Holy Socks And Dirtier Demons Read online

  I have a favor to ask and then we’re out of here.”

  He nodded, motioning for me to continue with a polished fingertip.

  “When your wife left, you used a PI to track her down. I want to hire

  him.”

  A few years back, Persephone had shacked up with a younger and

  much shorter man. Well, not a man exactly. A cherub. Cupid to be precise.

  Hades hired a detective, and within a few days, Ms. Lord of the Underworld

  was safely back at home. Since then, Hades had kept her locked in the back

  office. But what relationship didn’t have problems?

  I figured that if the PI could track Persephone to a doublewide trailer

  on Mt. Olympus, he’d be able to find the kid. Oh God, I hoped he could.

  With each passing minute, I was one-step closer to the grand finale and the

  end of the world. A whisper of voices, dark, crazed voices, flickered in my

  brain.

  No pressure.

  Hades scratched his head, snakeheads rattled with anger. “Let me

  make a few calls.”

  11

  Three

  I sipped my beer and tried to eavesdrop on Hades’s telephone

  conversation. It wasn’t working. Next to me, Zeus and Hera, the ultimate odd

  couple, argued at top volume. Their shouts drowned out whatever Hades was

  saying.

  “I can’t leave you for a minute,” Hera said. “I turn my back and

  you’re off flirting with some bit of Goddess fluff.”

  Sparks crackled around Zeus. “She means nothing to me.”

  Stupid thing to say, I thought. A shattering of glass and flying beer

  bottle proved my words true. I’d said the same thing to one of my exes once,

  and she hit me with a chair.

  Ah, true love.

  Hades tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you own a suit?”

  “No.” I looked down at my moth-eaten Levis. Did I look like the type

  of guy who owned a suit?

  He shook his head and went back to his phone call. “No... yes... not

  bad...” His face grew grim as he listened for a few more seconds. “Yeah,

  okay.” Hades cupped the receiver and motioned to me. “What do you know

  about accounting?”

  What was going on? I shrugged. “Not much. Two plus two equals

  four, but after that my knowledge goes downhill.”

  He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the phone. “The

  Core? Are you insane?” He lowered his voice, and I lost the rest of his words

  when the angel started singing again.

  “Okay, here’s the deal.” Hades hung up the phone and leaned over

  the bar, his hellish breath fogging my eyeballs. “Go to the Core tonight at

  ten.”

  The Core, a dance club downtown owned by a semi-famous bad-boy,

  catered to the city’s elite. “The Core. Got it.” I nodded as if I had it under

  control but what I was really thinking was, how the fuck am I going to get

  inside?

  “Take a seat at the third table from the bar on the north side.” Hades

  glared at the angel. “Go alone and wear a suit.”

  12

  “Suit. Got it.” A suit? Shit.

  Hades smirked, showing sparkling canines. “You might wanna

  shower too. You smell pretty ripe.”

  Nice. The God of the Underworld said I stunk, as if being around

  him was a picnic. I sniffed at my sweatshirt. Yeah, I could use a shower. A

  haircut too, I thought, glancing at myself in the rose-colored mirror behind

  the bar.

  “I know a great hairdresser,” the angel said, reading my mind. “Oh,

  and I have the perfect style in mind.”

  I closed my eyes. This was going to be a long day.

  ~ * ~

  Hours later, I realized how right I’d been after spending the afternoon

  scouring the neighborhoods for the kid. I questioned addicts, dealers,

  hookers, and pimps. No one had seen anything.

  The angel wasn’t helping either. He was busy flipping through a

  Men’s Health magazine. Research, he told me, when I smacked him in the

  back of the head and asked. I shook my head. The end of the world neared,

  and he wasted time reading about four ways to check his prostate.

  By nine, I just wanted to find the kid and take a long nap. Instead, I

  found myself dressing in a borrowed Armani suit. I tugged at the collar and

  stared into the mirror with disgust. The sleeves of the suit jacket were about

  an inch short and stained with a greasy, wax-like substance.

  The angel stood next to me rubbing at the spot with a look of

  repulsion. “There are a thousand places to rent a suit in this city and you have

  to go to Bob’s Bargain Barn.”

  “He gave me a good deal.”

  The angel closed his eyes, probably praying for patience. “A deal?

  This suit is off a dead man. He rented you a funeral suit. God knows what

  this stain is.” The angel’s hand flew to his mouth.

  I laughed, yanking at the collar. “Bob swore it was strawberry jam.”

  “And you trusted him?”

  I shrugged, not caring one way or the other. “As long as it gets me

  inside the Core, I don’t care what’s on the sleeve.”

  13

  Four

  Shifting from one foot to the other, I waited in a never-ending line

  outside the club. The doorman, an ape looking guy with a ridged brow lines

  and a flat forehead, inspected desperate patrons. With a raised eyebrow and a

  sharp word, he turned away fashionably dressed rich people. I glanced at my

  scuffed boots and too short slacks. I had no chance in hell of getting in.

  Plan B.

  I caressed my nine-millimeter, concealed in a shoulder holster

  underneath my jacket, and waited my turn. If he wouldn’t let me in, I’d shoot

  either him or myself.

  “Hilton. Paris,” a cheap looking blonde two people ahead of me told

  the doorman. Ape-man checked a clipboard in his hand and nodded. “Top of

  the list, Ms. Hilton. Enjoy your stay.” He unhooked the velvet rope and

  gestured for her to go inside. She entered, disappearing in a burst of fake

  flames and smoke.

  I turned to the angel, who had taken my advice for the first time and

  stayed invisible. “Put me on that list.”

  “No.” The angel huffed, still angry we’d left before the O.C. ended.

  “Do it or else I’ll stop stealing cable from the neighbors.”

  The doorman allowed the couple in front of me inside. I stepped up

  to the plate. “Jace Miller.”

  The ape searched his list and shook his head. A single coarse hair on

  his clean-shaven chin jiggled, mocking me. “Sorry, if you ain’t on the list,

  you ain’t gettin in.”

  I glared at the angel. “How about…” I lowered my voice.

  “Nemamiah.”

  The bouncer froze. “Did you say Nemamiah?”

  I nodded.

  “Sorry, nope.”

  My muscles coiled, ready to spring. “Don’t fuck with me.”

  “Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?” Ape-man flexed his overly

  developed physique. He outweighed me by forty pounds, and had four inches

  on my own six-feet, but I wasn’t worried. I needed to get inside that club and

  14

  nobody would stop me.

  Grabbing his forearm, I pressed my thumb into the soft flesh of his

  elbow.
He flinched, his body tensing. It wasn’t lethal force, but from past

  experience, I knew it hurt like hell. “I’ve had a really bad day. So either let

  me inside, or I’m going to kick the shit out of you. Your choice.”

  Maybe it was the slant of my jaw, or the numbness radiating up his

  arm, but either way, his attitude changed. He swallowed, Adam’s apple

  bobbing. “Miller?” He ran his finger down his clipboard, his eyes wide with

  surprise. “Here it is. N. Miller.”

  My eyes followed his finger, and damn if N. Miller wasn’t written in

  an angelic chicken scratch. “Thanks.”

  As quickly as I grabbed Ape-man’s arm, I released him, sending him

  flying back two steps into the faded brick exterior of the building. I grinned,

  and pushed past the velvet rope and faux flame to enter the club. My nostrils

  wrinkled at the sudden stench of sweat, sulfur, and skin. The angel followed

  behind me, keeping to the shadows, which was odd since no one could see

  him anyway.

  As my eyes adjusted to the darkened room, I glanced around, taking

  careful note of the exits. It paid to be prepared. Under a flash of red lights

  timed to the thump of overhead speakers, pale, thin bodies of coked up

  models and their rich, cokehead boyfriends swayed.

  The club itself was nice enough with lots of chrome and exposed

  brick. A few tables offered a semblance of privacy, as did the VIP alcove. A

  bar ran along the back wall. Outrageously expensive bottles of liquor lined

  the back bar while bartenders dressed in black poured watered-down

  varieties of cheaper fare.

  A dreadlocked DJ spun ear piercing drum and bass beats. Maybe I

  was just too old, but each song sounded the same. Thump, thump, beat, beat,

  thump, thump. Yawn.

  Leather skirted girls maneuvered through the crowd carrying trays of

  multi-colored drinks. Whatever happened to plain old whiskey, vodka, or

  gin?

  From the bar, I counted off three tables. A reserved sign sat on top

  the last one. I walked toward it, searching the club for Bogart or Kojak. What

  did a supernatural detective look like?

  My gaze locked on the owner of the club who lounged in the VIP

  section, sipping Crystal. I doubted the bartender watered down his drink. Mr.

  Big wore a red velvet sweat suit, and enough gold to give Fort Knox a

  complex, but he was nothing more than a pretty-bad-boy with bleached white

  hair, bleached white teeth, and enough laundered money to open his own

  chain of dry cleaners. Poor little rich boy.

  Bodyguards and young groupies hung on Mr. Big’s every word like

  the Sermon on the Mount. The bodyguards mimicked the club look in an

  array of similarly colored suits, chains, and guns. They reminded me of a

  15

  pathetic boy band without the non-threatening sexuality. Not-So-N-Synched.

  I sat at my table and waved my hand to get the waitress’ attention.

  She ignored me. Must be my suit.

  “I do not like this place.” The angel stood over me, breathing his

  horrific angel breath down my neck.

  “Yeah, I’m not a fan either.” I brushed away a glob of angelic spit. “I

  probably can’t afford one drink. But this might be as close to rich and famous

  as I’ll ever get.”

  “Rich yes, infamous….” The angel shrugged.

  “What does that mean?” That sounded like a threat. Did the angel

  know something?

  The sudden scent of sulfur and tobacco filled my nostrils and a flash

  of heat rose up my spine as a raven-haired woman wrapped her tattooed arms

  around my neck. Her lips, soft and tasting like sin, pressed against mine. The

  smoke from the cigarette in her hand curled around us, trapping me in her

  embrace.

  For a few seconds I did nothing. Then my brain kicked in. A

  beautiful woman sucked on my tongue. Do something, my mind ordered. My

  body caught up quick enough, and my arms pulled her closer. The warmth of

  her breasts pressed through the cotton of Bob’s rental shirt. She was slick

  with sweat, as if she had been dancing, but she smelled of baby powder and

  brimstone.

  She pulled away as quickly as she had arrived. For some reason, I felt

  oddly bereft, like I’d lost something important. Her eyes met mine, glowing

  yellow in the dark club. A trick of the light?

  “Jack and Coke,” I said to break the tension.

  “I’m not a waitress.”

  “Damn. I thought the service was too good to be true.” I shrugged,

  giving her a slow once over. “So who are you?”

  She held out her hand. “Lilith.”

  I took it. Warm and soft, it fit into mine as if it belonged there.

  “Jace.”

  “So Jace, what did you lose?” She sat, shoving the reserved sign

  across the table and onto the floor.

  I frowned. “You’re the PI who helped Hades?”

  “I’m not a PI.” With a finger wave, she flagged down a passing

  waitress and ordered us drinks. After the waitress left, I touched Lilith’s hand

  to gain her attention. “So what are you?”

  “I’m more like a lost and found.” She paused, trailing a hand across

  the tabletop. “I help the lost find their way.”

  “And you’re good at it?” A shiver of awareness flickered through

  me, but I ignored the warning, and focused on the sex-goddess in front of me.

  “The best.” She licked her red lips, slick with saliva and Vaseline.

  “So again Jace, what have you lost? And more importantly, what will you

  16

  give me to help you find it?”

  I examined her cat-like eyes, seeing a steel reserve under her

  feminine wiles. Messing with this girl would be a mistake, one that I might

  willingly make. She wasn’t beautiful like Mary, or even sweet. But there was

  something in the way she said my name.

  “A baby,” the angel said. “He’s lost a baby.”

  She smiled, her eyes never leaving my face. “I see.” The angel’s

  sudden appearance didn’t faze her. It was as if she had known he was there,

  and was merely waiting for him to speak. Which made me wonder if she was

  human or something from the other side.

  “Human, I think,” the angel’s voice echoed inside my head. “I can

  smell the blood flowing in her veins. It smells like rust, but not unpleasant.”

  Damn angel. I hated when he read my thoughts.

  “Your child is missing?” She reached for my hand, compassion

  softening her features, and for a minute, she was far more beautiful than any

  women I’d ever seen, so beautiful that the breath caught in my chest. Then it

  was gone.

  “Sort of,” I answered. A flash of silver around her ring finger caught

  my eye. Was she married? Did it matter? “I’m taking care of him… for a

  while.”

  “You adopted him? That is so great. I love when couples open their

  hearts to a child in need.” She smiled at the angel and then me.

  “What?” I pulled my hand from hers. “I’m not… we’re not.” I

  motioned to the insulted angel. “Oh, forget it. I need to find the kid.”

  “And I need you to answer a couple of questions.” She took a long

  drink from the pink concoction the waitress sa
t in front of her seconds ago.

  I nodded, praying the topic of God’s only son wouldn’t come up.

  “What’s the child’s name?”

  “Jes... Hubert Chr… Miller,” I lied, making up an alias. “He goes by

  J.C.”

  Her lip curled. “How old is he?”

  Shit, I had no idea. Did the Messiah age in human years?

  “Fourteen months. He was born on Christmas day.” The angel shook

  his head at me as if anyone with half a brain should know the answer.

  “I always wanted a Christmas birthday. Double presents.” Lilith

  glanced around the club, watching the dance floor. “Tell me about his

  biological parents.”

  Ah, she was good, using subtle, seductive interrogation, like an

  afternoon stroll with a hooker through Central Park. How to answer…

  Again the angel jumped in, “His mother and step-father died in an

  accident.” Which was the truth. They had died in a myrrh explosion at a

  small stable in Bethlehem. Who knew myrrh was explosive? Apparently, not

  the angel who’d placed it a bit too close to a candle. Mary and Joseph

  incinerated before his heavenly eyes, as did two of the three wise men. The

  17

  third one suffered smoke inhalation and burns on his hands from beating out

  the flames licking at Baby Jesus’ bed of straw.

  “What about his biological father?” Lilith raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s very busy. Has a big important job.” I threw back my Jack and

  Coke, which tasted more like water and Coke. “I promised to look after the

  little guy until he can make suitable arrangements.”

  “What made him choose you?”

  Ouch, but she had a damn good point. For all intents and purposes, I

  was a complete and utter failure, even crazy if one considered the legal

  definition. “I have no idea.” It was the most honest thing I’d said in years.

  One of the owner’s bodyguards walked past our table, and Lilith took

  my hand. Her fingertips trembled as her eyes scanned my face. “How did you

  lose J.C.?”

  “I didn’t lose him exactly,” I began. “Last night, someone kidnapped

  him from my apartment while I was… occupied.”

  “You didn’t hear anything?”

  I shook my head. Whoever had taken the babe had been quiet, too

  quiet to be human. No sign of a break-in either. But I couldn’t tell that to