Chapter Text
We're still not talking to each other when we reach the party.
The sidewalk in front of the steps is iced over, with a thin layer of snow on top to make it worse, and even Zhune's placing his feet carefully, hand on the railing, on the way up to the door. His new vessel looks sleek and stylish in that snow-dusted overcoat, like he's about to walk into a stranger's life from a story of Shanghai noir. Like a Balseraph who doesn't mind a brawl. (Regan would never have worn a vessel like that, but I know a few other Liars who would.) And when the door opens into light and music and laughter, he smiles like the woman there is exactly who he was looking for, and ought to be honored that he came to see her.
"Zhune," she says, and she does sound delighted. Impudites often do, and it's best not to take that too seriously. Especially when there are other people watching. "Come in, it's freezing out there." She draws him in with a hand on his arm, and kisses him on the cheek. She's good-looking in the way all Impudites are, and I just don't care about the details anymore. Human nonsense, like the slinky dress and impractical shoes.
I follow Zhune inside, and if I were doing what I wanted, I'd probably bite someone right now. But that's rude, and apparently I need to worry about reputation, so I smile at Zhune's old friend (number I've-lost-count, he's got more old friends than I've got recent enemies) like I mean it. "You must be Layla."
"And that makes you the new partner." She makes as to offer me a hand, and turns the gesture into waving us further in when I don't offer one in return. We're in a back room of the bar, some sort of stock room and employee lounge, but even with the door further in still closed, I can hear music and voices.
The heat's turned up in here so high that Zhune peels off his overcoat, and I give up my scarf. "I hope you're not looking to do business first thing," he says, like there is any damn reason other than business why we'd be here.
I can't even figure out right now if he's trying to make me angry, or trying to prove he doesn't care what I think. Maybe both at once. He's a complicated Djinn.
"The day I pay a band to play and then go talk business while my own party's going is--well, that's a pretty bad day." She tucks her arm into his, and gives me enough of a smile and shoulder-turn to make it clear I'm included in the next invitation. "Let me introduce you to the beautiful people."
Turns out she's being pretty literal. There's a jazz band in full swing, and her bar's full of the kind of people an Impudite invites to her own private party. Good looking, weak-willed, well-dressed. And Zhune fits right in, the man in the snappiest suit and the snappiest smile. It takes her about three introductions before he's been passed off to some human woman who'll hang on his sleeve and every word, and I end up part of Layla's mission to get everyone laid tonight.
Which is not on my agenda, thanks, because I have no intention of touching anyone from Lust or anyone she has touched. Which means even if I were into humans that way--and I am not--I'd want to keep my hands off everyone in the room.
Hand, really. I've got my right hand inside my coat pocket still. I unbuttoned the front so that I wouldn't bake in here, and because Zhune won the fight about what I was going to wear to this place, about five hours ago, I still look halfway like a man who knows how to dress himself instead of like I've been sleeping in one outfit for three days. Concession: granted. But my right hand's wrapped in the remains of Zhune's scarf, and I'm still not sure who won that argument. Which means the hand stays in the pocket, I stay friendly to these people she's introducing me to, and I try not to think about how much that hurts.
Here's the scorecard on that one: I got the cigarette butt up against my hand long enough to find out just how much the new Discord is going to mess with me. (Answer: a lot. I've been set on fire both before and after I was immune to that sort of thing, including about five days ago, so I know how much fire is supposed to hurt. Not this much.) So that's a point to me. New information. But he said he wasn't going to heal my hand until I promised not to do that again, and I'm not promising, so he's not healing, and we're not speaking to each other, and...yeah. I don't know how the score's running. I need to think about this some more when I'm not in a room with a hundred pretty people, about two thirds of which, I judge, would be willing to get into my pants.
After two dozen introductions, beautiful women and handsome men and pretty variants of both in every variation that falls within the standards set by glossy magazines sold above the counter, I have pity on Layla. Not on her, exactly, because making her wonder could be fun, but I don't want to let her keep going until it's annoying me so much that I--do something. Unwise. I don't feel like this is a good week for pushing my own boundaries, when every step feels like I'm still walking on ice. So I pick some human not quite at random, pretend some interest, and she leaves me be.
I'm not pretty enough for this party. Odd man out. But when I want to be amiable, I can turn on the fucking amiability. So I chat the kid up, and feel a little weird about pulling out lines I used to use on Holly. (Who I wasn't flirting with back then, for the record. Just being nice.) She's too young for this crowd, trying too hard to prove herself, and she's willing to act like she cares about me because if Layla cares, I must matter, right?
I do not need the help of an Impudite of Lust to matter. Or to keep a human's attention. We talk about the music, the party, the hostess (which gets me a lot of Role information that I don't need, and not nearly as much insight into character as I'd hoped), and then the architecture of the city. Which this human doesn't know a damn thing about, and it's a pity. This is one of the cities in the country that dates back far enough that you can say interesting things about what they used to do then, and what they're doing now, and how it's changed, without running out of conversation ten minutes in.
She turns out to be doing liberal arts No Major Yet work at one of the universities here, and we talk Wordsworth until I've put in enough damn social appearance to pass her off to someone prettier than me, and go hide in the back room for a while.
It's quiet back here. I lean against the wall beside Zhune's coat, and wonder if he--of course he's noticed I've left the room, but he can tell I haven't gone far, so we're still on the not talking thing. And I'm not so unprofessional as to ditch before we get the job, even if that means sitting through hours of party while humans sneak upstairs to squeal and thump in various two-and-more combinations.
There's nothing interesting in his pockets. He confiscated my cigarettes and my lighters, and didn't even have the decency to hang onto them so I could swipe them back. Bastard. Whatever. It's probably rude to smoke in here anyway.
After I've been leaning against that wall for half an hour, trying not think about what anything sounds or smells or tastes like when my mind wanders, Layla's the one who comes to check on me. She has a drink for me, and I am suspicious, because it's a once-a-year limited edition bottle of beer that I usually have to wait for June to swipe from stores, and not one of the cocktails everyone else at the party has been holding, courtesy of the under-dressed bartenders serving drinks.
"Sorry for the crowd," she says, with a wry twist of her lips like she means the apology. I don't believe it. I'm not very good at believing people when they say things, lately. Not sure where that came from. "Timing, huh? I can point you at a room upstairs with a lock if you want to hide out until the party's cleared. Another two hours, and I start shooing people back home."
But I accept the beer because. Yeah. There's such a thing as taking paranoia too far. "Sorry," I say, not trying too hard to sound sincere. "I'm not exactly Henry."
She folds her arms lightly. She's doing a lot more assessment of me than she thinks she's letting on. "Will you take it the wrong way if I say I'm glad for that?"
"It seems a common reaction, among people who have met him."
"Some people liked Henry just fine," Layla says. "Shedim, Habbalah... I can give you the key to the room. With or without company, as you prefer."
"Thanks," I say. "But I'm fine here."
I am fine here. She leaves me be. Zhune leaves me be. He's been clingy like a god damn Cherub since we left Stygia, and worse yet, pretending that he's not acting like it. I wouldn't mind his quirks so much if he'd just be honest about them. But I've got a good beer and a lot of time to spend in my own head, which is, let's be honest, not the best combination in the world, but far from the worst.
I'm okay with being alone. Better than some alternatives.
#
When the party ends, I'd say about two thirds of the humans have been kicked out to find their messy way home (theirs or someone else's) and about a third are still lurking in corners, upstairs bedrooms, hallways. A few under the tables. It takes Lust to keep a bar solvent in this part of the city with private parties and three floors of private rooms above, but I get the impression from a few references that this is as much a money laundering operation for Lust as it is any kind of business. Which makes sense. Every Word needs a few of those per continent.
Layla, Zhune and I meet up in her apartment, which takes up a quarter of the top floor and has a view like I would not have believed possible from this street. Enormous windows that must be hell on the heating bill, wrapped around the corners so you can see down two separate streets to the pointy skyline in one direction, historical district in the other. I look between gaps in the curtains while the two of them finish some chat about nothing important, and wonder if Lust built this place, or just took it over.
The only Prince I know who does a lot of building is Baal, and that's all military installations, which hardly count. So probably some human came up with this first, and Lust came by to appreciate it afterward. Look at all the pretty buildings and cars and people and toys, put together by humans so that we can take them away and use them ourselves.
I close the curtains, and turn back to the other two. And my look at Zhune says, Business?
I'm not sure if it counts as talking or not that he sinks down onto the couch, and says, "So what's the job?"
"I need you to rob a place," Layla says. She flicks a glance at me before she selects an armchair, some antique--Victorian, I'd think, but furniture isn't my specialty--that lets her see the both of us, him at the couch and me at the window. So I could just go sit down and be part of this conversation if I wanted to. "And it's a little complicated."
I can be part of the conversation just fine from over here. "If it weren't complicated, I don't think you'd call for us."
Layla concedes my point with a gracious wave of her fingers. Her party dress and ridiculous shoes are still all glitz and glamour, but in this room it looks less seductive and more, if I had to choose a word, dangerous. I wonder how powerful she is. Zhune keeps not telling me things. "So let's play good news, bad news. The bad news is that I want you to rob Fire."
I am not looking at Zhune right now, because I do not want to see his expression. "Which side?" I ask. I can play social Calabite. I'm good at it. "We're not talking a Tether, are we?" I don't know of any Fire Tethers in this city, not from either side, but that doesn't mean much. These days I mostly know the locations of Tethers I've robbed.
"God, no," Layla says, and blinks at me. "I can't afford to ask that. Ordinary sort of place that happens to have two angels and a few Soldiers attached. And I'm talking divine Fire."
"The good news," Zhune says, "must be amazing."
"Actually," Layla says, "I'm not done with the bad news. But, sure, let's swap. The good news is that I don't care if you get anything out or not. Just hit the place, and leave if it gets sticky."
I lean back against the curtains. I can feel the cold of the glass against my neck, even through the fabric. "Let me guess. The second part of the bad news is that you're going to be telling them we're coming."
Layla and Zhune both look at me, and I could almost feel good. From those expressions. "Yes," says the Impudite. "Smart--Calabite. Want me to explain?"
I could fill out half the explanation myself. But I'm not sure it'd be the right half, and I've already made my point, so I wave a hand graciously. Wish I had another beer. It would be a terrible idea right now, if not so terrible as having three or four more and then, well, then nothing much happens. Zhune doesn't care for male vessels, and we're not talking, anyway.
"I'm building credit," Layla says. "There's an angel in there, not very bright, who I've been reeling in for months. She's convinced that I'm all but hers, divided loyalties, you know. I couldn't possibly, maybe I could, I shouldn't, tell me more." She crosses her legs at the ankles, and rests her head laced fingers. "Theft and Lust get along so well, even Heaven knows. When I tell her that I heard you're about to hit the place, that will mean something, because she knows how much it costs me."
"Trying to pull her down," Zhune asks, "or only into bed?" That sounds like professional curiosity, and I think I know better.
"Bed, Zhune. She's a Malakite."
I think I would have spit out any beer I was drinking, if I'd had the bottle I was wishing for. "How does that even work?"
Lyla shrugs, and smirks a little. Which I cannot begrudge her, under the circumstances. "Malakite of Fire, and since when am I cruel? A hundred humans out there would call me their best friend, and could even back it up with proof. I run my business, throw my parties, everyone is of legal age and the drinks aren't doctored. What's there for her to pull up on my honor? Running some money through filters, letting disreputable folks spend the night? Like Fire doesn't do the same. I am the fuzziest, most innocent demon she's ever met in her short, innocent life."
"Nice," Zhune says. "Up until it gets you killed. If you think a chance at Knight is worth the risk, that's your call. What's in it for us?" And he says that in the nicest way, like we'd do this for her anyway, but he's curious as to what the thank-you gift would be.
"Anything you can pull out of that place," Layla says. "Cute little bar, popular with the up-and-coming musician crowd. More to the point, they stash a lot of artifacts there. Nothing earth-shattering, but the little tools people passing through drop off or requisition. You could fill a suitcase with the stuff."
"That's a great payment for hitting the place," I say, "and a lousy payment for hitting it when they're warned. If we end up running out of there with a Malakite on our heels, I'd like to know it was worth the bother for more than one person."
"I can get you the layout, working hours, details on the angels and Soldiers," Layla says. "All of that. And I'll owe you a favor if this works out, which will be worth more... if this works out."
Zhune glances at me, and that look says, Not good enough. Which I was thinking anyway, but it's nice to have confirmation, even if we're still not talking to each other. That's just personal shit. This is business.
"I know," I say to her, "that you're an old friend and all, and good for this stuff. But since we've just met, I'm not real comfortable working on promises of maybe from someone who's not a Lilim. Could we get this offer bumped up a little? The last time I ran into divine Fire, it got a little messy. They might be holding a grudge."
"Same vessel?" she asks.
"Nope."
"Pity. That would be--well, I suppose that wouldn't be fair to you." She frowns prettily. "I could have asked some less competent Magpies to do the job, and not told them about the catch. But there's a lot more room for disaster, and we are supposed to play nice. I have plenty of cash, but I can only draw out so much for my own projects."
"Cash," Zhune says, "is boring. Nice. Useful. But boring."
"Yes, but you don't need any help from me in acquiring Servants, you wouldn't keep the same car for more than a week if I found you one, and while I'd be happy to teach a few Songs, you wouldn't stick around long enough to pick them up." Layla unlaces her fingers, and stands. "You're also not saying no, so we've established what we all are, here. We're just dickering over the price. I'll make drinks and we can take our time reaching an agreement. You can't go over there until tomorrow night at the earliest, in any case."
I think if I stand still in here any longer I'm going to start breaking things. And I'm not even sure why, which is getting to me, because it's not the usual reasons. Not boredom or anger or confusion, just this sense in the back of my head that things around me ought to be cracking apart whenever I look at them. "I'm heading out," I say. "I have a few chores to do. I'll be back around dawn."
"I'll leave the back door--" Layla stops, and chuckles. "Well, I can leave it unlocked if you'd like, but I suppose it wouldn't matter. Would you get me a pack of Winston 100s?"
"Sure," I say, even though I haven't got a dime on me. Belonging to Theft means never having to say Sorry, I'm broke for long.
Zhune holds up a fold of bills between two fingers, and I take it from him as I pass. Because much as we're both Theft, he's a damn sight better at pickpocketing than I am, and I'm not sure how much breaking and entering I want to do tonight. While my head's like this.
We're not talking, but that's okay. Who needs words when we've got a job to do?