Nessa winced as set pulled the scooter onto its kickstand outside the Regency Bail Bonds office in Glendale. The movement sent a twinge of pain shooting from her shoulder to the tips of her fingers and back again. No matter how magical you are, falling out a second-story window has real-world consequences. Turning her neck was becoming increasingly difficult. A bottle of prescription-strength ibuprofen at home was calling her name but after a quick conference, with Pim, they decided to stop at Regency on the way back.
Neither of them wanted to make the long trip across town again tomorrow. Nessa was a newbie at the bounty hunting game. Barracuda Bail Bonds was the one and only such office she had been in. Perhaps she could learn something.
Digging for her ATM card, she bought a thirty-minute parking ticket. Motorbikes had to park like cars here. She couldn’t leave it casually on the sidewalk.
She’d promised to meet Desiree for coffee at the Starbucks near Pier Street in Hermosa Beach the next morning. Ravi said he would try to make it if his Infernal Court schedule allowed. Otherwise, Nessa would keep him in the loop via phone or text.
“Tell your mom I said hi,” she said lightly as they parted.
He’d given her a sour look.
Regency Bail Bonds was on Brand, one of Glendale’s main commercial streets, a few blocks from the Americana outdoor shopping mall. Their offices occupied the entire top floor of a square, non-descript five-story building set between a bank and a Korean deli.
A sign in the window of the Korean place advertised spicy Kim Chee and Bulgogi rice balls.
Pim pointed, licking his whiskers with a swift pink tongue.
“Oh yeah,” Nessa said. “I am with you. Let’s pick up some of those for later. We can get two extra for Aunt Emerald as an apology for not being able to help with the seances until these come off.” She shook her wrists making the pentagrams spark.
Poppy came with them, still swaddled in the throw blanket. What else could she do besides leave her in the scooter’s basket? Which wasn’t necessarily a bad idea… maybe hang a ‘Free Bird’ sign around her neck. Oh well, a good Samaritan would call probably call the police and she’d be charged with leaving a bird unattended.
Lucky for Regency Bail Bonds, Poppy was sleeping off her busy day.
“Please God let her stay asleep,” Nessa prayed as she and Pim entered the elevator.
The doors opened right into the bail bonds office which felt a little weird.
An oversized reception desk maybe five feet high was placed in the center of the entryway. ‘Regency Bail Bonds’ scrolled across the front in a crisp black script about twelve inches high. Closed doors flanked either side of the desk blocking access into the actual office.
Walls, desk, and floor were a uniform dark brown.
A small seating area of two armchairs was set to the right of the elevator. A slim man with hair black and shiny as a crow’s wing was seated in one of the chairs. His skin was brown or deeply tanned, difficult to know. Strange stick-figure tattoos marched up both arms. Nessa thought she recognized them as petroglyphs. Specifically, Southwest Indian petroglyphs. A man on horseback. A wolf or coyote-like animal. Another with horns on his or her head.
Nessa and her dad spent a year near the Four Corners area, where Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico met. It was a place of immense supernatural power. Largely avoided by the Infernal Court which made it attractive to Deadbeat Dad. She’d used some of her spare time studying the legends of the Navajo and Hopi.
His hair was pulled up and back in a complex knot bound in a strip of white material.
Hard to know if he was a guard or a customer. He was unmistakably magic. A spectral aura rose from him like pale smoke to Nessa’s eyes.
He met her look giving her a dimpled, crooked smile exposing brilliant white and exceedingly sharp teeth.
Pim’s tail shot up.
The receptionist did not even glance his way.
With a wary look at the man, Nessa approached the desk. Being only five feet two inches tall, she had to stand back or she would have been on her tiptoes trying to see over the counter. The receptionist’s chair must be perilously tall.
The idea of a Bail Bonds office having a receptionist seemed weird to Nessa but what did she know? The woman was white, brunette, young, pretty, with black cat-eye mascara and a retro-sixties teased flip. She tilted one well-shaped eyebrow as Nessa introduced herself as a recovery agent from Barracuda Bail Bonds.
“I would like to speak with someone about the Reese Villanova case. I understand your agency bonded her out.”
“And?” said the woman.
“And she’s missing.”
The receptionist raised the other eyebrow slowly.
Pim wound in and out of Nessa’s legs telling her he was not comfortable here.
She understood why. Besides the man with the petroglyph tattoos, magic ebbed and flowed in quiet waves. Nothing zippy or zappy. Just a slow, steady current. Well, Ravi said they took on Infernal Court work like her boss. Stands to reason they would have magic.
“And you are interested because?” the woman said at last.
“My boss bonded out Reiko Summerville. As your boss probably already knows, she’s missing as well. I thought maybe your recovery agent might want to pool information.”
Holding up one manicured finger for Nessa to pause, she pushed a button and spoke into her headset explaining in a bored voice who was here. Her tone changed after whoever was on the other line spoke.
“Yes, ma’am,” the receptionist said, snapping to attention and straightening her shoulders. “Right away, ma’am.”
Lowering her hand, the receptionist must have pushed an access button because the door on the right swung open.
“You can go through,” she said, gesturing.
Pim scampered in first. Nessa followed slowly, checking out the door. The wooden front was only a facade. It was made of thick steel. Metal rods had been drawn in at four points to open. She could see where the metal rods fit in to secure the door. Concrete lined all four sides of the doorway.
Security must be a helluva’ an issue at Regency Bail Bonds.
She pictured Barracuda Bail Bonds sherbet-yellow bungalow in Compton. White wooden shades over the big front windows keeping out the afternoon sun. Colorful vintage travel posters of the Caribbean islands on the walls. Classic rock playing on Mr. Barracuda’s vintage record player. The smell of savory spices like cardamon and sage in the air.
She took a deep breath. The air of Regency Bail Bonds had a dull metallic smell. Like blood.
The door did not open directly onto the office. Another wall stood solidly only a few feet away though this one was flanked by open doorways. Nessa noticed the frames were narrower than they should be. Probably another defensive measure to slow down attackers. What type of criminals did Regency deal with here in Glendale? Glendale for God’s sake.
She was glad Deadbeat Dad’s debt was to Roman Barracuda. She couldn’t imagine coming to work in such a place day after day.
She took a step and stumbled over Pim who barreled into her shins, running back the way he’d come.
He meowed a warning, not caring if he was overheard.
She put a hand to the wall to regain her balance, looked up, and understood.
Leaning casually against a modern glass desk not more than six feet away was the demon Belencourt.
Nessa began to back up but heard the door behind her close with a heavy clunk. Unless she was prepared to pound on it shouting, ‘Let me out!’ she had no choice except to go forward.
Belencourt flashed a white-out brilliant smile across his handsome face, exposing a set of sharp incisors as big as a wolf’s. He was at least six foot five, with thick brown hair, high cheekbones, a straight nose, and a killer dimple on his chin. He looked like Hollywood royalty. Though the two curling horns on either side of his head and the fangs broke the illusion. At least for Nessa. Everyone else would only see what he wanted them to.
Fingers crossed he didn’t know his glamour couldn’t work on her.
His cream-colored pin-stripe suit looked deceptively simple. To Nessa’s trained eyes, the stitching on the lapels and edges screamed custom-made. Bespoke, as her dad called it. A crisp white shirt was open at the collar, no tie. He carried a cane and Nessa was unpleasantly reminded of Baron Samedi. A cane along with a top hat and fat cigar were trademarks of the Loa of the Dead.
Pim placed himself between her and the demon, back arched, teeth bared.
“Hello, Miss Scott,” Belencourt rumbled as he languidly pulled himself erect. His voice was deep and resonant. If tigers could speak, this is how they’d sound.
Nessa suddenly wanted to pee.
He took a step closer. “How’s your father? I’ve been trying to reach him.”
Tightening her muscles to steady herself, she met his stare with her own. Not looking down. Not looking away.
High-level demons – and Belencourt was top drawer– were Alpha predators with a capital ‘A’. Appearing passive would only increase his instinct to assert his power over her. Despite her size and youth, Nessa was not weak. Even if she was afraid, she was never weak.
“Have you?” she replied, keeping her voice even.
He cracked a tiny smile.
She had no idea how much this demon knew of her backstory and/or angelic connection. Belencourt had resources far beyond a magical fraud artist and his teenage daughter. A few short weeks ago, he’d hinted he knew of her curse. She didn’t want to believe her father would knowingly share such sensitive information with this creature.
“And how is your little cat?” He looked directly at Pim. “Must be uncomfortable with the Cone of Shame. Uncomfortable for you both.” He pointed at the pentagrams circling Nessa’s wrist. Seems he could see those as well.
“You know I could have them removed if you like.”
“For a price,” Nessa blurted before she could stop herself.
He gave a crocodile smile that did not reach his eyes.
“Are you here to bond someone out?” she asked as though talking to him as an equal was perfectly normal.
The man whose desk he had been leaning on snorted.
“Mr. Belencourt is the…” he choked on the next word, his eye bulging.
Belencourt had seemingly done no more than cross the fingers of one hand.
The man’s face turned red, then redder.
“Why are you here?” Belencourt asked conversationally, still smiling. “Thinking of changing employers?”
She glanced significantly at the man clawing desperately at his throat.
With a slight hiss as though bored, Belencourt flicked a finger. The man fell forward, banging his head on the desk, gasping.
Nessa kept her expression neutral. No smiles. No frowns. “I’m very happy where I am, thank you.”
“Thought you’d pay a social call?” he asked quirking a corner of his mouth.
“Sort of.” She hesitated, then said, “I heard Regency bonded Reese Villanova.”
“Have they?”
“Also heard you were interested in Bee Buzzed.”
His eyes snapped to hers, “Am I?”
She shrugged, not pressing him.
“Your boss holds Miss Sömmerhaulder, I believe. Or perhaps I’m not phrasing it correctly?”
Nessa kept her eye contact steady even as her insides twisted. Was Belencourt hinting he knew Reiko was missing or he believed Mr. Barracuda was hiding her?
“We have her bond. We do not have her. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
He stared far too directly to be polite into her eyes. “Wouldn’t you?”
Whatever his suspicions, at least he couldn’t see her real eyes behind the bright blue contacts. Had he been able to see the inky black depths behind those contacts, he’d have been far more interested. Aside from demons, only Fallen have such black eyes.
He moved smoothly away from the desk to approach her. Nessa instinctively shrank against the wall, not wanting him to touch her in the narrow hallway.
Demons, like witches, are adept at reading auras. Aunt Emerald’s amulets kept her more extreme talents hidden. With the amulets on, all she broadcast was a normal witchy glow. If they could fool a Fallen Angel, they should fool Belencourt no matter what he suspected about her.
And he suspected something for sure.
He leaned down as he came abreast. She had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from bolting. His demonic aura was crawling over her skin like an army of hairy spiders.
Pim yowled a low primal sound. If not for the Cone of Shame, he’d have been in his werecat form and at the demon’s throat.
Belencourt ignored the cat. “I want the orb.”
Tipping her head back to look him in the eyes she said in complete honesty, “I don’t have it.”
For a few moments he said nothing, then, “You did.”
No use denying it.
She nodded. “I did. At the time I had no idea it was of any importance to anyone.”
“The men who had it…”
“Are dead. They thought it would save them. It didn’t.”
Again, the truth. Tommy Baptiste had activated the curse on a blade of ancient lineage, the Sword of Eternal Blood. Whoever pulled the sword from its scabbard was transformed into the warrior of their dreams. The sword could not be sheathed again until it had tasted blood. The Warlocks had wanted the sword. Badly. There was more to the sword than its curse.
The story going around LA was the sword formed one-third of a trio of powerful objects: a sword, a jewel, and a mirror. When assembled, the objects could break any curse.
Nessa was interested in assembling the three objects for her own reasons. If they could break any curse, perhaps they could free her from Frank, the Fallen Angel.
A band of Warlocks knew she was chasing Tommy Baptiste for Barracuda Bail Bonds. They kidnapped Nessa hoping to use her Elemental Air powers to hold Tommy while they took the sword. The jeweled orb was supposed to play a part in their attempt to take the sword.
Unfortunately for them, the orb did not behave as expected.
They’d been cut to pieces by the cursed blade inside a tornado she summoned. When it was all over, Nessa picked the jeweled orb up out of curiosity thinking maybe she could sell the thing on eBay if nothing else.
Only later, after the surprise reappearance of Deadbeat Dad, did she realize the orb might hold the magical jewel of the three linked objects. Then dad disappeared again , taking the orb with him.
“What sensation did you have when you picked it up?” Belencourt asked, his tone soft, almost caressing.
“Nothing. The orb could have been a metal paperweight. Not a buzz or spark.”
“And yet, it is so much more.”
“Yeah. Beginning to understand. Still, I don’t have it. I do not know where it is. Period. End of conversation.”
Moving in close enough for Nessa to feel his hot breath on her skin, he whispered, “When you speak to your father again, please tell him to call me. I grow impatient.”
Swallowing with difficulty, her mouth dry, Nessa said only, “Understood.”
“Until we meet again,” he said passing through the heavy door as it swung open.
Nessa sagged against the wall, her knees wobbly.
‘Frack, frack, frack ,’ she chanted silently, trying to catch her breath through her racing heart.
The red-faced man at the desk was still gasping.
She had an idea what he’d been about to say before Belencourt cut him off. Maybe.
“Miss Scott?” came a woman’s voice from the other side of the office.
Clenching her fists and forcing herself away from the wall, Nessa walked toward the voice, Pim in the lead.
A dozen metal desks were arranged at intervals in the office each with several computer monitors of varying sizes. Men and women in gray suits sat at several of the desks. They did not look up or enquire after the welfare of their gasping colleague.
The floors were bare. No pictures on the walls. Not even a calendar.
The woman ushered Nessa into a corner office with a view of Brand through wrap-around windows before stepping away and closing the door. The room was as sparsely decorated as the rest of the office.
Inside, a strongly muscled woman in her late thirties or early forties in a sleeveless royal blue dress with a no-nonsense bob of straight blond hair was seated at a desk identical to the ones on the main floor.
She didn’t look up from the desktop monitor.
“Have you found Reiko Sömmerhaulder?” the woman asked tersely.
‘Nice to meet you, too,’ thought Nessa but said, “Not yet. I was at her house. Somebody is trying to either kill or kidnap her.”
The woman’s eyes flicked up, zeroing in on Nessa. “No one wants to kill her or Reese Villanova. They are far more valuable alive.”
“To their families or as inventors of the Bee Buzzed formula?” she asked.
“Choose whichever scenario you prefer.”
“I assume you haven’t found Reese, either?” Nessa said.
She dropped her eyes back to the monitor. “You look like a girl who needs money. Whatever cut Barracuda is giving you, I’ll triple it and throw in a finder’s fee of ten thousand dollars. Provided you bring Reiko Sömmerhaulder to me first.”
Nessa kept her face as blank as she had with Belencourt. She was very aware of the concrete and steel doors between her and freedom.
Taking the high ground or protesting would achieve nothing. Her dad had taught her to be like a reed in the wind and bend with whichever way the storm is blowing. You can always snap back later.
“Give me your card,” Nessa said, holding out her hand. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The woman didn’t bother looking up as she flicked out a business card.
Nessa didn’t need to be told she was dismissed.
Both she and Pim breathed a sigh of relief when they made it safely to the outer office. The native American-looking man wasn’t there. They walked into the elevator, pushing the button for the ground floor. The door closed.
“Hello, we meet again.”
Nessa and Pim jumped. In the corner the same man from the reception area lounged against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest.
Poppy finally woke up, wriggling her feathery head out of the blanket.
She peered at the man for a moment then howled quite clearly in her reedy voice like a wolf or coyote before singing, “I got spurs that jingle jangle jingle,” several times.
Nessa stared from the parrot to the man. Adrenalin shot through her nerves, ramping up the pain in her shoulder and neck at the same time. She jabbed at the button for the ground floor again.
The man reached out a hand to caress the bird’s head.
“Hello, Poppy. Where’s your daddy?” he asked.
“Don’t get her started,” yelped Nessa.
“Poppy daddy, Poppy daddy,” she cried pitifully.
Too late.
“Poppy Daddy,” she screeched.
“Hush now,” said the man softly. “Enough.”
Poppy opened her beak and then shut it. She ducked back into the lap blanket, hiding her head.
The man pushed away from the wall. “How do you do. You can call me Wapi.”
“I’d rather not call you anything at all, thank you very much,” Nessa said bluntly.
He held out his hand, his crooked smile widening. “Nessa Chevalier Scott, it is good to finally meet you. Will you not shake my hand?”
She backed into the corner. “Why?”
“Why?”
“Why is it good to meet me and why should I shake your hand?”
“Your father has spoken of you warmly and shaking hands is the polite thing to do.” He kept his hand extended.
“You do not know my dad.”
“I assure you I do. We had business together around Shiprock in San Juan County. New Mexico. When you were much younger.”
Gulp. If he knew her dad, there really were no guarantees he was legit.
“Do you have an ulterior motive?”
He considered her question.
Pim popped up on his hind legs to pound with both paws on the button for the ground floor. It seemed to be taking a long time for only five floors.
“In shaking hands, no,” he said finally, the hint of a laugh in his voice.
Which meant zero assurance in any other dealings.
“Can you be nice? Will you be nice?” she asked.
Now he genuinely laughed. “I can and I will.”
Feeling he’d backed her in a corner – literally and figuratively – she stretched out her hand to grasp his.
The familiar buzz of magical energy rippled into her palm. This was common for Nessa when touching other supernaturals. She wasn’t sure other magical practitioners got the same reaction. He clasped it warmly enough to be friendly; not long enough to make it weird. The energy didn’t feel negative. Certainly strong. Really strong.
She pulled her hand away as the elevator filled with the smell of sage and the odd dusty scent of rain on dry ground. His eyes twinkled at her with a silver light.
The doors finally opened. Nessa and Pim jumped from the elevator, running to the building’s entrance and out onto the sidewalk.
The man, if he was a man, was right by her.
“Are you going to the Korean deli? Of course you are. Let’s go together.”
Nessa felt unseen hands propel her to the place next door. The door opened of its own accord. She, Pim, and the man called Wapi took their place behind another customer.
Pim placed himself in guard mode, inserting his body between her and the man.
“I recommend the Bulgogi and the Kim Chee O-musubi.” He pointed at the menu up on the wall behind the counter. “O-musubi means rice ball in Japanese, even though this is a Korean place. The Bulgogi…”
She held up a hand. “Dude. Mr. Wapi from Shiprock or whoever you are, this is not my first Korean Deli Rodeo. I know what Bulgogi is.”
He rubbed his temple, with a forefinger. “Am I mansplaining?”
“Hell, yes,” she said with feeling. “Plus, you are being slightly pervy and stalky following me around.”
Pim meowed in agreement.
“Sorry.”
The man ahead of them moved away.
“Let me get your order to apologize.”
“No thank you.” She knew enough never to accept gifts from unknown supernaturals. It often meant incurring an obligation you had no control over.
“I assure you I don’t…”
“No,” she said firmly, shouldering past him.
The counterperson, a strongly built young Asian man, was watching them. “Is he bothering you?” he asked Nessa.
“Yes, just not in the way you think. It’s okay. I’m safe. Thank you.” She gave him her order for rice balls adding a large, iced tea, and paid with her debit card.
She asked for a child’s cup along with the tea. Pim must be thirsty and Poppy too. Hopefully, iced tea did not poison parrots. Nessa did not know a lot about what parrots could or should eat aside from fruit and seeds. Poppy had kept her head down since the little songfest in the elevator.
Wapi placed his own order for four rice balls, all of them Bulgogi.
Nessa perched on one of the tall chairs at the counter, Pim on the seat beside her.
“I need to ask you a favor,” he said as they waited.
“Okay, here it is,” she said giving Pim the side eye. “I knew this was coming.”
“It is to your advantage, Vanessa Chevalier Scott.”
“Why are you saying my whole name? It’s weird.”
He shrugged. “Tomorrow you will be asked to arrange a meeting. Not the first meeting. The second meeting. Tell them to gather on the Colorado Street Bridge in Pasadena. Any time after midnight.”
The counter person called her number. Nessa picked up the paper bag, drink, and extra cup.
She walked away. Outside she poured iced tea for Pim.
“Poppy, would you like a drink?” she asked.
Poppy’s head poked out of the blanket. She bobbed it up and down excitedly. Once Pim had drunk his fill, she tore the cup into a smaller size for Poppy.
Wapi came out, bag in hand, sipping a drink. “Colorado Street Bridge,” he repeated. “After midnight. It will be to your advantage to meet there. I say this in honesty. An individual you wish to confront will come.”
“Are you from the Sömmerhaulders? Or the Villanovas?”
He shook his head. “Neither. I am my own man.” He laughed. “At least when I am a man.”
The smell of sage and rain wafted around her just like in the elevator.
“This same individual has done me a disservice. Payback is in order.”
“You’re talking in riddles.”
“Such is my way, Vanessa Chevalier Scott.”
Nessa looked at the slim, black-haired man. “Is this payback against my father? Do you want me there to hurt me?”
“Certainly not. I bear you no ill will of any kind. Quite the contrary. Remember the bridge for your meeting.” He walked away saying over his shoulder, “Drive carefully.”
Nessa watched him go. Was there a faint outline of ears and a tail on the man? She looked at Pim. Both of them shivered.
She put the bag of rice balls in her backpack, there was no room in the scooter basket with both Pim and Poppy riding.
Her shoulder twinged as she shifted the backpack back in place. Everything hurt. She wished she was a little kid again who could plop down in the street and cry for daddy to make it better. But she couldn’t. Nobody but Nessa could make it better and there were plenty of people who would be happy to make it worse. Belencourt for one.
Swiping away the tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, she unlocked the bike and fastened her helmet. They merged onto Brand, heading for Hermosa Beach with Poppy singing about cowboys and spurs.