Part 1 (2/2)
”Buncha cuties there,” he said. ”Who's the dish in the sketch?” Only Tom would refer to an incubus as a ”dish.”
”Liam,” Julian said, tapping the image of the blue crystal with a fingernail. ”Do you know what this is?”
Tom peered at it, then shrugged. ”Got me. Looks like that new doodad Silas hung up over the door.”
”Ah. I hadn't noticed.” Careless of him. Still, it explained much. Vampires rarely crossed paths with the children of Lilith, but Julian made it his business to keep tabs on new developments in Amour Magique.
So. Silas had somehow gotten his greedy hands on one of Lilith's Tears. A sure-fire magnet for the amorous. He could not have gotten it from any save an incubus, and since he himself had spotted Liam speaking with the club owner a week ago ...
A trade, then? That seemed the most likely explanation and filled in the answers to questions Julian had spent the week pondering. A seer whom he had paid handsomely had informed him that a particular group of mortals, graced with temporary power beyond mortal capability, would be visiting Amour Magique on the next ”Freak” night. Humans often made it past the ropes, of course, but the seer had insisted that this group was ”special.”
Blessed by an incubus? Yes, that would certainly make them special.
It had sparked Julian's curiosity, and he had decided to indulge it. One quick phone call to a suitably disreputable photog- c.u.m-PI, with a few details about Liam and a promise of handsome payment for a full investigation, had netted him the envelope full of pictures and a scribbled sheet of notebook paper detailing each of the men.
He had to stifle a laugh as he read through it. Incubi were noted for being flighty, and Liam's decision to ally himself with a group of no-hoper gay men called the Brotherhood tickled Julian's fancy to no end. He a.s.sumed that Liam had traded the Tear for an all-inclusive pa.s.s in the hopes that his chosen companions would get lucky. His choice to bring them on a Freak night? Well, that was a bit more interesting. He did not think Liam malicious enough to serve his friends up like food. Perhaps he thought they might have better luck among the supernatural who walked the earth.
He might be right.
Casting the letter aside, Julian picked through the pictures a second time. From plain to rugged to academic to jailbait, the Brotherhood had a pleasing diversity to it. He paused over several of the pictures, holding them up to the light for consideration.
”Like pickin' hors d'oeuvres off a tray, ain't it?” Tom cracked, watching him without embarra.s.sment.
Julian couldn't deny as much. He narrowed the stack down to six, then to three, and finally selected one. He laid it on the bar in front of him, gazing at the image in deep thought. A mugshot, not flattering in the least, of a young man bristling with piercings, decorated with tattoos, his hair spiky, and his eyeliner smudged. His eyes were large and dark, beautiful despite being unusually guarded, even for a mugshot.
”This one,” Julian said, sliding it across for Tom's opinion.
The bartender wrinkled his nose. ”You picked the punk? Jeezus, vampire, that one looks like trouble on a hot plate.
Probably kick you in the nuts if you come too close.”
”Exactly.” Julian c.o.c.ked his head, gazing at the photographed eyes. ”I like a challenge.”
Tom shook his head and clucked his tongue. ”Gonna bite off more'n you can chew one of these days.”
”I think I know my limits. This man, this ...” He flipped the picture over to read the name scribbled on the back. ”... Bree. I wonder what that's short for? There's more to him than meets the eye. He, among all the others, is the one I would get to know better.”
”Your funeral.”
”He's hiding something,” Julian mused. ”I wonder what. Such an adventure to find out.”
”Yeah? How can you tell?”
Julian smiled, the smile that never failed to drive human or vampire barking mad. He flashed his fangs at Tom. ”I know a little about living undercover, you might say ...”
Chapter One
There isn't enough aspirin in the f.u.c.king world.
Bree pinched the bridge of his nose. Felt weird to not b.u.mp against a stud or a hoop when his fingers touched his face.
Never could get used to the sensation. Kind of like losing a tooth on a caramel and only realizing it when you ran your tongue through your mouth to clean it. First shock, then a sinking realization of oh, s.h.i.+t, this isn't right.
Being without the jewelry made him feel naked. Exposed. Like the people who looked at him could see straight past his face and get a look at his thoughts. Thoughts he'd much rather keep to himself. He wasn't stupid enough to think he could get away with all the decorations during the day, though. Not when they made him live by too many other rules, like wearing long sleeves and high necks in the middle of summer to cover up his tattoos. He had the biggest d.a.m.n collection of lightweight preppy turtlenecks he'd seen since the time he'd picked up a trick with a bad case of worse taste and a serious yuppie infection.
G.o.d, he hated every one of the soft, clingy things. The gentle brush of cotton rasped on his nerves like a kid trying to play violin for the first time. Wearing these, losing his jewelry, brus.h.i.+ng his hair back neat and straight, donning hard, polished dress shoes that pinched his toes without mercy ... it was like being inside a sh.e.l.l or wearing a mask. Fake Bree.
Still, gotta pay the rent somehow.
”Sir?” A pair of bony knuckles rapped the plastic veneer of his till window. ”Young man? Excuse me!”
Ah, s.h.i.+t. Customer. Head still pounding, Bree looked up, arranged his face into a bland smile, and recited: ”Welcome to Money Now! My name is Brian, and I'll be your a.s.sistant today. How may I help you?”
The owner of the knuckles, a woman in her seventies with pale lavender-white hair and her polyester pants pulled up to just beneath her alarmingly sagging b.o.o.bs, scowled at him from among her wrinkles. ”It's about time. I've been waiting for almost ten minutes!”
Bull. I only had my head down for a second. Sat.u.r.day's our busiest day.
”Were you asleep?” She peered at him in deep suspicion. ”You were napping, weren't you?”
Bree smiled on, mask perfectly in place. ”No, ma'am, I promise I wasn't asleep. Just a little headache.”
”Liar! I'm seventy-three years old, and I know asleep when I see it. I should tell your manager.”
”There's no need for --”
She fixed him with a lemony glare.
Hiding his sigh, Bree pushed over a business card. ”Her name is Ms. McVeigh. All the pertinent details are printed right there.”
”Good!” His customer s.n.a.t.c.hed the card up like a prize, peered at it, then tucked it into the depths of a yawning knit purse even he could see was filled with junk -- a few dozen receipts, parking tickets, movie stubs, and unopened mail. She looked up in triumph, as if she'd just taught him a darn good lesson. ”Now, are you going to help me, or not?”
Bree smiled again. Patient. Placid. Calm. ”Of course, ma'am. In case you're not familiar with our operation, let me give you a quick rundown. Money Now! is a payday advance company, designed to give you a little help if you find yourself short before your next check comes in. We'll just need some ID, a recent pay stub from your place of employment, and --”
The customer reared back. ”Employment? You mean, like a job?”
Bree's inner alarms whooped. He kept the smile on. ”Yes, ma'am, a job.”
”I don't have any job! I just told you, I'm seventy-three years old. Where would I get a job? I just want some money. Your sign says money now, nothing about all this information you're asking for. I came in to talk about getting some money. Is that clear?”
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