Chaos Bites (Phoenix Chronicles, #4)

It was all glamour, courtesy of the fairy.

I climbed out of the truck, eyeing the statues in the yard. Gargoyles could turn to stone at will. They could also turn back, take to the air, and protect the innocent from demons.

Since I was no longer innocent, did in fact have a few demons in me, I walked warily between the bizarre figures. Half lion–half eagle, part man–part hawk, woman and wolf, several of them shifted in my direction, the light of the moon flashing off their flat, black eyes. They were watching me. I couldn’t blame them.

The door opened; light spilled out, casting the silhouettes of a short female and a tall male onto the ground.

“Liz,” Luther said. “Thank God.”

Summer snorted. It was good to be back.

I tromped across the porch, the weathered boards that weren’t really there creaking beneath my weight. “No castle?” I lifted my hand to the gorgeous night sky, painted every shade of blue and orange and pink. “Turrets, moat, patrolling sentries?”

“There’s nothing left to protect.” Luther turned away. As usual his jeans sagged off his bony behind, the waistband of his boxers—red and black plaid—playing hide-and-seek with the frayed tail of a unlv rebels T-shirt.

I was close enough to catch Summer’s wince, and for an instant I felt sorry for her. Then she opened her mouth. “What did you do to him this time?”

“Him, who?” I asked, but I knew. With Summer, it was always about Jimmy.

“He was mad, sad.”

“Jimmy hasn’t been happy for a long time now.”

Had he ever been happy? Yes. So had I. Before we knew the truth.

“Because of you,” she said.

“What else is new?” I tried to move past her and into the house, but she remained in the doorway. I could make her move, but then there’d be a catfight, and when you’re talking supernatural cats, it usually got ugly. So even though I wanted to pop her in her perfectly pert nose, I didn’t.

“We need to work together,” I said. “We’ve got the same goal. Find the kid, find Jimmy.”

“In that order?”

I met her eyes. “Yes. Sanducci can take care of himself. Faith . . .”

“Can’t,” Summer finished.

Luther, still standing in the hall, muttered a word I didn’t much care hearing from his mouth, but I decided to let it pass. I had bigger problems than a teenage boy’s cursing.

Summer let me in. I nodded my thanks. Best to make nice for the time being.

For a change she wasn’t wearing her circulation-inhibiting jeans and slutty, fringed halter top, though the alternative wasn’t much better. White shorts so tiny I couldn’t guess their size; they made her slim, smooth, perfect legs appear longer than they could possibly be. The pink shirt bared her flat stomach, revealing a belly button ring I had a hard time not yanking out.

Inside, the decor reflected the western ranch motif of the exterior. The walls were the color of the sky at dawn, the tile the shade of the earth. The paintings appeared to be Georgia O’Keeffe. The houseplants were cacti—huge, fat, gorgeous specimens.

“I like this,” I said.

“I don’t care,” she replied. So much for making nice. “Any news?” Summer shook her head. “Did you try Jimmy’s cell?” I had, but I figured he was avoiding me.

“What do you think?” she snapped. “Every call goes directly to voice mail.”

I sighed. “Making nice only works if we both make it.”

“You’ve been making nice?”

“I haven’t slugged you yet.”

“The night’s young,” she muttered, and I laughed.

Sometimes our banter took a turn like this, and we ended up smiling at each other. Then we’d remember we didn’t get along; we’d remember why, and the verbal and physical jabs would return. I liked to think that in different circumstances Summer and I might have become friends. As things stood, Jimmy would always lie between us.

“What are you going to do?” Summer asked. “How are we going to find them? Who do you think took them?”

“We don’t know that anyone took Jimmy.”

“I do.” She tilted her chin. “He wouldn’t stop answering his phone, unless he couldn’t answer it.”

I wasn’t so sure about that. But I was more concerned with Faith at the moment. Someone had already tried to kill her. I was terrified that she hadn’t been taken and hidden, but taken and killed. The only thing keeping me from gibbering in a corner, besides the fact that I rarely gibbered, was the memory of my vision. In it, Faith had been alive.

“You think the same guys who came for her the last time came this time?” Luther asked, and despite the steadiness of his voice I knew how scared he was by the tremor in his lips.

“No,” I said. “It wasn’t them.”

I didn’t point out that those guys would have killed her. I think he knew it anyway.

And I knew I needed more help than I had to make certain we got Jimmy and Faith back alive.