Chapter Twenty-Four
The transition was smoother this time as we crossed merely the ever-after, not realities, and my feet barely stumbled as the stink and grit of the surface echoed once and died, replaced by a heavy bass thump and the sound of clinking glasses. Laughter mocked me, and I looked up, numb as we misted into existence. Damn it, Trent. Trust me. He had said trust me. Did he have any idea of what he was asking?
"Right on the tick," Al said jovially, his arm in mine as he checked his pocket watch. "Clean yourself up, Rachel. Dalliance is a respectable establishment."
I didn't know whether to cry or scream. I'd put my trust in a scheming elven drug lord. Al was right. How stupid could I be? I'd lost. I'd lost Jenks, Ivy, my church...everything, cursed to remain on this side of the lines unless summoned. If that didn't make me a demon, what would?
A bar was to my left, full of demons in trendy clothes reaching over one another to get their drinks. The music was so loud that shouting replaced talking. In front of me was a much more refined restaurant, sedate but borrowing from the energy at the bar. The theme seemed to be Art Deco, with a lot of thick glass etched with circles and triangles. Gray-and-white-patterned carpet mixed with tile, again using the circles and triangles theme. It was modern, expensive, and looked mildly excessive. The smell of food made my stomach growl, which ticked me off. How could I be hungry?
A host wearing a tux was talking to the three people ahead of us, his goat-slitted eyes telling me that they used demons as workers here, not familiars. Trendy and expensive, indeed. The music thumped, and laughter broke out from the wide-spaced tables where waitstaff eased through like boats in the fog. The restaurant was only half full, and the host led the demon trio ahead of us to a table, their clothes and manners making them look like CEOs out for a night of schmoozing on the company's account. Men. Everyone here was male. Behind the host's mahogany desk, DALLIANCE floated in mist, sparkling like Jenks's dust.
Jenks...
I blinked fast, my jaw clenched. A tingling at my shoulder pulled my attention to Al. He'd changed from his crushed green velvet coat and lace into a three-piece charcoal gray suit. A red handkerchief peeped from the breast pocket, and his hair was slicked back. He looked like a professional businessman, right down to the eight P.M. stubble.
"Cheer up, Rachel," he said, shifting his shoulders as if fitting into a new suit. "This is Dalliance. You're not still moaning about Pierce, are you? We'll pick up your little pet tomorrow. Tonight is for celebration!"
"Where did you get that?" I asked, not caring about Pierce.
He looked at me, new lines in his face as he played the part. "My closet. You don't think I am a one-trick pony, do you? Hold still. First thing tomorrow, I'm teaching you a brush-and-wash curse."
I took a breath to complain, even as I felt a wave of his energy cascade over me, easing the pain in my knees if not the ache in my heart. Yes, I was depressed, and yes, I'd just lost everything, but I felt like a slob with the grit of the surface on me, and if it would clean me up, then all the better.
I shivered as the curse slipped away, looking up as Al took out a pair of modern wire glasses and perched them on his nose. They had a bifocal line, and I knew he didn't need them. "Much better," he said with a sniff. "No one takes you seriously if you're in rags."
I jerked when his energy flowed over me again, and my tight leather melted away into an uncomfortable gray business suit. A purple Gucci bag was in my hand, and a Palm Pilot on my hip. "Hey!" I exclaimed, my hand going to my hair to find that it was back in a bun. My shoes were so tight they hurt. "What was wrong with the leather dress? You picked it out for me."
The host was coming back, and Al pulled me forward as if I was his arm candy. "This is Dalliance. If we don't fit the theme, we can't stay."
The thought of Bis made my brow furrow. I should have called him when I had the chance. "I just lost everything in the world that means anything to me, and you're taking me out to eat?" I protested.
Ignoring the host now looking at us, Al waited until I brought my gaze up to him before saying, "You just gained everything in two worlds, and I'm taking you to Dalliance. You don't eat here, you network."
My shoulders slumped. Networking. I was sick of demon networking/partying.
The host sniffed at us, and Al turned, his jaw a little heavier than he usually had it, his hair a little thinner. What do you really look like? I wondered, thinking of that black-skinned demon with the tail he'd scared his gargoyle with.
"Reservations for two. You'll find it under Algaliarept," Al said, hooking his shiny dress shoe behind my leg and pulling me forward.
The man looked at the folder open on his desk. "You've been declined," he said distantly, his voice clear over the music thumping around us.
A growl escaped Al, and the skin around his eyes tightened. "There's been a mistake."
Looking Al straight in the eyes, the demon said, "Your credit sucks, sir."
"Ah." Al poked me in the ribs, making me jump and stick out my chest. "How long have you worked here...Calvin?"
Calvin closed the file. "Long enough to know that Dali is not your personal friend but your parole officer. No table."
Dali? What did Dali have to do with this? Al was starting to look ticked. True, I didn't want to be here, but I wanted to be at Al's little four-room palace even less. "Al, I'm tired," I said, wrinkling my nose as if I smelled something rank. "This slop will likely give me the runs. Can't we just go home for a cheese sandwich?"
The host turned his attention to me, sneering. His expression became empty of emotion, and then I gasped when he reached across the desk, grabbed my arm, and yanked me closer. "You're not a familiar," he said, his face inches from mine. "You're that-"
I yelped as I was jerked back, Al having taken my other arm and reclaimed me. "She's not a that, she's a whom. Hands off the lady."
"Hey!" I said, my arms out like I was being crucified. "If you both don't let go of me, you're both going to be singing soprano!" Just because I was in heels and carrying a Gucci bag didn't mean I didn't know how to use them in new, creative ways.
The two men looked at each other and let go simultaneously. Regaining my balance, I snatched my bag from the floor and tugged my uncomfortable skirt straight. God, this suit made me look like a dullard.
A heavy, balding man in a tux strode from the kitchen looking bothered as he started for us. Eyes fixed on us, he gave a final bit of instruction to one of the waitstaff and continued forward. My eyes widened. I knew this demon. It was Dali, and suddenly the name of the place made sense. Demons could look like anything; why Dali wanted to be an older, over-weight civil servant who ran a restaurant was beyond me.
"You got her?" he said to Al, his bushy white eyebrows bunched as he took me in.
"She's with me," Al said as he beamed, taking my arm in warning.
Dali flicked his eyes over me. "And you're sure she's..."
Al's smile grew even wider. "She is."
I felt like a cow he'd traded a handful of magic beans for. "I'm what?" I asked, and Al inclined his head at me, his expression becoming decidedly-worriedly-fond.
"A demon," Al said, and Calvin sniffed his disbelief. "We are here to celebrate, and this pile of crap won't seat us."
The host stood firm, and Dali looked at the list as if he didn't care.
"Dali! She is!" Al protested. "I know it! They cursed her and everything!"
"Dali, she isn't," I muttered, and the older demon sighed, tapping the paper with a thick finger. Behind him, six tables sat empty.
"I suppose I could give you a table by the kitchen," he finally offered.
"The kitchen?" Al echoed, appalled.
Dali let the folder hit the desk with a smack, and Calvin looked vindicated. "I've seen nothing from her that warrants anything better," Dali said, and Al huffed. "Cursing her doesn't make her a demon."
"I'm telling you, she is!"
Leaning in, Dali said calmly, "You're a scam artist on the skids-"
"I am a procurer and instructor of fine familiars for the discriminating palate," Al interrupted. "You've bought from me yourself."
"-and I'm not about to fall for one of your Henry Higgins cons," Dali finished.
Affronted, my mouth dropped open. "Hey!"