Moonshine: A Novel (22 page)

"What a reputation you have," he said softly, tracing the bones of my neck with his index finger.

"How would you feel about the Yukon, Amir? Pristine wilderness, quaint cabin, no people."

"I'm not sure I'd be a great addition to a log cabin, dear. I might burn everyone down."

"Wonderful. Even fewer people."

He gave a soft laugh and leaned down for a gentle, teasing peck on my lips.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I'm not an invalid."

He obviously couldn't see himself at the height of his attacks. "And what about Kardal? Could he trace the tomcat?"

Amir rolled his eyes and leaned back against the balustrade of the staircase. "My brother," he said, "is a singularly useless individual. He couldn't get a trace, but he was certainly full of unwanted advice."

He looked so annoyed that I had to laugh. "You sound like I felt after the Temperance Union this afternoon. What a bunch of moldering, pious hypocrites."

"They just need something to loosen them up . . . a flask of rum in their punch, for example?"

In a moment of reckless abandon, I kissed him briefly. "See," I said, "we're perfect allies. Now what did you want?"

"I thought we should try to find Judah's mother. Kardal and I . . ."

Well, yes, I could see how two djinns might not be the best guardians of a confused, freshly-turned eleven-year-old vampire.

"Has he remembered anything else?"

Amir shook his head. "He doesn't even remember what he said about the boats. It's very odd."

"Well, maybe we just need something to jog Judah's memory. We could try South Ferry again. He might recognize something if we bring him along."

"Determined to earn your salary, aren't you? Shall we go?" he asked, smiling that slow, lazy smile that had gotten me into all this trouble in the first place.

"You know me, never happy unless I'm saving someone."

"And I'd hate to disappoint you."

We had not walked three steps before my stomach let out a painfully audible growl. Now that I thought about it, I hadn't eaten all day.

"Sounds like your stomach is auditioning for Wagner."

"Just a minor role. You want to wait here while I grab some food inside? I'd invite you in, but Mrs. Brodsky might attack me with a scrub brush."

I turned away, but Amir's voice caught me like a fishing line. "Don't be silly, Zephyr. I know just the place. If we hurry, we can make it before closing."

"You do know I don't eat wieners and sauerkraut, right?"

He pressed his lips together, forcefully reining in a smile. "If wieners were caviar, they'd serve it at the Plaza."

"And if the Plaza served hot dogs, I still couldn't afford it."

So we walked to Chinatown. It wasn't very far, but it had been a long day and I looked longingly at the few passing taxis.

He squeezed my hand, apparently happier than he had been for the last few days. Not that I couldn't still discern the signs of pain and stress around his eyes and mouth, but he held my hand and hummed under his breath and generally acted like a schoolboy given a surprise half-day due to inclement weather.

"What's gotten into you?" I finally demanded, when he stopped in his tracks and lifted me up for a kiss. "Did you find Rinaldo or something?"

He laughed. He didn't seem particularly in pain, but his hands were fire-hot even through my coat. "I have a few leads, as Sherlock Holmes might say." He set me down and stared for a moment. His eyes shone like banked fire through crystal. "This is curious, but I think I'm happy to see you."

I had to look away. I couldn't decipher the expression on his face--it seemed wistful and sad and resigned and giddy all at once, depending on how I squinted in the dark. And though I hated to admit it, his mood frightened me. Something had happened to him over the last few days. His attacks were coming closer and closer together. Rinaldo--whatever the source of their conflict--clearly knew Amir was planning something. No sense in threatening him otherwise. So why, given all the horrible events that had occurred over the past few days, was Amir so unfazed?

I shook my head and started walking. Amir stood still on the sidewalk for a moment and then jogged to catch up.

"I can be sad if you like," he said, still wearing a tentative smile. "Or is it just the thought of you in particular making me happy that makes you look as though you've just swallowed coal?"

I grimaced. "Feed me and I'll sing you an aria."

Lucky for me, the restaurant was just a block farther. He opened a door so nondescript (sandwiched between a tailor and a traditional Chinese herbalist) that I could have walked past it a hundred times without noticing. But as soon as we started up the painfully steep, creaking wooden stairs, the unmistakable smell of delicious food assaulted us. Garlic and duck fat and cloves and ginger and a hundred other scents I couldn't recognize made me stumble on the top step.

Amir's hands held my waist before I could so much as stub my toe. "Just a few more," he said, laughing. I couldn't help but smile up at him. My stomach suddenly felt so warm and taffy-stretched I thought it might float away. He opened another door at the top of the steps, and we walked through. The room held three long tables, with four or five Chinese men seated at each while they devoured an astonishing wealth of food with wooden chopsticks. I'd eaten Chinese food from street vendors before, but never in an actual restaurant. A hazard of depending on the charity of others willing to buy you dinner is that you have to eat what they like. An older man wearing an apron came from inside the open kitchen as soon as he saw us and greeted Amir in a string of rapid, incomprehensible Chinese. Amir responded in kind.

My eyebrows felt like they were about to wander into my hairline by the time we sat down at the table closest to the kitchen. "Basic literacy and elocution," I muttered. "How many languages do you know, anyway?"

Amir leaned back in his chair. "About eighty. Kardal speaks over a thousand, counting dialects. But we're djinn. I can learn any language in a week."

"Less obvious than flaming eyeballs, but . . ."

"Guess that's why you call us Others."

The food arrived ten minutes later: eggplant with hot pepper, garlic, heaps of chives and other greens I didn't recognize, vegetable dumplings, and two plates of strange springy blocks Amir called "doufu." It was enough food for at least four people. The waiter dropped a salad bowl full of white rice in front of me, smiled encouragingly, and made noises that I presumed meant something along the lines of "get on with it!"

I stared at Amir. "Is someone joining us?"

"Eat, Zephyr. You look like you're about to fade away."

I looked back at the food. The aroma was about to make my eyes water. Well, damn, if he wanted to give me this much food, who was I to say no? I lifted the chopsticks and clumsily grabbed a piece of eggplant. It seared the inside of my mouth, made my tongue burn with spice and cleared my nose. I cursed.

"Too spicy?"

I ate another piece. "Delicious," I said.

Amir only picked at the food, but my appetite sustained me through nearly all of the dishes. The doufu tasted a little strange at first, but by the end of the meal I'd cleared one of the plates. I was so full it hurt to stand. It felt wonderful.

"Thank you for that," I said, sincerely, when we went back into the blustery cold outside. He ran his fingers along the back of my neck in silent contentedness. I sighed, not entirely with plea sure. I was full, Amir was beautiful and engaging and happy beside me, Nicholas had finally given me a clue as to where he'd turned Judah . . . and yet I couldn't shake this uneasy feeling. Why did Amir need Rinaldo? What had happened to make him so nonchalant about his dire circumstances? I thought about Aileen and her strange warning:
I know you'll hurt yourself if you do what he wants.
But no, he'd paid me, and I wouldn't let Aileen's trauma-induced hysteria make me distrust him for no reason.

Amir vanished when we reached Water Street, mid-kiss. I could still feel his laughter on my lips, but I was suddenly alone. I shivered and waited for a few minutes until he returned with Judah. But they weren't alone. I didn't recognize the third person until I heard his unmistakable bass rumble: Kardal had taken a form that looked almost human, if you didn't stare for too long. Of course, he looked like a true Arabian, with his smoky skin, jeweled turban and long brocaded tunic. Quite a contrast with Amir's impeccably modern attire. The two brothers were engaged in a heated argument--apparently having forgotten all about Judah. I walked closer to the child. He looked up at me, but didn't touch.

"You've always been an irresponsible, callous, selfish ingrate, Amir, but now you've gone too far. This is your mess, brother! You can't expect some innocent human less than a tenth your age to get you out of it!"

"I don't expect her to get--"

"Oh, yes, you do. I know you. You're using her like you used that one in Osman's court, and that Bedouin girl and the French maid . . ."

"They had names, Kardal," Amir said, with such quiet anger that it shocked me.

"And I'm sure you don't remember them! Leave her out of it, Amir. She doesn't deserve you."

Amir was silent for a long moment, opening and flexing his hands. "Are you quite done?" he said finally.

"She doesn't deserve you," Kardal repeated, rather cruelly.

Amir looked up, as though he would supplicate the heavens. "Of course not. I promise to get her out of my mess. Does that satisfy you?"

Kardal shook his head, and began to fade. "We all thought Father was crazy, to breathe you into life so late."

Amir stared at the spot where his brother had been and put his hands to his temples. Then he turned to me, a pained, rueful smile on his face.

"Sorry you had to see that," he said.

"It sounds as though Kardal has given you a bad case of chivalry."

"I hope not. I value my skin far too much." He flashed a conspiratorial smile. "As you well know. Kardal can be so fourteenth century, sometimes. I, on the other hand, am fully on board with feminist ideals. You'll still help me?"

"You have to ask?" I said. I looked back down at Judah, who hadn't moved. The boy looked better, I supposed, though far less childlike than before. Not quite as befuddled and scared, more feral. Amir hadn't bothered dressing him for the winter chill, I noticed, but at least he didn't look like he'd stepped straight out of a sultan's palace. I wasn't afraid of him, but I suddenly wondered what kind of mother would thank me for returning this child to her.

"Judah," I said, bending so I could see him better, "we're going to walk around. You need to tell me if you recognize anything, okay? If anything seems familiar, you let me know. We're going to try to find your mother for you."

Judah seemed to consider my words for an overlong moment and then nodded. "My mother is very beautiful. She loves me. I remember that."

"And your papa?"

"My papa's gone," he said, very sure.

God, his voice was so high and innocent. But the notes beneath it were too seductive, pure vampire. If he lived a long time, I suspected that his would be a voice capable of controlling me. But for now, I was safe enough. He didn't know what he was capable of.

It didn't take us long to circle the neighborhood around Water Street and reach Battery Park, with its clear nighttime view of the South Ferry docks. But Judah responded to the place with the polite interest of a tourist. We were careful to walk near any landmarks he might recognize, but he just shook his head when we asked him if he remembered anything. We'd covered most of the park--and I was wondering if I'd ever feel my fingertips again--when a trash barge pulled into view from the East River. Judah stared at it, mesmerized, as the barge turned to go up the Hudson. Suddenly, it let out a deep bellow, utterly uncanny in the January stillness. I could see how a child might be frightened of that. And, indeed, Judah had turned away from the shoreline and regarded Amir with an expression of incipient panic.

"Do you recognize that?" Amir asked, and I glared at him. He couldn't even attempt to comfort the boy?

"It's very loud," Judah said, softly. "It's like a roar."

I would have comforted him myself then, only I was recalling the strange thing Nicholas had said this afternoon. Something about his papa putting him in a cage with a roaring beast. But it now occurred to me that the deep horn blast of a trash barge could sound very much like an animal with the right acoustics.

I ran until I reached the edge of the docks and looked down. Sure enough, storm drains here emptied into the water. Could
this
be Nicholas's cage?

"Amir," I said, when he and Judah came up behind me, "can you go down there and check for anything suspicious?"

"Those are storm drains," he said, as though I'd asked him to take a quick trip to the moon.

"Those storm drains might be where Rinaldo turned Nicholas."

"I think you might have taken the term 'lair' a little too literally,
habibti
. He's a vampire, not a mole rat."