by Debra Dunbar
Well, I guess he could speak for this master guy, or at least influence him enough to guarantee his compliance. Not a bad guy to know, this Kyle. He seriously needed to learn from the elves’ mistakes and communicate in a clear and straightforward manner with us though. Otherwise he was going to end up with a sorcerer in a bag when he wanted a walking, talking one.
“Sounds like fun. I’m to take it that your master fellow won’t be giving you his blessing?”
“Doubtful,” Kyle said warily. “Is that a deal breaker?”
“Nope. Nothing I like better than pissing off the big dogs.”
He slid off the desk and motioned toward the door. “As a gesture of goodwill, will you and your companion leave my club now without further incident, and not return?”
He learned fast. “Sure, although I may reconsider my future patronage if events do not turn out as foreseen.” Ha! See? I could talk cryptically, too.
I walked out and was amused to see Wyatt herding his vampire dance partner all over the floor by the force of personal space. He’d narrow the distance between them, she’d back up, and then he’d do it again. Finally her back hit the table and she looked at Wyatt in alarm as he moved in close and placed a hand on her waist.
“Hey sweetie, cutting in here,” I told her. Wyatt pivoted to dance with me and I saw the vampire actually sag against the table in relief.
“Did you have a nice talk with Mr. Expensive Suit?” Wyatt was clearly having a good time.
“Yes, but I’m afraid we need to leave now. I’m sorry. I can see you’re having fun.”
He grinned. “I’ve had a wonderful time, Sam. Wonderful times with you usually entail getting kicked out of somewhere, though, so I’m not surprised. It was well worth the eviction.”
“I’ll make it up to you, baby,” I told him, making free with my tail on his body.
“I could possibly get drunk enough to overlook the fur and the tail,” he said, eyeing me. “But the wings and horns have got to go.”
“Deal,” I told him as we made our way to the door. I drove home very fast. And yes, the tail was very useful appendage. I highly recommend it.
Chapter 18
The week went by, relaxing and uneventful. Wyatt and I rode horses, ate hot wings, curled up together and watched movies until we fell asleep. He’d been practicing killing aliens instead of zombies and I even spent a few mind-numbing hours watching him wave a chunk of plastic around at a television screen and shout in triumph. I was looking forward to a long weekend of fun in Atlantic City, gambling and clubbing. I’d have my stupid meeting, walk away empty-handed, and then Wyatt and I could celebrate the destruction of aliens with a bottle of vodka.
In the back of my mind, I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be that peaceful. Haagenti would probably have his people poised and ready to grab me the moment I left the vampires. It was probably for the best. Peaceful always sounded good, but in reality it was very boring. I was looking forward to a few good fights, as long as Wyatt didn’t get hurt.
Reed called on Thursday night, right as I was finishing up with my packing. Part of me really wanted to send him to voice mail. It’s a wicked twist of fate that something always goes wrong with rental properties right before you need to leave town. Always. And it always requires your immediate presence, often resulting in airline cancellation fees or late arrivals. It was never anything that could be handled by others. I reluctantly answered his call. If I didn’t, he’d call Candy and she’d track me down and make me deal with it anyway.
“Wassup?” I greeted him.
“Ms. Martin, I hate to call you directly like this but we’ve got a problem here that I think you need to deal with personally.”
Of course! I’m going to Atlantic City for the weekend, so it has to be something I need to deal with personally.
“When the first one went missing I didn’t really think anything about it, but the second one, and now a third one, well I’m worried here.”
Whoa, that was really jumping into a topic. What went missing? Was someone ripping copper piping out of my properties? I’d heard crackheads did that and sold the scrap metal to garner drug money.
“It’s just not normal for three to be gone like that.”
“Wait, wait,” I interrupted. “Three of what is missing?”
“Three tenants are missing. These spots in your houses are coveted, so when the first disappeared, I thought someone paid him to leave so they could have his spot. But two more are gone.”
He was calling me in a panic over a turnover of three tenants? “So, what’s the problem here? Just give their spots to other people.”
“We’re not so popular anymore, Ms. Martin. Some are packing their things to leave. They’re saying that you were supposed to protect them, and if you can’t, they are going to run and try to hide.”
Huh? Hide from whom? And just because three tenants bail on me, now the rest want to go?
“The missing guys were there in the early evening to secure their spot, and then they were gone by morning. One each night. Vanished. Kitty says she knows what happened.”
“Wait, back up a moment here. Who do they need to hide from? And a cat is talking to you? Is this the six-legged green cat? Because I didn’t give it the power of speech.” Even if I could do that, it probably wouldn’t say anything but “feed me” or “pet me.” Cats were not great conversationalists.
“She says the three missing ones were murdered. I did find some blood out by the creek promenade, and it is strange that they’d leave willingly, without their belongings.”
“And the cat knows what happened to the missing tenants?” Maybe as a werewolf Reed could talk with cats?
“Kitty. She’s one of the homeless people, but she doesn’t stay here. They all know her. I think she’s been around the area for a long time, although I’ve never seen her before the tenants started disappearing. She says the murderer is usurping your right.”
I was flabbergasted. There is no way a homeless person used the word “usurp.” It wasn’t a word you commonly heard. I doubted Reed knew that word either. Maybe I’d misunderstood him.
“You mean slurp? A man is ‘slurping U-right’ which must be street slang for taking someone else’s stash?” Maybe she was referring to “The Man.” Humans blamed everything on “The Man.” I’ll bet he did a lot of slurping, whoever he was.
“No, usurp.” Reed sounded rather awed. “I kid you not, that is exactly what she said. She’s one of the more lucid that I’ve met, and I’m sure I heard her right.”
“Reed, I am leaving for Atlantic City in the morning. This will have to wait. The murderer is only taking one per night, right? So I can wait until Monday and I’ll lose a max of four people. That’s not too bad.”
There was a disapproving silence from the phone. I could tell that Reed was one of those who felt duty came before fun, and that four lives outweighed a gambling weekend in his opinion. I let the silence drag on, determined to wait him out, but werewolves are made of strong stuff.
“Okay, fine! I’ll be right down, but there might not be a whole lot I can do until I get back.”
This sucked. I wasn’t about to postpone my trip, but the prospect of having my homeless tenants snatched and “The Man” chipping away at my cash flow wasn’t really all that appealing either. Somehow, I doubted I could get this all wrapped up in twenty-four hours though.
Reed was waiting for me at the darkened row houses with a person I can only assume was Kitty. The woman appeared to be genderless in her bulky layers of clothing. It was impossible to tell if she was stocky or if she just had on fifteen shirts under her dark, hunter green jacket. A knit cap hid her hair, and mismatched gloves covered her hands. The oddest thing in her appearance was the very long scarf that merged her head into her shoulders, vanished under her coat, and appeared in two long strips from under the bottom of the coat to dangle down between her legs, like extra vestigial limbs. It was hard to keep my eyes from the scarf ends swinging from h
er crotch.
“This is Kitty.” Reed motioned to me, “Kitty, this is Ms. Martin. She owns these buildings and she really wants to hear all you know about this man who is murdering her tenants.”
Kitty eyed me up and down. I wondered if she was thinking about stealing my clothing to add yet one more layer. Finally satisfied, she nodded.
“The man takes people, kills them, and cuts off their ears.”
Oh great. The homeless boogie man again. Reed dragged me all the way down here to hear a fairly tale. I glared at him.
Kitty shook her head. “He is in your territory, killing your people. And now he has the nerve to walk right into your house and take them.” She looked me up and down again. “You have a responsibility to protect them. They prayed for help, and you, their Ha-Satan, must answer their pleas.”
What the hell? She sounded like that lump of blanket outside the vacant grocery store. Even if I was the Iblis, I wouldn’t be running around answering human prayers. What Bible was this woman reading?
“I didn’t come down here to hear a ghost story. I don’t care about some Ted Bundy with an ear fetish. Do you know why my tenants are leaving or not?”
“You should care,” she replied in an equally irritated tone. “He’s hunting in your territory. He’s killing what belongs to you. He’s trying to take your place, usurping your rights.”
There was that usurp word again. I’d heard it with my own ears. And speaking of ears.
“So you think this guy, this murderer, is snatching homeless people, killing them, and making trophies out of their ears? He’s doing this to rub my nose in it? As a deliberate challenge because he wants to be the devil?”
Kitty shifted from foot to foot. “I don’t think he’s doing it deliberately to piss you off. You should be pissed off though. I’m pissed off. I can only watch him. I can’t kill him, but you can.”
I looked over at Reed for confirmation. He nodded.
“I don’t know anything about ears, or this slurping business, but I do think someone is killing off your tenants one by one,” the werewolf said.
I sighed. I guessed I was going to have to find this guy and take him out. I’d rather let the police deal with it, but he was costing me, taking rent money out of my pocket, so to speak. And he was hunting in my territory, poaching. Plus, he might do as the rumors said and start killing children. If that fucker so much as looked at Angelo Perez, I’d rip his own ears off. Other body parts, too.
“Do you have his name and address? Please tell me you at least know more about this guy beyond his fascination with ears.”
The woman shook her head. “I don’t know that. I know where he goes, where he likes to frequent. You can track him from there.”
I turned to Reed. “If we had an address, I’d just run by there now and blow him the fuck up. I don’t have time to do a tracking job tonight though. I’ve got to leave for Atlantic City in the morning and I’ll be there all weekend.”
Reed stiffened, disappointment in his eyes. Having a werewolf look at me like that was pretty horrible. It was worse than when Boomer gave me that look.
“I can’t postpone this trip. Seriously. I’ve got to meet with a guy there, and he’s like the fucking Pope to try and get an appointment with. There’s no way he’ll ever let me reschedule. Can you pull some guard duty till then? At least people will feel safe here and hopefully we can fill the open spots with new tenants.”
“I can do that.” I knew Reed would do his absolute best to keep the people safe, but he still had that look in his eyes, as if I’d let him down.
“One more thing. I need someone to keep an eye on this boy.” I scribbled the Perez’s address on a scrap of paper. “The little one. He’s about five, I think. If you think he’s in any danger, step it up and do full security on him. If you need helpers, go ahead and bring them in. Just bill me.”
“Sure. You’ll be back on Monday?”
“Sunday. I’ll come back immediately after my meeting and call you as soon as I’m in town.”
I wasn’t sure how I was going to fit in a hunt for this murderer when I’d probably have a hoard of demons breathing down my neck. Heck, I wasn’t even sure I’d be returning from Atlantic City. If not, no one would see me on this side of the gates for at least a century. Reed and the werewolves may end up needing to handle this one solo.
Chapter 19
We were up early, cramming duffle bags into my little Corvette trunk. I refused to drive all the way to Atlantic City in the huge Suburban, so we packed extra light. Honestly, it was mostly my stuff. Wyatt intended to be fighting off aliens for the weekend and didn’t expect to need much in the way of clothing changes. I’m pretty sure all he had in his duffle bag were a couple pairs of underwear and a toothbrush. I’m not normally much of a clothes horse, but I didn’t know what my much anticipated hunt would entail. In addition to jeans, I’d thrown in a couple of dresses and heels, fully expecting that they’d be so trashed I wouldn’t return with them.
Wyatt slept until we were north of Baltimore, which didn’t make for an entertaining drive. Aside from a few traffic snarls, we moved along pretty well. I had to restrain myself from drawing on Wyatt’s snoring face with a sharpie or stuffing Doritos up his nose though. Finally, I turned on the radio to distract myself and put my favorite soft rock station on. Wyatt stirred and pulled his coat up over his head.
I had a lot to think about anyway. Haagenti was going to be on me like flies on shit as soon as I left Atlantic City. He wouldn’t trust me to turn the artifact over if some miracle occurred and I actually did manage to retrieve it. He’d have someone up there to watch me, to follow me home, to snatch it from me, and grab me, too. Plus, I was sure by now he knew that I wasn’t going to succeed. Either way, his efforts to punish me for my insolence would be tenfold after this weekend.
I thought about voluntarily going home and taking my lumps. The longer I waited, the more my household would suffer his assaults. I glanced over at Wyatt. He’d be in danger, too. If Haagenti had any sense whatsoever, he’d quickly realize my affection for Wyatt and threaten him. If I left, though, I’d probably never see Wyatt or any of my human friends again. They’d all be dead by the time Haagenti finished with me. I thought about Candy and the werewolf issues, Michelle and our dreams of rental-world domination, of Reed and this killer picking off my tenants. All that would have to go on without me if I was being dipped in liquid nitrogen or pulled apart on a rack for a hundred years or so.
I thought of Gregory. He wouldn’t care if Haagenti grabbed me. A few centuries of my being tortured wouldn’t put a crease in his plans. Besides, if he needed me for anything, he could just summon me right out from under Haagenti’s nose. The whole scenario would probably amuse him. Somehow, the thought was comforting. He was my one constant. He wouldn’t age and die in a mere century. He wouldn’t change. I’d come out of the ordeal, and he’d still be the same fascinating, enthralling asshole he was now.
I glanced over and saw Wyatt glaring at me. Journey’s “Lovin’ Touchin’, Squeezin’” was playing on the radio.
“What?” I asked.
“You secretly hate me, don’t you.” He gestured toward the radio. “You can’t stand the thought of me taking a much needed nap and leaving you to drive without conversation. You’re torturing me with this sappy stuff.”
“It’s Journey. I love this song.”
Wyatt mumbled something under his breath, picked up the CD case, and started looking through it. He paused with a choked noise, his eyes growing huge.
“You’re joking, Sam. Justin Bieber? What are you, a twelve-year old girl?”
There’s gonna be one less lonely girl, I sang in my head. That was a great song. How could he not like that song? Still, I squirmed a bit in embarrassment.
“A twelve-year old girl gave me that CD,” I lied. “For my birthday.”
Wyatt snorted. “It’s a good thing you’re a terrible liar. Otherwise, I’d be horrified at the thought that a d
emon has been hanging out with a bunch of giggling pre-teens.”
He continued to thumb through the CDs. “Air Supply Greatest Hits? No, no, I’m wrong here. It’s an Air Supply cover band in Spanish.” He waved the offending CD in my face. “Sam, what on earth are you thinking? How did you even get this thing?”
“Some tenant left it behind,” I told him. “We evicted him, and there were all these CDs. Most were in Spanish, but I’ve got a Barry Manilow in there, too. That one’s in English.”
Wyatt looked at me a moment, and with the fastest movement I’ve ever seen, rolled down the window and tossed the case of CDs out onto the highway. It barely hit the road before a semi plowed over it.
I was pissed. “You asshole. I liked those CDs. I don’t come over to your house and trash your video games, or drive over your controllers. If you think that will make me listen to that Dubstep crap for the next two hours, then you better fucking think again.”
“I’m sorry Sam, but it’s past time for a musical intervention here. You can’t keep listening to this stuff. It wasn’t even remotely good when it was popular, and it certainly hasn’t gained anything over time. You need to pull yourself together and try to expand your musical interests a bit. You’re on a downward spiral, and if you keep this up, you’ll find yourself friendless, living in a box in a back alley, stinking of your own excrement, and covered in track marks.”
I looked at him in surprise. I had no idea Air Supply led to lack of bowel control and hard core drug usage. I wondered if it was something subliminal, a kind of compulsion programmed into the lyrics. Was Russell Hitchcock a sorcerer? He didn’t look that menacing to me, but sorcerers were pretty sneaky. Even so, I was sure Justin Bieber was okay. As soon as we hit a rest stop, I was ordering a replacement from my iPhone. The Barry Manilow one, too.
Wyatt took out a little USB stick and waved it at me.
“I made a playlist before we left. See? This is the sort of thoughtful thing boyfriends do for their girlfriends. I promise no Dubstep. Just some songs I thought you’d like that won’t drive me bonkers. I’ll put it on your stereo and hopefully continue my nap while you enjoy music that reasonably hip people might listen to.” He popped the USB stick into a slot on my stereo and a rap song filled the car.
