Authors: Nancy Holzner
Tags: #Fantasy, #Contemporary, #Fiction, #General, #Demonology
Hellforged (5 page)
“So those of us with the wrong genome have to obey their laws, pay taxes to them, and live as second-class citizens.”
“Not citizens at all. Not even second-class.”
“Where does that leave zombies? They’re genetically human, right? They just died and came back to life.”
“Yes, and that’s precisely why you shouldn’t call them ‘zombies.’ ” To Kane, zombies were previously deceased humans—PDHs for short—and there were no monsters in Deadtown; we were all Paranormal Americans, or PAs. Sometimes dating Kane felt like living in a bowl of alphabet soup. But his scolding tone didn’t last. “The virus changed their DNA, and that’s an important factor in this case. The other side is arguing that the altered DNA makes them inhuman—and Justice Frederickson seems sympathetic to that view.”
“But you can’t be fully human one day and not even a little human the next. It’s not like they committed a crime. All they did was get sick.”
“Exactly. That argument is one prong of our strategy.” He went on to talk about the case he and the other lawyers on his team were building. I didn’t understand all his legal mumbojumbo, but I loved hearing the passion in his voice. It was easy to see why Kane was a successful lawyer. When he stood up to make an argument, half the jury would swoon and the other half would be moved to tears or to action, whichever he was going for. I hoped the Supreme Court would be as susceptible to his charms.
“I’d better go,” Kane said. “I probably won’t be around much for the next week. The full moon’s only a few days away, and I’ve got a foot-high stack of things I need to deal with before I head to Virginia for the retreat.”
“I hope it’s easier this month.” Kane had spent the previous two retreats fighting off challenges from various pack alphas. Werewolf packs were family groups, usually no more than a dozen members, and because the Virginia retreat was a big one, that meant lots of wolves eager to challenge him.
“The locals don’t like a lone wolf coming into their territory. I don’t blame them. I’d do the same thing in their place. It’ll get better when they realize I’m not trying to take over their packs.” He spoke casually, like it was no big deal, but strain squeezed his voice. “The hardest thing is to make sure any challenge ends in a draw. If I gave some of these alphas the beating they deserve, I’d get stuck with responsibility for their packs. That’s the last thing I need.”
“So there’s no point in saying, ‘Be careful’?”
That trademark Kane chuckle again. “No more than when I say it to you.”
“Touché, counselor.”
After we said good-bye, I pulled a rose from the vase and twirled it in my fingers, breathing in its scent. In all the time I’d known Kane, he’d never sent me flowers. Not that I had much use for bouquets and such things. Usually, when Kane gave me a present it was a gift card to my favorite weapons shop in Allston. (One of those would’ve come in handy for stocking up on fresh Glitch Gone, but I tried not to think about that.) Roses were new territory for us. It was kinda nice to get them.
I thought about what it must be like for Kane in D.C., absorbed by work for most of his waking hours, fighting off unlooked-for challenges during the three days each month when he should’ve been able to recharge. In those rare moments when he found himself alone, without a legal book or a deposition or a snarling werewolf facing him, what did he think about?
Could Kane be lonely? Was that even possible for a lone wolf?
I wondered what he’d written on the card. I reached over, plucked it from the bouquet, and opened the envelope. The card held a single word:
Kane
. I flipped it over. On the back, jotted lightly in pencil, was a phone number with a 202 area code—I recognized it as the Washington law firm collaborating with Kane. Penciled below the number was the name
Susan
.
Kane
. I flipped it over. On the back, jotted lightly in pencil, was a phone number with a 202 area code—I recognized it as the Washington law firm collaborating with Kane. Penciled below the number was the name
Susan
.
Okay. No big deal. Somebody named Susan, obviously an assistant at the law firm, had called the florist.
Except it
was
a big deal, damn it.
was
a big deal, damn it.
I tossed the rose aside and sat up. I was stupid to think Kane might be lonely. Kane was the most self-sufficient, purpose-driven being I knew—of any species. He probably felt sorry for me, imagining me pining away for him all by my lonesome. That’s why he oh-so-generously said I should date other guys, out of pity. Then he plugged some auto-reminders to call me into his calendar and told somebody’s secretary to send poor Vicky something nice. He didn’t put two seconds’ thought into what.
Was I being petty? Probably, but so what? On the scale of personal failings, how did “petty” measure up against “can’t be bothered”?
I wasn’t going to waste my time trying to figure that one out. And I wasn’t going to sit around an empty apartment getting hay fever, either. It was still early. I pulled on my jacket to go out. Not to that place where everybody knows your name—that’s a tourist bar on Beacon Street—but to a place where it was impossible for someone like me to feel sorry for myself, a place where I could hang out with zombies, vampires, and a werewolf or two.
3
CREATURE COMFORTS IS A BAR IN THE NEW COMBAT ZONE, the no-man’s-land between Deadtown and human-controlled Boston. It’s also where I go when I want to unwind. As I pushed open the heavy oak doors, warm air puffed out, scented with beer, sweat, tobacco (good luck enforcing a smoking ban in the Zone)—and the slightest tinge of blood.
As I stepped inside, a sandy-haired zombie rushed past with a tray. His orange, yellow, and turquoise Hawaiian shirt clashed with his green-tinged skin, and he moved stiffly, as zombies do. He was fast, though, and something about his bearing suggested he’d been an athlete before the plague. He set the tray on a table and unloaded drinks, smiling and joking with the customers.
Must be Axel’s latest help. Creature Comforts wasn’t Boston’s classiest bar, with its beer-sloshed floor, red-vinyl booths, and sticky tables. But business had been up lately, now that zombies were allowed to wander the New Combat Zone without a permit. Zombies and humans had been on pretty friendly terms since Tina had led other zombies in defending Boston’s Halloween parade from a Harpy attack. The thawing of human-PA relations had lured more norms to venture into the Zone and live a little dangerously by visiting a monster bar. One of the most popular spots was Creature Comforts, which had always been a one-man operation in the past. (Although come to think of it, the bar’s owner, Axel—a seven-foot-tall, hook-nosed, bearded, shaggy knuckle-dragger—might best be described as something other than “man.” Nobody was quite sure what he was. But nobody was brave enough to ask.)
The new waiter zipped off to take orders from a booth. Behind the bar, Axel filled a pitcher with beer. I caught his eye, and he nodded in greeting. I went over. “Looks like your new guy’s doing a good job.”
Axel shrugged. No scowl, so he must’ve thought the kid was okay. In the past two months, since he’d become an employer, Axel had hired and fired a procession of waitstaff: two vampires who’d snacked on the norms, a werewolf with an unfortunate customer-sniffing habit, even a human vamp tramp who’d pestered every vampire in the place to turn her—against Massachusetts law. Based on that track record, anybody who managed to serve customers without taking a bite out of them was doing very well indeed.
I climbed onto a bar stool and ordered a beer.
“What kind?” Axel asked.
“Um, you pick.” Can you tell I’m not much of a drinker?
His lips twitched in what might have been a smile, but it was hard to tell under the beard. A minute later, he gave me a bottle of something pale and yellowish.
“Lite beer, huh? Daniel wouldn’t approve.” Daniel Costello was a beer connoisseur. When we went out, he always ordered something exotic sounding, like red ale or oatmeal stout.
“If it tasted like beer,” Axel said, “you wouldn’t like it.”
Probably true.
I took a sip. Not bad. Axel was right, it
didn’t
taste like beer. It didn’t taste like much of anything. I swigged—and nearly choked when a tray slammed down on the bar an inch from my left arm.
didn’t
taste like beer. It didn’t taste like much of anything. I swigged—and nearly choked when a tray slammed down on the bar an inch from my left arm.
“Axel, my man, gimme an appletini, two piña coladas, and a pink squirrel for table five,” said the new waiter.
“Pink squirrel.” Axel wrinkled his nose and moved down the bar.
“Hi,” the zombie greeted me, grinning. “I’m T.J.”
“You know, I would’ve guessed that.”
“You would?”
I nodded at his right hand, resting on the bar. A gold ring, emblazoned with a T and a J in blocky letters, gleamed on his finger.
“Oh, right.” He grinned again.
“I’m Vicky.” I put out my hand. T.J. shook it vigorously, the thick gold ring cutting into my palm.
“Great to meet you, Vicky,” he said, as Axel placed glasses on his tray. T.J. picked up the drink-laden tray and rushed to table five.
“Enthusiastic,” I noted.
Axel grunted. Wow, he must really be impressed. Good. I hoped T.J. would work out. Axel could use the help, and with T.J.’s friendliness, some of the customers who’d rather run out of the place screaming than approach Axel might stay long enough to order a second round.
Axel pointed his chin past my shoulder. “Here comes your roommate.”
I swiveled on my stool to see a petite, curvaceous vampire slink through the crowd toward the bar. She wore a skintight black minidress and thigh-high stiletto boots. Customers stood aside to let her through, and she left a trail of men with their tongues hanging out. Nobody does, or
over
does, “hot vampire chick” like Juliet.
over
does, “hot vampire chick” like Juliet.
She flipped back her long black hair and slid onto the stool beside me. “Don’t tell me you’re alone again,” she said.
I looked around, as if checking. “Nope. You’re here, too.”
“So’m I.” Coming up behind Juliet—or maybe
staggering
was a better description—was a norm who’d followed her through the crowd. His skin was pasty; purple half-moons shadowed his eyes. He wore a double-breasted suit, his tie was loose, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Blood stained his collar. “Hey, pretty lady,” he said to Juliet.
staggering
was a better description—was a norm who’d followed her through the crowd. His skin was pasty; purple half-moons shadowed his eyes. He wore a double-breasted suit, his tie was loose, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. Blood stained his collar. “Hey, pretty lady,” he said to Juliet.
Vampire junkie. Addicted to the mild narcotic in vampire saliva, a guy like this would bug vampires to feed from him until he passed out. He looked like he was already a couple of pints short.
“Not interested,” said Juliet.
“Aw, c’mon,” he breathed, leaning in close. Even from where I sat, I could smell the sourness of his breath.
Bam!
Down came T.J.’s tray. “ ’ Scuse me, sir,” he said in his friendly voice. “We need to keep this part of the bar clear.” He picked up the junkie as easily as he’d have lifted a kitten and carried him to an empty seat on the other side of the room.
Down came T.J.’s tray. “ ’ Scuse me, sir,” he said in his friendly voice. “We need to keep this part of the bar clear.” He picked up the junkie as easily as he’d have lifted a kitten and carried him to an empty seat on the other side of the room.
The junkie looked stunned, but he stayed put. T.J. zipped back to the bar, winked at Juliet, and grabbed his tray.
“Axel’s new waiter is pretty good,” I noted.
“You haven’t met him before?”
“I haven’t been here for a few days.”
“He’s already a favorite with the vampires. Mostly because he’s good at dealing with idiot blood bags.” She jerked her head back toward the junkie.
Axel set Juliet’s usual drink in front of her. She always ordered a Bloody Mary, because she liked to mess with norms’ heads, telling them it was made with real blood. Like all vampires, she could eat and drink anything she wanted, but she could only get nourishment from living human blood. She stirred her drink with the celery stalk.
“So why
are
you here alone?” she asked. “Where’s that scrumptious-looking human cop? I thought you said you were dating him.”
are
you here alone?” she asked. “Where’s that scrumptious-looking human cop? I thought you said you were dating him.”
“No, I said we were going out to dinner.”
Dating
wasn’t a word that had much to do with my life—and it was definitely a word I didn’t want to think about right now. “Besides, Daniel works norm hours. Meeting me for a drink at five in the morning doesn’t fit his schedule.”
Dating
wasn’t a word that had much to do with my life—and it was definitely a word I didn’t want to think about right now. “Besides, Daniel works norm hours. Meeting me for a drink at five in the morning doesn’t fit his schedule.”
Juliet smiled, the tips of her fangs resting on her bottom lip. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Uh-oh.
That sounded like Shakespeare, and I was not in the mood to play Juliet’s Shakespeare game. Juliet hated the Bard—with good reason, actually, but that was beside the point. You’d think after a few centuries she’d quit ragging on the guy.
That sounded like Shakespeare, and I was not in the mood to play Juliet’s Shakespeare game. Juliet hated the Bard—with good reason, actually, but that was beside the point. You’d think after a few centuries she’d quit ragging on the guy.
“But you know,” she sighed dramatically, “the course of true love never did run smooth.”
She could keep this up all night. Shakespeare had written a gazillion lines about star-crossed love, and Juliet could quote them all. I, on the other hand, boasted a C-plus as my best-ever English grade. I’d been way more interested in demonology books than old, incomprehensible plays and poems. So I tried to turn the conversation back to her. “Looks like I’m not the only one without a date tonight.” She blinked at me. She wouldn’t answer unless I said it in Shakespeare. So I tried. “Where … uh, wherefore art, um,
is
—whatever—tonight’s Romeo?”
is
—whatever—tonight’s Romeo?”
She pouted, like the game had been my idea and she was already bored with it. “No one looks appetizing tonight. Now you’ve made it worse, mentioning
him
.”
him
.”
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