by Rob Cornell
“There’s a contract out on me.”
He paused. The little glass stirring stick he held made a last, forlorn clink against the side of the jar. “You haven’t turned yet.”
I didn’t like the way he said that. His yet carried a heavy sense of inevitability.
“No,” I said. “I haven’t turned. And nobody knew I had been infected besides the vamps…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to come out and baldly accuse him. I took the coward’s way and merely insinuated.
I might as well have made it bold, though. He scowled at me, his expression as dour as Maggie Smith in her most dour of roles. “You’ve got balls.”
“What am I supposed to think?”
“You’re supposed to come up with some other explanation rather than assume one of your closest friends would sell you out so easily.”
I sighed. Out went all my remaining energy with it. Suddenly, the room grew very cold. My vision turned dark and blurry. The floor tipped sideways and I felt as though I was about to slip off the edge of the earth and into infinity.
Next thing I realized, I was flat on my back with Sly at my side looking down at me and slapping my face.
“Wake up you son of a bitch.”
I mumbled what was supposed to be, I am, and came out as maaaaamy.
At least he stopped smacking my cheek. He tucked a hand behind my head and lifted me up a bit. “Drink this,” he said and pressed the lip of the mason jar against my mouth. The concoction smelled like cat vomit. My stomach lurched.
“Don’t be such a priss. Drink it before you die.”
That sounded like a good reason to drink. Couldn’t go on another date with Fiona if I were dead. Or, in this case, undead. That date wouldn’t end very well.
I held my breath to block out the potion’s stink and chugged away like a college freshman with a beer.
The fluid felt twice as thick in my stomach as it had going down my throat, as if it somehow gained mass when it mixed with my stomach juices. For the second time, I nearly threw up. I bit the side of my tongue to keep my bile down.
With a little less care than I would have preferred, Sly let my head drop back to the hard tiled floor.
I lay there a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of my gut gurgling like a wet engine. A twitch of pain, like indigestion, tweaked my insides. Then another tweak. Then a hot stabbing pain that made me twist onto by side and double over. I cried out as the pain speared me again and again. It felt like something alive with sharp claws was trying to rip its way out of my stomach.
Sly bent down at my side again and grabbed my arm. “Breathe. Just breath through it.”
What the hell was this? Lamaze class?
I clenched my teeth and growled.
Sly kept a hard grip on my arm as if he thought I might shoot off the floor and through the ceiling. Who knew? Maybe whatever he had fed me could do that. Magic was a many splendored thing.
I don’t know how long I thrashed about on the floor. By the time the pain subsided, tears streaked my face and I had snot running out of my nose and dripping to the floor in long strings. Sly eased his grip on my arm, but remained at my side.
“Easy,” he said. “That’s it.”
“I’m not a horse,” I grumbled.
“No,” he said. “But you are an ass. Why didn’t you come to me right away?”
“I was…” I trailed off. I didn’t want to share anything about Fiona yet. Not until I was certain I could trust him. Maybe not even then. Sly had tried to play matchmaker with me before. If he caught wind of my date with Fiona, me might start making wedding plans before the second date. “I didn’t think it was that bad.”
“You were poisoned, Sebastian.”
I stared at him, speechless. That little bitch had hit me with a poisoned arrow? Why? Vampires were immune to poisons, unless you counted garlic. Even that wasn’t life threatening. But she got the contract because I was supposed to have turned into a vamp. Poison was overkill. Unless she had believed me that the Ministry was mistaken about my current condition.
“Bitch,” I said.
“Anda, right?”
I nodded. I tried to sit up and the room spun like I’d had a few too many margaritas mixed with cheap tequila. Sly supported me so I wouldn’t flop down and crack my skull open on the floor. Yeah, suddenly he cared.
“Tell me everything.”
I told him what I could without including Fiona in any of it. I could tell he could tell I was leaving something out. Especially since it was obvious someone had helped patch me up. Not even magic could make me limber enough to bandage the back of my own shoulder.
He didn’t press. Apparently, he trusted me enough not to. Which left me feeling a little guilty about not trusting him.
While I told him my story, I slowly started feeling more like myself. I realized that the pain from my wound had faded to an annoyance. And my gut had simmered down. Eventually, once I finished my tale, I could stand on my own.
“You are damn lucky,” Sly said. He leaned back against his bench and folded his arms across his chest. “That poison damn near killed you, and you know what would have happened next.”
“I know.”
“It’s a miracle it didn’t happen anyway, considering your weakened state.”
“Probably would have,” I said, “if I hadn’t had this.” I drew my father’s watch out of my pocket and let it dangle from its chain in front of me.
Sly’s eyes widened. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“How did you get that? I thought your dad wasn’t found with anything on him.”
“He didn’t have it on him. He left it behind, locked in a chest in the basement.”
Sly’s mouth formed a small “O” and he whistled softly. “That’s some powerful stuff you have there.”
I sighed and sat down in the wooden chair. I cupped the watch in my hands. I could still feel some energy coming from it, but barely. “Unfortunately, I think I’ve about drained it.”
Sly gave me an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”
I didn’t answer. My silence told him enough.
“You didn’t go to see Kitchens last night then?”
“I was a bit distracted.”
“You need to. More than ever. You can’t hold out like this much longer. Maybe not even until dusk.” He pulled his sleeve back and checked a gold wrist watch. He chewed on his lower lip. “Few more hours.”
I appreciated his concern, but he still hadn’t fully answered my main question.
“How did the Ministry know?” I asked.
Sly curled his lip. He looked like he wanted to spit on me. I felt bad, but it was a legitimate question and he seemed to realize that. He frowned and looked down at the floor. “I didn’t tell a soul. I swear.”
“Okay,” I said. “That’s all I needed to hear.” Like that, I felt a weight lift off of me. I trusted Sly. I really did. He gave me his word and I had accepted that. Honestly, I was surprised it had been that easy. But also relieved. I didn’t have too many people in my life I did trust to any degree. I would have hated any lingering suspicion on my part.
Sly glanced up at me. “Really? That’s it?”
“You gave me your word. I accept that. As long as you can accept I had to ask.”
“Yes. Good.” He wiped a hand across his brow and straightened his posture. “But who did then?”
I held up my hands. “Only people who know about it are you and the vamps.”
Sly thought for a moment. “Could have been the vamps. They meant to turn you. But you got away. Maybe they called it in, figuring the Ministry would send a hunter to finish the job. They kill you, you turn…”
“Maybe. But if they really want me as a vampire so badly, that’s a risky plan. Nothing says the hunter couldn’t kill me a second time once they realized their mistake.”
Sly snorted. “Mistake. Or miss stake. Get it?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not
feeling very punny at the moment, Sly.”
“Sorry, right. Okay.”
He still had half a smile on his face, though.
“Now that you’re finished snickering at my plight…”
“I never snicker.”
“…answer me this. Why the hell do the vamps want me so badly?”
Sly pressed his lips together and hummed. “I guess you would make a hell of an ally. Sorcerer vampire. That’s heavy-duty shit.”
“Then why now? And what made them think they could get away with it? How many sorcerers do you know who’ve been turned historically?”
“I can think of…” He trailed off and counted silently. “Three. Since the beginning of recorded history. And two of those were willing conversions.”
I pointed at him like a teacher singling out a clever student. “It ain’t easy.”
“No,” Sly said. “But they almost succeeded. Might still the way things are going for you.”
I didn’t really need that reminder. But Sly wasn’t the person you went to for pep talks. He laid it out how he saw it, good, bad, and deadly.
I felt myself getting antsy. I apparently had perked up enough from whatever Sly had dosed me with to start drawing energy again. I didn’t want to do too much of that though. I worried I might draw the last bit out of the watch. If I did that, I would have to get the thing enchanted all over again to use it in any magical way. And enchantment wasn’t something I could do or even afford. I made good money as a bounty hunter, but I am no George Soros.
“Why now?” I asked and popped up out of the chair. I started pacing, which seemed to annoy Sly. He traced me with his gaze and a glower.
“How many vamps did you say were at the warehouse?”
“About a dozen.”
“Which doesn’t include the ones you tangled with at your house?”
I shook my head.
“So we don’t really know how many vamps are behind this scheme. Turning isn’t usually a group activity. It’s something intimate. A threesome or foursome maybe. At most. Not a big group of them, all coordinated like that. And then, to have the evidence cleared out so normal law enforcement has nothing?”
“Yeah, making a whole car disappear is no small trick. And I really wish they hadn’t taken it. I liked that car. Got great gas mileage.”
Sly stroked his gray-stubbled chin. Then he tugged on the earlobe with his diamond stud. Then he stuck his finger in his ear to scratch it. I held out hope he wouldn’t start in on his nose next.
He went away for a minute, his stare blank. Then he blinked his way back and looked at me. “This is something big,” he said. “Could be the entire Detroit vampire population has it in for you.”
“Then why not try to kill me instead of turn me. Wouldn’t that be easier?”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but revenge would be way sweeter if they could bring you into the fold.”
“Well, I don’t know what they have against me.”
Sly laughed. “How many vampires in the Detroit area have you dusted?”
I didn’t even attempt to count. No way I could remember. “Over a hundred,” I guessed.
“Over one hundred.” Sly whistled. “I have a feeling you are in for some serious shit.”
“You mean I’m not already?”
“I just hope Kitchens is willing to talk to you. He’s been a Detroit staple for a long ass time.”
“Great,” I said. “So I’m going to go see this guy with the funny name and if he can’t help me, he might want to kill me.” I ran a hand through my hair. “And the hits just keep on coming.”
Chapter Nineteen
The address Sly had given me for Toft Kitchens led me to a Jazz club downtown off Park Avenue. There was a line out the door along the front of the art deco facade. A big bouncer dressed in a tux of all things stood at the door with one of those velvet ropes draped in the way. It was not the ropes keeping people out, though. The dude had to have been as wide as a Jeep.
I stood across the street, in the shadowed doorway of a closed office building. I was checking out that line, filled with folks in their middle age and up. Not too many young folks hit the jazz clubs, or could afford one like this. While I’d never been in the Black Rose, I had heard about it. I don’t do clubs. I’m more of a diner and dive bar kind of guy. I like to think I’m eclectic, but I’m also cheap. I could never see the merit in blowing over a hundred dollars on a meal.
I had since changed, swapping the T-shirt Fiona had given me for a short-sleeved cotton button down, and putting on a fresh pair of khakis. I was underdressed for the likes of the Black Rose, but I hadn’t come here to sip over-priced Manhattans.
I studied the bouncer. If I had to guess, I would bet he wasn’t a normal. A shifter, maybe. Or some other kind of ugly covered with a glamour. The supernatural beasts with some standing or spending cash could afford some of the best magical camouflage. Not every troll could work a place like this. But from the look in the bouncer’s eyes, troll felt about right. Which meant either Kitchens paid for the glamour, or paid the troll enough to afford it on his own.
Either way, talking my way past a troll bouncer would probably lead to nothing more than a caved in skull. You simply could not reason with a creature raised under a bridge.
On the other hand, I didn’t have much choice. I sure as hell didn’t have time to wait in line.
I waited for a car to pass, then crossed the street. I headed straight for the bouncer. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t a troll, but a gremlin in a puffy coat or something. What did I have to lose besides my physical health? I hardly had that anymore anyway.
The bouncer must have sensed me coming. He had his black-eyed gaze on the line as if scanning for faces he recognized, yet he held out a hand before I got within three yards of him and said, “No.”
I came up short.
“No?”
He turned his eyes on me. I looked in. Yeah, definitely troll.
“I need to see Toft Kitchens,” I said.
The expression on his big round face remained deadpan. “Go away.”
“Tell him Sebastian Light needs to see him,” I said. I hoped he recognized the name. Maybe I could ride my family name’s status on in there.
The big troll in human guise went suddenly still. His eyes took on a blank stare. He had completely checked out, as if he had fallen asleep on his feet. It only lasted a few seconds before the light—however dim—returned to his eyes. Without a word, he unclipped the velvet rope and drew it aside.
I stared at him, half expecting him to wrap the rope around my neck.
When I didn’t move, he said, “Back booth to the right of the stage.”
I had no idea what just happened there, but I wasn’t going to argue. I went on through the door, hearing groans of protest from folks at the head of the line.
I pushed my way through the door into a haze of very illegal cigarette smoke. Apparently, The Black Rose didn’t worry about such trivial things as fines for allowing smoking in a public establishment. The lighting over all was dim, except for on stage where a full band played. The saxophonist stood in what looked like a particularly hot spot light, his dark skin beaded with perspiration as he made that sax his bitch in an improvised solo.
I didn’t listen to a lot of jazz on my own, but I appreciated the hell out of it when I happened to hear it.
I stood there for a moment memorized by his performance. Then I headed for the back booth to the right of the stage where the troll had directed me. It was a corner booth where the seat curved around like a horseshoe. It was hard to tell in the shadows any details of the booth’s occupants, but I counted three heads. One of those heads sat real low as if whoever it belonged to was slumped down halfway under the table.
I threaded my way through the crowd and the tables. As I got closer to my destination, I could better make out who I was approaching. And when I was within about six yards, I stopped short.
Couldn’t be right.
The two taller occupants were a man and woman in their early thirties. They were well dressed, if a little old-fashioned in their tastes. The man wore a brown suit and a bowtie. The woman wore a blue dress with a high collar and a set of pearls.
The one in the middle?
He looked not a day older than thirteen. A young boy with dirty blonde hair oiled and neatly parted on one side. He wore a black suit with pinstripes, and a bright red bowtie. His lips nearly matched the color of his tie. His eyes seemed to glimmer in the small amount of light that drifted over from the stage lights.
He looked right at me and gave me a close-mouthed smile.
The man and the woman also looked at me, though they didn’t smile. They didn’t have much of an expression at all. They looked a little stoned, actually.
Stellar parents by the looks of it. Not only did they take their kid to a jazz bar that clearly should not have allowed any minors, but they either toked something or maybe snorted some lines in the bathroom, then washed it down with the martinis they had on the table in front of him.
Stranger still. There were three martini glasses, one of them in front of the kid.
The boy leaned over, still staring at me, and whispered something in his mother’s ear.
She nodded and scooted out of the booth, then came my way. Her expression remained blank until she reached me, then burst to life with a sudden smile and light in her eyes. “You must be Mr. Light.”
She took my elbow and gestured toward the booth. “Toft would love to see you.”
I stared at her for a second. I couldn’t smell any booze on her breath. In fact, the glass at her place at the table was still full, the olive floating on the surface of the drink with a red plastic sword speared through it. Same with the father’s glass. Only the kid’s glass looked touched, with no sign of the olive.
I almost said something about Mr. Kitchens allowing his kid to drink martinis. Then I realized Toft may have been feeding on the kid. But another, even more horrific possibility crossed my mind. One that, once I thought of it, knew was true.
Toft Kitchens was the kid.
My stomach dropped. A bad taste filled my mouth.
