I reach for Doug’s shirt collar and yank him closer to the camera. “Yeah. Here he is.” I’m met with silence. “Fine, there are other buyers.” I shove Doug back into his seat, mouthing sorry when my head is turned away from the camera, and put the car in reverse.
The gates buzz and open. “Master Von Alston will see you.”
“Lucky me.” I put the car back into drive and ease through the gates. They snap shut like a mousetrap behind us.
After another ten minutes of driving through lush forestland, we emerge into sunlight and I’m convinced we drove out of London and into Jane Austen’s imagination. A massive golden-brick mansion sneers at us with stately disregard. White pillars decorate the exterior, and a series of fountains line an expansive, perfectly manicured green lawn. I half expect to see Mr. Darcy emerge from one of the ponds. “It is a truth universally acknowledged,” I whisper, “that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a demon.”
Doug snickers next to me. He’s remained carefully limp in case there are more cameras.
“Oh my gods. What if—what if it actually is Colin Firth? If Colin Firth wants to hunt you, I might let him. Well, I’d let early- to midnineties Colin Firth hunt you. I’ll have to see how he looks in person now.”
“I can support that.”
We pass a gatehouse where an armed guard watches us impassively. I assume that means I keep driving. The road leads around the back of the house, where stables have been converted to a series of garages. I pull to a stop, gravel crunching beneath my tires. I’ve parked in an area where it will be easy to pull out for a quick escape. I didn’t see any extra gates or anything, but the entrance gate will need to be reckoned with. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it.
An aged butler comes out a side door with a look on his face like he’s here to clean up after a dog. I try to keep my mouth still as I talk to Doug. “He doesn’t have anything to transport you. Be unconscious. I’ll carry you in. That way I’ll have to go wherever they want to take you, and we can get a look at whether they’re holding anyone else here.”
Doug raises one cracked patch of skin where his eyebrow should be, then shrugs.
I climb out of the car and stretch as though this is a normal day’s work for me. “Hey, Jeeves.” Without thinking, I’m not even pretending to be Artemis. I’m channeling the worst person I know: Honora. This morning she would have been the only person I could think of who would willingly sell Doug to someone else. But now I have to add Artemis to that list.
Grimacing and then scowling to cover the pain in my shoulder, I walk around to Doug’s side of the car and open the door. He half falls out, fully committed to the charade. I drag him free and throw him over my injured shoulder.
“Stake me,” I hiss. I am only using doors from now on.
“Is he damaged?” Jeeves asks.
“I’m careful with merchandise. He’s drugged.”
“Very well. Follow me. Try not to get …” Jeeves gestures vaguely, then settles on “Try not to get him on anything.”
Doug tenses in offense, and I shift him to cover.
“Right, no chaise lounges for the sticky demon. Now can we finish delivery so I can get paid? He’s not exactly a lightweight. And I’d like to talk with the boss about future jobs.”
“Follow me.” Jeeves turns, the tails on his coat so stiff and formal they don’t even move in the wind. He’d be at home in a period piece on the BBC. Doug and me, not so much. Though that’s one I’d actually be interested in watching. A Demon Dines in Downton.
I follow Jeeves through a servants’ entrance. The hallways are narrow, paneled in dark wood with faded wallpaper. The lights on the walls look like they were converted from gas lamps. We pass a large, modernized kitchen, then several hallways that lead off in various directions. Finally we come to a narrow stairway. I follow Jeeves up two flights, then down another hall, then down a flight, then up two more, then down another two, then up two more.
I’m pretty sure we’re going in circles. I keep waiting for a threat, but we haven’t seen a soul except this ancient relic of a British butler, and I’d sooner punch the Museum of London.
Finally, after going up three flights to the top floor, he leads me to a room at the end of another dim, narrow hall. He unlocks and opens the door. I follow him inside a room that’s been converted to a cell. Half of it is covered with bars, the walls are metal, and everything is bolted to a reinforced floor and ceiling.
“You can set him in there.” Jeeves points to the tiny cell portion, turning to observe me.
“I’m not putting him anywhere until I get paid.”
“Very well. Wait here.” He shuffles to the door. As soon as he’s gone, Doug and I will start snooping. Maybe we won’t have to talk to Von Alston at all, which will mean I haven’t disobeyed my mother’s wishes. Everyone wins. And with the pace the butler takes, we’ll have more than enough time to check the house out, rescue any stray demons, and bolt.
Jeeves steps over the threshold and reaches for the wall to steady himself. The panel he grabs makes a clicking noise. A thick set of bars slams down from the ceiling, blocking the door and locking us in.
He turns, looking me up and down. “You didn’t perspire.” His teeth are crooked and tea-stained, his smile downright gleeful.
“What?” I can’t believe this. The room has no window and no other door. Just that idiot butler, grinning at me.
“I led you around the entire manor carrying at least twelve stone’s worth of demon. And you look as fresh as you did when you got out of the car. You’re not human. Oh, he’s going to be so pleased.” Jeeves clears his throat, trying to regain some of his decorum. “We do not do business with demons. I’m afraid you’ll be joining us instead of getting paid.”
Doug has stopped pretending to be unconscious. I set him down and take a step toward the bars. “See, here’s the problem, Jeeves.”
He bristles. “My name is Smith.”
“Good to know, Jeeves. Here’s the problem. I’m not a demon.” I punch straight through the panel he pushed, grabbing and pulling out the wires. They spark and sputter … and nothing happens with the door.
“Nuts,” I mutter. It would have been so cool. Jeeves smirks at me.
“Wait,” Doug murmurs. He puts a hand on my shoulder and I stop where I was about to reach down and try to bend the bars by hand. “Listen, Jeeves. Go fetch your boss. He’ll want to talk to us.”
Jeeves sniffs dismissively. “I am going to announce your presence, but not because you requested it. I do not work for you.”
“Yeah, my butler is way better at his job.” I fold my arms petulantly.
“Handsomer, too. The way he fills out his waistcoat. Mm-hmm.” Doug nods, smiling dreamily.
“And did you see the dust on this wainscoting? I’m embarrassed for Jeeves just thinking about it. Righto, chap, stiff upper lip and all that. Not every butler can be a good one these days.”
He harrumphs away.
“What is wainscoting?” Doug asks.
“No idea. Why didn’t you want me to rip the door off? I’m pretty sure I can. Or I can go through the wall again.” I rub my shoulder in anticipation of the pain.