Steal the Day (Thieves #2)(9)

I snorted but held on. Danny was the least continental person I knew. He had that slow Texas drawl I found comforting. When he was alive, he liked beer and burgers. He was not a man of sophisticated tastes. He set me on my feet when we reached the steps but took my hand.

“I don’t want you to break an ankle,” he said before leaning close to my ear. “And just for the record, if I had twelve hundred dollars to blow, I would totally buy you flooring, hand-scraped hardwood in Brazilian cherry.”

“That’s romantic,” Neil huffed behind us.

But it was. I really wanted that stupid flooring. I hated my carpet. If I knew Danny, he would have installed it, too. When he wasn’t playing D & D or working on mysterious jobs for the Council, he was usually at my place fixing something. I bought my house for a song, but it would have been a money pit without Daniel’s free labor.

“Ah, you’re here.” The voice came from the steps above us.

I looked up and put a name to the voice I had only heard over the phone so far. Father Francis had been the one to set up this mysterious meeting. He’d called this morning and insisted we be here at the church at midnight. He said he’d been contacted by people who could solve my little problem. He’d tried to convince me to come alone, but I didn’t do alone. Alone was stupid. Alone would get my ass killed.

“And you’ve brought company.” The good father stared down, shaking his head.

The trouble with clients is they often try to get the upper hand. The motto “the customer is always right” might work at Macy’s, but I’m not selling handbags. I’m an artisan, and far too often, I suffer for my art. I get shot. Sometimes I get shot by things that aren’t guns, and I’ll take a freaking bullet over an arrow any day of the week. The client is paying for a service they know nothing about, so while I am willing to listen to a client whine and complain, I will not allow a client to dictate how I run my business.

The first line of my mission statement, to put it in terms the good father can relate to, goes something like this—thou shalt not go into the night alone.

I knew what was out there, and sometimes the sweetest face turned into something with a bunch of teeth really fast. The good news was I had a vampire and a werewolf on my side, and like an American Express card, I didn’t leave home without them.

“This is my crew, Father. We’re a team, and if you don’t like it, I’m sure you can find someone else.” I was really hoping he wouldn’t just refuse us entry.

The father shook his head and sighed. “No, I’m afraid they’re very insistent. It must be you, but I don’t think they will be happy about the men. Come in.”

I started up the steps with Daniel at my side. He didn’t look happy, like some supercool vampire sense was tingling, but he remained silent. Neil took the steps two at a time and got to the door before we did. Neil’s senses were even sharper than Daniel’s, so he was our reconnaissance man. Father Francis held the heavy wooden door open but stared at Neil suspiciously as Neil did his thing. He let the air around him wash over his senses.

It was the first time a client had ever wanted me to meet them at church, and I hoped this wasn’t a prelude to some “save my soul” lecture. Over the last several months, I’d met with many people who had promised me they could help me with my particular problem. Every lead turned out to be a dud. Most of them presented solutions I’d already thought of but discarded for practical reasons. A few of them wanted something from me and promised way more than they could possibly deliver, and one had been a dumbass vampire looking for a mate. That particular meeting didn’t end well. It had been a frustrating couple of months as I was ready to do the job, but I couldn’t find the right tools.

I have stolen from many a dangerous place. I’ve broken into houses sealed with magic and locks and protected by some really scary things. I’ve been shot at, stabbed, attacked by more animals than I can count, and felt the awful effects of magic. But I was scared of this job. I also knew I couldn’t back down.

Ever since I watched Lucas Halfer drag my friend to Hell, I’d been sure of one thing. I was going to get her back. I was going to do what I did best. I was going to steal.

“If you would please follow me,” the father said, his dark eyes imploring. “They are very impatient.”

Neil held up his hand. He wouldn’t be hurried.

“What is it?” Daniel asked, taking in a deep breath to see if he could figure it out.

“There’s one human, that’s you,” Neil said to the priest. “I can smell the remnants of many humans, candle wax, incense, and someone used a steam cleaner a couple of hours ago to cover up…ewww, vomit.”

The father took a step back, his eyes wide. “The Peters boy apparently has the stomach flu. They shouldn’t have brought him to mass.”

But Neil was continuing his litany. The harder he tried, the more his eyes took on a distinctly wolf-like stare. “You had macaroni and cheese for dinner, probably microwaved, and then some cognac, but that was the good stuff. Oh, and the faintest whiff of troll. Bet you didn’t know you had that in your congregation.”

“What is it?” the father asked, looking at Neil like he was something deadly. Neil might look like a sweet little club kid, but I’d seen him rip apart an enemy and eat the remains. He especially liked the second part.