You Slay Me

  "Perdita ...," she said, her lips quivery.

  I stood up and took the cups to the sink. "I'm sorry— that was cruel of me. Let's get you into bed. You've had a heck of a day."

  She allowed me to escort her to her bedroom. I locked up the apartment, turned out the lights, and headed for my own room where Jim was lying in the middle of the bed. "About time! I thought you'd never dump the wet blan­ket."

  "Shh! She'll hear you."

  "Naw, the walls are thick. So. Drake's innocent.... Do I get to guess who did kill Deauxville and the Venedi­ger and Perdy?"

  I shoved my demon over so I could sit on the bed, too. "It's not that hard to figure out who. It's just getting the proof that's going to be difficult."

  Jim eyed me for a couple of seconds, then got off the bed and went to curl up on the pile of blankets I'd arranged as its bed. "I don't suppose you'd care to lend me a couple hundred euros?"

  I pointed at the wall. It turned its back to me so I could get into the nightgown Perdita had lent me. "You are not going to bet on me. Or against me. No betting whatso­ever. Got that?"

  Jim huffed and settled down for the night. "You sure do know how to take all the fun out of life. Bet you even made Drake use a condom."

  I sighed to myself and added STDs to my list of things to discuss with Drake at a later date.

  Despite the events of the day, I had trouble getting to sleep, finally drifting off around three in the morning. I half expected that Drake would come and seduce me in a dream, but he didn't. I woke once, my body jerking with the remnants of a non-dragon dream, then relaxed into the solid, comforting heat at my back. Drake's scent teased my nose. An arm lay heavy over my stomach; hard, muscled thighs spooned tightly behind mine. The faintest breath of air ruffled the hair at my neck. I drifted deeper into sleep, not sure whether this was yet another type of dream, or just a fantasy my mind had arranged to lull me into security.

  I awoke alone to find that sometime during the night Ophelia had been kidnapped.

  "How could I have been so wrong?" I asked Jim as I paced down the length of the apartment. "How could I have been so stupid? Ophelia wasn't guilty of anything more than being a bit shallow and trying to protect Perdita. How could 1 think she was guilty of murder? Triple murder?"

  "You had me convinced," Jim said. "It's always the sweet, innocent ones that you have to watch out for."

  "Yeah, well, because of my stupidity, that sweet, inno­cent one is in the clutches of some evil person. You're sure it was Bafamal you smelled in her room?"

  "Absolutley. Baffie and I go way back. He was there, all right."

  "Drat it all. There goes my whole big plan. How can I prove she was guilty of the murders if she's been kid­napped?"

  Jim got to its feet and padded over to the bowl of water I had set down for it earlier. "You know, you never did explain to me exactly when you switched from thinking Drake was the killer to believing he was innocent."

  "My conversation with Bafamal had a lot to do with that. So did something Ophelia said," I answered ab­sently, looking out the window at a rainy June Paris morning.

  "What was that?"

  "She told me Perdita was Drake's girlfriend."

  Jim raised its eyebrows. "And you didn't believe her? Honey, we need to have a little talk about dragons and their sexual drive."

  "Don't be stupid," I said, watching the rain run down the window. "I know Drake's had girlfriends before, but I happen to know Perdita wasn't one of them."

  "Really?" Jim tipped its head. "How do you know?"

  "The night I first met her she made a comment about dragons being different sexually. They're not. She'd have known that if she had slept with Drake."

  "So, that old saying about being hung like a dragon isn't true?" Jim asked with a leering lilt to its voice.

  I turned around to glare at it. "I didn't say that. I'm just saying that there was nothing unusual in the groinal re­gion. Nothing other than an ... er... abundance."

  Jim hooted. I ignored it as I stood indecisively in the middle of the living room. "Who would want to kidnap Ophelia? And why? And what am I going to do about get­ting her back?"

  "Who says saving her is your responsibility? Last time I looked, you weren't the Lone Ranger, and I'm sure as shootin' no Tonto, even if I am the extremely cool side­kick type."

  "I put her in this position. I have to help her," I said obstinately.

  "Call the cops."

  "I can't! Even if I had somewhere else to stay, my fin­gerprints are all over this apartment. They'd lift one print, figure out it belonged to me, and blame me for her kid­napping. Besides, I don't think this is an ordinary kid­napping. Bafamal was in her room—that means it has to be someone connected with the Otherworld who used the demon to nab her."

  "Too bad you can't ask Baffle himself, but he's prob­ably still in the power of whoever summoned him."

  "I suppose it would be worth a try to summon it, al­though I don't have any hope that I could. It would be in­credibly stupid of whoever was using Bafamal to release it so it could be questioned." I paced the length of the apartment, my mind back to being a hyper hamster on a wheel as it formulated and discarded various ways to find Ophelia. "I could hire a private detective.. .. No, I don't know any, and don't have enough money. Maybe I could offer to pay Fiat's men? You said they were good track­ers. Maybe they could follow her trail—"

  "You'd have to have a whoooole lot of treasure to get them to do that."

  "Poop!" I kicked at the lovely antique armchair as I passed it. "OK, how about this—I get Drake to find her for me. He's smart, he's got lots of contacts in Paris, and I just bet you he's likely to know all the spots someone might have hidden Ophelia."

  "He's also the one you've issued a formal challenge to, which means no contact until the challenge begins."

  "Is that a real rule, or are you just trying to annoy me?" I asked as I passed Jim.

  "Would I do that?"

  "In a heartbeat, not that you have one. All right then ... mmm ... what if you track her scent—"

  "I'm not a bloodhound!" Jim protested.

  "You're a dog. You can follow a trail, can't you?"

  It gave me a look of profound censure. "In Paris? City of a million smells? No."

  I thought for a moment. "What if I summon up another demon? Couldn't I order it to find her for me?"

  "Not if she's been taken by another demon, no. I told you, you need to learn the rules. We can't rat on each other that way. It's a brotherhood thing between the demon lords. Only a demon that was unclaimed—not part of a demon lord's legions—could squeal on another demon, and the only demons that aren't in a legion are like I was before you summoned me: cast out and power­less."

  I refused to give up. Guilt lay heavily on me. I had drawn Ophelia into the situation; it was because of me that she had been snatched.

  Jim watched me pace for a while, then finally said in a tone heavy with disgust, "You mortals, always doing things the hard way. I shouldn't help you, I just know I'm going to lose my union card over this, but have you con­sidered that nestled up against your perky breasts is one of the most powerful lodestones known in all the ages of man?"

  My hand went to my breast. "The Eye? What about it? Amelie said it couldn't be used without the other two Tools."

  Jim put its martyr face on. "She said it couldn't be used by itself to draw the power of Bael. It does have power of its own, though. Surely you've felt it."

  I touched the stone through the gauze dress and mate­rial of my bra. It's true that I had noticed a slight warmth connected with the stone, but I assumed it was just my body heat warming it. I realized now that the pleasant feeling had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the energy of the lodestone itself. "Uh ... sure I have. Of course. What do you take me for, an idiot? Don't answer that, just go on. What can the stone do?"

  "You're the Guardian—you should know." I made a snipping gesture with my fingers. Jim got the mime and hurr
ied on with a more helpful answer. "What is the stone famous for?"

  I thought. "It's one of the Tools of Bael."

  "And what do those do?"

  "Aside from causing the destruction of the world as we know it when the demon lords take over?" Jim nod­ded. 'Tap into Bael's power."

  "Right. And who is the one being who can tell you what Bafamal was ordered to do with Ophelia?"

  I blinked. "Um..."

  "His demon lord! A demon can't tattle on another demon because they are both servants, but a demon lord is not bound by that rule. Honestly, it's like talking to a bowl of pudding. Let's make an effort here, Aisling. I can't be helping you out all the time—I have more im­portant things to do."

  "Like lick your genitals?"

  "Yes."

  "Can we get back to the point of this catechism, as­suming there is one?"

  "Where was I? Oh, yeah, the answer was Ashtaroth. So, given those two facts, you get..." Jim waved a paw in an expectant gesture.

  I gnawed my lip. "Mmm ... I don't see the connec­tion. Ashtaroth is Bafamal's lord, but the Eye draws on the power of Bael."

  Jim sighed. "Who's the first prince of Abaddon? Who's the primary spirit? Who's the big daddy of the Otherworld?"

  It took a while, but I finally got it. "Bael is. So you're saying I can use the stone to summon Bael and use him to force the truth from Ashtaroth?"

  "Give the girl a banana!"

  I sat down with a thump. "There's just one problem with that idea."

  Jim cocked its ears. "Really? I thought it was pretty foolproof, myself. What's the prob?"

  I started laughing. I couldn't help it, the very thought of what Jim was suggesting was ludicrous. "You want me, the person who summoned up the only demon who'd been kicked out of Hell, to conjure up the most powerful demon lord around, the one so powerful, he plans on overtaking the mortal world, and ask him nicely if he will find out for me what another lord's demon has done with Ophelia?"

  Jim made a face. "When you put it like that, I guess it is asking for trouble."

  I sighed and stood up, heading for the phone, punch­ing in the now-familiar numbers. "Unfortunately, it's also the only choice I have. Hi, Rene, it's Aisling. Are you up for a little excitement tonight? I have a feeling I'm going to need a bodyguard, and since you offered when you brought me home yesterday, I'd like to take you up if you're still willing."

  "But yes, of course! I will be happy to guard you. I am very dangerous, you know? No one messes with me. They used to call me the Rambo before I was married. When do you want me?"

  I put my hand over the mouthpiece. "What time will the moon be at its zenith?"

  Jim flopped over on its back. "What do I look like, The Old Demon's Almanac'} How about a tummy rub?"

  "The next demon I summon is going to be falling over itself to be helpful to me," I warned, uncovering the phone. "Rene? How about eleven at the Jardin du Lux­embourg, south entrance? I might need you for several hours. Is that going to be OK?"

  "Oui. Eh ... what is it we're going to do?"

  "Oh, nothing much. Just challenge a wyvern, summon a demon lord, and figure out who the murderer is. Bring your gun," I said pithily, and hung up.

  "So it's going to be another one of those plans, is it?" Jim asked. "A nonspecific, winging it, seat-of-the-pants sort of plan? The kind with guns?"

  "If you're not part of the solution, you're the prob­lem," I told it, heading for my bedroom.

  "What are you going to do?" Jim asked as it followed me.

  "Read. Keep quiet unless you have any demonic in­sights to where Ophelia has been taken."

  I plucked the copy of the Steganographia from the bookcase and sat down to bone up on demon lore.

  Four hours later I threw the book onto the bed in dis­gust.

  "Don't tell me—the butler did it and you had money riding on the seductive neighbor?"

  I sighed and gathered up my sandals, walking over to the wardrobe to examine my scanty belongings with an eye to what was best suited to the evening's activities. "I wish it was that easy. I read all the sections pertinent to demons, and I just don't understand how a demon I sum­moned could lie when I ordered it to answer my questions honestly."

  "That's because it's impossible," Jim said, standing up and shaking, a flurry of dog hair floating down to the floor. I made a mental promise to tidy up the room later. "I can't lie to you unless you order me to do so."

  I paused in the act of slipping into my now-clean linen pantsuit. It was the most dignified outfit I had. "Are you sure there's no way? No circumstance that would allow you to lie? Because Bafamal was lying when he said Drake murdered everyone, I know he was. I couldn't have—" I waved my hand around vaguely. "—with Drake if he was a murderer. I would have felt that sort of evilness in him, wouldn't I?"

  "You mean while you were busy playing ride the dragon?"

  "What?"

  "You know, hide the forked tongue? Hoard the treas­ure? Heh heh heh."

  I shook a sandal at him. "You need your brain washed out with soap. I'm serious. I'm too new to all this Guardian stuff. Sometimes I don't think I have a very good grasp on it all."

  "Sometimes?" Jim hooted. "Sometimes like maybe mind-pushing Inspector Proust into la-la land?"

  "I called his office while you were AWOL. Whoever answered the phone said he was OK, so the mind-push thingy must have worn off pretty quickly."

  "How about walking into a rival dragon's lair with a powerful lodestone that any dragon worth his scales would kill to get his hands on stuffed down your bra? Or maybe summoning up a demon that lies was an example of you having a grasp?"

  "There are times when I don't like you," I said stiffly. "Answer my question—would I or wouldn't I know if Drake had killed those people?"

  Jim shrugged. "That depends on how tightly bound you two are."

  "We're not bound at all. A little fling composed of... of... unadulterated lust is not binding in any way, shape, or form." Jim muttered something as I buttoned up the tunic and ran a comb through my hair. "I just have to as­sume the evidence is false. Bafamal lied."

  Jim shook its head. "If you asked me a question, I could evade the truth a bit, but not outright lie."

  I glanced at the clock as I stepped into my sandals, grabbing my purse before hurrying out of the room. "I don't understand.... Oh, come on, let's go meet Amelie. We have a couple of hours to kill, and she might know something."

  "Hel-lo! You're like three eggs short of a potato salad, sister. You know everyone is watching her shop just hop­ing you'll show up again. Much as I want to see my beloved Cecile and do that thing with her ears that makes her go all squirrelly on me, I can do without spending an­other day on the run from the Brothers Blu."

  I smiled and opened the door to the apartment. "That's why I'm not going to the shop—you are, my little carrier pigeon."

  "Fires of Abaddon, what am I, your slave?" Jim groaned as it followed me out. "Why don't you lop off my goodies and call me Lassie while you're at it."

  I met Amelie an hour later at the south side of the Jardin du Luxembourg, one of the few parks that allowed dogs. Jim and Cecile came with her, Jim strutting along­side the crotchety Corgi, periodically giving her ears and head a swipe with its huge pink tongue. I made a mental note to have a talk with Jim about the propriety of ear-sucking in public.

  "I was not followed," Amelie said by way of a greet­ing. "We took three Metros and walked through the shop of a friend to leave by the alley. No one could follow me."

  I gave her a little hug and invited her to share my bench.

  "Eh... Cede and I are going to go check out a lovely stinky spot I found while I was on the run yesterday. We'll see you in a bit," Jim said as it nudged Cecile to­ward a low bank of shrubs.

  "Don't go too far—we might have to get out of here quickly," I warned before turning back to Amelie. "Why do I feel like we're going to be in-laws?"

  She laughed, shaking her head. "I will admit, to me it was at
first most disturbing, but I see now that the demon is not a true demon, hein? It is unepetite demon. Cecile, she seems to like it, so I say ouf, and let them be."

  "Mmm. I have a feeling I'm going to have a sulky demon in love when it's time to leave Paris."

  "Leave? Ah. You have solved the problems haunting you?"

  "Not yet, but I hope to soon. You've probably heard about my challenge, huh?"

  Amelie gave me a pitying smile. "Yes, I did. That was not so well done of you, was it?"

  I think it was the experience and knowledge she had that made me feel like I was being called on the carpet by my grade-school principal. I squirmed a tiny bit and stared down at my hands. "Um ... well, I had this plan, you see? I figured it would bring the murderer out into the open if I challenged Drake and lost. It's obvious that Drake has been set up as the fall guy, and I just kind of stumbled onto the scene and messed everything up. But then my chief suspect up and got herself kidnapped by the demon Bafamal, and no one knows where she is or how I can find out, and I can't ask Drake for help, be­cause it's against some rule to talk to the person you've challenged, and I don't trust Fiat any farther than I can spit, and even if I did, I doubt if he'd order his men to track Ophelia because I don't have any gold left except the bit on the talisman you gave me, and that means I'm left with having to pull out Plan B, which between you and me, I'd rather not do."

  Amelie gave me an odd look. "That was a great deal you said."

  I sighed. "Yeah, well, it's been kind of a rough last couple of days."

  "Ophelia Dawkins has been kidnapped?"

  "Sometime last night, I think. She was there when I went to bed, and gone this morning. Jim says her room smells like Bafamal, so that can only mean someone con­jured up the demon and had it snatch her."

  Amelie did a pretty good impression of Drake's head tip. "You are a very linear thinker, are you not?"

  I smiled at the praise. "I try."

  She shook her head. "It will not benefit you. You have much learning to undo before you can step into the role you were meant to take. A Guardian draws her power from her understanding of the possibilities, not in linear order. You must shake yourself of the desire to see only those things that can be arranged to match what you know, and learn instead to embrace all the possibilities that exist."