Fourth Grave Beneath My Feet

Hedeshi held up a hand in true thespian style and took a bow as I sat dumbfounded. He bowed again as he left; then all eyes turned toward me. Waiting to see what my exit would entail. They were about to be very disappointed.

I looked down at the coupon book for a year’s worth of sweet rolls. With shaking legs, I stood and smiled to our audience, then walked over to Iggy and handed him the book. Knowing I would never make it to the bathroom, I ran out the back door and almost emptied the coffee I’d had on the way over onto the pavement as a cat watched me, her ears twitching in curiosity. Then I took a deep breath, straightened my jacket, and summoned Angel.

12

When I want your opinion,

I’ll remove the duct tape.

—T-SHIRT

After dry-heaving in front of God and beast alike, I started toward my apartment building on the next block, then remembered I’d left Misery at Pari’s. I had to stop and lean against something every so often. My hands and knees shook. Even my elbows shook. And quite possibly my hair follicles. Bile slipped up my throat, and I swallowed it down in several quick gulps. Trying to calm myself. Trying to collect my wits and focus.

The moment his name came to mind, Angel appeared. He glanced around and then glared at me from underneath his bandanna. “How are you doing that? And why are you blue?”

I sipped on the cool air before asking, “Where is he?”

I didn’t have to clarify. Angel knew exactly whom I was talking about, and if anyone would know where Reyes was, it was him. He’d been keeping tabs on him ever since the son of public enemy number one got out of prison. I knew it and I knew why. Angel was hoping Reyes would keep his distance, would stay away from me. Not that he told me that outright, but I knew enough about Angel’s feelings toward Reyes to know exactly why he would keep tabs on someone he was so afraid of.

He kicked the rocks at his feet. “Why?” he asked, his disappointment evident.

“Because if you don’t tell me, your mother will never see another penny.”

His expression held a hint of resentment, but I couldn’t help that now. “He’s at the Paladin Lodge down the street.”

I straightened in surprise. “A hotel? I thought he was living with Elaine Oake.”

“Look, you asked. I told. I have no idea where he’s living. But right now, he’s at that hotel.”

Fair enough. “Room?”

“One thirty-one.”

“Thank you.”

I dismissed him and started for Misery.

* * *

I parked several spaces down from number 131 and hoofed it to Reyes’s room. The hotel wasn’t horrible. Especially for one that rented by the hour. I’d been to worse. On a scale of one to five, I’d give it a two-ish, but at least there were no blatant drug deals going down in the parking lot. Always a good sign.

When I got to the room, the door stood ajar just enough for a stream of evening light to slash across worn, dark carpet. I drew Margaret and held her with both hands, barrel pointed to the ground. Like in the movies. If I could actually hit something when I shot, I’d have felt safer, but at least I looked cool.

“Reyes?” I asked, peeking inside.

When I didn’t get an answer, I nudged the door open with Margaret’s barrel, an act that only sounded naughty. A ray of light revealed a boot propped on a small table by a kitchenette. I recognized Reyes’s signature style instantly. His boots were a combination of ropers and street cycle, and I coveted them horridly.

After glancing around for any other occupants, I stepped cautiously inside. He sat ensconced in shadows, so I couldn’t see his facial expression to gauge his mood. The only sentiment wafting off him was pain. Beside his boot on the table sat a bottle of whiskey and a roll of duct tape. That meant only one thing: He was hurt and probably hurt bad. Duct tape was Reyes’s answer to stitches. And surgery. He healed so fast—we both did—that we rarely needed to go to extreme lengths to recover. The exception for me was when Earl Walker had taken a knife to me. The exception for Reyes was when a group of demons had gotten ahold of his physical body while his incorporeal one had been away. And it was a big group. Over two hundred, if I had to guess.

He didn’t move when I repositioned the door where he had it. His heat drifted around me, warming me, calming me. I was still shaking when I’d parked, but his heat was like a salve for my nerves.

“Nice room,” I said, glancing around.

The whiskey bottle was half empty, and I wondered if he’d drunk it or used it as an antiseptic on his wounds. Probably a little of both.

“I thought you were staying with Elaine.”

He spoke at last. “I thought we agreed you’d stay in your apartment.”

“You agreed,” I said, lifting a notepad to inspect it. I couldn’t read the writing. “With yourself apparently, because I remember refusing to.”

A black jacket lay tossed over a chair, and take-out containers filled the trash cans. At least he’d been eating.

“Did she kick you out?” I asked.

“She served her purpose.”

Surprised, I asked, “And what purpose would that be?”

“She had connections. I needed those connections to get a trainer for the fights. I couldn’t get in otherwise.”

The fact that he was just using her should have horrified me, but elation swept through me with the knowledge. “So you just tossed her aside and moved into a seedy hotel?”

“Something like that.”