Gelman smiled.
I gasped. “You cold-hearted snake.” I tipped my head in acknowledgement. “You stole the amulet from her so she couldn’t use it and then handed it over to the Brotherhood. Why would you do that? If not having Rasha means witches get stronger, don’t you want the same end goal?”
“Take away the hunters, do you take away the demons?”
“No.”
“Precisely. So we stop future Rasha from being made and in, what, thirty years? Fifty? Demons run wild over the earth. We witches are not trained to handle it anymore, and most in my community have other concerns. We need hunters. Also.” She waved a hand dismissively. “The amulet was a crude solution. Stopping Rasha one at a time would be futile.”
I made puppy dog eyes at her purse but no more treats were forthcoming. “Is it less magic or weaker magic as well?”
“I suspect both. Historical records report witches’ magic had once been strong, come easily, and incurred less of a personal cost. That’s changed.” She cleared her throat. “We seem to succumb to disease faster these days.”
I closed my eyes briefly. Was it her magic, not her smoking that had caused the cancer? On the surface, magic seemed so cool. It was necessary; I just wasn’t sure it was worth it. And from the wistful expression on Gelman’s face, I couldn’t tell if she did either.
20
Armed with Tessa’s full name and place of residence, I went to an internet café and Googled the shit out of her. What I found floored me.
I leadfooted it back to Demon Club, parking the car practically sideways in my haste to get inside.
Rohan and Drio were clipping their Brotherhood-crafted employee passes on beige overalls. A set of work boots and a hard hat sat on the table for each of us.
I waved the record I’d found and printed at the café, mouthing the word “Phones?”
“All clear.” Ro tossed me my overalls.
“They’re married. Ferdinand and Tessa. I don’t think her friends knew about this.” I stripped off my sweats to step into my uniform. Changing backstage or in coed dressing rooms all those years for dance meant I didn’t give a crap about stripping down to my underwear in front of people.
Rohan smacked Drio across the top of his head when he stared at my boobs more than listening to me.
Drio shrugged. “Leo’s are better.”
I plumped up my girls. “You wish. Pay attention. Even if Ferdinand charmed Tessa into marriage, convincing her to use her talents to bind demons, why would she go along with it if she hates the Brotherhood?”
“Table it.” Ro zipped up my overalls and I smirked at him. “We gotta get to the docks.” Ro left the room but before I could stop him, Drio stepped in front of me.
“Wanting a peek for the road?” I said. “Smart to wait for Ro to leave, but still not happening.”
He scowled at me, rubbed his neck, and then scowled again. “I want to do something nice for Leo. Take her out. The two of us.” He jabbed my shoulder. “Why aren’t you making one of those little comments you think are so funny? You don’t think I’m good enough for her?”
“This isn’t just hooking up. You want a serious relationship with her?”
“Forget it.”
“No.” I grabbed his arm. “You just caught me off-guard.” To say the least. I wasn’t going to out Leo and I wasn’t going to cast aspersions on their relationship, but I was going to have a very serious talk with my bestie very, very soon. “Take her to a Whitecaps game. Our soccer team,” I clarified.
His face lit up. “She likes football?”
“European football, she’s nuts about. North American football, not so much.”
“Who would be?” he said.
“That’s cute. Your confusion does double duty as Italian condescension.”
Rohan popped his head back in. “You two planning on coming?”
“Grazie.” Drio gave me another chin chuck and bounded out of the room.
From the road, the sugar refinery was confined to a series of connected, six-storey brick warehouses with arched windows that were over a hundred years old, but once we got through port security with our passes and identification very thoroughly checked and onto the site itself, we saw how large the property actually was.
Fellow workers in white or beige overalls, all with hard hats and work boots milled about, going between the different buildings that facilitated the various aspects of the sugar refining process.
After careful study of the map, we’d pinpointed the most probable area for Candyman to show himself. He wouldn’t be in any of the packaging centers, nor did the buildings for storing or melting sugar seem likely.
“This way.” Drio led us to our destination along the waterfront like he’d been here a million times before. There were so many employees that no one glanced twice at us, plus if we’d cleared port security, we’d obviously been vetted. We kept our stride purposeful and not hurried, despite the fact the brilliant gleam of pink and gold sky was already shot through with inky purple, the sun starting its descent, and Candyman needing to feed for his next twenty-four hour cycle.
The shed where they stored the raw sugar looked like it had been built for a giant. The huge bay doors were open, revealing massive piles of sugar the color of wet sand. I could easily picture some baby cyclops sitting in here building sandcastles, spinning turrets stretching up to the slanted ceiling.
A group of workers were busy using the crane to transport the raw grains. We bypassed them and stepped inside the shed, only to be immediately hit with the smell of molasses that was so pungent, I tasted it at the back of my throat. The air was so thick with sugar that even this short exposure left my skin skim-coated in it.
Steel beams ran the length of the ceiling, illuminated in pools of light. There were plenty of shadows for the hoc demon to portal in up there and never be seen.
First rule of monster hunting? Always look up.
We climbed the metal staircase to the catwalk, talking quietly, occasionally pointing at the sugar like we had some logistical problem to solve, scanning for any hint of movement.
“There.” Rohan tilted his chin the tiniest bit to indicate the shadowy creature sitting at the juncture of two beams overhead.
The hoc scrubbed at its mottled gray skin with its front paws, a long pink tongue lolling out between two very sharp fangs. Hairless cats were fugly. Demon hairless cats that were the size of a cougar with gremlin ears and wrinkles I could count like tree rings were profoundly disturbing.
“Where’s the mate?” I asked. “Is this Candyman or the other one?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Drio said. “We tag this one, we follow it back to the other one. Va bene.”
I leaned over the catwalk. “Clear.”
Drio flash stepped the length of the catwalk. Our only sign that he’d jumped onto the railing and pulled himself up onto the beam with the hoc was when the demon swatted his ear with a heavy paw. Drio had tagged the hoc with a subdermal tracker.