“I’m on it.” I turned and left the office. The darks clicked on before I was three steps down the hall, and shadows thick as tar pooled across the floor once more. I kept walking. That was my second mistake … and by that point, although I didn’t really know it yet, I was just about out of leeway.
Twenty-three
“There’s no such thing as fighting dirty. There’s fighting like you want to live, and fighting like you want to die. If you’ve got anything to live for—anything at all—I suggest you try the first way. The people you love will thank you for it.”
TRUE TO HIS WORD, Dave pulled the fire alarm about five minutes after I reached my locker, sending the sirens wailing through the building. It was loud even before the DJ killed the sound system, and then it became practically deafening. I’ve known actual sirens who would’ve been proud to make that kind of racket. (Not all sirens are into the whole “sitting on rocky atolls luring sailors to their death” gig. At least one is making a pretty good living as a pop singer. She calls herself “Emerald Green,” pretends her hair is dyed that particular shade of seaweed, and refuses to book gigs in coastal cities unless they’re purely acoustic. Nature isn’t always destiny.)
The other female members of the wait staff began pouring into the dressing room. The uniforms Dave insisted on meant that they were already practically naked, which you’d think would make the process of getting dressed go faster for them, but no such luck. Even with the fire alarm screaming bloody murder in the background, they mobbed the mirror, taking their time fixing their makeup, adjusting their assets, and, of course, bitching loudly about the sudden closure robbing them of half a shift’s tips. Several glared at me while they gossiped, making it clear that they’d noticed how my visit to the manager ended conveniently right before the alarm went off.
I looked calmly back, making no effort to defend myself—or to hide the various weapons waiting to be concealed under my street clothes. One by one, the other waitresses looked away, and their preparations for departure got a lot faster after that. None of them had the guts to accuse me to my face, possibly out of fear that doing so would get their actual guts an introduction to the floor. I ducked my head and went back to adjusting my thigh holster, trying not to think about what that meant. Dave was right. I’d been seen too frequently with Dominic, and people were starting to question my loyalties.
I took my time changing out of my uniform, double and triple-checking the snaps on every holster and the placement of every knife as I pulled my street clothes on. I was dressing for war, and it was time I started taking that seriously. I needed to be on the move sooner, rather than later, but I didn’t want to leave until Ryan got back to the bar, and that meant I had time to make sure that I was doing things right for a change. After this, it was going to be corpses and carnage until the snake cult was no longer a part of the picture. They’d killed too many girls. This needed to end.
The last of the waitresses teemed out of the room, moving in a cloud of hairspray, sticky glitter, and cheap perfume. A locker slammed. I looked up again, only to find Candy glaring at me much more openly than any of the others had dared.
“I hope you realize that I was planning to get
“The snake cult went for Carol,” I replied, too annoyed by the accusation in her tone to sugarcoat things. She recoiled, looking like I’d slapped her. I pulled my shirt on over my head, continuing, “Two of them got bitten by her hair. Dominic’s getting the bodies now, so we can look them over to see if there’s anything that tells us where they’re operating. Unless you think your tips are more important than the lives of your coworkers, I suggest you drop the attitude.”
“What is a ‘snake cult’?” asked Istas, stepping around the bank of lockers. Waheela can move very quietly when they want to; I hadn’t even realized she was there. “A species of religious serpents pulled the fire alarm?”
The look of honest puzzlement on her face was enough to make me crack a smile. “A snake cult is a bunch of idiots who think worshiping a snake god will get them unbelievable cosmic power, wealth beyond their wildest dreams, and all the chicks they could want.”
“Ah.” Istas nodded, opening her own locker. “Are they responsible for the ones who have gone missing?”
“Yeah, they are.” I picked up my backpack. “I’m hoping I can stop them before anybody else gets hurt, but it took a long time to figure out who they
“I understand.” Istas’ street clothes kept up the Gothic Lolita look established by her pigtails: frilled faux- French maid’s uniform with pastel pink petticoats, white tights, even a pair of antique-looking buttonhole shoes. She dressed with admirable speed, navigating the various buttons and snaps with an ease that appeared to impress even Candy. “Will there be rending and destruction in the name of protecting the territory?”
“Probably.” I glanced to Candy. “You want to come with me? I’d like you to have a look at the bodies.”
“If I don’t go with you, Betty will have my head,” Candy replied. “I’m not working, thanks to you, so I need to be doing
“You are going to look at more bodies?” Istas frowned. “Were there insufficient bodies here?”
“Dead ones, Istas,” I said.
“Ah. I will accompany you, then.” She produced a ruffled lace parasol from her locker before swinging the door closed. She didn’t bother to lock it. No one in their right mind would steal from a waheela. “I would like to see some dead bodies. I find them pleasurable.”
Candy and I exchanged a look, for once united by our sheer bafflement. We know a lot about the biology and anatomy of the waheela. Their social behaviors, likes, and dislikes … not so much.
“Fine,” I said. “We could use you, in case the whole ‘rending and destruction’ thing comes up.”
Istas smiled.
The three of us finished getting ready just before the fire alarm stopped blaring. Dave probably shut it down to keep the fire department from showing up. The building was up to code as far as I knew, but the fire department in any given city is ninety percent human. The ten percent that aren’t human—salamanders and afrits and the like —tend to get a little pissed off when they get called out for false emergencies. Dave wouldn’t enjoy that, and he was too smart to risk it if he didn’t have to.
“Bodies now?” asked Istas.
“Let’s check the front of the club first,” I said. “Ryan’s supposed to be coming back after he gets Carol to a safe house, and I want to bring him along if he’s willing to come. More muscle for the, ah, rending and destruction.”
Istas looked pleased. Candy looked annoyed. Hanging out with a tanuki was probably beneath her dignity as a dragon princess. That, or she just didn’t like the number of coworkers she was suddenly hanging out with. Dragon princesses aren’t big on socializing outside their Nests, and the fact that I potentially had access to a male of her species was only going to buy me so much slack.
We stepped out into the main club, which looked even more like a deserted sideshow tent when there was no one in it. The British flags hanging from the walls were limp and listless without the air-conditioning to keep them moving, and the smells of sweat and alcohol were masked by a layer of hastily-applied bleach. Dave was closing for the night, if not for the week. That was a start.
“Ryan?” I moved toward the bar, craning my neck to search for signs of movement. “Hey, you back yet?”
No answer. Istas stiffened, a low growl rumbling from her throat before she said, “Something is not right here.”
“What?” I looked back at her.
