by Rob Thurman
Curiously, I watched him raise a fist to knock once on Promise's door. A single soft rap, but it still had the door opening after just a few moments. Good ears on vampires. Then again there were lots of good things on Promise, I leered to myself, and ears didn't make the top ten. She stood in the doorway, obviously puzzled to see Niko. She was wrapped in a dressing gown of violet silk, and her unbound hair was a fall of rippling brown water that nearly reached her waist. A necklace wreathed her neck once, then fell between her breasts. Pearls, she slept in pearls. There was something very erotic about that and I felt an interesting twitch below.
"Niko?" She didn't grasp the edges of her robe to pull them closer together. Either she didn't care or didn't notice, or maybe it was a combination of the two. "What are you doing here?" A pale hand reached out to rest on Niko's chest. "What's wrong?"
Huh. I wasn't the only one who could read Niko today. His head inclined, not much… maybe a few millimeters at the most, but for him it was a bow to unrelenting pressure. "I need your help," he said in a voice I didn't recognize. Not as Cal, not as I was now. "I've lost…" He stopped, then cleared this throat and finished with robotic determination. "I've lost Cal."
"Lost," and not as in misplaced your favorite pair of boxers. He said the word as if he really meant it. Lost as a child who disappears on the way to school never to be seen again. Lost as the wife whose hand slips from yours as she's swallowed by raging floodwaters. Lost as a brother whose silver eyes watch you as he plummets downward through the night air until you can see him no more.
Pretty goddamn lost.
Niko couldn't lose control. It was as much a part of him as his blond hair and lethal blades. He couldn't lose it, but it did sag a bit around the edges. As I watched, he rested his forehead on the top of Promise's head. Other than that, he didn't move, simply remained still to repeat with a tone of weary disbelief, "I lost him."
Promise moved then, wrapping her arms around his waist and holding him. It was touching as hell, and I almost felt a tear well up. I checked my watch. Things to do, people to kill, and this lovefest was only slowing me down. It was too bad I'd lost my gun before I'd tripped out to Tumulus. I could've shot Niko in the back as well as done some damage to the cheesy latticework of the door.
After a moment Niko straightened, probably regretting the weakness he'd allowed himself. "I have to get him back."
"Then you will." Promise took his arm and urged him into the apartment. As they passed through her door, I heard her voice drift back. "I'll help you, Niko. In any way I can."
Wonderful. Now I had a human, a puck, and a vampire sticking their noses in my business. Everyone was invariably out to ruin my good time. It never failed. Not only was Promise joining forces with Niko and Goodfellow, but I still didn't have any damn money. Still, the day wasn't over and there were other ways to finance my love of luxury. Boggle was looking more and more like my best option. I left the closet behind and went to hit him up.
I'd known Boggle back when he was an ankle-biting pollywog. Years had passed and times had changed, but there was one thing I could depend on to stay the same: Bog's bottomless pit of an appetite. It defined consistency back when consistency was barely a concept, much less a word. So when I came calling, it was with a present in hand. I released my grip on it, letting it slump to the ground, and raised my other hand for a bite of hot dog. Chili cheese with onions.
"Boggy," I said indistinctly around a mouthful of sheer heaven. "Up and at 'em, tiger. I brought you breakfast. You want yours sunny-side up or over easy?"
The mud stirred, giving a sluggish ripple, and then Boggle raised his head above the surface just enough to show his jack-o'-lantern orange eyes like a bizarrely prehistoric frog. "You again." The words bubbled up through the mud with annoyed resignation. The resignation quickly melted as the eyes focused more sharply on me and widened. "You." This time the tone was different and certainly less complacent.
"It's me." I flashed a grin as I pulled off the sunglasses I'd lifted earlier from a street vendor and revealed my gorgeous silver peepers. "But are you sure which me it is, Bog? Because I'm more than willing to take the time to talk it over, to really hash it out with you. For old times' sake."
Ignoring the invitation, he rose slowly from his mud-hole, eyes fixed on me as his face peeled back to reveal his teeth. "You merged with it. A human. Disgusting. Perverse." If he'd had lips, he would've pursed them and spit to show his distaste.
"Aren't you the delicate lady?" I snorted. "And he was only half human. Now we're a whole lot less." I put my foot on the motionless body in front of me and gave it a shove. It rolled down the incline into the thick mud with a splat. Beefy frame, fairly young—he'd make a good meal for Boggle. He'd followed me with dogged determination into the depths of the park, never quite as surreptitious as he'd hoped. He'd had a knife, handcuffs, a homemade wire garrote, and a burning look of hunger in his eyes. I didn't know if he wanted money or something much less mundane, but it didn't matter to me and I knew it wouldn't to Boggle either. Robbers or rapists, they all taste the same, he'd say.
Like chicken.
Either way it was a stroke of fortune I'd been all too happy to take advantage of. It saved me the trouble of dragging a kicking and screaming jogger into the woods. "Eat up, big guy, and we'll get down to business," I prompted, taking a seat on the grassy bank to finish up my own breakfast hot dog. I'd never been a big fan of poultry myself.
Giving in, Boggle grumbled, "It's always bidness with you. Been a thousand years easy and first thing you want is a favor. Least this time you brought me takeout."
As my old buddy made his way through the most important meal of the day, I filled him in on my plan and what precisely it was that I needed from him. He wasn't too happy. I didn't take it personally. Boggles are never especially happy; it simply isn't in their makeup. But that was all right. I had enough good cheer for the both of us and then some.
"Quit your bitching," I ordered, wiping the mustard from my hands on the withered grass. "So what if you have to move. You're looking flaky anyway. A change of scenery will do you good."
"It's the pollution," he said glumly, tongue swiping over his bloody teeth. "Plays hell with my scales. I lose a bucketful every morning. Ain't no combing that over, ya know?"
"Yeah, it's a crying shame." Balancing my arms on my knees, I let my hands dangle and gave Boggle a narrow-eyed glance. "It's been a while for you, eh, Bog? Holed up in this all-you-can-eat buffet? Hell, the muggers fall in your playpen and you barely have to lift a claw. I have to wonder, big guy, if you're up for some genuine action." Leaning back, I replaced my sunglasses and repeated flatly, "I really have to wonder."
The orange eyes turned sullen. "You think I've gone soft. That what you're saying?"
"Doesn't matter what I say, Boggle." My tone was as soft as the flash of my teeth was hard. "What matters is what you do. I'm a good guy. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"What a pal," he said sourly. "And what am I getting out of this, huh? You want I should move. You want my souvenirs. You want me to risk my muddy ass. And for what? I'm helping you, but what the hell are you doing for me?"
"Besides the snack? Besides all the nostalgia?" I rose to my feet. "I'm not skinning you alive, Boggy. I'm not turning you into a throw rug for my swinging bachelor pad. How 'bout that? Is that good enough for you?"
Turned out, it was.
I got nearly eight thousand dollars and a pocketful of gold jewelry from Boggle. The jewelry, mainly thick chains and clunky rings, was tacky in a way only Mr. T could truly appreciate, but it should be worth a fair chunk of change. The clothes and empty wallets I let him keep. When I left he was sifting mournfully through his reduced pile of mementos with a jackknife claw and exhaling a bubbling sigh of regret. Boggles liked their toys. It was a fairly dull existence, just eating, cracking bones, and stewing in the slime. A few baubles livened up the ole mudhole. He'd turned the majority of them over to me all the same. W
hy? Maybe for old times' sake? For our long-enduring friendship? Or could it be he wasn't the first of his kind I'd peeled like a grape?
Bingo.
Boggles were big and they were fierce fighters, but you couldn't accuse them of being the smartest mud pies around. Tactics escaped them and their attention span wasn't all it could be. They weren't exactly fish in a barrel, but neither were they at the top rung in life's pantheon of creepy-crawlies. With a shred of perseverance and just a bit of forethought, it wasn't that difficult to get the better of them. With guidance from me, though, my particular boggle would do in a pinch.
Pocketing the money, I hailed a cab to the nearest pawnshop. The backseat was as smelly as Bog's pits and not quite as hygienic. The driver was a ghul. I hadn't seen one of those in a while. This one was masquerading as a shriveled older woman with matted locks, John Lennon glasses, and a mouth like a rat trap. Most ghuls originally came sweeping out of the deserts of the bedouin like a foul wind. They lived to bedevil and annoy travelers, to lead them off the beaten path and on occasion eat them. What better disguise for that than a taxi driver? And what could be more annoying than being eaten?
It rolled a bloodshot eye back in my direction and decided it would just stick with overcharging me. I was in such a good mood that I actually paid the fare. It was the city. I loved it. The atmosphere was charged with the energy of supernatural beasts in the thousands. In an age where we had come to be few and far between, there was a heady jolt to being among so many non-humans. When I closed my eyes, the electricity was visible, crackling in blue and green bolts. It was like the old days. I hadn't realized I'd missed it like I did. On the other hand, I was also rolling in the biggest concentration of cattle on the East Coast. There was a time when that would've been entertaining as hell. Unfortunately, humans were not as fun as they'd once been. They were softer and slower now. They had better weapons, it was true, but as they no longer believed in us, it didn't do them much good. The challenge there had been when they were savages was gone, but soon enough, it would be back. The entire landscape would change, physically, culturally, and in every other way. Thanks to the Auphe, we had the technology; we could unbuild them.
The pawnshop guy was a human, but not as soft and slow as most. He peered at me with pebble eyes from behind rusting bars. "Yeah?" A shaved head gleamed faintly under dim fluorescent lights. Pocked skin was marked with the shadow of a heavy beard, and a black tattoo of barbed wire circled the thick neck. Here and there a drop of blood was shaded in crimson dripping tastefully from the barbs. It was sharply ugly and jaggedly brutal. I touched the pad of my thumb to the side of my throat and considered how one might look on me.
Dropping the jewelry into a metal tray, I watched as it was pulled with a jerk back through an opening through the bars. "Grandma left me some of her baubles," I said with a winning smile.
The guy held up one thick chain with an oversized gold pot leaf hanging from it. "I'll bet," he grunted as he continued to root through the tangle of precious metal.
"Hey, Granny was a progressive broad." Adjusting my sunglasses, I drawled, "So what will you give me for them?"
"Eight hundred," he responded with disinterest.
I rocked back on my heels and folded my arms. "Let me rephrase that. What's it worth?"
Yellowed teeth showed in the frozen grin of a rabid dog. "Nine, ten thousand. You, valuable customer, get eight hundred. You want it or not?"
I'd like to say I dickered with him, got the cheap bastard up to at least three thousand. Didn't happen. My persuasive powers, awesome though they were, bounced off this block of concrete without result. I could've shot him, if I hadn't lost my gun and the bars weren't sandwiched between two layers of bulletproof glass. Just yesterday I would've been able to slither through the molecules and strip his flesh into yummy bite-sized bits. But today, I was different… We were different. So I swallowed my pride, accepted the money, and started to leave. Pausing, I asked him, "You have some matches, smiley?"
Tossing a book into the tray, he pushed them out to me with an oily gloat sheening his eyes. "The least I could do for you, buddy."
Well… not the very least. I moved into the back alley beyond the shop, and as luck would have it, I found a homeless guy curled up in a doorway with an almost full bottle of vodka. I hummed happily. It saved me a trip to the local liquor store. Within two minutes the back of the building was in flames, the bum was scuttling for safety, and hopefully Smiley was roasting like a pig at a luau.
Hearing the wail of approaching sirens, I strolled after the bum. It was possible Smiley would make it out, and it was a shame I couldn't hang around to make sure that didn't happen. Even so, I was betting nine thousand dollars' worth of my gold wasn't going to pay for the skin grafts, much less rebuild the shop. As I passed a plate glass window, I touched a finger to my temple and gave my reflection a snappy salute. Now you're a monster, Caliban. Ain't it great?
Ain't it just friggin' great?
I used some of my newfound wealth to get a real hotel room, one with chocolates on the pillows instead of drool stains. I also bought a cell phone. All work and no play made Cal a dull boy. We wouldn't want that. I could keep my eye on the prize and still indulge myself. A fine line, but I had faith that I could walk it. But more than that, more than the confidence I had in myself, I wanted to walk it. I wanted to live life as half of me always had… with reckless abandon. It was who I had been and who I still was to a large extent. Without risk the eons could get boring as hell. Humans had a natural adrenaline. Nonhumans… the majority of us had to manufacture our own.
On first guess you might think that it was safe to say that Niko would've abandoned the apartment after it was trashed by the Auphe. A logical conclusion, but a wrong one. Who had stuck like glue to the burned remnants of a cheap trailer, all that was left of a Grendel slaughter? Though it was years later, I knew the same would hold true now. After all, if he left, how would poor kidnapped Cal find him again? No, he'd be there. Part of the day anyway… the part he wasn't out scouring the city for me. Niko hadn't been able to follow me through the gate, but it wouldn't stop him from the grim hope that, like before, I'd make my way back. Smart boy. He was right.
But when I called he wasn't the one to answer the phone. That put a nasty crack in my polished conviction. It was that son of a bitch Goodfellow, who I'd had every expectation would've been halfway across the country by now, if not the world. Damn flashy peacock, who would've thought he had it in him? Just as he knew my reputation, I knew his—shallow and self-serving, with a highly developed survival instinct, not that there was anything wrong with that. Those were stellar qualities in my opinion, but he had no appreciation for the finer things in life, the same ones on which the Auphe and I saw eye to eye. He actually liked humans, believe it or not. Liked them a little too much. Goodfellow should've run when he had the chance. Too bad. For him, there wouldn't be another.
"Goodfellow," I said smoothly. "When did you get a backbone? Are they selling them on eBay now?"
I heard the sharp intake of breath on the other end and then his words, wrapped in glowing red wires of anger. "Darkling, what the hell are you doing? You cursed son of a bitch, what could you possibly have to gain from this?"
"Language, language." Bending down, I broke open the minibar and helped myself to a bottle of beer and a bag of pistachio nuts. After a long, cool swig, I continued. "I'm doing what I've always done. I'm looking out for number one and getting paid in the bargain. Isn't that what you do, Loman? Isn't that what you've always done?" I tossed a few nuts back and washed them down. Two tastes, both salty but wonderfully different, mixed on my tongue. "And that leads me to a curious question. Why are you changing your ways now?" I tsked sorrowfully. "Had enough of this life, have you? Don't they have medications for that sort of thing?"
"Loman," he came back after a moment of silence, tone subdued but still set. "You called me Loman."
"I'll call you Mary Margaret if I want to. Or Danny boy
. That's more appropriate, don't you think?" I hummed a few bars of the legendary dirge before deciding I'd had enough of Goodfellow and his changing ways. New backbone, midlife crisis, whatever. All that mattered was the end result, and the result would be his end. "Nik around, old friend? I'd like a word."
"I'm not your friend," he countered vehemently in my ear. "I was never a friend to you or any of your kind. I can't believe I didn't recognize it when Cal told me. I can't believe I didn't guess it was you."
It wasn't really that hard to understand. The mirrors were a relatively new thing for me, as I'd picked that up only in the past five hundred years or so. The other male banshees had never pulled that trick and now that I was one of the last, they never would. So it wasn't all that surprising Goodfellow didn't know of it. It didn't keep me from twisting the knife, however. "Yeah, that's too bad, huh?" I offered genially. "You could've saved Mr. Morose. You probably could've gotten a few more years of whining out of him, at any rate. What a tragedy." I finished the beer in one last swallow. "You might have saved him, but you were drunk and you didn't. I'll bet Niko's really loving you on that one."
Silence. But sometimes silence can be as sweet as any melody.
Dropping the bottle into the wastebasket, I said briskly, "Nik's not home, is he? There's no way you'd still be holding the phone if he were. That's all right—I'll call back. Nice chatting with you, Goodfellow. It'll be interesting to see how much you have to say when I see you next." I added as a cheerful afterthought, "When I rip out your heart and shove it in your mouth." Turning off the cell phone, I tossed it over my shoulder onto the bed. I could've called Niko's own cell and had another chatfest, one probably even more entertaining, but right now there were other sensations to enjoy, other pleasures to seize. And the sharp cramping of the stomach was a good indicator of which I should choose. I reached for the room service menu. The nuts and the conversation with Goodfellow had only whetted my appetite and my taste for blood. It was time to see what this place had in the way of a steak… an extremely rare one.
