leaping lightly to the floor, walking over to Mallory, and rubbing her hip against his shoulder. “So it doesn’t count.”
“You see?” said Winnifred, shrugging hopelessly. “She’s quite beyond redemption.”
“This city’s got nine million people in it,” replied Mallory. “Only two of them didn’t desert me when I went up against the Grundy two weeks ago. You’re one of them; she’s the other. She stays.”
Winnifred sighed and went back to sipping her tea, while Felina hopped onto the desk and curled her remarkably humanlike body around Mallory’s feet, purring contentedly.
“Do you like the Grundy?” asked Felina after a moment’s silence.
“How can one like the most evil demon on the East Coast?” replied Mallory. “Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “he makes a lot more sense than most of the people I’ve met here, but that’s a different matter.”
“Too bad,” purred Felina.
“What’s too bad?”
“It’s too bad you don’t like the Grundy.”
“Why?” asked Mallory suspiciously.
“Because he’s on his way here.”
“How do you know?”
Felina smiled a very catlike smile. “Cat people know things that humans can only guess at.”
“I don’t suppose you know what he wants?” continued Mallory.
Felina nodded her head. “You.”
Mallory was about to reply when a strange being suddenly materialized in the middle of the room. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, with two prominent horns protruding from his hairless head. His eyes were a burning yellow, his nose sharp and aquiline, his teeth white and gleaming, his skin a bright red. His shirt and pants were of crushed velvet, his cloak satin, his collar and cuffs made of the fur of some white polar animal. He wore gleaming black gloves and boots, and he had two mystic rubies suspended from his neck on a golden chain. When he exhaled, small clouds of vapor emanated from his mouth and nostrils.
“We need to talk, John Justin Mallory,” said the Grundy, fixing the detective with a baleful glare as Felina arched her back and hissed at him and Winnifred backed away.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” answered Mallory, not bothering to take his feet off the desk.
“I am selling nothing,” said the Grundy. “In fact, I have come as a supplicant.”
Mallory frowned. “A supplicant?”
“A client, if you will.”
“Why should I accept you as a client?” asked Mallory. “I don’t even like you.”
“I need a detective,” said the Grundy calmly. “It is your function in life to detect.”
“I thought it was my function to save people from mad dog killers like you.”
“I kill no dogs,” said the Grundy, taking him literally. “Only people.”
“Well, that makes everything all right then,” said Mallory sardonically.
“Good. Shall we get down to business?”
“You seem to forget that we’re mortal enemies, sworn to bring about each other’s downfall.”
“Oh, that ,” said the Grundy with a disdainful shrug.
“Yes, that.”
“The battle is all but over. I will win in the end.”
“What makes you think so?” said Mallory.
“Death always wins in the end,” said the demon. “But I have need of you now.”
“Well, I sure as hell don’t have any need of you.”
“Perhaps not—but you have need of this , do you not?” continued the Grundy, reaching into the air and producing a thick wad of bills.
Mallory stared at the money for a moment, then sighed. “All right—what’s the deal?”
“John Justin!” said Winnifred furiously.
“You just said that we needed money,” Mallory pointed out.
“Not his money. It’s dirty.”
“Between the rent, the phone bill, and the grocery bills, we won’t have it long enough for any of the dirt to rub off,” said Mallory.
“Well, I won’t be a party to this,” said Winnifred, turning her back and walking out the front door.
“She’ll get over it,” Mallory said to the Grundy. “She just has this
“You see?” said Winnifred, shrugging hopelessly. “She’s quite beyond redemption.”
“This city’s got nine million people in it,” replied Mallory. “Only two of them didn’t desert me when I went up against the Grundy two weeks ago. You’re one of them; she’s the other. She stays.”
Winnifred sighed and went back to sipping her tea, while Felina hopped onto the desk and curled her remarkably humanlike body around Mallory’s feet, purring contentedly.
“Do you like the Grundy?” asked Felina after a moment’s silence.
“How can one like the most evil demon on the East Coast?” replied Mallory. “Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “he makes a lot more sense than most of the people I’ve met here, but that’s a different matter.”
“Too bad,” purred Felina.
“What’s too bad?”
“It’s too bad you don’t like the Grundy.”
“Why?” asked Mallory suspiciously.
“Because he’s on his way here.”
“How do you know?”
Felina smiled a very catlike smile. “Cat people know things that humans can only guess at.”
“I don’t suppose you know what he wants?” continued Mallory.
Felina nodded her head. “You.”
Mallory was about to reply when a strange being suddenly materialized in the middle of the room. He was tall, a few inches over six feet, with two prominent horns protruding from his hairless head. His eyes were a burning yellow, his nose sharp and aquiline, his teeth white and gleaming, his skin a bright red. His shirt and pants were of crushed velvet, his cloak satin, his collar and cuffs made of the fur of some white polar animal. He wore gleaming black gloves and boots, and he had two mystic rubies suspended from his neck on a golden chain. When he exhaled, small clouds of vapor emanated from his mouth and nostrils.
“We need to talk, John Justin Mallory,” said the Grundy, fixing the detective with a baleful glare as Felina arched her back and hissed at him and Winnifred backed away.
“Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying,” answered Mallory, not bothering to take his feet off the desk.
“I am selling nothing,” said the Grundy. “In fact, I have come as a supplicant.”
Mallory frowned. “A supplicant?”
“A client, if you will.”
“Why should I accept you as a client?” asked Mallory. “I don’t even like you.”
“I need a detective,” said the Grundy calmly. “It is your function in life to detect.”
“I thought it was my function to save people from mad dog killers like you.”
“I kill no dogs,” said the Grundy, taking him literally. “Only people.”
“Well, that makes everything all right then,” said Mallory sardonically.
“Good. Shall we get down to business?”
“You seem to forget that we’re mortal enemies, sworn to bring about each other’s downfall.”
“Oh, that ,” said the Grundy with a disdainful shrug.
“Yes, that.”
“The battle is all but over. I will win in the end.”
“What makes you think so?” said Mallory.
“Death always wins in the end,” said the demon. “But I have need of you now.”
“Well, I sure as hell don’t have any need of you.”
“Perhaps not—but you have need of this , do you not?” continued the Grundy, reaching into the air and producing a thick wad of bills.
Mallory stared at the money for a moment, then sighed. “All right—what’s the deal?”
“John Justin!” said Winnifred furiously.
“You just said that we needed money,” Mallory pointed out.
“Not his money. It’s dirty.”
“Between the rent, the phone bill, and the grocery bills, we won’t have it long enough for any of the dirt to rub off,” said Mallory.
“Well, I won’t be a party to this,” said Winnifred, turning her back and walking out the front door.
“She’ll get over it,” Mallory said to the Grundy. “She just has this
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