Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(19)

We looked at each for a few moments, then he sat on the edge of the sofa and leaned forward, legs spread and forearms braced on his knees. “Two weeks, huh? That’s a lot of pressure on me.”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Mmm.”

“Will you do it?”

“I think the bigger question is can I do it. I have some rare resources, and I can start there …”

He linked his fingers, staring at them, thinking. But all I heard was that he would help me, and I felt as if an enormous weight had been lifted. I had hope.

He stood up without warning, and I scrambled to follow.

“I’ll start researching in the morning,” he said. “I’ll contact you again tomorrow night and give you an update. I’ll be discreet. You have my word.” He turned and walked toward the door, opening it and stepping out onto the concrete stairs. When he reached my driveway at the bottom, he turned and looked back up at me.

“What’s your real name?”

“Seléne Duval.”

“Seléne? Like the moon goddess?” He rolled his eyes.

“My parents are occultists, what do you expect? It’s better than them being hippies and naming me River or Rain, right?”

He laughed. “Well, what do you want me to call you? I like Arcadia better.”

“Me too,” I admitted with a smile as I stood in the doorway. The cool night air sent a shiver through me. I folded my arms around my middle.

“Arcadia it is,” he said definitively. “By the way, I apologize for lacing the cigarettes.”

Goddammit. I knew it. Fucking hoodwinked by a demon—me! How many Earthbounds had I unwittingly dosed in my bar over the last couple of years? Maybe this was payback. Before I could protest, he tipped his finger in parting, then ambled away to his car.

7

Amanda set a large box down on the bar. It was half past three in the afternoon, and Tambuku opened in thirty minutes for happy hour. I came in to help with some deliveries and break it to Kar Yee that I wasn’t working this weekend. She was mildly pissed, but that was tough. I just couldn’t concentrate on babysitting a bunch of drunken idiots all night. I’d already spent the first half of the day jumping at every noise, freaked out that Lon had changed his mind and called the police. But no one came to arrest me. Hell, the media was barely even reporting about my parents’ sudden appearance in Texas anymore. In a way, it almost felt like everything would just blow over and I could go back to my life like nothing ever happened.

But that was a pipe dream. As I’d told Lon last night, it was never the authorities that truly scared me; it was the Luxe Order. I called someone to cover my shift while I waited for Lon to contact me, hoping that he’d find some bit of information that I could use.

Amanda shook out her hands. “Wow. I’m amazed at how heavy a carton of straws can be.”

“There should be fifteen new ashtrays in that box, not just straws,” I pointed out.

“O-o-oh. That’s why. Duh.”

She got out a box cutter and went to work on unpacking the carton while I restocked the liquor and traded the tapered metal pouring spouts from empty bottles to full ones.

“Hey, why did you draw those new symbols over the door?”

They were drawn in clear ink. Only Earthbounds would be able to spot the soft white glow from the Heka charge, and Amanda wasn’t Earthbound. Her father was Earthbound, her mother human. But all that made Amanda was nonsavage, aware of the existence of demons, but unable to see them. As far as I knew, all Earthbound-human couplings produced human children—no halos, no abilities, no preternatural eyesight—but they were embraced by the Earthbound community as family. Ugly ducklings, they were affectionately called.

“I saw you coming down off the stepladder after you scribbled something over the door,” Amanda explained. “I figured it must’ve been magick.”

Ah, okay. “They’re nothing. Just symbols for extra protection.”

“Why do we need extra protection?”

“You don’t. I do.”

She put the box cutter down and paused. “Why?”

“Not a big deal, I’m just being extra careful.”

“Do you have another crazy stalker boy?”

Ugh. “Don’t remind me,” I said. A few months ago some punk kid starting hanging outside the bar after we closed, trying to follow me to my car. Turned out he was bipolar and off his meds; if I never saw him again, it would be too soon. “Hey, speaking of boys—well, men—I met someone from your neck of the woods. Have you ever heard of Lon Butler? He’s a—”

“You met Lon Butler? Ohmygod, that’s so cool! Was he nice? I heard he was kind of a jerk. I’ve seen him at the farmers’ market a couple of times but I was too nervous to approach him.”

I feigned casual interest, but I was dying to find out what she knew. “He wasn’t warm and friendly. How do you know about him?”

“Everyone knows about him in La Sirena. He’s got a cool piece of property at the edge of town on one of the cliffs overlooking the ocean. He inherited it from his father and built a house up there, but the only way to really see it is from a boat.”

“Hmm.” Boring. “What else?”

“Let’s see, he travels around the world to exotic locations for photo shoots. Umm … Oh, yeah—you know his ex-wife, that model, Yvonne Giovanni?”