5

At least they had enough decency to let me have my breakfast. A very gloomy Cesar carried me downstairs into the kitchen to meet a flamboyant Monsieur Gérard. He doted over me, offering me this and that so fast I couldn't see his hands move. His every turn looked like a well-rehearsed dance. After a brief succession of these, he presented me with a pumpkin pie in a fancy caramel net which tasted gorgeous. Then Monsieur Gérard offered me what he'd called mousse de veau haute cuisine which was basically a fluffy meaty froth on slices of toast. I know it sounds weird — it did look weird, too, but it was just too good for words. While I was wolfing it down, Monsieur Gérard also made an omelet — and someone must have eaten it too, even though Cesar hadn't touched a thing. Weird.

Then I prostrated myself in the limo, my head resting in Cesar's lap. Nothing erotic — I just couldn't keep it on my shoulders any longer. As we were driven home, I nodded off to his unhappy grumbling. You could tell he was angry with his billionaire friend.

I was torn by conflicting emotions. On one hand, I was so fed up with Robert and his haughty ways, I was happy to have finally gotten rid of him. No idea how Cesar managed to work with him. On the other, I did feel a bit let down. My career as a demon hunter had finished before it had even begun. And I'd already started dreaming about a small but inviting office with my name on a stylish door sign and a male gay assistant, shy but capable, who'd offer me coffee in the mornings and share the latest gossip while we awaited the first client to come through the door. How to go about finding those clients, I had no idea yet. Should I advertise in the papers maybe, then wait for phone calls from anxious relatives concerned about their family member's weird behavior?

None of it mattered any more. And the worst thing was, I'd never have to work with Cesar again. It had all ended before it even began.

"Who's Bettina?" I asked him.

"A peroxide bitch. You don't know her. Which is good for you: she's a real pain. But she's one hell of a hunter. What a shame it went the way it did. So stupid of me. Who would have thought that Arthur would get hold of the noose? It's perfectly harmless for both the host and the incubus while he's still inside. It's my fault. I should have thought about it!"

He punched the back of the front seat. The bodyguard turned round with an unhappy expression. Cesar waved him away.

"Doesn't matter," I yawned. "Can you take me to the campus? I'll give you the address."

"No need to. I spent a lot of time looking for you. I know your address, school — everything. Or did you really think I just happened to stumble across you in that bar?"

"Don't remind me," I winced. "I suppose, it's back to job hunting for me now."

"I'll talk to Robert. He and his money don't part ways easily. But I might get him to pay you a small compensation fee."

"What, that Scrooge? Don't make me laugh. He'd sooner swallow a frog — especially if it's cooked by his Frenchie chef. As far as I'm concerned, he can stuff his money where the sun don't shine. Shame about Arthur, though."

Cesar stroked my cheek. His touch stirred nothing inside me. Either I was still too exhausted or he didn't mean anything.

"Arthur is a good guy. Trust me. He's not one of those spoiled daddy's boys. He's not at all arrogant. If the incubus messes his head up, it's going to be a real shame. And I have this funny feeling that you're the only person who can save him. You can call it intuition if you want. I can sense some real potential in you. "

"Great potential, yeah — and not a drop of experience. Which, as we had the chance to discover last night, is paramount," I didn't want to talk about it any longer. "That's it, Cesar. Thanks for the lift. It was great seeing you. Shame I didn't make a great hunter but that's the way things go, I suppose. And for the future — please leave me alone, okay? I've had enough of all this supernatural bullshit. My life is good enough without it. Deal?"

He shook his head but didn't say a thing. I lifted my head from his knees. It was a good job I was tired: this way the disappointment didn't hurt as much. He hadn't said, Don't worry, I'll look you up, or Our job is finished but our friendship isn't, or any such thing. My job was over, and he just didn't care. Which meant I had to do something about it, otherwise we'd never see each other again.

I tried to ignore my disappointment but unfortunately, I did care. Deep in my heart I did hope he'd have promised to stay in touch — at least to tell me how it all ended.

The BMW stopped by the Hamilton Heights building. I clambered out and shook Cesar's strong hand, avoiding his kiss. The BMW pulled out just as I turned my back to it. I could hear Cesar's cellphone ring: he was already on his way to fetch Bettina the Peroxide Bitch.

Back in my room, I tried to forget everything that had happened. It couldn't be undone and now it was well and truly over. I had this nasty feeling as if they'd just used and discarded me when they didn't need me anymore. Oh well, one of those things. If you took everything to heart, it wouldn't last you long.

I realized of course that it was the bravado in me speaking more than anything else. Still, I knew a perfect remedy for it so I got busy cleaning.

The first thing I found when I yanked my overflowing desk drawer open was Gran's broken locket. I'd forgotten all about it.

Its both parts seemed to be in one piece. The only thing broken was the lock and its little spring. I turned it around in my hands, looking for more damage. Surely I could repair it?

The fancy design engraved on the locket's top caught my eye. I'd never really looked at it properly. And fancy it was... weird even. You'd think it would be some hearts entwined with roses, right? But this one was rather abstract: a combination of circles, twirls and straight lines. I had a funny feeling I'd even seen them somewhere — quite recently, too. But where?

I had to have it repaired. Admittedly I missed it. I'd been wearing it all those years without ever removing it. I sensed it around my neck like I'd sense Gran's warm gaze full of support and approval. And support was something I really needed now.

I sighed and slid the locket into my pocket. This was it still felt like part of me. That was settled, then: I'd carry it on me until I found someone who could repair it. Although that was a small consolation.

I returned to my cleaning.

I polished the place inside and out, took the garbage out, washed every cup and wine glass and moved on to my studies. Math went fine; but when I began reading Freud, I broke down. Freud, of all people! I remembered the noose around my wrists. Good job I didn't have to read Dr. Masoch!

The view in the window was getting darker by the minute. Liz would be back soon. I was just about to cook something — for the third time that afternoon, apparently to restore all the lost energy — when my phone rang.

Cesar sounded triumphant. "I just knew it! The things Arthur told Bettina, you wouldn't believe! The poor bitch very nearly quit on the spot! You should have heard the things she and Robert told each other! Come on, get ready now. We'll do a bit more preparation this time."

"Can't see why you're celebrating," I said. "I thought you liked Arthur. I thought you wanted to help him too."

"Of course I do! Which is why I'm calling you," he didn't sound very sure.

"Then I suggest you tell Robert to be nicer with Bettina seeing as she's his boy's last chance," I hung up.

After a pause, I turned off the phone completely. I'd had enough of their manipulating me. Sure I was happy to hear from Cesar but at the moment, I had more important things to tackle.

Nothing could stop them from coming here, I realized. Yesterday in the bar, Cesar hadn't counted on his persuasive skills alone, either. He'd had a couple of well-trained goons with him. So if they really wanted to get me... his Robert must be not only rich but also influential. He could be a mafia boss for all I knew. They wouldn't even ask my opinion: they'd just kidnap me. But that we were yet to see. By the time they got here from Lower Manhattan, there'd be no one left here to kidnap.

I began packing to make sure I was prepared for any eventuality. Then I sat down and watched the sky getting dark. A couple of hours later, I switched my phone back on. It rang almost immediately.

"Where are you?" Cesar sounded angry and worried. Was it strictly professional or did he really care? "I've been looking everywhere for you. Your roommates say they didn't see you. Your phone is off..."

"Sorry, but I'll only speak to Robert. We need to discuss my terms."

"What terms? You think he'd-"

I hung up as I remembered something I'd seen in spy thrillers: that a phone was impossible to trace provided the conversation lasted under thirty seconds. If Robert wasn't interested in talking to the "joke", no problem. I wasn't sweating it, either.

I walked through the park, casting occasional glances at the McDonald's across the street. The night was rather cold and drizzly, but I'd reckoned on that so I wasn't at all cold in a thick sweater and a jacket. Taxis by the subway station blinked their green lights in the dark.

The cellphone soon rang. Apparently, Robert hadn't yet worked me out properly so he jumped straight in, "Who do you think you are, young lady? I'll have you brought here in-"

"Suit yourself," I said. "New York City is a big place."

I turned the phone back off and crossed the road to McDonald's. I was ravenous again. All these escapades could leave me with quite a few extra pounds.

After a couple of Happy Meals I was ready to discuss the matter with him again. But Robert only hissed and spat into his phone this time.

"Calm down and call me back," I said before hanging up on him again.

I walked down into the subway and took the first train, riding mindlessly for a bit and changing lines. Then I walked out, found a place in a café and ordered myself a cappuccino. I was full of surprises, I thought as I stirred it with a dainty little spoon. When had I ever blackmailed an employer into paying me, let alone browbeat him into getting an advance using such cloak-and-dagger tricks? Had I changed somehow? When? Could this succubus bitch have changed something in me?

This time Robert must have listened to the voice of reason (in the face of Cesar, I presume). After all, he couldn't be that stupid. Anyone who had made themselves a fortune that big had to know how to keep their emotions in check.

"What're your conditions?" he mumbled fighting to bring down the anger in his voice. At least he was ready to cooperate. Excellent.

"I need to think about it," I said and switched off again.

I hadn't done it to further annoy him. I just needed to decide on a fee that would compensate me for my loss of a job, moral damages and grocery bills (as it didn't look as if my cravings were going to abate any time soon). I might need to add a gym to it too, in order to repair any damage done to my dress size.

I did some more subway surfing, then contacted him again with a four-digit sum. "Plus expenses," I added. "Fifty percent advance. Text me your decision."

I spent the next ten minutes riding a taxi — the first expense on my future bill to him. I only switched the phone back on once in the Bronx. I had a funny feeling I knew what he was going to say but still I wanted to be sure. And if this billionaire daddy had finally deigned me worth speaking to, then I more than deserved two — make it three — ice-creams!

When Cesar and his goons finally collected me from the Bronx, I was admittedly a bit frozen, so I paused by a street vendor for a quick coffee and a bagel before getting into the car. These NY bagels are something else, I tell you.

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"I don't believe you!" Cesar gave me a bear hug. I thought I heard my bones crunch. "You squeezed an advance out of him!"

Immediately, he got serious. "Okay, but now let's get down to work. Arthur really needs some help. You'll see in a minute. I need to get your bank account number to send you the money."

"Where are we going?" I asked once my finances, the coffee and the bagel were out of the way. I was dying to know whether he was happy to see me, Allison, and not just his partner in demon hunting. Had the events not taken this turn in my favor, would I have ever seen him again? Would he have called me? Would he have tracked me down?

I peered out the window. "Greenwich Village is the other way!"

"I need to see someone first. We can't afford to make any more mistakes. I want to be sure you have a proper weapon."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Don't worry," he laughed. "No one's gonna give you an AK. We demon hunters have our own tools of the trade."

* * *

"She's a freelancer like ourselves," Cesar explained, helping me down the stairs.

We stood in the basement floor of an old six-story building in China Town. Unlike the expert nerd Danny, their weapon whiz surprised me. I expected to see a man — probably, an ex-Seal or someone. But this was... and actually how could an old lady live in this hovel? Didn't she have any respect for herself?

I knew better than to tell her that, of course, but tried to keep away from everything, to make sure I didn't collapse any piled-up furniture or walk into horrible-looking pools of something sticky on the floor. The pipes running along the walls were caked with a very unsavory-looking substance. Was it really mold? And if it was, how many decades had it taken for it to accumulate? The old woman must be as bloated as a toad living in this damp.

Shuffling her ancient felt boots, she scampered out of a tiny door in the depths of the basement, all doubled up and struggling to make her way toward us. She searched the pockets of her stinky old coat, pulling out several pairs of glasses and perching them one by one onto her aquiline nose, trying to make out our outlines in the dull electric light. A lurid Gypsy shawl was wrapped over her coat. Finally satisfied — either with her choice of glasses or with her gut instinct — she nodded, mumbling something, and motioned us to follow her through the little door. Did she really mean it? The basement was all grimy and slimy, the pools of whatever was on the floor emitting an unhealthy sheen. I was scared of mice! And spiders! And if this room was already bad, what was it going to be like in her place?

The little steel door turned out to be bigger than I thought but still not high enough. I stooped to get through it when something went for my face, howling. A pair of steely jaws clapped shut right in front of my eyes. I stared at two brilliant green lights.

"Off, Ifrit!" the old lady bellowed from the depths of the room. She touched something, flipping a switch, filling the room with a soft light.

Oops. Sorry, Ma'am. My mistake.

Casting a distrustful glance my way, the old lady removed her claggy coat and the felt boots.

"I'm so sorry you had to use the service door," she said in a deep contralto untouched by age. "They never stop renovating the front entrance."

Her dog turned out to be a Great Dane of the recognizable Harlequin pattern, white with a smattering of black patches. His green-tinted eyes were unusually large, his patches glinting almost purple on his sinewy body. He studied us both: me with a skeptical appraise, and Cesar — well, I had a funny feeling the pooch had known him for a long time. A normal dog doesn't have such richly expressive eyes! Having said that, this Ifrit didn't at all look like a normal dog. He shifted his four feet next to us for a while, then walked away and lay down in the corner, leaving me to stare at his owner.

You couldn't call her beautiful: she was tall and skinny, her sagging skin creased and dry, her lower lip thrust out, her huge nose hooked. But her eyes... she may have not been a grande belle in her younger days but she surely could have wrapped any man around her little finger. You just couldn't stop staring into those eyes: two bottomless black lakes on a sunny day, sparks glimmering under their agate surface, hinting at the devils hiding deep inside.

"Quit staring," she said to me good-naturedly. "I ain't no picture. You two want a drink?"

"Some other time, Mrs. Prudence," Cesar walked over to the woman, exchanging three kisses. "Arthur is in trouble. We'd better get going."

She rummaged through her apron pockets — the lighting finally allowed me to see that the apron was in fact very clean and starched. Unearthing yet another pair of glasses, she perched them on her nose and, in turn, stared at me. I felt uneasy under her studious gaze — so uneasy I began looking around the room. The basement outside was impossibly dank but her own room was perfectly dry and cozy. The pipes were covered with lacy doilies, the light bulbs were decked out with some African-style lampshades, net curtains covering the small windows under the ceiling. A modern patchwork quilt — definitely not hand-made — was cast over a bed in the corner. A large wooden table, long and sturdy, took up the entire center of the room. One of its ends was occupied by a small turner's lathe, with neat rows of wooden blanks stacked up in front of it.

"You don't mean her?" she finally said.

I tensed up. "Why not?"

Mrs. Prudence snorted in her deep contralto. Then she laughed, "See if I give a damn, girl. There're better in the world than their little family."

"Mrs. Prudence!" Cesar spoke up. I heard a strange note in his voice I couldn't quite place.

"All right, all right. Let's do it," she interrupted her own musings. She sat down in front of the lathe and rummaged through her pockets for yet another pair of glasses. How many did she have? Then she pressed some sort of switch under the table, starting up the lathe's motor. "So, what do we have here?"

She began sorting through the blanks which were all of different size, thickness and color — apparently made from different types of wood. "Take a seat," she nodded to us both, then stared back at me. "Aries, aren't you?"

I nodded. How did she- well, Cesar must have told her, of course, but then again, we'd only just walked in.

Casting rapid glances at me, she took the blanks in front of her one by one, fumbling with them and bringing them right to her nose for a better look, even inspecting them against the light — as if she could see through the wood! I kept studying, inconspicuously, both her and the room. Talk about the devil's work. How could I expect to find anyone living in a place like this — even less so an old woman, and look at the palace she'd turned the place into! This was a proper apartment set in a basement. That wasn't right, surely! How could a normal person — not a homeless tramp — live in a place like this?

"Late April," she murmured while going through the blanks.

"The twenty-first," Cesar answered while walking around the room staring at the little wooden figurines lining the shelves. So many of them, all so artistically crafted!

"As if I can't see," she snorted, then chose a dark piece of wood, arguably the smallest on the table. All the while, the lathe was humming idly. "Mars and the Moon, the Sun in the first house, Venus in the fifth. She's trouble, my boy. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Don't crow, lady," Cesar answered rather unceremoniously.

"I'm not crowing. I'm prophesizing," she retorted while offering the piece of wood up to the lathe. Wood shavings flew everywhere. In less than a minute she was holding what looked like a cross between a wooden dagger and a dart. "There, take it."

Respectfully Cesar accepted the dart and brought it to his face, studying and taking in the odor. Was it my imagination or their noses bore some family resemblance?

"Are you going to treat it?" he asked.

"Done," she switched off the lathe and rose. "Where do you think I got the blanks from? They are all treated for two months before I use them. Now piss off. I've got a good book I want to read before I go to bed," she reached into a corner for a broom and a steel dust pan.

"But how about your famous custom-tailored solutions, Ma'am? Individual oils selection and other promotional junk?"

The dog barked from his corner. Mrs. Prudence stood up, broom in hand, and glared at Cesar.

"Piss off, I said! I thought you were in a hurry? Did you ask yourself how I was supposed to treat it now, dear nephew — no you didn't! Or did you think wood could absorb the oils in fifteen minutes flat? I've done what I could do in this situation choosing the best of what I already had. Trust me it'll work. The girl is good enough. She's one of those who can claw their enemy to death. And if she survives and starts working, then you two can come back and I'll make her a full set complete with all the bells and whistles: the incense, the night vigils, everything it takes. Are you still here? Come on now, chop chop! Tell that old skinflint I'll send him the bill tomorrow morning."

She began sweeping up all the wood chips and shavings on the floor. Cesar shoved the dart into my hands and nudged me to the door.

I didn't say a word until we got back in the car.

"She's awesome," I managed. "But what was it she was doing? How do I use this?"

"Mrs. Prudence is our best expert. A bit too independent, actually. She'd only worked with us for a couple of months when she and Robert had words, apparently — and he doesn't suffer insubordination gladly. He told her where she could stuff her expertise; she didn't mince words, either, so he said he'd fire her, to which she turned round and quit. Then she opened her own little shop. It works like a dream. Robert still can't forgive her though."

"Worked with us — who do you mean?"

He gave me a vacant look, apparently forgetting I wasn't one of "them", either.

"Doesn't matter," he dismissed the question. "Now we need to go through your motions. You're working tonight."

"Not tonight," I declared. "I need some sleep and a good meal. Also, I need to learn more about all this."

"Sorry, but Robert's impatient. Arthur seems to be on his case. D'you know why Robert called you? He didn't want to hear anything about you, but apparently, Arthur dug his heels in. No idea what they said to each other but Robert was green with anger when he walked out of his office. I wasn't there when it happened. I've no idea what you need to do to put Robert in a state. He's generally a very level-headed guy. So he walked down to the basement and spent half an hour at the firing range shooting at targets. Then he came back up and gave you a call. Robert may be many things, but he never changes his mind, so once he'd decided he had nothing to do with you, you'd probably have never heard from him again. But his two children..."

"Two children?"

"Yes. Arthur and Maya, they're twins. He may boss them around but he'll kick any amount of butt for them. Remember that. His children are the light of his life."

"Then he should know he shouldn't act in a hurry," I yawned. "Preparation is king."

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