No Humans Involved (Otherworld 7)

"She thinks he's into something darker than consensual bondage?"

"Zack seems to think May just doesn't like that part, but May's never struck me as the closed-minded sort. Live and let live, I think she'd say...unless she suspected not all the women in the group were as consenting as Botnick claims. Then she'd be all over it."

"Ah."

"Now, with the cover story you gave, it's this Disciples of Asmodai group that Zack thinks might interest us. But what I think you'll f

ind more interesting is something else about Botnick. One of Zack's informants in this underground told him that Botnick's been promising his group that something big is on the horizon. He's been hinting at a major breakthrough. Something about powerful magic. True magic."

I choked on my coffee. Jeremy patted my back.

"Sorry," Hope said. "I should have prefaced that by saying it sounds like a better lead than it probably is. According to Zack, Botnick has serious credibility issues. The guy's been promising his followers this 'true magic' for months. Zack thinks it's just a ploy to keep disgruntled Disciples from leaving the flock. He hasn't even mentioned it to May and the others--he had an embarrassing experience last year when he gave May a hot tip about Botnick that went nowhere and she was not pleased."

"Still sounds like something we need to check out."

DISCIPLES OF ASMODAI

HOPE FOUND WORK AND HOME ADDRESSES for Botnick. Jeremy, with his new prepaid cell, headed out on a tracking expedition. He invited me along, but I figured I'd only get in the way. Hunting was his area. I'd stay behind with Hope as she dug up details on the contact names the Ehrich Weiss Society had provided us.

We went to her office. No need to worry about being caught researching S & M cults on an office computer--in Hope's line of work, she'd get commended for putting in the extra effort.

No one else was working overtime. The office was barely larger than her apartment, and not nearly as clean. It stank of burned coffee, stale burritos and overflowing ashtrays that shot a middle finger to the state's workplace smoking ban.

There was one semiprivate room, presumably for the editor. In the main area, a central table was covered with papers, printers and fax machines. Four to six desks were crammed along the walls--it was tough to tell the exact number, the way papers spilled from one surface to the next, and cables snaked everywhere.

As we picked our way through the cable jungle, Hope explained that few of the staff worked from the office. Most spent their days on the streets, tracking down the latest celebrity infidelity or plastic surgery rumor.

We'd just settled in when Jeremy called to say he'd found Botnick closing down his shop. He'd follow him and see where he went.

When I hung up, Hope was tapping away at the keyboard. I glanced at a stack of papers. The top one looked like an edited printout of an article with her byline.

"Mind if I...?" I waved at the article.

"Enjoy. Oh, and I think we need to bring that particular case to the attention of the council right away. Definitely threat potential."

"Demon transmitters in breast implants?"

"Hey, at least it's not alien transmitters. You have no idea how sick I am of aliens--sightings, implants, abductions...it never ends. But demons? That's a lot rarer. Obviously the whole 'impregnating human women and creating a master race to take over the world' thing isn't working out for them. If I'm the best they can do, the apocalypse is in serious trouble. As a backup plan, controlling large-breasted women isn't too shabby."

"Start with subliminal messages in Hustler. Work your way up to Playboy...I can see it."

"If anyone can bring down the politicians in this country, it's hot women with breast implants."

I laughed. "Any more tips for the council in here?" I asked, pointing to the stack.

"Nah. There's a piece on a body found with fang marks. Cassandra and Aaron suspect it's a vampire's annual kill. They're investigating, and will give the careless vamp a slap on the wrist, but they told me not to bother killing the story. Corpses with fang marks? Passe. And even if my editor had wanted me to investigate it for a full-blown article, I could convince him it wasn't worth the inches. That's mostly what I do--not so much suppressing real supernatural stories as downplaying them and, in most cases, like this one, even that isn't necessary."

"Must be an...interesting job."

She grinned. "Oh, come on. Say it. Cheesy is the word."

"You're talking to a woman who pretends to contact the dead and returns the same message every time. Cheesy is my life."

"Fun, isn't it?"

I smiled. "Yes. Yes, it is."

We talked about her job as she continued to search for information, multitasking like a pro. After a half hour, Jeremy called again to say he was outside Botnick's home. He'd keep watch for another hour or so, see whether this was just a pit stop or if the man was settling in for the night.