Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(16)

He chuckled once and leaned back into the sofa. “Straight to the point, I like that.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I’ll take coffee,” he said.

Was that a yes? I wrinkled up my nose. “I’m out.”

“What do you have, then?”

“Water or Coke.”

“No liquor? And you’re a bartender?”

“I don’t drink liquor. I might have a beer, but—”

“I’ll take it.”

I stared him down for a few seconds, then retreated to the kitchen. I returned with two cans of PBR that were abandoned in my fridge by one of my hipster friends; the look of disdain on Lon’s face was priceless. He set his beer on the coffee table like it might explode.

I stepped over his legs and alighted at the far end of the sofa, sitting with my back against the arm and my feet tucked under my legs. “So, you’re going to help me.”

“I talked to Father Carrow.”

“Yes, you mentioned that.”

“He seems to trust you, but he doesn’t know exactly why you want the albino demon.”

No, he sure didn’t. I reached for my beer, cracked it open, and swigged. It tasted like dirty water and sweat.

“I decided that I would help you—”

“Great,” I said with a fake smile, setting my beer back down.

“—if you are honest and tell me the real reason you want it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Then I can’t help you.”

Tired and angry, I began speaking louder. “You mean to tell me that you’re some ex-priest, and you’re not only refusing to be helpful, you’re holding information hostage unless I give in to your demands?”

“I was never a priest.”

“Oh, that’s right. You were kicked out, weren’t you? What could you have possibly done that was so bad, they sealed your records? That’s like a dishonorable discharge, right?”

His eyebrows lowered as he scowled at me. After a short pause, he answered, “One of my teachers suspected I was a demon.”

Oh.

“Are you?” I squinted at his strangely colored halo.

“Are you?” he countered, looking up at mine.

“Of course not.”

“Well I am,” he said. “So how come you can see my halo if you aren’t?”

“I was … born different. That’s all.” You know, just your average magical breeding experiment.

“I asked around,” he said after a long pause. “Lots of stories about bindings in your bar, but most Earthbounds seem to respect you.”

Yeah, that was about right. “I’m a magician, and damn good at controlling demons—Earthbounds or Æthyric. Historically, our kinds have never been best buddies,” I said, pointing back and forth between the two of us. “Once demons realize that I’m not a power-crazed mage forcing them to give up some divinatory vision or alchemical secret, they’re usually cool with me. As long as they don’t break shit in my bar, I’m cool with them.”

He looked at me thoughtfully, then pulled out the same silver cigarette case he’d had earlier in the day. “Can we smoke inside?”

“Sure.” Maybe it would get rid of the burnt-pig stench in my hair. I reached to open a nearby window, accepted his offer, and lit up with my own lighter before sliding it toward him.

“Your valrivia tastes fresh,” I said after taking a couple of drags in silence.

“It is. I grow it.”

Another long moment stretched as we both smoked and he looked around the room in curiosity.

“You’ve got magical wards over the doors and windows,” he noted.

“Yep.”

“What are you afraid of? Surely not demons.”

“Hardly.”

“Do you belong to an order? A magical organization?”

“No,” I lied.

“But you were trained somewhere.”

“I learned on my own.”

He laughed. “Bullshit. No one learns summoning and binding demons on their own. That’s an advanced skill and the goetias in publication are bogus.”

“Most of them are. If you’ve got natural talent, you can teach yourself anything.”

“Let’s say that’s true. How many Æthyric demons have you summoned?”

I shrugged, enjoying the euphoric effect of the cigarette. “More than ten, less than a hundred.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “For what purpose?”

“Mostly for practice in the beginning. Curiosity. Now I only do it if I need to trade information.” Or skills. Just like Earthbounds, most of the Æthyric demons have abilities. Only, theirs are much greater. Need to heal someone with stomach cancer? Find your grandmother’s hidden stash of war bonds? If you know the right Æthyric with the right skill— and are willing to negotiate a trade—you might be able to get what you’ve wished for. Might. It is a tricky game. “I’ve had a few run-ins with some Æthyrics who weren’t exactly thrilled to be summoned,” I added. “Not all of them play nice.”

“They’re no different than humans in that respect,” he agreed.