Undead on Arrival

by L. A. Banks

  Sasha returned a tense smile and followed her, walking behind the young woman as if she were heading to the gallows. Dread settled at the pit of Sasha’s stomach as she silently acknowledged all the issues that roiled within her. What if Shogun flat-out refused—or worse, wanted something from her that she wasn’t prepared to give . . . how far was she willing to go to get a blood sample? Then there was the other issue—time was not on her side. What if she got the sample and Clarissa couldn’t find out any more from it than Doc had from the infected version of Werewolf blood all these years? Truly, it was a long shot, so what was the point?

  For the first time since the travesty had begun, she had to acknowledge that in two nights, Hunter might really have to die—and it might be for the best. She’d said it to herself enough times since his condition became evident, had thought it enough times, had even mentally admitted she’d probably have to be the one to put a silver slug in his head . . . but for some reason the reality was just now sinking in as she walked down the long, beautiful wood corridor.

  Sasha slipped around the partially recessed rice paper privacy screen and joined Shogun at the low teakwood table, then accepted a hand-painted menu from the hostess. He glanced up from the menu he’d been studying and smiled, but the look in his eyes was too intense.

  She set down her bag and took a seat opposite him. Sitting cross-legged on a large moss-green-embroidered pillow positioned on a hand-woven bamboo mat, she returned his smile and tried to appear much improved. But she wasn’t.

  “Now I feel better,” she announced, opening the delicate, oblong menu.

  “You look more comfortable . . . but your inner tension has increased,” he said with a sly half smile. “But then, this is a place of compromise and dichotomies.”

  “Your server will be with you shortly,” the hostess said, and bowed out of the room.

  Sasha just looked at him.

  “White tea perhaps?” he asked in a quiet tone. Merriment filled his eyes and spread across the flat plane of his handsome face when she didn’t address his previous comment.

  “Sure, that’s cool.”

  “No, no, no. One must always be aware of one’s choices.” Shogun shook his head, but his tone remained pleasant and easy. “In my culture, we do everything with exquisite patience . . . tea is no different than good conversation. Although we are in a Japanese teahouse, they have chosen to present a variety of offerings, and you should understand the subtle differences among them. White tea comes mainly from China and is gleaned from handpicked new buds . . . it is rare, delicate, fragrant. A sensual experience, to be sure. It is not as bold in outright flavor as black teas, but its healing properties are second to none.” He stared at her, amber beginning to rim his intense brown eyes. “It takes time to acquire white tea, which is only harvested in early spring, and cannot be rushed or it will be ruined . . . and is never rolled. It is still early spring and I am extremely patient, Sasha. Good tea, like good conversation or good company, cannot be rushed; I understand and respect this.”

  She stared at his intense gaze, watching his smile fade. She’d heard him loud and clear, understood the eloquent double entendre, and liked that he’d made his proposal in a way that would allow them both to save face if she declined. The man had class—truly unexpected from a Werewolf. Her own prejudices gave her pause.

  “Then let’s do white tea,” she said in a quiet, thought-filled tone. One glance at the dizzying selection on the menu and her gaze met his again.

  “Which one do you want, Sasha?” he replied in a near murmur, allowing the true question to hang in the air for a moment before glancing down at the menu. “Drum Mountain variety is harvested by the monks of a historic Buddhist monastery . . . that one is nutty, mild . . . whereas Darjeeling Silver Tips from the Makaibari Estate reminds me of vanilla and honey. Bai Mu Dan, or White Peony, is sweet, whereas Snow Buds reminds me of green tea—more robust. They also have a bouquet of red rosebuds, lavender, and fresh peppermint mixed with white tea that you can choose. Or we could share a pot of Silver Needles—highly prized for its origins. It is made only from tender new buds that are covered in white hairs . . . delicate, subtle, for quiet moments.”

  She stared at him dead-on until he slowly lowered his menu and set it aside. “I honestly don’t know what I want. That’s been the problem all along, I suspect.”

  For a moment they said nothing. Finally he nodded.

  “I know. Sometimes too many choices can be stressful.” Shogun laced his long, graceful fingers together and made a fist to rest his chin on. He leaned forward that way with his elbows on the table for a moment, studying her, and then sat back. “Let’s go with Silver Needles, then? Something new, rare, budding in the early spring . . . for quiet moments.”

  She nodded but didn’t speak as a server came in to take their order. She also didn’t protest his selection of the Japanese sweets that were called wagashi on the menu, despite that fact that right now she couldn’t stomach a thing. He could have at the steamed manju cakes filled with sweet red beans. Time had defeated her; two days wasn’t long enough to crack a genetic code that had stumped scientists for three decades. She was grasping at straws.

  A warm hand covered hers and made her look up.

  “Your wolf is ravaging the edge of your menu and about to begin clawing at the finish on the table.” Shogun took up her menu and passed it off to the retreating server before covering her hand again.

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” Sasha said without apology, her tone weary as she extracted her hand from beneath Shogun’s warm touch.

  “I know this situation is painful, Sasha . . . I didn’t want this, no matter what you probably think. Not like this, anyway.”

  She stared at him hard, sensing for fraud, and found none. That only made her fight tears. “I know,” she replied in a quiet rasp, forcing the moisture in her eyes to burn away. “I just don’t know what to do—don’t know where to begin. Part of me wants to turn over every gravestone in New Orleans to hunt down every Vampire to blame it on, or track every lead to possible demon-infected wolves that might be at large . . . but the evidence is so damning.” Sasha rubbed her palms down her face. “In the human world, you can’t just condemn a man to death on circumstantial evidence—but in the supernatural world, it’s enough.” She looked up at Shogun, searching his face for answers. “I was raised human, so my gut and my spirit . . . even my wolf can’t make peace out of what could happen in two moons.”

  “They won’t put Hunter to instant death unless he demon-wolf transitions, Sasha. If he doesn’t, there has to be a fair trial, just like in the human world.” Shogun’s eyes never left hers as he spoke, and in the depths of his intense brown irises there seemed to be infinite compassion. “But I don’t know how to tell you to manage your fear beyond a slow cup of tea with someone who cares,” he added softly. “Waiting for the outbreak to happen or not is the worst.”

  “You sound like you’ve been here before,” she said in a quiet tone, her gaze intense as she waited for corroboration of her hunch.

  “I have . . . it’s a genetic scourge in my kind. There’s not one of us who hasn’t had to worry over a beloved family member or friend. At one time or another we’ve all sat vigil for someone we loved, hoping for the best. Sometimes it was just a bad night and the individual was wrongly diagnosed or accused . . . then, again, sometimes, Sasha, it’s simply a blood-red moon.”

  “I feel so helpless,” she whispered, then sent her gaze out the unscreened window that overlooked the peaceful garden. Sunlight poured into their sitting space, bathing them both as she carefully chose her words. If only she could lift the burdens that were weighing down her soul. Yet it was a dream to think that she’d ever float free of it all. Soldiers didn’t get to do Zen or bliss; wasn’t in the contract. She’d never be worry-free like the sunbeams that were dancing along the carved shutters to cast prisms of shadows on the privacy screen guarding their booth.

  “I don’t have answe
rs, and I need them fast,” she finally admitted. “While I wait I have to gather evidence, but the other part of me wants to go to the holding area to just be there when it happens, if it happens, to do what has to be done—but I’ve gotta see it with my own eyes or I’ll never rest, I’ll always have the question . . .”

  Sasha allowed her words to trail off. She hated feeling vulnerable, and she instantly pulled back everything she was about to say. Half of her wanted to go right to Hunter and simply hold him and weep. Another part of her wanted to go to Silver Shadow and beg the elderly shaman to conjure whatever medicine-man magic he could. The more rational human side of her, which she’d come to learn was ignorance masking itself behind arrogance, wanted a quick scientific fix—a magic pill—which was as absurd as hoping for someone to wave a magic wand.

  Then there was the soldier in her that was pissed off, ready for war, and wanted to simply kill something and kill it good for the offense of giving Hunter the contagion. From the empathy in Shogun’s eyes, she knew she didn’t even have to say it; staring at him was like seeing into the soul of a fellow veteran. He’d obviously lived this pain before, as he’d told her, and knew the deal.

  But she held all of that emotion in check, biting her bottom lip when their server arrived. The young woman carried a bamboo tray laden with delicate ceramic Gaiwan painted with Dragon and Phoenix motifs set beside thin porcelain plates and a steaming, covered bamboo basket filled with fluffy white sweet cakes.

  She had no appetite; reality and her partial confession had stolen it all. Sasha watched dispassionately as their quiet, efficient server set down carved chopsticks beside each plate and arranged the covered teacups before them. Next she set down a kiri wood trivet and hustled out of the room to return with a pretty Dragon-and-Phoenix glazed teapot to set upon it. As a finishing touch, their server removed a small jade bell from her kimono pouch and subtly left it by Shogun’s hand. Somehow Sasha could tell from the demure smile the young woman offered that unless someone rang the bell, she wouldn’t be back. New awareness thrummed through her, adding to her silent panic.

  The young woman bowed slightly, accepting Shogun’s nod and bow as her cue that all was well and she could be excused. Sasha watched the server retreat and discreetly secure the recessed privacy screen fully closed. Then she watched Shogun go through the painstakingly slow ritual of lifting the lid from his ceramic Gaiwan, breathing in the aromatic fragrance of the tea, and serving them each a steamed cake using his chopsticks.

  “When you came to me at The Fair Lady, you had a request pressing against your spirit,” Shogun said carefully as he went about the task of securing the woven bamboo top back onto the steamer basket.

  “Yes, I did,” she said, finally taking the lid off her Gaiwan to allow the heat to rise from her tea.

  “I know you love him; that’s been established and is respected. So tell me, what is my role?”

  She stared at Shogun without blinking, watching him lift the delicately painted cup to his mouth with two fingers from each hand.

  “I need a blood sample.”

  She watched him pause, but then fluidly continue bringing the edge of the china to his lips, evenly sipping from it before setting it down again.

  “Am I a suspect now?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m a fool. I’m grasping at straws.”

  He motioned toward her tea, his eyes haunted. “Have a sip and let us speak as friends, if nothing else, then. Explain.”

  She nodded, bringing the tea to her lips to taste the subtly elegant flavor. Yeah—she owed him an explanation, even though she hated to have to go into it. “The tea is very good,” she said with a weary sigh.

  “It is, but now we’re past word dances . . . now that you’ve asked me for blood.”

  He sat back. She set down her cup.

  “You’re right. It’s not for what you think. We need to find a cure.”

  Seeming intrigued, he leaned forward. “We’ve already been hunted, studied as monsters, and this cure seems futile, even if you find it. If he’s done what it appears . . . then?”

  She raked her fingers through her hair. “I know. If he murdered that boy, then who cares?” She suddenly sat forward, hating the sound of the words that echoed in her mind and constricted her heart. “But what if, just like last time, it wasn’t him—what if it was a Vampire setup or the handiwork of a demon-door escapee? If so, then . . . I don’t know.” She sat back and picked up her teacup and took a deep swig from it, briefly closing her eyes. “Like I said, I’m grasping at straws. Human scientists have only gotten their hands on, and studied, demon-infected Werewolf blood. They’ve never seen the healthy version. I want our lab to do comparison tests with that and Shadow blood . . . I’m looking for something, anything.”

  “If Hunter was set up, and he wasn’t the one who gutted the human, then you hope to develop a vaccine for him and maybe others, to ensure that there’s never a question in the future,” Shogun said calmly, picking up a small, fluffy steamed cake and biting into it. “There’s clearly a lot on the line here, which makes the dilemma interesting. High stakes.”

  Sasha briefly stared at the gooey sweet center in the dessert and then let her gaze sweep Shogun’s glistening mouth as he chewed. “Yes,” she murmured, closing her eyes. He was going to play hardball.

  “There is nothing wrong with hope, Sasha. All men have hope in the face of seemingly impossible odds . . . that’s what keeps us going. I suspect this is also true of the females of our species.”

  Shogun’s voice had bottomed out on a gravelly murmur, and one look into his eyes told her they were back to word dancing. She took up a sweet cake and bit into it, allowing the chewy confection to cover her tongue while thinking, deciding. Was the long shot even worth it? The fallout from this could be disastrous.

  “I need you,” she said quietly, admitting defeat in their stalemate.

  He gave her a sad smile and took up his tea. “How should I respond to that, Sasha? There’s no politically correct way to dance around that remark.” He took a deep swig from his Gaiwan and set it down, wincing as though he’d set down a shot of whiskey. “I need you, too.”

  Another stalemate. She nodded, sipping her tea as her shoulders slumped. “Okay. Name your terms,” she said flatly, just wanting to get the whole thing over with.

  He leaned forward and frowned. “Never like that,” he said between slowly extending upper and lower canines, and then sat back.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, truly sad that she’d offended him.

  “You can have a vial of blood, Sasha,” he said, clearly annoyed, “but leave me my dignity, at the very least.”

  “I am really sorry, Shogun,” she said, dropping her head into her hands. “That was screwed up . . . said in all the wrong way . . . and you definitely didn’t deserve that. I’m just stressed to the limit.” She looked up to see him staring out the window, a muscle in his jaw pulsing.

  “Is my kind so revolting to you that—”

  “No,” she said quickly, cutting him off and leaning forward. She waited until Shogun’s gaze met hers before pressing her point. “It has nothing to do with anything like that. It’s a matter of honor. Hunter is in prison, awaiting possible execution. I’m the only one, other than his grandfather, who’s truly in his corner on this side of the silver-coated bars.”

  “He’s a lucky man,” Shogun said, his tone slightly bitter as he took another angry sip of tea.

  “My head is so messed up right now, I can’t even go there . . . and there’s a part of me that’s already grieving, trying to prepare myself for the worst. Then there’s another part of me that’s scared to death.”

  “You’re afraid of me?” Hurt and shock muted Shogun’s voice and haunted his eyes.

  “Hell yes,” she said quickly in a hissing whisper, sitting forward even farther and now talking with her hands. “I’m afraid that if I ever crossed that invisible line between us to do a casual exchange, I
might not be able to find the boundary again. And if it turns out that Hunter didn’t commit the crime and is released, then what? World War Three in the streets between Shadow Wolf and Werewolf Clans with lots of human collateral damage and Vampires having an I-told-you-so field day—all started over bullshit behind the pursuit of a woman who is conflicted? Yeah, that’s enough to be afraid of—because wolves deal in absolutes. There is nothing casual about that.”

  Sasha sat back and sent her gaze out the window in search of any serenity she could find. “Never happen. Not a war on my watch caused by a stupid political mistake on my part. I can’t even consider the ramifications of having a new lover until I bring closure one way or another to this case . . . until I know what’s happening with Hunter. So for the record, my trepidation and lackluster attitude aren’t about prejudice—they’re about reality. Everything I’ve just mentioned is a real enthusiasm damper, all right.”

  “But unless I’m confused, you were still willing to give your body to me in fair trade for a vial of my blood,” Shogun said slowly, his tone mellow and thought-filled.

  Oh, my, God . . . men. Sasha closed her eyes. She didn’t want to deal with the fine points of this issue, didn’t want to really delve into the complex layers of emotions that striated this entire scenario, wasn’t trying to deal with the thing that had always been there but never fully explored between them. And the way Shogun’s calm, professorial response caused her face to burn as she listened to him take a sip of his tea made her crazy. Hearing him restate the barter so bluntly really made it sound as bad as it was. Then again, maybe the burn was coming from his intense gaze . . . which she was sure she’d meet if she took her eyes off the Roji garden.

  “Yes,” she finally whispered. “If it came to that.”

  “It won’t,” he said quietly. “Because you’d hate me forever and that’s not what I want . . . even though, at this moment, I’m not sure that I care.”

  She looked at him hard now, wanting him to understand the tightrope she was balancing on. “More than even your blood, I need your friendship for the long haul. Our alliance has to stay intact while we sort this all out . . . especially if it goes to trial at the UCE. We have to keep a united front, but any impropriety on my part sensed by the Shadow Clans—or for that matter yours—will cause dissension in the ranks.”