by Mary Hughes
The problem was I’d had too much time to stew. About Julian and Drusilla, of course. But really. Dru’s reassurances only served to make me more suspicious. Just friends? How did Boston attorney Julian Emerson become friends with Meiers Corners hooker Drusilla? How would they even meet? Touring the law schools in Chicago? At a prostitute convention in New York? A cruise of the Bahamas, she with her sugar daddy and he with his law books? I mean, come on. What did they have in common besides him having a cock and her a place to put it?
“Sorry I’m late,” came a deep Boston Brahmin voice. Julian strode through the door, nodding to the bartender as he passed. “Hello, Buddy.” Julian had on coat and suit, both casually unbuttoned.
I was so relieved to see him…the fucker. “Where the hell have you been?”
“I love you too,” Julian said lightly, brushing a kiss across my lacquered lips.
I love you. He didn’t mean it but my innards did a little thrill. “Answer me, Emerson. You can’t just waltz in here an hour late—”
“I had a spot of trouble on the way. Shall we go?” He picked up my amp and guitar.
“Just like that,” I fumed. “You had a ‘spot of trouble’ and everything’s okay. Well, it’s not okay! I want an explanation. You’d better have hit a fucking iceberg to be an hour late!”
Julian stared at me, intently, like he was reading my brain. “I’m sorry, were you worried?”
About to cut each of his shiny vest buttons into a shiny new ass hole, I stopped. Deflated. Realized I had been worried about him. “No, of course not.”
Julian, damn him, didn’t even blink. “That’s sweet.” He gave my lips a longer, deeper kiss.
“I was not worried,” I muttered against his mouth.
“Of course not.” He put down my amp and guitar and pulled me in for a soul-searing kiss.
The sound of a throat emphatically clearing brought us both around. The bartender stood there, tapping his foot, pointing at his watch. “Find a bedroom.”
“My apologies.” Julian picked up my amp and guitar. “Nixie?”
As I slung my clarinet over my shoulder and followed Julian out, I hoped the bedroom he had in mind was mine. Then I was distracted by his ass. Nice, I thought. I wondered what it would look like without the coat covering it…or the pants. Maybe I would get to see tonight.
I followed him, fantasizing the whole time. I live a little under a mile from Nieman’s Bar. That’s a lot of fantasizing, especially with an ass as dreamy as Julian Emerson’s. I think my thighs were squeaking as I walked.
We made it about four blocks before Julian dropped amp and guitar case and turned, growling.
“What’s wrong?” I dropped my own freight, cast frantically around me for danger.
To my utter shock, Julian grabbed me. “You. Your arousal is driving me mad!” He yanked me in by my hips. His hands slid under my skirtlet and encountered naked butt.
It was instant explosion. Julian’s mouth came down on mine like a jackhammer. His strong, hot fingers bit into my ass. His mouth was on fire. My ass and mouth were searing. I felt like a candle burning at both ends. No, that’s too tame. Like a firecracker belching double flames.
I jacked my hips up and back. Obligingly, Julian’s fingers shifted down, rasped across my vulva. “Bedroom,” I panted into his mouth.
“Too far,” he said, stabbing fingers into me. He hoisted me into the air, settling me against his waist. As one hand continued to plunge into me, I heard the distinctive sound of a zipper being pulled down.
Smooth male flesh teased my pussy. Pressed against my swollen lips. Smooth and huge—damn! Julian’s head was as big as my whole vulva. How would that monster feel going in? I shuddered with anticipation.
“Where are they?” a masculine voice shouted.
And a woman. “Don’t try anything! I’m armed!”
Julian groaned. The zipper sounded again. I groaned.
“Where are who, Strongwell?” Julian called, setting me down. His voice was my favorite tight and growly and I groaned even deeper.
It was Elena who answered, in clipped cop mode. “Someone phoned. We got a tip. About where the bad guys…what have you two been doing?”
I peeked around Julian’s bulk. Elena was staring at me like I’d gone crazy. And maybe I had. Tiny punk musician and skyscraper stodgy suit? Elena was right to stare. “Nothing,” I squeaked.
“Nothing,” Julian agreed. “Unfortunately.”
“Doesn’t smell like nothing.” Bo’s smile looked suspiciously like a trouble-making grin. “Smells like se—”
“Serious stuff, yes I know, Strongwell.” Julian gave him a dirty look. “Why are you here?”
“We got a tip,” Elena repeated, stowing something that looked like a bassoon on her back—if the military made bassoons.
“A tip? About the Coterie? Or this gang we’ve been dealing with?”
“The gang,” Elena replied. “About where they sleep.”
That’s how she said it. Not “where their headquarters are”, or “where they’re holing up”. Where they sleep.
“We got a phone call.” Bo flashed a strange, warning-sort of look at Elena. “Tipped us the gang was staying here.”
“Here?”
“At the abandoned Roller-Blayd Factory.”
Sure enough, we were a block away from the old boarded-up building. I hadn’t noticed, too taken with Julian’s own, er, stiff plank.
“A phone call. We’d better check it out, then.” Julian didn’t sound too enthusiastic.
Remembering my own threatening call, I asked, “What did the voice on the phone sound like?”
“Weird.” Elena shivered. “Raspy, but hollow. Like a cheap radio with the bass off and the treble cranked all the way up.”
Julian frowned.
“Yeah, sketchy.” I remembered annoying Deep Throat boy. “I may have spoken with your guy.”
“When?” Elena sounded curious.
“When?” Bo sounded alarmed.
“When!?” Julian shouted above them both. He sounded plain furious. “And why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Language, Julian.” I waved him down.
He didn’t look soothed. “You will tell me when this call occurred. You will tell me right now!”
I blinked. Deep Throat boy was weird, but no weirder than Headless Horseman Cutter. Why was Julian so upset? “Don’t get your undies in a bundle, Emerson.”
“Nixie, so help me, if you do not tell me right this minute, I will personally make you sit through reruns of Spanish soaps.”
Ooh. Julian was learning all my weak points. “Fine! Some daggy guy rang me on my Juke last night. Kept calling me Dietlinde. What a Nimr…I mean faphead.”
“What did he want?” Bo asked before Julian could verbally manhandle me any more.
“He told me to drop the fundraiser.”
“What?! You can’t!” Surprisingly, it was not Julian who said this, but Bo.
“Nixie.” Julian took me by the shoulders. “Did this male say what would happen if you didn’t?”
“Yeah. Something ‘bad’. How fuzznucked up can you get?”
Julian’s frown turned from anger to confusion. “Fuzznucked?”
“Fuzznucked up,” Elena corrected helpfully.
“No subtitles,” I told her.
“Poor Julian,” she said.
“Poor Julian,” I agreed.
“Nixie! Spanish soaps!” Julian snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. I have to admit it was effective in regaining my attention. “What do you mean, ‘bad’?”
“He just said ‘bad’, Julian. Okay? He didn’t explain it, didn’t expand, expound or expatiate. He said bad, and that he wasn’t joking. I just blew it off at the time. This Ruthven guy was a bit woo-woo, if you know what I mean.”
“Ruthven.” Julian exchanged a look with Bo that I could only call tense. “We’d better get them home.”
So I traded looks with Elena. I had a feeling abo
ut who ‘them’ were.
She spoke for both of us. “No. No way. We’ve got as much at stake in this as you do, gentlemen.” Under her breath she added, “Maybe more.” Turning to Bo she said, “We came here to investigate the warehouse, Bo. Let’s do it.”
“Elena,” Bo said. “This may be more dangerous than we thought.”
“Bo,” she returned with that warning tone of voice only married people can do. “We came here to investigate. I’m investigating.”
Even I could hear the unspoken, Whether you like it or not.
Elena shouldered her bassoon grenade launcher (which I figured from my conversation with Bruno must be an SMAW) and stalked toward the warehouse.
Bo ran after.
Julian sighed. “I should stay with them. In case they need help.”
I picked up my clarinet. “Let’s go.”
“Nixie—oh, never mind. You’ll be safer with me anyway.” He took guitar and amp and followed Bo and Elena at a smooth glide.
I trotted alongside. “Julian…do you know this Ruthven guy?” And then, because I was coming to trust him, I added, “Do you think he sounds kind of…inhuman?”
To his everlasting credit, Julian did not laugh at me. “Yes, I’ve met him. And yes, I find him a bit odd.”
“Woo-woo odd, or creepy odd?”
Julian shrugged. “Ruthven tends to be melodramatic. Who else would style himself ‘Lord’? But that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.”
“Is he part of the Ichabod Crane gang?”
Julian eyed me strangely. “The what?”
“Ichabod Crane. You know, Legend of Sleepy Hollow? Headless Horseman?”
“Yes, I get the Washington Irving reference. How does it relate to a gang—” Julian actually stopped speaking, almost impossible for a lawyer or politician. Ground to a halt. “You don’t think Cutter was decapitated, do you? And somehow had his head reattached?”
I pulled up next to him, and smiled sweetly into his face. “That’s impossible.”
“It is impossible.”
“So is he? Is this Ruthven guy one of the Lestats?” I threw out the name to see if I could get a reaction.
Julian didn’t startle or stutter. But his eyes narrowed suddenly on mine. “Cutter works for the Coterie. Ruthven is second-in-command of the Coterie. Who are the Lestats?”
“Oops, sorry, my mistake.” I traipsed off toward the warehouse.
Julian spun me back. “Where did you hear that name? The Lestats?”
“Somewhere. I don’t remember.”
“Nixie. Don’t. This is far more dangerous than you know.”
“Is it?” I finally lost my temper. “That’s what people keep telling me, but I wouldn’t know, would I? Because no one will tell me anything, not really. Oh, they say something bad will happen. Or that it’s dangerous. But they don’t give me details. They don’t tell me why.” I grabbed Julian by his cashmere lapels and looked up pleadingly into his eyes. “Why, Julian? What’s so dangerous about this gang? What’s so bad? And why do people say ‘gang’ like it’s something unnatural?”
“Nixie—”
“Don’t, Julian.” He was going to say that I wasn’t prepared for the truth. Or, worse, that I was imagining things. “Don’t lie to me and don’t treat me like a kid.”
He set down my amp, brushed back my curls from my face. “I’ll try not to. But it isn’t easy to explain. And isn’t safe to speak about it in public.”
“Public? We’re outside an abandoned warehouse—”
“Which is rumored to hold the very gang we’re talking about. Nixie, I’ll tell you, I swear. But not now. Okay?”
I gazed up into his eyes, wanting to believe him. Wanting to believe he trusted me enough to not treat me like a kid. Wanting to believe he cared enough not to lie to me. “All right, Julian. I’ll wait. But not forever.”
Chapter Twelve
Boards covered the warehouse windows, high overhead. Boards had also been nailed over the door, but one was askew, revealing a child-sized hole. Julian pushed my guitar and amp through. Then he folded his big frame and slid deftly in.
Julian’s big, hard body fitting small holes made me pause for a moment and fan myself. Whew. I ducked in after.
As Julian straightened, all points alert, I looked around with interest. The lights were on. Maybe that meant someone was home. Maybe the mystery wouldn’t have to wait for Julian to explain. Maybe I’d see the gang “where they slept” right now.
I trotted forward. Julian picked up my equipment and glided after me. The concrete floor was disappointingly empty. Not even sleeping bags. About midway a set of spiral stairs led up to a platform.
Bo and Elena were just disappearing into a single-room office on the platform. We had crossed halfway there when they came back out. “Nothing here,” Bo called down.
“No,” Julian said. “I would have smelled them.”
I found that a little hard to believe. “Smelled them? Is this the BO gang? Haven’t showered since 1852?”
“They’re a bit younger than that,” Julian said with a smile. He seemed more relaxed. “This was a false alarm. We can go home after all.”
Home? With Julian? I was just absorbing the possibilities when a scream shattered the night.
Bo streaked down the stairs. “Outside.” He went almost supernaturally fast, Elena clumping behind.
“Stay here.” Julian dropped my amp and guitar and streaked after.
Julian dropped my baby! I immediately fell to my knees to throw open the latches and check on poor Oscar. Thankfully my Strat was okay.
I was relatching the case when Elena reached me. “We’re supposed to stay here,” I said, rising.
“The hell with that.” She unshouldered her SMAW. “Samuel and I have work to do.” She patted the large tube.
Samuel? Elena had named her bazooka?
But if she was going, I was going. “Okay, let’s kick some gang butt.”
Elena flashed me worried eyes. “Nixie…you’re not armed.”
“Oh, not you too. I’m not a kid, and I’m not helpless! I know what I’m doing, Elena. I study Taekwondo with Mr. Miyagi three times a week!” Yeah, really. Mr. Miyagi Park, actually, but he even looked like Pat Morita from The Karate Kid.
“But Nixie…this gang is, well, monstrous. It takes more than guts and hand-to-hand technique to stop them.”
“We can stand here all day arguing, or we can go Bruce Lee some Lestats. Which is it, Elena?”
The worried look turned to shock as she stared at me. “You know about the Lestats? You know, and you’re going into combat unarmed?”
The incredulity in her voice should have clued me in. But I was too mad at everyone treating me like a kid.
At that moment, I was a kid, and a stupid one at that. “Enough fapping, Elena. Are we women or are we wimps?”
Elena stared at me a moment longer. “All right,” she said finally. Let’s go.
I climbed through the hole in the door, into the end of the world.
Chaos. Violence. Screams.
Gaunt, fiery-eyed men rampaged outside. Skull-headed, unnaturally fluid men with teeth like jagged glass. Evil-looking men, seemingly hundreds of them. A knot of red fire and flashing knives, surrounding…shit.
Surrounding Julian and Bo.
Bo held a limp bundle in one arm. The bundle had two blonde heads. I realized it was two people, one a child. They seemed unconscious…or dead.
Bo fought ferociously with one hand. He wielded what looked like a long knife, or a sword. The blade whistled through the air, forcing the gaunt men back.
One man dove forward, under Bo’s blade. The man came up swinging a wicked-looking knife.
Bo dodged and spit him on the sword like a pig.
I shuddered.
Julian fought by Bo’s side. Like Bo, he slashed at the masses with a long blade, spinning with deadly grace and speed. Lightning fast, almost savage.
I almost didn’t recognize lawboy
Julian. His face was sharp and hard, skin like bladed armor. His eyes glowed red. His mouth opened in a horrific roar. Revealing—revealing—
Fangs.
Foot-long fangs, or so they seemed to me. Like a sabertooth tiger’s. Roaring through those monster fangs, Julian whirled his lethal blade—and sliced through an attacker’s throat.
Geysers of blood sprayed from the gaunt man’s severed neck. So much blood. Fountains, that became rivulets and finally stopped. That was actually worse. He had to be dead.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Instead of dropping the body, Julian grabbed the man by the hair. Yanked him in. The head flopped like a rag doll.
Foreboding lanced me. Julian seized the man in the crook of his sword arm. He slapped a palm on the man’s head. Pushed…twisted.
To my horror I heard a series of wet pops. Like ripping off a turkey leg. Through the roars I could actually hear the chock of broken vertebrae as the man’s neck snapped.
Julian lifted the man by the hair, body dangling limply. He raised his sword.
I wanted to shout wait, stop! But my throat wouldn’t obey.
With a fierce, inhumanly powerful stroke, Julian sliced the man’s head completely off.
I spun away, dizzy. Julian Emerson was chopping off heads. I fell to my knees and was violently ill next to a broken board.
It seemed like that nightmare took forever, but in fact it was only a few moments. Elena was just emerging behind me from the Roller-Blayd factory. She stopped. Screamed, “Gretchen! Stella!”
Dripping spit, I pulled my head up. The limp bundle in Bo’s arm—the blonde heads. Bo held Elena’s sister, Gretchen. And her five-year-old niece, Estella.
Elena ran into the fray, her SMAW blazing. She stopped for an instant and turned sideways as she shot. If I had been in my right mind I would have wondered why. As it was I saw the reason. The payload exploded in front, the recoil blasted behind. Swaths of men flew in both directions. Bodies exploded, burned.
Elena cut a path through the attackers. A path of exploding death.
I didn’t understand the wholesale destruction Elena was delivering. Oh, I understood her anger, her fear. The gaunt men were attacking her husband, her sister. Her small niece.
