Nightlife (Cal Leandros #1)(28)

Promise's walk was beginning to lengthen into a genuine trek. The forty minutes stretched into an hour and the faint click of her heels became more noticeable as the people began to thin around us. Niko caught me checking my watch and sent me a look of stern disapproval. Subtle and fleeting, it still had me squaring my shoulders with an inner groan. Working the bar had made me lazy. Until Samuel and his friends had shown up, that place had been one long eight-hour snooze. This, on the other hand, this was work. And if our client didn't hurry up and pull a groin muscle or sprain an ankle, I might actually get winded. When she said she missed the stars, I had no idea she was going to try to walk to them.

She finally halted down a dark stretch of alley between two sketchy-looking buildings. She just stopped out of the blue, hands cupping her elbows, her distracted gaze on the glittering white lights slung carelessly on a fire escape. Someone had the Christmas spirit all year round, or was every bit the sloth I was.

"Not stars," she said pensively, and then smiled, soft and warm as a summer rain. "But still beautiful." Sighing, she tightened her arms around herself and tilted her head toward Niko. There was resignation in the classic line of her jaw. "We were followed, weren't we?"

"Yes," he responded calmly. "We were. It seems that is not a total surprise to you, Ms. Nottinger."

Maybe not to her, but it was something of one to me. I'd picked up on the guy a few blocks from the Waldorf, and Niko had probably picked him up from minute one. But that Promise had known all along someone might be lurking outside waiting for her, that I hadn't picked up on at all. She had been serene and self-possessed, apparently oblivious. I guess I'd forgotten that the acting skills needed by a professional succubus would be impressive. She had pulled the wool over my eyes, and by this point in my life I was not an easy person to fool by any stretch of the imagination.

"No, not a total one." Fingers lightly stroked the silken threads of her wrap. "I can explain, if you allow me."

"Perhaps you can. However, this is not the time to do it. Cal, you take the front. Ms. Nottinger and I will take the back." His hand firmly on Promise's arm, Niko ushered her to the end of the alley, where they both disappeared into a darkness as physical as a wall. I chose my own pool of shadows to submerge myself in and waited patiently, the bricks rough and suspiciously wet against my back. There'd been no rain, and I didn't even want to hazard a guess as to what was soaking through the material of my coat. That is, until I remembered it was Niko's jacket, and then I gleefully thought of a hundred noxious, disgusting fluids it could be.

My patience wasn't all it could be when it came to the day-to-day shit, but when it came to matters of survival, it was as still and cold as that of any cat waiting for an unlucky low-flying bird. And it wasn't too long before our feathered friend fluttered in. Sharp beak, darting black eyes—he really was rather birdlike with a black trench coat that even vaguely mimicked wings. He was a smaller man, a few inches shorter than me, with a slight build, but there was a glassy sheen in his eyes that gave as much pause as a muscle-bound body would have. He wasn't talking to himself or carrying any handmade signs proclaiming the apocalypse was nigh, my brothers, but he had the same stark, white-eyed stare many of the street people had. Chaotic and intense as a laser beam without a guidance system.

He moved into the alley cautiously with quick short steps, askew gaze flitting back and forth. There was something in his hand, but it was hidden by the folds of his long coat. It had to be a weapon. Gun or knife, Taser maybe. And from his white-knuckle grip, it didn't look like he had any intentions of giving it up without a fight. I curved my lips in a silent, humorless grin. That was all right by me. I wasn't one to turn down pounding a deserving head against the asphalt. Good stress relief. I watched as he passed my position without detecting me in the deep gloom. The twinkling Christmas lights gleamed off his high forehead and pale fawn hair like an eerie halo. It was a jaggedly bizarre contrast with his jittering eyes and ferocious intensity—a soulless and psychotic angel in desperate need of a Prozac-lithium cocktail. He was also an angel who was about to get his wings clipped.

I stepped away from the wall and moved in silently behind him. His bony shoulders were scarecrow thin and so tense it looked as if he'd shatter with one touch. Always being the curious sort, I gave it a try. Pulling a knife, I tapped him politely with the blade. "I think you took a wrong turn off the yellow brick road, pal. A seriously wrong turn."

They were words he took to heart, demonstrated by his next turn. He swiveled around with a slippery speed, his coat fanning out behind him and his hand thrusting with avalanche force toward my face. It happened with such speed and fury that it was like an act of God, inescapable. Not to mention uninsurable. I backpedaled, blocked the blow with my forearm, and aimed my knife for his abdomen. The metal cutting the air, I was just about to open him up like a pi?ata when I was able to make out what was flying toward my face. Not a knife, not a gun, not even a goddamn slingshot. It was a cross. It was a hugely ornate one, gleaming with a softly metallic sheen in the weak light. Still, as big as it was, it wasn't enough of a threat to justify slicing and dicing the guy. Not yet anyway. Hope springs eternal, though, right?

I pulled my blade up, and landed a hard elbow in his gut instead. He dropped like a rock, gasping for air, but stubbornly clinging to the cross. Squatting on my heels, I patted him down as he curled in a fetal position, on the pavement. Out of his pockets I fished another smaller cross and a vial of colorless liquid. I opened it and was sniffing it cautiously when Niko appeared, empty-handed and apparently weaponless except for the wickedly amused twitch of his lips. "Embracing that old-time religion, are we?"