The Shambling Guide to New York City (14 page)

“I see. Well, he’s not one of mine. I don’t mess with constructs, haven’t really done so beyond when my master taught me the basics. But each zoëtist puts a mark on her work, I might be able to tell you more about the creator if I could meet him.”

“Would you?”

Ben paused for what seemed like a long time. “You have been a decent enough vampire, Phil,” he said at last. “Others haven’t treated me so well in the past, but there have only been two, and Orson killed one, and the other one moved away. Property taxes, you know. It’s how we met, Orson rescuing me, but understandably why he doesn’t like my associations with vampires, or any of the coterie.”

“You are coterie.”

Ben chuckled bitterly. “He doesn’t see it that way. Anyway. I’ll help you. All I need to do is get a good look at your construct, so you can e-mail me a picture or something.”

“Thank you, Ben. Do not hesitate to call on me if you need a favor.”

“I will make a note of that.” Ben sighed again. “Listen. This is serious; zoëtism is a skill one should not take lightly, or use to sow mischief. I guess I’m involved with this as much as you are, because if a zoëtist is threatening you, she’s messing with the art itself, and that offends me. Let me know what you need.”

“I will,” Phil said, and ended the call.

Zoë felt suddenly impotent. Everyone else was working on her problem, but she had nothing to do. “Why did he keep saying ‘she’? I’m all for progressive language, but you don’t see ‘she’ as a general pronoun, well, ever.”

“Women make life. Ninety-five percent of zoëtists are female. You just met one of two male zoëtists that I know. It’s easier magic for women, for obvious reasons. We just assume zoëtists are going to be women.

“Anyway, get back to work. Make a book for me. Let’s meet tomorrow morning with the writers and we can start brainstorming different series. I want something even better than your
Misconceptions
line.”

Zoë groaned inwardly. The
Misconceptions
travel book line had taken weeks to plan out. But she did have a job to do.

“You got it, boss.”

As she headed back to her office Zoë nodded to Morgen, who got up to go get Gwen. Something else dragged at Zoë’s attention to the left, someone she hadn’t seen in the office before, but she ignored it and went to her office to wait for her friends.

Gwen and Morgen came in, closing the door behind them. Morgen perched on the back of the guest chair, Gwen stood silently by the door.

“Phil swears he knows nothing,” Zoë said.

Morgen made a face. “Vampires don’t swear.”

Zoë sighed. “Fine. He says he knows nothing. I don’t know if vampires can lie any better than people, but he seemed pretty floored. I don’t think he’s behind it.”

“Vampires aren’t zoëtists, anyway,” Morgen interrupted.

“Which I can understand,” Zoë finished. “Why would anyone want to mess with me?”

Gwen shrugged, the black cape across her shoulders moving gracefully. “You’re a human working with coterie. If you’re not a zoëtist or a thrall, most think you don’t fit in.”

“But I didn’t know I would be doing this until last month!”

“Yes, but many coterie can scry the future and get hints of what is about to happen.”

Zoë collapsed into her chair, suddenly too tired to deal. “Shit. Maybe I should quit. This is too much.”

Morgen glared at her, and the room became thick with humidity. “Look, girl. You work with coterie. With monsters, to your eyes. You have taken everything in stride until you saw your ex-boyfriend’s dead head being a prick to you. That’s pretty damn impressive. It’s clear you can work with us if we can just get past the Wesley thing. Don’t let him drag you down. You can work with people who would eat you, but you can’t work with a guy whose only scary aspect is his head?”

Zoë smiled in spite of herself. Morgen continued, “Anyway, Wesley knows the rule. He steps out of line, he’ll have to deal with us. And”—she shuddered—“Phil.”

A knock at the door interrupted Zoë’s response. Gwen opened the door and in strode the most beautiful man Zoë had ever seen. He was of average height—around five foot eleven—and had dark brown hair and brown eyes, a narrow face, and a body that looked as if it had been made to fit his suit, not the other way around. Her breath caught in her throat and a flush crept up around her neck and onto her cheeks. Her nipples tingled as they hardened inside her blouse.

Whoa. What’s going on?

“Sorry for interrupting, ladies, but we just got back and I wanted to officially welcome the new managing editor.” His voice was smooth and low, as if he had just finished making love to all three of them and wanted to make sure they were satisfied.
His eyes fell on Zoë and he stuck his hand out. “Hi, Zoë. Good to see you again.”

John.
This did not look like John. There was a slight resemblance; this man could have been John’s hotter, fitter, younger brother. But it clearly wasn’t the heavy man in the ill-fitting suit she had met the day she found out about coterie.

He smirked as she stared at him, heat rising in her face. Then she remembered his own advice to her not to let anyone throw her off. She smiled back and stood, extending her hand. A wild part of her mind craved nothing more than the touch of his bare hand on hers.

Morgen knocked his away. “Very funny, John. You lay a hand on her and the boss will drain you dry.”

His brown eyes traveled lazily over Zoë’s face, breasts, hips, and legs. She blushed harder, feeling her body respond, and sat back down. “It’s good to see you again, John. I wanted to thank you again for helping me get this job.”

He ignored her words, his eyes lingering on her as if cataloging all her attributes. She waved a hand to get his attention away from her breasts. “Are you done?”

“Not even close to being done, Zoë. Not at all. It is absolutely lovely to see you again. I hope we can have lunch sometime soon. I’m looking forward to working with you.” Morgen punched him in the shoulder. He made a pained expression and rubbed the bruise. As he raised his arm, Zoë caught sight of the same bracelet he’d worn the other day, a slim silver chain held closed by a tiny padlock. “I meant just spending time together. Not that I would be feeding on her! Cut me a little slack, please.”

Zoë laughed, startling them all. John grinned at her, this time in a friendlier and less erotic way, and he nodded to her and left the office.

Zoë collapsed into her desk chair and motioned for Gwen to
close the door. When she did, a small smile creased the goddess’s usually stoic face.

“What the hell was
that
?” Zoë asked. “And why did he look so different when I met him last month?”

Morgen looked at her as if she had asked if Prince Charles rode a Kawasaki motorcycle. “We
told
you. He’s an incubus.” She said it as if that answered all Zoë’s questions. Zoë stared at her. Morgen sighed and continued, “And that means that when he’s hungry, he appears to you as the sexiest thing in the world. When he’s not hungry, he settles back into a dumpier model. He must not have eaten on the road.”

“I do not recommend allowing him to seduce you,” Gwen said. “As they feed on sexual energy, humans find encounters with them quite… tiring.”

A shiver went through her. That sounded
wonderful
.

“Seriously, Zoë. Incubi and succubi are bad news,” Morgen said. “Think of him as forbidden fruit. You don’t want to sleep with a coworker anyway, do you?”

That snapped Zoë out of her lust.
No. Not another Godfrey.

“No,” she said. “I definitely don’t want that.”

If your thrall has been forgetful and didn’t bring his talisman with him on your trip to the city, there are several shops that can help you out. The most popular store is actually a Target on Gateway Drive in Brooklyn, because the jewelry counter is run by an earth sprite by the name of Horace who will get you what you need if you ask him nicely. It is considered polite to tip him with a vial of dirt from your hometown. So come prepared!

The local talismans are created from silver or gold and the black fang is etched in carbon that has been ground by human slaves who should have known better than to take off their talismans. The sweat of desperation gives the talismans their power.

O
ne thing that Zoë was proud of was her ability, regardless of life stress, to dive into work. So far she’d found two coworkers she rather liked and one she disliked a great deal, her boss wasn’t bad, and there was one coworker it seemed safest to stay away from at all costs. Damn, but John was hot.

Her ability to keep her head and stay outwardly cool when her insides were screaming,
Run now, run far, run fast
was also a trait she was proud of. If only her stomach wouldn’t rebel…

However, considering she’d used most of her coping strength by two p.m., she realized she wanted nothing more but to go home and see if wine and a bath would make it all go away. She had a hunch that they would not, but there was no way to know without trying.

She figured she’d be better off closing her door for the afternoon than cutting out early in her third week. When the door clicked, her soul felt somewhat lighter. She could almost fool herself into thinking that she’d gotten a cushy job at a mainstream publishing company, complete with corner office.

A small, windowless corner office that smelled vaguely of bleach, but Zoë had a strong imagination.

She stared at the blank wall, knowing that the underbelly of the city, not the glorious skyline, lay beyond it, and sighed. Time to make a list. She rummaged in her desk and pulled out a paper and pen. She drew a line down the center and labeled the left side “WORK” and the right side “PERSONAL.”

In the “WORK” column she wrote, “Outline book series,” “Get Bertie settled and researching,” “Research constructs,” and “Shop for office enhancements.”

In the “PERSONAL” column she wrote, “Buy more wine, paper towels, houseplant.” She had brought her only plant into the office to brighten her space; now her home felt devoid of life. She paused, knocking the pen against her teeth as she thought. Then she added, “Investigate occult shops,” “Go cross shopping.”

Then she wrote, “crucifix?” beside it. What was the difference? Someone religious would know.

Then below that she wrote, “Go to church.”

She wondered what denomination would be best. Did it have to be Christian, or did the Star of David repel vampires as well as the cross? Somehow she thought Phil wouldn’t tell her. When the vampires themselves wrote the books, strangely they didn’t write about their weaknesses.

And this was probably something she shouldn’t ask her boss about anyway. It might affect her first review. And she needed this job. Who knew—even wearing a religious medallion to work might be against policy. Although if they actually employed a death goddess…

Zoë put her head in her hands. It was all so confusing.

She made it through the rest of the day without incident, actually working on a rough outline of the series she decided to tentatively title “The Shambling Guide Series.” Not all coterie shambled like zombies, but no humans that she was aware of did so. She ran the idea by Montel, and he loved it.

At least, she thought he did. His gray face spread in a slow smile and he said, “That would definitely work. You have a knack for this already.”

That night, Granny Good Mae didn’t meet her again, and Zoë gratefully went to her apartment after a quick stop at the
corner store where she got a bottle of wine, a box of spaghetti, a roll of paper towels, an orchid she bet herself she could keep alive at least a week, and two veladora candles (one of the Virgin Mary and one of Jesus crucified). She wasn’t ready to buy a necklace yet, but she figured the candles were so ugly and so popular that they had to have some kind of power.

She got home, lit both candles, poured the wine, and got into the tub while the stove heated water for the spaghetti. She tried to meditate on the characters on the candles, but then started to feel creepy that these holy figures were looking at her in the tub, and turned them around so they faced the bathroom door.

She was only two weeks and one day in and suddenly buying religious trinkets. She fully expected to let wine carry her to sleep tonight. Tomorrow she needed to find out about Wesley’s creator, and zoëtists in general.

But for now she decided to forget about Wesley. She needed to focus on the coworkers she dealt with regularly. One thing she’d avoided doing was dining with them in the break room, choosing to go out to lunch instead. Tomorrow she decided to go for the scariest prospect and invite the vampires to lunch. According to Phil and the office rules he assured her he put in place, eating with Kevin and Opal should be safe enough, but she’d have to ready herself to not get disgusted at their choice of food. With Phil’s guarantee, she figured extending the invitation would not hint to them that she was offering herself for lunch.

After her third glass of wine, she fell asleep on the couch to an episode of
CSI
in which the characters were trying to solve a murder whose victim looked suspiciously like a werewolf. She thought in a drunken panic that she should ask about lycanthropes, but forgot as she fell into a wine-induced sleep.