Page 11 of Nightmares and Numerology

And yet, there Fifi’s car was, in her usual spot, parked next to a Mercedes I didn’t recognize. It was past our operating hours, with rare exceptions for the nocturnal clients we sometimes dealt with. Selling to vampires was always a pain in the neck, pun intended. It could be fun when the buyer was a frisky female with a Carmilla complex. But lately, the vampires settling here were all too male and too related to witches for my liking. I’d let Fifi handle the former warlocks that now made up most of the Haven Hollow vampire clan.

Had another of the bloodsucking buggers come to town? It was the only explanation I could come up with for her presence here so late in the evening. And if it was another dour bloodsucker camping out in Fifi’s office trying to find a gothic mansion to hole up in, I was putting garlic extract in Fifi’s diffuser. This was absolutely ridiculous. And after I’d begun planning and moving things into place, too. Lydia was due to arrive any minute.

Technically, Lydia was half an hour late, but it didn’t bother me unduly. She’d texted, explaining she wanted to do her makeup. I could have told her not to bother. I was going to ruin it anyway, kissing her until her lips were swollen and her lipstick smeared across her chin. If she liked it as rough as I suspected, she might tear up when her ass was stinging. That would create black smears under her eyes. But I liked women, even when they were messy. Especiallythiswoman. If the makeup made her feel sexy, I wanted her to go for it. I’d use the time to ensure everything was set up just right.

So, of course, Fifi had scheduled a consultation the exact night I expected to have the place all to myself. Damn it all to hellin the most literal sense.

I stalked inside, fully intending to rake Fifi over the coals, but stopped dead when I saw who was waiting in the lobby. It wasn’t a vampire sitting near Libby’s abandoned desk at this late hour. It was a small, doughy man with a hairline that had declared retreat years ago. What he had left was thin, leaving enough shine beneath to reflect my car’s lights from outside. The newer model would turn them off automatically after a period of time, but not before glittering over the man’s skin.

Rodney Rourke sat hunched over, his head leaning against the wall as though he was longing to fall asleep. I’d been half-convinced Andrea Reyes had been full of shit this morning, but he reallydidlook ill. I’d seen a few photos of him that Lydia hadn’t purged from her social media. He’d never been an Adonis, but his skin had an almost grayish cast now, more befitting a troll than a human man of his age and build. He looked like he’d been dragged from his sickbed and forced to wait in the lobby.

Speaking of… what in the hell was he doing out of the hospital when he looked like he was knocking on death’s door?

He opened his eyes briefly when he heard me rounding Libby’s desk, intent on Fifi’s office. Our eyes met. Rodney’s were a watery blue and too small for his face. I supposed he might have been considered inoffensive, but Lydia had upgraded, in my opinion. By a lot.

Rodney looked startled to see anyone strolling through the door. He gave me a bleary-eyed look before slurring, “You’re one of those people on the posters.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he’d know who I was. Fifi may not appreciate me, but she certainly put my face to good use on the advertising materials. You couldn’t buy the kind of appeal an incubus brought to your firm. Women would schedule appointments to see as many houses as possible justfor an opportunity to look at me.

“Yard signs, but yes,” I said. “I’m Angelo Stedham. You’ve probably met my sister, Seraphina.”

Rodney blinked slowly, as though he had to work hard to understand what I’d just said. His skin looked waxy, and he’d broken out in a light sweat. He mopped at his brow with a long sleeve and slumped back against the wall, his energy spent after the one question. His eyes slid out of focus, and a moment later, he was snoring. There was even something grayish leaking from the corner of one nostril. I thought about tossing a tissue box at him, just so he’d take a hint, but decided it was beneath even my dignity. The man looked awful. If it was a curse, he was getting his comeuppance for what he’d done to Lydia. If it was illness, it wasn’t as though I could cure it. I’d urge whoever brought him here to get him back to the hospital posthaste. He looked and smelled like a man who wasn’t well.

“Who did you come here with?” I asked in a loud voice designed to wake him up. It worked.

“Andrea,” he mumbled, not opening his eyes. “She drove... needs... house... something...”

He trailed off into incoherent muttering. If his eyes had been fever-bright, I might have accused him of having a psychotic break. But he looked like a man who’d lost blood. Maybe the vampire comparison hadn’t been far off. But if Andrea was a vampire, how could she have approached us in daylight? I’d never seen a bloodsucker achieve that feat unless there was serious cloud cover. But the sky had been blue this morning, and not a cloud in sight. So if Andrea was a monster, she wasn’t a vampire. But what? I hadn’t read her as anything other than human.

I shook my head. It didn’t really matter much, did it? Rodney was here, he was sick, and I wanted him gone before Lydia showed up. There was no faster way to spoil the mood of a datethan to run into a nasty ex.

I needed to get him out of here while there was still time to salvage the situation, which meant having a serious conversation with Fifi.

I bypassed the now lightly snoring Rodney, torn between irritation at his presence and an uncharacteristic amount of pity. No matter my personal thoughts about the man, he shouldn’t have dragged himself from the hospital bed if he wanted to recover. He looked like death warmed over. No, scratch that. I’d met Death before, in a ghost motel, and he’d seemed too refined to take this guy. I hoped I was wrong, because if Rodney croaked in the office and left a spook, I’d be even more annoyed than I was a few minutes ago. A ghost was bad enough. Lydia’s dead ex would be a step too far. I’d have to find a new job to escape the insufferable man.

Fifi had made many changes to Hallowed Homes since Ophelia’s departure. Well, ‘death’ was a better word for what had happened to Ophelia, really. And Fifihadhelped Wanda salt the sour old night hag like a slug. Doing so had literally petrified the old broad. If Ophelia had somehow survived long enough to see her realty office now, she’d be completely and utterly mad inside her own head.

Yep, the old bat would have thrown a fit if she’d seen what my sister had done with the place. Ophelia would have detested the fact that there was way more light in the place now and easier lines of sight—both bad things when you were born to inspire nightmares and used shadows to cloak your sinister deeds. For a demon, Fifi had a comparatively sunny demeanor, one she aimed at Rodney’s new fling if the glimpse I caught through her office door was any indication.

I poised just outside the slice of light pouring from the open door, letting my presence speak for itself. Fifi might like to play the part of a blushing virgin, but underneath it all, she was apredator. Predators were always wary of their own kind, afraid they’d be next on the menu. It hadn’t been unheard of in our far-flung past for close family members to manipulate each other that way. Our pheromones didn’t work as well on each other as they did on humans, but more powerful members could still make an impression. I let just a little of my power permeate the air, a subtle but powerful statement of intent.

It didn’t take long for Fifi to sit up and take notice. I saw her shift uncomfortably in my periphery, glancing sharply to where I lurked. No amount of shadow would have hidden me from her if she was determined, so I didn’t even try. Instead, I crooked a finger at her in silent irritation, repeating it more forcefully when she didn’t move right away. I could see her weighing the pros and cons of confronting me, almost dismissing my presence as an irritant.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

I moved closer and rapped my knuckles lightly on the door. Both women swiveled to face me. Ordinarily, I would have liked Andrea Reyes; she was pretty and well-spoken. Unfortunately, she seemed to lack all sense of taste or shame. Anyone who’d decide that a prick like Rodney was worthwhile was either blind or willfully ignorant, neither of which I found attractive.

“Did you need something, Angelo?” Fifi asked, struggling to keep her tone level.

It didn’t work. I could practically see her composing a diatribe to launch into when we were alone. Fine by me. I didn’t mind a dressing down as long as everyone left the office like five minutes ago.

“I’ve got a bit of a problem. Can you help me with it?”

Fifi’s eyes narrowed. She’d put on a little makeup today, though she didn’t need it. Her burgundy eyes were striking on their own. They looked even more exotic in her true form. Shame she rarely let it out to play. She was frightened of that part ofherself. I’d never met a member of our species so deluded about who they were that they preferred being human for that reason. I just liked looking human to appeal to their women. From what I’d seen during the auction, Lydia didn’t mind looking at my true form. It was enough to make a demon preen.

“I’m with a client.”

She glanced pointedly at Andrea, who was still staring at me. There was a disturbing intensity in her gaze, and it had nothing to do with desire. For just a second, she examined my body more like a collector than a woman overcome by lust. I’d had clients throw themselves at me; Andrea looked like she was more likely to throw a paperweight instead. I’d pissed her off this morning.

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