour. Parlez-vous anglais?"
"Yes," she admitted rather grudgingly. "What is it you want?"
"I would like to see the Venediger."
Her hand tightened on the door, almost as if she thought I was going to force my way into the house. Ha ha, oh ha. Almost made me laugh, that idea did.
"It's important," I added.
"He's meditating. Not for anything is the Venediger disturbed when he is communing with his guides."
"I have a feeling he won't mind being disturbed by me," I said with much loftiness, not a single ounce of which I was feeling. "My name is Aisling Grey."
Her eyes widened at my name; without a word she stepped backwards, waving me inside, which alternately pleased me (I was special!) and scared the crap out of me (the Venediger must really want to see me to allow his meditation time to be disrupted). Jim at my heels, I fol-lowed her through a surprisingly light, airy living room to a lovely small garden at the back of the house. Pink Lips gestured toward a small wooden structure in the back of the garden, situated next to a tall brick privacy fence. "He is in the gazebo."
"Thanks," I said. "Um … excuse me, but what's your name?"
Suspicion filled her eyes. She took a step backwards. "Why do you ask?"
I raised my hands to show I was harmless. "Politeness. I thought it would be nice to know who you are."
"My name is my own," she said, snapping off the words. She turned on her heel and marched back into the house, slamming the door behind her.
"Sheesh, what did I say? Why wouldn't she tell me her name?" I asked Jim.
It blinked its eyes at me.
"Oh for heaven's sake … you can speak again."
The answer to that permission was a rude gesture made with a big hairy paw. I tugged on the leash as we started across the yard. "Very clever, Mr. Pottypaws. An-swer my question: Why did that girl get all bristly with me when all I did was ask her name?"
"I told you once—names have power."
"Uh…"
Jim heaved one of his (many) martyred sighs. "If she told you her name, you could have used that against her."
"You're kidding."
Jim flared its nostrils, not an easy feat for a Newfie. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"Hmm," I said thoughtfully as we strolled across the lovely velvety green lawn toward a white gazebo. Noth-ing about the structure was what I thought of as a tradi-tional gazebo—a circular covered wooden deck with seats going around the perimeter. This building was made of wood, all right, whitewashed wood, but the windows were standard size and bore tinted glass panes. There was also a solid-looking door. The fence beyond the gazebo was at least ten feet high, made out of solid red brick.
Evidently the Venediger liked his privacy even in his backyard.
I took a deep breath as I stopped before the closed door, mentally running one more time over my apology and plea for help. "OK, I can do this. I'm a professional. I'm in control. I have a demon, and I know how to use it."
"Do you have a history of insanity in your family? 'Cause I think what you're about to do is downright stu-pid."
"Comments from the peanut gallery are entirely op-tional," I said, raising my hand to knock on the door. The second my knuckles struck wood, the door opened. Slowly. With much creaking. I stood in the open door-way, my hand still raised to knock as I gazed inside. Ev-idently there were skylights, because the closed gazebo was filled with light shining down in beautiful golden beams.
Light that caressed the figure of a man hanging upside down.
Light that shone off the highly polished handle of the seax that had been plunged into the man's chest.
Light that glinted off the blood pooled below, captured in the black-etched symbols of Ashtaroth.
Jim pushed against my leg to peer inside. "Well, now, there's a sight you don't see every day."
"Metro's cheaper and has the added benefit of crotches right at nose level," Jim said as I walked toward a main street where Amelie said I'd find a taxi stand.
"You are in such hot water right now, I don't think you need to be saying anything, especially on a street where people might hear you."
"You're the one who's on the Venediger's hit list, andI'm in hot water?"
I stopped listening to Jim, concentrating on what I'd say to the Venediger when I met him, polishing up my apology for the police closing down his bar (even though that wasn't technically my fault), and trying to form a re-quest for help with Drake that wouldn't involve me sell-ing him anything I was attached to, like my soul.
By the time the taxi pulled up outside the four-story building in a quiet neighborhood in the fourteenth arrondissement, I had my groveling down perfectly. Trees lined a street almost empty of traffic as children ran up and down, romping on the sidewalks, dodging little old ladies with black scarves and mesh bags. The Venediger's gray stone building looked like any other in Paris, com-plete to the ubiquitous black scroll wrought-iron railing that graced the bottom third of every window. Twin white French doors were set back into a recessed entrance.
"Looks nice," Jim said as I paid the taxi driver. "Maybe he can put us up? It would be a nice change from those dives you like to hang around."
I shuddered. I didn't even want to think about staying with the Venediger. I had a feeling it wouldn't be at all healthy. "Effrijim, I command thee to keep thy piehole shut until I inform thee otherwise."
Jim, unable to refuse an outright order, glared at me. I smiled at it, patting its head as I pressed the buzzer. "Why didn't I think of this before? Silence, sweet silence."
Jim lifted its leg and peed on the side of the entrance-way.
"Bad demon, bad!" I scolded, quickly straightening up from where I was about to try to rub Jim's nose in the puddle when the door opened. A pretty brunette stood in the open doorway, her bright pink lips pursed in what I suspected was a perpetual pout as she looked first me, then Jim over. She was wearing the sort of black leather straps and fishnet ensemble I had always thought meant bondage queen. All the important parts were covered— just barely—but the rest was left open to inspection. "Oui?"
"Bonjour. Parlez-vous anglais?"
"Yes," she admitted rather grudgingly. "What is it you want?"
"I would like to see the Venediger."
Her hand tightened on the door, almost as if she thought I was going to force my way into the house. Ha ha, oh ha. Almost made me laugh, that idea did.
"It's important," I added.
"He's meditating. Not for anything is the Venediger disturbed when he is communing with his guides."
"I have a feeling he won't mind being disturbed by me," I said with much loftiness, not a single ounce of which I was feeling. "My name is Aisling Grey."
Her eyes widened at my name; without a word she stepped backwards, waving me inside, which alternately pleased me (I was special!) and scared the crap out of me (the Venediger must really want to see me to allow his meditation time to be disrupted). Jim at my heels, I fol-lowed her through a surprisingly light, airy living room to a lovely small garden at the back of the house. Pink Lips gestured toward a small wooden structure in the back of the garden, situated next to a tall brick privacy fence. "He is in the gazebo."
"Thanks," I said. "Um … excuse me, but what's your name?"
Suspicion filled her eyes. She took a step backwards. "Why do you ask?"
I raised my hands to show I was harmless. "Politeness. I thought it would be nice to know who you are."
"My name is my own," she said, snapping off the words. She turned on her heel and marched back into the house, slamming the door behind her.
"Sheesh, what did I say? Why wouldn't she tell me her name?" I asked Jim.
It blinked its eyes at me.
"Oh for heaven's sake … you can speak again."
The answer to that permission was a rude gesture made with a big hairy paw. I tugged on the leash as we started across the yard. "Very clever, Mr. Pottypaws. An-swer my question: Why did that girl get all bristly with me when all I did was ask her name?"
"I told you once—names have power."
"Uh…"
Jim heaved one of his (many) martyred sighs. "If she told you her name, you could have used that against her."
"You're kidding."
Jim flared its nostrils, not an easy feat for a Newfie. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"Hmm," I said thoughtfully as we strolled across the lovely velvety green lawn toward a white gazebo. Noth-ing about the structure was what I thought of as a tradi-tional gazebo—a circular covered wooden deck with seats going around the perimeter. This building was made of wood, all right, whitewashed wood, but the windows were standard size and bore tinted glass panes. There was also a solid-looking door. The fence beyond the gazebo was at least ten feet high, made out of solid red brick.
Evidently the Venediger liked his privacy even in his backyard.
I took a deep breath as I stopped before the closed door, mentally running one more time over my apology and plea for help. "OK, I can do this. I'm a professional. I'm in control. I have a demon, and I know how to use it."
"Do you have a history of insanity in your family? 'Cause I think what you're about to do is downright stu-pid."
"Comments from the peanut gallery are entirely op-tional," I said, raising my hand to knock on the door. The second my knuckles struck wood, the door opened. Slowly. With much creaking. I stood in the open door-way, my hand still raised to knock as I gazed inside. Ev-idently there were skylights, because the closed gazebo was filled with light shining down in beautiful golden beams.
Light that caressed the figure of a man hanging upside down.
Light that shone off the highly polished handle of the seax that had been plunged into the man's chest.
Light that glinted off the blood pooled below, captured in the black-etched symbols of Ashtaroth.
Jim pushed against my leg to peer inside. "Well, now, there's a sight you don't see every day."
