by Jim Butcher
I narrowed my eyes a bit, debating. Vampires gave off a certain amount of energy that someone like me could sense, but depending on which breed you were talking about, that energy could vary. Sometimes my sense of an approaching vampire was as overtly creepy as a child's giggle coming from an open grave. Other times there was barely anything at all, and it registered on my senses as something as subtle as simple, instinctive dislike for the creature in question. For White Court vamps like my half brother, there was nothing at all, unless they were doing something overtly vampiric. From outside the shop, I couldn't tell anything.
This was assuming they were vampires at all-which was a fairly large assumption. They didn't meet up in the open like this.
Vampires didn't apologize to the normal world for existing, but they didn't exactly run around auditioning for the latest reality TV shows, either.
There was one way to find out. I opened the door to the bistro, hand on my gun, took a step inside, holding the door open in case I needed to flee, and peered around warily at the occupants. The nearest was a pair of young men, speaking earnestly at a table over two cups of what looked like coffee and…
And they had acne-not like disfiguring acne or anything, just a few zits.
In case no one's told you, here's a monster-hunting tip for free: Vampires have little to no need for Clearasil.
Seen in that light, the two young men's costumes looked like exactly that-costumes. They had two big cloaks, dripping a little melt-water, hung over the backs of their chairs, and I caught the distinctive aroma of weed coming from their general direction. Two kids slipping out from the gathering to toke up and then come back inside. One of them produced a candy bar from a pocket and tore into it, to the reassurance of the people who make Clearasil, I'm sure.
I looked around the room. There were more people; mostly young, mostly with the thinness that goes with youth, as opposed to the leanly cadaverous kind that goes with being a bloodsucking fiend. They were mostly dressed in similar costume-style clothing, unless there had been a big sale at Goths-R-Us.
I felt my shoulders sag in relief, and I slipped my hand out of my pocket. Anytime one of my bouts of constructive paranoia didn't pan out was a good time.
"Sir," said a gruff voice from behind me. "The mall is closed. You want to tell me what you're doing here?"
I turned to face a squat, blocky man with watery blue eyes and no chin. He'd grown a thick brown-gold walrus mustache that emphasized rather than distracted from the lack. He had a high hairline, a brown uniform, and what looked like a cop's weapon belt until you saw that he had a walkie-talkie where the sidearm would be, next to a tiny can of Mace. His name tag read RAYMOND.
"Observing suspicious activity, Raymond," I said, and hooked my chin vaguely back at the bistro. "See that? People hanging around in the mall after hours. Weird."
He narrowed his eyes. "Wait. Don't I know you?"
I pursed my lips and thought. "Oh, right. Six, seven years ago, at Shoegasm."
He grunted in recognition. "The phony psychic."
"Consultant," I responded. "And from what I hear, their inventory stopped shrinking. Which hadn't happened before I showed up."
Raymond gave me a look that would have cowed lesser men. Much, much lesser men. Like maybe fourth graders. "If you aren't with the group, you're gone. You want to leave, or would you rather I took care of it for you?"
"Stop," I said. "You're scaring me."
Raymond's mustache quivered. He apparently wasn't used to people who didn't take him seriously. Plus, I was much, much bigger than he was.
"'Allo, 'Ah-ree," came my brother's voice from behind me.
I turned to find Thomas there, dressed in tight black pants and a blousy red silk shirt. His shoulder-length hair was tied back in a tail with a matching red ribbon. His face didn't look much like mine, except around the eyes and maybe the chin. Thomas was good-looking the way Mozart was talented. There were people on the covers of magazines and on television and on movie screens who despaired of ever looking as good as Thomas.
On his arm was a slim young girl, quite pretty and wholesome-looking, wearing leather pants that rode low on her hips and a red bikini top, her silky brown hair artfully mussed. I recognized her from Thomas's shop, a young woman named Sarah.
"Harry!" she said. "Oh, it's nice to see you again." She nudged Thomas with her hip. "Isn't it?"
"Always," Thomas, smiling, said in his French accent.
"Hello, Mr. Raymond!" Sarah said, brightly.
Raymond scowled at me and asked Sarah, "He with you?"
"But of course," Thomas said in that annoying French way, giving Raymond his most brilliant smile.
Raymond grunted and took his hand away from the radio. Lucky me. I had evidently been dismissed from Raymond's world. "I was going to tell you I'm going to be in the parking lot, replacing a camera we've got down, if you need me."
"Merci," Thomas said, still smiling.
Raymond grunted. He gave me a sour look, picked up a toolbox from where he'd set it aside, along with his coat and a stepladder, and headed out to the parking lot.
"'Ah-ree, you know Say-rah," Thomas said.
"Never had the pleasure of an introduction," I said, and offered Sarah my hand.
She took it, smiling. "I take it you aren't here to play Evernight?"
I looked from her to the costumed people. "Oh," I said. "Oh, it's a… game of some kind, I take it?"
"A LARP," she said.
I looked blank for a second. "Is that like a lark?"
She grinned. "LARP," she repeated. "Live action role-playing."
"Live action… vampire role-playing, I guess," I said. I looked at Thomas. "And this is why you are here?"
Thomas gave me a sunny smile and nodded. "She asked me to pretend to be a vampire, just for tonight," he said. "And straight."
No wonder he was having a good time.
Sarah beamed at me. "Thomas never talks about his, ah, personal life. So you're quite the man of mystery at the shop. We all speculate about you, all the time."
I'll just bet they did. There were times when my brother's cover as a flamingly gay hairdresser really grated. And it wasn't as though I could go around telling people we were related-not with the White Council of Wizards at war with the Vampire Courts.
"How nice," I told Sarah. I was never getting out of the role people had assumed for me around Thomas. "Thomas, can we talk for a moment?"
"Mais oui," he said. He smiled at Sarah, took her hand, and gave her a little bow over it. She beamed fondly at him, and then hurried back inside.
I watched her go, in her tight pants and skimpy top, and sighed. She had an awfully appealing curve of back and hip, and just enough bounce to make the motion pleasant, and there was no way I could ever even think about flirting with her.
"Roll your tongue back up into your mouth before someone notices," Thomas said, sotto voce. "I've got a cover to keep."
"Tell them I'm larping like I'm straight," I said, and we turned to walk down the entry hall, a little away from the bistro. "Pretending to be a vampire, huh?"
"It's fun," Thomas said. "I'm like a guest star on the season finale."
I eyed him. "Vampires aren't fun and games."
"I know that," Thomas said. "You know that. But they don't know that."
"You aren't doing them any favors," I said.
"Lighten up," Thomas said. The words were teasing, but there were serious undertones to his voice. "They're having fun, and I'm helping. I don't get a chance to do that very often."
"By making light of something that is a very real danger."
He stopped and faced me. "They're innocent, Harry. They don't know any better. They've never been hurt by a vampire or lost loved ones to a vampire." He lifted his eyebrows. "I thought that was what your people were fighting for in the first place."
I gave him a sour look. "If you weren't my brother, I'd probably tell you that you have some awfully nerdy hobbies."
&
nbsp; We reached the front doors. Thomas studied himself in the glass and struck a pose. "True, but I look gorgeous doing them. Besides, Sarah worked eleven Fridays to Mondays in a row without a complaint. She earned a favor."
Outside, the snow was thickening. Raymond was atop his ladder, fiddling with the camera. Molly was watching him. I waved until I got her attention, then made a little outline figure of a box with my fingers, and beckoned her. She nodded and killed the engine.
"I came in here expecting trouble. We're lucky I didn't bounce a few of these kids off the ceiling before I realized they weren't something from the dark side."
"Bah," Thomas said. "Never happen. You're careful."
I snorted. "I hope you won't mind if I just give you your present and run."
"Wow," Thomas said. "Gracious much?"
"Up yours," I said as Molly grabbed the present and hurried in through the cold, shivering all the way. "And happy birthday."
He turned to me and gave me a small, genuinely pleased smile. "Thank you."
There was a click of high heels in the hall behind us, and a young woman appeared. She was pretty enough, I suspected, but in the tight black dress, black hose, and with her hair slicked back like that, she came off sort of threatening. She gave me a slow, cold look and said, "So. I see you're keeping low company after all, Ravenius."
Ever suave, I replied, "Uh. What?"
"'Ah-ree," Thomas said.
I glanced at him.
He put his hand flat on the top of his head and said, "Do this."
I peered at him.
He gave me a look.
I sighed and put my hand on the top of my head.
The girl in the black dress promptly did the same thing and gave me a smile. "Oh, right, sorry. I didn't realize."
"I will be back in one moment," Thomas said, his accent back. "Personal business."
"Right," she said, "sorry. I figured Ennui had stumbled onto a subplot." She smiled again, then took her hand off the top of her head, reassumed that cold, haughty expression, and stalked clickety-clack back to the bistro.
I watched her go, turned to my brother while we both stood there with our hands flat on top of our heads, elbows sticking out like chicken wings, and said, "What does this mean?"
"We're out of character," Thomas said.
"Oh," I said. "And not a subplot."
"If we had our hands crossed over our chests," Thomas said, "we'd be invisible."
"I missed dinner," I said. I put my other hand on my stomach. Then, just to prove that I could, I patted my head and rubbed my stomach. "Now I'm out of character-and hungry."
"You're always hungry. How is that out of character?"
"True," I said. I frowned, then looked back. "What's taking Molly-"
My apprentice stood facing away from me, her back pressed to the glass doors. She stood rigid, one hand pressed to her mouth. Thomas's birthday present, in its pink and red Valentine's Day wrapping paper, lay on its side among grains of snowmelt on the sidewalk. Molly trembled violently.
Thomas was a beat slow to catch on to what was happening. "Isn't that skirt a little light for the weather? Look, she's freezing."
Before he got to "skirt," I was out the door. I seized Molly and dragged her inside, eyes on the parking lot. I noticed two things.
First, that Raymond's ladder was tipped over and lay on its side in the parking lot. Flakes of snow were already gathering upon it. In fact, the snow was coming down more and more heavily, despite the weather forecast that had called for clearing skies.
Second, there were droplets of blood on my car and the cars immediately around it, the ones closest to Raymond's ladder. They were rapidly freezing and they glittered under the parking lot's lamps like tiny brilliant rubies.
"What?" Thomas asked as I brought Molly back in. "What is-" He stared out the windows for a second and answered the question for himself. "Crap."
"Yeah," I said. "Molly?"
She gave me a wild-eyed glance, shook her head once, then bowed it and closed her eyes, speaking in a low, repetitive whisper.
"What the hell?" Thomas said.
"She's in psychic shock," I said quietly.
"Never seen you in psychic shock," my brother said.
"Different talents. I blow things up. Molly's a sensitive, and getting more so," I told him. "She'll snap herself out of it, but she needs a minute."
"Uh-huh," Thomas said quietly. He stared intently at the shuddering young woman, his eyes shifting colors slightly, from deep grey to something paler.
"Hey," I said to him. "Focus."
He gave his head a little shake, his eyes gradually darkening again. "Right. Come on. Let's get her a chair and some coffee and stop standing around in front of big glass windows making targets of ourselves."
We did, dragging her into the bistro and to the table nearest the door, where Thomas could stand watching the darkness while I grabbed the girl some coffee from a dispenser, holding my hand on top of my silly head the whole while.
Molly got her act together within a couple of minutes after I sat down. It surprised me: Despite my casual words to Thomas, I hadn't seen her that badly shaken up before. She grabbed at the coffee, shaking, and slurped some.
"Okay, grasshopper," I said. "What happened?"
"I was on the way in," she replied, her voice distant and oddly flat. "The security man. S-something killed him." A hint of something desperate crept into her voice. "I f-felt him die. It was horrible."
"What?" I asked her. "Give me some details to work with."
Molly shook her head rapidly. "D-didn't see. It was too fast. I sensed something moving behind me-m-maybe a footstep. Then there was a quiet sound and h-he died…" Her breaths started coming rapidly again.
"Easy," I told her, keeping my voice in the steady cadence I'd used when teaching her how to maintain self-control under stress. "Breathe. Focus. Remember who you are."
"Okay," she said, several breaths later. "Okay."
"This sound. What was it?"
She stared down at the steam coming up off her coffee. "I… A thump, maybe. Lighter."
"A snap?" I asked.
She grimaced but nodded. "And I turned around, fast as I could. But he was gone. I didn't see anything there, Harry."
Thomas, ten feet away, could hear our quiet conversation as clearly as if he'd been sitting with us. "Something grabbed Raymond," he said. "Something moving fast enough to cross her whole field of vision in a second or two. It didn't stop moving when it took him. She probably heard his neck breaking from the whiplash."
There wasn't much to say to that. The whole concept was disturbing as hell.
Thomas glanced back at me and said, "It's a great way to do a grab and snatch if you're fast enough. My father showed me how it was done once." His head whipped around toward the parking lot.
I felt myself tense. "What?"
"The streetlights just went out."
I sat back in my chair, thinking furiously. "Only one reason to do that."
"To blind us," Thomas said. "Prevent anyone from reaching the vehicles."
"Also keeps anyone outside from seeing what is happening here," I said. "How are you guys using this place after hours?"
"Sarah's uncle owns it," Thomas said.
"Get her," I said, rising to take up watching the door. "Hurry."
Thomas brought her over to me a moment later. By the time he did, the larpers had become aware that something was wrong, and their awkwardly sinister role-playing dwindled into an uncertain silence as Sarah hurried over. Before, I had watched her and her scarlet bikini top in appraisal. Now I couldn't help but think how slender and vulnerable it made her neck look.
"What is it?" Sarah asked me.
"Trouble," I said. "We may be in danger, and I need you to answer a few questions for me, right now."
She opened her mouth and started to ask me something.
"First," I said, interrupting her, "do you know how many security men are present at nig
ht?"
She blinked at me for a second. Then she said, "Uh, four before closing, two after. But the two who leave are usually here until midnight, doing maintenance and some of the cleaning."
"Where?"
She shook her head. "The security office, in administration."
"Right," I said. "This place have a phone?"
"Of course."
"Take me to it."
She did, back in the little place's tiny kitchen. I picked it up, got a dial tone, and slammed Murphy's phone number across the keypad. If the bad guys, whoever or whatever they were, were afraid of attracting attention from the outside world, I might be able to avoid the entire situation by calling in lots of police cars and flashy lights.
The phone rang once, twice.
And then it went dead, along with the lights, the music playing on the speakers, and the constant blowing sigh of the heating system.
Several short, breathy screams came from the front of the bistro, and I heard Thomas shout for silence and call, "Harry?"
"The security office," I said to Sarah. "Where is it?"
"Um. It's at the far end of the mall from here."
"Easy to find?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You have to go through the administrative hall and-"
I shook my head. "You can show me. Come on." I stalked out to the front room of the bistro. "Thomas? Anything?"
All the larpers had gathered in close, herd instinct kicking in under the tension. Thomas stepped closer to me so that he could answer me under his breath.
"Nothing yet," Thomas said. "But I saw something moving out there."
I grunted. "Here's the plan. Molly, Sarah, and I are going to go down to the security office and try to reach someone."
"Bad idea," Thomas said. "We need to get out of here."
"We're too vulnerable. They're between us and the cars," I said. "Whatever they are. We'll never make it out all the way across the parking lot without getting caught."
"Fine," he said. "You fort up here and I'll go."
"No. Once we're gone, you'll try to get through to the cops on a cell phone. There's not a prayer of getting one to work if Molly and I are anywhere nearby-not with both of us this nervous."
