The Grimrose Path (Trickster, #2)(16)

With a bemused expression, Griffin looked down at my finger denting his chest. “But before that . . .”

“No, no, Griff. There was no before that. Whoever that demon was before, it doesn’t matter. He died when you were born, and when you chose us over Hell, you put a headstone and wreath on his grave. You’re Griffin, no one else, and if Zeke won’t smack you for thinking differently, then I will. Clear?” I asked with one last poke of my finger to his expensive shirt. “Or should I go on?”

“Unless you plan on sticking your entire hand in my chest and pulling out my heart to show me how big and wholesome it is,” he said, “I think I have it.”

“Big, wholesome, and bright and shiny as a parade of Valentine’s hearts. I promise you that. Want a peek at my emotions to know if I’m telling the truth?” I offered. I could drop the shield that protected me against psychic incursions. I rarely did, but for my guys, I made exceptions. And when it came to situations like this, I didn’t think twice.

“No. The offer is enough. That you believe is enough.” He pretended to smooth his shirt. Zeke growled. “And you too,” Griffin added. “I think that would go without saying though.”

“Like you listen to me.” Zeke slid out of the booth. “Did you believe me when I said the house on the corner was a meth lab? No.”

“I did too believe you. I just thought you should let them blow themselves up, not do the job for them.” Griffin exited the other side. “It would’ve happened sooner or later. They didn’t have kids . . . or puppies. There was no hurry.”

“It smelled. It made my eyes water.” Zeke waited for Griffin to pay the bill. He was of the opinion that he provided a public service like a policeman and like a policeman, he deserved food and drink for free. That he didn’t have a badge to prove it was the only flaw in his plan.

Griffin passed over some bills, waved off the change, and walked out with us. “I guess I should be grateful you waited until they were out before you blew up their house.”

Zeke didn’t appear the least bit sheepish. “Coincidence is a . . .” He let the words trail off, at a loss.

I tried to help. “Wonderful thing? Convenient thing? Fated thing?”

He shifted his shoulders. “Eh, it’s a thing.” And that was good enough for him. By this time we’d hit the casino floor and were headed for an exit. Griffin was about to swat him hard on the back of his head. I saw his hand rising, when a centurion moved in front of us, blocking us from the nearest exit.

The costumed throwback to Colosseum days said with a dazzling smile, “Render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s. Render unto God that which is God’s—your middle finger will do nicely. And render unto me any and all sexual favors. A good deal of Rome did and who can blame them.” He spread his shield and sword to show off what the fake armor covered. “Not their souls, of course. Most of them belonged to Hades or Pluto or whoever you had running the Roman underworld then, slim pickings in those days, but everything else . . . a never-ending feast of orgies and death. And damn it was good! Can I get a hallelujah?” He frowned at us. “No? Not even one?” Then he shrugged and that smile was back again. “But now there’s Vegas, which is almost as good as Rome, plus there’s air-conditioning and deodorant, because, seriously, it did get a bit rank at times back then.”

“Eli, how did your pet tattle so fast? No telepathy among you lizards.” I folded my arms. I had nothing to fear from him here. This was far more public than the bar had been.

“My cell. I gave you my card, but you never call anymore.” He sang lightly, “You don’t bring me flowers, you don’t sing me love songs. . . .” Once he stopped the singing, his face darkened. “Do not bother Amdusias.” That would have to be Armand. “He is a duke, like me. If he were to kill you before I have my chance, I would be very disappointed.”

“You are a duke, aren’t you?” My smile was as bright as his had been earlier. “A mere duke with a measly sixty legions of demons to your name. Aw, I feel for you, sugar. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Always a duke, never emperor. Never Lucifer himself.” I’d studied so much demonology in my day, I would’ve owned Aleister Crowley’s ass in Satanic Trivial Pursuit and had time left over to kick it in Unholy Pictionary too.

Eli stepped closer, dropping the sword beside his well-muscled leg. I noticed it was a real sword, unlike the fakes provided to Caesars’s usual centurions, and even sharper than the ones once used by gladiators. Most certainly not OSHA approved. “A duke in Hell, but a king everywhere else, sweetheart. And do not ever forget it.” He leaned in and nuzzled my hair. “Amdusias is a duke as well, one who used to have thirty legions of his own. We both have fewer now, thanks to one of yours. And he does my scut work for the privilege of being in my mere presence. Eager to learn. And good lackeys are hard to find.” He inhaled, then exhaled, the air rustling past my neck with an unnatural heat. “Oranges and honey. It’s not only on you, but part of you. I could lay you down in an orange grove, Trixa, and cover you with that honey.”

“Then you could eat me, and not in a way women usually care for.” I gave him a push hard enough to move him back a few inches.

He grinned, unrepentant. “We all have our particular preferences, but we could have sex first and then I could eat you. I aim to please.”