You Slay Me

  "I am so in over my head," I said with a sigh as I wrote down the address. I toyed with the thought of simply call­ing him up, but that would take the surprise out of me showing up on his doorstep demanding my aquamanile. Not that he was going to give it to me if I just asked ...

  "Inspector Proust mentioned Amelie. I wonder if I should talk to her. If he thought she was someone impor­tant, maybe she can shed a little light on the murder, or at least who might be likely to call up Bafamal. Or I could go straight to Drake's and try to sneak in. Or I could swing by the G & T and see if Ophelia and Perdita might be there."

  "Who?"

  "They're sisters, Wiccan sisters. I met them at G & T."

  "Oh. Or—and this is a much better plan—you could take me to lunch and feed me."

  "You just had breakfast," I said absently, trying to think what would be the logical next step. The problem was, logic didn't seem to be on speaking terms with me anymore.

  "That was hours ago," Jim complained. "I'm hungry. This form needs to be fed. Frequently."

  "You did that well,". I told my furry demon as we strolled toward the road. "That plaintive note in your voice was particularly heartrending."

  "It's wasted on someone who doesn't have a heart," Jim snapped.

  I laughed—which should have been worth some major karma points, because my life was anything but amusing—and patted the big black head that bobbed alongside me. "Poor little demon. All right, we'll have a quick lunch, but it has to be fast. I've got to get that aquamanile back."

  We ate in a small cafe, then feeling pressured, I gave in to temptation and called Rene to see if he was free for a few hours.

  "You desire help finding your missing dragon?" he asked. "I will aid you. I know a great many people in Paris. Where are you?"

  "Near the Pont Marie."

  "I will meet you on the Right Bank. I can be with you in fifteen minutes. Then we will make our plans, yes?"

  "Sure, although I think I know where the dragon is. The trouble isn't going to be finding it, it's going to be ... uh ... liberating it."

  "Ah, bon? Viva la libiration!" Rene said, hanging up after giving me instructions about where he would collect us.

  "Remember the rules," I warned Jim as Rene pulled up a short while later. "You're just a dog. No laughing, no disgusted snorts, no rolling your eyes, and no talking."

  "You really are a control freak, aren't you?" Jim asked as I opened the car door.

  "You look tres bon today. No blood on your dress! This is good, yes?" Rene said over his shoulder, his eyes widening as he saw Jim follow me into the taxi. "You have a pet?"

  "Uh... yeah. A stray dog. I found him. Here's the ad­dress for Drake—"

  "A dog? That is not a horse?" Rene said with a chuckle as he pulled out into traffic.

  "If I were a horse, I wouldn't fit in this ratty old taxi, now, would I?" Jim asked.

  Rene made an inarticulate sound and slammed on the brakes. Behind us, the squeal of tires on pavement could be heard, quickly followed by the prolonged honking of horns and a great deal of profound swearing.

  "Jim!" I yelled, grabbing its ear.

  "Ow! You're hurting me! You're my witness, Rene. This is animal abuse. She could go to jail for this, right?"

  Rene turned around in his seat, his eyes huge as he. looked from me to Jim. "You ... you are not... what is it called, the person who speaks through a doll?"

  "Ventriloquist?" I released Jim's ear and sat back with a heartfelt sigh, ignoring the sound of some really ticked off people behind us. "No, I'm not. You're not hearing things, it was Jim who spoke."

  "A dog?" Rene choked and turned red.

  "You see?" I whapped Jim on the shoulder. "This is why I told you to keep quiet. Now you've upset poor Rene."

  "You said he was a friend of yours. Who was it who said 'Love me, love my dog'?"

  "You're not a dog. Rene, why don't you pull over somewhere. I'll explain it to you then."

  "How is it the dog he is talking?" he asked, ignoring my suggestion.

  "Jim's not really a dog. It's a demon. It just took a dog's form."

  "A demon?" I didn't think it possible, but Rene's voice went up an octave. "One of the little devils?"

  "A demon formerly of the legions of Amaymon," Jim said with a sniff, turning its head to look out the window.

  "Rene, can we please get moving?" I pleaded. "There's a huge line of traffic behind us. I can explain—"

  "You said you did not believe in the little devils, and yet you have one here?"

  "Yeah, well, I changed my mind."

  Rene looked at Jim for a few more moments, then shrugged and turned back to the steering wheel, saying, "A lui le pompom."

  "What was that?" I asked, relieved we were moving again, although if Jim had done as I asked, I wouldn't have had to explain to Rene about it in the first place .. . I glared at Jim and pinched its shoulder.

  'To him the pompom. It means ... heu ... he ate the cake."

  'Takes the cake, yes, I know what you mean, but really, Rene, you don't have to worry about Jim. It can't hurt you. It's powerless."

  "Well, just tell everyone, why don't you?" Jim huffed. "Shall I rent you some billboard space? Maybe book you some time on the local news station for maximum cover­age?"

  "You should be counting yourself lucky I don't drop you off at the nearest pound, you big blabbermouth." I gave it a glare just to let it know I wasn't pleased. "Be quiet, and stop causing problems."

  "I'm a demon," Jim mumbled. "That's what we do best."

  I narrowed my glare until it had laser accuracy. Jim sniffed again and looked pointedly at the handle for the car window.

  "Honest to Pete, what I have to do for you..." I leaned over and rolled the window down enough so Jim " could stick its head out. "Oh, Rene, I think I may be fol­lowed by the police. I hate to say this because it sounds so cheesy, but do you think you can lose them?"

  Rene snorted, his eyes lit with pleasure. "The police? You do not even have to ask, ma vieille branche. It is done."

  "What's a vieille branche?" I asked Jim as Rene spun the car around a corner and wove his way through traffic. I didn't honestly expect Jim to know, but I was willing to do anything to distract myself from the death-defying manner in which Rene plunged through traffic in his at­tempt to shake the police tail.

  "Old branch. It's slang for 'Mend.' You came to a country without even bothering to learn the language?"

  "It's my first job. I'm going to take classes once it's over," I muttered, annoyed that I had to defend myself to a demon.

  After that I closed my eyes, deciding it was really bet­ter if didn't see how close to death I was with each spin of the steering wheel. I clung to the armrest, saying, "I'm really sorry you. had to learn about Jim this way, Rene. I hope it doesn't shake you up too much. I'm kind of stuck with having a dog until I can send it back."

  "Non." I opened my eyes long enough to see in the rearview mirror as Rene pursed his lips. He took a deep breath, flipped off another taxi driver who swerved into our lane, and finally said, "It is not the deal big. You have a dog who is also a little devil, eh, me, I do not mind."

  "That's remarkably accepting of you. It took me hours to get to the point you're at after just a few minutes."

  "I'm French," Rene said with another shrug. "We are superior, yes?"

  "Absolutely," I said with a smile, one that stayed on my face until we pulled up outside the address listed for Drake.

  "We are here, and the police, they will not know where we are," Rene said with great satisfaction.

  "Um," I said, looking at the courtyard. A private court­yard, one with a fountain. If I thought Mme. Deauxville's building said expensive, this one screamed millionaire.

  Rene whistled as he took in the beautiful pink stone building set back behind the courtyard. "This man who stole your dragon, he has much money?"

  "I'm going to say the answer to that is a resounding yes." I got out of the taxi and gave mysel
f over to a few seconds of blatant gawking. "Can you wait, or do you have to go run rich tourists around?"

  He reached for his cell phone, his eyes still on the house. "I will call my friend to take my afternoon ap­pointment. I think I should come with you."

  "Geez, Rene, I don't want to make you lose out on good pickings from tourists."

  He waved me forward, already speaking into his phone.

  "So, what's the game plan?" Jim asked as we skirted the fountain.

  I just knew someone was going to ask me that. Unfor­tunately, I hadn't yet thought of a reasonable answer. "Well... I don't really have one."

  Jim groaned. "Don't tell me you're just planning on walking in the front door?"

  "Er. .. maybe. Unless you have a better idea?" I stopped in front of the two large doors and gnawed my lower lip. The courtyard was completely deserted. There wasn't even a shadow to be seen flickering behind the lace net curtains that hung in all the windows, lace cur­tains that I suspected were there to keep prying eyes from seeing too much rather than for decorative purposes. The thought of Drake picking out lace curtains for his house was just too much for my brain to handle.

  Jim rolled its eyes. "This is a dragon's home. You think they survived for centuries by letting in anyone who wants to stroll in and have a look around?"

  I hated to admit it, but that made sense. Drake would hardly be likely to leave the aquamanile lying around where I could easily get at it. "Right. What do you know about dragon's lairs?"

  "I don't know any dragons," Jim answered, smelling at a large potted plant. "Thus I don't know anything about their lairs."

  "No peeing on anything that looks nice," I warned, then chewed my lip a little more as I considered the prob­lem. What was good for Mme. Deauxville's might be good for Drake's house. "I suppose we could sneak around the back of the house and see if I can't find us a way in. Then we'll reconnoiter."

  "Reconnoiter, yes, that is a very good plan," Rene said as he tucked his cell phone into his pocket. "I like that. I am very good at the reconnoiter. Where do we com­mence?"

  A couple more gnaws on the old lower lip, and I came to a decision. "Rene, I don't think it's a good idea for you to come inside with us. Even though Drake stole my dragon, and I'm just getting it back, technically it is a crime to break into his house. I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble."

  "Fen," Rene said, waving away the possibility of trou­ble. He tapped his chest, giving me a knowing look as he did so. "I know the way of things here. You do not. And the demon, he is not very bright. So we com­mence."

  We commenced. I felt bad about Rene, but didn't think I could talk him out of it, and to be honest, I felt more se­cure with him along. I'd just have to see to it that he didn't get his kindness to me paid back with trouble.

  "You get to be the watchdog," I told Jim as we ap­proached one of the three ground-floor doors recessed in the back of the building. The back opened onto a dark, dusty alley that appeared abandoned. I studied the lock on the door for a second, almost smiling at it. I knew this lock; it was even easier to open than the one at Mme. Deauxville's.

  "Watchdog? What does that mean?" Jim asked.

  "Bark if you see anyone. Or anything suspicious. Or my aquamanile. You know, be a watchdog."

  Jim rolled its eyes. The lock clicked open as I worked my credit-card magic upon it. Rene pursed his lips again at the sight of the door opening, but he didn't say any­thing as I slipped inside.

  "Looks like a utility room of some sort," I whispered as Jim and Rene followed. I crept to the opposite door, opening it just a crack as Rene gently closed the outer door. Light from a hallway illuminated a few occasional tables and a couple of green embroidered chairs. From the right, I could hear the faint sound of conversation— a TV, I was willing to bet, coupled with the sound of crockery clinking a comfortable, homey sound. "That's the kitchen down there, to the right," I whispered. "Which way do you think—up or down?"

  "Up," Rene said. "There is less chance we will see someone upstairs if the common rooms are on this floor, yes?"

  "Works for me," I muttered as we skinnied down the hallway to where a large staircase curved upward, its el­egant sweep of dark oak gracing an already stunning hall. "Is that linen paneling? It looks antique—"

  "Aisling!" Rene hissed, halfway up the stairs. "Now is not the time to be a tourist."

  Reluctantly I stopped myself from admiring the beau­tiful paneling. "Sorry. Coming."

  I started up the stairs as Jim paused to sniff the air. The sound of voices was louder here, as was the smell of grilling meat. "Food!"

  "You had your lunch," I said, tugging on its collar. "Come on. If everyone is eating, we can look around without being seen."

  We hurried up the carpeted stairs, alert to anyone who might suddenly pop out of a room, but we saw nothing. Well, that's not strictly correct—we saw room after room of gorgeous furnishings, artwork that looked original (and valuable), works of art that should have been in a museum—but people? Not a soul. There was no aquamanile, either.

  "Man, I had no idea there was so much money to be had in the dragon business," I said as I followed Rene and Jim into a bedroom decorated with an Oriental theme, all black lacquer and bright blues, greens, and golds. I was positive it was Drake's bedroom, which gave me an odd thrill as I looked around. The room was absolutely breathtaking, but not as breathtaking as trie view seen from the terrace a solid wall of windows overlooked.

  "Wow, this is absolutely astounding. What a gorgeous view. What a gorgeous room. What a gorgeous house."

  "But it is not finding us your dragon," Rene pointed out.

  "True." I kept my eyes firmly away from the huge black-and-gold bed that dominated the room and thought about where the lair would be. "We could look on the floor above, or the ground floor, but call it a hunch, I'm willing to bet that Drake's lair is in the basement. That's where I'd put something I wanted limited access to."

  "I agree most strong," Rene said.

  "Right. Back downstairs we go."

  We slipped out of the bedroom and, after listening for a moment at the top of the stairs, decided the coast was clear. We descended with a minimum of sound and crept back to the side hall. "Where do you think the door to the basement is?" I whispered to Rene.

  He pointed to the left. "That door."

  I looked at the door. It didn't look any different from the two others. "Why that one?"

  "It has the keys."

  He was right. There was a key strung on a blue piece of string hanging around the doorknob. I snatched the string off the knob, surprised to find that it turned freely.

  "Maybe the key is for something else?" I asked. Rene shrugged. Jim looked bored. Aware of the sounds of habi­tation in the kitchen, I hurried into die room. "Point one for us," I whispered as I felt around for a light. It clicked on to show us standing on the landing of a narrow flight of stairs that led downward. "Good call, Rene."

  He looked pleased. "I told you I would be most help­ful."

  "I never thought you wouldn't be, but at the first sign of trouble, I want you out of here. Jim and I can take care of ourselves."

  "We can?" Jim asked doubtfully. I didn't say anything. What was there to say? I felt just as doubting as the demon sounded, but I was determined to keep Rene from being dragged any further than he already was into the hideous mess my life had become.

  Silently, or as silently as we could be considering the wooden stairs cracked and groaned with every step, we made our way to the bottom, where another closed door was set into a stone wall. This one was padlocked shut.

  "Voila," Rene said. "That must be his storeroom, yes?"

  "I imagine so. You'd think a man who had hundreds of years to learn basic security would be a bit more careful about his priceless objects," I whispered as I used the key on the string to open the padlock. "All those pictures and vases just sitting around upstairs, and just one lock on this door? Uncle Damian would have something to say about that.
" I set the lock on the floor, carefully opening the door.

  . Two things should have become readily apparent to you by now: First, I'm not the brightest bulb in the pack when it comes to obvious things, and second ... well, it's the same as the first.

  "Woof," Jim said as a light automatically turned on when the door to the lair swung open. Rene sucked in his breath and muttered something I didn't understand. I clutched the door, blinking at the sight before us. It was a treasure trove, pure and simple. There was gold every­where—real gold, not fake gold. Gold plates, gold gob­lets, gold statues . . . Drake's lair was a room filled with display cases and ornate wooden cabinets, all housing ob­jects of gold. "Have you ever seen anything like this?" I whispered, walking slowly into the room.

  "Arf."

  "Never," Rene breathed, following me. I stood in the middle of the narrow, low-ceilinged room, my mouth hanging open as I looked from case to case.

  "I can't even begin to calculate what it's all worth.... Hey, there's my dragon!"

  "Bow wow."

  I hurried over to the wooden cabinet that faced the door. Each one was individually lit within, the soft light carefully focused to highlight the objects nestled on the shelves. On the top shelf of the cabinet in front of me two objects sat on black velvet—one was my dragon aquamanile; the other was a gold goblet similarly decorated with a dragon coiled around the stem.

  "Bark, bark," Jim said behind me.

  "Jim, what's your problem?" I asked as I reached out to open the glass-fronted door.

  "I think perhaps / am the problem," a smooth, silky, extremely sexy voice said behind us.

  "Oh, crap," I swore, letting my hand drop.

  "You are in France. The correct word is merde," Rene corrected gently.

  "Sorry. Merde." I turned to face Drake, trying to sum­mon an innocent smile, not that it would do me any good. It didn't. The expression on his face left me wishing I'd taken my chances with the Venediger.

  8

  "Ah, Drake. Long time no see. We were ... uh... in the neighborhood and thought we'd stop by and see how you were."