Pyromancist (Seven Forbidden Arts 1)

“Cléane de Villiers.”

“Cléane is her second name,” he said without blinking an eye. It was her. He couldn’t explain how he knew. He just knew.

“She only comes in on weekends. She’s here every Saturday and Sunday.”

It was only Tuesday. He couldn’t wait that long. “Do you know where I could get hold of her?”

The girl looked uncertain again. “Look, I don’t mind telling you that she helps out here, but asking me for an address is another thing altogether, not that I have it anyway.”

He wanted to shake the information out of her, but he had to play it cool. “I’ve waited long enough. What are another few days?”

“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

He grimaced. “You have no idea.”

She scrutinized him. “You seem sincere.”

“More than you could ever know.” About the wrong things.

She sighed. “I only know she works in a bar in Rosebank. It’s called Blue or something like that.”

“Thanks.” Getting to his feet, he fished a roll of bills from his back pocket and left it on her desk. “That’s a donation for your organization.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?”

“I’m sure you’ll put it to good use,” he said as he made for the door.

“Aren’t you going to wait for your receipt?”

“I’m in a hurry.”

“I’ll give your receipt to Cléane on Saturday,” she called after him.

He paused in the frame. “She won’t be back.”

“Oh my God, you’re taking her home.” The girl sighed. “That’s so romantic.”

In a screwed-up kind of way. “If she calls, don’t tell her about my visit.” He winked. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“You’ve got it,” she said with undeserved stars in her eyes.There were two bars with the word blue in the name—Dark Blue and Monday Blues. Monday Blues turned out to be a fancy cigar bar on the top floor of a business building. The doorman assured Joss there were no female waiters. It was strictly a business club with male servers to avoid problems. That left Dark Blue.

There was no name sign for the bar at the address he’d looked up on the internet. He had to ask in several nearby shops before someone pointed him in the right direction. It was on the ground floor of a poorly maintained block of flats. The windows were painted black. He didn’t like the look of the place.

When he pushed on the door, it swung inward. A smell of stale smoke assaulted his nostrils. The inside was dimly lit. A man mopping the floor glanced up. Another one drying glasses behind the bar said, “We’re closed.”

He let the door swing shut and took stock of the room as he approached the bar. The tables were pushed against the wall and the chairs were stacked, presumably for the cleaning. He flicked a gaze over the cheap bottles of hard liquor lining the bar shelves.

“I said we’re not open for business,” the bartender said, putting the glass aside and dumping the cloth in a drip rack.

Joss walked up to the counter. How could Clelia work in a place like this? How could she serve drinks to drunken men who’d ogle her? Did their hands wander?

He balled his fists and flexed his fingers. “I’m looking for someone.”

“I can’t help you,” the bartender said.

“I didn’t ask if you could help.” Joss leaned forward. “I’m telling you to.”

“If you knew who owned this place, you’d go look somewhere else.”

“Does it look like I care about the owner of this dump?” Joss asked, taking his revolver from the back of his waistband.

The man lifted his hands. “Whoa. I just work here.”

“Stay where you are,” Joss said when the cleaner crept to the door.

“I just work here too,” the cleaner said. “I ain’t looking for no trouble.”

“Who else works here?” Joss asked, directing the question at the bartender.

“Me, him,” he nodded at the cleaner, “another barman, and a few waitresses.”

“I’m looking for a woman called Cléane de Villiers.”

“I can’t give up that kind of information. Who are you anyways?”

“You could say I’m a cop, the kind who doesn’t stick to the law.” Joss hopped over the counter and pushed the barrel against the man’s leg. “Will a bullet in your knee help to loosen your tongue?”

The man swallowed.

Joss lowered his mouth to the man’s ear. “Do you need a little extra motivation?”

“There’s a Chinese girl,” the man said.

“What does she look like?”

“I just said she’s Chinese.”

Joss released the safety. “Describe her, asshole.”

“Short. Black hair. Dark eyes. Hot.”

Pulling back his arm, Joss hooked his fist under the man’s jaw. The bartender staggered into the shelves, making the bottles rattle.

“What the fuck was that for?” the man asked, steadying himself.

“For disrespecting her.” For seeing her like that.

The second punch broke the barman’s nose.

Cursing, he grabbed his nose. Blood poured through his fingers. “I told you what you wanted to know. Why the fuck did you break my nose?”