“So I’ll walk in to threaten a bunch of Nymar with a stick. Could be worse,” Cole said as he looked Paige up and down. “I could be dressed for leather night at the gym.”
She stopped and looked down at herself. She wore a black leather top that was a cross between a corset and a camisole: Too durable to be lingerie and too intimate to be body armor. It didn’t even come close to matching the gray sweatpants that were cinched tightly around her waist and ankles by elastic bands. “The sweats are just what I’m wearing to get in. Once I’m inside, I want to blend in.”
“Good luck with that.”
Before they got to the corner of Superior and Rush, Paige stopped and pushed Cole against the flat brick section of a parking garage with a deli on the bottom floor. Before he could get a word out, he felt her lips press against his. It wasn’t the most original ruse, but he topped it off by placing his hands on her rounded hips. A small group of club hoppers walked past them without taking notice of the spear scraping against the cement wall of the building.
When she came up for air, Paige whispered, “That building on the corner is the Blood Parlor.”
Now, Cole could see a slick-looking man in front of the parlor looking in his direction. Since Cole’s back was to a wall and both he and Paige were obviously preoccupied, the man turned and walked back inside.
“You go in through the front,” Paige said. “Ask for Ace or Stephanie and flash that weapon. One of those should catch a Nymar’s attention. While you lay down the law about those three that were on the wrong side of town, I’ll sneak around back.”
“By yourself?”
“Some high-tech security would be the perfect test for this invisibility gunk. I’ll get a look around to see what’s in this place and then jump in if you need help.”
She patted his arm and nodded confidently. “You can handle yourself.”
“This may sound stupid, but that place looks like it might be closing. Will I be able to get in through the front door?”
“Brothels don’t keep bankers’ hours,” Paige replied while giving his cheek a gentle tap. Her fleeting smile displayed an equal mix of affection and pride. That last part caught him by surprise.
Slipping away from him, Paige jogged into the alley that led from Superior Street to cut between the Blood Parlor and the parking garage. Now that he took a closer look, Cole was stricken by the contrast between those two buildings. While the closest one was a gray, multilevel block, the Blood Parlor was a mix of urban elegance and medieval architecture. Dark brick flowed up into a steeply angled roof and several pointed gables. Sharp rectangular windows looked down over an entrance that looked more like an old sandstone cottage. To complete the ornate mix, several of the lower windows had neon beer signs hanging in them, while one of the upper panes was covered by the stencil of a rose dripping what was probably supposed to be blood onto the sill.
Once she was in the shadows of the alley, Paige opened the garbage bag that Cole had found in the car a few minutes ago. She pulled out a hooded sweatshirt that matched her sweatpants. At least, it probably matched the pants before it had been covered in a dark, greasy substance. “Anyone out there?” she whispered.
Since there were only a few people wandering along the street, and none of them were taking any interest in him, Cole replied, “Nope.”
Paige stuck her hands into the hoodie and pulled it inside out. When she slipped it on over her head, it looked as if a torrent of water flowed from nowhere to wash over her entire torso. Even though Cole had seen the stuff put to use by the shapeshifter who’d used it to bend light around herself, it was even more impressive to see Paige recreate the trick. The stuff shimmered for a few seconds before rendering her all but invisible, leaving a pair of gray sweatpants below a blank spot with a head above it.
“Watch the upper windows,” she said.
Cole nodded, but couldn’t help watching her as she pulled the hood up and lowered her head so everything from her waist up was now a mirage. With the speed and agility of someone used to changing in dirty sheds at public pools, she whipped her sweats down, flipped them inside out, and hopped back into them. Seconds later her legs, along with a good portion of her feet, began to fade. The effect wasn’t perfect, but if he hadn’t known she was there, he could easily have mistaken Paige for a ripple of heat coming off the sidewalk.
Before he became completely entranced by watching the blur in the alley, Cole did what he was supposed to do and checked the upper windows. Most of them were covered by bars on the outside and frilly curtains on the inside. A flickering light from within the place cast just enough light to project a few shadow figures, but none of them stayed still long enough to be of any concern.
An older man wearing an expensive suit pushed open the door to the Blood Parlor and stepped outside. His arm was draped around a girl dressed in a dark red top with thin straps and tight jeans that rode dangerously low on her hips. The scars on Cole’s hands had started itching like crazy since they’d gotten within sight of the Blood Parlor, so he couldn’t rely on that as his only warning system. Since the woman wasn’t wearing pigtails, and neither one of them had any black markings on display, he let them pass.
Still nobody at the upper windows.
About halfway down the alley, near an alcove that must have been one of the parlor’s side doors, pinpoint laser beams emanated from a security device somewhere in the alcove. The lasers looked as if they’d been shot through dirty water, and when they hit the substance in Paige’s clothes, formed a dim bubble around her. No alarm sounded and nobody rushed out to check on the alley, so none of those beams registered as having been broken.
He watched those lights for a second and then glanced around to make sure nobody else had noticed them. A car had pulled up to the curb in front of the parlor, thumping a bass line from a cheap set of speakers, so most of the attention inside the building was probably focused upon it.
Once Paige was through, the flickering stopped. There was a creak followed by the brief glow of interior light spilling into the alley before she stepped inside and shut the door behind her.
“Well,” he muttered, “time to fly the flag.”
Chapter 6
The entrance to the Blood Parlor was just what anyone would expect after looking at the outside of the place. There was a bar covered in coasters representing different brands of beer, foreign and domestic. A couple dart boards hung on the far wall, music from some college band Cole had never heard of drifted from a large jukebox, and a couple televisions hung from brackets on either side of the room. He wasn’t allowed to take more than two steps inside before he was blocked by the slick guy he’d spotted earlier. Up close, Slick was a little taller and a lot beefier than Cole had expected.
Extending one arm to put his hand flat against Cole’s chest, Slick said, “If you’re with those jackasses, you might as well go home with them right now.”
The man had a dark, East Indian complexion and spoke with a cultured British accent. His straight black hair was primped to the far edge of masculinity without quite crossing over to the fairer side, and hung just over his ears. When Cole tried to push forward another step, he didn’t even move the man a fraction of an inch.
The jackasses in question were being herded from a staircase at the back of the room to the front door. A bunch of young guys and even younger girls were escorted outside by bouncers in suits that looked to be cheap knockoffs of Slick’s. After a whole lot of grunting and swearing, the jackasses piled into the car with the thumping bass and rolled down Rush Street.
“I’m not with them,” Cole said. “I’m here to see Stephanie.”
“No one here by that name. Come to think of it, we’re closing.”
“Closing?”
“Yeah,” Slick said. “So hit the bricks.”
Cole turned at the shoulders as he scoped the inside of the bar to make sure the doorman or one of the others could see the flag that was being flown.
The doorman with the borderline hair was on his game. “What’s on your back?”
“Ask Stephanie. She should know all about it.”
