by Rob Thurman
“Ten o’clock.” He didn’t look in the direction of the glass wall he was indicating, and I made sure to grab only the quickest of glances from the corner of my eye. White eyes were studying us . . . white with elliptical black pupils.
“Robin, get your ass out here,” I said. Casual. Oblivious. “Now.” Whatever it was, it was big. The eyes were the size of lemons. And whatever it was, it wasn’t buying my act. It came through in an explosion of glass as Cherish and the cadejos had. I heard Robin swear as he came out of his office, “Skata. Caliban, you bastard. Not again.” But then he saw it wasn’t me in one of his cars. It was a cat, the kind that was way too fucking big for any litter box. The size of a panther, one damn huge panther, it was black except for thin silver stripes at its shoulders. The tail whipped as white eyes fixed on us, the pupils dilating . . . a giant tabby focusing on dinner. Us.
“All right,” Robin said, freezing in place, “I don’t enjoy at all that kind of puss—”
“If you value your life, do not finish that sentence,” Promise warned, rising carefully from the chair. I had the Eagle at my side and I pointed it very slowly at the cat’s chest. Quick moves weren’t good with your regular pissed-off cat. I didn’t think it’d be any different with this one. The tail continued to thrash as it took a step forward, its head lowering and its jaw dropping. My finger tightened on the trigger before Niko ordered, “Cal, no.”
“No? You gotta be shitting me,” I said incredulously. “Fluffy is coming for our asses.”
“No, he’s sampling our scent.” True, it was chuffing air in and out and not snarling, but it didn’t make me feel any better or any less like a zebra about to get its neck snapped.
It took another step and another, this time toward Promise. Niko drew his sword as slowly and carefully as I’d raised my gun. The black lip wrinkled up to show teeth that weren’t pantherlike at all . . . unless a panther was crossed with a school of piranha. No way it came from the local pet store.
My finger tightened again, but as before, the cat only drew in air. Then it snapped its jaw shut and growled. Apparently, it was a signal, because someone who had to be Oshossi appeared.
About six inches taller than me, maybe more, and two or three taller than Nik. Dark skin, black hair. Kind of weird there, though. Slick like a cat’s fur. Gold eyes, bright gold. Leopard’s eyes. He also had the pointed teeth of a cannibal. They showed in a coldly satisfied smile. “I see we’ve tracked down the mother. Now where is the thief?” The cat could pick out a relative of Cherish’s from smell alone? In this city? That was one talented bad-ass kitty. Cherish was lucky Oshossi and his pet had picked Brooklyn to search first, or she’d probably be cat chow right about now.
Glass crunched under black boots as Oshossi stepped forward. He wore a long black coat, black pants and shirt, and a choker-style necklace of small off-white beads. No. Teeth. They were teeth. And you could bet your ass they were human teeth, because, hell, that’s just the way things worked in our life.
“Give me the thief.” His voice was smooth as glass. It was the voice of a boa constrictor. “Come, walk right into my open mouth. Don’t mind the fangs. Just decoration, that’s all.” Then one swallow and you were gone—your dumb ass gobbled up while you thought, Gee, what a nice guy.
This nice guy was carrying two machetes. Big, shiny, and as capable of chopping through our limbs as if they were trees. I had to make a decision: Keep the gun on the cat or on Mr. Slice-and-Dice. I kept it on the cat. No matter how fast Oshossi was, I was betting the cat was faster.
“The thief.” The gold eyes flared and the pupils dilated just like the cat’s.
“You cannot have her,” Promise said.
“No?” The pointed teeth were shown in another smile, this one feral and savage. “I think I can. I think I can skin her alive if I choose. Rip her organs free and feed them to my pets before she dies. Tear away her eyelids so she has no choice but to watch. I think I can do all those things and you can’t stop me.” The smile widened, upper and lower teeth separating widely—I’d never seen a mouth open so wide on a human-looking face. I heard the jaws pop like firecrackers. Through that mouth they came. His voice was as hypnotic as a snake’s, and that’s what boiled free. A small river of serpents.
Six feet long and as big around as a rattlesnake. They were as black as the cat, and the venom-dripping fangs were the same color. They hit the floor and slithered in our direction. “All right,” Robin said as he backed up, “that is more than a little disturbing.”
“No shit. You think?” I pulled the trigger on the cat. We had more than enough to worry about. We didn’t need Fluffy too. The first three shots hit it in the chest, blowing ragged holes the size of silver dollars in it. It didn’t faze it one damn bit. My next shot missed as it leapt literally over our heads and ended up behind us. The snakes were in front of us, the cat behind, and Oshossi . . . Oshossi turned and walked off into the night. As if we weren’t worth his time. He’d left us a few presents, and so long, suckers. The son of a bitch. It wasn’t enough to leave his pets to kill us, but he insulted us too? Saying that’s all we were worth? Like siccing a Chihuahua on the mailman. A definite lack of respect.
Then again, giant cat, a carpet of snakes . . . that did beat a Chihuahua—in deadliness, if not crankiness.
I turned, knowing Nik would protect my back, and fired at the cat again. I only clipped it as it leapt again at the same time I fired. It landed close enough to take a swipe at me, the kind of swipe that would open you like a giant can opener and spill your yummy gravy ’n’ nuggets on the floor. I dove, hit the carpet, and rolled. Not under it. I’d seen what cats do to prey that end up under them. Those hind feet would rip me from breastbone to lower abdomen. Once again . . . guts on the floor.
There are lots of ways to go. That wasn’t one I’d pick. I fired again into its side as triple rows of teeth were bared in a snarl that sounded like a hundred lions. I was suddenly sorry Niko had made me watch the Discovery Channel, because I could all too easily picture those teeth buried in my stomach. Hot breath on torn flesh, what should be inside of you would be outside instead . . . in efficient jaws. The gazelle bites the dust. I didn’t want to be the gazelle.
The bullets hit a rib bone. I heard one break and shatter the two around it. Lucky me? Not so much. I was aiming for something a lot more vital. It jumped again, and this time I dove over the receptionist’s desk, which promptly shattered under the muscular black bulk.
Shit.
I turned at the enraged hiss by my face. One of the snakes was about a foot away. The venom falling from its fangs was sizzling and burning holes in the carpet beneath it.
Shit.
There was a quicksilver slice and the snake’s head spun free of its body and landed on the floor. Its body continued to thrash, but I didn’t have time to enjoy the show. I jerked my eyes back to the cat. Promise was on its back with a dagger in her hand. The point was aimed at the thick neck as she slammed it home. The cat hissed and twisted, throwing Promise off, and then it was gone after its master. Did I mention I was in the way? I shot it again as it hit me. It sent me flying from the shoulder that connected with me, and I was on the floor again. The bullets I fired went through its throat. It narrowed eyes back at me and sneezed a mist of blood into the air, bared its teeth again, and then was gone. The night swallowed it up.
I wasn’t sorry to see it go. I was all for finishing a job, but when a Desert Eagle barely makes a dent, that is one tough pussycat. Next time I’d try for about ten rounds in its brain and see what happened.
I sat up, this time on the other side of yet another desk, with three more headless snakes’ bodies finally stilling, then disintegrating. Like the venom, it burned the carpet when it went, leaving an S-shaped scorch mark. Niko appeared and held down a hand and pulled me up. All over the room I could see similar brands. The smell of acid-singed carpet was in the air as Promise and Robin moved over to us. I assumed no one was bitten as no one was down and writh
ing in agony. Humiliation maybe, but not agony.
Robin wiped his sword on the carpet and slipped it back under his coat. “Cherish,” he said, looking around at the broken glass, destroyed desk, and smoking carpet with irritation. Extreme irritation, if the audible grinding of his teeth meant anything. “Promise, I fully expect your daughter to reimburse me for damages incurred, along with punitive damages for my emotional trauma and suffering. Intense trauma and suffering.” He shook his head as he focused on the desk. “I just bought that. Five hundred dollars for what is supposed to be the sturdiest one on the market, and that ccoa takes it out like a catnip mouse. Skata.”
“A ccoa?” I lowered the gun to my side, sucked in a breath still soaked in adrenaline, and cocked my head toward Niko. “You’re really lying down on Name That Monster. And by the way, you are never making me watch Discovery Channel again.”
“Educational channels are good for you. It kept you ungutted, didn’t it? And I’m aware it was a ccoa,” he said in annoyance. “Usually found in Peru. It appears that Oshossi has shipped an entire zoo from South America.”
“And where is he keeping it?” It was a stupid question. Central Park was the only place big enough, although the mama boggle there was notoriously territorial. “Boggle won’t be happy.”
“You might be surprised, little brother. This Oshossi seems to have a way with predators, and she is nothing if not a predator,” Niko disagreed. He didn’t resheath his sword, just as I didn’t put away my gun. Oshossi and the ccoa appeared to have left, but appearances were nothing if not deceiving.
Boggle, murderous and unsanitary as hell, wouldn’t be at all pleased if we tried to question her. As a matter of fact, she and her brood might try to eat us, and they might succeed. There were enough of them and they had every reason not to like us. “We could ask her,” I said, lip curling in doubt and disgust as I remembered the stench of her mud pit.
“Ask her?” Robin echoed with a disbelieving snort. “You and Niko are responsible for her being half skinned alive. She’s practically summer sausage. Talking is iffy, and spooning is completely out of the question.”
Which was true. We’d hired her to help us with our Sawney problem two weeks ago and things hadn’t gone quite the way we’d planned. Boggle was the shit, Central Park’s Queen of the Jungle, but Sawney . . . he’d been nearly indestructible. And almost as insane as an Auphe.
“Robin’s right. Flippant and annoying, but right.” Niko turned the katana until the flat of the blade caught the light, studied the flash. “You do know where the ccoa is going next, don’t you?” He looked up at Promise, his gaze like a winter river—reflecting nothing. Any emotion he might be feeling was caught deep in the undertow.
“Yes, I know,” she answered, a shadow of worry passing over her face. “Will you come?” It was said without desperation, said proudly. Even injured, Promise was more than a fighter in her own right. Together she and Cherish could probably take the ccoa. Maybe.
If there was only one.
This Oshossi who had sent in a whole pack of cadejos . . . I doubted he’d send only one ccoa to do the deed next time. We’d sent this one running for its life—that was my story and I was sticking to it. Oshossi would know better in the future. He was smart. As for helping Cherish . . . Niko had said before he would help, but that was days ago when Promise’s lie was fresh.
Funny thing about lies: They don’t get better with time. They fester and turn and chew a raw hole in you; they make you wonder if it was only one lie or were there others. It didn’t help we’d spent three years living a lie ourselves. Niko wouldn’t have told those lies if it weren’t for me, but he couldn’t help but remember how easy it was. People see what they want to see and believe what they want to believe. Hell, they all but lie to themselves. There was hardly any work involved at all. We practically never needed our fake IDs.
And, really, did anyone ever just tell one lie? Then again, weren’t Niko and I lying now? Or at the very least not giving all the information we had on the Auphe—on me. It wouldn’t make a difference in Promise and Robin’s fate that they didn’t know mine. But it was a damn slippery slope. Niko and Promise had already seen that.
I spoke up before Niko could. Made the choice so he didn’t have to. “Yeah, we said we would. Let’s go kick Garfield’s ass. Maybe catch one and take it home to breed with Robin’s cat.”
Robin, eyes slanting in Niko’s direction, caught my line of thought, tucked that ball under his arm, and ran with it. “Oh yes, another wonderful idea from the man whose refrigerator spawned the cheddapet, the cheddar-based life form with a thick and luxurious coat of mold. Magnifique.” He was walking, gesturing to us with an impatient hand to follow, and already on his cell phone with his lieutenant sales pitbull. “Yes, yes, Jackson. You’re mother is in a coma. I’m aware,” he said crossly. “So she won’t even notice you’re gone then, will she? Now come down here to the lot and get the glass fixed before someone makes off with the inventory, your job, and what little ass you’ll have left after I’m through kicking it.” He snapped the phone shut.
“Pure evil,” I said. “Not that I’m surprised.”
“That’s the fifteenth time in two months that his mother’s been in a coma. That may work with the teary-eyed customers, but not with me.” He gave his patented sales-shark sly grin. “Besides, I was the one who taught him that line. Great salesman, rotten short-term memory.” He opened the door to the limo and looked back at me. “There’s still a position available, you know.”
Talk about Get thee behind me, Satan. I used a little of my Rom half to fork the evil eye at him. “How many souls a week to I have to rack up? Is there a quota? Do I have to sign anything in blood?”
“That Faust, he never could keep a secret.” He gave a slick smile and got in the car.
We beat the giant hairball hacker to Seamus’s loft. I could still smell the faint trace of death when we arrived. Old blood. Scrub as hard as you want, the scent still lingers. As for Cherish’s scent, my nose wasn’t good enough to detect relatives. I had no idea if she smelled like Promise at the genetic level or not. I could only detect a mix of pears and brandy. She smelled exactly like a dessert Robin had ordered once when he’d dragged us . . . well, me . . . to some expensive restaurant. Niko and Promise had enjoyed it, but I’d had to break out my good shoes: the black sneakers. What a pain in the ass. I’d take pizza any day. You can eat that in jeans. Hell, you can eat it buck naked on the couch if you want. As long as no red-hot cheese dripped on the important parts, you’re good to go.
“Madre.” She stood at the door, dressed all in white this time. There was a long white silk skirt that skimmed below her navel to reveal an amethyst on a silver hoop. She also wore a high-necked top that was a backdrop to a web of more silver and amethysts. Unlike the fake vampires that hung around the Goth bars, there wasn’t a whip, leather bra, or thigh-high boot in sight.
She kept us waiting for a second and then shook off the surprise to step back. “I’m sorry. Come in. I’m glad you’re here.”
Once we were inside, I smelled new blood thick over the scent of the old. I also smelled goat. The chupa, Xolo, was sitting on Seamus’s couch, watching a television, which looked new. I hadn’t noticed one in the loft the last time we were there. Seamus probably hadn’t spent a lot of time watching TV, what with all the painting and murdering. That kind of thing’s time consuming.
The chupa’s mild brown eyes were dazed and content as he drank the goat blood from a large glass. Apparently, that beat the tequila that they normally drank hands-down. The things were smart enough to carry around money, dress themselves, go to a bar, and point to a drink—I’d never heard one speak—but that seemed to be the sum total of their brain power.
“You sure he doesn’t need a sippy cup?” I asked. The whole thing was weird. Did Cherish want it as a pet, or the next best thing to a kid? Was her biological clock ticking, but she didn’t want the commitment of the real thing? Did she have
a rhinestone collar for it, or a college fund? Did I actually care either way?
Nope.
She ignored me. Closing the door behind us, she fingered one of the teardrop amethysts on her necklace as she faced us. “I wanted to . . .” She trailed off and smiled, mostly at herself. “How awkward to find fault with yourself. I wanted to apologize to you, Madre. I’m a selfish creature, I know. But even I go beyond the pale to put my mother in danger when she’s already there to begin with. I am selfish, but not so selfish I want to see anything happen to you.” She dropped the amethyst and reached for Promise’s hand. “You are my only family. Thirty years may pass between my visits, but you are my corazoín. You gave me life. I don’t want to have a part in taking yours.”
Promise curled her fingers around her daughter’s hand as I drawled, “What about the rest of us?”
That dimpled smile reappeared. “Oh, the rest of you are as disposable as last month’s fashion.”
“Excepting the whole millstone around our necks dragging us to certain death, you’re quite entertaining.” Robin gave her what looked like a leer to me but probably had a more sophisticated name. I didn’t waste time trying to guess what it was. With Robin all roads led to Rome, and Rome was apparently in his pants.
Cherish’s own smile slid to something with more heat in it. “You aren’t wrong, cielito.”
“Little heaven?” He raised his eyebrows. “Not so little, anasa mou. And you owe me several thousand dollars. Perhaps we could arrange a trade?”
“We did come here for a reason,” Niko said, with little patience for the flirting. “Although I’m sure Oshossi and his ccoa would happily wait to let you consume each other before they consume you.”
