Watcher in the Darkness, Book 3: Imprisoned

Chapter 26

Demons are everywhere. They can be in anything. They can take the form of anyone, and most smell like nothing at all. La Llorona's was the sort of place people needed reservations to get into. Even so, I felt like I was walking into a lion's den.

Between my tattered hoodie and the holes in my jeans, I stood out like a sore thumb. The other customers waiting in the lobby stopped what they were doing to stare at me. Even the string quartet in the corner stopped playing for a few seconds. An older man pulled out his cell phone, ready to call the cops.

The elegant hostess made her way through the crowd with a smile on her too-perfect face. She had the sort of beauty that didn't occur in nature. Not without a demonic pact. "Welcome to La Llorona's," she said. Her tone was pleasant, like I was any other customer, but her emerald eyes were empty. "Right on time. Your table is ready. Just follow me."

She didn't bother to gather a menu or silverware as she led me through the overcrowded restaurant. I tried not to breathe in the layered stench of seared meat, cooking oil, and spices. She showed me to a dark booth in the corner, near the kitchen. She gave me a wink as I sat down then walked away without another word.

I began to wait. And wait. Then, I waited some more.

My left leg shook and my claw nubs tapped an uneven beat against the tabletop. I became hyper-aware of every sound. Diners slurped and smacked up their nauseating dinners. The drone of so many conversations going on at once was like the hum of a beehive. There seemed to be a crazy number of affairs and criminal transactions going down around me. Silverware scraped against plates and pans of grilled meats sizzled. Humans heartbeats crashed like waves against the shore.

Two hours and twenty-seven minutes later, I accepted that I'd been stood up. Muttering curses under my breath as I formulated a Plan B, I slid to the end of the booth. Before I could stand, the kitchen door swung open. A waitress in a puffy blouse and multicolored skirt came out, a tray perched on her shoulder.

"Here you go." She set a steaming plate of steak, melted cheese, grilled onions, and peppers in front of me. There was also a rice dish smothered in some caustic-smelling red sauce.

"I didn't order this," I said, which was code for: I'm not paying for it.

"No, I did." A tall, well-dressed man slid into the booth across from me. He appeared to be from India, or maybe Pakistan, and had the same cultured accent as Gwen. Dressed in a dark grey suit and tie, his shirt was blood red. Manicured from his beard to his fingernails, his hair was so oily that it looked wet. His eyes glistened like a cobra scales as he smiled at me with perfect teeth. "Sorry to have kept you waiting."

He didn't mean it. The man smelled human and clean. His blood type was O positive, and his body heat was normal. His pulse, his breathing, everything about him seemed ordinary. It was the aura of power surrounding him that was inhuman.

"Skin-rider," I said without thinking.

The man's smile dimmed. "This is how you greet someone you've never met? Charming. Clearly, everything I've heard about you is true, Tobias."

I knew, to the core of my being, this man was my enemy. "I take it you're Khalid?"

"Ah," he said as he leaned back in his seat. "So, it was Sweet Gwen that directed you to me. That's a relief. I would've been heartbroken had it been my Karen."

I knew he'd called her that just to get to me, but damn if it didn't work.

"So, how can I help your master, Tobias? I assume you're here to settle Gwen's debt?"