by Beth Dranoff
Chilled, I realized I was absolutely and completely alone. No cars had turned down the lane in more than a few minutes, no gravel crunched under tires, and any rushing traffic noises off the Lakeshore were notably absent. The only sounds I heard were the stones beneath my feet as I tromped, more softly now, along the road. It was my imagination. I knew that. But the air around me felt thicker, spongy, closing in on me and wrapping me in a marshmallow blanket. It was harder and harder to move. And there was a buzzing in my head, like one of those electronic mosquito zappers that used to hang outside my grandparents’ cottage.
I looked up and the sky was dark; the sun had set without me noticing.
There, on the periphery. Shadowy figures. Shuffling. Towards me.
Forget dignity. I broke into a sprint, making for the Swan. I was blocks away still. Too far for Sandor to hear me if I screamed, but so close I could see the bar’s hulking shape and barbed wire—encircled roof beckoning to me above the bare trees and barren buildings.
The shadowy shapes lumbered ever closer as I jolted forward. Gooey air grasped at my legs. I could see the door. A burst of adrenaline and I was there, banging on the peeling façade. The shadows were behind me now, and I scented their putrescence on the wind. Seconds felt like hours. It was still early—maybe Sandor wasn’t in yet?
Then the hanging metal light clicked on and I heard the sound of deadbolts sliding. The door opened and a green, spotted hand reached out and pulled me in, slamming the heavy door behind me. I was gasping, panting, staring at Sandor as we heard the thudding sounds of bodies throwing themselves at the exterior.
Sandor was looking at me, his hair still rumpled from sleep, a wart-encrusted eyebrow cocked in my direction.
“What, you thought maybe it would be a nice afternoon to go for a walk?”
“What were those things?” I was having trouble catching my breath.
“Nuisances,” Sandor replied. He walked over to a switch beside the door and flicked it on. Immediately, I heard a hissing sound from outside; shrieks and groans and more thuds before silence. “Gotta remember to spray the place. Best I can do without calling in a team of exterminators.”
“Exterminators?”
“AAA Zombie Exterminifactors, really. There’s a nest out there. Scares off the clientele. Got to be managed. Speaking of which, how exactly did you draw their attention? They usually ignore the norms in these parts.”
I hesitated.
“I, um, might not be entirely norm at this point,” I said. “Remember?”
“Oh. Yeah,” he replied. He scratched the inner cleft of his left nostril ponderously, curved yellow claw surprisingly gentle, and made a sound suspiciously like “hmph.”
“Weird,” he said finally.
Understatement.
“It’s not your first exposure, but I’ve never gotten anything other than norm off you up until the last few days. You haven’t gotten into any of those injectable drugs all the kids are trying out, have you?”
I narrowed my eyes to look witheringly at my boss. The big green demon was, of course, unfazed.
“No,” I said, when pointy looks didn’t make the question disappear. “I don’t do needles.”
“Hmph,” Sandor said again. “And that long-fanged one you’ve been hanging out with, that artist guy. Has he been sinking his teeth into you at all?”
Sandor had me there, and I nodded, a flush burning my ears as I avoided his many eyes for a moment in sheepish unease. “Sometimes,” I said. “It’s a sex thing. You know how it is.”
Sandor gave me a lopsided grin and nodded. Letting me know with his own eye-flick, down and to the left, that we’d all done things in the heat of the now.
“But nothing out of the ordinary there,” I continued. ”We’ve been at it for quite a while already. If anything was going to show up in my blood, you’d have smelled it before this, wouldn’t you?”
“Probably,” he admitted. “Besides, I don’t get vampire off you. Whatever it is, there’s fur involved.”
“Awesome,” I replied. “Just what a girl wants to hear.”
“I’ll ask around,” Sandor said, ignoring my last comment. “See if I can find out anything that might be useful to your current situation. In the meantime,” he continued, “do you have a ride home tonight? I’m thinking that a long walk might not be in the best interests of your continued good health, if you know what I mean.”
“I left a message for Lynna but haven’t heard back yet.”
“You might want to get the fangy one to come get you then,” he said. “More muscle wouldn’t be the worst idea.”
I shrugged, embarrassed. I hated to call up Jon for small things, especially given our current state of relationship ambivalence.
“Suck it up,” Sandor advised, noting my hesitation. “No sense in having pride if you’re too dead to enjoy it.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jon showed up not long before closing.
I felt him before I saw him, goose bumps dimpling my arms, a cold that burned at the back of my neck as I wiped down the bar and filled orders before last call. There. He sat, lanky frame nursing a stein of dark liquid, looking across the bobbing heads to meet my eyes. Smoldering heat.
I walked over to him, my gait as casual as I could make it. Leaned over, close, so close my hair brushed his smooth cheek.
“Cut it out,” I murmured. To anyone else, a lover whispering sweet nothings in her beloved’s ear. ”Save the glamour for some other time and place. Preferably one with fewer people around.”
Jon leaned back, grinning. His smile was still predatory, just a hint of pointed fang, but there was an impish edge to it now. A boy pushing his luck, testing the limits, seeing how far he could get without having his hand slapped.
“Milady’s wish is mine to obey,” he replied. Like he was fooling anyone.
I returned to my tasks and wrapped up my shift. Finally it was time to go. I did so reluctantly, knowing that leaving the bar meant putting myself in direct orbit of Jon. Which meant temptation.
I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder as I got into his car, a two-door sporty restored something or other, black exterior, red plush interior (cliché much?). I shivered, static pricks of electricity at the back of my neck. I knew I was being watched. Invisible eyes in the dark, soundless except for the slap slap slap of the waves off Lake Ontario. Jon seemed to sense it too, scanning the snowy nothingness with narrowed eyes, nostrils flared to catch a scent that didn’t seem to exist. He closed the door behind me, shutting off the outside beyond tinted windows. I hoped it would be enough.
Jon blasted the heat. Its toasty warmth eased around me in an airy hug, dulling just a bit of my tension as the metal beast shifted into gear, spewing gravel in its wake. I tried not to notice Jon’s chivalry. I didn’t want to depend on him. This relationship, this tryst; I knew it couldn’t last.
And yet.
The drive passed in relative silence. Too much to say. Jon seemed to accept my reticence, steering the conversation—when he bothered to say anything—onto safer ground: lack of traffic, the weather, other drivers, upcoming gallery exhibits. Why point to the pink elephant in the room when you’re not even at the zoo? Finally, when the conversation trailed off yet again, I spoke.
“Thanks for coming down to pick me up,” I said. “You know I wouldn’t have asked you if...”
“If you didn’t really need it,” he replied. “I know. You don’t want to take anything from me. I get it.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“You know that’s your choice, not mine.”
“Look, we both know that this can’t go anywhere,” I said, my words heavy. “We’re not even exclusive—Mr. Cat Scratch Fever pretty much made that clear. As if I needed it spelled out.” I muttered that last part.
; Jon let it slide in an awkward pause. We stopped at a red light.
Then: “Claude and I, we’re not together like that anymore, Dana,” he said. ”I don’t know what I can say to convince you. You believe what you want. I’ve got nothing but time to wait for you to come around.”
“Or not,” I said, just a bit of an edge, skating the bloody tip of the knife.
He didn’t take the bait.
“Or not,” he said, instead.
I turned in the passenger seat to look at him. Closely. Watching the expressions that crossed his eyes, his face, the telltale twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“I’m it for you? Seriously? Nobody else—no blood buddy, furry leg warmer or fangy friend shares your bed these days?”
Jon stared fixedly forward, hands tightening ever so slightly on the steering wheel.
“What do you want me to say?” His voice was almost as tight as his grip. ”You know what I am. Who I am. You knew this going in. Some rules can’t be changed.”
“True,” I said. ”I did know. But maybe we should face reality and not make this more than it is. Friends.”
“With benefits?” The imp was back.
I laughed, mirthless.
“Oh yeah. There are definitely benefits.”
* * *
There was something off when we pulled up to my place. And not just the aftereffects of our capital R relationship talk. I didn’t recall leaving the outside light on. Twitchy. I hesitated with my hand on the on the armrest.
“I can come up with you,” Jon offered.
Discomfort over reason. I chose to go it alone.
“No, it’s okay. Thanks anyway.”
Jon didn’t say anything as I got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Walking up those twenty-five stairs to my apartment, I could feel him at my back, even from the car, engine humming. Having him there, so close and yet far, made me feel a little safer. Just a bit though.
I was regretting not asking him in already. My front door opened too easily, the hallway too dark, as I flicked on the hall light and it hit me. That smell. Copper mixed with sulphur. Mixed with gas?
I turned to look out the door, light spilling across the stairs, and sprinted, racing back down to Jon’s car even as he reversed out of the spot. He didn’t notice until I was banging on the window. He unlocked the door and I dove in, screaming.
As the world turned orange.
Chapter Fourteen
I woke up in a hospital bed. Strangely familiar. Black carpet, red drapes, dried roses on the night table.
At least this time I wasn’t in restraints.
I glanced over at the lounge chair to my right, in front of the darkened window, following the line of long legs to the man slouched there, snoring lightly.
Not Jon.
Sam.
I cleared my throat in a not-so-subtle attempt to see if he would wake up. He did, blue-green eyes coming into view as his eyelids peeled open. This guy was muscle in repose, shaggy light brown hair peppered with grey, but aside from his coif there was nothing aged about him. Sam saw me looking at him and his tired features cracked into a smile.
“What happened?”
Sam gave a shrug and I knew what was coming next wasn’t going to be good.
“Your kitchen blew up.”
“My kitchen,” I said. “Um. Was anyone hurt?”
“Fortunately no. It was a localized explosion.”
“Okay. Why exactly did my kitchen blow up? It’s not like I use it much.”
“It looks like there might have been a gas leak. A gas leak that may have been helped along by forces unknown.”
“A gas leak,” I repeated. “Interesting, but again, why?”
“I was hoping you might have some ideas,” he said. “Piss anyone off lately?”
“No more than usual,” I replied. There was something I was missing. What was it? “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I’ve been asked to investigate this matter.”
“By?”
“Pack business.” Code for Anshell Williams. “You’re starting to draw a lot of attention to yourself, and we’d like to know why.”
“Well, there’s that friendly feeding festival you and I interrupted the other night. Random Goth Guy and the vamp cabal. What about them?”
“Maybe,” Sam said, slowly, drawing out the syllables as he turned the idea over in his head. “Anything else? Anyone else?”
Who had I seen over the last few days? Who had I spoken with? Only one other name came to mind.
“Do you know anything about a guy named Professor Ezra Gerbrecht?”
Sam’s face went thoughtful.
“Gerbrecht. Ezra Gerbrecht.” Sam drew out that last word, pronouncing the name surprisingly accurately, the ch rolling around in the back of his throat like he had a piece of popcorn caught there. “Yes, I’ve heard of him. Scientist guy studying the DNA of shifters and other human-based beings. He’s looking for the common gene. Right?”
“You sure do know him,” I commented. “So, what do you know?”
“Better yet,” Sam said, “what do you know? That’s a pretty random name to pull out of the air.”
I told Sam about going to visit Ezra, how I’d taken some graduate-level courses in preternatural bio-science under the man, and about the professor’s strangely absentminded behavior. I left out the bits about the Agency. Ezra had been responsible for administering my preventative vaccines as well, or at least had been the medical professional overseeing the project, and I shared with Sam my concern that the vaccines might no longer be effective. Sam had already seen me partially shift, so no point in glossing over that reality.
“But still,” I concluded, “I can’t think of any reason why he would want to blow up my apartment. I was one of his star pupils. Okay, so I was also one of his biggest disappointments—he thought I was wasting my life working at a bar instead of committing my life to what I studied—but still. This whole thing feels a bit extreme for Ezra.”
Sam nodded. “You’re right, it doesn’t make much sense. But we have to consider all possible options here. Can you think of anyone else who has been acting strangely?”
I debated whether or not I really wanted to open up the can of decomposing worms that was my relationship with Jon. Not really. But what if there was something relevant there?
“There might be one other—for lack of a better word, person—who is probably not my biggest fan.”
Sam looked at me expectantly.
“The other night I was with my, um, well I was with this guy. And this other guy barges in, pissed and jealous. Seems the guy I was with swings in more than one direction, and the guy who, uh, broke down the door was not too thrilled with my being there. He’s the one who scratched me. Not on purpose, at least I don’t think so, but still.”
“Hmm,” Sam replied thoughtfully. “Do we have a name for this cat person?”
“I think his name is Claude,” I said, increasingly tired. “Ask Jon.”
Sam didn’t ask who Jon was. Or Claude. My guess was that Jon had been the one to bring me here. Again. But Claude? There was more than one pack in this city, right?
I shut my eyes. Too many coincidences, too few alternate explanations. I wanted to sleep; I needed to figure out what was going on. Who wanted to kill me. Why.
The air shifted as I felt Sam stand up and tuck the blanket under my chin, his hand lingering a moment longer than necessary on my shoulder before withdrawing.
“I’m sorry,” I heard him say, as though speaking through a hollow tube a great distance away. “You’re tired. Rest. You’re safe here.”
But I knew the truth. Safety was relative.
My father had taught me that. Before the accident.
Before the men in suits came to break news that my mother and I would have preferred stay in bad dreams. He should have been okay, my father, in that government lab with his good friend Ezra Gerbrecht.
And yet.
* * *
I was alone now, and hungry, and still I couldn’t sleep. Light peeked through the edges of the curtains shrouding the windows. I stretched, rolling my head along the pillow, working out the kinks before carefully sitting up. Sore, but I’d live. At least I hoped so. I just needed to get home and take a shower and...wait, no home.
My apartment blew up.
Damn.
I lay back and tried to remember the name of my insurance company. AAA something. Sandor had recommended them, so he would probably know who to call. AAA Insurance? Indemnity? Ishkibibble? Anything more than AAA and I was drawing a blank.
Okay, let’s think logically here. Needed to find a place to live. Needed to find a place to stay. Needed to call the insurance company. Get new clothes. Figure out who is trying to kill me. And why. Oh yeah, and food. I could really go for some food right about now.
I had to start with the basics. Find phone. I looked around and noticed a locker in the corner of the room. Carefully, I pushed myself up to a sitting position and tested out my balance by placing one foot then the other onto the pile rug. Okay. Standing was a bit of a challenge, but after a moment the vertigo passed and I was able to slowly make my way over to the locker.
There, my purse. Some singed clothes. Boots.
I scooped up my bag and hobbled back to the stability of the bed. Fished around; found my phone. A folded piece of paper torn from the back of an envelope fell out as I flipped open the case.
It was from Jon. Of course.
Dana,
Give me a call when you wake up. You can stay with me if you need to.
