Nightlife (9 page)

So I tucked it and the fantasies back where they belonged and directed my attention, all of it, back to the job at hand. I did another circuit of the reception without incident. Since all seemed relatively quiet and assailant free, I decided on a quick pit stop. Unfortunately even bodyguards of steel had all-too-human bladders. After giving Niko the high sign from across the room, I drifted through the throng, snatching a crab-stuffed mushroom from a silver server as I went. By the time I walked into the bathroom the hors d'oeuvre was nothing but a mellow, smoky memory on the back of my tongue. The taste, rich and potent, matched my first glimpse of the bathroom.

Walls the color of ancient parchment met a marble floor shot through with gold and a rich toffee brown. A nearly full-sized chandelier hung from the ceiling, muted topaz gems glittering softly. The long countertop was one vast piece of lovingly polished wood embedded with several beaten-brass sinks. The mirror that hung above it all dominated the eye. Framed with a twisted line of copper and brass that blossomed into leaves at the four corners, it covered nearly the entire top half of the wall.

I doubted I'd ever pissed in a place so fancy.

Unimpressed, my bladder let me know there was no time like the present. Once I'd finished business and zipped up, I went over to a sink to wash my hands. Several folded towels, thick and fleecy, balancing on a stool showed someone else was on a break as well. Good for you, buddy, I thought. Helping myself to a chocolate-colored towel, I was drying off when I saw it.

Out of the corner of my eye, a dark slithering as subtle as a coyly beckoning finger. Like most things glimpsed in the periphery it had my heart slamming in a way something seen face-to-face wouldn't have. The towel dropped from my hand as my knife sprang into my grip practically of its own accord. I turned fast half crouched on the balls of my feet with my blade close to my body to face… nothing.

Nothing, that is, but my own reflection. It stared at me grimly as we both drew in lungfuls of air as suddenly thick and choking as river mud. "Damn," I muttered. I had not lost it over my own image in the mirror; that jumpy I wasn't. I refused to believe it.

As I quickly scanned the rest of the bathroom the lights overhead flickered once, the autumn gold disappearing into a velvety black. And in that moment, the barest slice of time, I thought I felt the air ripple against my skin, as if something had passed right before my face. Or maybe it was a breath, fetid and hot, as teeth aimed for my neck. I was already swinging blindly with a deadly slice when the light returned. And once again it was just me and my shadow. At least he looked as sheepish as I felt. I sighed, put away the knife, and knocked lightly on the bright surface of the mirror. "Alice, you in there?" There was no answer in Wonderland. If she was there, then she was perfectly happy behind the looking glass with no intentions of coming out.

By the time I'd navigated the crowd back to Niko's side my heart rate had dropped to normal and the cold sweat prickling the back of my neck had subsided. It was nice to know how quickly I could recover from the gibbering terror of a malfunctioning bathroom light. I gave Niko a nod and took my place discreetly behind Ms. Nottinger, who was a pale sun orbited by several planets long past their prime. She seemed more distantly amused than appreciative of the attention. Just went to show, there is a point where enough is enough… money, that is. Promise had retired from business, although her would-be sugar daddies didn't seem to want to believe it. I wanted to tell the group of horny Methuselahs to give it up, but instead swallowed the impulse and watched as Niko melted into the milling crowd to disappear from sight. Literally. One second there, one second gone. Get the man a white tiger and a silver jumpsuit and he could play Vegas. I might be more or less than human, depending on your viewpoint, but it was my brother who had the abilities that were all but supernatural. "Later, Houdini," I murmured to empty air, and then moved to subtly discourage a gentleman whose wrinkled, palsied hands were too ambitious for his own good.

Promise didn't stay more than an hour or so, just long enough to do a few circuits, bemuse a gaggle of old men, and make her donation. She might have come by her money in a less-than-orthodox manner, but she played by the same rules of her adopted social class. After she bade her farewells to several disappointed suitors, we left the hotel for the crisp night air. Underneath a midnight sky reflected orange by a million lights, Promise raised her face and said softly, "I miss the stars."

I slid a curious glance toward Niko. That was the first personal comment I had ever heard the woman make. And granted, I'd only met her twice before, compared with Niko's dozens of times, but from the eyebrow he raised he seemed as surprised as I was by the remark. Noncommittal, he responded, "Too much ambient light, a pollution all its own." He indicated her car and driver at the curb. "Shall we go, Ms. Nottinger?"

"Too much light," she repeated. Then, her eyes still on the sky, she knotted her shawl briskly. "No. I think not. I'm in the mood for a walk. Tell Timothy he's dismissed for the night. Pity. He'll have to forgo his customary nap behind the wheel." I gave a silent wince at her arch tone, the needle-sharp point of a stiletto coated with warm honey. I had a feeling Timothy the driver was going to be in the unemployment line before too much longer.

After Niko knocked on the smoked-glass window of the car and delivered the news, Promise swept down the sidewalk to head north. I could say like a queen among the rabble, but it wasn't like that. It was more like a ghost among unbelievers. She made her way, a fantastic creature, unseen and unnoticed, suddenly as insubstantial as she had been brilliant at the reception. She was like Niko that way, a chameleon, visible only if she wanted to be. It was a rare skill that only the truly self-contained, the genuinely balanced, had. To know thyself, right?

No, thanks. Guess that was one ability I'd have to leave to the pros.

Niko moved on ahead of Promise, while I brought up the rear, my eyes open for the more mundane threats now. Pickpockets, perverts, general weirdos, the usual nightlife, it was all a possibility—although less so in this ritzy area. But the farther we walked, the more of a probability it became. And while the human threats might not have claws or fangs, some still had an insatiable need for blood that would rival that of any monster.

Promise's walk was beginning to lengthen into a genuine trek. The forty minutes stretched into an hour and the faint click of her heels became more noticeable as the people began to thin around us. Niko caught me checking my watch and sent me a look of stern disapproval. Subtle and fleeting, it still had me squaring my shoulders with an inner groan. Working the bar had made me lazy. Until Samuel and his friends had shown up, that place had been one long eight-hour snooze. This, on the other hand, this was work. And if our client didn't hurry up and pull a groin muscle or sprain an ankle, I might actually get winded. When she said she missed the stars, I had no idea she was going to try to
walk
to them.

She finally halted down a dark stretch of alley between two sketchy-looking buildings. She just stopped out of the blue, hands cupping her elbows, her distracted gaze on the glittering white lights slung carelessly on a fire escape. Someone had the Christmas spirit all year round, or was every bit the sloth I was.

"Not stars," she said pensively, and then smiled, soft and warm as a summer rain. "But still beautiful." Sighing, she tightened her arms around herself and tilted her head toward Niko. There was resignation in the classic line of her jaw. "We were followed, weren't we?"

"Yes," he responded calmly. "We were. It seems that is not a total surprise to you, Ms. Nottinger."

Maybe not to her, but it was something of one to me. I'd picked up on the guy a few blocks from the Waldorf, and Niko had probably picked him up from minute one. But that Promise had known all along someone might be lurking outside waiting for her, that I hadn't picked up on at all. She had been serene and self-possessed, apparently oblivious. I guess I'd forgotten that the acting skills needed by a professional succubus would be impressive. She had pulled the wool over my eyes, and by this point in my life I was not an easy person to fool by any stretch of the imagination.

"No, not a total one." Fingers lightly stroked the silken threads of her wrap. "I can explain, if you allow me."

"Perhaps you can. However, this is not the time to do it. Cal, you take the front. Ms. Nottinger and I will take the back." His hand firmly on Promise's arm, Niko ushered her to the end of the alley, where they both disappeared into a darkness as physical as a wall. I chose my own pool of shadows to submerge myself in and waited patiently, the bricks rough and suspiciously wet against my back. There'd been no rain, and I didn't even want to hazard a guess as to what was soaking through the material of my coat. That is, until I remembered it was Niko's jacket, and then I gleefully thought of a hundred noxious, disgusting fluids it could be.

My patience wasn't all it could be when it came to the day-to-day shit, but when it came to matters of survival, it was as still and cold as that of any cat waiting for an unlucky low-flying bird. And it wasn't too long before our feathered friend fluttered in. Sharp beak, darting black eyes—he really was rather birdlike with a black trench coat that even vaguely mimicked wings. He was a smaller man, a few inches shorter than me, with a slight build, but there was a glassy sheen in his eyes that gave as much pause as a muscle-bound body would have. He wasn't talking to himself or carrying any handmade signs proclaiming the apocalypse was nigh, my brothers, but he had the same stark, white-eyed stare many of the street people had. Chaotic and intense as a laser beam without a guidance system.

He moved into the alley cautiously with quick short steps, askew gaze flitting back and forth. There was something in his hand, but it was hidden by the folds of his long coat. It had to be a weapon. Gun or knife, Taser maybe. And from his white-knuckle grip, it didn't look like he had any intentions of giving it up without a fight. I curved my lips in a silent, humorless grin. That was all right by me. I wasn't one to turn down pounding a deserving head against the asphalt. Good stress relief. I watched as he passed my position without detecting me in the deep gloom. The twinkling Christmas lights gleamed off his high forehead and pale fawn hair like an eerie halo. It was a jaggedly bizarre contrast with his jittering eyes and ferocious intensity—a soulless and psychotic angel in desperate need of a Prozac-lithium cocktail. He was also an angel who was about to get his wings clipped.

I stepped away from the wall and moved in silently behind him. His bony shoulders were scarecrow thin and so tense it looked as if he'd shatter with one touch. Always being the curious sort, I gave it a try. Pulling a knife, I tapped him politely with the blade. "I think you took a wrong turn off the yellow brick road, pal. A
seriously
wrong turn."

They were words he took to heart, demonstrated by his next turn. He swiveled around with a slippery speed, his coat fanning out behind him and his hand thrusting with avalanche force toward my face. It happened with such speed and fury that it was like an act of God, inescapable. Not to mention uninsurable. I backpedaled, blocked the blow with my forearm, and aimed my knife for his abdomen. The metal cutting the air, I was just about to open him up like a piñata when I was able to make out what was flying toward my face. Not a knife, not a gun, not even a goddamn slingshot. It was a cross. It was a hugely ornate one, gleaming with a softly metallic sheen in the weak light. Still, as big as it was, it wasn't enough of a threat to justify slicing and dicing the guy. Not yet anyway. Hope springs eternal, though, right?

I pulled my blade up, and landed a hard elbow in his gut instead. He dropped like a rock, gasping for air, but stubbornly clinging to the cross. Squatting on my heels, I patted him down as he curled in a fetal position, on the pavement. Out of his pockets I fished another smaller cross and a vial of colorless liquid. I opened it and was sniffing it cautiously when Niko appeared, empty-handed and apparently weaponless except for the wickedly amused twitch of his lips. "Embracing that old-time religion, are we?"

Grunting, I replaced the lid. It was just water. "Embracing it with my face, you mean. He nearly put a dent in my skull. Thanks for the help, by the way."

"If you couldn't handle one unarmed fanatic, Cal, then you are too frail for this world. Best to shuffle off that mortal coil before someone places you in a bubble for your own good." He reached down and took the small container from my hand. He didn't open it, merely held it up in the dim light and said simply, "Ah." Looking down at our mysterious lunatic, he tossed the vial from hand to hand. "Now, isn't this interesting?"

Annoyed, I puffed out air and grumbled, "Care to share with the class, Sherlock? Your leaps of logic tend to leave me motion sick."

An eyebrow rose. "Cal, it's obvious. A cross, what appears to be holy water. Our nutritionally challenged friend is after a…"

"Vampire," the man wheezed, his empty hand scrambling weakly at the alley floor. "She's a vampire." He coughed, sucked in a whistling breath. "A monster… a fiend from hell."

Well, how about that? Promise was a sister. "Is that a fact?" I commented neutrally, rising smoothly and planting a heavy foot in the small of the scarecrow's back to keep him down. "Did she happen to mention that when she hired you, Niko? That whole bloodsucking thing ever come up?"

"Mistress of the devil. Satan's scarlet whore," the voice rasped on from beneath my foot.

"Yeah, yeah, buddy," I said impatiently. "We got it. Zip it already."

"Queen of everlasting darkness…"

I sighed and delivered a short, sharp kick behind the nut job's ear. His head snapped forward and instantly he was out like a cheap lightbulb. He'd wake up with nothing more than a pounding headache, and I was betting it wouldn't be any worse than the one he'd given me. "You just can't reason with people these days. It's a goddamn shame."

Niko gave me a look of distinct exasperation. Was it disappointment for my silencing of the annoying fruit loop, my lack of the milk of human kindness for the overly mouthy of the world? Hardly. "Not quite as shameful as your sloppy footwork. An inch to the left will give you a much longer duration of unconsciousness. Did you even read that anatomy book I gave you, or are you using it as a coaster?"

"Actually it's propping up the kitchen table." Impatiently, I gave a nod to the shadows behind him. "Maybe your client could give us etiquette tips on that after she sucks out all our blood. What do you think?"

Raising his eyebrows, my brother gave an amused snort, then lowered his voice to a level for my ears only. "Do you actually believe that maniac, Cal? If she were one of the undead, don't you think I would have known, that you would have smelled her?"

I followed suit and answered with frustration, "I can't smell anything over her perfume. I'm half Grendel, not half dog."

"It is pleasant. Feminine and potent, yet fresh and clean," he mused. "Quite nice."

The voice of reason wasn't a hat I usually wore. "Niko, do you want to kill the monster or just date it?" I snapped with exasperation.

At that moment Promise stepped into view, a vision of tranquillity as her twilight-colored eyes lingered on the unconscious man. She shook her head, the silk around her shoulders shimmering from the movement. "Obviously a very disturbed individual, yes? A distant relative of my last husband. He has been following me for days saying the most bizarre things. Insane things."

"Then I suppose we should call the police and have him taken into custody." The sensible words hung in the air, but before Niko made a move to retrieve his cell phone, Promise held up a hand.

"Wait." She swallowed, a smooth motion under flawless pale skin. "Don't."

Niko's eyes darkened, the fascination with her perfume already a distant memory. He moved to her side, his face neutrally blank. Gravely apologetic, he said, "Ms. Nottinger, if you please." With the utmost care he cupped her chin and, using his thumb to delicately lift her upper lip, revealed exquisitely tiny pointed canine teeth.

I raised my hands and let them fall. "Jesus, Niko, are you the
only
human in this goddamn city?"

His old-world courtesy melting, Niko had already reached a hand into his coat to take out a long wooden stake. Knives, swords, stakes—he had it all and then some. It wouldn't surprise me if one day he pulled Jimmy Hoffa out of there. Keeping an eye on the deceitful Promise, I bent down and retrieved the cross from our stalker's slack fingers. I'd seen Niko handle any number of demonic creepy-crawlies over the years, so I didn't believe a petite 110-pound vampire would get the best of him. That is, unless her perfume overwhelmed him, I thought caustically. "Whatever you do, Nik, don't smell her," I drawled as I hefted the cross to shoulder height in my best traditional "Back, creature of the night" stance.