Page 25 of The Devil in the Details

ZELDA

Revenge wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Yeah, Walker finally got what he had coming. When the police arrived, they arrested him as part of the conspiracy. Amiron Yan was livid, promising to sue everyone involved, including the police, for their slow arrival. He had enough money and influence to ensure that Walker would get the maximum punishment for his involvement.

Zelda sent Walker’s confession to the museum board, her former boss, and ex-friends.

Crickets.

Not that Zelda was expecting her old boss to crawl back, begging for forgiveness and offering her old job back. She was a realist. She did expect some sort of response from her friend group, a “Damn, I never liked that guy” or something. Anything. No one called with apologies or sent flowers, or whatever a person did when they realized they were wrong.

And Malgraxon? Ghosted. He ate her out in the elevator, cooked her a meal, and vanished. She knew they weren’t friends. She knew the bargain was the extent of their relationship. Strictly a business arrangement. She knew that, yet it still hurt.

Demons.

In case she hadn’t got the message that revenge might be a dish best served cold, it didn’t nourish the soul, her cat was missing. Building maintenance let themselves into her apartment to fix a water leak, and Fishtopher escaped. Of course, this happened to be a rain day. Why not?

It didn’t rain on Mars — not enough moisture in the atmosphere — but under the domes, an extensive irrigation system allowed a light misting rain to keep down the dust and water the greenery. All on a schedule, of course, but Fishtopher didn’t check his social calendar before bolting out the door. Or maybe he did, cats being contrary creatures and all.

So, in summation, Zelda still had a crummy apartment, still worked at a pawnshop, had no friends, got ghosted by a demon, her cat escaped, and now she was wandering out in the rain feeling miserable for herself. She was having a full-on pity party.

“Fish. Fish! Come on out,” she called, walking slowly. The alley behind her building — technically the space between the building and the tunnel wall — had lots of good places for a cat to hide, but Fishtopher was a fundamentally lazy creature. He excelled at napping and snacking. She hoped his spirit of adventure fizzled quick and he was hanging out nearby, waiting for rescue.

No joy. Zelda checked boxes, behind crates, peeked into the dumpster, and every dry place a chunky cat could squeeze himself into, but not Fishtopher.

It was too dark. The tunnel wall, while manmade, was uneven. There were too many shadows, and the security light at the building’s back barely illuminated the back door. Technically, the tunnel had a lighting system bright enough to replicate sunlight, but it was programmed for a day-night cycle. Currently, it was night. Only a few dim bulbs twinkled overhead, mimicking starlight.

She needed a flashlight. If her cat had scrambled up the rock wall to hide in a nook or cranny, she’d never find him in the dark.

“Come on, Fishtopher, it’s movie night. You can have your own bowl of popcorn,” she said, willing to bribe her cat with previously off-limits people snacks. Her original plans for the evening, since it was the Halloween season, had been to curl up on the couch and watch a classic monster movie or two.

“What are you doing in the garbage?”

Zelda nearly jumped out of her skin. Malgraxon emerged from the side of the building, striding out of the mist like he was a Victorian inspector on the prowl for a ne’er-do-well. He wore a heavy tweed greatcoat, the kind with the little cape that fell over the arms to the elbows. Another costume piece stolen from a theater department?

Heaven help her, she was glad to see him. She should be wary. Geneva warned her that once a Daimoni got its claws in, they didn’t let go, and here he was, materializing in her moment of crisis.

He tilted his head, studying her. “You are upset. I do not like it.”

“My cat ran away,” she said, fully intending to be a calm, rational adult about the situation, but her voice wobbled.

Mal nodded. “We will locate him.”

Gratitude swept over her, and it was too much. All of it. Her chest felt too tight and too big, like she was being squeezed from the outside while pressure built inside. The frustration at barely eking by, the disappointment that getting revenge on Walker didn’t magically restore her former life, and the general misery of being in the rain. Malgraxon would demand something ridiculously expensive, her soul or firstborn child, and she’d pay. She loved that chunky cat, and she couldn’t stand the thought of him frightened in the rain.

Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, which was mortifying.

Mal took off his coat and settled it over her shoulders. He angled his umbrella to cover them both.

“Thanks,” she muttered. The coat was warm from his body heat and had a pleasing weight. It felt like a hug, which threatened more tears.

“Do not thank me.”

“How much is your help gonna cost?” She wiped at her eyes, struggling to control the emotions playing havoc in her chest.

“This is a gray area,” he answered, which was no answer at all. “Locate your feline via his collar.”

“That was the first thing I tried,” Zelda said with a ragged sigh. Fishtopher wore a collar with a tracker, as required by law, but it was the indoor model. She didn’t have the budget for the all-weather, waterproof model. Fish was a house cat. He wasn’tsupposed to be out in the weather. “It doesn’t work in the rain. He was in this general area before the link died.”

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