Page 6 of Demon's Bluff
It being after midnight didn’tmean that the city’s services weren’t busy. Even so, Ivy and I got only a few cursory looks as we walked through one of the rear entrances at the building that housed the city morgue, a six-pack of Topo Chicos and a pizza in my grip and a black-plastic-wrapped body over Ivy’s shoulder.
Her smooth pace screamed confidence as Ivy strode past the lobby desk, giving the man there a curious gesture: a two-fingered peace sign that turned into a single upraised index finger with a twist of her wrist, sort of a two-into-one sign. The man started, then reached for the phone.
“We, ah, don’t need to check in?” I asked, my hip complaining as I hustled to keep up.
“I just did.” Ivy’s scuffed black boots thumped a steady cadence on the tile floor. “We are on city business,” she said, a soft smirk brightening her usual stoic expression. “They don’t want a paper record of us being here.”
The guy had called someone, though, and a flicker of worry lit through me despite her cool certainty. “City business,” she had said. As in Constance’s business. The woman wasn’t entirely above the law, but her actions and words would rarely be questioned. Piscary had been like that, and an ugly feeling trickled through me. I was taking care of Constance’s bodies. This was not what I had signed up for, and that a pizza and a couple of Topo Chicos would buy Brice a no-questions-asked drawer in the morgue didn’t sit well.
Ivy’s lips pressed and her pupils widened as she sensed my unease. That gesture at the back lobby desk said she’d clearly done this before. I hadn’t, and I didn’t like where this might be heading. I was supposed to be holding Constance’s reins, not the other way around.
“Hey, I like the necklace,” I said to distract her, and Ivy reached to touch it.
“Thank you,” she said, seeming to be embarrassed as she fingered it. “Constance wouldn’t leave until I put something on. Said I would be civilized if I was to represent her.”
Represent her.There it was again.
“It was this or an antique hair pin,” Ivy added, oblivious to my thoughts. “I haven’t worn a hair pin since I was twelve.” Her pace slowed, focus distant. “Piscary gave it to me.”
I grimaced, wondering if I could smell decay through the plastic—even over the scent of the extra-large with everything. I took a breath to ask her how Constance’s city management classes were going, my words unsaid as my phone hummed from a back pocket.
Shoulders rising, I awkwardly wrangled my phone out. “It’s Trent,” I said in surprise. He was supposed to be hiding in the ever-after from the FIB, and that he was calling meant he had risked coming to reality. Not a big thing when a ley line runs through your estate, but if the Federal Inderland Bureau caught him, he’d be dealing with more than charges of creating illegal genetic medicines—he’d be in prison for it. “Hey, hi,” I said when I answered, and Ivyalmoststifled a grimace. “What are you doing this side of the ley lines?”
“I’m not.” Trent’s smooth, melodious voice hit me as if I’d been sipping tequila all afternoon, and I found I could smile. The sound of crickets was soft behind him, and I figured he was probably in his manicured garden, standing in the ley line, not really here, or there, but enough of both that he could reach a cell tower. “Everything okay?”
I glanced at Ivy. “We made the news?” I asked, and he chuckled.
“Piscary’s did,” he said. “I knew you were there tonight.” He hesitated. “Ah, everyone okay? Will you be needing bail?”
A trill of delight tripped down my spine. He was on the run himself, and he had asked if I needed bail—and I loved him for it. “Not yet,” I said. “Maybe later. Constance is practicing tough love with Cincinnati and I’m cleaning up after her.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, my expression froze. I was cleaning up after her. As if I was her lackey.
“Mmmm.” Trent’s soft utterance deepened my frown. “You up for a late dinner? I can get Al to watch the girls.”
Al would love to watch his girls; the demon would drop everything at the chance. “Sounds good. You’re at home, right? I’ll bring it. What are you in the mood for?”
Ivy scuffed to a halt before the elevators. “You won’t need bail,” the living vampire said sourly, and I lifted my foot in a slow sidekick to hit the down button before she could reach for it.
“Something with vegetables,” Trent said sourly. “All Quen cooks is potatoes and meat.”
“Will do.” My voice had gotten soft, but I couldn’t help it. “Bye. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” he said. “Desperately.”
My smile was soft as I disconnected and tucked the phone away. “Trent says hi,” I said as I hit the down button again, this time with my knuckle.
Ivy stared at the silver doors as if they were magic mirrors. “He did not.”
Her tone was a flat nothing, and I eyed her, trying to figure out which one of her hang-ups I’d just walked over. She had a lot, and most of them weren’t her fault, which was why I forgave her for them. “You want to join us?” I asked as the doors opened.
She walked in, motions stiff. “No,” she said shortly. Propping Brice up in a corner, she took her phone in hand and began surfing.
“You’re welcome to.” I set the drinks down and hit the button for the basement. “Trent won’t mind.” The elevator began to descend. The faint smell of decay was becoming obvious. Bringing bodies in through the back door wasn’t SOP, and the air system couldn’t handle it.
Ivy didn’t look up from her phone as she absently yanked Brice up. “All the way out to his estate? No thanks. I’ve got plans.”
“Okay.” I lifted the pizza box higher and breathed at a seam.