Moonshine (13 page)

All in all, a motley crew, and except for Jaffer, they all had an air of ruthless competence. They possessed a tautness, an invisible twitch under the skin that spoke of readiness and an aggressiveness stronger than a starving shark's. Some wolves loved the chase. Loved the taste of blood on the run. These guys definitely fell in the kill-to-run, run-to-kill category. Whatever the Kin might think of Cerberus, he wasn't a fool when it came to his boys. Even Flay. Snowball might be a betrayer and unlikely to follow in Einstein's footsteps, but he was tough. Resilient.

At the continuing silence, I moved over to shove Jaffer out of his chair. Fenrik was the obvious Alpha of this little group and Jaffer just as obviously low wolf on the totem pole. I wasn't about to take his place. The red wolf showed his teeth, oddly enough utterly human, but ducked and scuttled his way to one side. '"Since I'm not much on butt sniffing as an introduction, why don't we play a hand?" I scooped up the cards and gave them a casual shuffle. "I guarantee you'll get next month's dip-and-groom money off of me. I suck."

Fenrik's pale eyes dilated and he changed. One second a man, the next a wolf. There was only a blur before my eyes, so quick that if I'd blinked, I would've missed it. Boaz had been fast, a trait of the old breeding, but this guy… he was quicker. I felt like applauding, so what the hell. I did. Three short claps. "Goddamn," I said. "I didn't even have to buy a ticket for the magic show. Is there popcorn? Can I buy a T-shirt when it's over?"

Two massive paws rested on the crate and black lips peeled back silently. It was shaping up to be Boaz all over again, except this time I was without Promise at my back or Niko busting down the door. And those were not good things to be without, trust me. Reaching under my jacket, I pulled out my shiny new gun. Flay had given it back to me after Cerberus had agreed to take me under his motherly wing. A thing of beauty, it was, and only slightly smaller than an anti-aircraft gun. I'd learned my lesson with Boaz and his boys, and I wanted stopping power this time. With stainless steel, a black rubber grip, and a futuristic barrel over ten inches long, the .50 Magnum was most often being used in big-game hunting. If these guys didn't count as big game, then I didn't know what did. It weighed more than your average five-year-old kid and I plunked it down with force on the crate between Fenrik and me. "You're making me cranky, Lassie," I said amiably. "Timmy might put up with your shit, but I won't."

The silent snarl turned into a buzz-saw rumble that ripped the air to shreds. Apparently Lassie wasn't particularly appreciative of
my
shit either. Then an unlikely peacemaker stepped in. Red eyes annoyed, Flay moved up to the crate, took a handful of silver fur and another of my jacket collar, and then shook us both—much as Fenrik had shaken Jaffer. "Work for Cerberus." He gave us another shake. "
All
work for Cerberus." Letting go, he took my gun and shoved it back against my chest and then pushed Fenrik's furry ass back down on his chair. "Stupid. Cerberus eat both. Stupid." He folded his arms and shook his head with disgust. "Shitheads."

I stood corrected. There was an Alpha, but it wasn't Fenrik after all. It was Flay. Flay of the sloping forehead, garbled speech, and self-proclaimed low IQ. I didn't know what the hell I thought about that. I reholstered my gun and reconsidered the situation at hand. "What the hell. Getting eaten on my first day isn't really a sound career plan anyway. Truce, Lassie?"

A naked Fenrik materialized out of the mass of wolf and stared at me with narrowed eyes. He might be interested in me, but it didn't mean he liked me. Who knew? Maybe that interest was more oriented on how a half Auphe would taste as opposed to simply seeing one in living color. As for his not liking me, that I was used to. If the situation were reversed, I probably wouldn't like me either.

"Truce." Fenrik ground out the reluctant word and started to dress. "I don't question the judgment of Cerberus. Not even in this."

"That's big of you." Smart as well. Cerberus didn't strike me as the kind to tolerate dissent in his ranks. At the ruby gleam aimed my way, I sighed and shifted my shoulders. "How about lunch on the new guy? Pizza. Steak. You guys name it. I'm buying."

I'd been working since I was sixteen, when we'd first gone on the run. Mostly in hole-in-the-wall bars, places that didn't care if you disappeared one day. Places that paid you under the table and didn't give a shit if you had ID or not. If I'd learned one thing there, it was that the way to coworker harmony was through food. And alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol. I might not drink much of it, but I could fork over the money for it. "And I'll buy the first pitcher," I added. "Anyone got a bag to put over Jaffer's head?"

Steak it was—naturally. About four cows' worth. Below Fourteenth Street, the restaurant was medium-sized, dark as a cave, and fairly cheap. Of course, fairly cheap multiplied by five wolves was sure to empty the deepest wallet. There were porterhouse steaks all around, potatoes smothered in butter, sour cream, and cheese, and a pitcher of beer per wolf. Just breathing the air around us would harden your arteries, an exercise in secondhand cholesterol at its best. I chewed my own steak, rare—it wouldn't do to look like a predator puny enough to like his meat well-done. Who would buy that? The mouthful, harsh with the tang of blood, stuck in the back of my throat as I caught a glimpse of red in the gloom. A slim figure and copper hair, but the skin was creamy pale and the hair a short, straight cap. Not George. The pretty waitress saw me watching her and smiled a bit hesitantly. Considering the friends I was keeping, I didn't blame her.

I ducked my head, breaking the contact, and grimly continued with my meal. I was Auphe. The Auphe were ravenous in their appetites… all of their appetites. If I hoped to stay under Cerberus long enough to find what I was looking for, I would have to keep up with the boys. And right now the boys were making their way through slabs of meat with the speed and finesse of tree shredders. I stabbed another barely browned chunk with my fork, chewed, and chased it down with a swallow of beer. That was the one thing I held back on. As much as I needed to blend in, I couldn't afford to get drunk. I doubted I'd get loose of lip and jump up on the table to do a happy jig while singing the joys of being a spy. But it would slow my reflexes, not to mention any pretension at wits I might have. So I stuffed myself with steak and occasionally took a small sip of the beer.

It should've been noticed. Would've been, in fact, if Flay hadn't been helping himself to my glass on the sly. His tolerance was fine. The table was good-sized, but there were six of us with enough food for five buffets. It made for an impossible jumble of dishware. Since Flay was sitting beside me he could drain my glass without suspicion. And he did so, frequently. I slanted a sideways glance at him. No one had much faith in his intellectual skills… Caleb, Cerberus, even Flay himself, but I wondered. Did he maximize the minimal amount he had to work with? Or was it low self-esteem because of his wolf-scorned albinism?

Let daytime TV sort it out. My concern was George and only George. To get her back, I would take any help Flay would give me and be grateful for it. Right up until George was safe and Flay a badly skinned rug on my bedroom floor. As he noticed my attention and met my gaze, I tapped my fork against the edge of my plate and gave him a smile cold enough to burn my lips. White eyebrows lowered and a lip lifted just enough to reveal one jagged tooth. Genius or idiot, either one would know what I was picturing doing with that fork. Niko was more than capable of killing someone with the most innocent of kitchen utensils. I don't know if I could or not, but I was perfectly willing to throw myself into the spirit of experimentation and find out.

"More beer!"

Jaffer's slurred voice shifted my attention. He was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled so far over his face that I could see only the faint glitter of his eyes and the wet shine of his nose, which seemed to be getting progressively more damp. I shook my head and hoped I wasn't going to end up washing dishes before this was over. The alcohol tab alone was going to be staggering. "More beer it is." I held up five fingers for the waitress, then pointed at an empty pitcher. "Cerberus doesn't mind the liquid lunches?"

"Not so much," Fenrik grunted. "Most of our work is done at night. During the day we just make ourselves available in case anything comes up. Consider us on call."

"Like doctors," Jaffer said with a happy slurp of tongue. The spray of saliva hit me all the way across the table and I reached for a napkin to blot my face.

Yeah, just like doctors. All they were missing were the stethoscopes. Dropping the napkin, I looked to my right, where Lijah had finished his third steak while I was still working on my first. Thin as a rail, but damn if he couldn't pack it away. "You guys been with Cerberus long?"

There was a shrug of the lean shoulders. "Long enough. He's a good Alpha, as long as you do what you're told." He said it with a confidence tinged faintly with uneasiness.

"And do it well," Mishka added glumly, raising a hand to reveal three missing fingers. Doing what you're told was easy enough… if that's what you wanted. Doing it well was sometimes a little harder.

"Looks like you screwed up at least once there, Mish." I pushed my plate away, my stomach tight with food. "Or Cerberus is seriously into the finger foods."

"Cerberus is a good Alpha," Fenrik repeated stone-faced. "He gives many a chance that no other Kin would touch." He pointed his own fork at me. "Many like you."

The thing was… it was true. Well, not that there were many quite like me, but I got his point. There were all sorts of monsters, layers upon layers and always one worse than the next. Monsters being monsters, there was also prejudice, blatant and severe. If you were different, in any way, someone would be happy to eat you for it. The nonhuman were completely honest in their hatred, no government mandate required. Cerberus was a change from the norm. Overcoming his own difference—by sheer force and a river of blood, I was guessing—he'd gathered other outsiders around him. And he'd made it work. He'd made the Kin accept him and his pack. That was one helluva feat, even for a cold-blooded Kin murderer.

"You're right," I admitted as I reached for my wallet and turned it inside out over the table. "No one likes the Auphe. No one respects a human. And no one, but no one, wants to work with either one. Cerberus is
the
Alpha in my book." I thumbed through the pile of cash. There was enough, barely, and I wedged it under an empty pitcher. "You guys finish up the beer. I've got some business to take care of."

"What kind of business?" Fenrik asked with immediate suspicion.

I aimed a leer at the gaggle of waitresses by the bar. "Guess."

"Back… eight." Flay scowled. "Business… too. Cerberus business."

"Eight. Gotcha."

"Human?" Mishka looked at the waitresses and made a hissing sound of disgust. "They're soft. No fire."

"Hey, unlike your gals, humans are in heat
all
the time." I tried for a Goodfellow tone, salacious and carnal. I'd heard it so often I could probably do a reasonable imitation in my sleep. "And they make a nice snack afterward." Slapping the table, I headed out… just your average cannibalistic ladies' man. Nothing to see here. Outside, lunchtime had faded into late afternoon. The sky was blue tinged with yellow, the air heavy and thick. It glued my jacket to me with a wallpaper paste of my own sweat. It would've been a relief to sink into the dubious air-conditioning of a taxi, but in this instance comfort would have to be sacrificed for caution. Wiping at the back of my neck, I trudged into the crowd and hopefully disappeared.

The hostel room was several layers below disgusting. Or it had been. Now, thanks to my visitor, it was immaculately neat and as sterile as an operating room. Nik, only Nik. He couldn't do anything about the bedspread and carpet of hideous, clashing colors that only a clown on acid could love or the junkyard-cheap furniture, but the dirt was a different matter. He'd apparently scrubbed the place down with ruthless efficiency and an entire vat of bleach. I closed the door behind me and gave a low whistle. "Dr. Obsessive-compulsive, I presume."

"You stink of beer and red meat." He sat cross-legged on the bed, a serene statue repeatedly tossing and catching his knife so quickly that it was a silver pinwheel spinning in the air before him.

"Bonding with the boys." I grabbed the desk chair and straddled it. "They ravaged my liver and then my wallet."

The long nose wrinkled fastidiously, but he let it go. "You weren't followed?"

"No." Which was why I'd walked, taken the subway… doubled back at several stops, then walked some more. Rubbing at my eyes, I asked, "Promise or Robin get any information on Caleb or his crown?"

"Not so far." Catching his knife, he uncoiled and moved to the edge of the bed. Tapping my knee with the point of his throwing blade, he asked quietly, "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," I said, dismissive. "So far I've just eaten steak and been hit with about a gallon of drool. Nothing to write home about."

There was one more tap, oddly reassuring; then the knife vanished. "And Cerberus?"

I grimaced, caught in the lie. "I didn't need a change of shorts, but it was a close thing. He's a cold son of a bitch. Or they are. Hell, I don't know."

"Ah." His mouth twitched, Niko's equivalent of a smug grin. "We may have come up empty on Caleb's location or the history behind the crown, but getting a background on Cerberus was easily enough accomplished. He has no secrets he wishes to keep hidden—on the surface, anyway. And the word you've no doubt been searching for is 'dicephalus.' One body, two heads."

"Smart-ass." The air of industrial-strength cleaner clung to the plastic and imitation wood of my chair and I swallowed a sneeze. At least it smelled clean… for the first time. I'd been staying at the hostel on the Bowery for two days now. I needed to be well and truly separated from the others if Cerberus did some cursory checking of his own. I could've stayed someplace a little more upscale, but I also wanted to give the impression I was in this for the money. Just your average working stiff willing to kill, mutilate, and wreak havoc for the Kin's version of minimum wage.