Barking (22 page)

‘Stupid,' she replied. The voice she used to say the word with was velvet and chocolate mousse and a sort of dark, soft purple, but the sparkle in her eyes was rather familiar. It was Pete, scenting a cat. The voice put forward a pretty convincing case, but the eyes had it. ‘What do you think?'

Something different about how she looked; well, lots of things, but for the moment, let's focus on the lipstick. It wasn't something she'd ever gone in for, back in the old days. It really suited her. ‘Haven't a clue,' he replied. ‘Look, what was that phone message all about? I've been worried sick. I went round to your office but they told me—'

In a movement so slick that he couldn't remember seeing it, Sally stood up and glided towards him. Presumably she put one foot in front of the other, but from his point of view it was as though the camera had zoomed in, until her face filled his mind's screen. Maybe I'm asleep and this is a dream, Duncan thought, which would account for the fact that I can't smell her. If so, it goes some way to answering the nagging old question of what sleep is actually
for
. Also he thought: definitely approve of the lipstick, but she's using way too much eyeshadow.

Then her arms were round his neck, her grip surprisingly strong. First her hair and then her cheek brushed against his face, so that his eyes automatically closed and he was thinking, really, it's a shame this is only a dream, because it'd be so nice if it was real—

She purred like a cat, or something. And then she opened her mouth and bit him savagely on the neck.

‘O
uch,' Sally said. ‘Oh shit, I think I broke a tooth.'

Not a dream after all. Duncan snapped out of it, shoved with the flat of his hand and forced her away, or tried to. He pushed quite hard, but she wouldn't budge.

She'd bitten him (so much for twice shy) but of course he was invulnerable: unbreakable skin. He had an idea, though, that it had been a pretty close run thing. Those teeth had been
sharp
—

‘Oh,' he said.

She was looking at him. The same sort of profound irritation he'd seen in the eyes of Ms Bick, when he'd shown up uninvited in her front office—

- Which suddenly made sense. ‘That explains it,' he said.

‘What?'

‘Your office,' he replied. ‘Why it's underground. No windows. No windows, no daylight.'

The frown deepened, then shattered into a rather nice smile. ‘You and South-West Trains,' she said. ‘Slow, but you get there in the end. And no, there're no mirrors in the ladies' loo, either.'

‘No point?'

‘That's right. Look, you wouldn't happen to have a couple of aspirin, would you? Your stupid neck's hurt my tooth.'

‘What? Oh, right, aspirin.' He crossed to the cupboard and found some. They'd gone a bit powdery and soft, but they dissolved in the water just fine. ‘So,' he said, taking a deep breath, ‘how long have you been—?'

‘Never mind me, what about you? Oh, it's OK, I should've guessed as soon as I saw you. The beard suits you, by the way, hides your chin collection. And you've lost weight. All that chasing after cats, I suppose.'

‘A fortnight,' Duncan replied, a little hazily. ‘Since I joined Ferris & Loop.' He stopped and frowned. ‘You know about—?'

She nodded. ‘Werewolves, yes,' she said. ‘I get the impression you didn't, not till you got—' She hesitated. ‘Recruited, or however you'd describe it. Come as a bit of a shock, did it?'

‘Yes. Answer my question. How long—?'

Only for a split second it was as though a visor had lifted, and he could just see her in there, behind the toughened safety glass. ‘Not while we were married, if that's what you're thinking.'

‘I see,' he lied. ‘Is that why you dumped me?'

‘No.'

Not the answer he'd expected, he realised; then he remembered that she was a lawyer too. ‘Is it, like, compulsory? At Crosswoods, I mean.'

Crooked smile. What great big teeth, grandma. ‘You didn't do Latin at your school.'

‘Well, no.'

‘
Trans
, meaning across.
Sylvania
, the woodlands.' Sally clicked her tongue. ‘Or so they tell me. They did teach Latin at my school, but I did biology instead. There's a deep irony in there somewhere, probably. Meaning yes,' she went on. ‘The entire fee-earning staff at Crosswoods are evolved, if that's what you were trying to ask. I gather it's the same at that outfit you're with now.'

He nodded. ‘You remember me telling you about Luke Ferris, the guy I was at school with? Well, it's him and his old gang, which I used to belong to.'

‘Oh yes.' She frowned. ‘You said you never wanted to see any of them ever again, as long as you lived.'

‘Yes.'

‘And now you're in partnership with them.'

‘That's right.'

She sighed. ‘You're going to tell me that that's a classic example of stuff happening.'

‘I didn't want—' Duncan shrugged. ‘I got fired from Craven Ettins, and there was Luke offering me this job. I said yes, and next thing I knew, I'd been - well, you know.'

‘Roughly similar story in my case,' Sally said, gently massaging her jaw. ‘Except they hired me thinking I'd be, let's say a suitable case for conversion. Then they weren't sure, and it took them a while to make up their minds. Soon as they'd decided I was their sort of girl, that was it. I was in. I guess it'd have been nice if they'd asked first, or filled me in on the background, but what the hell. On balance, it's been a good thing for me. There are certain advantages.'

A faint click in the back of his mind. ‘You really got in through the kitchen window?'

‘Yup.'

‘You didn't climb up the drainpipe, though.'

‘No.'

He had to nerve himself to say: ‘You can
fly
?'

Sally nodded. ‘Goes with the territory. Not particularly well,' she added. ‘I mean, at one end of the scale you've got Concorde, at the other end a chicken. I'm more in the poultry class. I can do vertical lifts and short bursts, fifty yards or so on a good day. But if I wanted to go to New York, I'd have to spend three hours hanging round at Heathrow like everybody else.'

‘Even so.' He shook his head. ‘That's amazing. How do you—?'

‘Search me. It's like wiggling your toes. You decide to do it, and it happens. Show you if you like.'

‘Yes, please.'

She nodded again and rose abruptly into the air, stopping just short of nutting herself on the ceiling. She hung there for about ten seconds, then drifted gradually down. ‘Landing's the tricky part, of course,' she said. ‘Specially in heels. Either you go flat on your face or you nail yourself to the floor. Still, it comes in handy.'

Pause. Duncan knew he had to ask, but he really didn't want to.

‘And the other stuff—' he mumbled.

‘Yes.' She looked away. ‘Mostly we get it from Eastern Europe these days, black-market medical supplies. There's a sort of running joke in the office. Group O is Ordinaire, A is Appellation Contrôlée . . . You think wine snobs are a pain in the arse, you wait till you hear blood snobs.'

Duncan breathed out slowly. ‘And sunlight?'

Sally shook her head. ‘Not so much of a problem these days, thanks to the advances in barrier-cream technology. A good all-over daub with factor thirty and a pair of wraparound shades, and we're practically normal. Practically,' she repeated, a little wryly. ‘I mean, beach holidays aren't a good idea. But so what, we're lawyers. We know that the secret of attaining happiness lies in starting off with a realistically achievable definition. Only want what you know you can get.' She grinned. ‘OK, as universal truths go, it's pretty banal. I mean, it's a bit like discovering the Holy Grail and finding it's got
33cl please dispose of tidily
written on the side.'

Whatever, Duncan thought. ‘Can I ask you something,' he said. ‘Well, two things, actually.'

‘You can ask.'

‘All right, thanks.' He took another deep breath. ‘First, why did you dump me like that? Second, what was that phone message all about? I've been worried sick.'

She laughed. ‘Oh, that. Sorry. The truth is, I got absolutely pissed out of my skull.'

‘Ah.'

She nodded. ‘At my gran's. It was her eightieth birthday party, and I had a small sherry. It's a metabolism thing, when you're evolved - something to do with blood sugar. Anyway, I got home, started feeling very sorry for myself, picked up the phone, and that's all I can remember. I gather I must've said something annoying.'

‘Yes.'

‘Go on, then. What did I say?'

‘Help.'

‘Oh.' She pulled a face. ‘Sorry about that.'

‘It's OK.'

She clicked her tongue again. ‘About the other thing,' she said.

‘Well?'

‘It was—' She looked away again, noticed a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling, frowned. ‘Losses are a bit like diamonds. You've got to be very careful about cutting them, or you end up doing a lot of rather expensive damage. I should've been a bit more sensitive, maybe.'

‘Oh.' But, Duncan thought, doing the mental arithmetic; in that case: ‘So why did you come over here and try to—?'

Sigh. ‘Isn't it obvious? You come round to our place asking questions; Imogen, bless her, was absolutely positive that you'd rumbled us, so we thought, there's only two guaranteed ways of shutting you up, and really, we aren't all that keen on cold-blooded murder. No pun intended,' she added. ‘Of course, we didn't know you're one of
them
.'

Something Micky had said:
mixed up with those people
. A good case could be made for saying that most of the unhappiness in the world comes from people thinking in italicised pronouns. ‘So,' he said. ‘What are you going to do now?'

‘Don't need to do anything. I mean, you may be an ambulance-chaser rather than a bloodsucker, but we're all in the same profession. Nothing to worry about any more, we apologise for any inconvenience.'

‘Oh.' He thought about that for a moment. ‘You're sure that's all there is to it?'

‘Hardly a grey area.' Sally glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the wall clock. ‘Good heavens, is that the time? I must fly. So to speak. Got an early court appointment.' She stood up straight, almost started to move. ‘So,' she said, ‘is it fun, being one of your lot?'

‘Yes.'

‘Good. I'm pleased for you. And it was sort of sweet of you to be worried, I guess.'

‘Right,' Duncan said. ‘Why the pound of liver, by the way?'

She blinked. ‘What?'

‘Your mate Ms Bick said you nipped out for a pound of liver, just before you went AWOL.'

‘Oh, right. Well, I could spell it out for you, but I seem to remember you're a bit squeamish around words like
dripping
and
oozing
. Just think of it as the equivalent of a flask of coffee, all right?'

‘So who did you go to Buenos Aires with?'

‘Nobody. One of my aunts lives there, if you must know. I'll see myself out.'

A moment later, she'd gone. Through the door this time, like a human being.

 

Luke was standing by the front desk when Duncan walked in next morning. Not, he decided, a chance meeting.

‘You look rough,' Luke said.

‘Yes.'

‘Trouble sleeping?'

‘Yes.'

Luke nodded. ‘Figures,' he said. ‘Maybe I should've mentioned it. Nothing to worry about, it's quite normal.'

Duncan looked at him. ‘What's quite normal?'

‘Not being able to sleep the night before a full moon,' Luke replied. ‘It's never bothered me, but I know Pete doesn't even bother getting into bed, because he knows it's a waste of time trying. Takes different people different ways. Clive reckons he sleeps like a log, but he always gets dreams about drowning in tapioca pudding.'

The night before full moon; what with Sally disappearing and then materialising in his bedroom when least expected, Duncan had clean forgotten that he had that particular thrill to look forward to. Nonetheless, a side issue. He looked at Luke, braced himself and said, ‘Have you got a moment?'

‘Several.'

‘I need to ask you - well, tell you something, and then ask. If that's all right.'

Luke frowned. ‘Let me guess. Girl trouble.'

He made it sound like something contagious and antisocial. ‘Sort of. You see, last—'

‘They can be a pain in the neck sometimes, can't they?'

Duncan nodded slowly. ‘You know about it.'

‘Follow me.'

The small interview room was only small in comparison with the large interview room. You could have held a concert in there, or a slightly cramped football match. In the middle of all that empty space was a table and one chair. Duncan sat in it; Luke perched on the edge of the table.

‘What we need,' Luke said, ‘is strong black coffee and some Viennese fingers.' He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled. A few seconds later, the little bald man who worked the front desk appeared, holding a tray.

‘Sugar?' Luke asked.

‘Two.'

Luke raised his eyebrows. ‘If you're sure.' It was, Duncan noticed, a very small teaspoon. ‘All right,' Luke went on, gnawing the chocolate off the end of a biscuit, ‘let me save you the embarrassment. Last night your ex-wife came to see you.'