Strangers in the Night

by E M. Jeanmougin

  He felt very cold.

  “Alcander!” He yelled his name again. Crimson was pacing circles in the living room, sniffing the air with a disgusted-looking expression on his face.

  He knew that look.

  “It was Shane, wasn’t it?”

  Crimson closed his eyes and lowered his head. “Yeah.”

  Drawing his gun, Jasper tore through the kitchen, screaming the vampire’s name again and again. His bedroom was empty, the comforter crumpled, corners untucked, the indent where his head had lain still wadded in the pillow. He ripped back the sheets, looking for tears or bloodstains or (God help him) a pile of vampire dust.

  Finding nothing, he ran for the lab instead.

  Apart from the glow of the many screens, it was dark. Three long glass vials of congealing synthetic blood still sat on the workbench. A readout beside them was flashing red with a warning and a scrolling text of data that Jasper couldn’t understand. He circled the lab twice.

  Still nothing.

  Shakily, he turned and ran back the way he had come. Crimson was still standing in the living room.

  “What are you doing?” asked Jasper. “Help me look for him.”

  “The trail is old,” said Crimson. “Four days at least, but maybe as long as a week.”

  “Then we have to follow it,” said Jasper urgently. “Which way did they go?”

  Crimson hesitated. “I think—” Somewhere, there was an urgent BANG, BANG, BANG, a fist on a door or countertop or wall. He and the werespider exchanged a wide-eyed glance and then bolted towards the source.

  The bathroom door had been bolted shut with two steel rods, a folding chair wedged beneath the handle.

  Jasper grabbed the chair aside, and Crimson slammed a sizable hole in the wooden panel, then gripped the broken pieces of timber, shredding them into chunks like they were made of Styrofoam. Jasper looked through the gap as the splinters fell away.

  Max was huddled on the other side, arms hugged around his chest, one eye black and swollen shut. A heavy-looking chain ran from his ankle to the radiator.

  Jasper swore and climbed through. “Max?”

  At first, the human cringed away, an elbow raised weakly over his face with his head turned, but when Jasper got closer, he finally seemed to recognize him. His eyes welled. He grabbed Jasper’s hand with both of his. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t stop him. It’s all my fault. I-I—”

  Jasper looked hopefully to Crimson. He stooped to get underneath the upper rod and stepped to get over the lower. Jasper stood aside to let the demon take a knee by the shaking human.

  “Shhh, hush now,” cooed Crimson. He pressed a finger to the other’s lips.

  The tears ran suddenly dry, and apart from the odd tremor, Maxwell stilled. He stared back at the werespider with an expression that was nearly bliss. He sniffed once.

  “Tell us what happened,” said Crimson.

  Now that he wasn’t all huddled up, it was easy to see his suffering hadn’t ended with the black eye. Several other bruises were visible, and there were probably several more that weren’t. “There was a man,” said Max, in a small voice.

  “Medium height, kinda scrawny, with a big hokey cobra tattoo and a goatee that sort of makes him look like the godsdamned devil?” asked Crimson.

  “Yes,” said Max in that same small voice, barely above a whisper.

  The werespider’s brows knit in a heavy scowl. “How did he get in the house?”

  Max’s eyes were still wide and staring, expressionless, but the tears welled in the bottoms of them, filled his gaze like a pitcher, and then overspilled down his cheeks. “I had to buy groceries,” he whispered. “It was daylight. I took a cab. I was on my way back and he was waiting outside the building, around the bay doors. He wanted me to let him in. I told him no.” He paused. Jasper went to the sink and wet a cloth with ice-cold water. “He grabbed me and I—” He stopped again.

  Jasper knelt on the other side of him and pressed the cool cloth gently to his swollen eye. Poor Max had never done any harm to anyone. Jasper bit his tongue to stifle the rage burning inside him.

  “I didn’t want to,” Max said. “He was like you.”

  Crimson shrank a little at the comparison and suddenly became very focused on retrieving a pin from the collar of his jacket.

  “What happened to Alcander?” asked Jasper.

  “It was daytime,” repeated Max. “He was asleep. The alarms go off any time someone enters the building. They woke him. He could have overridden the controls, made it so I couldn’t open the door no matter how many codes I put in. I don’t know why he didn’t.”

  “I do,” said Crimson. He jimmied open the lock around the human’s ankle. Where the shackle had been, the flesh was swollen and angry looking with thin gashes against the shinbone. “There’s cameras in the warehouse too. He probably saw the two of you together, thought you were in trouble.”

  Max swallowed hard. “Yes, maybe.” He rolled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a string of numbers in black marker. At the tail end was a little cartoon heart with a feathered arrow dashed through the middle of it. “I’m supposed to give you his phone number. I’m supposed to tell you to call him.”

  Jasper whipped out his phone and dialed the number into his keypad, but Crimson put a hand on his wrist before he could hit “send.”

  “How long ago?” asked Crimson.

  Max looked confused. “I don’t know. There are no clocks. It was… Monday? I think.”

  “It’s Saturday,” Jasper told Crimson, knowing that he would not know. He looked around the threadbare bathroom. He’d been stuck in here for five days, without food, without social interaction or any sort of external stimulation. That was bad enough, but Alcander had it worse. Alcander was stuck with Shane, wherever he was, and Jasper tried not to think about what he might have done to him or what he might be doing to him right now.

  “Hey, Max, listen to me, okay? This isn’t your fault. Shane’s… Shane’s a fucking asshole, okay?” Jasper should have shot him in the head instead. He had never wanted to kill anyone or anything so badly in his life.

  Max nodded miserably to show that he heard, and Jasper helped him up. He knew the human needed looking after and quickly, but he was anxious to call Shane and figure out what was going on. He found him fresh clothes and put him to bed with a bowl of canned soup, plenty of fresh water, an ice pack for his eye, and as many extra pillows as he could find. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for now.

  While he did this, Crimson sat in the living room, staring down at the screen of his phone, thinking.

  “What are you waiting for?” asked Jasper, coming back into the main room. “Call him.”

  “I was hopin’ to think of some way around it,” replied Crimson. “Or to figure out what he’s playing at.” He paused. “Guess there’s nothing to do but exactly what he wants.”

  Jasper didn’t like the grave sound of this, but there seemed to be no other way. He went and sat beside Crimson on the couch. The werespider dialed the number, then switched it to speakerphone while it rang.

  “Howdy, sugar!” The cheerful voice was like nails on a chalkboard. Jasper pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth and clenched his teeth. “See y’got my message. If I’da known how long it was gonna take for you to find, I’da sent it direct.”

  “You shouldn’t have involved Al in this, Shane,” replied Crimson. “I’ll go rob a bank with you if that’s what it takes to bring him back safe. But eternity’s a long time and I’m not gonna let this go.”

  “Well, if ya cared about the little Dracula so much, why’d it take ya so long to realize he was gone? Poor thing’s been whimperin’ like a lost dog for ya for days. He really doesn’t like it when ya pet him though.”

  “You fucking piece of shit!” burst Jasper.

  “Hey! Eye candy!” Shane sounded positively delighted. “Just the guy I wanted to talk to.”

  Crimson frowned. He looked curiously at Jasper, then
back at the phone as Shane’s bubbly voice tittered away.

  “You an’ me got a date. You can bring Crimson along. I don’t want him workin’ himself into a tiff while I’m not there to take care of him.”

  “What do you want with Jasper?” rumbled Crimson.

  “I’m just a man takin’ a gamble, hopin’ it pays off,” said Shane. “And there ain’t no decent gambler in history who won by showin’ his cards too soon. You know that.”

  “When I find you, I’m going to make your skin into a deck of playing cards,” hissed Crimson. The distinctive difference in his demeanor came in a flash of red. His voice was so different when he was like this, not just in its low, rumbling tone, but in its cadence and enunciation. It could almost have been another person, yet, somehow, it could not possibly have been anyone else. “You have no idea who the fuck you are messing with.”

  “Ooo, very scary.” Shane laughed. “Loses a li’l bit of the bite after ya heard it a couple of times though.”

  The lower half of Crimson’s face grew into a wide, stretching smile that seemed to show an impossible number of teeth. “Oh, Shaney boy, you don’t understand. All these years, I’ve given you a pass because some small portion of me was still a little bit in love with you.” Crimson’s eyes flickered to Jasper. Away. “I’ve been cured of that unfortunate addiction, and that means no more free passes. You will stop this. Now.”

  “Boy, you sure love the sound of your own voice. Y’know, some things never change.” The levity was still there, but a little less certain of itself than before. “Y’know what else hasn’t changed? The fact that I got your favorite pet danglin’ above a vat’a holy water. Or the fact that Al’s gonna be takin’ himself a nice little swim if you don’t do what you’re told.”

  “If you hurt Alcander—” began Jasper.

  “C’mon, eye candy. You think you’re gonna say something scarier than turning me into playing cards? Cut it out with that.”

  “Tell us where you want to meet,” said Crimson.

  “The Crystal Ballroom. Ten o’clock. Let’s say… two days from now. Me, you, an’ the hybrid. An’ don’t go thinkin’ yer gonna get the drop on me, Crim. The vamp’s in real good hands, and they know what to do if they don’t get a sign.”

  “It’s a date,” said Crimson. “We’ll see you there.”

  “Bet on it,” replied Shane, and ended the call.

  “Al can’t wait two days.” Jasper was on his feet as soon as the call ended. “We gotta go find this creep right now and kick his fucking ass.”

  Still on the couch, Crimson shook his head. “Shane won’t be found until he’s good and ready.”

  “Bullshit.” They couldn’t just sit back and do nothing. Already Al had been with him too long. Jasper felt so guilty it was making him sick. He had been gone for five days, and they hadn’t noticed. Al deserved better. “We can track him. You know his scent; I know his—” Jasper’s hand fluttered over his stomach. It was hard to explain his talent to sense demons on the best of days, and now, with his mind a flurry of anger and fear, he couldn’t even try. “We can find him.”

  “The trail is five days old. We’re in New York fuckin’ City. I’m really fuckin’ good, but not that good.”

  “We gotta try.”

  Crimson sighed. “Alan does a lot of work at The Crystal Ballroom and Moonlight. He might be able to lead us to him or lead us to somebody who can, but I’m tellin’ you, Jazz, it’s a long shot. He might not even be in the city right now. Or he could be in a safe house where we’ll get gunned down at the front desk just for asking his name.” His throat clicked. “Can you think of any reason he’d want you there?”

  “Other than the fact I shot him like six times and spoiled his plans to rob a mermaid bank?”

  “The Atlanteans aren’t mermaids. They’re water folk. Good guess though.” He always said stupid shit like this when he was hiding something. If Jasper hadn’t known that before, he knew it now.

  “You don’t think that’s reason enough to want me dead?” asked Jasper.

  “Revenge isn’t Shane’s game,” replied Crimson. He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, put it between his lips, then glanced at their surroundings, and put it behind his ear instead of lighting it. “No profit in it.”

  “Then he still wants you to help him rob the bank,” Jasper surmised.

  Crimson ran two fingers across his jawline. “Nah. Well, maybe, but that doesn’t explain you. Maybe he just wants to keep you in his sights, I don’t know, but it seems like a pretty risky plan. It was me doing it, I’d wanna keep you outta the picture. And he could have done that. If he had wanted to.”

  “What he wants me for doesn’t matter if we find him first and put an end to this before it can begin,” said Jasper.

  “If,” agreed Crimson. He stood up. “We’ll try. Don’t get your hopes up though.”

  #

  The Silverado was not where they had left it. Crimson lamented that crime in this city was really out of control.

  The Crystal Ballroom was only six blocks away, so they went on foot, but Alan and Abby were not there. Nor were they anywhere to be found in the dark, sleazy back rooms of Moonlight. Crimson suggested it was probably a little early in the day for them, then added grimly that if Alan knew anything worth knowing, Shane probably would have shut him up permanently. Leaving loose ends was, apparently, also something that did not fit into Shane’s game.

  Jasper followed Crimson through haunt after haunt. When he had worked at St. James, Brooklyn was his regular beat, and he believed the Hunters could account for most of the demonic safe houses and recreational areas in the borough.

  He was wrong.

  There were far more than he had anticipated. Some of them were so heavily warded that passing through the charms that protected them gave him motion sickness. One of them (he believed it was called The House of the Setting Sun) could only be entered by jumping up into a mural of graffiti. At another, Crimson had to get down on one knee and call into a storm drain until a pair of beady eyes appeared in the slat below the sidewalk, and a large ratlike paw unlocked a hinge to let them descend via ladder.

  Whatever Crimson said about Alan, he still managed to stop by his apartment when the whole of Brooklyn came up a dead end and they made their way to Queens. Crimson had earlier called the place a “shithole,” and Jasper saw immediately that he hadn’t been kidding. The two-bedroom apartment was on the top floor of an old brick building. A surly-looking werewolf in a fast-food uniform informed them Alan was still asleep. The view over his shoulder was grim—piles of scattered trash on a dirty, stained rug, broken-down furniture strung with passed-out demons, barely dressed. It smelled like stale beer, cigarettes, marijuana, and sweltering heat.

  The werewolf told them they could come in, and Jasper reluctantly followed Crimson. Thankfully the furniture in the front room was already too full for anyone to invite them to sit. The werewolf who answered the door disappeared down an adjoining hallway that cut straight away from the main room, presumably so he could go find Alan.

  After a few moments, some of the sleeping demons stirred at the sounds of two people arguing down the hall, then woke, one by one, as a female voice began to shout and snarl angrily. From the square of laminate that served as an entryway, they could see the dark hallway, lights burned out, bags of trash and junk collected along the sides, unwashed clothes supplementing the carpet. Presently, they could also see Alan, who was propelled out from the second door to the end, as if violently thrown. His shoulders struck the drywall and bounced him back to his feet. He stumbled awkwardly on his long legs and caught himself in time to throw the pair of them a smile.

  “Hey, guys!”

  There was another roaring snarl from the room he had just exited. He quickly pulled the door shut and made a shushing gesture towards them, though neither had said a word, and he had been practically yelling just a moment ago.

  Alan was not dressed for guests. Which was a nice way of sayin
g he wasn’t dressed at all. Jasper saw in a hot glance exactly why Crimson put up with him, and quickly looked away.

  The werewolf, unabashed, crept closer. “If you’re looking for company, we’ll have to go back to yours,” he whispered, to the warning rumbles of his other packmates. He inched up beside them so he could speak more softly. “Beth’ll kill me if I take you back there while she’s trying to sleep.”

  “I was just wonderin’ if you’d seen Shane,” said Crimson, unperturbed.

  “Sorry,” said Alan. He said it soar-ree rather than sarr-ee, a distinction in his voice Jasper had never noticed because he’d never heard him apologize for anything.

  Jasper’s eyes were still firmly on the linoleum. It was separated from the thin, tattered carpet by a narrow slat of metal that was crusted all the way around with a brownish gray something, impossible to identify. When he shifted his feet uncomfortably, the soles of his shoes made soft suctioning noises.

  “He hasn’t come to me since you’ve been back in town,” continued Alan. “I thought you off’d him.”

  “If only.” Crimson sighed. “Well… Alright. I just thought I’d ask. I’ll catch ya later. Jazz?”

  Jasper started to follow him back out the door, but Alan’s whispered voice stopped him. “You sure you don’t want some company?” To Jasper, it sounded almost like a plea. He sensed more than saw the werespider’s gaze on him.

  “Sorry,” echoed Crimson, and they both dipped out the door.

  Then they were off again, this time to a place called the Voodoo Club. It was a fair bit nicer there than at the other dives, more a restaurant than an actual club, and a legitimate business besides, but it was as much a dead end as the other twenty-odd places had been, and Jasper was getting tired and frustrated.

  It was very late (or early) when they let out of the Voodoo Club, and if Jasper were tired and frustrated, there were no words for what Crimson was. Perpetually red-eyed and progressively more predatory in his body language, smoking one cigarette after another in an endless chain that made Jasper’s lungs hurt just watching. He reached for another, found the pack empty, crumpled it, and winged it under the tires of a passing cab with a hiss.