**NB. This story is as it comes – straight out of my head and may contain typos**
CHAPTER 9 – BLANE
Wren looked peaceful in sleep. On the ride back to Vegas yesterday, her features had grown more pinched the closer we got to the city limits, and when she stumbled out of her brother’s car and through the back door of Club Dead late in the evening, she’d worn the look of a condemned woman. Scared yet stoic, ready to accept her fate, whatever that fate may be.
Two days of running, and she was ready to give up.
Or maybe she’d been running her whole life? When Joseph asked Kayden about their parents, Wren had gone rigid beside me in the back seat, and Kayden had shaken his head and said they weren’t in the picture. Hadn’t been for a long time.
Well, I wasn’t giving up on her.
The lines in her forehead were smoother now, her lips parted slightly as she breathed softly. And before you assume I was a creep who’d snuck into her bedroom, I should mention that she passed on the couch within three seconds of sitting down, and when I tried to wake her, she just mumbled something uncomplimentary and keeled over sideways. Leaving her there had seemed like the best option.
What was keeping Joseph? I’d sent him out to fetch breakfast an hour ago, something light from the French bakery along the street, but he’d gone AWOL. And now Wren stirred, stretching languidly like a cat before she opened her eyes.
“Oh, crap,” she muttered, then closed them again.
“Is my apartment really that bad?”
The interior designer I’d hired had described the decor as “modern with a twist.” The twist, presumably, referred to the oversized armoire and the giant bookcase with the rolling ladder that my little sister had fallen in love with in an antique shop and insisted I purchase for her to enjoy on her occasional visits. I never had been able to say no to Aurelia.
Wren’s entire body shuddered as she sighed. “I was hoping the last forty-eight hours were just a bad dream.”
“Sorry to disappoint.”
Another sigh, and her eyes flickered open again. They were the brightest brown, almost amber, but the fire that used to lurk within them as she dealt cards in Tilt had been all but extinguished. The sparkling flecks of gold had gone.
“I guess I should start by saying thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
I hadn’t done anything, not yet. When Joseph deigned to return, we’d have a chat with Zion and see what he had to say, but at this rate, we’d be paying a home visit and rousing him from his bed in pyjamas. I could have walked to the bakery and back ten times by now. Or made croissants from scratch. Probably. If I knew how to cook.
“For caring. For not being mad when I didn’t show up for work.”
I was a tiny bit mad, mainly because I’d had to suffer the indignity of riding in that abomination of a truck, plus a perfectly good suit had been ruined when I got shot. But I kept that to myself.
“Next time, just talk to me before you leave the state, okay?”
Her bottom lip quivered, and dammit, I knew what that meant. Where had Joseph left the tissues? I didn’t carry a handkerchief in my pocket when I was in my apartment, but perhaps I should start?
“Don’t be upset. There’s nothing we can’t fix, I promise.” Even as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. I used to make that same promise to Nevaeh, but it turned out to be a lie because I couldn’t fix her. Don’t think of the past. Even Great-Uncle Tiberius hadn’t managed to invent a time machine, although if he had, we’d have faced unmitigated disaster. One wrong calculation, and some poor fool would have been stranded with the dinosaurs. Although if he’d convinced Decima to volunteer… I swallowed a sigh of my own, then gave Wren an awkward pat on the shoulder. “I’ll start asking questions about your friend, but first, I need you to tell me everything you know.”
“But I hardly know anything.”
“You probably have more information than you think locked away in that pretty head of yours. I’d suggest discussing it over breakfast, but Joseph disappeared before he could pick up pastries.”
Wren sat up straighter. “Disappeared? What if something happened to him? What if—”
“Relax. He’s fine. He probably got distracted by some shiny trinket or another.” Joseph was a magpie. In Plane Three, demons weren’t allowed material possessions, so from the moment we arrived in Plane Five, he’d made up for lost time and begun buying all kinds of tat. A bronze statue of a giraffe? Check. An extraordinary number of shoes? Check. A trapeze? Check. I didn’t begrudge him. We were here to learn about sin, after all, and greed certainly counted.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.” If the worst happened and Laurent or Zion or one of their minions caught up with Joseph, he’d just shed his borrowed body, deal with the problem, and find himself a new meat suit. “Can I offer you a coffee?”
“Do you have decaf?”
“No, what’s the point of that?”
“It’s healthier?”
“Living forever is overrated.”
“I suppose that right now, I’m just worried about living until next week. Do you have juice?”
“Orange juice or pineapple juice?”
“Either one is good.”
There was an open carton of OJ In the refrigerator, and I snorted as I poured two glasses. Decaf. Pah. Regular coffee was a vile-tasting liquid blessed with magical properties. Without the artificial stimulants, it was worthy only of being poured down the sink.
Back in the living room, I took a seat on the coffee table in front of Wren. “So, tell me more about this murder. Who died? Actually…” I held up a hand. “Wait a moment.”
If there were tears, I didn’t want them to drip on the leather couch, and it only took a moment for me to fetch a handkerchief from my dressing room. I offered it to Wren.
“Here. Now you can start.”
Good call on my part. She sniffled before she even began speaking.
“The woman who died, Caria didn’t know her name, but she was a dancer. A dancer at the Pink Squirrel. Do you know it?”
“Only by reputation.”
The Pink Squirrel, also known as the Randy Rodent, was a strip club near the aptly named Naked City, a charming part of Las Vegas where muggings were rife and cab drivers refused to venture at night. I’d once made the mistake of taking a shortcut through the area after sundown, and a gang of youths had tagged my Mercedes at a stoplight.
“Caria thought that maybe Laurent owned it, or part-owned it, or had some kind of interest in the place.” Wren crinkled her dainty ski-jump nose in disgust. “He said he had business there that night. Just sit at the bar and have a drink, he told her. Watch the show. So she did, but after the third sleaze groped her, she’d had enough, and she went to tell Laurent that.”
“And she walked in on something she shouldn’t have?”
Wren nodded. “They were in an office out the back, and she said the girl was just…lying there. On the floor. And then Laurent said something like, ‘get rid of the trash,’ and got up to leave, and she freaked out and ran.”
“To your place?”
“No, back out to the bar. She figured that if Laurent knew what she’d seen, he might do the same to her, so when he came out, she said she had a migraine and got him to take her home.” Smart lady. Well, apart from dating a murderous psychopath, anyway. “Then she came to my place, and when she got there, she was so pale I nearly called an ambulance, and she puked twice before she managed to talk. Just pushed past me in the hallway, ran straight to the bathroom, and bleurgh. She was crying too, and I thought that maybe she’d broken up with Laurent because last week, she was all gooey over him, but the reality was so, so much worse. I mean, it’s crazy, don’t you think? That a businessman can kill a person like that? She said he was so calm, and that scared her more than anything.”
“Yes, it’s absolutely insane.”
Mental note: do not rearrange any souls in front of Wren.
“What am I gonna do, Mr. Blane? Caria’s missing, I’m freaking terrified, and I can’t hide here forever.”
“Leave it with me. And it’s Blane, not Mr. Blane.”
Wren grabbed my hand, and now there was something else besides tears lurking in those expressive eyes. Fear.
“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“When you say ‘anyone’… Could you clarify? If Laurent happened to stumble off the edge of a very tall building, would you be upset?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Phew. “Oh, I won’t.”
“But—”
Saved by the demon. Why did women always have to argue? Joseph sauntered in with a cardboard tray of takeout coffee and a carrier bag from Gerard’s Boulangerie, but before I could claim my cappuccino, he tossed a car key at me. I caught it one-handed.
“What’s this?”
“You told me to source a new vehicle.”
“I didn’t mean before breakfast. We’re starving here.”
Wren timidly raised a hand. “Actually, I’m not hungry at all.”
Joseph shrugged. “That’s okay. I can eat your pain au chocolat. You want the coffee? Or should I drink that too?”
“Is it decaf?”
“Decaf is illegal in this apartment. Trust me; I’m a lawyer.”
I checked the key in my hand. “You bought a Chevrolet?”
“A Chevy Bolt. It’s small, it’s environmentally friendly, and the salesman assured me it has excellent parking sensors. You’re going to love it.”
That’s what he’d said about the last four vehicles he’d purchased, and although Joseph couldn’t lie to me—as per Clause 137.6 in the celestial handbook—I didn’t entirely believe him. More than ever, I missed Nevaeh. She’d been only too happy to drive us wherever we needed to go. Often a little too fast, but I’d gladly paid her speeding tickets.
“Hurry up with your croissants,” I told Joseph. “We need to go talk to a man about a murder.”
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Chapter 10
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