Dead Streets

TWELVE

The man stopped when he was within half a dozen feet of us and smiled.

"Hey, Matt. What's up? Nice coat. Good to see you finally got a little style going on."

His voice was deep and rich and though his tone was relaxed on the surface it held an underlying current of tension. I knew exactly how he felt.

"Hey yourself, Malik," I said, ignoring his comment about Bogdan's hand-me-down. "It's been a while."

"Since we tangled with the Incarnator, remember?"

"How could I forget? We had a hell of a time figuring out which body he was inhabiting. If he hadn't kept that habit of his regardless of which body he wore-"

Malik laughed. "Right! He always kept sniffing and swallowing, like he had sinus trouble no matter who he was possessing. How weird was that?"

"Weird but useful," I said. "We might never have caught him otherwise."

We'd kept our gazes locked on one another as we talked, only pretending to enjoy our little trip down memory lane. In truth we were gauging each other – opening feints that were merely a warm up for what was to come.

"Matt, who is this?" Devona asked.

I hadn't forgotten about her, but there was no way I was going to take my eyes off Malik. I continued to keep my gaze trained on him as I answered.

"This gentleman goes by the street name of Crossbreed but his friends just call him Malik. We've worked together a couple times when we had jobs that ended up overlapping. As you might've gathered we took down the Incarnator together."

"And we recovered the Lost Shroud of Glorian, don't forget that," Malik said.

"Neither of us got paid on that one."

"Only because you insisted on destroying the shroud when you learned what it could do." Malik's tone took on a colder edge as he said this.

"What can I say? I have a thing about handing over deadly magical artifacts to psychopaths, which both of our clients happened to be."

"Maybe so, but their money would've spent as good as any sane man's."

"Money can't buy self-respect."

"You can't eat, drink, or screw self respect." Malik had continued smiling as we'd talked but now his smile fell away. "Speaking of money there's a pretty hefty price on your head these days, Matt. You've always had a knack for getting in trouble, but damn, son! Five hundred thousand darkgems' worth is serious even for you!"

I felt Devona's mind reaching for mine.

I can see that you two aren't exactly friends. Just how dan gerous is he?

Let's just say you wouldn't want to go up against him in a dark alley. Or a lit one. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Aloud, I said, "And you've come to collect."

He shrugged. "Someone has to cash in. Might as well be me. No offense."

"None taken. How did you figure you'd find me here?"

Malik's smile returned. "Everyone else is watching your usual hangouts, but they're idiots. We may have only worked together a couple times but I know you well enough. Anyone else in your situation would've had the good sense to go into hiding, but not you. I knew you'd try to find a way out of the mess you're in and that means you need information. Since you can't make use of your regular sources, I guessed you'd go to David." His smile widened into a grin. "Looks like I guessed right."

I suppose I should've expected this. With the number of people out looking for me someone was bound to have figured out where I'd go.

"Congratulations. I'm sure this'll get you a nomination for mercenary of the year."

Malik's body spasmed from head to toe as his bones, muscles and flesh went through a rapid transformation. His green eyes turned a glowing crimson, his teeth became sharp and long, his hands sprouted deadly looking ebon claws and his skin sprouted scaled armor.

"Now you see why Malik calls himself Crossbreed," I said to Devona. "You know how Overkill has worked to make herself the ultimate human? Well, Malik has made himself into the ultimate monster, courtesy of the genetic expertise of the good Doctor Moreau."

Just looking at Malik you could pick out vampire, demon and lyke in him and I'm sure there's more than a few other less obvious monster genes in the mix as well.

Devona frowned. "I didn't think it was possible to combine the DNA of Darkfolk like that."

Malik bared his mouthful of fangs in a savage grin and when he spoke his voice was rough and guttural.

"It's not – for anyone else, that is. Dr. M told me that every time he tried it before the subject died. But the procedure worked for me." His smile grew wider, making him look something like a shark in humanoid form. "Guess I'm just that tough. So, Matt… what's it going to be? You going to make this easy and come with me peacefully, or are you going to give me trouble? Please say it's the latter. It'll be more fun that way."

"You know, Malik, finding me isn't the same thing as catching me."

I can't draw a gun as fast as I could when I was alive, but what I now lack in speed I make up in technique. I had my. 45 out and aimed at Malik's chest before he could react. At least, that's what I told myself. But then he laughed and I knew the only reason he hadn't attacked was because he didn't consider my weapon a threat.

"You can't hurt me with that thing," he said, sounding half amused, half insulted.

"You know the kind of ammo I pack is tailormade to put a hurt on just about any creature walking, stalking or sliming its way through the streets – and that includes you."

"Ordinarily that would be true. But you're carrying a. 45 instead of your usual 9mm. My guess is your regular piece – along with your homemade ammo – was taken away before you were tossed into Tenebrus and what you got there is a replacement. Besides, you forget who you're talking to." He sniffed the air a couple times. "I can smell that the bullets are normal."

"Oh, well. Can't blame a guy for bluffing." I raised my gun barrel several inches and fired, emptying the contents of my weapon into Malik's face.

Greenish-black blood splattered into the air and Malik staggered backward, though he didn't fall and he didn't cry out, though the injuries he suffered had to hurt like hell. I aimed for his head because brain tissue is complex and takes more time to regenerate. It would be a few moments before Malik regrew enough of his brain to get his shit together and attack, giving Devona and me a few precious seconds in which to act.

As Malik leaned over, hands on his face to hold as much of it together as possible while he healed, blood streaming onto the sidewalk, I quickly glanced at the oncoming traffic and saw what we needed. I sent a mental image to Devona of what I wanted her to do and she stepped forward and grabbed hold of one of Malik's arms. Devona may be short and slender, but she packs a lot of muscle into her small frame and she hurled Malik into the street as if he weighed no more than a child.

As I said earlier, traffic was light that night, but "light" doesn't mean "nonexistent," and Malik landed directly in the path of a silver Volkswagen Beetle covered with long sharp spikes. He still hadn't recovered enough from the gunshot wounds to his face to think clearly, and instead of getting out of the car's path, he rose to his feet and just stood there bleeding onto the street, and the VW slammed into him at full speed. Malik let out a – pardon the pun – piercing shriek of agony as he was impaled on the VW's hood spikes. The impact caused the car to swerve, but it didn't stop. The driver – who was completely hidden from view due to the spikes – managed to straighten the VW out and zoomed off with Malik still pinned screaming to its hood. One thing Nekropolitans can always be counted on for – wherever they're going, they're in a hurry to get there and they don't let anything slow them down. Certainly nothing as inconsequential as a body stuck to their car.

I started to reload my gun while we watched the VW speed away, carrying Malik with it.

"Nice throw," I said to Devona.

"Nice shooting," she said. "That won't stop him for long, you know."

"He won't be able to heal fully until he pulls himself off those spikes. We'll be long gone by then."

"He's not going to be too thrilled with you when he does finally get free."

I sighed. "At this point, what's it matter if I make one more mortal enemy?"

"True," she said.

Just then a vehicle came swerving erratically down the street toward us and Devona and I automatically stepped back from the curb. When we saw the vehicle was Lazlo's cab we stepped back a couple feet farther, just to be cautious. Good thing, too, because when Lazlo pulled up he parked halfway on the sidewalk. The cab's windows were rolled down and he leaned out to speak to us.

"Sorry I'm late. You wouldn't believe how many people have been tailing me since Quillion announced the bounty on you. Even with all my considerable driving skills it took me a while to shake them."

Lazlo might have had an easier time of it if his cab wasn't one of the most recognizable vehicles in the city. But I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I didn't say anything.

"You're sure you managed to shake them?" I looked up and down the street, but since no vehicles roared up to the curb, bounty hunters hanging out of open windows with their guns blazing, I figured we were safe enough for the moment.

I turned to Devona. "What do you think?"

"I think we're going to have people gunning for us whether we walk or ride. Riding's faster."

"Good point."

Devona and I climbed into the back of Lazlo's cab and I told him to take us to Nosferatomes. I'd barely gotten the words out of my mouth when Lazlo tromped on the gas and his vehicle surged away from the curb. The sudden acceleration threw Devona and me against the back seat.

"I'm all for speed right now, but can you take it a bit easier?" I complained.

"Sorry about that," Lazlo said. "My cab's kind of jittery after playing tag with so many other vehicles tonight – Dread Rider, the Chopper, Velocicide… It's a wonder she hasn't had a nervous breakdown by now." Lazlo patted the dash and the cab's engine – which up to this point had been running at a high-pitched whine – began to purr and the vehicle slowed to a slightly less than lethal speed.

"Some heavy hitters there," Devona said, sounding worried for the first time since breaking me out of Tenebrus. I wanted to reassure her that everything was going to be all right, but as I was starting to have major doubts myself, the best I could do was take her hand and give it a squeeze. It wasn't much but she gave me a grateful smile anyway.

Lazlo glanced at us in his rearview mirror. "I like what you've done with your hair, Devona. And Matt, I love the new coat! You finally look like a real PI, you know what I'm saying?"

Right then I vowed that I was going to find a way out of this mess no matter what, if only so I could celebrate by burning that goddamned coat to ashes.

Lazlo went on. "I saw you tangling with someone when I drove up. Who was it?"

"Crossbreed," I said.

Lazlo let out a low whistle. "He's a tough customer. Looked like you managed to get the drop on him, though."

"We were lucky," I said with no false modesty. I didn't like relying on luck, but I figured I was going to need a few tons more of it before everything was over.

"Speaking of lucky," Lazlo said, "I was sitting in Skully's when Acantha's surprise broadcast came on. Everyone in the bar immediately started making bets on how long it'll be before you're recaptured. Most people figured you'll be back in Tenebrus within twenty-four hours."

"Their confidence in me is underwhelming." I changed the subject. "I'm glad to see you hale and hearty. Quillion led me to believe one of his Sentinels worked you over."

Lazlo didn't say anything to that. He just kept driving. After leaving the House of Mysterious Secrets he drove us to Sybarite Street, the Sprawl's main drag, and we headed toward the west side of the Dominion, where Nosferatomes was located. When he eventually spoke again his tone was subdued.

"A Sentinel did question me and it… wasn't gentle. I healed OK. I mean, I am a demon, right? But it hurt so much that I…"

I knew what Lazlo was trying to say. He'd told the Sentinel I was at the Foundry, which was how Silent Jack had been able to hunt me down.

"Don't worry about it," I said. "They'd have found me eventually no matter what. I'm just sorry you had to go through that on my account. I'm glad no permanent damage was done, though."

Lazlo said his next words so softly I wasn't certain I'd heard them at all. But it sounded like he said, "Not to my body anyway."

Lazlo looks so monstrous that it's sometimes too easy to forget that he has feelings like anyone else. He might be a demon but that didn't mean he wasn't human too – at least, in the ways that mattered most. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but before I could think of anything the ratcheting sound of automatic weapons fire cut through the cab, followed by a metallic pinging as rounds struck the outside of the vehicle.

Lazlo's cab screamed then, and of all the horrible sounds I've heard since coming to Nekropolis, that's one I hope to never hear again.

The cab swerved wildly and Lazlo fought to maintain control of his vehicle.

"We're under attack!" Devona shouted.

That part I'd figured out for myself. What I didn't know yet was by who. I turned to look out the rear window and saw a midnight-black Cadillac with glowing red headlights and a hood mounted machine gun riding our tail.

"Damn it, it's Carnage!" I shouted.

Lazlo's cab made a noise that sounded a lot like a terrified whine. I knew exactly how she felt.

There are any number of possessed, haunted or living vehicles traveling the streets of Nekropolis – Lazlo's cab among them. So many that once a year the Screaming Wheels tournament is held, a cross-Dominion road race whose course traverses the entire city. But of all the supernaturally animated cars, motorcycles and trucks, none are as powerful or deadly as Carnage. As legend has it the Caddy's owner died behind the wheel of his vehicle and his spirit – instead of going on to its final reward – merged with the car, bringing the vehicle to malevolent life. Standard stuff, really, but what made Carnage different to the average possessed car is that it – he? – didn't want to exist as a haunted vehicle and so over the years he had consulted any number of magicusers and exorcists in the hope that one of them would be able to remove the spirit from the Cadillac and set it free. But for some unknown reason no one had ever been able to draw the human spirit forth from the vehicle. Even Papa Chatha had taken a crack at it and failed. But Carnage was determined to find some way to become free of his cursed existence. Rumor had it that Carnage had attempted suicide numerous times, but as is so often the case with supernatural vehicles, all damage it suffered was magically repaired. So that left Carnage with one option: keep trying to find a magicuser powerful enough and skilled enough to set him free.

Trouble was magic doesn't come cheap in Nekropolis and Carnage needed money in order to continue hiring witches and warlocks and so the living vehicle had be come a mercenary, taking on high risk, high reward jobs to make enough darkgems to afford the cost of exorcism spells. And if a job was so dangerous that Carnage was finally destroyed during it, well, that was OK too. Just as long as the spirit trapped within the Caddy's metal body was free in the end. Of course, in order to do his work more effectively, Carnage had used some of his profits on upgrades like a high performance engine, a steel reinforced suspension system and his ohso-useful machine gun. After all, as the saying goes, you have to spend money to make money.

What all this added up to was an insanely dangerous self repairing haunted car with nothing to lose and at that moment the damned thing was hot on our trail.

I knew that Lazlo's cab could heal a certain amount of superficial damage on its own, but anything more than that would require extensive repairs. The cab was a tough little car, but I knew it couldn't withstand a full out attack by Carnage.

"Try and lose him!" I shouted to Lazlo.

"Lose him?" the demon shouted back. "I'll be lucky if I can keep us on the road!"

"Just do your best!"

I started rifling through my pockets, searching among the magic items Shrike had brought me, hoping that there was something I might be able to use to at least slow Carnage down. Devona did the same, and while we searched, Carnage unleashed another burst of gunfire.

Devona and I ducked as the rear window shattered. Lazlo's cab screamed in pain and swerved violently to the left, right into the path of oncoming traffic. I caught a momentary glimpse of a large semi truck with a grinning green goblin face on the cab coming straight at us. I thought the truck was going to slam into us and deprive Carnage of his bounty, but Lazlo managed to yank the cab's steering wheel to the right in time to avoid colliding with the truck and the goblin face seemed to laugh at us as the huge vehicle roared past.

I noticed the cab was slowing down and the engine began to make unsettling sputtering noises. I assumed some of that last burst of gunfire had done more to the cab than simply break some glass and I wasn't sure how much longer Lazlo's vehicle would be able to keep going before it would be forced to pull over. Not long, I guessed.

Devona and I were still searching among our paltry supply of weaponry but in the back of my mind I was already considering giving myself up. Carnage wouldn't hurt me. He needed me more or less intact in order to collect the bounty on me. But when the possessed Caddy was on a mission it wasn't particular about who got hurt in the crossfire, hence his name. If this kept up there was an excellent chance that Devona and Lazlo would end up seriously injured, maybe even dead, and I wasn't about to let that happen simply to save my own slowly rotting hide.

I was about to tell Lazlo to pull over when Devona held up what appeared to be a ball made of woven black twigs.

"Got it!" she said, grinning.

It was one of the items I'd passed on when we'd looked through them in Westerna's, primarily because I hadn't recognized it and didn't know what it did. But before I could ask Devona what she had she turned around and chucked the object out the now open back window. The ebon twigball flew through the air toward Carnage's windshield. The ball looked solid enough, but when it hit the glass it flattened like liquid and expanded to cover the entire windshield. It then seemed to sink into the glass as if the Caddy was absorbing the black substance and then it was gone and the windshield was clear once more.

The effect was instantaneous. The machine gun's barrel drooped and Carnage began to slow down, swaying gently from side to side.

"What was that?" I asked.

Devona was still grinning. "Caligari's Sleep. It's a common spell used by Bloodborn who either haven't developed their hypnotic abilities or are simply too lazy to use them. The spell makes its victim sleepy and open to suggestion."

"Kind of like a daterape drug," I said. "Classy." Still, I couldn't argue with the effect it was having on Carnage. The car didn't have a flesh-and-blood body, but the spell must've been designed to affect a victim's psyche regardless of what form that psyche resided in, because it was clearly working. But the question was for how long.

Despite its name, Caligari's Sleep didn't render Carnage unconscious, just really, really sleepy. The deadly vehicle might not have been shooting at us anymore but neither had it broken off its pursuit. Carnage's glowing red headlights had dimmed and the vehicle was moving more slowly and swerving back and forth, but it was still managing to keep up with us. It didn't help that Lazlo's cab wasn't moving very fast at that moment either. Vehicles began passing us, drivers honking angrily and making obscene gestures as they flashed by. Several made mystic passes with their hands as if trying to lay a curse on us for pissing them off. They needn't have bothered. Given the way things had been going for me lately, I figured I'd already exceeded my bad luck quota for the next several decades at least.

Right then I wished that Shrike had brought me a bazooka instead of a. 45 and I was amusing myself by imagining firing one at Carnage through the open back window when Lazlo said, "Great, that's all we need!"

Devona and I looked forward to see what he was talking about. Before us in the middle of the street was a massive misshapen being that resembled a small mountain formed entirely of flesh. Hundreds of legs – some human, most not – stuck out from its bottom to support its weight and provide locomotion, while the rest of the creature's surface was covered with other body parts: hands, arms, chests, abdomens, genitals, buttocks and worst of all, heads. Gazes blank, mouths gaping wide, tongues lolling, drool streaming past their lips. This was one of the strangest creatures in Nekropolis and probably the single most annoying one.

The Conglomeration.

No one knows where it came from, what it wants, or for that matter, exactly what the damned thing is. What it does is wander randomly through the city, absorbing anyone unlucky enough or stupid enough not to get out of its way in time. Mostly, the Darklords tolerate the Conglomeration's presence since in many ways it's like evolution in action, absorbing both the slow of foot and slow of mind. But whenever it gets too large – and it certainly appeared to be on the verge of that now – the physicians at the Fever House are alerted and they dispatch a specially designed ambulance to capture the Conglomeration and bring it to the facility where they begin the painstaking and laborious process of separating the people that had been absorbed. The story goes that when the doctors finally finish there's never anything left over that's wholly and completely the Conglomeration. It's like the creature doesn't exist in and of itself. But a few days later, it – or a replacement – is back on the street, absorbing bodies again.

"Can you go around it?" Devona asked.

"Yeah," Lazlo said. "It's not that big yet, but it's blocking enough of the road to cause a real slowdown." He glanced up at the rearview. "I'm afraid it'll give Carnage a chance to catch up to us."

"Which would be bad," I said. "Especially when it manages to shake off Caligari's Sleep." Something I feared would happen sooner rather than later.

A thought occurred to me then. Carnage wasn't alive in the strictest sense of the word, but then concepts like life and death are more than a little fuzzy in Nekropolis. Carnage had a soul and could think and act independently. In many ways, the vehicle wasn't all that different from me. I was kind of alive, wasn't I? And I didn't want to get absorbed by the Conglomeration. And hadn't Devona told me that the recipients of Caligari's Sleep were highly suggestible?

I didn't waste anymore time thinking about it, primarily because we didn't have anymore time. The traffic ahead of us had slowed considerably and it would only be a few moments more before Carnage, sleepy though he was, caught up to us.

I turned around in my seat and leaned out the open back window. Before Devona could ask me what I was doing, I shouted, "Hey, Carnage! Don't tell anyone, but I'm hiding inside the Conglomeration!"

The crimson glow within the possessed Caddy's headlights had almost gone out by then but now it flared back to full blazing strength. The vehicle's engine roared and Carnage surged past us, swerving around slower-moving cars as it aimed straight for the Conglomeration. Carnage's hood mounted machine gun raised into firing position and began blasting the Conglomeration with rounds of ammo. At first the gigantic fleshy mass of body parts didn't seem to notice it was under attack, but then the eyes of all its heads came into focus and turned to look at the vehicle firing upon it. Faces contorted in anger and cries of rage issued from all its mouths. Undeterred Carnage continued forward, gun blazing away. Alarmed motorists in the immediate vicinity began trying to pull their vehicles out of the line of fire and if they found their way blocked by other cars and trucks they simply bailed out and ran for it. Lazlo lifted his foot off the gas and allowed his cab to slow down, which turned out to be an extremely wise move when a furious Conglomeration threw itself forward and fell down on top of Carnage.

The impact was tremendous, bouncing Devona and I out of our seats and fissuring the street with cracks. Bits of the Azure Slime oozed forth through the cracks as if curious to see what was going on above it, but a second later the Slime retreated, most likely having decided to leave the Conglomeration alone, perhaps as a courtesy from one absorbing monster to another.

Lazlo had slammed on the brakes when the Conglomeration fell and now we – along with dozens of other drivers and sidewalk gawkers along both sides of Sybarite Street – watched and waited to see what would happen next.

At first the Conglomeration just lay there in the street and I had the horrible feeling that any second we'd see Carnage come bursting out of the flesh mass, headlights shining with fury over having been tricked, gun ratcheting death as the Caddy came toward us. But instead the Conglomeration rose with slow, ponderous movements and we could see the undercarriage of a midnight-black Cadillac now embedded in its side. The Conglomeration just stood there for a moment, as if pondering the new addition to its body, and then it resumed its course, heading slowly down Sybarite Street.

"I have no idea if the Conglomeration has anything even remotely resembling a digestive tract," I said, "but one way or another, I'll bet it's in for a serious case of heartburn after that."

Devona smiled at me and I took her hand. To Lazlo, I said, "Can your cab make it to Nosferatomes or should we get out and walk?"

Lazlo patted the dash. "What do you say, sweetie? Can you do a few more blocks before taking a rest?"

The vehicle gave a weak bleat on its horn in response.

"That's my girl!" Lazlo said.

I almost felt like patting the back seat in thanks, but I resisted. After all, I have a reputation as a tough guy to maintain.

As soon as he could Lazlo turned off onto a side street to get away from the Conglomeration and we continued on our way, the cab driving slowly but steadily toward Nosferatomes.

We had Lazlo drop us off a block away from the bookstore, just in case anyone was lying in wait for us outside. Lazlo wanted to stay but once Devona and I were out of the cab we could see how extensive the damage caused by Carnage was. The cab's chassis was riddled with bullet holes that leaked an oily brown ichor as if the vehicle was bleeding. I supposed in a sense it was. The engine was still running but it sounded weak and it knocked and pinged in a way that suggested it was on the verge of collapse.

"Better get her to a mechanic," I told Lazlo. "Devona and I will be fine on our own." I knew no such thing, of course, but I couldn't allow Lazlo to continue helping us, not if it was going to cost his cab whatever version of life it possessed.

Lazlo was torn and it took a bit more convincing on my part, but in the end he agreed.

"Well, if you say so. She is sounding kind of punky. You two take care of yourselves, all right?"

We promised we would and Lazlo put his cab in gear and drove slowly down the street, the engine protesting all the way. When he was gone we approached the bookstore on foot. After encountering both Crossbreed and Carnage in such a short span of time I was seriously paranoid but none of the pedestrians we passed paid any attention to us and by the time we reached Nosferatomes I was relatively confident there were no bounty hunters in the immediate vicinity, but I didn't allow myself to fully relax. In Nekropolis the moment you let your guard down is the moment you risk becoming someone's snack.

Nosferatomes was housed in a nondescript two storey building constructed of gray brick with black roof tiles and shutters. A wooden sign hung above the door displaying the shop's name in stylized gothic letters. Aside from its name it could've been any used bookstore on Earth. A pair of other businesses flanked the shop: on the right, a Hemlocks, and on the left a restaurant called Matango. Hemlocks was a chain of coffee houses with locations spread throughout all five Dominions, though the majority of them are located in the Sprawl. They don't just serve regular coffee anymore than their earthly counterparts did. Blood clottes, marrowchinos and spinal fluid smoothees are only a few of their nauseating offerings. Every time I walk past one it makes me grateful that my taste buds are as dead as the rest of me.

I'd never been to Matango before. It was a Japanese restaurant of a sort that specialized in mushroom dishes, a fact advertised by the various types of the fungi growing on the restaurant's stone walls. Supposedly the food there is so good it's addictive, but frequent diners need to be careful lest they find their skin taking on strange colors and textures. After all, there's a reason Matango's slogan is You are what you eat.

As we drew near the bookstore, a woman carrying a tray loaded with tiny cardboard cups came walking toward us. Devona and I instantly tensed in case this was yet another bounty hunter, but Devona quickly relaxed.

I sense no hostility from her, Devona thought to me. In fact, I don't sense much of anything going on inside her.

Why that was became apparent once the woman reached us. She had long straight black hair that fell to her waist, a prominent scar line circling her neck just below a pair of metal electrodes. She wore a black polo shirt and black slacks, along with a white apron with the stylized H of the Hemlocks logo stitched onto the fabric. She was another of Victor Baron's creations – Baristastein, I supposed.

"Would you like a free sample of our latest offering?" she asked, tone flat and face expressionless. I wondered if there was something wrong with her brain or if Baron had simply had trouble correctly hooking up her voice box and facial muscles. "It's espresso with a shot of bile. We call it a Sprawlicano."

I eyed the brackish liquid in the cup with more than a little suspicion. "More like spewicano," I said. "No thanks."

The woman took no offense at my comment, but then my words didn't seem to register with her at all. She simply moved on to accost another pedestrian. But a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk outside Hemlocks to sip their drinks and chat in the open air. Some of them had overheard what I said and they chuckled in agreement. But one – a large minotaur with muscles on his muscles who wore a T-shirt bearing the intellectually provocative phrase Horny is as horny does came stomping over to us on hoofed feet.

"You disrespecting my girlfriend?" he said in a gruff, bestial voice.

"Not at all," I replied. "I was disrespecting the crap she tried to serve me."

The minotaur snorted angrily and grabbed hold of my jacket with both hands and lifted me onto my tiptoes.

"Think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm curious what you two see in each other." I glanced in Baristastein's direction and saw she was still trying to push her samples onto passersby without any sign she was aware of her boyfriend's confrontation with me. "Is it a case of opposites attract? I mean, she's the coldest of cold fishes and you've obviously got some anger management issues…"

Ferdinand roared in my face then and I just looked calmly back at him. I can be a pretty cold fish myself when I need to be.

I reached into one of my pockets and wrapped my fingers around one of the magic objects Shrike had brought me: a flea bomb. Judging by how thick the minotaur's fur was his coat would be a perfect home for a few thousand bloodthirsty insects. But before I could withdraw the bomb, I heard Devona's thoughtvoice, the tone slightly frantic.

He's three times your size, Matt! If you were alive, you'd be afraid of him. That's what he's used to and what he's looking for – for you to show some fear!

Not my style, I thought back as I stared into the minotaur's eyes. I gripped the flea bomb tighter.

That's the whole point, Devona thought to me. Yo u're supposed to be pretending to be someone else, remember?

Oh, right. The whole fugitive-in-disguise thing… I released my hold on the flea bomb and prepared to put on a show.

It had been a long time since I'd felt physically threatened and I wasn't sure if I remembered how to do it. I started by turning my head to the side as if I was afraid Ferdinand was going to haul off and punch me any second. Then I lowered my gaze so I wasn't looking directly into his eyes. The minotaur didn't release me but his breathing eased a bit and I knew my act was working.

"You know what you're gonna do now?" he asked. "You're gonna apologize to Sandy." He paused and then his bovine face broke into a grin. "Wait – I got a better idea!"

He called for Baristastein to join us and she walked over, face still devoid of expression. The minotaur let go of me with one hand but kept hold of me with the other. He then reached out and took one of the sample cups from his girlfriend's tray and his grin took on a nasty edge.

"You're gonna try one of these and then you're gonna tell Sandy how much you like it." He looked at me expectantly and I realized he was hoping that the prospect of being forced to down the swill would provoke some kind of response in me.

"I'd, uh, really rather not," I said.

Way to sound terrified, Devona thought. I ignored her.

"Too bad," Ferdinand said. He put the cup of steaming liquid to my lips and poured it in.

I could've swallowed it easily since I couldn't feel the heat or taste the flavor but that wasn't what a living man would do, so I sputtered and thrashed my head back and forth, causing some of the Sprawlicano to spill down my chin. The minotaur continued to grin as he poured the rest of the cup's contents down my throat, then he let go of me and I allowed myself to fall back on my ass, making sure to let out a whoof! of air as if I felt the impact.

As I rose slowly to my feet I doubled over and made a face as if I was going to throw up the noxious brew, but Ferdinand said, "You barf and I'll make you drink two more."

I made a show of fighting to keep the Sprawlicano down and Ferdinand nodded, satisfied. "Now tell Sandy how good it was."

I tried to speak, coughed once, then tried again.

"Smooth," I croaked.

The minotaur turned to his girlfriend. "There you go, baby. He'll think twice before giving you anymore attitude."

Baristastein ignored the minotaur as she looked at me, as blank eyed and expressionless as ever.

"Thank you and come again," she said and then went off in search of someone else to serve.

The minotaur watched her go, his gaze softening.

"Isn't she something?" he said.

I wisely kept any opinions I had about that to myself and Ferdinand wandered off to rejoin the group of people he'd been talking with before Devona and I arrived. There was laughter and congratulatory backslaps from his friends and I found myself reaching for the flea bomb again.

Devona put a hand on my arm to restrain me. "Forget him. We have work to do."

I looked at the minotaur for a moment longer before nodding and letting Devona lead me toward Nosferatomes.

"What did you think of my performance?" I asked her.

She smiled gently. "Let's just say it's a good thing you chose a career in criminal justice."

"Everyone's a critic," I muttered.

Devona and I walked up to Nosferatomes' front door, keeping an eye out for possible attack the entire time and staying in low level telepathic contact. We couldn't read one another's minds this way but we could sense the other's feelings. If one of us spotted danger, the other would be instantly aware of it. But again, there was no sign of any bounty hunters, and we entered the store.