Chapter 8

Three Sides to Every Story

Lilah was on an absolute rampage. She didn't have much of a social life to begin with; but what she did have she preferred to enjoy uninterrupted. She had just been having an absolutely lovely time with a well-known but currently out-of-fashion young heartthrob. His stamina for physical pleasure was impressive; his patience for his fortunes to turn around was less so.

Lilah had, with sufficient inducement of her feminine wiles and the hint of a possible contract, gotten him into her bed. Not that a woman of Lilah's beauty needed much help to induce young beaus, but the hint of having an inside track on a new sure-to-be-a-hit film had set up her pillow talk. In the short breathers between passion, she had alternately stroked his ego, complained about the unfairness of the studio execs, and hesitantly revealed that her firm could reverse the young actor's present plight.

All that would be required of him is his soul.

A small price, really, considering all he'd gain in the transaction. That's how the pitch was supposed to go. She hadn't quite gotten to that part when her pager went off. She wasn't even tempted to ignore it. As a Senior Associate at Wolfram and Hard, she presented temptation, she did not succumb to it. Well, technically, she had succumbed to it once, a long time ago, and it had made her what she was now. But that's a different story.

Wolfram and Hart, as a firm, didn't deal in souls specifically. They preferred money, or power, or both. Souls were a necessary currency that was often required to get to the other two items. They bought and sold them like mortgage brokers – keeping the promising ones and discounting the deadbeats to any number of hellmeisters, celestial slavers, and Hollywood agents.

The attraction of her companion that night was his connectedness to the rest of the hip in-crowd of young Hollywood. What he got, they'd want. She figured that if she could bag him, the cast of the entire WB lineup would be hers in a matter of months. But the urgent page had interrupted that.

Unfortunately, the young actor wouldn't be calling her. She knew how these things worked. If she didn't have him signed to a Faustian contract by the time she had her clothes back on, she wasn't going to get him. Saying, "Sorry, gotta go. Could you please leave my apartment now?" tended to bruise their tender egos. The only alternative was to promise to return to him quickly and let him stay. She would never go that far. Empty promises: definitely; leaving a twenty-something has-been in her apartment where her neighbors might see: never.

As she'd driven in to the office, she'd gotten the run-down on what was going on. Their assault team had an entire weapons dump missing, and they'd concealed it for over twenty-four hours. They'd tracked down the thief – or so they thought – but by then one of the partners had heard about it and decided to call in Special Projects. As the ranking member of that team, Lilah got the job.

If there was one thing she absolutely hated, it was cleaning up somebody else's mess. The only good side to this was that the officer on duty was already dead – that was one less detail she'd have to see to. The thief was being brought to her, and she'd have to decide what further steps needed to be taken.

That was enough to put her in a bad mood. When she'd found out that Angel was already a step ahead of them, she went absolutely orbital. As she stepped from the elevator onto the Special Projects floor, she didn't think anything could possibly make her more upset. It was 2AM, she'd been interrupted, she was cleaning up someone else's mess, and Angel was involved.

"Where is he?" she snapped at her assistant, Brendan, who had obviously been called out of bed to join her. She was mildly curious as to whose bed it had been, but she was too distracted to ask.

"Conference room three," he responded, but held up his hand when she turned to go there. "Uh …" he stammered.

"What?!" she snapped back.

"There's someone waiting in your office," he spat out.

Lilah's voice dropped to a glacial whisper. "Who is it, and what is he doing in my office?"

Sweat beaded up on Brendan's forehead. "His name is Mr. Gray, and he was there when I got here."

"I keep my office locked," she snarled.

"It was still locked when I opened the door and found him there," Brendan replied.

"Piss!" she yelled. "Go keep him company and find out what he wants. I'll be there as quick as I can." She stormed off to conference room three.

Brendan returned to her office with extreme trepidation. He'd told her Mr. Gray was there; he hadn't yet explained just what Mr. Gray was. She'd find out soon enough.

Lilah calmly entered conference room three, a smile on her face. It was important in these sorts of situations to give the impression that you were in control – enjoying yourself, in fact. Truth be told, she did enjoy this part of it. She enjoyed toying with the victim, seeing them sweat and beg and squirm. She liked seeing the fear in their eyes, knowing that it was her that they feared. It made her feel powerful; it made her feel superior. It also contributed to her quarterly bonus, and she really wanted a new Jag this time.

The thief – a man known only as Dietrich – sat in one of the comfy conference room chairs, flanked by two armed guards. The scene was almost comical, because it was clear that Dietrich was neither comfortable nor in need of guarding. His face one massive purple bruise, a number of other showed through the rents and tears in his clothing. He cradled one arm up to his chest defensively; to Lilah's well trained eye, it appeared broken in at least two places. Blood stained his shirt in too many places to count.

His eyes were too swelled shut to see her, but at least one ear must have been functioning. As soon as she walked in, he began to plead. "Please," he croaked, his voice hoarse from screaming, "I know things. I can help you."

"Well, well, well," Lilah said, clucking her tongue like a disapproving mother hen, "It seems that you've already helped yourself. Unfortunately for you, you helped yourself to our things."

"We've found most of what was stolen," one of the guards replied. "It should be back in the storage area within the hour." His insignia said he was a captain, but his nervousness implied that the rank was very newly acquired. Maybe they got rid of more than just the watch officer, Lilah thought.

"You can't," Dietrich croaked.

"Why ever not?" Lilah asked him.

"My life," he croaked back. "Spare me and I'll tell you," he said.

Lilah considered this for a moment, and then looked at the Captain. "Does our friend here have any family?" she asked.

"Wife with two children," the Captain replied, checking his notes to be sure. "Mistress with one child. All are currently under surveillance."

"Good," Lilah replied. "Start with the youngest. Kill one per hour until our guest tells us what we want to know."

"Nooo!" Dietrich croaked out. "You can't be serious," he said again, whimpering.

"Captain?" Lilah asked, her eyebrow arched in query.

"The youngest is named Pavel," the Captain supplied. "He's the son of the mistress, a woman name Elana. They live at 1355 Summerset Place. Pavel is currently in the East rear bedroom, sleeping. His bed abuts the North wall of the house, below the window." The details sent Dietrich into sobs.

"Here's the deal, and it is the only detail we're going to offer," Lilah responded. "You start talking, right now, and we'll spare your family. And believe me, we can make their deaths very long, and very painful. And when we're done with them, we'll go back to work on you." She paused, letting her words sink in. "So?"

"The stash is booby trapped," Dietrich said. "I don't know how, but it is. That's why I called you guys to come get it, ya see. I didn't want to be the one sitting on it."

"So you didn't know it was booby trapped?" Lilah asked, somewhat confused.

"We didn't steal the stuff," Dietrich said. "Not really. It was another group, we just supplied logistics."

"Who was it?" Lilah asked, her mind focusing like a dog on the hunt.

"Somebody named Sheffield," Dietrich responded. "British guy. Works for someone named Arinoth. That's all I know – and I only know that from the Scottish guy, the one with the vampire."

Lilah got up. "Check it out," she told the Captain. "If his story washes, leave the family alone, but contact Brendan about what to do with him. If it doesn't, you know what to do."

"Roger that," said the Captain.

Lilah turned around and left the room. On her way back she grabbed one of the other assistants, a girl named Reena who was always trying to emulate Lilah. "Get the Shirrock priests on standby, I have someone that they'll probably need to send to their Eternal Tormentor tonight."

"I, uh," the girl stammered. She'd need to get over that if she was going to make it here. "The Shirrock priests are involved in that labor dispute and won't banish anyone until they get a new contract."

"That's right," said Lilah, remembering. "Well then get Doctor Nievrak."

"Dr. Nievrak is attending a conference in Bulgaria," Reena supplied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Crap!" Lilah exclaimed. "What do I have to do to get send somebody to hell tonight?"

"Well, we do have those Vlogrinas on retainer, and their contract expires at the end of the month," Reena suggested. "We might as well use them."

"Hmmm," Lilah considered. "Ritual dismemberment would be a suitable punishment. We're kinda playing roulette on which hell dimension he goes to after that, but does it really matter? Probably not." Lilah nodded her head in agreement. "Good thinking. Let them know they'll have a guest coming." She turned and walked into her office.

Brendan jumped up and attempted to stammer through the introductions. However, the being sitting there was enough to unnerve anyone. The figure was dressed in an immaculate suit – deep gray, with a black shirt and a gray tie. His face was black. Not black like a charcoal – black like shadow. No features were perceivable but his glowing blue eyes. His hair, if it could be called that, was flame.

He was sitting on one end of the small conference table in Lilah's office, facing the door. With her arrival he stood, gave a short bow, and introduced himself. "I am Mr. Gray," the voice – almost a normal voice – said formally. "You are Lilah, I presume?"

"Yes," she replied. "Glad to make your acquaintance."

"You would be the first," Mr. Gray replied dryly.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," Lilah continued, believing that no one was ever glad to make the acquaintance of Mr. Gray, but realizing that these creatures took bad manners quite personally. "There was a matter of great urgency that had to be attended to."

"The fool Dietrich and his association with the tools of Arinoth," Mr. Gray replied conversationally. "Yes, you are quite right, that needed your immediate attention."

"So you know about that?" Lilah said, giving her head a small shake in surprise.

"That's what I came here to speak about," Mr. Gray responded.

"You wished to speak to me about Dietrich and this guy Arinoth?" Lilah asked, realizing that she was quickly losing any semblance of control she thought she might have.

A sound not unlike a chuckle emerged from Mr. Gray. "No," he said, with a gentle shake of his head. He reached into the pocket of his suit and retrieved a rolled up parchment. Lilah noted that hands were made of shadow as well. "I didn't come to speak to you about it," he said. "I came to speak to your Senior Partners about it."

"The Senior Partners?" Lilah asked incredulously. "I don't even know how to speak to them," she said.

"Of course you do," Mr. Gray contradicted her, and then gestured towards the bowl and knife placed artistically on Lilah's credenza. "Simply place my written appeal in the To'no bowl, allow me to offer a sacrifice with the Ku'u knife, and the partners will respond."

"I should warn you, they usually respond with instant death," Lilah said. She opened the scroll and attempted to scan its contents. The writing was all sworls and jags, barely resembling any sort of alphabet. It also glowed, which she found somewhat fascinating. She looked back up at Mr. Gray and shrugged. "You're funeral," she said.

She retrieved the bowl and the knife and placed both in the center of the conference table. She placed the unrolled parchment with the glowing writing in the bowl, and then slid him the knife. Without a word, he took off his jacket and rolled up one sleeve of his black shirt. The arm beneath it was made of shadow. He placed his hand firmly on the table, drew back the knife, and in one swift stroke severed his arm at the elbow. Silver blood sprayed out.

Lilah watched in grim fascination as he set the knife down, picked up the severed arm with his good one, and tossed it into the large bronze bowl where it landed with a thud on top of the parchment. "I hope that grows back," she muttered.

"If it did," he replied, "it wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, now would it?" With that, the arm, the parchment, and Mr. Gray all disappeared in a blinding flash of light.

Lilah looked over at Brendan. "That's not how they usually die," she said, shrugging. "But it'll do." She picked up the bowl and knife and placed them back on her credenza.

"Send down to research and see what you can dig up on either Sheffield or Arinoth," she said. "Then get someone to come clean up this blood."

"That won't be necessary," came Mr. Gray's voice. Lilah turned to see him standing exactly where he had been, his suit still immaculate, and his arm neatly in place.

"You got your arm back," she observed.

"Your Senior Partners returned it to me, yes," he replied. "Professional courtesy," he added a moment later.

"Do they always return the sacrifice?" Lilah asked, curious.

"Usually among peers, yes," he said, walking around the table. "However, if the receiver greatly fancies it, it is not unknown to keep it. And one would never think of asking for its return." He stopped in front of Lilah, and in an odd gestured reached up to take a lock of her hair between two of his shadowy fingers. "Should they ever require my assistance, there are sacrifices which I would very much like to keep," he said, and Lilah found herself fervently hoping that such would not be the case anytime soon.

"Anyway," Mr. Gray said, shaking himself and releasing her hair, "you and I are to work together."

"We are?" Lilah asked suspiciously.

"Check your email," he responded. "The private account," he added. That was where orders from the partners would come. "We will help one another," he continued on when Lilah made no move towards her computer. "I will tell you about Arinoth and Sheffield," he said, pausing for a moment. "And you will help me deal with Angel."