Huh. Go figure.
“Hey, that’s pretty good,” Lee commented.
“I know, right?” Bethany agreed before jabbing her finger at him again. “Just remember what I said. I’ll be watching.” On that note, she made her exit, whirling away into the shadows along the edge of the playground.
“Ohh-kay,” Jen said to no one in particular. “Sorry about that, guys. Let’s go get those burgers, shall we?”
I paused to retrieve my thermos before following Jen and Lee.
“Daisy.” Cody’s voice halted me. “I lied before.”
“Oh?” Thermos in hand, I straightened. “About what?”
“I knew you were here,” he said quietly. “I caught your scent. And I know you could have handled Bethany on your own. I just wanted you to know I’ve got your back. I’ll always have your back.”
If my life were a movie, Cody would have gone on to say that he’d thought about what I’d said the other day and realized that I was right, that our problems weren’t insurmountable, that he loved me, that we’d find a way to make it work no matter what, that all that mattered was that we were in this together. The sound track would have swelled and we would have clung to each other and kissed in the falling snow, while the Christmas lights sparkled in the background, and maybe a few townsfolk who’d been rooting for us all along would have cheered.
Also, I would have been wearing a much cuter coat.
Instead, Cody just stood there looking sexy and unavailable, snowflakes dusting the fleece collar of his uniform jacket and melting in his hair.
“Thanks,” I said to him. “Good to know.”
So that’s pretty much all there is to say about that, which is to say, nothing. Nothing had changed.
I caught up with Jen and Lee, and the three of us crossed the street and went around the corner to Bob’s. It’s one of those places that’s swamped by tourists in the summer and reclaimed by locals in the off-season. Thanks to the lighting ceremony, it was crowded, but we managed to snag a table in the back.
“How very . . . quaint.” Lee glanced around the room at the decor, which consisted of Christmas lights, vintage beer signs, and creative taxidermy that had seen better days. “What the hell is that supposed to be?”
“It’s a jackalope,” I actually have a soft spot in my heart for taxidermists; it happens to be my grandfather’s trade, although he doesn’t go in for that sort of novelty work. “Don’t tell me you haven’t been to Bob’s before.”
Lee shrugged. “What can I say? Until recently, my life in Pemkowet has been a sheltered one.” He poured three glasses of beer from the pitcher the waitress had brought us and hoisted one. “Here’s to it becoming a hell of a lot more interesting.”
“You’re in pretty good spirits for a guy who just got tossed around by a vampire,” I observed.
He grinned. “I’m a guy who’s dating a vampire’s sister. That’s pretty badass, don’t you think?”
Jen muttered something incoherent into her beer glass, but on the whole, she didn’t look displeased.
We rehashed the Bethany incident while we waited for our food. When our burgers arrived, the waitress set a fresh pitcher of beer that none of us had ordered on the table along with our plates. “Courtesy of your friends at the bar.”
“What friends?” Lee’s voice took on a suspicious edge. “Is this a joke?”
Oh, gah. I’d sort of hoped that paranoid streak of his had become a thing of the past, but high school damage runs deep.
Jen gave him a mild look. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, okay?”
Scanning the bar, I caught sight of Dawn Evans swiveling on her stool. With a shy smile, she raised a beer bottle in our direction. “It’s okay. I know who it’s from,” I said, extricating myself from the table. “Be right back.”
I squeezed through the milling throng to where Dawn and Scott were sitting side by side at the bar. Although I’d touched base with Dawn to make sure the charms Casimir had provided to ward off the Night Hag had worked, I hadn’t seen either of them since the morning of Scott’s attack.
They looked good, both of them; calmer and clear-eyed. “Thanks.” I clinked my glass against Dawn’s bottle. “You didn’t need to do that.”
“Oh, ah know,” she said in her Alabama drawl, stroking Scott’s arm. “We just wanted to thank yuh.”
“We heard Chief Bryant announced that you caught the bitch.” Scott’s left eyelid twitched at the mention of the Night Hag, but his gaze was steady. Still haunted, but steady. “She was real, wasn’t she?”
I nodded. “Too damn real by half.”
“Yeah.” Scott nodded, too. “I’ve seen some bad shit in my day, but I don’t ever remember feeling so goddamn helpless. It’s good to know that there’s someone out there fighting the good fight and holding the line against things that go bump in the night. Because that shit? That shit’s uncanny. That shit can make you crazy. That shit can kill you.” He took a swig of beer, eyeing me. “I don’t know what you had to do to put an end to it, Ms. Johanssen, but I know there was a price. There’s always a price.”
“It was worth it.” At least I hoped it was.
“Well, we sure do ’preciate it,” Dawn murmured. “And it ain’t all bad, is it?” Her face brightened, touched with lingering wonder. “Were yuh at the tree-lightin’ ceremony tonight? Did yuh see them frost fairies?”
“Yeah, I did.” I smiled. “Beautiful, weren’t they?”
She smiled back at me. “Sure were. Yuh won’t see that anywhere else in the world, will yuh? And that little girl singin’ a solo sure was somethin’.” Dawn gave her husband’s arm another affectionate squeeze. “Scott thinks she should try out for The Voice, but ah still lahk American Idol.”
“Nah.” Scott took a pull on his beer bottle. “Idol’s played out.”
“You seem like you’re doing a lot better,” I said to him in a low voice. “Are you, um, still sleeping okay?”
“Yeah.” Scott nodded. “I have good days and bad. But it’s better.” He shuddered. “That bitch caught me hitting rock bottom. I don’t ever want to go back there.” Turning on his barstool, he stuck out his hand. “Put ’er there, soldier. You saved my life.”
I shook his hand, feeling self-conscious. “Oh, God, it’s nothing. I mean, it doesn’t compare to what you’ve been through. Thank you for the beer. Speaking of which, I should get back to my friends. I think their burgers are getting cold waiting for me.”
Dawn Evans caught my shoulder as I turned to go. “It weren’t nuthin’, honey,” she said softly. “Don’t yuh ever think that. Yer fightin’ a different kind of battle, that’s all.”
I shrugged. “Just trying to keep the peace.”
She gave me a sweet, weary smile. “Aren’t we all?”
I made my way back to the table and explained the situation to Jen and Lee, or at least as much of the situation as discretion permitted, while we dug into our burgers. His paranoia allayed, Lee was surprisingly understanding. I’d forgotten that Ben Lewis, one of his two close friends from Pemkowet High’s nerd posse, was serving in Afghanistan. Ben had been a short, stocky, quiet little guy, the Hobbit to Lee’s Skeletor. It was hard to imagine him in combat, but then, it was hard to imagine Dawn Evans driving a Humvee, too.
Later that night, walking back to my apartment after Jen and Lee and I had said our good-byes, I thought about what Dawn had said to me. I’d never thought of myself as a soldier—rather more of a diplomatic liaison—but Hel had given me a dagger, not a talking-stick to pass around the speaking circle. She hadn’t given it to me for the purpose of threatening Bethany Cassopolis. I’d used it before to end lives, twice.
I didn’t relish the thought of using it again, but if I had to, I would.
And my mom’s reading had indicated there was a conflict coming. There was a hell-spawn lawyer out there who might or might not work for Hades, Greek god of the underworld and wealth.
There was my nightmare.
But the
re was also a blanket of new-fallen snow on the world, Christmas lights, and a star sparkling atop the tree. There was the memory of frost fairies glittering amidst the snowflakes, and of a young woman lifting up her voice in song to fill the aching void of their absence with a different kind of wonder.
There was Scott Evans’s firm handshake and the clarity in his eyes, the knowledge that I’d done good in the world.
Those were the thoughts I chose to hold close as I climbed the stairs and let myself into my apartment. Mogwai greeted me with yowls, protesting his confinement, but he let himself be assuaged with a full bowl of kibble. After a hearty meal, Mog deigned to plunk himself on my lap, flex his claws in and out, and purr with satisfaction while I sat at my desk and entered Bethany’s transgression into the Pemkowet Ledger database, because hell, yes, that was going on her record.
In the park outside my window, the Christmas lights on the big spruce continued to sparkle through the falling snow. I gazed at them for a while, absently petting Mogwai, before turning out my own lights and going to bed.
I slept well. Tonight, the shadow of my nightmare kept its distance, and I was at peace with the world.
And then in the morning, Stefan called, shattering that peace.
Twenty-six
I was making coffee when the call came.
“Daisy.” Stefan’s voice sounded grave when I answered, and I got a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Whatever dire favor he’d been hinting at, it was going to be asked of me.
“Hey,” I said with a lightness I didn’t feel, trying to fend off the inevitable. “Are you back in Pemkowet?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Is everything okay in, um . . . ?” I couldn’t for the life of me remember the name of the town in Poland where he’d been for the past weeks.
“Wieliczka,” Stefan supplied. “Yes, thank you. Would you happen to be free anytime today? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
I poured a carafe of water into the coffeemaker. “Does this have to do with that favor you mentioned?”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid it does.”
Great. I switched on the coffeemaker. “I don’t suppose you’d care to cut the cryptic eldritch crap and enlighten me, would you?”
“No.” There was a trace of humor in his voice, but it didn’t alleviate the gravity. “As I have said, this is something that must be done in person, Daisy.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I figured. I have to go into the station for a few hours this morning, but I’m free in the afternoon. Will that work?”
“Yes,” Stefan said. “Would you be able to come to my condominium at two o’clock?”
The word condominium sounded funny in his Eastern European accent; or maybe it was just the idea of a ghoul—my bad, one of the Outcast—living in a condominium. Immortality and homeowner’s leases didn’t seem like two things that went hand in hand. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be there.”
“Thank you.”
So much for peace.
All morning long, a fog of apprehension clung to me. What, exactly, constituted a dire favor for one of the Outcast? Maybe Stefan had suffered some kind of injury doing whatever the hell he was doing in Poland and wanted to feed on my super-size emotions to restore his strength. That would explain why he had to make the request in person . . . sort of. But I’d seen Stefan’s method of dealing with a serious injury last summer. When that psychopath Jerry Dunham had shot out his knees, Stefan had freaking impaled himself on his sword, dying and reincarnating in a heartbeat, as good as new.
Besides, Stefan had mentioned the possibility of a favor before he even left for Poland . . . right before he kissed me.
Oh, I hadn’t forgotten about that kiss. As far as kisses went, it was fair to say that one had rocked my world.
By noon, I gave up trying to guess. I logged my hours on my time card, went home and made myself a tuna salad sandwich, watched an old Law & Order episode—ever notice that there’s always a Law & Order episode on somewhere?—and spent the remaining time practicing my psychic shield drill, just in case Stefan tested me to make sure I’d been diligent. Last night’s encounter with Bethany was a good reminder that I needed to keep my skills honed.
At two o’clock, I presented myself at Stefan’s condominium.
“Daisy.” Stefan greeted me at the door. He gave me one of his courtly little bows and smiled at me, and my heart lurched absurdly in my chest. “It is good to see you. Please, come in.”
“It’s good to see you, too,” I said in the small foyer. It was, although he looked tired. I wondered if it was due to jet lag, the draining effect of being away from a functioning underworld while traveling, or the ominous favor.
“Let me take your coat,” he said, helping me out of my leather jacket. Yes, it was freezing outside, and no, I hadn’t worn the Michelin Man coat. “Come inside. I’d like to introduce you to a dear friend.”
Aside from an impressive array of edged weapons hung on one wall and a museum-quality fourteenth-century Bohemian parade shield on display in a Plexiglas case, Stefan’s condo featured sleek, minimalist furnishings, high ceilings, polished wood floors, and a big picture window with a great view of the river.
Today, there was a wheelchair parked in front of the window. The man sitting in it gazed at me with dark, luminous eyes, an indecipherable yearning in his expression.
“Daisy, this is Janek Król,” Stefan said. “Janek, this is Daisy Johanssen, who serves as liaison to the goddess Hel in Pemkowet.”
“It is a pleasure,” Janek Król said in slurred, softly accented English. Reaching for a pair of forearm crutches, he began struggling to rise.
“Oh, please!” I said quickly. “There’s no need to get up!”
“Please.” He gave his head a dismissive shake. “Sometimes manners are all that stand between us and the end of civilization.”
So I waited while Janek Król completed the arduous task of levering himself upright and taking a step away from his wheelchair, his feet dragging reluctantly. At least it gave me time to study him. He had a thick crop of bushy gray hair and a gaunt, lined face, those dark, expressive eyes set in deep sockets. It was hard to place his age; he looked to be in his mid-sixties, but I had a feeling he was younger. I realized with a shock that he was one of the Outcast. It shouldn’t have been a shock—after all, he was a friend of Stefan’s—but I’d never considered the fact that an Outcast could be disabled.
“There.” With a lopsided smile, Janek extended one hand. His ring and pinky fingers remained folded back against his palm, unable to straighten. “It is not a good handshake, but it is a handshake. A proper greeting for a beautiful American girl.”
I shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Król.”
“And you, Miss Johanssen.” His pupils waxed briefly as he drew a sharp breath, but they steadied just as fast. His body might have been compromised, but it was obvious that his willpower and discipline were strong—as strong as Stefan’s or maybe even stronger. “Please, call me Janek.”
“Daisy,” I said in turn. “How can I, um, help you?”
Janek glanced at Stefan, who gestured to a table in the dining space. A tray sitting on it contained a clear glass bottle of amber liqueur and three shot glasses. “I procured a bottle of nalewka for the occasion,” Stefan said. “Traditional Polish spirits. Let us sit together and drink while Janek tells you his story.”
Janek nodded in agreement. “Then you may decide if you are willing to help me, young Daisy.”
My tail twitched reflexively. “Okay.”
With another prodigious effort, Janek returned to his wheelchair. He set the forearm crutches aside and allowed Stefan to maneuver him to a seat at the head of the table where a chair had been cleared. I took the chair to his left, and Stefan sat opposite me. It all felt very formal, which didn’t help settle my nerves. My thoughts skittered all over the place. I found myself wondering if it was a regular thing for Stefan to hold counc
ils at his dinner table. Somehow, I didn’t think so. Hell, I didn’t even know if he ever used his dinner table—the Outcast can eat and drink, but a lot of them don’t bother, since they can’t take any sustenance from it.
Then I tried to recall if I’d ever seen Stefan eat or drink anything other than a parsimonious sip of water, and finally remembered that yes, we’d had coffee together at Callahan’s after Thad Vanderhei’s funeral, which didn’t seem like a particularly good omen. Stefan had commented that it was dreadful—the coffee, that is, which was true, but it was cheap and refills were free. Although Thad Vanderhei’s funeral was pretty dreadful, too. That was where I’d been on the verge of totally losing my temper and causing a major scene—as well as possible structural damage—and had voluntarily consented to let Stefan drain my fury, which had averted the crisis but forged the bond between us.
And thinking about that made me wonder how many other people Stefan was bonded to—if the bond was as powerful, or if that was a dubious side effect of my super-size emotions—and why I hadn’t seriously wondered about it before.
Yeah, those are the thoughts that flashed through my mind in the time it took Stefan to fill three shot glasses with traditional Polish spirits and distribute them. Did I mention that I was nervous?
Janek Król raised his glass, holding it carefully in his crabbed hand. “Na zdrowie!” he said. “To your health.”
Unsure whether to sip it or slam it, I watched and waited. Sip, apparently. It tasted sweet and faintly herbaceous, a bit like cough syrup. Not that I’d ever had a cough—I never got sick—but Jen and I had dared each other to drink a bottle when we were teenagers in search of a legal buzz.
“You will be wondering about my condition.” Janek set the glass down. “In English it is called amyotrophic lateral sclerosis.” He pronounced the foreign words with care, struggling not to slur. “I believe in America you call it after a famous player of baseball, Lou Gehrig.”
I nodded. “Lou Gehrig’s disease.”
Poison Fruit: Agent of Hel Page 21
