the pocket of her black cargos—part of what I liked to call her “Stealth Barbie” outfit—and pulled out a set of lock picks. Some of her methods as a private investigator were somewhat less than ethical, but I wasn’t about to complain.
Barbie knocked on the door once more. “Come on, Rick,” she said loudly. “I’m not in the mood to pick this lock, but I will if I have to. It’ll be a piece of cake.”
When there was still no answer, Barbie shrugged and inserted her tools into the lock. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of us bursting in on the guy—the chances were good he’d be armed, and he might shoot first and ask questions later if he felt threatened. I was about to mention the possibility to Barbie, but was interrupted by a voice from behind the door.
“Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?”
Rick the Prick, I presumed.
Barbie and I had agreed in advance that she would do the bulk of the talking, seeing as she had the tact and patience I so obviously lacked. So I bit my tongue and let her answer.
Barbie removed her tools from the door and smiled up at the peephole. Her looks and that smile were enough to stop traffic, and I bet Rick was thinking impure thoughts about her the moment he got a good look at her. Myself, I stood a little off to the side, where he couldn’t see me. I have a tendency to intimidate people—a tendency I’d honed and perfected over years of being the queen of attitude—so it was best to have Rick’s attention focused on the harmless-looking Barbie instead. Never mind that she wasn’t nearly as harmless as she looked.
“We’re looking for Melanie Sherwood,” Barbie said, still smiling. “We thought you might have some idea where she is.”
“Don’t know her. Get the fuck out of here.”
Barbie was unperturbed by his response. “Of course you know her, Rick. You’ve been dating her for about a year. My friend and I really have to talk to her. It’s very important. Like, life-or-death important.”
“Fuck. Off.”
“You think tossing off an f-bomb every sentence makes you into a tough guy?” I asked, unable to resist. Barbie gave me a reproachful look, and I tried to look innocent.
“I guess I’ll have to pick the lock after all,” Barbie said with an exaggerated sigh.
“I ain’t tellin’ you nothin’, bitch,” he growled. “Don’t matter if you’re inside or out.”
In went the lock picks again.
“You come through this door, I’m gonna bust you up!” he warned, but there was a hint of fear in his voice.
“You can try,” I told him as I reached into my purse and withdrew my Taser, arming it. Usually, I’d only use it on demons, but I’d be happy to make an exception for Rick.
A woman’s voice, too soft to make out beneath the echoes of rap music, spoke from the other side of the door. Rick snarled something indistinct at her, but moments later, the door swung open, Barbie’s picks still stuck in the lock.
Whatever goth phase Melanie Sherwood had been going through, it seemed to be in the process of passing. Her hair was dyed black with purple streaks, and if you looked closely, you could see the holes around her eyebrows, nose, and lower lip where various jewelry had once pierced her face. But she was dressed in a perfectly ordinary pair of blue jeans and a faded baby blue T-shirt, which was a serious violation of goth uniform.
Rick the Prick hovered behind her, his face set in a sneer that I suspect was supposed to be menacing. I was more threatened by the persistent twitch in the corner of his eye and by the size of his pupils.
Melanie looked grim and maybe even frightened as she opened the door wider and invited us in. I wasn’t sure accepting the invitation was wise, but Barbie waltzed right in as if she didn’t have a care in the world. I followed more slowly behind her.
I’d been too busy indulging my paranoia to remember that I was still holding the Taser down by my side— until I stepped through the doorway and heard Melanie’s gasp. Not the best way to set the tone for a friendly interview, I must admit. I started to put the Taser away, but I guess Rick the Prick didn’t like seeing the weapon move.
“Rick, don’t!” Melanie cried, too late to stop his fist from slamming into my jaw.
Even though I saw the punch coming, I didn’t move fast enough to avoid it. Pain exploded through my brain, my head snapped back hard enough to cause whiplash, and I went down hard. There was some scuffling and some shouting around me, but I hurt too much to pay attention to it. I sure hoped Rick hadn’t just broken my jaw.
My own internal medic, that was Lugh. He couldn’t use his supernatural healing powers unless he took control of my body. Luckily, he could take over control easily while I slept, and I didn’t suffer the nauseating side effects that way.
I blinked to clear my vision and saw that my situation had not improved. Rick loomed over me, pointing a gun straight at my head. A few feet to the side, Barbie had her own gun out, pointed at Rick. He was wide-eyed and panting, his hands shaking ever so slightly—I wondered if he’d ever actually pointed that gun at anyone before. Too bad he was so close he couldn’t miss if he tried. Lugh could fix a lot of injuries that might kill a normal human, but he couldn’t fix a bullet to the brain.
“Put the gun down,” Barbie ordered, her voice cool and full of authority, her aim completely steady. I knew it was a front—despite what you see on TV, PIs don’t as a general rule go around getting into gun battles with the bad guys—but it was a
I lay as still as possible, not wanting to make even the tiniest motion for fear it would startle Rick into shooting me. Hell, if I could have kept from breathing entirely, I would have.
“Everyone just stay calm,” Melanie said, and her voice was even cooler than Barbie’s.
I blinked and focused on her. She was standing just a couple steps to Rick’s left, her hands up as if to prove she was unarmed. There was no fear in her eyes, and her breathing was slow and steady as she eased a little closer to Rick.
“Put the gun down, Richard,” she said in that same calming tone.
“They’re working for your fucking parents!” he said, hands now shaking even more.
Melanie took another step closer. “Even if they are, shooting them isn’t going to help anything.”
I was frozen in place by Rick’s gun, my head throbbing in pain, but I had enough functioning brain cells to come to the obvious conclusion that Melanie Sherwood wasn’t alone in that body after all. There was no way a teenage girl—especially one with her upbringing—would stay this calm under fire. I guessed I should be happy she wasn’t encouraging Rick to shoot me. Illegal demons aren’t known for their great humanitarianism.
Melanie’s hand came to rest on Rick’s arm, and he flinched. Luckily, the gun didn’t go off. At her urging, he lowered the gun slowly, still looking way too twitchy for my taste.
“Now put it away,” she said, and with a shuddering sigh, he tucked it into the back of his pants and took a step backward.
Barbie had not relaxed her stance, and her gun still pointed steadily at Rick’s chest even as he backed away. “I suggest you tell your boyfriend to leave the room,” she said, and Rick’s gaze flicked from the gun to Melanie. Her chin dipped in a slight nod, and with a last withering glare at me, he turned around and stomped out of the room, heading down a hallway and out of sight. Moments later, a door slammed.
Barbie let out a slow breath and lowered her gun, flicking on the safety. I noticed, however, that she didn’t put it away. And that she was eyeing Melanie with a fair amount of suspicion. She must have come to the same conclusion that I had.
Melanie reached a hand out to me, and I saw no reason not to take it and allow her to help me up. My head spun for a moment when I got to my feet, but the feeling quickly passed. Too bad the same couldn’t be said for the pain. Keeping a wary eye on Melanie, I picked up the Taser I’d dropped when Rick hit me.
“Let me get you some ice for that,” Melanie said as she shut the door to the apartment and locked it.
“Never mind,” I told her. “I’ll be fine.”
I wasn’t being stoic—it was just that I didn’t want to have both my hands full, and there was no way I was putting away the Taser. Melanie blinked at me, then nodded and gestured to a ratty mustard yellow couch with sagging cushions and frayed arms.
“Please, have a seat.”
