by Thomas, Ian
Predictably, they’d clashed.
Dylan sized him up as an Oxford-educated blue-blood while Freddie immediately disliked the uncouth, brash American. Over the course of working a case, Dylan had to re-evaluate his initial assessment of the Brit. Turned out he’d rejected his family’s standing – and pretty much the entire British class system – for love.
Conversely, Freddie learned Dylan and brash were synonymous. And that was actually a good thing.
“So,” Freddie said slowly. “How was it?”
“Well,” Dylan replied. “I have good news and bad news.”
“Oooh bad news first.” Annie caught up with them as they walked to the parking lot, a 4.5kg chocolate bar under her arm.
Dylan braced himself. “Julie and I broke up.”
“Brilliant!” Annie’s face lit up as she hugged him again.
“Excellent news,” Freddie smiled, thankful his wife had hugged Dylan thus saving him the gesture.
“Thank god. There’s this friend–”
“–don’t know how you stood her–”
“–I think you two would be pretty–”
“–just so cold and coming from a Brit–”
“–or this single mum at my new mother’s–”
“–I don’t like to use the word ‘bitch’ but–”
“–she’s already lost the baby weight–”
“Whoa!” Dylan said, completely unprepared for the onslaught. “That. Was not expected.”
“Really?” Annie asked.
“We hated her,” Freddie said.
“Wait,” Annie said, “why was that the bad news?”
“Because…we broke up.”
“But it was Julie,” Freddie said as though it was an everyday fact like the sun rising in the east. “The only bad news was that it hadn’t happened ages ago.”
Annie turned to her husband and put a hand on his chest. “I think we may need to hear the good news, just in case, Dylan thinks them getting back together’s a blessing. You know how Americans are.”
“You know I think I’ll take the train back to London.”
“Don’t be silly,” Annie laughed. “Now what’s the good news?”
“Sorted things out with my brother.”
“Oh thank god,” she said, smiling. “Really thought you were going to say you were back with her.”
“His judgment’s often questionable, but it’s never that bad.”
“Thanks?” Dylan asked.
“Oh well, this is reason to celebrate,” Annie said, her bubbly personality in overdrive. “Pub lunch? Too early? Brunch? Call James, see if he’s awake yet. Guess you could move in with him, couldn’t you? May be a little frying pan to fire but who knows.” She stopped rambling and kissed him on the cheek. “Yay, I’m so happy for you. This is good.”
“How about you go pay for parking?” Freddie suggested, reading Dylan’s expression. Squealing a little, she walked briskly toward a kiosk machine. “Sorry,” Freddie said. “Thought you knew we weren’t fans.”
“Suspected,” Dylan replied. “Just didn’t expect the ticker-tape parade is all.”
Immediately, Freddie was uncomfortable. “Well, you deserve…it’s just she…better, you can do–”
“Stop!” Dylan said, “I think you’re going to pull something.”
“Thanks,” Freddie replied, relieved. “Actual pain.”
“Guess I will have to find a place. Hadn’t thought that far really.”
“We have a spare room, but also a future opera-singer in training, so sleep’s at a premium.”
“James may be an option after all. His place is big enough.”
They stood in silence for a moment as the notion of Dylan detangling his now-single life from a shared one washed over him.
“I am pleased for you though,” Freddie said finally. “You haven’t seemed happy for a while now.”
Dylan wanted to admit the truth. He hadn’t been. Possibly longer than Freddie had known him if he was being truly honest. If he did, though, he would have to admit to a lot more. The less Freddie and Annie knew the better. This was a corner of his world he wanted kept very separate from the supernatural.
“Guess I wasn–” he began, but stopped when he saw the black BMW with tinted windows parked not far from them. “Friend of yours?”
“My friends can afford Mercedes,” Freddie replied with a smile.
One of the windows opened. Just a crack, nothing more. From inside, Dylan saw a shock of blonde hair. Charging away from his friend, Dylan headed for the car. A taxi screeched to a halt as he barreled into the street heedless.
“Dylan?” Freddie called after him.
A man got out of the front of the car. A big man. Nice suit, dark glasses, and built like a truck. He put a hand out to stop Dylan, but the smaller man ducked past him. Grabbing for him again, Freddie was suddenly between the man and Dylan.
“You get that we broke up, right?” Dylan asked.
The window rolled down. Julie sat forward, pleased to see she had his attention. “I just wanted you to know that I’ve had your things removed from the apartment. And I’ve changed the locks.”
“A text,” Dylan said. “You could’ve sent a text.”
“Oh I know.” There was something very cat and mouse in her tone. “I just thought this would be more…personal.”
“Great, thanks. Now leave me alone.” He grabbed Freddie’s arm and dragged him from the car. Behind them, the window slid shut and the large man got back into the car. “Not a word to Annie,” Dylan muttered. He wasn’t sure if that would be enough for Julie. Time would tell. With Boyd’s notes, his brain, and his brother back in his life, Julie had just as much reason to be wary of him.
XIII
“Should I be worried?” Rebecca asked.
“Probably,” Hayley replied immediately.
“About what?” Rowan asked.
“Oh, were you being specific?” Hayley almost choked on her wine.
“That McLachlan is currently hanging out with vampires? Hasn’t worked out so well for him in the past apparently.”
“Okay,” Rowan said suddenly. “The point of us going out was a girls’ night. Tonight, I’m banning the ‘S’ word.”
“Shit?”
“Sex?”
“Supernatural,” Rowan said. “Banning the ‘S’ word.”
“And the ‘V’ word, the ‘W’ word, the other ‘W’ word, the ‘D’ word,” Hayley said. “You know I think this is more of a list.”
“Okay, the whole ‘S’ topic. Sub-groups included.”
“Aw,” Rebecca groaned. “But you’re our only source that isn’t mainlining testosterone or looks like some boy-band reject.”
“They really do have a very pretty quality to them.” Hayley agreed. “Though in a rugged, manly kind way.”
“It’s a wolf thing,” Rowan replied, flatly.
“Drink!” Hayley called out. “It’s our one drinking rule. S-topic related words. Gotta drink.”
“This could be bad.” Rebecca looked at her glass anxiously.
When she had gotten the text from McLachlan Rebecca knew she had a right to be upset. Surprisingly, she wasn’t. Not that she didn’t want the second date. On the contrary. But then Rowan called and suggested a girls’ night and here they were. In TriBeCa. Wearing cute outfits, drinking wine, and sitting at a booth in Haus. No actual thought had gone into where they went. They just wanted music, a dance floor, and alcohol.
“You’re not bummed?” Rowan asked. “You know about not being on your second date?”
“No, I get it,” Rebecca replied. “Not comfortable with where he is. But that’s totally important.”
“Still no closer to that all-important third date though,” Hayley said.
“Seems a little arbitrary having a rule about which date you’re having sex,” Rowan said. “Especially at thirty-two.”
“Totally agree,” Rebecca replied. “It’s more from him than me. He seems l
ike he’d spook easily.”
Rowan and Hayley laughed.
“First good call of the night.”
“And it’s odd, you know,” Hayley said, supportively. “Given the life he leads.”
“I know, right?” Rebecca asked. “Here he is surviving what he has, meeting with who he’s meeting with, and yet I think he’ll be freaked out by a vagina.” Hayley high-fived her for skirting the ‘S’ topic and associated nomenclature, while Rowan clinked her glass against Rebecca’s. “I have to work later, so you know gotta be sober and all.”
“Have you ever done the show drunk?” Rowan asked.
“No. Well, once kinda but I sobered up pretty quick.”
“When?” Hayley asked.
“When DJ was in town. At Bookmarks.”
“Oh right,” Hayley said. “Great night.”
“And you love it? The radio station?” Rowan asked.
“Yeah, I guess. Not where I saw myself being but that’s probably pretty good for me. Besides it’s where I met McLachlan. And there’s Mouth.”
“So glad you got those in that order,” Hayley said.
“What about you?” Rowan asked Hayley. “You enjoy–”
“Cubicle hell? Oh yeah, it’s great. Living the dream. Best. Move. Ever.”
“I’m detecting bitterness.”
“Maybe a little?” Hayley asked, sarcastically.
“Maybe a lot,” Rebecca laughed.
“I couldn’t do it,” Rowan said. “Work in an office. I find it fascinating but I’d go nuts. They’d fire me or I’d kill people. One of the two.”
“That’s how I plan to go out,” Hayley replied wistfully. “Kinda hoping for option two lately.”
“How do you do it? How do you cope?”
“Tell her about your trick,” Rebecca said. She turned back to Rowan. “It’s genius. Brilliance in action.”
“Does it involve a tube of lipstick and your cleavage? Because you know, that would get me through five minutes.”
“No,” Rebecca said, pleasantly surprised. “But I appreciate The Breakfast Club reference.”
“Okay, so basically I hate people,” Hayley said. “Well, the people I work with. And I really don’t want any of them talking to me. No real reason other than it’ll make me stupid. Anyway, this guy I worked with in London taught me this trick. Whenever anyone comes near me at my desk, I stare intently at my computer and frown. Scares them off completely.”
“Really?” Rowan asked, surprised. She saw Rebecca squeeze Hayley’s hand at the word London, but read them well enough to not pry.
“Watch,” Rebecca said. “Pretend her phone is her computer.”
Sitting up straight, and fussing with her hair, Hayley prepped herself for a moment. Then she picked up the phone, looked at it intently, a small furrow appearing between her eyebrows.
“Wow,” Rowan said, impressed. “I’m totally stealing that. Not sure where I’ll use it but I’m stealing it.”
“If you have to walk anywhere,” Hayley added. “Just grab a piece of paper – anything, can be blank even – and that is suddenly the most important piece of paper in the world. No one will bother you.”
“No really wow,” Rowan said, intrigued. “It’s like a whole world I have no idea about.”
“And how does office work fascinate you?” Hayley asked. “You’re a witch.”
“Drink.”
“Like you work with magic–”
“Drink.”
“–and spells–”
“Drink.”
“–and shit.”
Rowan and Rebecca looked at each other weighing up the word, “drink.”
“All part of the plan,” Hayley said with a smile.
“So.” Rowan sipped her own drink. “I’m not leaving this alone. Sex. With McLachlan. Makes me a little nauseous to think about but you’ve been talking for, what, like three months now?”
“Four.”
“Wow, four. So that’s like four months of foreplay?”
“Uh-huh.” Rebecca was thankful someone had finally vocalized the one thought she never had in four months.
“Then you meet. And that’s not terrible either.” Rowan looked to Hayley. “Bullet wounds aside. And you two still haven’t screwed?”
“Kinda been a lot going on,” Rebecca said defensively as Hayley laughed. “Not like the opportunities have been exactly plentiful. The Ordeal wasn’t exactly a turn on.”
“You mean despite him being horny?” Hayley asked.
“You need to not drink because that pun was so bad.”
“Then we were practically camped out at Matteo’s while he – you know – was like half-dead and all tortured and shit. Not exactly the best place.”
“Meh,” Rowan shrugged, somewhat disagreeing.
“I’ve heard that,” Rebecca said. “Matteo told me.”
“WNYU?”
“With Mouth watching?” Rebecca almost shrieked. “I’m not sure who would be more traumatized.”
“Probably McLachlan,” Rowan said. “And clearly his place was out of bounds being church-adjacent and all.”
“Exactly.”
“Which leaves your place.”
“I’ve barely been there,” Rebecca said.
“This is true,” Hayley said. “Can totally vouch for that.”
“Besides.” Rebecca was finally getting to the heart of the matter. “Ever since The Ordeal – and this may break the S topic rule but you asked – he’s been a little different.”
“Demony?” Rowan asked. She tried to hide it but her whole body clenched. Amidst Ben’s betrayal and Matteo’s torture they had just assumed McLachlan had come through The Ordeal unscathed.
“Hornier?”
“No,” Rowan said, pushing Hayley’s glass back onto the table. “Terrible puns. No.”
“Are you punish–okay I’ll stop.”
“Nothing like that. Well not that I know of.” Rebecca struggled to find the words. “Just every now and then he’ll look at me…”
“And?” Rowan asked, dreading the worst.
“Or touch me. And it’s so familiar. Like we’ve done this before.”
While Mammon's promised perfect life hadn't been kept a secret, the extensive detail had. Even still, Rowan and Hayley knew what Rebecca was talking about.
“I’d wondered,” Rowan began, “if there might be some crossover. Figured I’d wait for McLachlan to bring it up first.”
The three women laughed, knowing that may never happen. Rowan looked about to direct a question at Hayley when the other woman sat up straight, her eyes darting back and forth.
“Holy fuck,” she said. “Bex, it’s Hyperballard. Come on!”
Rebecca recognized the Icelandic accent over the thumping base. Seconds later all three women were on the heaving dance floor, singing along unheard over the volume, enjoying the moment. Given the whole ‘S’ topic world they were living with, and the horrors of the past couple of weeks, the abandon was long overdue.
Elsewhere, a man watched the women closely.
XIV
Pausing, his hand on the ornate door handle of the Hotel Guimard, McLachlan took a deep breath.
Usually he left an ancient denarius to get Gracchus’ attention. But urgency found the coin untouched in his pocket. Walking through the art nouveau entrance as he was, broke vampire protocol.
Recriminations counted for naught since his inaction had let someone else die.
The hotel was quiet and dark, forgotten by much of the city around it. From a previous visit he knew the lobby sat empty save one vampire at the main desk. Crossing the circular foyer, staircases sweeping up either side of the curved walls to an open mezzanine, he saw the man at the desk. McLachlan eyed the stairs anxiously. Up there was the court itself, the mezzanine an open expanse with a vaulted ceiling, replete in the same art nouveau styling the hotel was famous for.
“Hey,” he said. “Uh, is Gracchus around?” Having broken this much protocol, McL
achlan figured his ruse would allow him to dispense with formalities altogether. Especially as he came prepared. Which made a nice change give his recent encounters with the vampires. Two consecrated wooden stakes were jammed in either side of his jacket. A kid’s water pistol loaded with holy water tucked in his waistband. This was the only gun he owned. Hardly on any endangered species list, McLachlan felt certain the vampires would overlook the diplomatic slights given the accords and the information he bore. He just needed the stain to kick in.
“Fuck does this look like?” the young vamp spat, fangs bared.
There it is, he thought, wincing.
Dropping his head in pain as his brow disfigured, canines grew, and eyes changed color. Worse than the physical changes was the ravenous hunger that churned his insides. He had expected the doorman would be a hungry, young vampire. Gracchus starved his doormen to be more vicious should anyone stumble into the hotel. McLachlan just hadn’t expected him to be this hungry. How long since this guy had fed, he wondered, wanting to run.
“The great vampire court of New York. Or so I’ve heard,” McLachlan replied, raising his head. The vampire was taken aback when he saw McLachlan’s vampire countenance. “I need to see Gracchus.” Pretending to be a newborn vampire would at least get him past this guy.
“Upstairs,” the vampire replied, relaxing. His features didn’t shift back, but his body slouched back into the chair.
McLachlan thanked him and headed for the stairs. He felt the hunger ease a little as he started up the flight. There would always be hunger here. Came with being a vampire. An eternal, insatiable lusting for blood. As he had little to do with vampires, he hadn’t realized how significantly the accords had impacted them. Gracchus had assured him that they would survive. Vampires always did. Be it blood bags, animals, or using their seductive thrall to drink from mortals without killing them, there were always options.
The latter lay before him when he topped the flight of stairs and stood on the court threshold. Several regular humans were scattered amid the numerous vampires who fed off them. Fanged mouths were locked on wrists, necks, or thighs. Both parties writhing in an intimate struggle of lust and death. McLachlan faltered his first step. How were they not killing them, he wondered, counting three or four vampires per human.
