Witchling (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #1)

Witchling (Otherworld/Sisters of the Moon #1) Page 13

"Then your sister's considered a demon because she's a vampire?" Chase asked, glancing nervously over his shoulder.

I laughed. "Don't worry, she can't hear you, and I won't tell her you asked. But yes, technically Menolly is classified as a demon now. But you know—as I said before, definitions can be tricky. Not all of the minor demons are evil. Some are merely mischievous, and not all of the Faeries and humans are good." The last thing I needed was to make Chase even more afraid of my sister.

He surprised me though. "Well, Menolly scares the shit out of me, but I don't consider her evil."

I smiled at him, grateful. "Thanks. She's nothing to worry about, not in comparison to the Greater and Lesser Demons. But the truth is, most Demonkin tend to be far stronger than humans and have a great deal of destructive magic at their disposal. They're a lot more dangerous than you can imagine. Think fireballs and lightning strikes and poison gas from out of their mouths."

"I see your point," Chase said, reaching over to pick at the half sandwich I'd left on my plate. "You going to eat that?"

With a snort, I pushed the saucer over to his side of the table. "Be my guest."

He laughed. "Oh, man, life was so much simpler before you people decided to put in an appearance. I'm getting another cup of coffee. Want anything else?" he asked, pulling out his wallet.

"Yeah," I said. "Get me another mocha. Triple caramel. Iced this time. And a croissant."

"You sure? That much caffeine's going to send you into overdrive."

"Save the commentary and get me my drink." I waved him away, and he shrugged and headed up to the counter. As he left, the two women who had been staring at me crossed over to our table.

"We don't mean to interrupt," the taller one said, her blue eyes gleaming. Excitement rolled off her like a wave of perfume. "My friend Linda and I were wondering, are you from Otherworld?" She held up a camera and pointed to a button on her shirt. The disk had a dark navy background with the letters FWC emblazoned in silver on it, and little sparkles of color encircling the logo.

Oh great, more Faerie Watchers, though they looked like they were from out of town. I hadn't seen them with Erin Mathews's group before. I gazed at the women. They looked so hopeful that I couldn't disappoint them.

"Yes, I'm from Otherworld. I own the Indigo Crescent here in town."

"I told you, Elizabeth! I knew it—her eyes, you can see the stars in her eyes." Linda, the shorter woman, beamed.

"I thought they might be colored contacts," Elizabeth said, more to Linda than to me. "She doesn't have the same look that the one we met in San Francisco had. But then, I suppose they don't all look alike."

A little tired of being talked over as if I wasn't there, I spoke up. "There are many variations of race and species who live in Otherworld, ladies. We don't come from a cookie cutter mold."

Linda's cheeks flushed crimson. "I'm so sorry, we didn't mean any disrespect. We're from a small town in Iowa, and we're up here to visit a friend. We heard there were quite a few Faeries living in Seattle and were so excited to think we might actually meet a real live one. Where we come from, there aren't many foreigners. A few blacks, but no aliens, so we don't really know your customs."

She babbled on for a few minutes before I stopped her with a raised hand. The taller one—Elizabeth—looked put out, but said nothing. Apparently she'd read the warnings that the Sidhe were unpredictable, because she bit her tongue and bit it good.

"Welcome to Seattle, then. Would you like a picture?" I asked, pointing to their cameras as I eased into a smile. Catch more flies with honey… although I'd never quite understood the value of the expression. Mother had used it all the time while we were growing up and even as a child, I'd questioned why anybody would want to catch flies unless you were a goblin and used them for croutons.

Linda and Elizabeth nodded, their smiles returning. Just then, Chase reappeared. He glanced at their buttons and cameras and gave me a sympathetic look. He'd seen the Faerie Watchers in action before.

"Chase, would you mind taking a picture of me and these lovely women?"

I had to hand it to him. He caught my sarcasm but merely nodded and accepted the camera. I stood between Elizabeth and Linda, and Chase snapped several shots and then handed it back to them.

"Ladies," he said, flashing his badge. "I'm afraid that Ms. D'Artigo and I have official business to discuss. If you'll excuse us… ?"

They reluctantly backed away, shooting thank-yous and nice-to-meet-yous at me all the while. As they exited the coffee shop, I felt an actual surge of gratitude toward Chase.

"Sometimes you're all right," I said, and he flashed me a brilliant grin. His teeth gleamed in the gloom of the afternoon.

"It must be hell," he said, nodding at the retreating women. "You get that everywhere you go, don't you?"

"Not so much as some of the others. After all, I am half-human. But yeah, the Sidhe seem to be the flavor of the year, and I imagine we'll continue to be for some time."

I leaned closer, making sure my voice didn't carry. "Anyway, back to the topic at hand. Our plan is this: we get proof that OIA can't overlook. Proof about the demons and Shadow Wing. We find this Tom Lane guy and take him back to Otherworld. Once they know the extent of what's happening, they'll have to act."

As I pulled apart the layers of my croissant, I couldn't help but wonder if we stood a chance in hell of pulling this off. Hell being the operative word.

Our next step was to find the harpy, but first Chase had to stop by the station. I decided to run back to the shop.

"Meet me there," I said. "Meanwhile, I'm going to think of a plan to find the harpy." I spoke with more confidence than I felt, but somebody had to take initiative, and it wasn't likely Chase would know how to chase down a giant bird-woman that was running around the city. Of course, it would also be hard for the harpy to hide. How many giant bird-women could there be in Seattle? Somebody was bound to catch sight of her and report her to either the police or Animal Control.

I had to park three blocks away from the Indigo Crescent, but that was okay with me. Between my car and the shop stood The Scarlet Harlot, Erin Mathews's lingerie shop. I'd been meaning to drop in to look at her new stock, and considering Chase had told me he'd be around in about an hour, I had time for a quick look-see.

Erin was behind the counter, looking much more professional than she had at the Faerie Watchers Club meeting. Her eyes lit up when she saw me come through the door, and she gave a bright wave. I'd allowed her to put my picture on the wall along with a caption that read, "Camille D'Artigo—owner of the Indigo Crescent—shops here," and that alone brought in more clientele. Yeah, Faeries were good for business, all right.

She scrambled out from behind the counter. "Camille! So good to see you. How's business?"

I couldn't very well tell her I was on a demon hunt, so I just nodded and murmured as I poked through the racks. "Just thought I'd drop in and take a look at what you might have in the plum or magenta line. Satin or silk would be good." Those were Trillian's favorite colors, but that wasn't why I asked for them. No, not me. I'd halfway decided that I wasn't going to sleep with Trillian again. It had been a mistake, a wonderful, passionate mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. Then again, Delilah was being supportive. Damn, I thought. Why couldn't I just let go of him once and for all?

Erin smiled. "I've got a couple of outfits that might have been made for you. Wait here." While she slipped through the curtains into the back, I flipped through the hangers, looking at the yards of lace and satin and silk and soft cotton. In some ways, I missed Otherworld, with the one-of-a-kind garments sewn by hand. Nobody ever had exactly the same outfit as anybody else… but the materials here and the choices were wonderful. You couldn't get PVC in OW, that was for certain.

"Looking for something to drape that gorgeous figure in?"

Startled, I slowly turned to find myself staring at a towering man who was wearing a bouffant blond wig—or at least I thought it was a wig—and who was dressed to the hilt in a skintight, thigh-high sequined orange dress. His skin was so tan that he almost looked brown, and his pink lipstick and green eye shadow were caked on with a spatula. He was in dire need of a What Not to Wear overhaul.

"My name's Cleo Blanco," he said. "And you are?" He held out one hand. I saw that his nails were longer—and far more manicured—than my own.

Well, this was an interesting turn of events. In Otherworld, we didn't have drag queens. We had every flavor of the sexual smorgasbord from vanilla to kinked-out peppermint, but very few Faeries dressed like the opposite gender. Of course, our clothes were a little more adventuresome than those Earthside, so maybe we just didn't notice the overlaps.

I took the proffered hand and shook it. "Camille D'Artigo. I own the Indigo Crescent." Curious as to what he wanted, I tilted my head and gazed up at the lanky man. "What can I do for you?"

He laughed, a rich and easy trill that rolled off his tongue like honey. "It's what I can do for you. Honey, I know men who would pay you a thousand a night for your favors. You've got a valuable commodity in that Faerie pussy of yours."

If I were an FBH, I would have been turning bright red. As it was, I just returned his free-and-easy smile with one of my own and wrinkled my nose. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll take a pass. My pussy's on exclusive loan right now, and isn't one-size-fits-all." Not technically true, but close enough. I'd had my share of giants and dwarves BT—before Trillian—but Cleo here didn't need to know that.

With a snort, he patted me on the shoulder. His touch was friendly but not invasive, so I let it pass. "Honey, you're all right. I hope you didn't take offense, but I know several girls like you who are living high on the proverbial bacon thanks to their blood. I never like to see opportunity go to waste."

Faerie hookers Earthside? Well, it was bound to happen, I thought. Given the innate charm that we held over FBHs, eventually somebody was going to capitalize on it. While the idea of whoring myself held no interest for me, it didn't offend me either. In our world, sex was open and easy to come by, hence little need for hookers or brothels. At least among the Sidhe. Although it was sometimes used as a weapon, and many a power struggle had been played out in the bedroom, as well as high dramas and duels.

I snorted. "No, I'm not offended. So, Cleo, you work the streets, too?"

Cleo whistled and stared at the ceiling. "No, girl, I do not work the streets. I'm an entertainer—a female impersonator. I work over at Glacier Springs—a nightclub on East Pine, near the Seattle Community College. On Tuesday and Wednesday nights, I'm Bette Davis, dahling, and the rest of the week, I'm Marilyn Monroe." The latter, he said in a breathless and wispy voice. "I take Sundays off to go visit my little girl and her mama."

Just then, Erin came bustling back to the front of the store, several garments in hand. She took one look at Cleo and frowned. "You bothering my customers again, Cleo?" she said, but her tone told me she wasn't serious. He gave her an easy laugh in return.

"He's not being a bother," I said as I took the hangers from her and held up the lingerie. "You didn't lie. These are lovely. May I take them into the back and try them on?"

"Of course." Erin settled herself at the counter again.

Cleo leaned across it, showing off a sizable ruby ring. "Look what Jason gave me. It's real, too. I had it appraised." As I waved at him and headed toward the dressing room, he called out, "You said you work at the Indigo Crescent?"

"I own it. Stop in for a visit sometime," I called back and disappeared into the fitting booth.

The first outfit—a teddy—was too tight to close over my breasts, but the second—a magenta bustier with embroidered black roses—fit perfectly. It had lace trim and was dressy enough for an evening out if I topped it with a bolero jacket. I set it aside and stared at the other piece that Erin had given me. A swirling gown the color of peacock feathers, the silk was almost see-through but not quite, and it sparkled from the gold beading that went into the eye of the feathers. I slid it over my head, gasping as I looked in the mirror. It bathed me in a wash of jewel tones and shimmered with every step that I took, the bodice form-fitting, with hidden support that lifted my boobs gently. I had to have it, no matter what the cost.

I reluctantly got dressed, then carried the bustier and gown to the counter. "Okay, you win. I have to have these. I want a dress like that nightgown, Erin, if you can find one that's not see-through." Glancing around, I saw that Cleo had disappeared. "Your friend's gone? He seems nice."

"Cleo's one of the best," she said. "He's confused right now—not sure just what he is—but he's good-hearted, and every spare cent he gets goes to his kid and her mother. As he told me one day, his daughter and ex-wife didn't know he was gay—or bi—or whatever he is, and he's not about to make them pay the cost for it. So he goes to school in the day and works at the club at night and on Saturdays." She rang up my purchases and wrapped my lingerie in tissue paper, sliding it into a pink bag with red handles. "That will be $257.34."

As I wrote out a check, I asked, "What's he studying?" "Computer programming. He wants to get on at Microsoft eventually." She handed me the bag. "If you ever need a good techie, he's the one to go to."