I was infamous?Wait, that’s probably not the point.
Blackmail. The son of a bitch was implying that he knew something about my death, and that if I didn’t do this job for him, he would sell that information to the highest bidder.
This job opportunity was starting to sound more like a threat.
I glanced around my apartment for a back-up weapon. Any other time, I’d have left a butcher knife on the counter or a sledgehammer sticking out of the umbrella canister. But the one time a monster of unknown species breaks into my apartment, the place was unbearably tidy.
Finally, proof positive that housework is bad for my health.
Devich smiled, convinced he’d won. “Sit, and let’s have a civilized conversation.”
I shook my head. “Tell me what you know, or we’ll see if a bullet to the brain is any more effective than two to the stomach.”
He chuckled, gray eyes shining with apparently genuine amusement—and no sign of fear. “You could certainly do that. But if you shoot me again, you willneverknow what went wrong the night you died.”
FIVE
My arms started to drop, and I pulled them up again, aiming the gun at Devich even though my muscles were beginning to protest. “Why should I believe you have any idea what happened the night I died?” How could he, if I didn’t?
“I know many things that are beyond a human’s ken.”
“I’m not human.”
His brows rose. “Don’t you think that’s splitting hairs?”
“Not really.” I shrugged. “Mortality is pretty much the hallmark trait of humanity, and I don’t seem to have any, so…” And somehow, whatever process had brought me back from the dead a quarter of a millennia ago had also accelerated my body’s healing process to about a third of the normal rate. So no, I didn’t feel particularly human these days.
“Regardless, I have access to a great deal of information you do not.”
I believed him. Even if that access didn’t come by virtue of whatever species he belonged to, he certainly had enough money and power to move mountains.
I felt my willpower crumbling under the onslaught of sudden, desperate possibility. Over the past two centuries, I’d pursued what few leads I could find, anxious for any information about my predicament and how it had come about. But each new avenue had led to another dead end, and I’d abandoned the search entirely when my questions began attracting more attention than I was comfortable with.
Devich watched me, as if he could see the gears in my head turning. “You complete the job I have for you, and I’ll tell you why everyone else moves on, but you’re still stuck here, walking the shadows between life and death.”
For a moment, doubt eclipsed the light at the end of my tunnel. If he were bluffing, I could wind up doing his stupid job in return for nothing but the name of some mystic who would tell me all my problems stemmed from bad Karma. That had certainly happened before. But in the end, I couldn’t ignore the possibility, however slim, that Devich might have the answers he claimed to have. That he might know how to fix whatever went wrong the night I died.
I lowered my gun. If he’d wanted to kill me, he would have already done it.
Pulling slim, pale hands from his pockets, he perched on the left arm of my threadbare couch. He looked relaxed and harmless, an image in stark contrast to the expensive gray suit and the wisps of power trickling into the room like toxic fumes from a chemical spill. “So, we have a deal? My information for your services?” He watched me calmly, as if he had all night to wait for my answer.
“On one condition: payment up front.” I could hardly hear my own voice over the sound of blood rushing through my ears. Was I really that close to an answer? And possibly a solution? After all these years, could it be that easy?
“No,” Devich said.
I snatched my duffle from the floor and crossed the room to my tiny kitchen, where I sank sideways into my only dining chair. I set the Ruger on the small table to my left, within easy reach, should I decide I needed it. And in case .50 caliber bullets proved more effective than the nine-millimeter shells, I pulled Murphy’s Desert Eagle from the bag on my lap and set it next to my much smaller pistol.
My gaze settled on the intruder again, and suddenly the absurdity of the situation came into crisp focus.
Troy Devich, one of the wealthiest men in the world, sat in my tiny living room, trying to coerce me into working for him. Alone. Without any of the Jolly Green Giant-sized bodyguards who almost certainly followed him around in daily life. Not that they would be anything more than show for a man who could heal bullet wounds almost instantly.
Devich rose from the arm of the couch and settled onto the center cushion, leaning back in apparent comfort, as if his suit fabric didn’t cost several times as much as my ancient upholstery. Something told me he’d look just as comfortable lounging on a block of ice. The man could not be fazed.
“Okay, here’s how this works.” My gaze found his storm-cloud eyes and stayed there, watching for any change of expression that might give me an insight into a man no one seemed to know, but everyone knewof. “Unless you want something unusual or complicated…” And I had a feeling he did. “…I charge a standard fee, plus expenses, including travel, food, and lodging if necessary. I provide my own equipment, unless the job requires something special, in which case I’ll bill you for that, as an expense.”
He nodded at my recitation as if it were old news, which it probably was. I couldn’t exactly advertise my services in a world full of humans, so most of my business came through client referrals. The customers usually knew what to expect before they ever even spoke to me.
“And I get half upfront.” I added in a sudden burst of inspiration.New company policy, inspired by Daphne Murphy.
