Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(71)

“Why would you want that?”

“Why would you?” I asked.

“I’m a collector.”

“And an opportunist. How much?” Lon asked.

Holding the cigarette in his mouth, Spooner settled the shoes in front of him and tugged at the laces to loosen them, slipping one on. As he tied it, he said, “I don’t have the talon.”

Lon toed the second shoe and kicked it aside. “Yes, you do. I talked to the person who sold it to you in Portland. I know how much you paid for it.”

Spooner leaned forward to hook the heel of the shoe with his fingertip. Scooting it back into place, he stuck his hole-y toe inside. “I sold it already.”

“When? To whom?”

“A week ago, and none of your business.”

Lon sat down next to Spooner and clapped his hand on his shoulder. Spooner cried out and tried to move back, then robotically stopped. A confused look flittered across his face. Then he smiled and laughed. “I always liked you, Lon.”

“Then do me this small favor. Tell me who you sold it to. Come on.” Lon grinned at him, and I realized that I was watching a show: Lon was manipulating Spooner’s emotions. Holy Night, that ability had some scary potential. He swore he’d never use it on me; I hoped like hell my trust wasn’t misplaced.

Spooner sighed and began tying his shoe. “Craig Bailey.”

“The retired cannery owner in the Village?”

“That human’s got more cash than people realize.” Spooner made a neat, tight bow and moved on to the second shoe. “He’s obsessed with magick. To be honest, I told him the talon had powers that could … grant immortality.” He waggled his fingers in the air in a faux-spooky manner and chuckled.

Craig Bailey. We had a name, and it was local. I knew it was too much to hope that we could just walk away with the talon that night, but maybe now we could go visit this Bailey guy and be done with it. If Lon could manipulate someone like Spooner, who obviously hated his guts, then surely someone with no strong feelings one way or another toward him would be easy as pie, right?

“How much did you sell it for?” Lon asked.

“Come on, Lon. I love ya, but a man has to have his secrets.”

Lon pressed him, and they went back and forth, laughing and joking. I started to feel a little sick, and for a second thought it might be all that phony brotherly love. Then a humming sound filled my head, low and steady; distant but moving closer. I bit the insides of my cheeks trying to stave off nausea and turned away from the men.

A movement across the room caught my attention. The eyes of the incubus opened and his head popped up. He crawled to the edge of the mattress, looking down at the vermilion-designs on the floor. His eyes brightened with hope when he saw me.

Send me back, please.

His mouth didn’t move, but I heard the words in my head, clear as glass, just like I’d hear my guardian Priya. I didn’t realize incubi could communicate this way. I shot a look over at Lon and Spooner. They were still talking.

Mother! Send me back to the Æthyr. I’m weary of being trapped here. I’ll do anything. What do you require? Information from the Æthyr? A task? Pleasure? Just get me out of here.

Another wave of nausea rose and broke. I tried to reply to the incubus without speaking. Are you talking to me?

Lon stopped talking and turned his head to give me a puzzled look.

Yes! Mother of Ahriman! Please!

That damn slur again. You’d think someone in his position would try to be a little nicer. I’d like to help, but I didn’t summon you so I can’t—

The air shimmered around the mattresses. I blinked, and everything went black. I could still see the two sex demons, and Lon, Spooner … but they were all transparent. Like imps. The vermilion binding in the floor was black and shiny like a glistening oil slick. Everything else was swallowed in a void. No cave, no creepy shower, no bench. Just darkness.

In the air above the two demons, a bright blue light appeared. About the size of a coin, it began expanding and changing. It grew until it was a round, blue disk of light. Pieces of the inside began falling away, like dough being removed with a cookie cutter; negative spaces revealed the blackness behind them. My head pounded. I held out my hands to the side to keep myself from falling.

The blue circle of light began forming an intricate design, like a laser etching the air. Then I recognized the pattern. It was a distinct combination of symbols … it was mine. My magical creation that I’d worked so hard developing for months: my imp portal. As far as I knew, it was completely unique. I’d damn sure never heard of another magician using one, nor had I seen one exactly like it in any grimoire.

The portal glowed in the void, a flat sheet of light. Then it flipped to its side and floated above the incubus. Heka began flowing from me, strong energy that I hadn’t kindled. It poured into the blue portal, and in a bright flash, turned to silver, solidified in the air.

Thank you! The incubus’s voice in my head was fading quickly. My name is Voxhele of Amon. I owe you a favor.

The portal snapped and disappeared, the incubus and succubus along with it.

Blackness lingered for a moment, then rushed away as the room and everything in it became solid and normal again and the humming stopped.

It was just the three of us now: me, Lon, and Spooner. They were still talking; had they not seen what just happened? Couldn’t Lon hear me talking to the incubus? As I was thinking this, Lon’s head turned, and he shot me a questioning look; he could certainly hear me now.