Page 40 of Heart Over Heels

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Mercer

A week had passed since my first shift at the Dollhouse, long enough to get my bearings. I knew the building now—the maze of dressing rooms, the tucked-away stairwell, and the side hall where the bass thudded through the wall like a telltale heartbeat. I’d learned everyone’s names and the general rhythm of the place, how the dolls rotated in and out of the spotlight, and how Darby kept the wheels turning with a clipboard and a smile.

He was a small wonder. The few times I’d arrived early for my shift, I watched him dart about, checking the music, lighting, and makeup, and managing to be flawless himself by the time I unlocked the front doors. He entertained customers, served drinks, and took to the stage for jaw-dropping dances. A whirlwind in the club, but the good kind. Sweeping up after everyone and carrying away anything that was less than perfect.

And I’d managed to get on Colette’s good side, which felt less like fortune and more like survival. As head of security, she wore the title well. In a sleek suit and heels sharp enough to double as weapons, she carried herself with enviable confidence. I’d also learned she was a hellhound—news that made the hair on myneck prickle—though looking at her I would never have guessed. No sharp, savage teeth, no smoke curling from her skin. Just a woman with a smile that promised she’d see trouble coming three steps ahead and meet it head-on.

Of course, a hellhound on payroll at a demon club wasn’t exactly headline material. Certainly not the kind of revelation Antonella would care to hear when she summoned me for my first post-assignment check-in. I imagined she expected secrets, something salacious enough to justify the risk of planting me there. Not an inventory of names, schedules, and how I’d been thoroughly charmed by the club’s manager.

I was about to find out for sure because I’d been summoned from my lunch break to Antonella’s high-rise office. Stepping off the elevator, I quickly spotted the angel maven in a swath of white. Her hair, gown, and wings all gleamed while the Strip sprawled behind her, bathed in an afternoon glow.

This time, she wasn’t alone.

“Mister James.”

Antonella’s greeting prompted the room’s other occupant to rise from his seat and turn toward me. Most everyone paled in comparison to an angel’s glory, but this fellow was particularly wretched. His thin hair was combed over the oily dome of his head, and he seemed sunken in the folds of a suit made for a much larger body.

I strode toward the pair of them and the sleek, modern desk and chairs around which they had gathered.

The man held a cigar between his teeth, and he puffed out smoke with each labored breath. He was pale enough that I wondered if he was unwell. Withering.

Antonella’s smile curved as she gestured to the stranger. “Mister James, allow me to introduce Maslow Umbric, former owner of the Devil’s Dollhouse.”

I knew that name. Colette had mentioned him, just last night in fact.

Maslow, she’d said, was a problem. Like a snake hiding under the porch or a ghost with unfinished business.

He used to bother the dolls. Colette hadn’t given me the particulars, but she summarized by saying that things were better without him around. Finding him here, in Antonella’s office, made the line I’d been trying to straddle seem to stretch as wide as the Strip itself. And I was stretching with it. Holding onto what I thought was good—a radiant casino ruled by a heavenly queen—while being drawn toward what was swiftly becoming more appealing—a smoky nightclub full of demon strippers.

When I looked again, Antonella and Maslow were smiling, and I felt myself doing the same.

Maslow thrust out his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister James. I understand you’re our man on the inside.”

“You could say that I guess.”

His palm was clammy and slick with sweat that clung to my skin after I let go.

On the opposite side of the desk, Antonella folded her wings.

There was space enough for everyone to sit, but no one did. My leg ached, and I fought the urge to massage it. It was still jarring to feel plastic and metal where I expected to find muscle and bone.

“You’ve had time to settle in.” Antonella’s colorless eyes pinned me. “What have you learned?”

To my right, Maslow watched like a vulture picking through a carcass.

If they wanted keys or alarm codes, I could truthfully say I’d been given neither. Every time I arrived, everyone else was already onsite. I assumed they showed up early to get dressedand warm up, but the glimpses I’d seen of the kitchen showed it surprisingly well stocked. Almost homey.

I divided a look between my interrogators. “Could you be more specific?” I may have sounded steady, but I was still shifting. Not as good at standing at attention as I used to be.

Maslow plucked out his cigar and leaned in. The smell of tobacco coasted on his breath. “Tell me, soldier, do they still dance like their lives depend on it? Or has Beckett turned them as soft as he is?”

My brow furrowed. “They dance just fine.”

Antonella tilted her head, and her bright, pitiless eyes narrowed. “We placed you there to do more than spectate, Mister James. I trust you understand the stakes.”