Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(12)

I leaned forward while Lon flicked a sleek, engraved metal lighter for me. His hands were tan and muscular. From that and the golden strands of hair at his crown, I assumed he spent a lot of time outside. Maybe for his job. I scrutinized him while he exchanged a few pleasantries with Father Carrow. He had a reserved, proud look about him. Long, hollow cheeks sat between deep-set eyes and an angular jaw. Good bones.

“So,” Father Carrow said, getting to the point, “as I explained on the phone, Arcadia is looking for information on a rare Æthyric demon. Tell him what it looks like, dear.”

I repeated what the Caliph had told me. “It’s an albino demon—white skin and hair, light pink eyes. Four arms, each with long talons. Twice the height of an average human. Long tongue that rolls up like a party favor and hangs outside its mouth, and a large set of spiraling horns.”

I took another drag from my cigarette.

“Do you know the class of demon?” His small eyes were narrowed. Distrustful. “I’ve run across drawings and descriptions of many albinos. It’s a congenial pigmentation disorder that could occur in any class. Just like humans.”

His flippant attitude irritated me. Famous photographer, I thought. Arrogant bastard. Even though he was dressed casually in an ink-stained T-shirt and a denim jacket with a tear in the pocket, he was also wearing a wide silver watch on his left wrist that looked expensive. Snotty, too, I added to my mental list of his probable sins.

“I don’t know the class of demon,” I replied with forced patience, “but I do have a little information about the seal.” I perched my cigarette on the edge of the wrought-iron table and dug around in my purse until I found a pen and an old envelope that I tore up for paper. After sketching a few characters and letters, I slid the paper over to him and put the cap back on my pen. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with summoning seals, but I know them pretty well, and this symbol here”—I pointed—“narrows it down to about fifty or so classes of demon.”

He studied it for a few seconds, then gave it back to me.

“You can keep it,” I said.

“No need. I’ve already memorized it.”

Show-off. “Then the only other thing I know is that the demon uses his talons to gut his victims from breastbone to pelvis—rips the torsos open in one, clean swipe.”

He gave me a blank look. No emotion whatsoever.

“Can you help her?” Father Carrow asked as he cradled his paper cup filled with hot tea.

“Don’t know.”

“She’s a good gal, Lon. I wouldn’t get you involved in this if I didn’t trust her.”

Lon tilted his head to the side and slowly rolled his cigarette between thumb and index finger. “Why do you need to locate this demon?”

Because my parents’ lives depend on it, and maybe mine too. I couldn’t say that, though. I ran through several excuses in my head and answered, “I just do. It’s important.”

“You planning some sort of revenge against someone?”

“Just the opposite.”

“What does that mean?”

For God’s sake.

“The demon … has some information that I need.”

Lon stared at me for several moments until I became uncomfortable and had to struggle not to look away. Then he pushed back his chair and got up. “I’ll think about it.”

“Think about it?” I repeated in disbelief. “I’m asking for your help, Mr. Butler. I’ll pay you, if that’s what you want.”

“It’s Lon, like I already told you, and I don’t want your money.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I just need to think about it.”

“Why do you need to think about it?” I asked, thoroughly exasperated by his blasé manner.

“You sound like a parrot, repeating everything I say, Miss Bell.” A strange, rather unkind smile attempted to hoist the corners of his mouth, but didn’t quite succeed.

Attractive or not, he was pissing me off. I definitely felt insulted at that point, and probably looked it as well.

“It’s Arcadia, not Miss Bell,” I mocked. “And if you want me to beg, you can f*cking forget it. I can find someone else to help me.” Aware that Father Carrow was displeased by my nasty outburst, I grabbed my purse off the back of my chair and ground out my cigarette on the side of a nearby metal trash can before tossing it inside.

“Can you, now?” Lon’s smile was getting bigger. I was furious, but he had a point. My back was against the wall, and I couldn’t afford to let my pride get in the way.

I blew out a frustrated breath and attempted to calm down. “No, not really,” I admitted. “Will you help me?” I tried to say please, but I just couldn’t.

It took him several seconds to answer. “I’ll consider it. Whom should I contact?” His eyes flicked between the two of us.

“Cady,” Father Carrow said gently, “why don’t you give him your number, dear?”

I grumbled and dug the pen back out of my purse, then scribbled my cell number on the back of the torn envelope paper that I’d tried to give him earlier. We locked gazes as I stiffly offered it to him again; he took it without looking at it—just stuck the paper under the flap of the torn breast pocket of his jacket, valrivia cigarette dangling between his lips.