Dark Vengeance Read online

  “Something evil we should know about?” Phoebe frowned.

  “Only if poverty counts.” Paige set the coffeepot back on the warmer. The timing of the household crisis couldn’t have been worse. Considering the less than cordial beginnings of their relationship, she and her older sister had grown very close. She hated having to beg off when Piper needed her. “I’m working the dinner shift at the Fifth Street Shelter.”

  “Didn’t you work there last week?” Leo asked.

  Paige nodded. “Yeah, but Doug was shorthanded this week, too.”

  “So you volunteered again.” Piper stuffed the coffee-soaked napkins into her mug. “Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s working too hard.”

  “Maybe you should take your own advice, Paige,” Phoebe said. “Don’t you have enough to do with a full-time job and demon demolition?”

  “It’s only for one more week,” Paige insisted. “Doug found some new people, but he needs someone with experience around to show them the ropes.”

  “I’m sure Doug Wilson has plenty of volunteers who know the shelter’s routine, Paige,” Piper said. “You’re the only Fifth Street regular who has to risk life and limb to keep the world safe from evil creeps with magical powers.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t tell Doug that,” Paige countered. She had chosen a career in social work because she wanted to help others: families that had fallen on hard times, the mentally and physically disabled, and those who just couldn’t seem to catch a break. Being exposed to the horrors that malevolent supernatural evil tried to inflict on the world had made her even more sensitive to ordinary human misery. She simply couldn’t turn her back on the less fortunate when she could make a difference.

  Phoebe fixed Paige with a no-nonsense stare. “You can’t single-handedly save every unfortunate in the mortal world, either.”

  “Maybe not, but I can try.” Beginning with poor, old Stanley Addison, Paige thought as she picked up her handbag and headed out the door.

  Chapter

  2

  “Where are you, Leo?” Piper tucked the phone under her chin and glanced at the clock under the bar as she finished drying a large pitcher. “I’m expecting the delivery truck any minute.”

  “Sorry, but the toilet in the upstairs bathroom overflowed,” Leo explained.

  “How did that happen?” Piper asked, but she could guess. Paige used toilet paper for everything from blowing her nose to blotting her lipstick. She disposed of it in the toilet bowl and let the soggy wads collect to limit flushes and save water. The conservation effort was commendable, but the old plumbing couldn’t handle it. Piper had explained the problem, but Paige hadn’t broken the habit yet.

  “Don’t know, but it made a huge mess.” Leo sounded as exasperated as Piper felt. “A few minutes ago it was high tide in the upstairs hall.”

  Piper groaned and turned her back to the stage, where the band was unpacking their gear. She spoke softly so her voice wouldn’t carry in the empty club. “What’s that going to cost?”

  “Nothing,” Leo assured her. “I used the plunger and got the toilet unclogged. I’ll be there as soon as I finish mopping up.”

  “Just don’t make a dramatic entrance,” Piper cautioned, referring to orbing, the Whitelighter’s instantaneous mode of transportation.

  “With a Vengeance is setting up to audition,” Piper explained. Although Leo seemed to know when the coast was clear to orb, they’d had a few close calls. Some magical events were easy to explain to mortal witnesses. People coalescing out of swirls of sparkling light wasn’t one of them.

  “Whatever happened to names like the Star Lighters?” Leo asked, but he didn’t expect Piper to answer. “What kind of band are they?”

  “According to Mason Hobbs, alternative Celtic,” Piper said. “Whatever that is.”

  Piper dropped the damp bar rag in the sink and looked toward the stage. She had been using this booking agent since opening the club, and Mason had never let her down. She hoped this wouldn’t be the first time.

  With a Vengeance was new to the San Francisco area and willing to work at a reasonable rate while they established a local rep. They had also been available on short notice to replace Rock Bottom. Composed of three handsome young men and a gorgeous young woman, the group looked hot enough to fit in with P3’s clientele. If people could dance to their music, Piper wouldn’t hesitate to give them the three-day gig.

  Karen Ashley, a tall blonde with blue eyes and fair, flawless skin, picked up a primitive round drum. Holding an eight-inch-long stick with rounded ends, she moved her wrist in a fast up-and-down motion. Both ends of the stick alternately struck the drum, creating a rolling rhythm that conjured images of ancient warriors.

  Karen adjusted the tautness of the drum’s head, then set the instrument on a wooden rack. As she shoved the stick into her back pocket, she caught Piper’s eye and smiled with a curt nod. “It’s called a bodhran.”

  “Oh.” Piper nodded back, her smile strained. The drum demonstration had been impressive, but somehow she couldn’t picture the cool club crowd getting into a primal groove. At least not one that lasted through four sets.

  “We’ll be ready in a couple of minutes,” Karen said.

  “Whenever. Just start playing. I’ll hear you.” Piper’s tight smile vanished as she turned her back again. “My day’s not getting a whole lot better, Leo,” she whispered into the phone. “Could you hurry?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” Leo said. “Half an hour tops. Relax, okay?”

  “Don’t push it, Leo.” Piper hung up, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths.

  How was she supposed to relax when one thing after another had gone wrong all day? Since she had forgotten to mail the reorder form for checks, she had run out before she had paid all the bills. Going to the bank to purchase money orders had delayed her arrival at P3. Although she had gotten to the club before the band, she hadn’t expected to spend time wiping down the bar. The bottles and glassware were supposed to be cleaned at closing, but last night’s bartender had locked up as soon as the last customer was out the door. Dixie had left a note apologizing because her emergency baby-sitter was a high school girl with a strict curfew.

  The way my luck is running, it isn’t likely that Dixie’s regular sitter will be back on the job tonight, Piper thought as she slid the last stemmed glass onto a suspended rack. At least Dixie had found a substitute sitter and had shown up for work. All things considered, that was a truckload of good fortune.

  “Are you sure you won’t have a seat, Piper?” Karen asked. Her low, sultry voice held just a hint of Irish inflection. “We’re ready to have a go.”

  “Perfect timing.” Piper wiped her hands on her jeans. The bar chores were done, and the delivery truck was late. That’s all the excuse she needed to sit down with a soda.

  “You’ll love us.” Daniel Knowles adjusted the boom microphone over his keyboard. He was average in height and muscular with curly dark hair, and his dazzling smile and twinkling brown eyes gave him a larger-than-life aura. “Everybody does.”

  The ladies will definitely love Daniel, Piper thought as she filled a glass with ice and ginger ale from the bar spray gun. For some inexplicable reason, arrogance worked for good-looking musicians.

  “Where did you play before San Francisco?” Piper sat down and propped her feet on a small, cylindrical table.

  “In Kenny’s—” The bass player, a somber brooding type called Lancer Dunne, scowled when the drummer jumped in.

  “Kennebunkport.” Brodie Sparks tossed his head to flip back a shock of red hair that fell over one eye. His sensuous mouth hovered on the brink of a smile that never quite happened. Tanned and freckled, his expression suggested a carefree bad boy with a mischievous sense of humor. “And other harbor towns up and down the northeastern coast.”

  “You’re a long way from Maine,” Piper said, not quite believing the shtick. She didn’t know if Kenny’s was a neighborhood bar or someone’s garage. If the
band could play, she didn’t care.

  “That’s the truth,” Lancer said. He fingered a quick riff on the heavy bass strings, then moved back as Karen stepped up to the center mike.

  Daniel and Brodie gave the blond beauty their undivided attention too. Piper didn’t have to guess who was in charge.

  “Would you hand me my flute, Piper?” Karen pointed at a wooden case lying on the table between Piper and the stage.

  “Sure.” Piper got up, but she wasn’t pleased. If she hired With a Vengeance, she’d have to make it clear that the job didn’t come with gofer perks.

  Piper lifted the wooden flute out of the velvet-lined case, noting that it looked like an antique. The delicate design carved into the burnished wood scrolled around the airholes, incorporating them into the pattern. The craftsmanship was superb.

  “Thanks.” Karen smiled as she stooped and wrapped her hand around the flute.

  Piper suddenly felt light-headed. She let go of the instrument and gripped the edge of the stage, but the sensation passed quickly. As she walked back to her seat, she realized she hadn’t eaten anything except toast for breakfast. A handful of bar peanuts would solve that problem.

  After the audition, Piper thought as Karen played a long, low, sorrowful note. Food seemed unimportant as she sat back down to listen.

  The melancholy sound seemed to penetrate the core of Piper’s being, touching the deep sadness that lingered in the wake of Prue’s death. The disturbing sense of despair that momentarily overwhelmed her retreated as the flute shifted into the frolicking strains of an Irish jig.

  “Much better.” Piper raised her soda glass in salute, then settled back with a contented sigh. She chuckled to herself, wondering why she let so many inconsequential things get to her. Piper, Paige, and Leo had been right to point out that her self-imposed stress was dangerous and counterproductive. Life was way too short to spend so much of it being harried and angry.

  Although the folk tune was completely inappropriate for P3, the lilting melody gave Piper’s spirits a much-needed lift. Smiling and tapping her foot, she decided to sit through the rest of the audition to be polite, but the booking agent would have to find her another band. Thirty seconds later, she realized that wouldn’t be necessary.

  With the sustained sound of the flute hanging in the air, Brodie suddenly ripped into the drums, pounding out a vibrant beat. Lancer came in with an undercurrent of throbbing bass. Piper moved with the rousing rhythms, completely engaged as the sultry sound of Karen’s contralto voice mingled with Daniel’s dynamic chords.

  Relieved because she wouldn’t have to reject the band after all, Piper finished her soda and set down the glass. She didn’t want the group’s disappointment or anything else to spoil the joy brought on by her sudden realization of the obvious: She didn’t have to let small problems ruin her life. Swaying in her chair, she lost herself in the music and the moment.

  The song ended when the four musicians stopped playing in precise, abrupt unison. Before Piper had adjusted to the sudden silence, the group eased into a slow, sensual ballad that would bring potential couples closer together on the dance floor. They ended with a fast song that had just recently hit the charts. Without a doubt, With a Vengeance was a keeper.

  “Yes!” Piper applauded with unbridled enthusiasm.

  “That means you love us, right?” Daniel asked with an exaggerated, quizzical expression.

  Piper burst out laughing. “You’re great!”

  “So when do we start?” Karen jumped off the stage and placed the flute in the velvet-lined case lying open on a nearby table. Given the careful way the young woman handled the instrument, Piper assumed it was among her most prized possessions.

  “Yesterday would have been good,” the dour bass player said. “My stomach is grumbling a second bass line.”

  “You’re hungry? Are you that broke?” Piper spoke without thinking and covered her mouth to stifle another laugh. Although Lancer had used humor to make a point, she didn’t want the band to think she was amused by their dire financial situation. She coughed to quell her giggles when she noticed that Karen was watching her intently.

  “We could use the job,” Daniel said.

  “We need the exposure,” Karen quickly added. “Mason said that P3 is one of the most popular dance clubs in the city.”

  Pleased, Piper glanced around the warehouse basement she had transformed into a favorite hangout for San Francisco’s discerning singles. “We’re packed every night we have live music.”

  Daniel poked his arm. “Yep, I’m live.”

  “And hired.” Piper picked up her soda and took a long swallow to wash down another bout of chuckles. Apparently, now that she had decided to lighten up, she had opened a flood-gate of suppressed mirth.

  “We start Thursday, then?” Karen asked.

  Piper nodded. “Nine to one, Thursday through Saturday.”

  “Excellent!” Brodie tossed a drumstick in the air and caught it behind his back.

  “I’ll tell Mason to write up the contract.” Karen snapped the flute case closed and tucked it under her arm. “Would you mind if we set up Wednesday afternoon and have a short practice session?”

  Piper agreed without hesitation. “Anytime after two. My security system is state of the art if you want to leave your gear.”

  A horn honked in the alley.

  “Just push everything behind the backdrop.” Piper waved toward the curtains at the back of the stage and set her glass on the bar. “I’ll be out back if you need me.”

  Piper’s buoyant mood persisted as she headed toward the back door. Since Leo had been delayed, she wasn’t even upset that the delivery truck was later than promised. She smiled as she pictured her desperate husband trying to stem the flow of toilet water before the upstairs of the old Victorian mansion was awash. He knew that, left unattended, a flood would have caused expensive repairs and more stress, neither of which her overwrought nerves could stand.

  When Leo popped out of the storeroom door, Piper gasped and clutched her chest. “I said no dramatic entrances!”

  “But I just—” Leo frowned, puzzled, and then snapped a horrified glance toward the storage room. “Is somebody in there?”

  “No.” Piper shook her head and giggled.

  “What’s funny?” Leo asked, looking more confused.

  “Uh—I’m not sure.” Piper held out her hands, palms up, and shrugged. “Guess I’m just feeling good because I decided to take Paige’s advice. I do worry too much about everything.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” Leo relaxed, grinning.

  “No more, though.” Piper covered her mouth, but she couldn’t silence her laughter. “Sorry, but the new bass player had me cracking up.”

  “It’s hard to imagine someone from a group called With a Vengeance being funny,” Leo said.

  Piper mimicked Lancer’s pathetic tone as she unlocked the rear doors. “‘My stomach’s grumbling a second bass line.’”

  Leo blinked. “I don’t get it.”

  Piper was still giggling so hard, she had trouble trying to explain. “Stomach grumbling…like a bass sound?”

  Leo shrugged.

  “Think about it.” Piper threw open the back doors.

  “I understand the joke,” Leo said as the truck driver handed Piper an invoice. “I just don’t think it’s that funny.”

  “That’s okay, dear.” Piper smiled.

  Paige locked the trunk of her lime green VW Bug and pocketed the keys. Her purse was safer in the car than anywhere in the Fifth Street Shelter, an old building on the edge of the harbor warehouse district.

  As long as no one takes the car, Paige thought as she hurried across the gravel parking area.

  Doug Wilson joked that sooner or later one of the shelter’s destitute regulars would steal the small safe in his storeroom office. As a precaution against the inevitable, he didn’t keep anything valuable in it.

  “You’re late,” Doug barked in a gravelly vo
ice when the door slammed behind Paige. He shook pepper into a huge pot of beef stew.

  “By two minutes!” Paige glanced at the wall clock above the massive stove. It was just past five thirty. “I had some last-minute stuff to finish on Stanley’s application for Hawthorn Hill.”

  “Excuses, excuses.” Doug wiped his hands on a white apron stained with various unidentified sauces. He glanced back with a surly scowl. “Can’t depend on anyone anymore.”

  In his late forties with a lean, wiry build, the shelter supervisor was not nearly as unappreciative or as tough as he looked. He couldn’t hide the caring reflected in his gray-green eyes, and he wore the bristle of a beard as a badge of defiance. Rumor had it that he had once been a high-tech computer guru. Doug wouldn’t talk about his past, except to say that he was unemployable because he only shaved when he felt like it.

  “So did the application get sent?” Doug asked, trying to sound casual.

  “It went out in the five o’clock mail.” Paige grabbed another clean but stained apron off a hook and slipped it on. “Is Stanley here, yet?”

  “No, but Kevin Graves is.” Doug waved a spoon toward the serving counter that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

  A young man sat on a stool at the far end of the counter stuffing paper napkins into metal holders.

  “So that’s the new guy, huh?” Paige asked, trying not to sound too interested. With short blond hair, blue eyes, a perfect profile, and a killer tan, Kevin Graves was handsome in a classic Californian way. Not the usual volunteer type, Paige noted, intrigued.

  “That’s him,” Doug said.

  “What’s his story?” Paige asked. “Did the beach police revoke his surfing privileges?”

  “No.” Doug dropped a lid on the stew pot and cast her a wry look. “He was injured in a construction accident, and it left him with a permanent limp. Until he finds another line of work, he wants to do something constructive with his time.”

  “Oh.” Blushing, Paige glanced back at the young man and noticed the wooden cane hooked on the counter beside him. For a witch on the demonic world’s most wanted list, her powers of observation left a lot to be desired. “Do I look as ridiculous as I feel with my foot in my mouth?”