Inhuman Heritage (9 page)

Chapter Seven

I was glad for liquor stores that were open past ten on a weeknight as I shambled into my apartment carrying a bag containing two large bottles of premium Russian Vodka. From the price I doubted it was premium. Cheap booze always seemed to have better names to convince you just because you were on a budget didn’t mean you couldn’t have the good hooch. I pushed the boxes from my coffee table to clear a space and rifled through my cabinets till I came up with several colored shot glasses that had been bought for me as a novelty gift several years before. I lined three of them up shakily trying to pour vodka into them. I seemed to slop more on the table and the rug underneath it then I managed to get into the glasses. I could feel something at the back of my mind, threatening to break through, to erupt in the forefront of my thoughts with blinding clarity. I wanted to remain numb. Numb and happy.

I downed each shot in quick succession and felt that fluttering in the back of my memory go quiet and still. Whoever said ignorance was bliss had it right on the money. I let my eyes flutter with a wave of pleasant drunkenness that it had taken me all night to achieve. I lay down on the couch writhing happily to the sound of my ringing telephone and ignoring it completely.

Next thing I knew morning light was flowing over my skin and drums were banging in the back of my head. I cried out from the pain and swiped knocking the vodka bottle off the table; it flowed into the rug soaking it. I grabbed at it, downing what was left quickly. I lay against the back of the couch and slowly uncapped the second bottle. I stared down through the clear liquid to the bottom of the bottle and shook my head. Drinking alone was pathetic. I left the open bottle on my coffee table, grabbed my keys and pulling the locket from my neck walked out in search of a pub in which to be a social drinker.

Toby’s Tavern was a long room with the bar at the far end and a small raised area on the left that held two pool tables and an area right of the bar that held an indoor skittles lane. With twenty-four hour licensing laws it meant it was open by ten am and stayed open until one or two am if business was good. I liked the polished wooden floor and the surly woman behind the bar who polished glasses as I sat there at the bar drinking my fourth, fifth? Sixth? White Russian. In my state of mind I decided to commiserate with the bartender whether she wanted to or not. I just wanted to talk about how stupid last night had been with someone who I thought would understand.

“I mean sure he’s good looking, and he’s got these tanned arms that just feel good wrapped around you but he’s a dumb ass. If it wasn’t bad enough that he cheated with my roommate, but then when I kicked her out he takes her in. Why? Because he felt sorry for her. Why do men always want to take care of the damaged ones? Skeesie cow caused our break up, you’d think he’d be mad at her for that.”

I looked up at the beefy tattooed woman who looked like she could punch a dent in a long haul truck and not even break a sweat. She was staring into the mid distance. I knew she was trying to just give me companionable silence but damn it I wanted more than that. I wanted to be told I was right about something, for once.

“It’s not wrong of me to think it’s incredibly poor taste to shack up with the woman who single handed destroyed a near perfect relationship is it?” I stared at her large chin almost able to count stubble; she probably had to shave a lot and waited for an answer thinking on top of that she wasn’t a natural blonde either. I snickered quietly to myself “dye job.” My phone started to bounce along the bar. I’d pulled it out along with some other things in search of what I had done with my wallet when she’s insisted that I pay up front if I was going to go over three drinks. I looked at the caller ID and smiled.

“Incarra,” I said what I thought was quietly into the phone but later realized I’d probably said it in a too loud drunk voice.

“Where are you? You sound funny.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m at Toby’s...”

Before I could continue anymore, the bartender gruffly took the phone from out of my hand and pressed it into her own ear. She had a deep earthy voice that was beginning to make me think that she used to be a bloke.

“Are you her friend?” she asked Incarra. Incarra must have replied in the affirmative. “Then I am going to kindly ask you to come remove your soused friend from my bar stool.”

“I am not soused,” I said offended and reached my arms out flexing them back in to touch the tip of my nose with the tip of my index fingers. “See, no loss of motor function yet.”

The bartender turned slightly away from me talking in a lower voice into the phone.

“She’s on her seventh White Russian, I’m now out of Kahlua and she smelt like vodka when she arrived. I dunno, something about an ex-boyfriend.”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” I said snatching my phone back carefully keeping my hand over the receiver. “One time I don’t want you to talk and you become a chatty Cathy.” The bartender looked at me non-plus and perhaps like she was thinking about snatching the phone back. I turned from her and leaned in on myself.

“Incarra?” No reply. I looked at my phone, removed my hand from the receiver and tried again. “Incarra?”

“Cassandra! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Don’t you know there is a special hell for people who drink before lunch on a weekday?”

“Mmhmm, along with murderers, rapists and people who talk at the theatre.”

“Don’t sass me!” I giggled. I couldn’t help myself, Incarra sounded exactly like her mother.

“He, he sass, sassy, I’m sassy Cassie.” I snorted another fit of giggles. Incarra took deep breaths, she did not sound as amused as I did.

“Cassandra! This is serious. You’re drunk! You’ve never been drunk!”

“I am not,” I said rather loudly. I cringed, shooting looks at the other bar patrons, then huddled closer to my phone to whisper. “Okay, I’m a little drunk but shhh, don’t tell.”

“I knew this was going to happen. Something happened to you that you didn’t want to talk about, you dropped out of college, god knows how you’re making money and now you’ve been driven to the demon-alcohol!”

“Pfft!”

“This isn’t something you can just pfft away. What the hell happened?”

“Don’t remember, the mighty demon Kahlua forbids it,” I said turning with a flourish and slammed my empty glass on the bar. “Speaking of which, bar keep, refresh my drink.”

“No way! I’m cutting you off.” I winced.

“Ouch that had to hurt.”

“Cassandra,” came Incarra’s peeved voice reminding me I was still on the phone with her, “who the hell says ‘bar keep’ these days? Stay there, I’m coming to get you.”

“But I don’t wanna be got!” I whined which led Incarra to use words like meltdown and death spiral, several times. My phone beeped so I looked at the screen. “I got to go, I got another call.”

“Cassandra, don’t you dare hang...” I hung up on my best friend. Not the smartest move in the history of the universe but the “demon” alcohol had told me to do it.

“Cassandra Farbanks, you’re on the air caller,” I said clearly to my second call of the day.

“Cassandra?” I recognized the voice immediately. It was Simian Urquhart, werewolf and father of my god daughter Zoe. I hadn’t seen him since New Year’s, he’d become very busy of late. Something was going on privately amongst the wolves and no one had been able to garner what.

“It’s me. What’s up dog?”

“Dog?”

“Cause you turn into a big fluffy...oh never mind it was funnier in my head. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I want to hire you for some work. We’ve got a dignitary coming to town, he needs to be fetched and brought to the community.”

“Bodyguard work? Simian I’ve never...”

“It’s simple, we’re not expecting trouble. You’ll look harmless but pack a punch if needs be plus I bet you could use the pay check.” More money meant more booze-the great god Kahlua be praised.

“Alright. I can meet you a little later, say seven at yours and you can take me through the details.”

“That’ll be fine. There’ll be some people for you to meet too so dress nice.”

“Gotcha, I won’t wear pants.”

“You’ll wear a dress? This I have to see.”

“Shut up or I won’t bring you any
Snausages
.”

Simian laughed at me, told me he’d see me at seven and hung up. The bartender was eyeing me suspiciously; she had obviously been listening to my conversation. I straightened myself up on the bar stool, slipped my phone into my pocket and banged my glass in the bar top impatiently.

“So, are you gonna get me another drink or not?”

“Not!” she replied. Dead pan. I pulled a face, straightened it and tenderly got to my feet giving her the evils the whole time.

“Fine, I’ll just take my business elsewhere.” I gave her a curt nod and managed a fairly straight line towards the door. I had to hold onto the frame when I got outside because the sudden burst of daylight made my eyes hurt and I wanted to crawl back into the nice dark bar. I’d have to go find another nice dark bar to crawl into. I let my eyes adjust to the light, people were passing me, giving me some surreptitious glances as they did and I took one step at a time, my feet feeling vaguely numb. No one had mentioned to me that a side effect of too much alcohol was physical numbness as well as mental and emotional. I kept feeling out the ground in front of me to make sure it was solid. I think it took me twenty minutes just to make it to the curb where I could see down either side of the street. I watched the cars whizz past for a little while counting how many red cars went by and muttering to the lamppost that unless it was going to count the blue cars this game was not going to work.

I stared up at the sky after that, a dreamy expression on my face but a death grip on the railing as the passing traffic began to make me feel a bit like I was stuck spinning around inside a washing machine. I had to swallow back essence of vodka a few times. I was going to kick Wraith’s butt for this spell. I couldn’t remember why I had asked for it. I could remember how it worked, I drank and I wouldn’t remember...something. Pretty much the reason why anyone turns to booze, to forget something but like with most people drinking on its own didn’t really make you forget.

I thought I heard my name being called so I turned to look up the street. Incarra was walking towards me. Her pigtails, the ends of which were a fierce green this month, were swaying in the breeze, which smelt vaguely like kebab meat and car exhaust. She had on black jeans, dangled with silvery chains, artistically ripped holes and I knew on the back pockets there were a red heart and a black spade sown on. She wore the same pair of black canvas all-stars she’s always had, much attacked with glitter and studs and fabric pens. Even if her children, in the far distant future were to dress her in a suit for her funeral there were be a clause in her will that stated she would have to be wearing those shoes or the location of the loot would not be revealed. Of course this was envisaging a future where 1. Incarra had children-when she was known for stating she would have children when they came with a returns policy and 2. That Incarra would have money of any kind. I followed the line of her body up to read the slogan of her black T-shirt which read, “it’s not P.M.S.; it’s you.” The “it’s you” was encased in a big red dot. I snickered till I saw the serious and slightly pissed expression on her petite face. Everything about Incarra was small, from her height to her features. She’d gotten that I was sure from her father, a Japanese man of poor moral values, openness to pre-marital sex and no forwarding address. She’d tried for a few years to find him but came to the conclusion that she never would. I started to back away from her. I knew that look. It was the kind of look you saw in
I love Lucy
re-runs, the “Lucy you got some explaining to do” look. Incarra would attach herself to me like a howler monkey on steroids if she could, slowly forcing me into submission and the eventual revealing of secrets. I’d seen her do it to others and did not relish the thought that, this was her plan for me now. I took more steps backwards and found I could in fact move my limbs without falling flat on my face in the gutter. Incarra stopped recognizing my flight reflex taking hold.

“Cassandra, it’s alright,” she said in her best soothing talking down the crazy person voice. I took another step back and muttered to my chest.

“Run Forrest run!” I turned quickly onto my heel, wobbled a little bit and made a dash for it down the street. I looked back to see Incarra behind me doing her best to catch up to me, her little legs pumping furiously. I cackled. It’s the only way I can describe the giddy unlike me sound that I made running down the street, bumping people out of my way. I was faster than Incarra, my legs longer and I used that to slowly increase the distance between us. I was so cocky that I started to sing at the top of my lungs.

“They tried to make me go to rehab but I said no, no, no!”

Incarra started to fall behind, tired and disbelieving that I would ever stoop to singing Amy Winehouse as a taunt. I turned a corner and was out of Incarra’s sight before she could even get a second wind.

* * * *

In retrospect running away from Incarra was not my brightest idea. In fact it was probably only second worst to the fact that I had applied myself with magic and booze to avoid the truth. Just another form of running. I had not been mature enough to handle my change in circumstance. It was like the rug had been pulled out from under me and instead of slowly, tentatively getting back to my feet, I’d laid on my back and wallowed in my self pity.