by J. C. Staudt
“I’m no good at front line stuff.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. There will be so many people at this party, they’ll hardly notice you’re there.”
“You know I don’t do well with crowds.”
“Because of that time in the eleventh grade when you barfed in the cafeteria and shifted into a hippo out of embarrassment. I remember.”
“I broke the table in half, Cade. Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, but you need to move past it.”
“I will. Not right now, though.”
“I need you for this, man.”
“Nope. I’m done. I helped you yesterday, and stuff.”
“But I just came up with a great plan.”
“Go back to not having one. I liked that better.”
“You might like this particular plan more than you think.”
“Doubt it.”
“It involves Arden Savage bringing a date to the party.”
Quim tries not to look intrigued. “Oh yeah? Like who?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Like a date.”
“Come on,” he begs. “Felita? She’d never go with me.”
“Wanna make a bet?”
“I’m not asking her.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll do it for you.”
“Please don’t.”
The phone is already in my hand, Felita’s number ringing on the call screen.
“Come on, Cade. Stop.”
Felita picks up. “Hi.” She sounds surprised to hear from me.
“Are you busy Friday night?”
“Friday night,” she says skeptically. “The moon will be full. Other than that, no… I’m not busy.”
“Good, because Quim is going to a party and he needs a date.”
“I’m sure you two will enjoy yourselves.”
“Har har. Regrettably, I won’t be available. Besides, I’m not the one Quim finds exceedingly attractive.”
Quim makes a face at me.
“Aren’t we forward?” Felita says, amused. “Nope. Sorry. I don’t date shifters.”
“Don’t get all worked-up over there. This is a mission, not a rendezvous.”
“Well if you’re going to be a prick about it—”
“I’m not. I’d like you two to go together and have a nice time. No romance required. No strings attached. No weird stuff. Just good old-fashioned fun. Quim doesn’t get out much. He could use a night on the town.”
“What’s the angle?”
“No angle.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe, coming from a wizard?”
“Because you’re smart,” I tell her. “And because you know I wouldn’t need you if I expected this to be a walk in the park.”
“You need me… for what?”
“An extra pair of eyes. A backup in case things get real.”
“What kind of realness are we expecting?”
“You know how there were people after me? We found them. Quim is going to deliver me to them on a microwavable platter. Would’ve been a silver one, but we’ll work around your allergies. What happens after that, well… your guess is as good as mine. That’s why I’m bringing lots of magic, lots of guns, and a bodyguard. If you accept the invitation, of course.”
“Bodyguard is an interesting choice of words.”
“Accurate, though, on account of your abilities. Call it a stakeout, a recon, what have you. We need to find out what they’re up to and put a stop to it. Quim is going to look like Arden Savage. I’ll look like me. If you’re not interested, just say so. We’ll go in without you and let the chips fall where they may.”
“Where is this party? And who are the people chasing you?”
As I begin to explain, I can feel her interest growing by the second.
“Satyrs, huh? Goat-people?”
“Goat-men. No such thing as a female satyr.”
“Right. I’ve heard they’re, uh, phallically gifted.”
“You ever seen a soda can as long as a sword?”
She utters her disgust over the line.
“Yeah, that was my reaction, too. I’ve had the misfortune of witnessing their virility firsthand. They’ve got a herd of goats locked up in a paddock beside their palace of debauchery. Goats they use for what appear to be invasive purposes.”
“A whole herd of goats?” she says, hunger in her voice. “My pack would love getting in on that action.”
“You think so?”
She snorts. “You know what wolves do to goats.”
“Hey, the more the merrier. Friday night, then? Quim will pick you up at eight.”
“Sure. But only because I still feel like I owe you, Mr. Cadigan.”
“My name’s Cade.”
“See you Friday, Mr. Cadigan.” She hangs up.
I put the phone down. “We’re all set. Quim’s got himself a hot date for the weekend.”
“You told her it wasn’t a romantic thing,” Quim complains.
“It isn’t. Unless you make it one. This is your chance, QuimTak. Granted, you’ll have to claw your way out of the pit of her preconceived notions about your entire species, but once you do that she’ll have no choice but to see you for who you really are.”
“Which is who? A guy who doesn’t get out much? You make me sound like a hermit.”
“I wanted to paint an authentic picture of you.”
“Authentic, or disparaging?”
“Hard to be one without the other.”
“Okay, so how would you paint an authentic picture of yourself?”
“I’m a maladjusted, obsessive-compulsive loner who constantly overestimates his abilities despite poor decision-making skills and a penchant for self-sabotage.”
“Wow,” says Quim, stunned. “That’s eerily accurate.”
“I know, right? I should use that for my online dating profile.”
“You have an online dating profile?”
“No.”
“I’ve been considering making one,” Quim admits. “I’m not so good around women, but I’m great with computers.”
“If Friday goes well, you won’t need a profile.”
“Let’s be honest here. This isn’t a date. It’s infiltrating a deviant sex cult and trying to not get killed.”
“Hence the reason we need Felita. Werewolves are good at not getting killed.”
“Yeah, but I’m not. And I’m not good at impersonating bounty hunters I’ve never met, either.”
“All you have to do is hand me over to the satyrs. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“You’re going to voluntarily deliver yourself to these miscreants, to be used for whatever unpleasant purpose they have in mind?”
“Being delivered by you posing as Arden Savage beats being delivered by the actual Arden Savage. We’ve got three days to figure this out. That’s plenty of time to arrange an escape hatch in case things go badly.”
“It’s me, Cade. Things will go badly.”
“Quim. This is your time. Step up to the plate.”
He sighs. Looks at me, eyes glazed with dispassion. “Fine. But if I die, we’re not friends anymore.”
Chapter 28
Quim isn’t the best driver in the world. He isn’t the best talker, either. Or the best at thinking on his feet. But he’s my best friend, and there’s no one I’d rather have at my side for tonight’s exercise in seat-of-our-pants vigilantism. It doesn’t look like that’s likely to happen, though.
We’ve spent the last three days rehearsing the whole evening ad nauseum. Sometimes Quim slips out of form when he’s nervous, so I’ve lent him the spellvault belt to ease some of his worries. That way he can be Arden without having to focus on being Arden, and can instead focus on acting the part and spending time with Felita. Theoretically.
It’s a quarter ‘til eight on Friday night, and Quim is beginning to show signs of a mental breakdown. When I emerge from Arden’s bedroom, rubbing my thigh through my pant leg t
o massage the spot where the needle went in, Quim is sitting on the couch with his head between his knees. Ersatz is beside him, trying to give him a pep talk but not making much progress. I sit on the coffee table across from him and put a hand on his shoulder.
Maybe I’ve pushed him too hard. Maybe I shouldn’t be forcing him into something he’s so uncomfortable with. Up until now it seemed like he was going to power through it. The pressure is getting to him, and he’s letting it snowball into something bigger than he can cope with. I’m not sure what he’s more nervous about—the satyr cultists, or his date with Felita. Either way, it’s too late to turn back now.
“Tonight is your chance to make your mark,” Ersatz is saying. “All you’ve been asked to do is go out and have a wonderful time with a beautiful woman. A simple act of heroism to ensure the safety of your closest friend.”
“I’d like you to tie me up and throw me in the trunk,” I add, “and that’s the only time I’ll ever say that to anyone.”
Quim doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t respond. Just takes long, wavering breaths and drums on the back of his skull with trembling fingers.
“Quim. Listen, I don’t mean to rush you, but we need to leave here in about ten minutes or we’re going to be super late.”
“I can’t do it,” he mumbles. “I can’t.”
“That isn’t true,” says Ersatz. “You can, and you will. You don’t want to let Ms. Skaargil down, do you? She’s spent the last hour or two making herself up to look stunning for you. You’ll break the poor girl’s heart if you back out now.”
“No I won’t. She doesn’t like me. She doesn’t know me.”
“Which is why you’re going to show her who you are.”
“Everything’s gonna go wrong.”
“It won’t. You’re bold. You’re capable. You won’t break.”
“Yeah I will. It’s hopeless. There’s no use even trying.”
Ersatz and I share a look.
“What if we switched places?” I suggest.
Quim stops breathing. He looks up at me, his face flushed. “I’d be you, and you’d be Arden?”
“Right. This way you don’t have to be so nervous about pretending you’re some badass bounty hunter while trying to impress the girl you like at the same time. I know it sounds worse being the one tied up, but that’s nothing for you. If anything goes wrong—if they do anything even remotely close to hurting you—just shift. Shift into something they’ll never catch. A centipede. A finch. A dragonfly. Then get out of there.”
“I wasn’t going to try to impress her. I figured I’d just… be nice to her.”
“Okay. That’s good. But obviously that’s posing a problem for you. It’s psyching you out. I’m trying to make things easier.”
“I’ll do it,” he says. “I’ll go as you. I know you. I wouldn’t know the first thing about impersonating Arden. You, I can imitate in my sleep.” He shifts into a mirror image of me and says, “Ooh, look at me, I’m Cade Cadigan. I’m a wizard. I like scrubbing toilets and making bracelets out of other people’s hair. Yum, Lucky Charms.”
I laugh. “That’s pretty good.”
Quim laughs, sounding just like me. “That’s pretty good.”
“Alright, I get it.”
“Alright, I get it.”
“You’ve made your point.”
Quim fades into his natural self. “We’d better switch clothes.”
When we leave the apartment a few minutes later, I’m wearing the spellvault belt and a crisp pinstripe suit. Quim is dressed in casual clothes, the sort of thing I’d wear at home on a Friday night if I wasn’t expecting a bounty hunter to kick in the door. He seems fine at first, but when I pop the hearse’s tailgate and show him the hidden compartment beneath the marbled floor panel, he starts getting fidgety.
“You’re fine,” I assure him. “These restraints won’t hold you if you don’t want them to. Try to keep your cool and just remember what we’re doing this for. To find out why the satyrs want me. Once we know, you can duck out and make yourself scarce.”
He nods. “Do I have to get in there now?”
“You can ride in the passenger seat with me until we pick up Felita.”
We head toward Reiney Towers East while Ersatz naps on the dashboard. I pull over on a quiet side street a few blocks away and help Quim into the back. He begins to shake again as I tighten the leather straps around his wrists, ankles, and chest. I gag him with the red handkerchief, trying not to tie it too tight.
“I know this is no fun, but it has to look convincing to the satyrs. You understand, don’t you?”
“Sure,” he says through two inches of fabric.
“You going to be okay?”
His mouth quivers. He nods. A single tear escapes the corner of his eye as he squeezes them shut.
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Hang in there. Felita and I aren’t going to let anything happen to you.”
“Wait,” says Ersatz, clambering over the seat to descend into the compartment with Quim. “If he’s going to be sealed in back here, I might as well be sealed in with him.”
“They’ll see you.”
Ersatz gives me a dry look. “You should know by now I’m only seen when I want to be seen.”
There’s no arguing with him. “Suit yourself,” I say with a shrug. I shut the tailgate and slide into the driver’s seat.
Flipping the switch beneath the dashboard is one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do. The hidden compartment closes. I drive the rest of the way to Reiney Towers in silence, my eye turning periodically to the moon hanging huge in the night sky, fat and ripe and full.
When I knock on the door to Felita Skaargil’s eleventh-floor apartment, she opens up wearing a red dress that fits her like a drink cozy. There’s something different about her. An edge; a craving, palpable in her eyes. She looks me up and down before stepping aside to let me in.
“It’s me, Cade.”
“Yeah, I know. I can smell you underneath all that swagger. My sense of smell always improves at this time of the month. You clean up nice when you’re disguised as someone else.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“To the guy you’re disguised as. What happened to Quim going as Arden and you going as yourself?”
“Change of plans. Quim is currently experiencing a full-blown panic attack. He’s in the back of the hearse, probably hyperventilating.”
“You left him alone in there while he’s having a panic attack?”
“How do I put this… Quim kind of has a thing for panicking. Not that he enjoys it; he just uses it to get through things. Anyway, Ersatz is with him. He’ll calm him down.”
“Do you think he’s up to this?”
“Quim’s not crazy, you know. He’s actually a really good guy. He just never had anyone to show him the ropes when it came to his powers. His parents weren’t there for him much growing up, so he taught himself a lot, which meant surviving his fair share of traumatic experiences. I’m not saying this to make you feel sorry for him, I just want you to know where he’s coming from.”
“Thank you for telling me. If you’re trying to set me up with him, though,” she pauses for breath, “don’t.”
“Give him a chance. As a person. Changeling or no, he’s got a good heart behind his ribs. He understands loyalty, even when it means stepping outside his comfort zone. What he’s doing for me tonight—it’s so far beyond his nature, it’s actually kind of touching. He deserves more than to be written off as a stereotype.”
“Not being romantically interested in him doesn’t mean I’m writing him off.”
“You’re judging him because he’s a changeling and not a lusty, surly lycanthrope like you.”
“That’s not—okay, it is sort of true.”
“You might not like him, and that’s fine. Just get to know him before you decide. He’s the linchpin in our plan tonight. Without him, we’d have no chance of stopping these freaks. And your pack would be ou
t a free meal. They are planning to show up at some point, I hope…”
She smirks. “We’ll see.”
We board an elevator and head downstairs.
Felita grimaces when she sees the beat-up hearse parallel-parked beside her building. “Sweet ride.”
“Yeah, so the satyrs whose party we’re crashing tonight? They did this. Although to be fair, I did mow down a couple gravestones and sideswipe their Mercedes. Worth it, by the way. I would’ve brought the other car, but you can’t haul a body in a Maserati.”
“You’re a poet.”
“I already know it. So if this party is anything like the one I witnessed Tuesday, it’s going to be all kinds of debaucherous. They call them revels. I’ll bet the crowd will be bigger tonight, and so will the depravity. There’s going to be a drug called lotus floating around, so steer clear if you see anyone smoking. They use it to recruit new members somehow. Quim’s going to shift and escape if things get too weird. Aside from that, the only plan is to wait and see what they do with our Prince Cadigan.”
“Sounds pretty straightforward.” She bares her long canine teeth in a ready smile. “Let’s paint the town red.”
“Red. Right.” Suddenly I feel warm. I stick a finger in my collar and give it a tug. The Double Windsor knot in my necktie creaks like a noose.
We set a course for Club Sephora, and I pull the battered hearse onto a busy avenue bursting with Friday evening traffic. When silence ensues between us, I turn on the radio to fill it. Halfway there we pass a big white box truck sitting along the side of an empty street, headlights blaring and tailpipe humming.
Felita’s nostrils flare. “Do you smell that?”
“Sorry. I had tacos for lunch—”
“Not that. What was inside that truck.”
“I can’t smell anything through a glass window and a quarter inch of sheet steel.”
“It was probably nothing. My nose overreacts on an empty stomach.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“Five minutes before you got to my apartment. Thirty-two ounces of prime porterhouse, bone-in.”
“You still look hungry.”
“Told you the full moon was a whore.”
“What did you smell—or think you smelled?”
