was some den of mischievous leprechauns. It was a gay nightclub. “Did he call for backup? Do you think something happened to him?”
“He’s not responding to his radio.”
I covered my free ear with my other hand. “Maybe he can’t hear it.”
“Yeah, maybe. Where are you, anyway? And why are you shouting?”
Oops. Hadn’t realized I was shouting. “Union Pier.” Lowering my voice, I walked a few more yards away from the din. “Where are you?”
“I’m in the parking lot at Rainbow’s End,” Cody said. “I was passing, so I swung by to see if there was a problem. Bart’s cruiser’s here. Lights are on. But something’s funky.”
“Funky?” Okay, I was confused. “Like hinky? You think something’s going on? Drugs?”
“I mean funky.” Cody’s voice dropped to a lower register. Not a deliberately sexy register, but a growly, furry, hackle-raising register. Which, in fact, was pretty damn sexy, just not on purpose. “Even from the parking lot, this place reeks of pheromones.”
“Doesn’t it always?” I asked.
“Not like this.” Now he sounded more certain. “Look, call it a hunch. I didn’t have to call you, but I think maybe there’s something going on that should concern Hel’s liaison. Whatever it is, I thought you might want to catch it in the act. So are you in or out?”
I sighed. “I’m in, I’m in! Give me ten minutes.”
“I’ll give you six.” He hung up.
I walked back to the table where Sinclair was sitting, bobbing his head to the endless jam, looking cute and mellow and . . . emotionally available. He glanced up at me with genuine concern. “Hey, girl. Everything okay?”
“Hope so,” I said. “But I’ve got to go check something out. I don’t think it will take long. Is your offer still good?”
“Definitely.” He smiled his infectious smile. “You go take care of business and come on by.”
“Okay.” I found myself smiling in response. See? That’s what an infectious smile does. There really ought to be a better, less disease-suggestive name for it. I leaned down to kiss him. “Later?”
Sinclair kissed me back. “Most definitely.”
Two
Approximately six minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Rainbow’s End alongside Cody’s patrol car.
From the outside, everything looked normal. The lot was already packed, which was a little unusual before sunset, but it was a holiday weekend. Bart Mallick’s patrol car was sitting empty and abandoned before the entrance, bubble-gum lights flashing. The place was definitely jumping. I could hear the thumping bass of techno music so loud it seemed like the entire building was vibrating. Again, not unusual. Rainbow’s End averaged five or six noise complaints over the course of any given summer.
Cody got out of the cruiser looking twitchy. Okay, that was unusual. “Hey, Pixy Stix.” His nostrils flared. “Ready to go?”
Oh, gah. One time—one time—someone called me that, and Cody decided it was a permanent nickname. Serves me right for calling him Officer Down-low, I guess. “Hang on.” I reached into the front seat to retrieve my belt and sheath. “Might as well go in prepared.”
So, um . . . yeah. About that. I have a magic dagger. Hel gave it to me herself with her left hand, the hand of death. When I’m not on her official business, I carry it in my leather messenger bag with the special inside sheath. Cody, who does leatherworking in his spare time, made it for me. He made the belt, too.
“So are you still dating the fake Jamaican?” Cody asked as I settled the belt around my waist and buckled it.
“He’s not a fake Jamaican,” I said, annoyed. “He was born there. He has dual citizenship, okay?”
“Defensive.” He grinned, a hint of phosphorescent green glinting behind his topaz eyes. “You must like him.”
“Jealous?” I retorted.
Cody shrugged. “His shtick just seems a little phony. I hear he gives his tours some big spiel about how his grandfather was a famous obeah man. That’s what gives him his ‘special connection’ to the eldritch community.”
I eyed him sidelong. “Did you just use air quotes?”
“Maybe.”
I eased dauda-dagr out of my bag. It shimmered beneath the patrol car’s lights and the bar’s neon signs, runes etched along the blade flaring silver-blue. Its name means “death day,” and it’s capable of killing even the immortal undead. “So he tells people what they want to hear. Big deal. It’s a business, Cody. Everyone does it.” I shoved dauda-dagr into the sheath. “Ready when you are.”
He nodded, his nostrils flaring again. “You really can’t smell that?”