Iron Night

by M. L. Brennan

  “What does that have to do with anything?” I asked, but she just gave me one long look and left the room. I heard the front door close behind her.

  Too much had happened tonight for my brain to process this last curveball. I got out of bed and padded to the front door, throwing the slide bar and checking the locks. Then I crossed back to my bedroom. Reaching under the bed, I grabbed the old pair of slippers that served as my spare ammo container, and pulled out a few bullets for the .45 and a set of shells for the Ithaca, and carefully loaded both guns. I checked the safety on my Colt and slid it under the extra pillow on my bed. The Ithaca I placed on the floor, within easy reach of a quick grab. Then I got back into the bed and listened to the silence of the apartment.

  I would’ve thought that sleep would never come, but my exhausted body had other ideas. I closed my eyes on a blink, and I was asleep.

  • • •

  I felt every bump, scrape, and pulled muscle the next morning, and I hobbled around the apartment like an old man, dry-swallowing aspirin and surrounding myself on the couch with a combination of soft quilts and bags of numbing ice cubes.

  As it turned out, I had nowhere to go. When I called into work to ask if someone else could cover my shift, I discovered that I’d already been fired. Apparently I’d been scheduled to work the full dinner shift the previous night, but I’d been so focused on what had been happening that Peláez had never even crossed my mind. I was unemployed again, at the start of yet another dual job-and-roommate hunt.

  I decided that I could take a few days before I started looking and worrying about my situation. I swallowed another aspirin, curled up on the couch, and put on my Firefly DVDs.

  I napped a lot that first afternoon, letting my body heal. The only interruption to my quiet day occurred when my brother called me in the early evening, telling me that we would be taking a Sunday afternoon sail with Bhumika on the Gay Belle. I tried my best to get out of it, pointing out that the Fiesta was in no condition to be driven and I had no money to pay a mechanic. In a voice that brooked no dissention, Chivalry told me that he’d come and pick me up. With no escape, I finally gave in.

  I left four messages on Suzume’s phone, but she never picked up. I felt both annoyed and a little worried, but my feelings were allayed when I opened my door that night. Instead of the pizza I’d been expecting, a guy about five inches shorter than me but around my own age offered his hand and a polite smile. “Hi. I’m sorry that I was running a little late, but my study group ran long.” He shook the hand that I’d automatically extended.

  “Um . . .” I racked my brain but was still lost. Next to his rich brown skin tone, I felt as pasty as a fish’s underbelly. Bad luck that I’d never been able to get even the slightest tan. “Are you sure you have the right apartment?”

  He looked startled, glanced at my door number, then back at me. “Yeah, number three above the bra shop. I’m Dan Tabak.” I stared at him blankly. He dropped my hand and the polite smile, now looking annoyed. “We’ve been e-mailing all week about the apartment.”

  Comprehension dawned—after all, Suze had said she’d find me a roommate. I looked at him closer—he was working a level of stubble that on me would look hungover, but on him looked like he probably had a special setting on an expensive razor. His short and curly black hair had an impressive level of coif, and I was trying not to feel self-conscious that I was in my pajamas with bandages up both arms and a black eye while he looked red-carpet ready in a pair of business slacks and an indigo blue dress shirt with just the collar button undone.

  He was also distinctly irritated with me. “Listen, you said in the e-mail that you had a room for rent. If you reconsidered, then you could’ve let me know before I drove—” He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, which I snagged and glanced over. On the page were directions to the apartment, sent from my own e-mail account. Apparently Suzume had figured out my password, since I knew I’d never used Laters as a closing in my life. I smiled—Suze had found me a nonhuman roommate, just like she’d said she would. And delivered him to me, true to form, as a Hollis-special prank.

  Dan was still good and pissed, but I cut him off. “My last roommate was murdered, but most of the people responsible got killed last night—a few of them by me. My best friend is a kitsune, so she set this whole thing up without telling me, which is why I don’t know who or what the hell you are, but the room is move-in ready. We go fifty-fifty on rent and utilities, due first of the month. You get half of the storage space in the basement. Parking is in the back, and if you want to use it you have to talk with the landlord about renting a spot. I don’t know if Suze told you, but I’m Fortitude Scott, so be sure that you’re okay with that.”

  There was a long pause while he processed it. Then, “Of course I know who you are.” He huffed an annoyed breath, like a bird settling ruffled feathers. “And I’m a smoker.”

  “That’s fine as long as you only do it outside or on the fire escape.”

  “And a law student at Johnson and Wales U.”

  “The commute there is easy.”

  “And a ghoul.”

  I paused. Chivalry had told me about the ghouls, who required a regular diet of human flesh to survive, but I’d never actually met one before. He’d assured me that they were actually one of the lower-key species in the community, very rarely breaking rules or making waves, but I couldn’t contain a small mental ew response. I eyed Dan again—he sure didn’t look (or smell) like what my mental image of a ghoul had been, so I clarified, “So you eat . . . ?”

  “Human organs, yes.” He rolled his eyes at my ignorance. “But since I’m a ghoul, not a Wendigo, I get them from the morgue or a funeral home.” He cut off my next question. “Yes, I keep them in regular butcher paper so you don’t have to see them, and, yes, I label them so you don’t have to worry about eating them by accident.” Something in the way he rattled off that list made me wonder how many other supernatural creatures weren’t exactly lining up to be a ghoul’s roommate.

  “Oh, that wouldn’t happen,” I assured him automatically. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  He looked taken aback for the first time in the conversation and eyed me suspiciously for a beat. “Let’s try month-to-month to start with until we’re sure it works out.”

  “Hold on,” I interrupted. “I haven’t said that you can rent from me.” There was one last disclosure, and I knew that this one would probably be the deal breaker. “The window is broken in your room, and the landlord is really shitty about repairs.”

  Dan shrugged. “That’s fine. My boyfriend is a contractor.”

  Jackpot. “When do you want to move in?”

  “My old lease is up at the end of the month.”

  And just like that, I had a new roommate. I called Suze to thank her, but she didn’t pick up, and I left another message.

  I tried calling Matt’s phone once, but he didn’t pick up. I tried to leave him a voice mail, but there was nothing to say, and after a minute of dead air I just hung up.

  The next morning Lilah came to visit me. I ushered her inside and we ended up perched on my sofa in the same spots we’d occupied earlier in the week. But this time we were finally both comfortable enough with each other that it didn’t take cheap alcohol to start the conversation. She sympathized with my injuries—the cuts on my arms were too deep to be scabbing over yet, and changing the bandages twice a day had reached the point where I was taking a lot of preemptive aspirin. She’d managed to get through the fight in the fairy circle with no visible wounds, but when I asked how things were going for her, she didn’t pretend that it hadn’t been hard. After all, she was now a traitor in the eyes of many of the Neighbors, and it was only fear of the Scotts that had prevented the Ad-hene and her grandfather from torturing or even killing her.

  Like me, she was suddenly unemployed—Dreamcatching’s owner had been one of the casualties
of the fight, and she’d decided to quit before his daughter could fire her. We teased each other a little, bantering comfortably about the unemployed life, and talking about where each of us was thinking of looking for new work. At one point I asked her whether she would try to find work with another of the Neighbor businesses, and she shook her head.

  “I’m going to be figuring out how to live outside the community again,” she noted a little regretfully.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?” I asked.

  “I don’t think I have a choice.”

  I tilted my head and considered her. “If the Ad-hene and their stooges were keeping the killings secret from so many people, then they must’ve thought that anyone outside of the most rabid fanatics would have objections. Was that not the case?”

  “Definitely not. The whole community is reeling. Killing the recessives, what was done to the three-quarter girls who were drugged to participate, and finally the whole idea that they would’ve been willing to kill Felix . . . I’d say it’s pretty much chaos right now.”

  I reached across and gently took one of her hands in mine, and smiled at the surprise that spread across her face. “Chaos in a group can be an opportunity for new leadership,” I told her.

  Her coppery eyebrows arched up her forehead. “Me?” she squeaked. “Themselves would never allow it.”

  “Why not?” I asked, warming to the idea myself. “I told your grandfather that you are the new liaison to the vampires, and I meant it. Why not take that piece of authority and build some more? It was leaving all the control in the hands of fanatics that started the problem. And maybe this could be a chance for you to build the kind of community that you want—one that isn’t as obsessed with reclaiming old glories as in making a safe life for the Neighbors.”

  She smiled at me. “You’re very persuasive, Fort.”

  “Am I?” I asked. “Usually not. But it seems pretty obvious to me. You can’t be the only hybrid who isn’t chained to the altar of the elves, and maybe it’s time that numbers made a difference. The Ad-hene rely on their descendents for whatever piece of the future they’ll have, and maybe it’s time for you guys to start making decisions for yourselves, not for them. After all, you outnumber the crap out of them.”

  Lilah nodded slowly. “Shoney’s death really shook a lot of people up. None of Themselves have died since Underhill opened up again.” She squeezed my hand and considered it for a second, finally nodding. “I’ll think about it,” she promised. “But even if I can’t be the Napoleon you’re hoping for, maybe I don’t have to be all on my own.” Then she leaned over suddenly and kissed me.

  At first I was just surprised. It had been a long time since I’d been kissed, and Lilah was a very nice person to be kissed by. Her mouth was soft against mine, and something about her skin and her beautiful curly hair smelled like honeysuckle and springtime. When I lifted my hand up to cup her head, I could feel the tip of one pointed ear against my palm and the chinchilla softness of its fur and the way it twitched at the contact made me smile against her mouth. Everything about the kiss, and about Lilah herself, was as sweet as spun sugar.

  And that was the problem. When I lifted my mouth from hers and leaned back, she looked up at me with those huge golden-brown eyes and I realized even as I brushed one thumb against the freckles that painted her cheek that those weren’t the eyes I wanted to be looking into.

  She read the truth on my face and scooted backward slightly. “Is it Suzume?” she asked. “I’m sorry. I thought the two of you weren’t together.”

  I dropped my hands, pulling them back into my own lap. “We’re not dating,” I explained. “And I don’t know if she even likes me like that, but, yeah, it’s Suzume.”

  I’d been on the other end of this kind of conversation many times, so I was able to admire how gracefully Lilah nodded her understanding and carefully gathered up her purse and coat, as if she’d been ready to leave anyway.

  We walked to the door together, and as I opened it for her, I reached out and caught her wrist. “Lilah,” I said, “I know it’s not . . . you know . . . but I really would like it if we could be friends.”

  She didn’t quite smile at me, but the gold in her eyes brightened, and she nodded. “I’d like that too.”

  “And I meant what I said earlier,” I added. “I think you’d make a great Napoleon.”

  Lilah laughed, half in disbelief, but also half in real amusement, and we said good-bye.

  I left three messages on Suzume’s phone that evening, but she didn’t call me back.

  • • •

  Sunday was cool but sunny, a perfect day for the last sail of the season. Bhumika was ensconced in the most sheltered area of the deck that Chivalry could find, wrapped in several fleece blankets and tucked onto a mound of cushions that my brother had obtained for the occasion. Meanwhile Chivalry and I, dressed according to my brother’s strict dress code of correct yachting apparel, which consisted of white slacks, polo shirts, and jaunty nautical sweaters and caps, worked with the sails as the Gay Belle darted merrily across the waves of Narragansett Bay.

  We didn’t talk much. Most of Chivalry’s attention was focused on Bhumika, whose pleasant smile couldn’t offset the tight, painful lines that were etched into her face, or the fact that a full oxygen mask was affixed across her face for the entire trip. But we all smiled and did our best to pretend that this was just another lovely afternoon, and not so clearly the last time that she would ever set foot on the deck of this boat until the day her husband would board with a box of her ashes to scatter.

  Chivalry and I talked only once about the recent events. Bhumika had dropped off to sleep, and my brother and I had weighed anchor in a small sheltered spot of the bay to break open the picnic basket that Madeline’s cook had prepared for us.

  “You did well, little brother,” Chivalry said, handing me a sandwich. I looked at it and sighed—typical as always, it was roast beef. I tucked it back into the basket and removed a small container of fresh deviled eggs.

  “How do you figure that?” I asked. “Prudence hates me more than ever, and because of what I did she actually ended up challenging Mother directly. Matt learned everything that I’ve been trying to hide from him. And a lot of people were killed.” People who should never have been in danger, and whose names felt branded across my soul—Gage, Beth, and poor Mr. Albert.

  “All of those things are true,” my brother acknowledged. “Though Prudence’s feelings for you, as I’ve always said, are much more complicated than you’re willing to admit. But do you know what I see? That you negotiated when you could, you were willing to fight when negotiation failed, you made allies who showed loyalty to you, and you were also willing to make hard decisions when you needed to.” Chivalry patted my shoulder roughly.

  “And Matt?” I pressed.

  Chivalry looked away, across the waves of the bay and toward the graceful lines of the bridges in the distance. Above us seagulls massed and made their long, lonely caws, eyeing our sandwiches greedily and hoping for some handouts. “I would have killed him, Fortitude,” he admitted finally. “It would’ve been as quick and painless as I could make it, but I would not have chosen to leave Mr. McMahon alive.” He turned back to me. “But you made the decision that you did. Let us simply hope that it turns out well.”

  “Do you think it will?”

  He paused. “I hope it does, brother. For your sake, I truly do.” Chivalry glanced over to where Bhumika was sleeping, and a deep, old sadness filled his face. “I’ll need some . . . time over the next few months.”

  “To be with Bhumika,” I said softly, and he nodded.

  “Yes. But after seeing what you were able to accomplish on your own with the very difficult elf situation, I have no doubts that you’ll be able to police the territory in my absence.”

  “Police the territory?” I asked, my jaw dropping. “On
my own?”

  “You can do it,” he said encouragingly. “I even have your first assignment. We received a tip that a group of selkies in Maine are sinking local fishing boats that haven’t paid protection.”

  “And you want me to—what?”

  “Look into it. Locate the ringleaders and put a stop to it.”

  I stared at him, in his wide-brimmed Panama hat, looking so confidently at me in the early-afternoon sunshine. “You think I can do this?” I asked.

  He rested a hand on my shoulder and squeezed, smiling. “I know you can.”

  “But . . .” I floundered for a moment. “My car isn’t even running. I can’t get to Maine.”

  “Is that all you’re worried about?” He smiled. “Your car was towed to our mechanic this morning, after I picked you up. He’ll have it up and running again in no time.”

  “You towed . . .” I stopped and looked hard at my brother, then asked suspiciously, “What else did you do?”

  “Nothing!” he defended. Then, “I might have dropped a few months of rent off with your landlord.”

  “Chivalry!”

  “It’s nothing,” he protested. “Just to help you find your feet with your new responsibilities.” At my dirty look, he relented and said, “If it makes you feel better, look at it as payment for covering my responsibilities.”

  He had me there, and there was clearly no stopping what he’d already done, so I finally muttered, as gracelessly as possible, “Fine. But that’s the end of it.”

  “Of course,” he said. “Other than your salary.”

  “Chivalry!”

  It was a long argument. Chivalry, of course, had wanted me on an exorbitant salary that would’ve left me feeling tied by the neck to my family. I argued him down to an hourly wage that was similar to what I’d been earning bussing tables—but still higher, since Chivalry pointed out that I would no longer be earning tips, and the work would probably amount in some weeks to barely part-time. And with that we were both left moderately satisfied, and mostly unhappy, just like any good compromise.