The Shambling Guide to New York City (27 page)

Gwen sat down primly on the old blanket (Zoë had washed it and the cushion cover, but the blanket looked better than the
bloodstained cushion), looking again like nothing more than a goth chick. Zoë sat in the armchair to keep John from trying to sit beside her, but he just sat on the arm. She still refused to meet his eyes.

“The zombies continue to cause problems,” Gwen said. “Even after Wesley’s death. Public Works is stressed to the limit. That’s what Phil and Morgen were trying to tell you before you left.”

“How did Wesley get to them? He’s dead,” Zoë began, but at that moment her door burst open and Arthur ran in, holding a sword in his good hand.

He saw them sitting there and stopped. They gaped at him, Zoë finding that despite her shock, a small part of her was disappointed he’d put on a shirt. A moment passed.

“Hi, Arthur,” Zoë finally said, and the point of his sword wavered, then dropped.

“I—” He swallowed. “The outside of your window is covered in sparrows. That’s a bad sign.”

“Oh, don’t worry. Gwen, meet Arthur. Gwen is a death goddess, Arthur. Gwen, Arthur is with Public Works and my next-door neighbor.”

Gwen eyed his sword, an amused look on her face. She stood and reached around the sword to grasp and gently shake the hand confined in the sling. “Pleased to meet you. I am not here to kill Zoë, don’t worry. I needed to carry a message from work. Those”—she gestured to the window—“are merely my heralds.”

Arthur eyed Gwen carefully. “Ah. Well. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Don’t be,” Gwen said quickly. “I’m pleased she has someone nearby ready to defend her.”

John had stood up beside her chair and looked at Arthur. “Zoë, I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Zoë rolled her eyes. “And Arthur, this is John. I also, uh, work with him.”

The two men did not shake hands. John looked at Arthur calmly, his short, muscular build nearly the opposite of Arthur’s trim build.

“And Zoë,” John said, tensing slightly. “Have
you
had the pleasure?”

She glared at him. “What are you talking about, John? Are you seriously asking what I think you’re asking?”

He spread his hands innocently. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

She stood and turned her back to him, cold with anger. “Listen, John. My life is none of your business. None. If you’re going to treat my friends badly, or treat me badly, just leave now.”

She could feel him then, as if he had turned his pheromones up to eleven. Her mouth nearly watered at the thought of licking one small bead of sweat on his neck. “Are you sure, Zoë? I could take care of every need you have. I could taste you”—he glanced at Arthur and smirked—“again.”

Zoë closed her eyes against the lust and shame that blossomed in her. She didn’t want to look at Arthur, see his face, his revulsion. She looked at the floor and turned back toward the men. Eyes still down, she reached out and put her hand on John’s chest, feeling the tight muscles underneath. Then she pushed.

He stumbled backward, surprised by her attack. She looked at the ground. “Just go. Get out. Now. Try this again, come to my home again, and—”

He interrupted her, laughing. “You’ll what? Call Public Works on me? Get your knight here to save you?”

She looked at Arthur, who looked shocked at her aggression. She held out her hand, and comprehension dawned on his face. He handed her the sword, and she lifted it, trying not to show how heavy it was for her.

“No, I’m not calling for help. I’ll gut you myself.”

He opened his mouth once, then closed it. He glared at Gwen, then at Arthur, then stormed out.

Zoë handed the sword back to Arthur, afraid to look him in the face. She sat down beside Gwen and put her face in her hands, feeling soiled. “Thanks for coming by, Arthur, but I’m fine. You can go now. I’d rather you not see me right now.”

No one moved. Zoë looked up at Gwen, who was looking at Arthur. “No,” Gwen said, slowly. “He needs to stay. He needs to hear this too.”

“Why?” Arthur and Zoë asked at the same time.

Gwen’s eyes had gone completely black. “Because the odds of your impending doom dropped considerably when he came into the room.”

One of the biggest spots for visiting coterie, and resident coterie of Scandinavian descent, is Rockefeller Center. Funded by a descendant of Odin, Lore Burnaby, the center was blessed with one of the few seeds of the ancient tree of life, the Yggdrasil. The tree grows to full height every year around the Solstice; it is a common reminder of rebirth out of winter.

Of course, the humans have determined their own meaning for the tree, but as long as they don’t pervert the tree itself, Burnaby allows their celebrations.

H
er impending doom. She’d forgotten about that.

“I kinda hoped my doom was John’s proximity, actually,” she said, grinning slightly.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur asked, raising his sword toward Gwen again.

Zoë sighed. “She’s OK, Arthur. Put that thing down. You’re going to cause a scene.”

He finally lowered the sword and propped it against the door as if it were an umbrella, and awkwardly joined Zoë on the couch.

“To explain,” Zoë said, “Gwen is a death goddess: not only does she get followed by a flock of sparrows, but she can see someone’s death. Apparently my future has been fluctuating today. And apparently I’ll never get my damn deadline met. So what else is up, Gwen? Why did you come here, really? And why’d you bring John?”

Gwen sat on the couch. “John’s desire to be here was obvious. Phil told him not to come, but I think he’s become fixated on you. I am here to tell you about the zombie uprisings, and to remind you that Phil wants you to check out Public Works. They need to know about the coming zoëtist.” She looked at Arthur. “It seems you’ve already done that.”

Arthur looked at Zoë but she didn’t meet his eyes. “Your mission was to get to know me?”

“Yes, well, no. I mean, I wanted to get to know you before I found you were Public Works. And yes, I needed to approach someone at Public Works on a professional level. There’s that zoëtist I mentioned coming to town tomorrow. She’s behind the zombie attacks on the city. And behind that construct that attacked us last weekend.”

“When were you going to tell me this?”

“I told you! But it was the day after your attack, so I think you weren’t at your clearest. Christ, Arthur, I didn’t deceive you. I never hid what I was from you. We haven’t had any chances to talk about work life yet, for either of us. We’ve been too busy fighting or bleeding to really think about it!”

She finally met his eyes. He frowned at her, tension in his shoulders conveying his anger. “I have to tell my superior officers about this.”

Gwen didn’t blink. “We were counting on it. But remember you owe Phil a rather large favor. And that’s going to be repaid now.”

Arthur swallowed but his gaze didn’t waver. “I’m listening.”

“You’re to take Zoë with you to Public Works.”

Zoë and Arthur stared at Gwen. Then they stared at each other. Then they spoke at the same time.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“My bosses will never go for me bringing a coterie spy into the organization.”

“Wait,
spy
?”

“I could lose my job.”

“Does my job as an editor matter at all?”

“I shouldn’t even go in today.”

“Did Phil take into account my current mental state?”

“I don’t know why you work with them in the first place. They eat people, Zoë.”

“Oh, what the hell do you know?”

Even as she squabbled in a slight panic, she caught the look of tired bemusement on Gwen’s face, like that of a parent watching teens fight. She subsided in mid-insult and took a deep breath.

“Gwen, I think that’s a terrible idea. They would never agree to it, and I’m a book editor, not a diplomat.” She flopped back on the couch and tried to relax the muscles around her spine.

“You were open to it when you spoke with Phil earlier about it,” Gwen said.

“You what?” Arthur said, whirling to face her.

“Stuff has changed since then, Gwen, I don’t think I can do it,” Zoë said. She didn’t know how much Gwen knew about Lucy, and didn’t want to talk about it in front of Arthur.

“She’s right. She has no experience, she would be a liability,” Arthur said.

Zoë prickled again at his immediate dismissal of her. “Now wait, I charmed myself into a job with coterie, what makes you think I can’t talk to humans? I am not the dead weight that you’re implying.” She turned toward the death goddess. “Gwen, what’s the point of all this? Phil had to know that Arthur wouldn’t go for this. How did he expect Arthur to get me in there, anyway?”

“The answer is very simple, Zoë,” Gwen said, relaxing back in her seat. “Tell them the truth. You’re writing a book about New York City and you want to do some research about the underbelly of the city. And you have some information about some danger coming into the city. None of that is a lie.”

“What do you know about this zoëtist?” Arthur asked her.

“Like I told you,” she said pointedly, closing her eyes and sighing. “We found out someone big is coming to town, and she’s probably behind all the zombie problems.”

“Children.” Gwen said it softly but it silenced them both. “We need to deal with something bigger than you two.” She leaned forward and looked at Arthur. “This is what Phil is asking of you. Now, did you think that repaying a vampire’s debt would be so minor as to take a woman to work with you?”

Arthur nodded slowly. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Gwen smiled. “You’re coming around; that’s good. Yes, Phil has put a geas on you. If you don’t take Zoë to work with you tonight, then you’ll start to suffer a great deal of pain.”

“Wait a second,” said Zoë. “What if I refuse to go? Why can’t he send someone else?”

“He wants a human to be a bridge. And if you don’t go, then Arthur will still suffer great pain, only it will be your fault.”

She whistled long and low. “Vampires really are bastards, aren’t they?”

“What was your first clue?” Arthur asked dryly.

Zoë put her hand on the closed front door, after Arthur had slammed it to go get dressed. “Gwen, I’m not terribly happy with this.”

The woman leaned back and looked at Zoë for a lengthy time, long enough to make it uncomfortable for her. “What?” Zoë finally asked, exasperated.

“You work for a vampire, Zoë. You conspire with zombies, gods, undead, and other beings that most humans consider the stuff of nightmares. And you’re surprised when you’re put in a position that makes you uncomfortable?”

“It’s not that,” Zoë said. “I did everything else of my own free will. Now, for the sake of Arthur’s geese thing, I’m forced into something. I have no choice. Before, I could have told Phil no.
I went with him to the zombie apartment complex, for God’s sake, of my own free will. But now, I have nothing.”

“Again. Why are you surprised?”

Zoë frowned. “I just…” She chewed her lip. “I guess I felt like Phil and I were—fuck it. Never mind.”

Gwen smiled. Her eyes glittered. “Friends? Peers?”

Zoë gritted her teeth, staring at the floor. “I said never mind.”

“We are very different beings, Zoë.”

“I am starting to realize that. Thank you.” Zoë kept her hand on the front door, pressing on it until her hand went white.

“Would you like me to go?”

“Far be it from me to kick a death goddess out of my apartment,” Zoë said. She went into her bedroom and changed into old jeans and a sweatshirt. She went to the kitchen, where she picked up her collection of herbs. She walked back into the living room, ignoring Gwen, who watched her with interest. She strapped her knife to her forearm and threw her leather jacket on top of her sweatshirt. The herbs went into her pocket, which she then zipped.

“There’s tea in the kitchen, as well as wine. I don’t know what, if anything, you drink. I don’t know much of anything anymore,” Zoë said, still not looking at Gwen as she checked to make sure she could draw her knife without damaging her jacket.
Priorities and all.

“I am leaving, Zoë,” Gwen said, standing up.

“Oh really? That’s cool. I apparently have to go talk to people who will hate me in order to save a guy from a lot of pain. Or a bunch of waterfowl. I never know with you people. And I don’t even think he likes me very much.”

“And save the city,” Gwen reminded her, brushing past her toward the door. “Cheer up. It could be worse.”

“Really?”

“Could be raining.”

Zoë glanced outside at the sunny day, then thought of spending time in the sewer with the runoff of the grimy New York streets pouring down on her head. She finally had to laugh. “Fair enough. Here.” She pulled a thumb drive from her computer and tossed it to the death goddess. “That’s the book outline. Give it to Phil. If I don’t live through this, then promote Morgen to take my place. She may not seem like she’s got the skills, but I think she could carry this.”

“Understood,” Gwen said. “Good luck.”