learn over time. So let's just call this lesson one. Demons collect shit from the people they're targeting. The more they get the better, and they keep it with them unless someone takes it back. Within this practice, there's like… think of it as a rating system. Gifts are worth more than shit they steal, and one of the strongest is a gift of true metal. Platinum will do it. Gold. Silver to a lesser extent. It's like a binding agent. And the more they get from a person, the stronger those bonds are.”
Jim frowned. “To what end, though? I mean, what does it get Devina other than an account with PODS?”
“When she kills him, she can keep him with her for eternity—those binds translate into a kind of ownership, in effect. Demons are like parasites. They latch on and it can take them years to overcome someone's soul—but that's what they do. They get into the person's head and affect their choices, and with each passing day, week, month, they slowly invade the life that is led, corrupting, fouling, destroying. The soul dims from the infection, and when it gets to the right point, the demon steps in and a mortal event occurs. Your boy Vin's right at that critical point now. She's setting the events in motion, with the first being his arrest. It's a domino thing, and it's going to get worse fast. I've seen it too often for words.”
“Jesus…Christ.”
“Or very much not Him, as is the case.”
As questions spun in Jim's head, he said, “But why Vin? Why was he chosen by her in the first place?”
“There has to be a place of entry. Think of it like getting tetanus from a rusty nail. There's an injury to the soul and the demon enters through the 'wound.'”
“What makes a wound?”
“Lots of shit. Every case is different.” Adrian moved the pawns around to form the shape of an “X.”
“But once the demon's in there, it has to be removed.”
“You said Devina can't be killed.”
“We can give her one fuck of an eviction notice, however.” At this Eddie let out a low growl of approval. “And that's what we're going to teach you how to do.” Well, wasn't that a lesson he was goddamn aching to learn.
Jim ran a hand through his hair and got up from the bed. “You know what? Vin said something about…Vin said when he was seventeen he went to, like, a fortune-teller/psychic kind of thing. He was getting these seizures where he was seeing the future and he was blind desperate for them to stop.”
“What did she tell him to do?”
“He didn't go into it, but the seizures stopped until recently. He mentioned, though, that after he followed orders, so to speak, his luck changed altogether.”
Adrian frowned. “We've got to find out what he did.”
Eddie spoke up, “And we need to get the ring back. She's trying to lock him in even harder before she kills him and that is one hell of a strong bind.”
“I know where she lives,” Jim said. “Or I saw her go into a warehouse downtown.”
Adrian got to his feet and so did Eddie. “Then let's do a little breaking and entering, shall we?” Ad said, scooping up the pawns and putting them back in the box. After he finished his beer, he cracked his knuckles. “Last fight I had with the bitch ended way too soon.”
Eddie rolled his eyes and glanced at Jim. “It was back in the Middle Ages and he still hasn't gotten over it.”
“Why so long ago?”
“We got put on ice,” Eddie said. “We were a little more fallen than the bosses were comfortable with.”
Adrian grinned like a motherfucker. “As I mentioned, I like the ladies.”
“Usually in pairs.” Eddie put Dog down and stroked his ears. “We'll be back, Dog.” Dog didn't seem happy with the parting and began circling all of the feet in the room, including the couch's—which seemed to suggest he thought the piece of furniture was on backup. Not exactly what Jim had in mind.
Nope, he was going in with something a little more powerful.
Going over to the empty bookshelves in the far corner, he pulled out a black duffel bag and unzipped the thing, revealing a stainless-steel case that was about four feet by three feet. Running his forefinger over its keypad, he released the lock and opened the top. Inside, the three guns that were packed in egg padding caught no light whatsoever on their matte gray finishes and he left the assault rifle where it was. Of the pair of SIGs, the grips of which had been custom-designed for him, he took the one that fit his right palm.
Adrian shook his head, as if the auto-loader was nothing more than a squirt gun. “Just what do you think you're going to do with that piece of metal there, Dirty Harry?”
“It's my safety blanket, how 'bout that.”
Jim put the gun through a quick check, locked up the briefcase, and stashed the duffel. The ammo was behind the cans in the cabinets over the sink, and he took enough to fill the clip. “You can't shoot her with that,” Eddie said softly.
“No offense—but until I see it, I'm not going to believe it.”
“And that is why you will fail.”
Adrian cursed and hit the door. “Great, you've got him channeling Yoda again. Can we get moving before he levitates my fucking bike?”
As Jim locked things up and they all went down the stairs, Dog took up res on the back of the couch, and watched them out the window. He pawed at the glass a little, like he was protesting the fact that he'd been left out of the action.
“Let's take my truck,” Jim said as he hit the gravel. “Less noise.”
“And it has a radio, right?” With tragic concentration, Adrian started warming up his voice, sounding like a moose being backstroked by a cheese grater.
Jim shook his head at Eddie as doors were opened. “How do you stand the racket?”
“Selective deafness.”
“Teach me, master.”
The trip into town lasted about four hundred years—largely due to the fact that Adrian found the classic rock station: Van Halen's “Panama” had never sounded so bad, but that was nothing compared to what happened to Meat Loaf's “I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That).”
Which evidently referred to Adrian's shutting his piehole.
When they got to the warehouse district, Jim put the kibosh on Ad's crap-aoke, and he'd never been so glad to work a volume button. “The building is two streets over.”
“There's a parking space,” Eddie said, pointing to the left.
After they ditched the F-150, they walked down a block, hung a rightie, and what do you know— once again, timing was everything. Just as they rounded the corner, a taxi rolled to a stop in front of the door Devina had disappeared into before.
The three ducked for cover and a moment later the taxi rolled past with Devina in the backseat putting lipstick on with a compact mirror in her hand.
“She never does anything without a reason,” Adrian said softly. “That's one thing you can take to the bank. Anything that comes out of her mouth is almost always a lie, but her actions…always a reason. We need to get in, find that ring and get out fast.”
Moving quickly, they went over to the double doors, pulled them open, and entered a vestibule that had as much architectural nuance as a meat locker: Floor was concrete, walls were whitewashed, and the space was colder than the outside air. The only fixture it had, aside from an industrial-style ceiling light, was a row of five stainless-steel mailboxes and an intercom with a list of five names. Devina Avale was number five.
Unfortunately, the inside set of doors was secured by a dead bolt, but Jim gave it a yank anyway. “We could always wait until someone—”
Adrian walked over, grabbed the handle, and pulled one half wide without missing a beat.
“Or you could just open the fucker,” Jim said wryly.
Ad flashed his glowing palm and grinned. “I'm good with my hands.”
“Better than with your vocal cords, clearly.”
He hated working.
Hated spending his days taking ungrateful people around Caldwell in a taxi that smelled like whatever the last
