by Kingsolver
I surveyed myself. I hurt all over. My blouse was torn, revealing my bra to anyone who looked at me, and my skirt had been ripped completely off, leaving my bottom half clothed only in panties and ripped pantyhose. I had no idea where my shoes were. I mourned that skirt. I had few clothes other than t-shirts, jeans, and the clothes I wore to work. The skirt was only a week old, and that was the first time I’d worn it.
“I’ve been told that before,” I replied, “but at least I don’t have orange hair.”
She laughed and crouched down next to me. Reaching out and grasping my wrist, she held up my arm so she could see it better. I winced at her fingers’ light pressure. My whole forearm was one big bruise.
“I think we should take you in to the emergency room and have you looked at,” Mackle said.
“I’d rather see a healer.”
She nodded. “I copy that, but I don’t happen to have one in my hip pocket. You know anyone I can call?”
I shook my head. “Can I at least get some clothes?” I might not have been much to look at, but a number of male cops were looking anyway.
Mackle glanced around at the men staring at us. “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. Need some help?”
I stuck out my other hand, and she pulled me to my feet. My purse was lying near the front door of the building, and I found my key. The two flights of stairs seemed to be a lot longer and steeper than I remembered, but eventually I limped down the hall to my apartment. After I unlocked it and lowered my ward, Mackle followed me in.
The pantyhose went in the trash, but I figured the blouse would make a good cleaning rag after it was washed. Looking at myself in the mirror, I had a hard time finding flesh that wasn’t bruised. I pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of my work slacks because they were looser than my jeans. Then we spent what seemed like hours climbing down the stairs to the ground floor.
When I sat in Mackle’s car, I discovered that my bruises and pain included parts of me I couldn’t see. I leaned back in the seat gingerly and found a lump on the back of my head that sent flashes of pain shooting from it when I touched it.
“What happened?” she asked as we pulled out onto the street.
“I asked Blair to take me home to change before we went out to The Devil’s Den. When I got out of his car, the vamps ambushed me and tried to drag me to their car. They grabbed me before I could shield.”
“Any idea why?”
“Rodrick Barclay doesn’t take rejection well.”
“What?” She turned to glance at me, then faced the road again.
“He asked me to dinner tonight, and I stood him up.”
“Well, that wasn’t very friendly of you.”
“I know, but he’s not my type. How big a mess was it at Flynn’s place?”
“Total chaos. At least three humans dead and seventeen in the hospital with various injuries. Dead vamps all over the place.” She sighed. “Maybe some of them aren’t dead, but they would be if they were human. No way for us to even figure out who the two sides are. They weren’t wearing name tags.”
“Is Flynn okay?”
“Yeah, he survived.”
“Then the whole thing was a waste of time. The only purpose for that kind of attack would be to kill him.”
“Not for lack of trying,” Mackle said. “Tried to burn his club. We got the fire put out, but it will be months before he can reopen.”
“I hope he had insurance that covers vampire attacks.”
Mackle laughed. “You’re funny, ya know?”
“It helps with the tips when you’re a bartender. The press show up?”
She sobered. I waited while she took an on-ramp to the freeway. Once she had merged with traffic, she said, “Oh, yeah. TV, radio, newspapers, including helicopters. Then some mages showed up and cast an illusion over the whole thing, turning it into a warehouse fire. The official word is there was a gas explosion. I don’t know what we’re going to do about all the witnesses inside the place.”
“I’m sure there’s a spell that can make them forget it all.”
She shot me a sharp look. “Yeah, probably, but my ethics don’t stretch that far. If Frankie’s do, then I’ll probably have to look for another job.”
I had been raised with the Illuminati’s ethics, and Mackle’s response took me by surprise. The Illuminati would have wiped people’s memories without a second thought.
“Even if it exposes the shadow world to normals?” I asked.
“I took this job to help people, not cause them more harm,” she answered.
That gave me something to think about, and my respect for Detective Mackle went up about a thousand percent. I decided I should spend some time learning about ethics and morality, and examining the differences between what was considered normal and how I was raised.
“So, what do you do?” I asked.
“I’ve no idea,” she said. “That’s above my pay grade. What I can’t figure out is why the vamps would do that. Humans knowing about all of us is probably worse for the vampires than it would be for witches or mages. Normal people might be suspicious of us, but they’ll be scared of the vamps.”
“With good reason. You and I don’t eat them. As to what the vamps are doing, I think it’s all Rodrick Barclay, and he’s crazy,” I said. “He needs to be stopped.”
The doctors at the hospital took a bunch of x-rays, gave me a day’s supply of painkillers and some cream to rub on the bruises, and told me to take an ice bath for two or three days. I resolved to find a real healer. The experience left me convinced that human doctors were descendants of the Inquisition. I was pretty sure a shaman in the third world could have done better.
Mackle waited for me so she could drive me home.
“Can you take me to Rosie’s?” I asked her.
She pursed her lips, then said, “I’m not sure a drink is a good idea with those painkillers.”
I started to shake my head, but it hurt. “Not alcohol. We sell a number of potions and poultices. I trust those a lot more than what those quacks gave me. At least I know who made them. Besides, I’m not staying at my place tonight. I’ve had enough of vampires for one evening.”
The bartender working the night shift was a witch, and she was very familiar with the mini-apothecary shop we hid under the bar. She pulled a selection of potions and poultices for me and marked them on the inventory sheet.
“I don’t have that much money,” I protested, looking at the bagful of stuff she put together.
“You can pay for them as you get the cash,” she said. “If you don’t use them all, bring the unopened ones back. Steve won’t mind.”
I thanked Detective Mackle and bid her a good night, then went upstairs to Sam’s apartment. Following the bartender’s instructions, I downed three of the potions, split one of the poultices into four parts and taped them to the worst of my injuries, then fell into bed. Sleep enveloped me, and I didn’t even dream.
The bedroom Sam put me in had one of the few windows in the apartment, and I opened my eyes to bright morning sunlight streaming into the room. I sat up and was pleasantly surprised that I could. I ached, but the debilitating pain of the previous night was gone. Whatever was in those potions was pretty damned effective. The major thing I felt was ravenous. There was a huge hole in my stomach that was screaming to be filled.
I crawled out of bed and took a long hot shower. My bruises weren’t as swollen and had started turning that ugly yellow-purple-black that bruises do as they fade. I put on the clothes I’d brought with me and went downstairs. Sam was behind the bar, and he smiled as I sat down.
“How do ya feel, lassie?” he asked.
“Pretty good, considering how bad I felt last night.”
Sam chuckled. “You mean Wednesday morning. It’s Thursday. You’ve been out for the past thirty hours.”
I blinked at him, then had the presence of mind to shut my mouth.
“Uh, Thursday?” I wondered what in the hell was in those potions.
<
br /> “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. I think my stomach is ready to divorce me.”
“Full Irish?”
I nodded. “With a large orange juice, please.” Rosie’s full Irish breakfast was about fourteen hundred calories, and that seemed like a good place to start.
While I waited for my food, Sam told me about the festivities I’d missed at The Devil’s Den on Tuesday night. A lot of it I had already heard from Detective Mackle.
“Lieutenant Blair was discharged from the hospital this morning,” Sam said. “Frankie Jones came by last night to see how you were doing and said Blair was fine. The vamp who attacked him only did some superficial damage, but he’ll have a scar to remember it by.”
“Did you see Flynn?” I asked.
“Yes, I had a chance to speak with him. Fit to be tied, he was. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one of the bloodsuckers so angry. Usually, they just get silent and cold when they’re pushed too far, but he was beyond that. I wouldn’t take a bet that both he and Barclay survive past the end of the week.”
A customer came in and leaned on the bar. Sam strolled over and waited on him. While he was gone, one of the kitchen boys brought out my breakfast and I dug in.
“What did I miss while I was asleep?” I asked when Sam came back. “Did The Devil’s Den hit the news? Any word of attacks on either Gallagher or Montgomery?”
“Nay. Now that you mention it, though, it wouldn’t surprise me. The fire was on the news, including television, but Frankie Jones is one helluva liar.”
“If either Gallagher or Montgomery have any brains, they should be considering an alliance and offering fealty to Flynn,” I said. “I can’t imagine having to live under Barclay.”
Sam shrugged. “From what I’ve heard, a lot of the really old vamps are crazy. Barclay just seems to be getting an early start. Something about the vampire personality makes them more comfortable with insanity than with uncertainty. They’d rather have a madman controlling their lives than have no chieftain at all.”
He leaned down with his elbows on the bar. “And keep in mind, lassie, you see only the face Flynn wants you to see. You don’t know how he treats those who are in thrall to him. Vampires are cruel as much to their own kind as they are to their prey.”
I knew that Sam had to be over a hundred, possibly a lot older than that. His mother had come to the U.S. in 1854 as a grown woman and died a hundred years later. The Illuminati had trained me from adolescence to respect and listen to my elders, and Sam was the wisest person I knew. I took his warning and thought hard about it while I finished my meal.
CHAPTER 7
Sam offered me the night off, but I told him I would work. Mackle had told the emergency room to send the bill to the DA’s office, attention Francis Jones, but I didn’t know if they would pay it or I’d still get hit with it. That and the potions would put a serious dent in my bank account.
After discussing those potions with Sam, I went back upstairs and drank half a vial from two of them, then took a nap. When I woke again, Sam drove me over to my apartment, where I packed more clothes in my suitcase and then we went back to the bar so I could change for my shift.
Luckily, the bottoms of my feet were unharmed, and standing was actually more comfortable than sitting down.
About an hour after dark, Harry Gallagher walked in and took a seat at the bar.
“Just couldn’t stay away?” I said in greeting. “I’m flattered. Or is it just our whiskey selection?”
He laughed. “A little bit of both. A glass of Midleton, please.”
I poured him a shot in one of our special glasses Sam kept for top-shelf spirits and set it down. He picked it up and spent a full minute inhaling the scent with his eyes closed.
“Sometimes, one must savor those things that make life worth living,” he said.
He opened his eyes—those incredible deep green eyes—and turned them on me. “How are you doing? I heard you had a bit of a dustup the other night.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be more entranced with his eyes or his accent. I took a deep breath and said, “And where would you be hearing such gossip? Draped over the backyard fence whilst hanging your laundry?” My Irish accent wasn’t that good, but I had spent six months in Ireland on an Illuminati mission, and from listening to Jenny and Sam so much, I thought I had the lilt and cadence down pretty well.
Gallagher must have thought so, too, because he laughed. “Oh, a wee little birdie dropped by and told me.” His face grew serious. “You seem to be all right, save for that spot on your cheek. Were you hurt?”
I shrugged. “Banged up a little bit. Bruised. Nothing that a few potions and some time won’t fix. I am surprised to see you out, though. I would think you’d be hunkered down and staying close to home.”
“Considering some people’s willingness to exceed the bounds of propriety, I’m not sure it matters,” Gallagher said and took a sip of his whiskey. “Obviously Rodrick doesn’t consider an invitation necessary before coming to call.”
“So, it’s not just me who thinks Barclay was responsible,” I said.
Gallagher snorted. “I certainly have nothing to gain by pissing Flynn off, and it’s not Eileen’s style.”
“Oh? What is Miss Montgomery’s style?” I asked.
He smirked at me. “She’d hire someone like you to slip into Rodrick’s bed and stake him at dawn.”
“Why, Mr. Gallagher, I do find that incredibly offensive,” I said in my best Southern drawl—which probably wasn’t very good, but I’d seen Gone with the Wind only once.
He took another sip of his whiskey and winked at me over the rim of the glass. “Miss Scarlett,” he said, “your sense of humor is showing.”
As long as he was in a good mood, I decided to take a chance.
“I read somewhere that when vampires go to war, they increase the number of,” I almost said victims but caught myself, “people that they turn. Is that true?”
Gallagher’s deep green eyes—like pools I could fall into and drown—went flat, and his body stiffened. His lips twitched, as though he was contemplating biting me for my impertinence, and I could almost feel the anger my question had caused rolling off him. Then he relaxed, but his eyes didn’t change.
“What a quaint idea. Now, why would we do that?”
I knew a vampire couldn’t feel mage magic, so I shielded before I said, “Increase the cannon fodder? I doubt seriously that Barclay sent any of his favorites into battle against Flynn.”
Before he could answer, I was distracted by someone entering the club, and he turned to see what I was looking at.
I always felt a brush of magic when people came into the club, an artifact of the magical ward Sam had cast on the door. I glanced over to the door and was surprised to see Frankie Jones and Detective Mackle. Frankie headed straight for the bar but faltered as she saw Gallagher. She recovered quickly, though, and chose a seat that left two empty stools between them. Mackle sat on her far side.
Frankie was the kind of woman who radiated self-confidence. At six feet tall and athletic, with dark-brown skin, she stood out anywhere she went.
“What can I get you, ladies?” I asked.
“A cosmo for me,” Frankie said.
I raised an eyebrow at Mackle. “Margarita.”
As I turned away to mix their drinks, I heard Frankie say, “I would think you’d be staying in, helping your employees stack sandbags.”
“Good evening, Frankie,” Gallagher said in return. “Nice to see you out and about.”
I glanced back toward them and saw Gallagher down his drink, drop some bills on the bar, and walk out.
“Are you and Mr. Gallagher old friends?” I asked as I served the ladies their drinks.
Frankie chuckled. “When I was a prosecutor, I took him to court for bribing city officials to get a waste-hauling contract, and made sure all the court appearances were in the middle of the day. We ended up winning a six-million-dollar settlement, bu
t I didn’t get a criminal conviction. Shall we say, he’s not my biggest fan.”
“Frankie, you’ll never get any dates if you’re mean to the boys,” I said with a grin.
Frankie grinned back and Mackle laughed.
Mackle watched Gallagher until he disappeared through the door, then swung back around and said, “You gotta admit, though, he is top-notch eye candy.”
“Oh,” Frankie said, “I’ve seen other men that good-looking, and without the baggage.”
“Name one,” Mackle said.
Frankie shrugged. “I don’t know. The magazines didn’t name the models in the ads.”
We laughed, and then I asked, “Are you ladies dining with us tonight?” Receiving two nods, I handed them menus and moved down the bar to fill other customers’ orders.
After Frankie and Mackle finished their dinners, I cleared their dishes and asked, “How’s Lieutenant Blair doing?”
“He’s on leave for a week,” Frankie said. “Damned vamp took a chunk out of his neck, and the doctors ordered him to rest. And you? You seem to have recovered rather well, considering what Cindy told me about your injuries.”
“Cindy?”
Mackle grinned and toasted me with her glass. “That’s me.”
“Oh. Well, the potions I took did a pretty good job of healing me, but I’m still rather sore, and it will take a while for all the bruises to fade. But if it wasn’t for Blair, I have no idea where I’d be, or what condition I would be in.”
“Well,” Frankie said, “I got that information on missing persons that you asked Blair about. Starting around four or five months ago, there has been a spike in reports, and it’s not getting better. So, why did you ask about it?”
I told them about my theory that the vampire contenders for control of the city were recruiting and turning new vampires.
“I’m willing to bet that a lot of those people who went missing tended to hang out either at The Devil’s Den or at Necropolis,” I said. “I’m rather curious as to what you do if a person is reported missing, and they later turn up sporting a new set of fangs. Do you arrest the vamp who turned them for murder?”
