Deadtown d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  The tape from inside the bar rolled yet again, zooming in as Kane yanked at the female zombie’s ankles. Then the scene switched back to the studio, showing Kane and Baldwin, two handsome professionals who might’ve had lunch together on Beacon Hill—if they could make it through a lunch without killing each other. Then the screen showed Brenda Salamanca, the interviewer. A pert blonde in a sunny yellow suit, Brenda sat in the Washington bureau, interviewing them remotely. Better to keep your distance from those werewolves, I guess. And politicians could be scary, too.

  Even though the tape had played about a zillion times in the ten minutes I’d been home, Brenda shook her head, artfully furrowing her brow, as though she’d never seen it before. “Shocking,” she said, lip gloss glistening on her frowning mouth. Then she flipped her expression over to a bright smile and said, “Mr. Kane. As we saw on the tape, you were there last night. Why don’t you tell us your view of what happened?”

  The camera zoomed in on Kane’s face. A label appeared at the bottom of the screen: Alexander Kane: attorney and werewolf. Kane looked straight into the camera. His expression was serious yet appealing. He resembled a therapist or a favorite professor, someone who knew how to listen and cared about what you had to say. He told me once he’d spent years perfecting that look for the courtroom.

  “Thank you, Brenda. Yes, I will. Last night I took two previously deceased humans—”

  “You mean zombies,” Baldwin cut in. The camera pulled back to show them both.

  “No, Mr. Baldwin, I mean what I said: previously deceased humans. They’re as human as you are. The only difference is that you had the good fortune to be out of town when the plague struck.”

  “Woo-hoo! Score one for Kane!” Juliet licked her finger and made an imaginary mark in the air.

  “One thing that I want to emphasize,” Kane continued as the camera centered on his face again, “is that most of what happened last night does not appear on that tape. A number of events combined to create a complex situation.” From there, he gave his account of what had happened. He was a master at giving his story just the right spin. Nothing he said was untrue, but the way he told it, the fight wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Instead pointing out that a human had started the whole thing, he suggested that college hijinks had, unfortunately, gotten out of hand—many of us could remember what it was like to have a few too many at that age. Fights break out every day. It was just one of those things.

  I thought he did a good job. He managed to put the incident into a context that most humans could understand, without placing any blame. As a PA, the last thing he wanted to do was make it look like he was blaming anyone. It made the norms nuts when the monsters tried to come across as victims of society. For some reason, most people didn’t buy the idea that a “victim” could tear your throat out while bouncing bullets off its hide.

  Back in the Washington bureau, Brenda also seemed impressed. “Thank you, Mr. Kane, for reminding us that there’s often more to the news than meets the eye.” She flicked on her high-beam smile again. “Our next guest is Seth Baldwin, who’s challenging current Massachusetts governor Paul Sugden in next week’s election. It’s a tight race. Mr. Baldwin. You’ve made no secret of the fact that you’d like to make Paranormal Americans illegal in Massachusetts. How do last night’s events in Boston’s so-called New Combat Zone affect your position?”

  Baldwin’s face filled the screen. Close-up, his face looked craggier, more weathered, than it did from a distance. As he nodded, it was clear that he’d also practiced his serious-but-caring look.

  “He’s hot,” Juliet said.

  “You think everybody’s hot.”

  She arched an eyebrow at me. “And your point is?”

  I shushed her so I could hear what Baldwin had to say.

  “I believe that there’s a place for monsters in the world, but Massachusetts is not that place. Mr. Kane says the tape doesn’t show us everything. But what it does show is clear, irrefutable evidence that humans and monsters cannot mix.” I waited for Kane to jump in and correct Baldwin’s monsters to Paranormal Americans, but he remained silent, listening. He wasn’t going to let Baldwin blow off his terminology the way he’d blown off zombies earlier. Smart.

  “Monsters”—Baldwin shot Kane a look—“whether we’re talking about zombies, vampires, or, yes, even werewolves like Mr. Kane here, represent a danger to human beings. What the world saw on that tape was no ordinary bar fight.” Obligingly, CNN played the tape again, Baldwin’s voice intoning over it like the narrator in a movie. “Yes, humans do fight each other. I’m not saying that fighting is right, but it’s part of human nature. Notice I said humannature. But I think I speak not only for myself, but for every human being who ever lived, when I say that never, ever have I seen a simple bar fight in which one human being attempted to eat another.”

  Juliet grinned at me. “The man has a point,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind having him for a snack. What do you think his blood type is? I’d bet anything he’s an A neg. He looks juicy.”

  Baldwin shook a finger in the air to drive home his point. “Last night’s attack was on a human being who was in that bar trying to help the monsters. Mr. Kane admits he hired the man to make a paid political advertisement against my campaign. And that attack merely shows that humans and monsters cannot live together. This country belongs to human beings. It was founded by human beings, on human values.”

  “Aaron Burr was a werewolf,” Juliet remarked.

  I stared at her. “Who?”

  Juliet rolled her eyes. “Don’t they teach you any history in school? In the early nineteenth century, he was in a duel with, um, what’s-his-name.”

  “Are you talking about Alexander Hamilton?”

  “Yeah, him. Hamilton had a regular bullet in his pistol, not silver. So Burr couldn’t lose.”

  I wondered if Kane knew that the guy on ten-dollar bills had been outwitted in a duel to the death by one of his kind. Human values, indeed.

  Baldwin was still speaking. “I don’t say kill the monsters, but I dosay let them start their own country. Somewhere far from human civilization. Antarctica, maybe. But I promise, if the people of Massachusetts elect me as their governor, we will never see a repeat of last night’s tragedy. No more ‘Monsterchusetts’—my administration will restore Massachusetts to the great commonwealth it was before these inhuman . . . creatures started demanding special privileges.”

  “Mr. Baldwin—” Kane began, but the picture went back to Washington. Brenda beamed at the camera, thanking them both for being there, then introduced the weather report. A giant weather map appeared, accompanied by another glossy female with sprayed-stiff hair and a fixed smile.

  “Wow,” Juliet said, squinting at the weather girl. “Look at all those teeth. She’d make a great vampire.” She muted the TV again, and the silence sounded a whole lot better than all that yammering. “I wonder what Kane’s doing now,” she mused. “Do you think he’s ripping out Baldwin’s jugular?”

  “I’m sure he wants to. But you know Kane, always trying to prove that the monsters are as good as the humans. Better, even. They’re probably shaking hands and thumping each other on the back, saying they’ll have their people get in touch.” Even if that’s precisely what they were doing, Kane was furious right now—no doubt about that. In any debate, he believed it was essential to have the last word. And Brenda had cut him off before he could rebut Baldwin.

  “Who do you think won?” Juliet asked. “I gave them one point each.”

  “Baldwin turned the whole thing into a campaign speech. That guy’s smart. He knows an opportunity when he sees it. I bet he gained himself some votes today.” I glanced at Juliet, who covered her mouth as she yawned. “You don’t seem too worried about what will happen to us if he wins.”

  “Another purge against the monsters?” She yawned again, as if the subject bored her. “What’s to worry about? I’m one of those vampires who always lands on her feet, like a cat.” Sh
e stretched, looking very much like a cat, and put the popcorn bowl on the coffee table. “That’s it for me. I’m going to resume the shroud.”

  She paused in the doorway, silhouetted against the hall light. “Why didn’t Oprah’s people call me? I looked damn good sitting at the bar.”

  “Next time she does a show on vampire beauty tips, I’m sure you’ll be first on the guest list.”

  After Juliet left to crawl into her coffin, I stretched out on the sofa, hugging the popcorn bowl for solace. I munched popcorn while CNN started the tape yet again. Then I picked up the remote and turned off the TV. I couldn’t face seeing that disaster another time. Poor Kane. His political ad had turned into a public relations nightmare. Baldwin had milked the sensationalism for all it was worth, and he’d gotten in the last word. All things considered, Kane must be in a very bad mood.

  So how was I going to tell him I was still on the job for Frank Lucado?

  16

  STEAM BILLOWED OFF THE WATER THAT POURED INTO THE tub as I measured out a capful of bubble bath. In the past ten hours, I’d stared down a Hellion, gotten involved in an interspecies bar brawl, argued with my sort-of boyfriend, taken on his archenemy as a client, and become the top story on CNN. And the day was just getting started. Right now, all I wanted was a nice, long, fragrant soak and an even longer nap. Then I’d be able to face things.

  I’d called Daniel at the police station, but he wasn’t in yet. I left a voice mail to let him know I’d returned his call. As I hung up, I’d flipped over Daniel’s card and stared at his home number. “Please don’t hesitate to call me,” he’d said. My heart did a little tap dance. Then I stuck the card in the back pocket of my jeans. Forget it. I wasn’t going to call the guy at home unless I had a good reason. Returning a call wasn’t it.

  I left my clothes in a pile on the floor and eased into the tub. The water embraced my limbs. It was a little too hot, reddening my skin as I lowered myself, inch by inch, into the water. Ahhh. Just the way I like it.

  Submerged under a mountain range of bubbles, I laid my head back and closed my eyes. Warm scents of lavender and vanilla filled my nostrils, and I sighed blissfully. The bath was an oasis, a place where I could finally unwind. I needed this.

  The door banged open, making me jump a mile and blowing wisps of bubbles across the tub. There stood Kane, scowling. He looked like he’d come straight from the studio; he still wore his black interview suit, although he’d loosened the tie. The look on his face made me wonder whether giving him a key to my apartment had been such a great idea. “Why don’t you answer your damn phone?” he growled.

  It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve spent the night at someone’s apartment (well, just two so far)—when you’re about to have an argument with that someone, you definitely don’t want to be lying bare-assed naked in a bubble-filled tub.

  “Let me finish washing and put on my bathrobe. I’ll be out in five minutes.”

  He checked his watch. “No time. If you’d picked up your phone instead of making me traipse all the way over here to talk to you—” He shook his head, too annoyed to finish the sentence. “Besides, this won’t take five minutes. I just need to confirm the times for your interviews.” He pulled out his BlackBerry and jabbed at the keys.

  “I’m not doing any interviews.”

  He raised his eyes from the BlackBerry to look at me, then huffed an exasperated sigh. “This is no time to be camera-shy, Vicky. You’re the hero of the day, the PA who stepped in to rescue humans. You’re the one who can really swing public opinion to our side. We should’ve had you on already.”

  Have you ever had a fully dressed werewolf standing over you while you’re wet and naked and you know that what you’re about to say is going to make him really, really mad? I don’t recommend it. I pushed around some bubbles to make sure I was decent, then took a deep breath.

  “I am not going on television, Kane. Period. End of discussion.”

  He stared at me so hard I wondered whether werewolves had X-ray vision. Through bubbles, anyway. “I know you always say that you’re not interested in politics. I don’t understand that, but all right. It’s your choice. But this isn’t about you, Vicky. It isn’t even about the PAs in Massachusetts. Every single state in the country is watching us right now. What happens next could put human-PA relations on an equal footing—or declare open season on PAs. Literally.”

  “You’re being melodramatic. By tomorrow there’ll be some other big story and the media will run after it like blood-hounds.” Kane frowned. Maybe the bloodhound analogy wasn’t the best choice to use with a werewolf. “The point is, this will all blow over in a day or two. People forget old news as fast as they toss out yesterday’s newspaper.”

  “You’re wrong. This story has national implications. International, even.” The United States was one of three countries in the world that had any form of PA rights, the other two being Great Britain and Italy. And Massachusetts was the most accepting state in America; or it had been, until Baldwin’s campaign gained steam. “If we handle this correctly, PAs will be able to get passports, travel openly—even live openly—anywhere in the world.”

  “ ‘If we handle this correctly.’ By we, you mean me. And I’m not going to do it.” Maybe I could get away with pure stubbornness as my excuse. Kane spent enough time complaining about that facet of my personality.

  But he changed tack. “This could be great for your business, you know. Think of all the publicity. We can make sure that they introduce you as a professional demon exterminator. You’ll have clients coming out of the woodwork.”

  “The demons are the things that come out of the woodwork.” He didn’t smile. “It’s becauseof business that I won’t do it.”

  He didn’t say anything, just raised an eyebrow, so I continued. “I’m on a long-term assignment. It’s good money, and it requires some . . .” What was the word I wanted? Got it: “Some discretion. It would cause problems for my client if I started doing these interviews you want me to do.”

  “Why?”

  The water was getting cold. Goose bumps rose along my skin, and I wanted more than ever to get out of the damn tub. I’d had enough of this argument. I wasn’t going to play politics for Kane, and I wasn’t going to stay trapped in this cooling, dirty water. I also wasn’t going to sugarcoat anything for him. So I just said it: “Because the client is Frank Lucado, okay?”

  Kane closed his eyes and gave his head a shake, as though he was the one with water in his ears. “But you finished your job for that blood bag. If you’re worried he’ll stop payment on his check—”

  “I killed his Harpies, yeah, but I left the guy in a bad position. Thanks to me, he’s got a Hellion stalking him and no bodyguard.” My mind flashed on the image of Wendy, Lucado’s big, scary bodyguard, passed out on the floor. “I agreed to be his nighttime bodyguard.”

  “You’re going to be Frank Lucado’s bodyguard.” Kane repeated the words slowly, like he had to say them out loud to understand them. “Let me get this straight. I tell you I wouldn’t mind seeing the guy dead, and the first thing you do is run over there and offer to protect him.” He turned and slapped the wall, hard; the water in the bathtub rippled. “Of all the rich assholes in Boston, why pick him? Why not Baldwin himself?”

  I tried to defuse the situation with a lame joke. “Lucado made me an offer I couldn’t refuse?”

  Kane didn’t crack a smile. He didn’t even bother to roll his eyes. Instead, he focused on me with a laser-beam gaze. Now it wasn’t the bath water giving me goose bumps; his stare was frightening. “You did it to hurt me,” he said. “There can’t be any other reason. You know how important this election is to me, and you just don’t give a damn. You don’t give a damn about me, and you don’t give a damn about Boston’s PAs. You don’t give a damn about anybody besides yourself.” He slapped the wall again, then wheeled around and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

  Before I could reach for a towel,
the door flew open and he stormed right back in. “No, I take that back. You don’t give a damn about yourself, either. You’re not one of them, Vicky; you’re one of us. If PAs are outlawed in Massachusetts, that includes you.” His eyes narrowed. “Unless you’re planning to become a brood mare like your sister.”

  “A brood mare!” That was too much. “Don’t you dare say that about Gwen. I don’t agree with some of her choices, but that’s no reason to insult her.” I wished I had something to throw at him, but somehow a handful of bubbles wouldn’t make the statement I was going for, so I shot him my fiercest glare instead. “Don’t you tell me who I do or don’t care about, Mr. Big-shot Werewolf Lawyer. You don’t know why I took the job. You weren’t there, and you won’t shut up long enough to let me explain.”

  He folded his arms and squinted at me. “So explain.”

  “Hand me a towel first.”

  He growled, but he snatched a towel from the rack and flung it toward the tub. I barely managed to catch it before it hit the water. I spread the towel wide, making a curtain, then stood. I wrapped the towel around myself, tucking in the end, then took another from the rack and twisted it around my head in a turban. Kane drummed his fingers impatiently on the sink.

  Wearing a towel was only marginally better than being in the tub, but at least I wasn’t lying down. I turned to face Kane, eye to eye. “You may not care whether the Destroyer comes back and kills Lucado,” I said, “but I do. I don’t leave my clients in danger.”

  “You already said that. If that’s the only—”

  “No, it’s not the only reason. I’m going to kill that Hellion, Kane. No matter what else happens, I’m going to obliterate that thing from the face of the earth. It knows Lucado; it’s been to his condo. The Destroyer is not one to let a victim go. Once it fastens on someone, it won’t rest until it destroys him.” For a moment, I saw my father, writhing on the floor of Aunt Mab’s library. I pushed the image away. “Last night, the Destroyer’s master called it away. But it’ll be back. Sticking close to Lucado is my best chance to find it.”