Blood Lite

by Jim Butcher

  the Mick had grown very attached to his cloaca. He'd miss it something awful.

  A fourth croquette had entered, followed by the two biggest croquettes Mick the Mick had ever seen. Only these weren't turkey croquettes, these were chipped-beef croquettes. This was serious.

  The new guy sounded like Nate the Nose, but didn't have a nose. And what was a nose anyway?

  "Oh no," Willie moaned. "I don't want to eat Micks cloaca."

  "I meant your own, jerk!" the newcomer barked. "But I have a hernia—" "Shaddap!"

  Mick the Mick recognized him now: Nate the Noodge, pimp, loan shark, and drug dealer. Not the sort you lent your bike to.

  Wait... what was a bike? "What's up, Nate?"

  "That brick of product I gave you for delivery. I had this sudden, I dunno, bad feeling about it. A frisson of malaise and apprehension, you might say. I just hadda come by and check on it, knome sayn?" The brick? What brick?

  Mick the Mick had a moment of panic—he had no idea what Nate the Noodge was talking about. Oh yeah. The, product. Now he remembered. "Sure, Nate, it's right in here."

  He led Nate to the kitchen, where the brick of product lay on the big center table.

  Nate the Noodge pointed a tentacle at it. One of his guards lifted it, sniffed it, then wriggled his tentacle fringe that it was okay. Mick the Mick had expected him to nod, but a nod would require a neck, and the guard didn't have a neck. Then Mick the Mick realized he didn't know what a neck was. Or a nod, for that matter.

  What was it with these weird thoughts, like memories, going through his head? They were like half-remembered dreams. Nightmares, more likely. Pink flowers, and giant lizards, and stepping on some mice that looked like a lot like the Capporellis up in 5B. Except the Capporellis lived in 5B, and looked like jellyfish. What were mice anyway? He looked at Willie to see if he was just as confused.

  Willie was playing with his cloaca.

  Nate the Noodge turned to them and said, "A'ight. Looks like my frisson of malaise and apprehension was fer naught. Yer cloacas is safe . . . fer now. But you don't deliver that product like you're apposed to and it's casserole city, knome sayn?"

  "We'll deliver it, Nate," Willie said. "Don't you worry. We'll deliver it."

  "Y'better," Nate said, then left with his posse.

  "Where we supposed to deliver it?" Willie said when they were alone again.

  Mick the Mick kicked him in his cloaca.

  "The same place we always deliver it."

  "Ow!" Willie was saying, rubbing his cloaca. "That hurt. You know I got a—hey, look!" He was pointing to the TV. "The Toad Whisperer is on! My favorite show!"

  He settled onto the floor and stared.

  Mick the Mick hated to admit it, but he was kind of addicted to the show himself. He settled next to Willie.

  Faintly, from the kitchen, he heard Nana say, "Oh dear, I was going to bake a cake, but I'm out of flour. Could one of you boys—oh, wait. Here's some. Never mind."

  A warning glimp chugged in Mick the Mick's brain and puckered his cloaca. Something bad was about to happen...

  What had Nate the Noodge called it? "A frisson of malaise and apprehension." Sounded like a dessert, but Mick the Mick had gathered it meant a worried feeling, like what he was having right now.

  But about what? What could go sour? The product was safe, and they were watching The Toad Whisperer. As soon as that was over, they'd go deliver it, get paid, and head on over to Madame Yoko's for a happy ending endoplasmic reticulum massage. And maybe a cloac job.

  The frisson of malaise and apprehension faded. Must have been another nightmare flashback.

  Soon the aroma of baking cake filled the house. Right after the show, he'd snag himself a piece.

  For some reason he thought of an odd-shaped cookie with a prediction inside. What was it called? A prediction pastry? No, something else, something similar.

  Who cared? Predictions never came true. The only thing you could count on was Nana's cake. That was always good.

  An Evening with Al Gore

  Charlaine Harris

  Toddy Makepeace had seen Al Gore speak the previous spring, and a year later she hadn't gotten over it. Toddy, born and bred a realist, was quite aware the former vice president hadn't particularly noticed her when he'd shaken her hand, though he'd looked slightly startled that her grip was so firm. But he'd nodded in approval when she'd told him she intended to join in his fight against people who trashed the planet.

  Toddy's husband, Mark, joined in Toddy's new crusade with fervor. He'd seen too many changes in the world to deny that Earth was being damaged and polluted at an alarming rate. Mark and Toddy had no plans to have children, but they did hope to continue enjoying their happy life together. A big part of that happy life was the pleasure they took in their extended exploration of the Earth's remaining wilderness. Having plenty of forests left in the world, preserving an environmentally safe wilderness, was vital to the Makepeaces.

  Through the years, Toddy had gradually assumed the role of moral compass for the pair, while Mark had slipped into a more logistical role. They played to their strengths. Toddy had been recycling newspapers, cans, and plastics for years, she rode a bicycle while she went about her errands in their historic New England village, and she and Mark shared a shower quite often to cut down on the amount of water they used. Mark made sure the accumulated recyclable material made its way to the correct collection site, kept the bicycle in good repair, and enjoyed the showers very much.

  Toddy was both thorough and conscientious, and after her inspiring connection with Al Gore, she decided it was time to step up her slapdash "green" efforts a notch or two. Or three. She began passing out leaflets at the nearest mall. She put indignant handwritten notes under the windshield wipers of gas-guzzling SUVs. She established a compost heap at the back of the lawn of the charming Victorian house where she and Mark lived.

  When Mark was sure Toddy wasn't around, he made a face at the smell of the compost heap. He quietly hired a teenager who lived nearby to come and turn the compost, a job Toddy had assigned to Mark. (Same difference, Mark figured. He'd been charged with getting the job done, and it was.) Perhaps Mark wasn't quite as passionate about confronting litterers and polluters as his wife, but he was always present to haul her out of the resultant trouble. Toddy had no problem at all pouncing on a woman who tossed her cigarette butt to the sidewalk; in fact, Toddy had no problem tackling the CEO of a local company that had been caught dumping industrial waste into a remote

  pond.

  Since Toddy had followed litterers, pointing out their transgressions at the top of her lungs, and also had quite literally tackled the CEO, the police had come to call at the Makepeaces' house more than once. Every time, Toddy's appearance always bought her some grace without Mark's having to intervene. Toddy was five feet tall, pleasantly round and bosomy, and had a head full of red curly hair. She certainly didn't look her age; in fact, Toddy looked like a naughty teenager who might need to be spanked for her own good.

  Following the tackling incident, as Mark watched two patrolmen fall under Toddy's spell in ten minutes, he had a hard time concealing his smile. He'd been watching men fall for his wife for years. How could he blame them? Mark, who was tall and dark and unremarkable, thanked his lucky stars that he and Toddy had found each other in a most unlikely encounter. They'd been separately hiking the Appalachian Trail, and in a remote area they'd happened across a wounded deer some careless hunter had neglected to kill. Their eyes had met over the pitiful bleeding animal, and they'd been together ever since.

  On this cool evening, when the policemen had departed, the Makepeaces settled in their gazebo with a bottle of wine. Some couples who'd been together as long as Mark and Toddy had lost the spark, but the two had the good fortune to still find each other exciting. They, enjoyed the evenings they got to spend alone together. It was dark, and they lit the candles on the table. The backyard of the old house wasn't huge, but it had been carefully planted t
o provide privacy.

  "I feel confident Fenton won't press charges," Mark said after they'd each had a sip from their glasses. It was a cool Massachusetts evening, and their cobblestoned village, Bracefield, was quiet and serene, just the way they liked it.

  Toddy laughed as if such a concept was ridiculous. "Of course he won't," she said. "Think of how silly he would look if he did." She took a deep breath and her smile faded. "Mark, I have to confess. I'm getting bored with Bracefield, even with town," she said, and Mark sat up straighter at the change in topic.

  Bracefield lay outside Boston, which was very convenient for shopping trips. There was a state park within easy driving distance where the two spent a lot of time, and they'd made a network of friends in the area. But Toddy seemed quite serious.

  "We've been here a long time. Maybe we need a change of scene. We might have been more aware of this global crisis earlier if we lived in a more enlightened country, or if we were in less of a rut. Why don't we try living somewhere with a more positive attitude toward 'green' issues?"

  "Like where?" Mark set down his glass. Toddy, as always, was challenging him to rise to the occasion.

  "Oh, I don't know . . . one of the Scandinavian countries. They're much greener than the USA. Sweden?"

  "That's an idea," Mark said slowly. "We'd have to learn the language. But we could do that." He found himself unexpectedly enthusiastic. How long had they lived in Bracefield? At least twenty years, he thought. As much as he adored the old house they'd restored, maybe it was time for a change. And as long as they were making a change, why not make it a really big one? Why move to somewhere equally predictable', like Miami or Seattle? "In fact, Toddy, that's a wonderful idea," he said and watched his wife's face glow. The more Mark considered the excitement of learning a new country, coping with daily living there, making new friendships and achieving new goals, the more stimulating he found the prospect.

  "But I don't want to just slink away," Toddy said. Mark understood they'd entered phase two of the conversation. "I want to leave with a big bang. Like Bilbo in The Lord of the Rings."

  "You want to slip on an invisibility ring and disappear in a giant explosion?"

  Toddy laughed and refilled their glasses. "No, Mark. Not exactly. I want to do something for America before we go. I've always been a patriot, you know that."

  "What form do you want this service to take? You know I'm willing to help you do whatever you want."

  "You're so sweet," Toddy said. She laid her hand on his. "I'll think about it and let you know."

  While Toddy considered her patriotic duty, Mark began to wind down the Makepeaces' extensive financial affairs. He knew Toddy; she wouldn't change her mind.

  One evening after their housekeeper, Mrs. Powers, had left, Toddy put her arms around Mark's neck. "We're going to have a party," she told Mark. "A really special party. I think we'll need Purcell and Deena Collville to help us."

  Mark raised his eyebrows at that. Purcell and Deena were old friends they hadn't seen in ... well, years, Mark realized when he thought about it. "That'll be nice," he said, though rather doubtfully. The Collvilles were almost as wealthy as Mark and Toddy, and they were an attractive couple, but Mark had never been as fond of the two as Toddy was. Deena and Purcell were a little cold-blooded for his taste. But since he loved Toddy, he began thinking of practical arrangements.

  "Tomorrow morning, I'll ask Mrs. Powers to make up the guest bedroom. And to put those extra-heavy drapes up so they can sleep in." The Collvilles might have changed in the years since the Makepeaces had seen them, but their sleeping habits were surely going to be the same.

  "Thanks, darling," Toddy said. "Oh, please tell Mrs. Powers not to disturb anything on our office table. That's where I'm working this week."

  The next time Mark went into the office to take care of his e-mail, he found the round table in the center of the room covered with lists. Toddy had moved her laptop from her desk to the table, and she was staring at the screen with an air of preoccupation. She was searching for something on Google, and when she found it, she read intently.

  "No, not quite," she muttered and Mark smiled. Toddy talked out loud when she was hot on the trail of a project. She was so engrossed in her research that she didn't even notice when Mark left the room after making a few phone calls and sending some e-mails.

  When Purcell and Deena drove in that night, they were treated to the best bottle of wine Mark's cellar could produce, and Toddy continued to be generous with the drinks all evening. Purcell and Deena were even more upscale than Mark and Toddy, in fact, sometimes Mark thought the two verged on pretentious, though he'd never tell Toddy that. Purcell was tall, slim, and gray-haired. He generally wore striped dress shirts, starched and rolled up to his elbows. He thought this made him look egalitarian. Sometimes he even tied his sweater sleeves around his neck as if he were posing for a J.Crew ad. Deena carried a purse that cost eight hundred dollars. Mark and Toddy knew this because Deena told them.

  Despite the Collvilles' affectations, they were good company, all in all. Mark found himself enjoying their visit more than he'd anticipated. While their guests took a stroll down the town's well-lit streets, Toddy popped An Inconvenient Truth into the DVD player. Mark could tell she was humming with anticipation. When Purcell and Deena returned to the house, relaxed and smiling, the moment was right.

  "Toddy has something for you to watch," Mark said. "We think it'll interest you."

  After the Collvilles had watched the film, Deena said, "I had no idea. Purcell, I think we're horribly out of

  touch."

  Purcell nodded, looking rather self-consciously grave and thoughtful. "What do you want us to do?" he asked Toddy.

  She began to explain.

  By the time she'd finished, the Collvilles were on board with Toddy's plan of providing a grand gesture to mark the end of the Makepeaces' years in the United States.

  Preparations began in earnest the next day.

  Toddy had assigned Mark the job of looking for a house in Sweden. This was the kind of challenge Mark relished, so soon he was knee-deep in small boxes from Rosetta Stone and packets of papers from real-estate agents. He and Toddy had agreed that they'd wait to put their house on the market after they were out of it, which saved them a lot of grief. Mark reflected for the millionth time that having money smoothed out many jagged corners, as he examined a picture of a house for sale outside Malmo. Swedish homes tended to be wooden and barnlike, at least the ones he'd been viewing online. Mark thought Toddy would find them amusing. He was searching for a large home in the middle of a forest, which wasn't going to be easy to find.

  Purcell was acting as social adviser. He was helping Toddy assemble the guest list and he was experimenting with the wording of the note of invitation.

  Deena was working on assembling the paperwork Toddy and Mark would need in their new life. This involved a lot of trips into the city to consult with people who kept a very, very low profile. She was also arranging for the staff they'd need.

  One night Mark went into the study to track down a crossword puzzle book, and Toddy called him over. "Darling, look at this man," she said, holding up a picture of a very heavy forty-year-old with big jowls and lots of blond hair. "Doesn't he look like he needs enlightening?"

  "Of course," Mark said promptly. "And I'm sure he'd be honored to be on the guest list for your party. Isn't that James Jeffrey Jamison, who imports rare woods for luxury homes?"

  "Yes, he's responsible for the clear-cutting of thousands of acres of rainforest," Toddy said grimly. But then she caught sight of Mark's worried face, and she smiled up at him, her blue eyes sparkling. "We're going to have a great party, we're going to show the film, and then we'll ask them for contributions. I know they'll be glad to write great big checks, even Jamison. We'll persuade them!"

  Deena was sitting on the other side of the table beside Purcell. She said, "Let's invite Catriona McHughes." She held up a magazine. "See? She's the editor. She's a
lways printing articles about global warming for her readers, but she just flew from New York to Chicago in her private jet for a party! What a criminal waste of fuel!"

  Purcell seemed to enjoy seeing his normally uninvolved wife on fire about a cause. Even a near narcissist like Purcell could be swayed by the passion of a beautiful woman. This was not the Collvilles' usual style, so the novelty of it intrigued both of them. They'd probably drop their new cause fairly quickly, but Mark realized their help was essential in ensuring the Makepeace farewell party's success. He would hate it if Toddy were disappointed the

  least little bit.

  "Are we having the party here?" Mark asked his wife the next time he passed through.

  "Oh no," she said. "We're making arrangements in the city. I don't think some of these people would come if they had to drive out to Bracefield. They don't know us, after all; though I'm sure they can find out we're rich. I'm counting on that. Anyway, we couldn't possibly handle all those cars. Deena, we need a competent driver for valet

  parking."

  Mark was beginning to appreciate the scope of Toddy's planning. He didn't want to sound mistrustful, but he had to ask one final question. "You're asking them to bring the invitations with them?" he said.

  "Oh yes," Toddy said. "It's the best means of preventing gate crashers."

  "Have you hired the caterer?" Purcell asked. "They'll expect good food."

  "I'm on it," Deena said. "Sweetheart, did you know Toddy and Mark are friends with Anna Clausen}" Purcell looked suitably impressed, though neither he nor Deena was a foodie. Anna Clausen was the hottest caterer in the Boston area.

  "Is Anna Clausen an, ah, environmentalist like you two?" Purcell asked, conscious that Mrs. Powers was still in the kitchen.

  Toddy nodded. "Yes," she said. "She sure is. In fact, she's donating her time to the cause."

  When the guest list had been gone over with a fine-tooth comb, Toddy and Purcell tossed it on the table in front of Deena and Mark with an air of triumph. The list was short—only twenty-six names. "Why so few?" Mark asked.