by Cate Lawley
Alex shook his head. “I need to do a little work, so you can catch me in my office when you’re done.”
After he left, I asked Wembley from the very deep seat of the sofa, “What exactly is it that he does?”
“He owns Bits, Baubles, and Toadstools.” At my confused look, Wembley said, “The shop out front.”
I rolled my eyes. Alex could have just said.
“He’s also one of the Society’s enforcers.”
I was still shaking my head at Alex’s annoyingly and unnecessarily secretive behavior when “enforcer” penetrated my brain. “I’m sorry—enforcer? I thought he was, like, the Society’s equivalent of a paramedic.”
Wembley’s eyes widened. “Sure. If you believe the man.” He dropped down onto the beanbag chair.
Wembley’s reasoning defied logic.
“Wembley—is that right? Or do you prefer Jefferson?”
“No one’s called me Jefferson since… I’m not actually sure that anyone has ever called me Jefferson. Wembley, please.”
“Right. Wembley. If by the man, you mean the Society, you do realize you’re chilling out in a lounge inside the Society’s headquarters?”
His shaggy eyebrows waggled, and he shifted forward in the beanbag chair. “You think it’s bugged?”
“No. I’m saying, for a guy who is against the man, you seem pretty comfortable in his lounge.”
Wembley chuckled. “L-e-m-a-n-n. Sounds a lot like ‘the man.’ He’s the CSO for the Society and who Alex reports to when he’s wearing his emergency response hat.”
“Emergency response? Oh…” I pulled Anton’s card out of my purse. Handing it to Wembley, I asked, “ER means emergency response?”
Wembley glanced at the front, flipped it to the back, then returned it. “That’s right. The number is answered by on-call staff. There are a handful of knights—enforcers—and the rest are administrative staff.”
“So what do these emergency response people do?” I didn’t get nearly the weird creepy vibe from “emergency response” that I did from “enforcer.”
“Ostensibly? They offer aid to the community when we can’t call the police.” Wembley squinted. “You do know we’re all hush-hush underground, right?”
“Yep. I got that. What do you think the ER folks do?”
“Well, with seven knights answering calls, I think it’s about cover-ups and cleanups—what else? Alex isn’t so bad, but knights are a sketchy bunch. All about swords and violence, retribution and order. That kind of thing.”
Something niggled in the back of my brain. “The hangings…”
“Hm. Yes. But you’re talking about lawful execution. I’m talking about what happens to those outside the formal justice system. Before it ever gets to a fair trial. But I could be wrong—you’re here, after all.”
I tried for a poker face—but failed utterly. I could feel my eyes get wide. “Why would I not be here?”
“Oh, back in the old days, the Society would have disappeared you.”
“But now they just ignore me and hope for the best? That hardly sounds like a good plan for the health of the community.” Great—I was talking like Wembley. Like I even knew who made up “the community.”
Wembley steepled his fingers together, a gesture at odds with his slumped posture in the beanbag chair. “I don’t think you were expected to survive. You’re an anomaly. If you don’t mind me asking—how exactly are you feeding yourself? You have an aversion to blood, correct?”
Every time I thought about blood, I had a flashback to the doctor’s office and that noxious smell.
“I’ve never been able to watch when my blood’s been drawn, but I’ve never actually been phobic. Then the doctor shoved a tube of blood in my hand, and I freaked out and dropped it even though it wasn’t mine and it was in a tube.” A shiver crawled across my skin. “Pretty sure that was all about Anton confirming something was up with me.”
He leaned forward. “Quite possibly.”
I shrank back into the depths of the sofa. “Uh…” I pointed as discreetly as I could at his mouth, where a wicked set of fangs had appeared. “Your, uh, you know…”
Quick as a flash, the fangs disappeared. “Ah. I was fasting—good for the spleen and all that—when Alex contacted me about this meeting. I’m somewhat susceptible to the odd suggestion right now. You were saying about the blood?”
There was still a glint in his eye at the mention of blood—but no fangs.
“Well, the odor was terrible. Noxious. I can’t describe it. I was too busy puking to take notes.”
“The smell of blood made you vomit. Blood certainly shouldn’t trigger an aversive reaction in a vampire. So fascinating.” He eyed me like I was a tiny little lab rat.
“That’s all you have to say? No explanations? Advice? Anything?”
Wembley smiled. “You’re here, so you’re obviously eating something. What’s keeping you going?”
This was certainly turning out to be less informative than I’d hoped. Was it too much to ask that my own people know how to keep me alive? And maybe share that information with me?
I sighed. “Vegan nutrition supplement shakes, orange juice, tons of water, and some coffee. Though after about three large French-press pots, I got a little loopy.” Looking around the room, I added, “It might be something you’d enjoy. I saw some weird stuff. But before that last pot—it was heavenly.”
“Hm.” Wembley gave me a curious look. “Not decaf?”
“You’re kidding, right? Why bother?” I tried not to look at him like he was a crazy man—but decaffeinated coffee? Why not just pee in a cup and drink that? At least that wouldn’t taste like some chemically manufactured cocktail.
“Well, most vamps would be trying to fly off the top of a very tall building by the second or third cup. Your reaction is odd, just so you know.”
“Oh.” I tried to remember what exactly I’d experienced. “My painting spoke to me, Great-Auntie Lula appeared—she was the key, because she used to drink Ensure shakes all day. Although Alex seemed pretty sure no real ghosts had been in my place. And there was the car alarm that smelled like burnt bacon, the neighbor’s music that smelled like lilacs, and the freaky feeling of falling when I opened the bathroom door. Generally, very trippy.”
“Interesting. Very, very interesting.”
I raised my hands in the universal gesture that meant: tell me what you know, you secret-hoarding devil.
“Yes, well”—again with the steepling fingers—“every vamp has certain talents that develop during the transformation. Perhaps you have a touch of precognition. Less common than telepathy—which also is quite rare—but they’re believed to be related gifts.”
“Precognition, as in seeing the future? It didn’t seem like that at all. Not like a vision or anything.”
“It’s typically very subtle. An unidentifiable preference for a specific seat in a restaurant that results in a glass of wine not spilling on you—that type of thing. It can be exciting stuff, even if it isn’t always useful.” Wembley waggled his bushy eyebrows again. “And in your case, you might get some decent mileage out of it if you’re getting those kinds of tips. Telepathy is a bit more straightforward, but again, usually only the lowest levels of talent occur—like getting a strong feeling that someone is angry or sad. You’re not getting any of that, though, are you? Just the precog, right?”
“Definitely no hints as to what people are thinking.” My experience with the Jeep came to mind. “I did have this bizarre urge to buy a new car. It makes me ridiculously happy to drive it. Not a clue why. Maybe the precognition you’re talking about?”
“That’s what I mean. You’ll just have to see if it develops into a more usable talent. Are there any other peculiarities that you’ve encountered?”
“No chocolate. Makes me retch.”
Wembley’s face drooped. “I mourn your loss. Vampires have no difficulty with consuming hot chocolate—dark or milk. I find both to be quite satisfyi
ng, but again, one must be mindful of the caffeine.”
“What about garlic and crosses and stakes?”
“Myths, but you are as susceptible to injury as before. Increased life span and some faster healing—but stop our heart, remove our head, or break our spinal column and that’s all she wrote.”
“Now this is useful stuff. Anything I absolutely should not do?”
“Let common sense rule. If it hurt your human body, it’s probably bad for the vamp version. Stay away from too much caffeine. Illegal drugs are usually a bad idea—although weed can be fun.” I shook my head, and he smiled. “Right, no weed.”
“And things I absolutely should do?”
“Keep yourself well fed—as best you can. A cranky vamp is no one’s friend.” Wembley shook his head. “A few bad seeds, and we all get a bad rap.”
“Alex implied that vampires weren’t universally all that well liked.” Implied seemed softer than the reality of his bald statement.
“Hmph. He can talk.”
I perked up. “Hey, what exactly is Alex?”
“He gave you the thief, assassin, wizard shtick, didn’t he?”
“Yes—what’s all the secrecy about? I’d think what kind of…” Monster? Creature? I bit my tongue before either of those slipped out.
“Person?” Wembley gave me a wide-eyed, innocent look. Then he grinned. “Kidding aside, we’re all people. Enhanced people with unique gifts, but simply people. At least, the Society members are. But as for Alex, he’s most certainly a wizard. Let your freak flag fly, says I.” Wembley flashed his fangs at me.
This time, it didn’t startle me, and I took a closer look. Not like human teeth. The points were much sharper. Interesting.
“How is being a wizard freaky?”
Wembley sheathed his fangs before he spoke. “You’re so adorably, naively cute. Like a little fluffy bunny.”
“Happy is a new gig for me. I’m trying to embrace it—so don’t screw with me.” And then I smiled at him, because I really was embracing my happy these days.
“A little bunny with fangs—even cuter. Wizards have access to arcane, dark power. Many of the other enhanced won’t mix with wizards. Although, truthfully, most of us don’t commingle well. There’s the born versus made divide, with each thinking the other is inferior in some way.”
“Born versus made—so I’m made?”
“You are indeed so lucky—” Wembley winced. “Sorry. I keep forgetting. Accidents are so rare these days. But yes, you are made—with a tiny dash of genetic predisposition. All vamps lack a common immunity to the vampire virus. Witches are made, as well as golems, and—”
“A person made of clay?” I asked. I’d once read a legend about a creature made of clay, and I thought that had been a golem.
“Not exactly clay. More like a person created from the flesh of others. Sounds disturbing—but you’ve probably met a few without noticing anything different about them.”
“Spiffy. Don’t suppose there’s any way to identify them?”
“Incredibly attractive. And there are the tattoos. They’re discreetly located, so you’d have to be up close and very personal to get a look.”
I tried to keep a straight face when he said it, because…yuck. Sex with someone made up of dead bits of other people. Oh, no no no.
“And the born enhanced?” I asked, trying desperately to wipe away the graphic image that had popped into my head.
“Wizards, few though they may be, assassins, and thieves all have closely related gifts and are thought to originally be from one bloodline. There’s an entire religious controversy centered around the question—don’t ask or you’ll step on toes. We’ve also got a few djinn in the Austin area, and coyotes.”
“Got it.” I didn’t have it—because coyotes?—but I would come back around to the Society members again. Other vamp things were much more pressing. “Can you do the thing with your fangs again?”
“Which thing?”
“The disappearing and reappearing fangs.”
He flashed his fangs at me again. Then they disappeared. “They’re retractable. Just hope they never get stuck. Speaking while fanged is a developed talent, and embarrassingly awkward in the learning stages.”
“Not a problem—I don’t have any.”
“Hmm, no. You may have no control over them, but you certainly have them.” With his thumb and forefinger, he touched the points on his mouth that mirrored the sores on my lips.
“Oh. Ooooooh.” I looked around the room, didn’t see a mirror, so I pulled a compact out of my purse.
“How human.” Wembley seemed amused. When I looked up in confusion, he said, “Vampires don’t shine, perspire, sweat—whatever you womenfolk call it these days. No need for powder—unless your skin is hideous.”
I looked up from my examination of my gum line and canines.
“Not you, little fluffy bunny. You have gorgeous skin.”
I couldn’t remember the last time someone had given me a compliment.
“And a gorgeous smile.”
“Thank you. Any reason I can’t see my fangs?”
“You probably don’t have a lot of control over them. Baby vamps rarely do—and you’re more baby than most this long after the bite.” He frowned. “And less.” He scratched his chin. “You’re an anomaly—so just be careful.”
Be careful—of what and how? But I nodded.
“Oh, and keep an eye out for burgeoning talents.”
Before I could ask about what I was on the lookout for, someone knocked at the door. Immediately thereafter, Alex entered the room. “Time to go.”
I tried to stand up, but the sofa had well and truly swallowed me. “Already? I have more questions.”
“It’s been two and a half hours. I have a lunch date.” Alex offered his hand.
“Oh—sorry. I didn’t realize…” I grasped Alex’s hand and he pulled me with no effort at all from the depths of the sofa. Again with the blinky light-flickering thing. I ignored it, since Alex didn’t seem to notice. “Wembley, you’ve been so kind.”
“No trouble at all. Unlike the very professional Anton, I have no card. Make sure Alex gets you my cell number. We’ll do this again—soon.” He raised his eyebrows and gave me an intent look.
“Yes. Absolutely. I’ll be in touch.”
There were so many things to talk about. The mysterious Lemann that Wembley seemed to dislike so much, what it was like being a vamp in Austin, what the Society was all about. Too many questions.
Alex was already at the door looking impatient.
“I’m coming.” And I scooted quickly through the door.
We reversed our path from earlier, heading to the shop.
“Who’s your date?” I asked. His face looked blank, so I clarified. “Your lunch date? A new girl or last night’s girl?”
“Ah. Last night’s. I should get at least a few more dates out of her.”
I tried not to look judgy, but it was hard when he’d basically said he’d get a few more shags out of her and then move on. That was what it sounded like, at least. Ick. On the other hand, I did ask.
When we walked through the shop, the same girl was manning the register, and she didn’t look like she’d moved.
In a quiet voice, I asked, “Don’t the employees restock or dust when there aren’t any customers?”
Alex shrugged.
“Wembley ratted you out. I know it’s your store.”
“That doesn’t change my answer. I don’t know and don’t care. If the place starts to look bad, I have a word, but generally everything gets taken care of. Why nitpick? They’re paid a little over minimum wage and are mostly just kids. They do a decent job, so what do I care if they occasionally play on their phones when no one’s in the store?”
“Huh. That’s not completely terrible reasoning.” It just never would have occurred to me. I looked around the store. He was right. It was basically tidy, and while I wouldn’t call it nicely merchandised, the h
odgepodge mixture of items in the displays gave the place a kind of Halloween-flavored eclectic charm. “Actually, I think your lack of micromanaging might give the store some of its personality.”
He gave me a knowing look then opened the door for me. He called out over his shoulder, “See you this afternoon, Mandy.”
“Sure thing, Alex.” The door thudded shut on the last syllable.
Alex unlocked the doors to my Jeep remotely, but he still came around and opened the door for me. The guy might be sleazy, but he could also be polite and charming.
Once he climbed in, he said, “You going to tell me what the deal with the car is? Not to dis your choice, but I’m not sure I understand the abundance of excitement you’ve exhibited for it.”
I wrinkled my nose. He was annoyingly right. “I don’t really know. Wembley thought I might have a really low-level precognition gift.”
Alex barked out a laugh. “Wembley thinks everyone has a low-level precog gift. Anything less than mid-grade is hard to prove, and he’s desperate for the gift to still exist.”
“What, it’s on the endangered gift list or something?”
“Let’s just say I have my doubts about its existence. My point is, I wouldn’t put much stock in Wembley’s assertions where precog is concerned.” He grinned, but didn’t look at me—and if I had to guess, I’d say he was laughing at me. “Did you learn anything useful?”
“That you’re a wizard, and that’s super spooky.”
“Only to vamps.” His tone was wry, so no hot buttons there. Hm. Secretive yet not ashamed.
“That some guy named Lemann is the CSO and Wembley is really suspicious of him—but no clue why.”
“Sounds right.”
“That there’s some religious question of bloodlines and origin between the assassins, the thieves, and the wizards—but it’s hush-hush and should not be mentioned for fear of pissing off the lot of you.”
“Eh—that’s a little last century. But it’s never a bad idea to err on the side of caution with that one. But I asked if you learned anything useful.”
“Hey—the little bits and pieces are useful when you consider I have zero context for the world I now live in.” The low-grade ache of hunger in my stomach that I’d tuned out all morning was ramping up.
