“You do it to distract.” He realized he was watching the sway of her hips, back and forth as she climbed the stairs. Distracting? Worse: mesmerizing. “You didn’t like to think that I’ve been watching you when you weren’t in charge.”
She stopped so abruptly he almost collided with her. “Watching, but not closely,” she reminded him.
“So you want me to watch closer. But only those parts you want me to see.”
“Thanks for the analysis. Will you charge me for that, along with the orgasm?”
Though he was coming to understand her tactics, the low blow brought heat to his cheeks. “It was necessary.”
“The psychoanalysis?” The wicked twinkle in her eyes dared him to disagree.
So he did. “No, the . . . orgasm.” In all his years, had he ever said that word aloud? He rubbed his thumb against the base of his ring finger, ticking the band with his nail.
Suddenly, uneasily, he wondered what else he’d be forced to do. He’d wanted only a way to fight harder, to redeem himself. He hadn’t quite anticipated that opening himself to another meant . . . to another person. To Nim.
She continued up the stairs. “The demon likes to fuck you over? But not be fucked.”
“I’m uncomfortable with your foul language.” He almost winced at how prim he sounded, how outdated.
“Oh, so it wasn’t the demon that was uncomfortable with what happened between us. It was you.”
“I was told the most prudent method to balance your rising demon was the . . . orgasm.”
“ ‘Prude’ is right,” she mumbled.
She slammed out of the stairwell and headed down the hall. He stood aside as she opened the door.
The apartment was messier than when he’d cased it previously, although the same earthy patchouli incense drifted out to tease him. He’d been surprised a stripper kept such a tidy abode. This—the magazines tangled in the folds of a blanket across the red corduroy couch, the dirty dishes piled in the sink—had been what he expected. Obviously, she’d been increasingly disturbed by the restive energies of her unbound demon.
Nice to know he hadn’t been alone.
She slipped Mobi’s case from his shoulder. “Okay, then. Thanks for everything. I’ll call you later, yeah? Bye.”
He gave her a look. Turning her back on him with an aggrieved sigh, as if that would do the trick, she went to the coffin-sized glass case against one wall and slid the snake inside. She bustled past him again to retrieve a bowl from the counter and then returned to the terrarium.
He wrinkled his nose. “Dead rat?”
“Can you think of a better use? At least this one won’t morph into a monstrosity like that one you massacred.” She whispered something nonsensical to the snake and placed the dish in a corner. She fussed with the water bowl before closing the lid, then slid a black sheet across most of the case.
“Praise be.”
She shot him an arch glance. “That’s not for your sake. Mobi doesn’t like an audience when he eats. When he’s done, he’ll need to be left alone for a day or so.”
“You dance without him?”
“Not anymore.” She pointed at the framed poster above the snake’s tank that showed the curves of a woman, breast to hip, body painted in tiger stripes. COMING SOON, it screamed in crimson type, VIVA LAS SHOWGIRLS INTRODUCES BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. “We’re rehearsing for the Showgirls semifinals. I’ll have to take a couple days off, but by the weekend, he’ll be raring to go again.”
By then, the Naughty Nymphette—like the rat—would be only a bad memory. She’d be fully immersed in the talyan world, never to return to her own. Jonah thought that could remain unsaid for now. “In the meantime, there are a few things we need to work out. The demon, when it came to you, might have felt like a dream or a hallucination. But did it leave you something tangible—a piece of jewelry, perhaps?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
He struggled to keep his voice level. “Nim, this is important. I noticed you don’t wear any jewelry when you dance.” After Liam and Archer had explained how the women’s teshuva had come to them bearing gifts of mutated metals, Jonah had made a point of checking Nim for jewelry through the week. He had looked very carefully and seen nothing.
No jewelry, anyway.
“I hocked it.”
Her breezy admission snapped him back to painful reality. “What?” He took a quick step toward her, then stopped himself when she stiffened. He raked his hand through his hair. “You sold it? But you never went to a pawnshop.”
“While you were staking me out, you mean? I have a neighbor who unloads stuff for me.” She lifted her chin when he glared at her. “Nothing stolen. Not anymore. He gives me cold, hard cash for the cheap-ass gifts my loving customers give me. And believe me, that anklet was the cheapest-looking shit I’d ever seen.”
He paced the tight confines of the room. It was that or shake her. She couldn’t have known, but frustration sharpened his voice. “It was a weapon. A demonic weapon.”
“It was an ugly anklet.”
He coughed on a desperate laugh. “The demon should have known you well enough to at least make it shiny.”
She scowled. “All I knew, I had a weird night and I woke up with some trashy jewelry lying on my floor. Could’ve come from anywhere.” When he rolled his eyes in disbelief, she added defensively, “I have a lot of loving customers, and they tuck their gifts in a lot of places.”
He held up his hand to forestall further explanation. “Which neighbor? And where does he pawn his goods?” Or evils, in this case.
“You going to chop off his head too?”
“Not before he directs me to the anklet.” When was the last time he’d had to justify himself to another? The feeling chafed like the hook against his scar tissue. “I have never chopped off a human’s head, and I don’t plan to start. Is that answer enough?”
She crossed her arms, jaw set mulishly off-kilter.
“Nim,” he said with strained patience. “If there’s a demonic weapon loose in the city, don’t you agree it’d be wise to find it?” With each word, his voice got louder.
“I suppose I should’ve asked for more money.” And still she hesitated another moment. “It’s Pete, down the hall in 713. But he won’t answer the door for just anyone. I’ll go with you.”
“Clean up first. The blood on you will unnerve him more than I will.” Jonah scuffed the hook along his thigh as he gave her a once-over. Just looking at her made his missing hand twitch. “After we retrieve the anklet, I suppose you have to meet the rest of the league. You should wear something . . .”
She set her arms akimbo, the tight clench of her fingers dragging the already low-slung waistband another inch past her navel. “Wear something what?”
He backpedaled mentally. “Something without ichor holes.”
“Remember how you said you really liked my honesty?”
“I don’t think I said that exactly.”
She wrapped one long dread around the rest and tucked the edge under in a makeshift restraint and stood square to face him. “Honestly, I don’t want to go anywhere else with you. I don’t want to meet anyone you know. Now that I think about it—actually, I didn’t even really have to think about it—I don’t want to know you.”
The scornful words grated along his nerves. “Biblically, it’s a little late for that. We can’t reverse this.”
“Who said anything about reverse? If I really am faster and stronger, I figure I’m going to have a killer new routine worked out before the Viva Las Showgirls finals. I might even try fire dancing, since I’m immortal and all.”