Heart and Soul by Jackie May (reading list .TXT) 📗

Russo and reveals the gargoyle bite marks on his bicep. “The Bitten. My, but what big arms you have.” He inspects Hillerman’s palm, which is stained purple. “The Betrayer. Did you hesitate?”

“I never hesitate.”

He waves his hand by my elbow, unveiling the ring around my arm where the gargoyle’s ass clenched. He giggles. “And last, but not least, the Privileged.”

“That’s exactly how I felt at the time,” I say.

“Welcome, all of you. Follow me, and mind your heads.” He leads us into a chamber with a low ceiling. Russo has to bow his head. Along one wall are a dozen long rows of elaborate masks, glowing like neon signs. Some are ghastly demon faces; others are animals; the top row is dedicated to a royal court—kings, queens, knights.

“Choose a mask at your leisure,” our host invites.

Russo reaches up to the top row and selects the court jester.

“A trickster, have we? Watch out for that last laugh. It’s a killer.”

Hillerman goes for a fawn with stubby antlers.

The demon’s voice turns thirsty. “Submissive and innocent. How…mouthwatering.”

Jay pulls a Day of the Dead sugar skull over his head.

“Very good, sir. May I say, death becomes you.” He looks at me. “And for the lady?”

My choice is obvious. Maybe too obvious, but I can’t help myself. “For the lady, her spirit animal,” I say as I place a grinning fox mask over my face.

“Ambitious. They say a vixen’s grin is irresistible.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Bowing, he sweeps his arm toward a concrete wall, where a door magically appears. “We will now proceed.”

As we pass through the door, the blackout is lifted. My eyes adjust to the flickering firelight of torches lining the walls of a concrete basement. The floor is littered with rubble from crumbling pillars, and one wall is dominated by a fireplace big enough for all four of us to stand in.

The boys are a striking sight, both in tailored tuxedos stretched across thick chests and muscled shoulders. Russo’s bodybuilder frame is a contradiction to the goofy jester’s mask, but Jay’s sugar skull perfectly suits his aggressive stance and burning eyes—a well-dressed grim reaper, looking for any reason to misbehave.

I see now why that demon called Hillerman mouthwatering. Her dark taupe gown is overtly modest from the front, covering all the distinctive tattoos on her arms and chest. When she turns around, however, spying eyes are treated to an open back all the way down to her ass, and it’s really not fair how sexy a toned back can look. With that demure doe-eyed mask, the total effect is both innocent and teasing. A predator’s dream.

At a table stands a tall, thin man with his back to us. He’s wearing a fedora and a pinstripe suit, as though he’s expecting Al Capone to walk through the door. As he makes notes in a ledger, he barks orders. “Coats on the rack, cell phones, all electronics on the table. I’ll give you a claim ticket.”

His gruff tone irks me. Since when did the help talk to distinguished guests like that? It deserves pushback, if only for the sake of staying in character. “Don’t got a coat or a phone, and if you take my Fitbit, you have to wear it. I’m still five hundred steps short.”

Well, I can tell he doesn’t care for my tone, either, because he stops writing, carefully lays down the pencil, and straightens his shoulders before turning to face me with a sneer. At first I think he’s wearing a mask, because his eyes are blank. When Jay’s body tenses, the jolt of realization strikes me—the pinstripe guy’s not wearing a mask. His eyes are glossy white from cataracts. When he talks, the points of his vampire fangs glint in the torchlight. “Let me put it this way. Any and all electronics not placed on the table will be destroyed. Fitbits included.”

“Wait a minute, this was not in the brochure. Alfred? Where’s Alfred?” I pin our gracious demon host with a look.

He gives a nervous laugh. “Yes, what he means to say is that all guests must be subjected to an EMP before entering. For security reasons, you understand.”

“I don’t understand shit, Alfred. I may be rich and powerful, but not all of us went to Harvard.”

He presses his hands together. “Apologies. EMP stands for electromagnetic pulse. Simply put, it’s a shockwave that will render all electronics useless.”

I glance at Hillerman with panic. First, we had to leave our guns behind, and now the trackers she gave us are about to get fried. This deal’s getting worse all the time. I have an idea for saving one of our trackers, but it might not be worth the risk.

“We must take all precautions,” Alfred continues. “People less scrupulous than yourself might be tempted to make recordings of our little parties, which would ruin the fun for us all. You understand.”

I decide to go for it. “I gotcha, Alfred. Now let me tell you what to understand. Hit us with your EMP, but not until this pinstriped goon takes a hike. We ain’t doing shit at the request of a bloodsucking revenant.”

Luckily, Pinstripes reacts exactly as I had hoped. He takes a single menacing step toward me, and that’s as far as he gets before Jay tomahawks him in the throat. In the time it takes for the goon to drop to a knee, Jay has already unleashed two more punches to his face. I take advantage of the distraction, removing a small metal cylinder from my bracelet and sticking my tiny tracker to the bottom of it.

Recovering from the shock, the revenant dodges Jay’s third punch and is poised for a lethal counterstrike when I pounce on him. We slam against the table. When he feels metal at his neck, he goes very still.

“You know what I got for you, and it ain’t a Fitbit,” I growl through clenched teeth. “You may be demon on the inside, but this body is pure fanger.”

“That doesn’t work out so well for you,” says