Silver-Tongued Devil

But the star was nowhere in sight. Instead, the only inhabitant was a tiny woman dressed in a red vinyl miniskirt, miniature fishnets, and a black-sequined halter top. I remembered her from New Orleans, but I’d never caught her name. However, I did remember she was Erron’s full-time hairdresser as well as a part-time gimp equestrian. Long story.



If she noticed our arrival, she didn’t show it. Instead, she busied herself painting her nails. Ziggy whistled to get her attention. She looked up then. “Hey, Zig.”



He nodded toward us expectantly. Her eye roll did little for my ego. “Oh,” she said in a bored tone. “It’s you.”



Before any of us could respond, Erron emerged from a side door. He wore the same leather pants he’d had onstage. But he’d thrown a black kimono over his torso, unbelted to show off his chest wound, I presumed.



When he saw us he stopped. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”



“How could I resist after I read your note?” I said. “Great show, by the way.”



He ran a hand through his hair. “Thanks.” He turned toward Ziggy, speaking as he signed. “Remind me to tell MC Macabre that he’s coming in too early on ‘Fuck the Clowns.’ ”



Ziggy flashed a thumbs-up and signed something back I couldn’t decipher. Erron merely nodded and collapsed with a groan onto the couch.



After that, Erron seemed to dismiss our presence altogether. The table in front of the couch was a mosaic of multicolored pills, snack foods, and drug paraphernalia. Erron grabbed a handful of M&Ms—or at least I hoped that’s what they were—and threw them into his mouth.



“Erron,” Adam said, speaking with exaggerated patience. “Your note said you had new information for us?”



The singer swallowed a mouthful of liquor. “Oh, right, sorry. I’m always a little spaced out after a show. I just need a minute to chill, if you don’t mind.”



I glanced at the dressing table where the little person continued to paint her nails. If we were about to discuss dark-races business, it probably wasn’t a good idea to do it in front of a mortal. “Um, maybe you should ask the midget to leave first.”



Erron looked over at her. “Who? Goldie? She knows everything.”



I choked. “Seriously? Your name’s Goldie?” The first time I’d seen her, Erron’s little friend had been peeing on his bassist during an orgy, so the name seemed too good to be true.



Goldie jumped down from the counter where she’d been perched. “That’s right, bitch. Goldie Schwartz. And I’m not a fucking midget. I prefer the term ‘fun sized.’ ”



I squinted at her for a moment, wondering if she was fucking with me. But she held my stare with the menace of a woman three times her size. “No offense intended,” I muttered.



She ignored me and sidled up to Erron. Rubbed his arm with her nubby fingers. “You need anything, baby?”



He took her hand and kissed the knuckles. “No, I’m good. Why don’t you go join the others?” After his initial stance that she was welcome to stay, she seemed shocked by his dismissal. But instead of challenging him on it, she strutted in her miniature stilettos toward Ziggy.



“Come on, doll,” Goldie signed as she sashayed toward him. “Let’s go get coked out of our minds and show those amateurs a real party.”



Ziggy’s eyebrows shot up to his pompadour. He nodded enthusiastically and saluted us as he followed her out the door. Once they were gone, the dressing room fell silent except for the muted beat of music from the party.



Adam and I exchanged a tense look. Erron had said he needed a few minutes, but I wasn’t really in the mood to cater to his rock star ego. I cleared my throat. “Listen, if this isn’t a good time—”



Erron set his bottle of Beam on the table and sighed. “No, it’s fine. I’m just so fucking glad this tour’s finally over. I was just savoring the silence. But I appreciate you guys coming.” He scrubbed a hand across the bandage on his chest, as if the wound still hurt him.



If he’d been an Adherant mage, one who followed the dictates of the Hekate Council, he’d have been able to heal that wound no problem. But that cut and the scars left over from other such stunts bore testament to his Recreant status. The minute he’d broken from the Council, they’d stripped him of his ability to heal himself. Judging from the multitude of scars crisscrossing his chest, I had to wonder if Erron’s little cutting hobby was really a “fuck you” to the Council. Sad, really, considering the Council paid no attention to his activities as far as I could tell.



“Do you guys remember what I told you about when I hunted down Cain?” Erron said suddenly.



“Yeah,” Adam said, dropping onto the couch across from Erron. “You said you hunted him down after he killed your band, but when you figured out you couldn’t kill him, you ran away.”



“Right. I also told you that after six months of hell I finally realized he wasn’t coming for me.” He took another swig of bourbon. “The news is, I finally found out why.”



“Well?” I demanded.



“For the last few months I’ve been on tour in Europe. While I was there, I tracked down that group I told you about.”



“Yeah, I remember you mentioning them in New Orleans. The ones who helped you find Cain to begin with,” Adam said. “Who are they exactly?”



“They’re a small band made up mostly of mages and vampires. They’re led by a male who calls himself Abel. Not the original guy from the mortal Bible, obviously. I never met him when I worked with the group in the past because he’s super secretive. But he’s a mage and he’s… weird.”



My eyebrows rose at the irony of hearing the leader of a shock-rock band with a penchant for midget strippers call anyone weird.



“He wears these robes like a monk and refuses to let anyone see his face. Still, his people helped me in the past, so I know he’s solid.”



“Any idea who he really is?” Adam asked.



Erron shook his head. “He may be weird but he’s dead serious about stopping Cain. Anyway, when I was in Rome, I got in touch with one of his associates. Set up a meeting.”



“Why?” Adam asked.



Erron leaned forward. Now that we’d gotten him talking, he’d dropped the weary rock star routine. Even his eyes had cleared, like he’d sobered up. “Because after my involvement in your mission in New Orleans, I wanted to be sure Cain wasn’t going to start gunning for me again. Plus, I might be a Recreant, but I still give a shit about whether someone’s planning on wiping all mages from the earth.”



“Fair enough,” Adam said. “What did this Abel tell you?”



Erron rubbed his hands on his legs, as if settling in for a long story. “Turns out he and his group finally made their move on Cain right after my encounter with him. This would be about ten years ago. There was some big showdown and they managed to bind Cain magically. He’s been on ice in a secret location ever since.”



Adam frowned. “Why didn’t they just kill him?”



“Cain can’t be killed,” Erron said. “When God marked him after killing his brother, he decreed that anyone who killed Cain would reap punishment sevenfold. So Abel’s only choice was to use a spell to put the asshole in a state of suspended animation, kind of like a permanent coma without the need for respirators.”



“Wait,” I said. “That doesn’t make any sense. Lavinia’s goons almost managed to summon Cain to that cemetery in New Orleans. If Abel’s spell was so great, how did the Caste manage that?”



“Naturally, I asked Abel the same question. He said I must be mistaken. One of his people is with the body at all times and no one reported anything out of the ordinary. He also claims only his blood can break the spell.”



“I’ve never met this Abel guy, but he sounds like an idiot.” I huffed out a breath. “I saw Cain begin to materialize with my own eyes. Plus, he visited my dreams more than once.”



“If Maisie had been dreaming about Cain, then we’d have a reason to worry,” Adam said. “But yours are just probably your subconscious’s way of dealing with everything that happened.”



“I can’t say whether that’s true or not, but Abel seemed convinced there was no reason to worry.” Erron shrugged. “Maybe the summoning was an illusion or a trick to make you think they had Cain on their side. Either way, Abel said he’d step up his wards around the body as a precaution.”



“Did you see the body?” Adam asked.



“Not in person. Abel isn’t messing around. He doesn’t let anyone near Cain except for his own people. But he did show me a video feed from the surveillance cameras. The body I saw was Cain’s. I’m sure of it.”



I snorted. “No offense, Erron, but there are so many holes in that story that I’m actually less convinced we’re safe.”



“I don’t know what to tell you. But if Abel is lying and Cain actually is capable of escaping, why hasn’t he come after you? Or me, for that matter?” He shook his head and took another swig.



“But if Cain has been imprisoned all these years, why did Lavinia claim she was working for him?” I asked.



“Just spit balling here,” Adam said, “but maybe it was because your grandmother was a vindictive, scheming bitch?”



“True enough, but she also had the Caste working for her,” I said. “Surely that suggests Cain’s involvement.”



“Or she convinced the Caste that Cain was communicating with her to get them to cooperate,” Adam said, almost to himself.



I jerked my head to stare at him. “Look, I want to believe Cain isn’t an issue anymore, too. But this is all a little too convenient, don’t you think?”



“I know it’s hard to believe, but I trust Abel,” Erron said. “That guy’s odd, sure, but I’ve never met anyone with more single-minded dedication. He eats, breathes, and sleeps keeping Cain imprisoned.”