Personal Demon (Otherworld 8)

Jaz looked at me. "Hair's a problem. Small changes in color, texture, length, we can manage. Otherwise, it's dye and wigs. Build is even worse. Again, smal

l changes only. Lifts, posture, clothing, it can only do so much. If a guy is five foot eight? Six foot four? Forget it. Luckily, people aren't that observant. If you're off by an inch or ten pounds, no one notices."

All this he relayed as conversationally as he'd tell me how he got to work each morning. When he finished, he eased back in his seat and scratched his jaw, gaze slanted my way, expectant.

He did it. They did. Killed them. Their gang. Their friends. And now he sat here, chattering away, same old Jaz.

As I listened to him, the bile threatened to return. I sat as still as I could, ignoring his hopeful glances.

He adjusted his seat belt. Squirmed in his seat. Tapped his fingers against his leg. Once he reached over as if to touch me, then pulled back.

He wanted me to ask questions. He wanted to tell me more. I was disappointing him.

Good.

If I could push him far enough, maybe I'd piss him off. Then the mask would crack and I'd see what lurked beneath. I knew that wasn't safe--I should be mollifying him, not thwarting him. But I couldn't help it. I needed to see the monster. I needed to stop seeing Jaz.

"Glasses?" Sonny said after a few minutes.

"Oh, right."

Jaz reached under the seat and pulled out a bag. Inside were oversized dark sunglasses with side pieces. He handed them to me.

"Put them on, please."

And what if I don't, I thought.

But common sense won out and I took the glasses. I'd play the game while I looked for my chance to escape.

No, not escape. If I ran away, we'd lose them. If they could do what I'd just seen--a supernatural power, not a trick or disguise--then they could hide anywhere, as anyone. I had to stay with them until I could get help.

I put on the glasses and the world went dark.

"WATCH YOUR STEP."

Jaz took my arm. I resisted the urge to shake him off and let him guide me up three steps. The glasses were blacked out on the inside, as effective as a blindfold.

The click of metal on metal. Keys. Or lock picks. Jaz's thumb beat a tattoo on my upper arm as we waited. I caught a whiff of garbage left in the sun too long. The pressure of Jaz's fingers on my arm warned me we were about to move, then, "Okay, one more step up."

I presumed we were at a hideout until I walked through the doorway and a wave of chaos memory hit. The crack of buckling metal, as a figure leapt onto a car hood. The stink of burning streamers. The flash of a demonic dog's head rearing up in a doorway.

"The banquet hall," I murmured.

"You're good." Excitement crept into his voice as his fingers tightened. "What do you see?"

I shook my head. He led me forward at least twenty feet.

"If I know where I am, I can take off the glasses, can't I?"

"Not yet."

He stopped. The chaos in the air seemed brittle. Tension. A moment of silence, then Jaz broke it with a small cough.

"I'll..." he began.

"Take it from here," Sonny said.

"Yeah."