Trick Of The Light Part 7

But enough time for that later. Time for this now.

"There was a baby?" I prompted, and leaned against his shoulder.

He exhaled, froze as the heart monitor alarmed for a second, then relaxed again when it quieted back to its rhythmic beeping. "Bob and Angie. Good old bored, fat Bob and good old clueless, even fatter Angie. They were foster parents for a living. That's all they did. Take in kids, especially special kids like Zeke. They were paid more money to take special ones. They had six then, including Zeke and me. The youngest was David. He was one, one and a half. I never was very good at guessing ages of little kids." He leaned back and closed his eyes. "The social workers told them, told our foster parents, never to leave Zeke unsupervised with things that could hurt him or others. Told them all about his problems and how long it had taken him to even learn to do things on his own, simple things like dress himself. He had to be told. And when he improved: Turn on the stove; make your macaroni; turn off the stove. Eat macaroni; wash dishes; put them away. The stubborn b.a.s.t.a.r.d learned."

He s.h.i.+fted against me restlessly. "He made it to the point he could function almost normally, except for that black and white outlook he has. Because of that, how it affected his decision making, how he couldn't see past the immediate, he still needed supervision and they didn't give it to him. I knew he needed it. All the other kids who were old enough knew it-the only ones who didn't bother to pay f.u.c.king attention were the adults."

He went quiet. I waited for nearly ten minutes before I bent and rested my chin on top of his head. "The baby?"

One more minute of silence and he said without emotion, "Angie told him to give the baby a bath. 'Zeke, get off your a.s.s and give that filthy baby a bath,' is probably what she said while she sat on her worthless own fat a.s.s watching her soaps. I was still at school, some after-hours thing, so Zeke . . . he gave the baby a bath." He exhaled heavily. "Until two kids got into a fight in the kitchen."

Violence: Zeke's number-one draw. The flas.h.i.+ng red alarm. Protect the innocent; punish the guilty. My mind painted the image easily enough. Off he ran, fifteen-year-old special Zeke, to break up the fight. To keep the smaller kid from being hurt, to show the bigger one exactly what it was like to be beaten on. By the time that was over, by the time that developmentally different, single-minded brain of his remembered . . .

I could see a blue-gray little boy floating facedown in the cooling bath water when Zeke ran back. Blubbery Angie heaving her way off the couch to berate him for making more noise breaking up the fight than the fight itself. Following him to yell at him for being so d.a.m.n loud and drowning out her stories.

Then the screams, the accusations, the shouted, poisonous blame.

Zeke realizing it was his fault . . . no, not realizing, because it wasn't his fault. But Zeke being blamed for it, being told it was his fault, and going to punish himself. A hand for a hand, an eye for an eye: That's the only justice Zeke had in him.

"I got home just in time," Griffin went on. "Not for David, but for Zeke. I stopped him. I took him and ran. Whom would the social workers believe? Not that it mattered anyway. That had been his last chance. He'd gone through too many homes, too many foster parents who didn't give a d.a.m.n about watching a kid, really watching him. If this last one didn't work out, they were going to inst.i.tutionalize him. Stamp him 'not able to function in the outside world.' "

"But you saved him." I watched Zeke's chest rise and fall a little more raggedly than made me happy, but at least it still moved. "Did he ever forgive himself?"

"No." He gave a half laugh without an ounce of humor. "It's why he likes fighting demons so much. He says he plans on spending eternity doing it when he dies. Why not get the practice now?"

"Zeke. Kit." I straightened and moved to him, touching a finger to my lips and then to his cheek, the cold plastic of the oxygen mask brus.h.i.+ng my skin. "You're not going to h.e.l.l. I promise you that." I hoped at some level he heard me. I hoped he believed me. "And you're not going to die either. Do you hear me?"

The door opened and Leo walked in with a tray of food. Eden House might try to dispose of us later, but at least for now they were going to feed us, which was a good thing, because I was starving. I have a high metabolism and when I lost weight, the first thing to go was my a.s.s. I liked my a.s.s; I wanted to keep it. It was great for sitting on and even better at making men do incredibly stupid things. By the time they realized my brain was far bigger, metaphorically speaking, it was usually too late for them. It was cheap and cheating, just a little, but when you're in the information business, you use every a.s.set you have to get the info you want, brain and body. Naturally, they only got to look, not touch, but men . . .

I snorted and took a plate from the tray and said to Leo, "Pigs. You're all pigs." Griffin raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but Leo shook his head. "Don't bother," he advised. "It'll only make your head hurt." He handed the tray to Griffin, took his own plate, and found a chair on the other side of Zeke's bed. I joined him. "I have two guards that followed me from the kitchen here. They're stationed outside the door with your guard, Trixa." Black eyes sparked with humor as he took a bite of his sandwich.

"Three whole guards." I dug into my own sandwich. When I finished half of it, I went on, "We're doomed now."

They'd asked for our guns and Leo's Viking-looking sword before we boarded one of the copters and, at that moment, with machine guns being held casually ready for any returning demons or maybe two stubborn barkeeps, turning over our weapons was about the only choice we had. So we did. But only three guards? Insulting and a little less than smart.

"Not everyone is impressed by a bar owner and a jack-of-all-trades," Leo reminded me.

True. Jackson Goodman, their second in command, knew Griffin and Zeke hung around my place, but he didn't know we hunted demons on occasion with them. He definitely didn't know what we were capable of. I would have preferred to keep it that way, but it didn't look like that would be an option. Of course, they no doubt cared less about that now than about the Light of Life. Goodman was probably looking for a saw to cut off the top of my head so he could take a peek at my brain. See what the Light told me for himself. Eden House might not torture me as Jeb the Caver had been tortured, but then again, they might. I still didn't know. And even if they were nice enough not to torture me, they weren't going to let me go either, and that was the surest bet you'd find in Vegas. Not without getting something from me first.

Griffin seemed to know what I was thinking, which wouldn't be hard, as I frowned my way through the second sandwich. "I'll do my best to get you out of this," he said. "I promise you that."

In most cases it's the thought that counts, but this time . . . I shook my head. "You don't have a chance. They think I know where the Light is. They're not going to let me go anywhere."

"The Light of Life, Ms. Iktomi," sounded the voice from the door, which had opened silently, so silently I hadn't heard it, "belongs with us, or rather with him for whom we toil."

And the owner of that voice would have to be Mr. Trinity, who now stood in the doorway. That wasn't his real name. Zeke or Griffin had said that the head of any Eden House anywhere in the world was called Mr. Trinity. It was a t.i.tle, an honor, a badge signifying whom he served. I wondered if they all had the same presence too, because this guy would make a demon scurry home to his mommy-or daddy as the case may be. He was six feet tall and broad shouldered with thick white hair and a startling slash of thick dark brows. His eyes matched them, the same color as Leo's. He had to be in his early sixties, but his face was strong and unlined. If they made a movie of my life, he'd be played by Sean Connery and he would either seduce me or kick my a.s.s, or both. And, let's be honest, if it were a movie and Sean Connery, I'd let him. Either way, he'd get what he wanted-the Light-and I'd be nothing but a credit at the end.

It was just too bad for Mr. Trinity that this wasn't a movie. Like I would give him the Light. Did he know who killed Kimano? Did he even know my brother had once lived? No. Could he find the demon who had taken his life? Doubtful. They were legion. A human couldn't do it. Only a demon could.

And I had my money on Solomon. He wanted the Light just as badly as Mr. Trinity. It was easy to see why when you knew what it could do.

Like I told Mr. Trinity I knew.

Like I'd told Solomon at the battle.

All's fair in love and war. Now imagine what's reasonable in vengeance and f.u.c.king with my family. Mr. Trinity might be a ruthless leader, but I wasn't sure he could quite imagine the things I was willing to do. Solomon was a demon. . . . Solomon might have an idea or two about my limits-as in none.

I patted my mouth with a napkin and folded my hands across my lap like the good girl I was. "Unless you have a red-hot poker in the next room"-I tilted my head just enough to let him know I didn't think it completely beyond him-"you get nothing from me. At least not until I get what I want."

By the way he clenched his fist, if that nonexistent red poker had been in his hand, I thought he would've used it. "And what, foolish, greedy woman, do you want?"

"Greedy." I'd seen the money that went into and never came out of Eden House. It made me wonder . . . when had they forgotten that a camel would pa.s.s through the eye of a needle before a rich man entered Heaven? "Well, Mr. Trinity, this foolish woman has all the apples she needs, so I think you'll find my price quite cheap for what the Light can do. It's just one you can't pay."

He ignored the price check and focused on the rest of it. "What it can do. You think you know what it does?" Coldly but carefully lacking scorn. If I did know, he didn't want to make me angry-it's a p.i.s.sed-off cow that gives little milk. I didn't know if there was a folk saying in that exact form, but you could take it on truth in content.

"It's the wall no horn can blow down." Griffin and Trinity's eyes were fixed on me. Leo's weren't. He already knew what I knew, what I'd known for a while. Trinity would a.s.sume I got the information from the Light itself via Wilbur. There was a calculating s.h.i.+ft of his eyes-like Goodman, what Trinity wouldn't give to pop the top to my skull and take an ice-pick jab and look for himself.

"If Jericho had the Light, it would still stand. The Light is neither of Heaven nor h.e.l.l, but before. Long before."

"Blasphemy." Trinity said it reflexively, without a lot of investment in it. He was more concerned about what I knew than offense to the Lord at the moment.

"It's an unbreakable s.h.i.+eld," I went on. "Should war come between Heaven and h.e.l.l, whichever side had it would be completely protected."

"What's going on?" Griffin demanded.

"Torture, murder, and a race to the perfect weapon. Invulnerability," Leo said matter-of-factly as he moved on to his next sandwich, unbothered by the violence that constructed those words. "That would make any war a short one."

"G.o.d is invulnerable, not a Light," Trinity said this time with a quiet certainty and power.

"Then why do you want the Light?" I didn't even have to ask. Griffin did it for me.

"The Light is for Heaven. That's all you need to know," the older man replied brusquely. For Heaven maybe, but not for G.o.d, but no angel was going to tell the Eden Houses around the world that. Lose their human servants? Where was the benefit there?

"No one will stop us in obtaining it. Not a woman and not a demon," he went on. Demon singular, as in Solomon, Trinity's equal in Vegas. "Or hordes of demons. Every h.e.l.l-sp.a.w.n in existence can stand against us and it will not matter. Eden House has its orders."

"Good for Eden House." I stood and put the tray on the chair. "We should be going. Thanks for the hospitality, but I have a business to run and a Light to find."

"I think not." Mr. Trinity didn't move, just as the three guards outside the door wouldn't move-unless we made them. Then there would be reinforcements, and although I knew without a doubt that Griffin would back up Leo and me, someone would get hurt. And Zeke wasn't even conscious. Griffin wouldn't leave him if the fight went badly. I wouldn't leave him.

It didn't leave me with much choice. I didn't trust Trinity, but maybe I should put a little trust in someone else-Solomon. Trust that when I finally came to the Light, he'd be right there for the bidding. He was involved. He'd shown that by appearing at Wilbur's. I'd had to wonder why a demon stayed so long in one place, stayed so long in Vegas. Not simply for seducing me. I had ego, but I wasn't a fool. It'd be nice to think all the eligible men and demons were after nothing more than my brain and smart-a.s.s self, but it'd be nice to keep on breathing and living too. Delusion wasn't very compatible with survival.

"I guess we have to negotiate, then." I smiled with confident cheer. And I shouldn't be so quick to a.s.sume Trinity couldn't track down a demon. I shouldn't be putting all my eggs in one basket with Solomon. I couldn't afford to make a mistake. "Good thing I specialize in that."

Trinity smiled back. There wasn't any cheer in it at all. "Yes . . . good thing."

The room I was provided with in Eden House was plush. No surprise there. Even if I weren't quite as good at bargaining as I knew I was, Mr. Trinity wasn't likely to put me in some sort of bas.e.m.e.nt cell. He was too much of a gentleman for that. He might think I was a greedy woman. He might kill me Old Testament style, but bad manners? Never.

Once I'd made it clear that I didn't know the Light's location, only the whereabouts of the next bread crumb in a trail I didn't know how long, and once I'd promised to deliver him to the Light and then talk price, he had let Leo go in a show of good faith. And Leo had gone in another show of good faith: that I could take care of myself.

Truthfully, I didn't have to hit Trinity as hard as I'd thought with my skills of negotiation. I'd told him he couldn't pay my price, but he hadn't believed it. The head of Eden House was just like a common demon: He a.s.sumed everyone had a price and he could meet it. Shame on me-I was looking forward to seeing his expression when he was proven wrong. Then again, maybe he'd prove me wrong and do what I was depending on Solomon to do. Life is full of surprises that way. I'd had past plans combined with a smug att.i.tude come back to bite me in the a.s.s before. Best to stay open-minded . . . for Kimano.

I showered in a bathroom easily as large as my bedroom. Unbelievably thick towels in deep blues and greens, a whirlpool tub that could host a hot tub party. Soft lighting, a sea gla.s.s tile floor, and cool, creamy walls, it was beautiful and tasteful-a little too tasteful for me. It had no fire, no life. Although with all the colors of the ocean, Kimano would've liked it.

Close now, little brother, I thought as I wrapped myself in a towel and opened the bathroom door. My lips curved. So close.

"Such an evil smile. I don't believe I could do any better myself."

Solomon was on the large bed-dressed at least-back against the headboard, fingers laced across his stomach, legs crossed casually at the ankles. His gray eyes were amused as I dripped in the doorway and his smile was anything but evil. It was appreciative and full of heat.

I had to be reluctantly appreciative as well-at his sheer blazing audacity. "I had no idea demons had a death wish. This is Eden House. Eden House. Full of psychics and empaths. They'll be on their way right now."

"You know that's not true." His smile widened to show a flash of teeth. "Although you could scream. I'll try not to enjoy it too much."

"I wouldn't hold my breath." And he was right. It wasn't true. A demon as powerful as Solomon could block any psychic or empath. But he couldn't block me if I cared to give a verbal shout of "Demon." I didn't. I kept my thoughts and emotions as carefully neutral as Solomon was keeping his. After all, this was what I wanted-him there when I found the Light.

I moved forward and sat on the foot of the bed. I was grateful he was wearing clothes, because I could all too easily feel the lack of mine. "Could you find a demon for me? A particular demon?"

"You? Asking me for a favor? I'm staggered." The amused look faded to calculation. "I'm quite sure. I a.s.sume you know there would be a price for that. What are you offering?"

Now I was the one to smile. "I think you know that, Solomon. You're not a stupid man . . . or demon."

"Your soul or the Light." He held out both hands, raising and lowering each like scales. "I know which I'd prefer, but unfortunately I answer to a higher . . . rather lower power. The Light it is." He leaned forward toward me, one of those big hands resting above my knee, the fire of it burning through the thick cloth of the towel as if it weren't there. "Tell me where it is and I'll deliver up any demon you wish. A hundred if you have that much ammunition."

"And you don't even want to know why?" I asked as the hand slowly kneaded my leg until I felt that fire intensify and seep through every inch of flesh under his broad palm and caressing fingers.

"I don't care. I care only about the Light." He was right there-his breath mine. His mouth mine. And it wasn't that of a monster . . . a demon. The breath was that of a man touched with the faintest smoky taste of whiskey. The lips were slowly lazy as the drip of honey and artful. Extremely, amazingly, unbelievably artful. This time not a man's-unless that man had lived thousands of years with the sole purpose of learning to please a woman with a single kiss. It could make you forget where you were, who he was, who you were. If he could do all that with one kiss, I could see why some women might find souls overrated.

Some women.

When he pulled back, his eyes were gleaming with success . . . gleaming almost as brightly, in fact, as the blade I held against his throat. Then only my blade was gleaming. Solomon's amus.e.m.e.nt, his seduction, it all disappeared behind a veil of tarnished gray. Anger. "Where is the Light?" he demanded darkly.

"I don't know. I only know where the next stepping-stone is. Follow me, Solomon, while I follow the path. It'll be just like The Wizard of Oz. We'll follow the yellow brick road. I'll be Dorothy." I pressed the blade harder. "And you'll be Toto after a visit to the vet's office-snip snip . . . so don't push me."

"Trust me, Trixa. I'll follow you," he promised, reluctant respect surfacing behind the anger-that of a warrior for another warrior. "There's no place on Earth you can go that I can't find you." Despite the metal at his throat, he kissed me again. It was the barest touch of skin against skin.

Then he was gone.

It was just me and my trusty letter opener that I'd borrowed from the desk in the corner and hidden under the mattress. Good enough for paper, but too dull by far for slicing a throat. What Solomon didn't know wouldn't get me eaten-at least eaten in the bad way. I fell back on the bed and felt the tingle that p.r.i.c.kled with a quicksilver burn up and down every nerve ending.

Why was it always the bad boys?

Chapter 8.

"This is it?"

Griffin looked skeptical. Trinity didn't bother. He just kept that black gaze on me, patient as a spider. The five other men were hidden behind sungla.s.ses and I didn't waste a look to see what their reaction was. I didn't care. They were extras in this little play.

"This is it," I said, "this" being the aquarium at Man dalay Bay Casino. I didn't like aquariums any more than I liked zoos, but the Light was calling me here. As for who the next person was who had a bread crumb deposited in their brain, I'd discovered the Light had a sense of humor. "This way."

I waited while one of Eden House's version of MIBs, Men in Bulgaria sungla.s.ses, paid for our admission. I wasn't paying for my own kidnapping. Mr. Trinity wouldn't dirty his G.o.dly hands with filthy sinful money-never mind he was rolling in it, and Griffin was distracted. He didn't like being away from his partner's side and it showed. He didn't trust Trinity completely anymore if he trusted him at all, but that didn't show, not to anyone but me. If the other five were empaths or psychics, it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't show to them either. Griffin was better than they were. He and Zeke were the prizes of this particular House. They had no equals there.

Leo was back at the bar feeding scrawny girls and their pudgy dogs. She gave most of her food to her dog. She deserved the help, just as Zeke and Griffin had years ago. "She left with a garbage bag full of food," he'd said placidly when I'd called him on the phone before we left Eden House for the aquarium. "If she does come back to help clean, we may have to roll her through the mouth of the alley."

"You never know," I'd said sweetly. "Angels disguise themselves to test the generosity of us sinful mortals. You may have earned a spot in Heaven." With a snort and no comment, he had hung up on me.

"Miss Leo?" Griffin said in a low tone at my ear, picking up on the emotion that I hadn't bothered to try to conceal. Griffin was missing his own partner as well, I knew.

"Maybe some. He's certainly going to be sorry he missed this." I sighed.

The eight of us moved through a ma.s.s of tourists-some pudgy, some thin, and all seemingly dressed from a 1992 JC Penney catalogue. They'd obviously broken out their best for Vegas. Plastic clothes for a plastic town. We went through the underwater s.h.i.+p and then through the tunnel where fish and sharks swam over our heads. One swam especially close, b.u.mped his bullet nose against the gla.s.s above us, and rolled-the traditional shark move for taking his prey down. "I think we made a friend." I waved at it and mentally cursed the Light for at least the fifth time.

After we exited the tunnel, I stood for a second, my head c.o.c.ked to one side . . . listening, but not really. More like feeling a tickle in my brain leading me along. "This way."

"This way" turned out to be a door marked NO ENTRY. Griffin kicked it in, using as little force as he could so the splintering of the jamb wouldn't be spotted from the outside hall. Inside the room was a walkway over the shark tank. Netting rose from the rail to well above six feet. Didn't want the employees accidentally tumbling in and ruining ticket sales with their blood and snack-able entrails.

"All right." I leaned against the netting to watch the sea life, and then sucked in my breath, stripped off my s.h.i.+rt and jeans down to panties and bra, and said, "Someone give me a knife or cut me a door."

Griffin's mouth fell open. For such a bright, intelligent, and serious guy, it wasn't such a good look for him. "You. . . . down there? I thought it'd be one of the trainers or guides. You mean the Light planted a clue in some sea ba.s.s's tiny little brain?" He moved forward, stepping on my clothes without awareness. "And, please G.o.d, tell me it's a sea ba.s.s."

"Did I ever tell you my brother liked sharks? And not so much planted a clue as left a trail." One of the MIB was slicing an opening through the mesh and Mr. Trinity didn't seem concerned in the slightest if I lost a body part or two. Big surprise. "He thought they were the beauties of the ocean. Not dolphins or orcas, he just had a thing about sharks. He even swam with them."

"Your brother swam with sharks." Griffin followed my gaze downward. "He wasn't any smarter than you, then, was he?"

I smiled, kissed his cheek, and was through the netting and diving into the water below before he could grab my arm. Not that he didn't try. A very good friend, Griffin.

The water was cooler than I expected. Not cold, but not warm either, but the salt in it burned my raw back like battery acid. I ignored it as best I could and began swimming down. I didn't have to go too far. With eyes wide open I saw electric blue and yellow fish come to nibble at my knees and toes curiously. I saw the wavering faces of tourists who were getting a far better show than they paid for and then I saw it, the same seven-foot-long shark that had b.u.mped and grinned at me-you haven't seen a true grin until you've seen a shark grin.

Seven feet isn't really all that big for a shark. They've seen them twelve feet long, but right now seven feet was fine by me. Nothing bigger required. It was one of the few cases when smaller was better.

It swam up to me slowly, black eyes round and familiar. It looped around me until I felt the sandpaper sc.r.a.pe of its skin against mine. I reminded myself it had something to give me, to pa.s.s on. That's why I hadn't brought a knife borrowed from one of the MIB. That's why I didn't open my mouth for a gur gly "Oh s.h.i.+t," not that drowning while being eaten is much better than simply being eaten. I had faith in the Light, which was odd, as I had so little faith in so many other things. I also had faith in the elemental soul of the shark. Kimano had, and for all his lazy ways, he'd been a good judge of character. Sharks weren't the villains movies painted them. In all likelihood they weren't half as savage as your average teacup poodle.

I rested a hand on the blunt head and thought of my brother and then of the Light.

It was there, only the tiniest bit-the barest molecule. But even that lit me up. Filled me from the inside out with safety and home and unending warmth.

Neither Above nor Below deserved the Light.

But hadn't I known that all along? Yet business was business, and few knew backroom negotiations like I did. I knew how to get what I wanted-everything I wanted. My house of cards wasn't going to tumble down now. There was no way that I would let that happen.

After the warmth and the light came two faces. The first was Jeb-alive, whole, the torture and death a thing of his future. I saw him through shark eyes as he stared back, cradling a large paper bag in the crook of his arm. From the paper bag came a glow-didn't they say you shouldn't hide your Light under a bushel? Or in a bag? Then Jeb moved, and a second face appeared, probably that of the next person who caught the shark's attention. It could've been hours later or a day later; who knew? The face was unfamiliar, but I knew it wouldn't stay that way. He had stared at the shark, mesmerized. Jeb had brought the Light to the shark, and it had pa.s.sed something along to the giant fish. The shark had in turn pa.s.sed it along to the second man. The Light hadn't been shy about leaving a bit of itself in the shark to go poking about in the guy's thoughts. Who, where, what? The Light obtained it all . . . and that was what was given to me.