Greywalker

by Kat Richardson

  “Can you do it while she’s touching you?” I asked, half curious, half hoping to prove something to Cameron’s mother.

  “I can try.” He shimmered away again as Colleen held on for dearest life.

  She let out a wail and plopped onto her backside. “Cameron!”

  He came back. “I’m still here, Mom.”

  “Oh, my God,” she gasped and put her hands up to her face. Oblivious of her makeup, she rubbed her cheeks and temples and smeared her hands up into her hair. “My God, my God.” She crumpled into a ball and began sobbing.

  “Mom! Mom, it’s OK. It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you or anything.” He crouched down on the rug beside his mother and put his arms around her. “Mom? Are you OK?”

  She wailed and pressed the top of her head against her son’s chest. He rocked her and babbled soothing words. I stood up and looked around.

  “Kitchen?” I asked.

  “Out the other door and through the dining room,” Cameron whispered, jerking his head toward a door we had not used before.

  I nodded and went out.

  Somehow, Colleen Shadley didn’t strike me as the sort to resort to hard liquor for shock. I made tea. While it was brewing, though, I hunted up a bottle of cognac and put a good dose of the stuff into one of the cups. I juggled three full cups back out to the sitting room.

  Cameron had gotten his mother back on the sofa, though she was still clinging to him a bit and sniffling.

  I handed her the cup with the potent brew. “This’ll help. Better drink it.”

  Cameron found her a box of tissues as she snuck up on her first sip. She shuddered and made a face, but took a scalding gulp and then another. Then she took a tissue and dabbed at her smeared eyes and blew her nose in a delicate, ladylike fashion.

  “I—I—that wasn’t good of me,” she said.

  Cameron patted her arm. “Mom. It’s OK. You were… shocked. It’s OK.”

  She nodded her head and drank some more tea. She set the cup down on the glass-covered table beside the sofa. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t take any more of that muck. I need a drink.”

  So much for my assessment of character.

  Cameron got up and went looking for liquor. Colleen, face streaked with mascara and lipstick, looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

  “What am I going to do?” she asked.

  Chapter Twenty

  Improvise.” Her eyes were chasms of confusion. She started shaking her head. “No, no. I don’t ‘improvise.’ I plan things, I prepare for contingencies. This is—this is not something I have any plan for.”

  I started thinking out loud. “I suppose you could think of it as it Cameron had an exotic medical condition that requires a change of lifestyle. He’s still your son. He’s still a decent, intelligent young man. He’s just… different.”

  Her mouth turned down in distaste. “You sound like a counselor.” Cameron came back with the cognac bottle and some glasses. He poured generous measures for all of us. I gave him a sharp look.

  He returned a “what?” look and a shrug. “It’s alcohol, I can practically absorb it through my skin. It’s not going to hurt me.” He sat down next to his mother.

  We sipped. Colleen Shadley gulped. She shuddered and finished off her drink.

  “All right, Cam,” she gasped, setting the glass down, “tell me how this happened. Help me understand it.”

  He refilled her glass, avoiding meeting her eyes. “Well, Mom, the details are kind of unpleasant. I did something I felt was necessary, but I did it badly. Can’t we just say that it happened because I thought I knew more than I did?”

  “All right. Someday I expect to get the whole story out of you, but I can let that go for now. Go on with the rest.”

  “I met someone who wasn’t very pleasant and he took advantage of me, because I wasn’t as clever as I thought.”

  Colleen stiffened and began to cough on alcohol fumes. She waved Cameron away as he tried to help and caught her breath on her own. “Go on,” she repeated. Her eyes watered. She dabbed at them as her son talked. “I got sick.”

  “I remember you were ill for a while after Christmas.” “More like February, Mom, but it doesn’t matter. Anyhow, I was mega-sick and I didn’t know why. And when I found out, I didn’t know what to do. So I tried to get some help, but things haven’t worked out so well. I’ve got a few problems to settle before everything will be… acceptable. But the plain fact is I’m a vampire, and that’s not going to change. It can’t be undone. I just have to live with it—or unlive with it,” he added and laughed. His mother made a face. “Oh, come on, Mom. It’s a joke.” She mumbled her discomfort. “Mom, can you live with it?”

  This time, Colleen played with her glass. “I suppose I don’t have a choice. You’re my son. I can’t just pretend you’ve ceased to exist. I can’t—I couldn’t bring myself to… do anything to you. Are—are you really all right?”

  “As all right as this gets. Better, now that you know. Harper and I are working on the rest. See, I have a plan now, like you always tell me. So it’s going to be OK. But I could use some of your help, too, Mom.”

  “My help? What can I do?” She sounded younger than her son. “We’ll have to work out some new arrangements with the trust—I can’t go to classes in the daytime. And I need to make some new living arrangements, too. My car’s nice, but the trunk is kind of cramped.”

  Her smile wobbled. “I’m sure we can think of something. Oh, Cameron, why couldn’t you have gotten into some normal kind of trouble?”

  “Just precocious, I guess.”

  We sat around the white room for another hour, working out details—including my billing. By the time I left I was envying Cam his cozy bed in the trunk of the Camaro. I dragged myself home to my own, head bobbing like a somnolent drinky-bird’s all the way.

  When I got out of bed, noon was cracking overhead with the bing-bang-bong of the Catholic clock. I rushed for my office.

  My first job was contacting Lenore Fabrette to say I could pay for the information. She replied that she’d gotten it and would bring it on Thursday, as planned.

  I tried to make a little more sense out of the TPM papers I already had and the new ones that came in over the fax, but most of it was too dense with corporate legalese to plow through with speed. I set the pile aside and made more phone calls, phone calls, phone calls. I had a date for dinner with a friend and I didn’t want to miss a moment of normalcy before diving into an evening of interviewing vampires.

  Even at a quarter to eleven, it seemed that the vampire community was still just waking up. It was nearly midnight before I found Alice in the top-floor lounge of a downtown hotel.

  The host at the door pointed her out to me: a petite woman with deep red hair and the same shadowy, filmy-gleaming eyes that Cameron exhibited. She lurked at a corner table, watching. I skirted around the dance floor and approached.

  “Hi,” I started. “Are you Alice Liddell?”

  She looked up from under arched brows. “At the moment.” She stretched one corner of her broad mouth into a smile and floated a hand at my side of the table. Alternating waves of heat and cold flushed over me. “Why don’t you sit down?” she offered. My knees resisted a bit as I sat across from her, frowning as I wrestled with my sense of familiarity.

  Her amused, silent evaluation hammered my spine with spikes of frozen fire. I didn’t have to look sideways to see that all light around her seemed to have been sucked away, leaving a pulsing corona of dark red around her pale face. I checked my shudder and stared back at her. My stomach did a slow roll. Apparently, vampires brought their Grey effects with them, whether I liked it or not.

  Her voice was chill velvet, stroking over my skin. “How do you happen to come looking for me?”

  I had to swallow before I could talk. “Cameron Shadley sent me. My name is Harper Blaine—”

  She seemed to be on the verge of laughing—a sound I did not want to hear. “Yes, I kno
w. Do you smoke?” she purred, picking up an old-fashioned cigarette case from the table. “Oh, no. Of course you don’t. You’re one of those delicious, healthy people.” She extracted a pale cigarette from the case with the tips of her long, manicured nails and placed it between her lips with all the slow tease of a golden-age movie siren. She could have ignited it with her own heat. Instead, she used a slim gold lighter and let her first drag ooze out of her mouth. It made a rising blue veil between us. “What does Cameron think I can do for you?”

  “You know about his problems with Edward?”

  “Of course.”

  “I think he was hoping you could offer some kind of entrée.”

  She chuckled and I felt a pain in my stomach. “How delicious,” she said, twisting my meaning. Her teeth showed a little. They seemed very wet and very sharp. “Just how well do you know Cameron?”

  “Why? Are you not in the habit of dining on the friends of friends?” I shot back. “Cameron is my client and I know a vampire when I see one.” I glared at her and refused to drop my eyes, even though her gaze razored my spine. I wanted to throw up, or scream, or anything that would make her stop looking at me, but I clenched my teeth and sat still.

  She played with her cigarette. “What an interesting proposition you are, Ms. Blaine. I wonder if you appreciate it.”

  “Probably, considering I believe you could snap my spine before I could see you move,” I replied. “But Cameron knows where I am and how to find me just as well as you do. So, do you want to break my neck or do you want to help us?”

  She hummed a cloud of smoke at me and propped her pointed chin in her hand. “Oh, I want to help, believe me. Cameron’s a… sweet boy.” She smirked and sat back in her chair, sipping at her glass of… something. “What does he think I can do for you?”

  “Cameron has been having problems… adjusting. He’s hired me to help make some kind of reconciliation with Edward and work out a way to receive the mentoring he didn’t get. He suggested that you might be sympathetic to his position.”

  “Sympathy is expensive. What are you offering in exchange for my help?”

  “That depends on what you bring to the table. If you can give information or make a suggestion that helps me out, I may be able to help you. So…?”

  “Kill him.”

  “Edward?”

  “Of course.”

  “Is that your suggestion or just what you want?”

  “Both.” She leaned forward, trying to snare me with her stare. “Edward’s been in charge long enough, and he’s getting long in the tooth, making mistakes. Just look at Cameron. And he doesn’t even know about you. And what kind of leader is that, who can’t even protect us from one little boy and his”—she looked me over again, licking smoke from her lips—“very interesting friend.”

  I felt like something nasty was sliding over me as I looked back into her eyes.

  She continued, grinning very slightly. “I think it’s time we had someone a little younger in charge. Someone more capable of sympathizing with a young man in a hard spot. Someone with sharper teeth.” Her lips closed slowly over the knife-edge gleam of her canines.

  I felt myself leaning forward, breathing shallow, numb breaths. “You hate him.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Hate? Oh, yes.” She hissed voluptuous delight. “With every drop of borrowed blood. It would be so easy for you to attack in daylight when he’s weakest. You don’t even have to kill him, just show his weakness.”

  “I’m not getting it.”

  “Let me tell you the way it is with us. We’re like wolves, and the toughest wolf gets to lead the pack. But if he shows weakness, instability, insanity, the pack will shred him. He must be strong and his actions must be in our best interest. Attack him, show his weakness, and they will kill him for you.” “I see.”

  “Yes,” she hissed. “You do. Once Edward is truly dead and I am in charge, I will, of course, be very, very grateful.”

  Something crawled over my skin. Twitching my gaze aside, I caught a red thread of movement in the Grey and pulled back from it, taking a deep breath and shaking my head. The red thing slid away, dissolving onto the air. I blinked rapidly, shedding a sudden sleepiness, but unable to get the ringing of Alice’s voice entirely out of my head.

  “What’s to stop him from killing me first?”

  She laughed, and I tried not to cringe. “You don’t look like a threat. Who regards the twitching of insects? Once the mud is stirred up, it’ll be too late and killing you off won’t clear his waters. Quite the opposite. He’ll be far too busy to squash you. When the pack turns on him, they will rend him limb from limb.” She paused and licked her lips before taking another sip of her drink. She shivered and smiled horrors at me. I swallowed bile.

  “I don’t see how Cameron benefits from Edward’s demise.”

  “By my gratitude,” she growled.

  I shook my head. “No. I don’t think so. Not inclined to rely on the generosity of vampires, considering Edward’s example. Who protects me from you?”

  She ground her teeth. “I assure you you’ll come to no harm if you do what I say.”

  I managed to shake my head. “I won’t kill anyone. I’m not a hired gun and I’m not interested in playing in your political pool.”

  Alice leaned forward and her eyes blazed. “Then what good are you to me?”

  “I’m not here to help you. I’m here to help my client. I’ll find Edward’s weaknesses, his mistakes, rake up the muck, but the rest is up to you. And you’ll owe me.”

  She laughed and stabbed out her cigarette with a hard jab in the ashtray. She sipped her drink and watched me over the rim, smiling razor slashes. “All right, we’ll do it your way, for now. But I will still be watching you.” Then she sat forward and put out her hand, palm up. “Let me see your list.”

  “What list?”

  “The list of names. Cameron must have given you one, else how would you have found me? Hand it over,” she demanded, beckoning her crimson-clawed fingers at me.

  I dragged out the list. Alice snatched it and read it. A new gleam entered her eyes. “Oh, very interesting…” She pulled a fountain pen from her tiny purse and wrote a new name at the bottom: Wygan.

  “There,” she said, flinging the page back to me as dismissal. “Start with Carlos. That should loosen up the dirt under Edward’s feet. And don’t worry—I’ll keep Edward’s attention off of you. I did promise. By the time you’ve finished with that lot, his problems will have just started.”

  I got up from the table and walked out. I could feel her gaze on me all the way to the elevator, like freezing water rolling down my back.

  I did not want to follow Alice’s orders, though I felt a mental nudging to do so. I stared at the list as the elevator descended. Unfortunately, the closest vampire was Carlos. If I was going to talk to anyone else tonight, it would have to be him.

  I was crossing the lobby when my pager went off. I used a desk phone to call the number. Cameron answered at the other end.

  “Where are you?” I asked. My head throbbed and a matching ache had grown in my innards.

  “I’m at Sarah’s place. Uh, she says to say hi and she got two ferrets instead of one.”

  “I’m happy for her. I just finished talking to Alice and things are… well, they’re trickier than I thought. Could you meet me tonight?”

  “Not tonight. Tomorrow. Call it an hour after sundown, which is… eight twenty-seven, so, nine thirty?”

  “All right. I’ll see you then. For now, I’m going to see Carlos.”

  “Oh, man… be careful, Harper. If I don’t see you tomorrow, I’ll know who to ask, at least.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cameron.”

  I checked my watch as I left the lobby; it was twelve thirty-nine and dread was twisting in my stomach. I did not want to precipitate a palace coup, but Alice’s point about the protective behavior of vampires was giving me an idea. I didn’t know if I could manage it,
but my other options seemed feeble. I had to trust Alice to cover my tracks as she’d said. If she hated Edward enough, she would. I was banking on hate.

  The list said I could find Carlos at Adult Fantasies, a sex shop just behind a strip of businessmen’s motels from which they probably culled most of their clientele.

  Less than ten minutes’ walk from the swanky shops and condos of downtown, the tangled area of odd-shaped blocks housed a strip joint, two all-night bar-and-grills, and Adult Fantasies in their own little commerce park of public embarrassment and private greed. Efforts to move them off or shut them down were never completely successful. Even a plan to make the area into a park had come to naught; eighty years of industrial dumping had made the ground too toxic. So the nighthawks’ wasteland remained and Seattle’s history of making money off sin continued in all its tawdry glory.

  The Adult Fantasies building was a sharply pointed triangle. Full-height windows at the point opened up a view right through the fetish wear and lingerie. I pulled open the plate glass door, went past the stairs that led to the video parlor and “home of live girls,” and into the store proper. To my left was the clothing: on my right, the stuff even a sex shop doesn’t put in the window. Ahead was a glass counter of X-rated impulse items, guarded by a cash register and a Goth girl.

  Her hair was deep, oily purple, her face rice-powder white around black lips and battered-raccoon eyes. Two small, black niobium rings pierced her right eyebrow and a fine silver chain connected the ring in her left nostril to one in her left ear. For balance, the earring on the right was a heavy black spider web with its ruby resident dangling within. A studded leather collar with swags of chain imprisoned her neck. She glanced at me over a notebook she had spread on the countertop. Realizing I was coming straight to her, she closed the book and put her pen down on top of it.

  She looked midtwenties, though she sounded like a teenager. “Hi, did you have a question?”

  “Is Carlos in?”